#and my non-existent sense of color
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
devotion-disorder · 3 months ago
Note
Hiiii I'm new to your blog :)) I saw it a while back and was recently reminded of your blog, lol!
I really like Noel :> 👉👈 I just wanna smooch him. Just once. (Maybe) (probably not gonna stop at one) but I'm curious what his creation was based off of. Like, did you make him bc you wanted to draw a streamer yandere? Or did a certain scenario cross your mind and thus started his creation.
I hope you're having a good day/night!
(One more smooch for Noel again)
This is a really good question!! If it weren’t for this I’d’ve forgot a lot of this stuff lol
I think I’ve always had vague ideas about the 'yandere' trope and how it can be incorporated into our contemporary setting, I guess? I thought it would be interesting if publicity was sth that was leveraged against the victim. Then there’s also the idea of a universe where yandere-ism is normalised, and I was very into the thought of an influencer that makes content like how to kidnap your first victims, 10 Beginner Mistakes You May Not Know about Blackmailing, lifestyle vlogs about a very very morbid lifestyle etc etc. idk i just think it'd be funny lol.
I actually remembered something about his design as well. I’ve had this very half-baked idea of an OC for a long while, and the only remarkable things about him was that his name was Noel and he had a weird hairstyle. And since i had both of these ideas sitting around, i thought it'd be convenient to just combine them maybe???
ive managed to dig up his ref sheet from like 3-4 years ago and 💀💀💀💀 the art was SO rough ive touched it up abit or else i can't stand to post them now lol
Tumblr media
I don’t really remember why his hair was changed but I think i kept the parts of 'unconventional color' + 'pastels'. BUT I do remember that I got the idea for a tri-colored letterman jacket because I saw someone on the street wearing something similar LOL (but it didn’t have the same colors as Noel’s one).
and to be completely honest i still kind of like this noel's design a little bit... maybe i'll reuse him again somewhere hah (getting all my mileage out of him fr LOL)
215 notes · View notes
the---hermit · 1 year ago
Text
Buying evidently queer books with my mom feeling 100% comfortable asking her to hold them for me as i do something else is something i didn't know i needed.
112 notes · View notes
came0dust · 2 years ago
Text
Tumblr media
was gonna not post these until i finished the thing i was preparing for with them but i also want it to be known that i am not dead. as usual, note transcriptions, rambles, and extras under the cut
looking at a model sheet pose of os ditto, i drew the top right one just to get a sense of his design in particular. though i didn't post any of it, i drew some ov ditto around 2 years ago when i watched the classic continuity, but i wanted to switch things up. i drew the bottom right one next
Tumblr media
in order, my thoughts were as follows
[drawing of ditto in a more dynamic pose, done after looking at some more reference material and then working more from memory]
rightmost dark text: "wait..."
[ditto mr beast meme bc i had a sudden realization and had to make it real and also mess with expressions on him]
leftmost dark text: "anyways"
magenta text, counterclockwise from top: "neck kinda long", "idk what his head actually looks like at this angle", "what is shape [wrt his hands]", "[wrt legs] was worried they were too long but actually? seems good (thumbs up)"
most of the rest of what i drew on this canvas was in the interest of just getting a feel for this specific ditto design but i was also in a call with a friend and sent a picture of wildmutt while i was talking about designs in ben 10 captioned "the original beast", and i knew what i had to do
Tumblr media
text: "he cant tell where the camera is"
lastly, the text in the top middle of the canvas says "obligatory pogchamp". i wanted to fill some space and pogchamp is just one of my default expressions at this point tbh. anyways have a process video (which also has a bit of a peek at what i was actually preparing for)
12 notes · View notes
king0fcrows · 1 year ago
Text
.
0 notes
hcneymooners · 20 days ago
Text
⋆ our bodies, two wounds of love.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
bodyguard!sevika x f!reader. men & minors dni.
synopsis: as the youngest daughter of a highly famous businessman, you're not at all what sevika is expecting upon receiving her assignment.
cw: modern setting, soft!sevika, reader is sugar sweet and slightly shy, reader has long hair, obsessive behavior, dubious consent, as in reader wakes sevi up properly like the eater she is but sevi consents when she wakes up, somnophilia, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, implied/referenced sex, via toys, implied strapping as god intended, overstimulation, impact play, it's pussy slapping, nipple play, squirting and vaginal ejaculation, praise kink, pet names, dom/sub undertones, minor violence, reader speaks german in this for no other reason than i've been watching the empress., soft dom!sevika, love confessions, near-death experiences, non-sexual intimacy, age difference, older woman/younger woman, mommy issues, implied lmfao, makeup sex, arguing, resolved sexual tension, masturbation in bathroom, accidental voyeurism notes: this is set to american by lana del rey. listen here. this is more emotionally heavy, but definitely my favorite. does this plot barely make sense? yes. but is the reward worth it? yes. this is a repost.
Tumblr media
out of all her clients, you were the easiest.
sevika shouldn’t have been as surprised as she was, given the research she’d conducted. you were the youngest of four daughters, and the public fed off your penchant for privacy. finding someone like you in her line of work was a rarity: no scandals to cover up, no carefully curated drama for the tabloids. your reputation preceded you—sweet, quiet, and often tired. a homebody, mel had said with an almost indulgent smirk when sevika was handed the assignment.
“you’re lucky,” she added. “the others are a handful.”
sevika didn’t believe in luck.
the flat where she first met you was a monument to your family’s wealth. still it was tasteful—ornate without being garish, quiet grandeur woven into every polished surface. it was the kind of space that swallowed sound and softened the world's edges.
your apartment was beautiful in a way that felt intentional but not performative. soft cream and powder blue walls were traced with delicate vines and florals, the details long faded. it wasn’t pristine—scuffs on the wooden floor and fingerprints smudged onto the low, sculptural table in the center—but it was lived-in, loved in a way that gave the space its warmth.
the table itself was an anchor—organic and raw, its uneven edges smoothed by time, surrounded by cushions in muted grays and pale pinks that had lost some of their color to the steady heat of the sun. a shelf of books stretched to the ceiling, its rows crowded with novels and photography volumes, with stacks of loose papers and half-burnt cigarettes scattered between them. the window beside it was cracked open just enough to let in the sound of rustling leaves, the faint scent of rain-soaked greenery curling through the room like an invisible flatmate.
golden lamps shaped like oversized fans stood at either end of the space, their light pooling onto the woven rug beneath. it cast the room in a kind of half-glow—soft, forgiving—blurring the edges of things just enough to make them feel closer. there was something fragile about how it all fit together like it had been arranged for someone who might leave it behind at any moment.
and yet, it felt distinctly like you. the powdered jasmine in the air, the book splayed open on the armchair, the small dish of rings by the window—it was a home that asked nothing of you but to exist in it. sevika’s stormy gaze caught on an abandoned note on the window sill, the script delicate and curling.
cochem, it read. i miss you. i want to come back to you. i want to disappear inside of you and have you love me again. i want to get lost in the german morning. no one will ever know me, and i’ll be happy, less unfulfilled.
she fingered the edges of the paper, sun-bleached and flaking. then she began to walk again, navigating to what looked like the open door of your study.
you were waiting for her inside, perched in an armchair too big for your frame, as if the room had been designed to diminish you. at first glance, you looked as delicate as the furniture you sat on, barefaced and bathed in soft afternoon light that filtered through sheer curtains. it was the kind of light that made everything look fragile and translucent.
you wore an ivory blouse, thin and shimmering with embroidery that seemed to grow out of the fabric like frost patterns on glass. the neckline skimmed your collarbones, modest but deliberate, while the sleeves flared past your wrists, draping like petals. the cinched waist and pale drawstrings might have belonged to someone dressing for comfort, but on you, it was something else entirely—careless elegance.
the sweatpants should have broken the illusion. they didn’t. instead, they made you seem more unreachable, more unstudied. as if you’d wandered into this world from somewhere else—someplace softer—and were still too young to realize you didn’t belong.
sevika lingered in the doorway for a beat longer than she meant to, her presence large enough to make the room feel smaller. she expected you to bristle at the intrusion, to draw yourself up with the same cool hauteur that so often marked women of your standing. but you didn’t.
you looked up at her, eyes wide and unguarded, and smiled.
“hello,” you said. your voice was so soft, as though you feared disturbing her.
sevika’s eyes swept over you, cataloging every detail: the way your hair—long and heavy—spilled over your shoulders, catching the faint streaks of the incoming light; the way your blouse seemed to ripple as you moved, fabric clinging like a whisper to your skin.
“i’m sevika,” she said finally, voice low and steady. “your father hired my team's services to protect your family. i’ll be your bodyguard.”
you nodded and rose from the chair, the movement unhurried and deliberate. you smoothed your palms over the sides of your sweatpants—grey, nondescript, somehow lovely in the context of you—and stepped closer. you smelled faintly of something soft and fleeting: fresh linen, maybe, or soap.
“it’s nice to meet you,” you said, extending your hand, sincerity tucked neatly into every word.
sevika didn’t take it right away. there was something strange about you—something that tugged at her instincts and told her to look closer. your face was open, unguarded, but there was a sadness there, too, stitched into the curve of your mouth, in the way your lashes fell low. she watched the way you stood there, chin lifted just enough to suggest poise but not pride, eyes wide and unguarded as they searched hers for something she wasn’t used to giving.
trust.
and for the first time in a long while, sevika found herself unsure of what to do. you weren’t like the others, all obvious disdain and high expectations. nothing was demanding about you—nothing calculated or sharp. just the soft curve of your mouth, the quiet pull of your gaze, and a kindness she didn’t quite know how to meet.
she clasped your hand firmly but briefly, clearing her throat as she stepped back.
“we should go over security protocol,” she said gruffly, falling back into professionalism as a defense.
you only nodded, that same soft smile still lingering. “of course. whatever you need.”
whatever you need.
sevika didn’t believe in luck, but standing there, looking down at you—your long lashes fluttering as you turned your gaze away, the afternoon light casting faint shadows through the sheer sleeves of your blouse—she wondered, for just a second, if this was as close to it as she would ever get.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚
it took three years for both of you to understand that your relationship had outgrown the typical bounds of client and employee. yes, intimacy was inevitable given the circumstances, but even a stranger would’ve seen something uncanny about how you and sevika were… connected, even for a bodyguard.
love affairs always look different to those inside them. you thought nothing of how deeply you needed her, how fondness for her had quietly rooted itself in you. sevika risked her body—her life—to keep you from harm, and it felt natural to bond, to grow into one another. time spent apart became more agonizing only relieved by the hours you were together, yet you ignored the weight of it.
your sisters often spoke of it, though only behind closed doors. you rarely engaged in their chatter. you had always been this way: dreamy, untethered, with a mind like mist and the heart of a prey animal. lame, your mother had called you, her voice sharp with disappointment. sickly, she added, as if naming your frailty might cure it. over time, it became easier to withdraw, to wrap yourself in silence, and let the world chatter on without you.
but with sevika, life required less effort. you rediscovered a tenderness for the act of living in her presence. she was patient, grounding. she found you tolerable even at your worst, and for that, you adored her. no one else had made you feel this way—not men, not women.
while you preferred women, you had dabbled with men, more out of curiosity than desire. it felt clinical, an attempt to decode them like puzzles, perhaps to better understand why you and your father clashed. women, on the other hand, unraveled you.
the realization of your love came in two parts. the first arrived in the languid quiet of a holiday evening at your family’s upstate estate.
you had overexerted yourself in a lagree class, and sevika, ever watchful, had drawn you a warm bath. you watched her through the crack of the bathroom door, your gaze catching on the soft swell of her hips, the worn strength in her movements as she stretched after finishing readying the bed for sleeping. you often shared when traveling. she sat on the edge of it, her familiar perch, closest to the door. she always did this.
it was the smallest things about her that undid you: the way her hair slipped loose from its strict ponytail, the gentle sway of the gold chain brushing against her collarbones. you’d bought her that chain during a weekend in stockholm. now, the sight of it filled you with a sudden, vicious envy. you wanted to be that close to her—always.
the need consumed you. your body buzzed with an unnamed energy, teetering on the edge of itself. you wanted to crawl out of your skin and into hers, to dissolve completely against her warmth. you wanted her blood to run through your veins, her marrow to fuse with yours. your desire was feral, deranged, trembling like a dying pathetic thing.
without thinking, your hand slipped between your thighs. the thought of her—the sharpness of her profile, the tender press of her hands on your waist at the farmer’s market earlier—burned in your mind. you focused on the ridge of her nose, her beautiful nose. everything about her pleased you.
your fingertips pressed harder into the rosy pearl of your clit, and with a wounded cry, you came undone, trembling, your gaze locked on her through the crack in the door.
as if summoned by your thoughts, sevika lifted her head and met your eyes. her stern gaze pinned you, and you sank beneath the water with sudden embarrassment, your skin flush with heat.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚
the next morning, your pleasure still lingered via a morning glow on your skin. you woke to find sevika beside you, her strong shoulders rising and falling with the rhythm of her sleep. you lifted a hand and stroked her brow, cooing softly as she murmured from somewhere deep within her sleep.
she, you thought, is every woman i’ve ever wanted.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚
the second realization came during an attempt to kill you.
you were the chosen target—a calculated decision. your public image, carefully nurtured by those who sought to use you, made your death a tragedy worth orchestrating. the explosive had been hidden cleverly in the heart of your favorite restaurant, the one you frequented for its thick slices of fresh bread and macadamia milk.
when it detonated, your world fractured. your vision blurred, your ears rang, and blood trickled warm and sticky down your face. the floor rose to meet you, the lacquered wood pressing cold against your cheek. the world went in and out like the weak signal of a radio. someone was screaming—it might have been your mother, though you doubted she cared enough to wail like that.
through the haze, a hand cupped your jaw, firm but careful, and your head was turned until your eyes locked on sevika’s. her gray gaze steadied you, cutting through the chaos. you raised a hand, your french manicured tips trailing lightly against her cheek. one of them, you noticed, was broken.
“[name]. [name], look at me. don’t take your eyes off me.”
“vika,” you whispered, the name slipping from your lips like a prayer. for the first time, you saw fear flicker across her face.
“it’s me,” she said softly. “you’re going to be fine, but i need to get you up. i need to get you out of here.”
you didn’t want to move. here, cradled in her hands, was where you wanted to stay.
“i can hold you, princess,” she murmured, her voice impossibly tender. “if that’s what you want. but i have to move you first. deep breath, okay? here we go.”
she lifted you as though you weighed nothing, her strength unyielding. you clung to her, your broken nails digging into her skin as she carried you through the wreckage. bodies lay strewn across the floor, and your heart broke when you recognized the familiar face of a favorite server.
“it’s okay,” sevika said, her voice a steady anchor. “look at me. just keep looking at me.”
and you did. your gaze drifted to the soft curve of her throat; your face tilted toward her as though she were the sun.
when she laid you on the stretcher, a terrible fear seized you. you reached for her, desperation clawing at your chest.
“stay with me. bitte. bitte, ich flehe dich an.”
sevika froze. if it had been anyone else, she might have refused and headed back to assess the security breach. but it wasn’t anyone else. it was you.
“i’m right behind you, sweetheart,” she promised, her hand pressing firmly to your stomach. “right behind you. just in that car.”
“danke, vika,” you murmured, your voice breaking. “du bist das, was ich brauche. nur du.”
even as the ambulance doors closed, your eyes never left her. you focused on the faint hum of her engine trailing behind you, the sound steady against the fevered rush of your heart.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚
sevika was unforgiving after that, and you selfishly enjoyed the over-attention.
she stole you away, back to your flat, and hovered. always within reach, always watching, her presence as constant as the air you breathed. you hated it. you loved it.
she insisted on being in the room while you bathed, while you ate, while you tried to pretend your body wasn’t trembling from the aftershocks of the explosion. the weight of her gaze pressed into your skin like a second layer. she dressed your wounds with quiet efficiency, her fingers steady but firm, and even when you flinched, she refused to soften her touch.
“you should’ve told me this one was hurting,” she murmured one evening, crouched at your side with a damp cloth in hand. her voice was scolding, but there was an undercurrent of something wounded beneath it—something that hadn’t healed properly since the restaurant.
“it’s fine,” you said, looking anywhere but at her.
“it’s not fine,” she snapped, gripping your wrist a little too tightly before loosening her hold. “you don’t tell me when you’re in pain. you don’t—” she stopped herself, shaking her head as if to clear it.
her jaw worked, muscles tight, and you stared at the curve of her throat as she leaned over you, wiping dried blood away with the kind of precision that only made your chest ache.
“you’re smothering me,” you said softly, more to yourself than her, but her head snapped up like you’d struck her.
“you almost died,” she bit out, and the words made you flinch harder than her grip.
“but i didn’t,” you countered, hating the way your voice trembled.
you could be such a child. it crippled you, your desire to please her, to be less burdensome. she’d kill you if she knew what you were thinking. thank god it was your secret.
sevika’s lips parted, but no words came. just that unfaltering, infuriating look—one that said she knew better, that she always knew better, and that you knew this to be true. you raised a finger, traced the glistening edges of her teeth. she kept her mouth open; she never bit down.
and then one evening, you decided you’d had enough.
“i’m going out,” you said, pulling a thick coat of fur—vintage—over your shoulders.
sevika, seated in the chair by the window, didn’t look up from the blade she was sharpening. “no, you’re not.”
“yes, i am,” you replied, voice clipped.
her eyes flicked up to meet yours, the air thickening.
“why would i agree to that?” she asked, standing slowly, her full height suddenly overwhelming in the small space. “why would i let you walk out of here after i almost lost you last time?”
you laughed bitterly, shaking your head.
“let me? you’re not my keeper, vika.”
“really?” she said, stepping closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous octave. “should we do another read of my contact? i’m the person who pulled you out of the rubble. i’m the person who’s been keeping you alive, no thanks to your recklessness.”
“recklessness?” you snapped, whirling to face her fully. “if you’ve learned anything these past years, it is that i am rarely reckless. you promised me. you said you wouldn't be another dictator. you know what my life’s been like. i am allowed to have a life outside of this, outside of what has happened to me.”
her nostrils flared, and for a moment, she just stared at you, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
“you think i’m doing this for me?” she asked, her voice rough, uneven. “you think i like this?”
“yes,” you spat, the frustration spilling out of you in an unstoppable wave. “this is the most excitement i’ve given you. you must think i’m so fucking boring all of the time. so, yes, i think you’re enjoying it. it makes you feel important. ”
something in her cracked. she closed the distance between you in two steps, her hand shooting out to grip your chin, tilting your face up to hers.
“i'm enjoying this?” she growled, her breath hot against your skin. “watching you get hurt? wondering if this time i’ll be too late? don’t mistake my care for control.”
her grip softened, her thumb brushing your jaw, and suddenly, the room felt unbearably small. you could see the pulse in her throat, the heat in her gaze as her eyes searched yours.
“sevika,” you said. your self-righteousness had passed, and you were so deeply ashamed. “vika, that was unfair. i’m sorry. forgive me.”
her hand dropped to your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel the solid warmth of her body against yours. her breath was shallow, her jaw tight, but her eyes—god, her eyes. they burned with something that made your knees weak.
“bitte,” you whispered.
“i’m trying,” she said, her voice trembling, “to keep you safe. to keep myself from—”
she cut herself off, her gaze flicking to your lips. and before you could say anything, before you could breathe, her mouth was on yours.
the kiss was searing, all teeth and desperation, her hand tightening on your waist as if she was afraid you might disappear. you gasped against her, your hands finding their way to her shoulders, her neck, her hair. but just as quickly as it began, it ended. she pulled back, her breathing ragged, her eyes dark and stormy.
“don’t push me like that again,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
and then she was gone, the door slamming shut behind her, leaving you alone with the echo of her touch.
you crumpled like a paper doll and began to sob. outside, sevika, having turned back, pressed her forehead against the wall. absent-mindedly, the fingers of her prosthetic twitched and aborted their motions, jerking against the door as if fighting to feel you there.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚
you needed to repay her for your abhorrent behavior.
you tried through what you knew: lavish breakfasts, waking up early to purchase her favorite flowers and sweets. you’d even carefully cleaned and oiled her prosthetic. sevika said nothing, if only not to further provoke your guilt, but you could tell she felt it was unnecessary. she was always too easy on you.
the universe, however, seemed to agree with you, and the opportunity to protect sevika came faster than you ever expected.
it was another attempt, this time at a crowded gala in the heart of the city. you hadn’t wanted to go, but sevika had insisted—you wanted to go out. besides, you need to be seen. send a message. and she had been there, of course, always in the background, a silent shadow at your side.
you saw the glint of the blade before she did.
it was instinct. your body moved before your mind caught up, and suddenly, you were between sevika and the would-be assassin, your arm jerking upward to deflect the strike with the heavy bracelet you wore. the metal screeched against the blade, and a sharp pain radiated up your arm, but you didn’t falter.
with your other hand, you snatched a knife from the cocktail table behind you. it was small but sharp, and you used it without hesitation. you didn’t feel the burn of the blade as it nicked your palm on the thrust; you only felt the sickening resistance of flesh before the assailant crumpled at your feet.
“get down!” sevika’s voice was a thunderclap, her hand gripping your shoulder as she shoved you behind her. she moved with terrifying precision, her body a blur of strength and fury as she assessed the situation in seconds.
the room was instantly bursting with chaos. a flash of silver caught your eye as sevika swung her prosthetic arm, sending one of the other assailants sprawling. blood slicked the floor, and the copper tang of it hung heavy in the air. your ears rang with the cacophony of fists, steel, and slit flesh.
you shouldn’t have done that; you knew this. the headlines would be more than money could hide.
“fuck!” sevika’s voice cut through the din, sharp and furious, as she turned to find you standing there, breathing hard, your hands stained red. “what the hell did you do?”
“i—i had to,” you stammered, your chest heaving. “you didn’t see him—”
she grabbed your arm, dragging you toward the far side of the room where the air was clearer and less stifling. the fight was dwindling; the attackers were now being rounded up by security, but sevika’s fury was just beginning.
“what were you thinking?” she hissed, her voice trembling. “do you have a death wish?”
you ripped your arm from her grasp, your own anger bubbling to the surface.
“i was saving you! or would you rather i let him stab you in the back?”
“i don’t need you to save me!” she snapped, stepping closer, her broad shoulders towering over you.
“maybe i need to,” you shot back, tears pricking at your eyes. “i refuse to just sit here and watch you die for me. i won’t. you can’t ask that of me.”
her expression faltered, the rage in her eyes dimming, replaced by something heavier, something more understanding. she often forgot how young you were.
“princess, it's not—you don’t understand,” she said. “if anything happened to you—”
“you’d what?” you interrupted, your voice wavering as you stared up at her. “fall apart? i wouldn’t be any different, vika. you're far from inconsequential. i could not survive a world without you.”
the silence between you was deafening. her gaze dropped to your trembling hands, still clutching the bloodied knife, and she let out a low, shuddering breath. more security personnel arrived, breaking the stalemate. the room was secured, and sevika took that as her cue to remove you from the premises, dragging you through the back corridors, her hand iron-tight around your wrist.
the moment the door to your shared suite slammed shut, she spun on you. her eyes glistened as she glared at you, her body taut like a bowstring.
“you don’t get it, do you?” she said, stepping closer. “i can’t—” she broke off, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
“you can’t what?” you asked, shifting toward her. “vika, tell me.”
her jaw worked, the muscles in her neck tightening as she tried to hold herself together.
“i feel like i’m so close to losing you,” she said finally, her voice low and broken.
the words hit you like a punch to the chest.
“you won’t,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “i can’t be without you in any way. i won’t allow it.”
her eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved. the space between you was so heavy. all you wanted was to smooth the worried line of her forehead, to share water with her, and wipe her clean.
“you can’t promise that,” she said finally.
you watched as she turned from you and slipped into the bathroom to begin getting ready for bed.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚
she woke up with your head between her thighs.
sevika might’ve been more pleased about it if it wasn’t in the middle of the night. still, it wasn’t the worst way to come to.
the warmth spidered from her thighs to her hips before coiling tightly in her stomach. her eyes fluttered open, disoriented and struggling to focus. she heard you first: the wet suck of your mouth against her swollen, brown folds. you moaned somewhere deep and hidden in your chest, your hands tightening around the thickness of her thighs even though she was not yet bucking.
it took a while for her to place herself, and then it crashed into her all at once. she gasped and tucked a hand into your hair, which you removed so that you could intertwine your fingers, pressing them away from her head.
you unlatched from her and pressed a soft kiss into her stomach.
“stay still,” you commanded. “please.”
she allowed it.
you worked at her over and over, pushing the back the hood of her clit so you could roll it between your fingers like a rosy pearl. sevika let her pleasure crest until she shuddered into an unearthly orgasm, her legs snapping shut around your head just as a roll of thunder sounded through the early morning.
"couldn’t sleep?" she rasped.
you slowly unfastened her legs and raised your head from where you had been lapping at her, your full mouth glistening with her arousal. sevika sat up fully, legs shifting beneath the butter-yellow comforter, and stared down at you.
you looked back at her with wide eyes like she’d caught you sinning. you. you with your puppy eyes and open mouth. you, with your sweetness, with your eagerness when it came to her. you like a doe on the open road.
"no," you told her. "i couldn’t accept the idea that you hated me."
she sighed and cupped your cheek, thumbing across the plush skin.
"when you do or say something that displeases me, that doesn’t mean i hate you."
"if you’re displeased," you said, your voice thick across the last word, "then it feels the same to me."
with a huff of irritation, she yanked you up and into her lap, guiding you into a bruising kiss.
it wasn’t like the last time. this wasn’t desperation or fear—it was need. pure, unrelenting need. her hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against her, and you gasped into her mouth, your fingers tangling in her hair.
she shifted you easily, rolling over so that you fell beneath her. her eyes roamed over you, dark and hungry, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.
“you drive me insane,” she murmured, her voice rough as her hand trailed down your side.
“good,” you whispered, pulling her back to you.
soon, kissing wasn’t enough. you had hungered for her for so long, and she for you.
wetly, your lips broke apart, and she slid back to survey you. the soft, muted light of the room caught on the intricate lace of your undergarments. the set was exquisite; the bra cupped you perfectly. you saw sevika's jaw tighten, her hands flexing at her sides as though restraining herself from reaching for you.
“you look…” her voice faltered, her control waning. “fuck, princess.”
heat spread across your body, and you felt the lace press a little tighter against your skin as your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.
sevika leaned in, her eyes never leaving yours. her hand rose, hesitant at first, before her fingertips brushed the embroidered lace at your shoulder. she traced the pattern down your arm, her touch light but burning, before resting her palm at your waist.
“you wore this for me?” she murmured, her voice low and dark, as her thumb swept over the sheer fabric, catching on a pebbled nipple.
“who else?” you answered, a tremor in your voice as her hand slipped to the small of your back, pulling you up into a soft arch.
she hummed in satisfaction and gently pulled your bra down so that it dipped beneath your tits as they spilled further into view. steadying you with a hand on your stomach, sevika leaned down and coaxed a hard bud into her mouth.
the wet heat of her mouth was akin to a strike of lightning. you moaned as she increased the pressure of her teeth, suckling eagerly at your chest as you pushed desperately into her touch. by instinct, your legs rose to cross behind her hips, forcing her to settle on top of you.
she let go of your nipple with a wet pop and switched to the other, beginning to work her way down your body with a pleased exhale. your panties didn’t even put up a worthy fight. they just slid right down, the fabric bunching around your thighs. the scrap of fabric had barely covered your cunt anyway, your thatch of hair poking through as if to tease her.
she watched your lips gleam and glisten, your pussy drooling with arousal and as deliciously plump as the rest of you. sevika pressed her mouth against it, practically a dog in heat, and relished the way you shivered up against her.
“vika,” you moaned and turned your face to the side in the way you did when you were overcome with embarrassment.
“baby,” she murmured, shifting so that she could force you to look at her. “baby, is this all for me?”
you whined, and sevika smirked, dipping her head down to lick a flat stripe up your dripping cunt.
“vika, fuck,” you cried, and she hummed, hooking a hand around one of your legs to pull it up so that you were further exposed. your clit was swollen and calling out for her.
pulling back, she used her free hand to part your lips so that she could watch the way you clenched around nothing. slick ran steadily down to the crack of your ass, a syrupy stream of desire. carefully, she stroked a metallic finger through your heat, holding you down as she began to rub your clit in tight circles.
“look at that pussy,” she murmured. “can’t believe it’s all mine, princess. thank you. thank you, baby.”
sevika couldn’t help herself and lifted her hand, bringing it down to slap against your cunt. you squealed, and she pressed a kiss to your thigh, delighting in your loss of composure. she considered you beneath her, your body slick and shining with sweat as you writhed. she rained two more strikes across your pussy in quick succession, dropping her head down and sliding her fingers in to let your buck into her open mouth and lolling tongue.
“taste so fucking good, princess,” she purred into you. “that’s it. ride my face, sweet girl. take what you want from me. take what you need.”
you gripped the bed, angling her hips so that you could drag her deeper into the cavern of your cunt. mewling, you trapped her between the link of your legs as you snapped upward and arched, cumming with a high sob.
“oh my god, vika.”
“just me,” she teased.
sevika waited for a couple of seconds before pushing up and rearranging you, sliding your back against her chest. carefully, she pushed your legs back apart and tucked three fingers up into your cunt, building a rhythm until she was thrusting hard enough that the overstimulation made you scream. you curled over yourself, your nails raking down her muscled thighs.
she milked you, patient and unrelenting, until you began to bounce on your own. you rode her hand. hard. slowly, your gummy walls tightened around her, whimpering through the flashes of pain and pleasure before you came again with a silent wail. sevika held you as you shook apart, whispering a stream of steady praises into your ear.
“good girl,” she cooed. “look at how good you are, princess. you needed this, huh? you’ve been begging for it, so desperate to cream all over me. such a good fucking girl.”
you slumped down, whimpering weakly as she pulled away from you. you felt her get up, slipping off the bed and walking somewhere into the darkness of the room. soon, she returned but not alone. you began to come back to yourself, and in doing so, you were able to focus on what she held in your hands.
“vika, that won’t fit.”
in her hand was a navy harness and matching dildo, girthy and ribbed. you tilted your head as she closed in, your hands finding her waist as if by instinct.
“sevika,” you whispered, your voice breaking as her lips trailed down your jaw, her teeth grazing your throat.
“quiet, baby,” she muttered against your skin, and you sighed softly, the sound catching in your throat as her hands slid lower, gripping your hips with a possessiveness that made you shiver. "you know you can take it."
you let out a pathetic, wet cry as she prodded at your puffy cunt, and her face softened. she pulled you closer, peppering your face with soft kisses. there was only her—her heat, her weight, her breath against your skin.
again she watched you, gripping you firmly from beneath your thighs as she nestled the tip of the dildo at the entrance of your pussy.
“princess,” she called to you, and you blinked blearily, clutching at her. “consider this forgiveness.”
it was all you ever wanted.
Tumblr media
© hcneymooners.
translations.   bitte — please. bitte, ich flehe dich an — please i beg of you. danke — thank you. du bist das, was ich brauche. nur du. — you are what i need. only you.
881 notes · View notes
apartmentsmoke · 4 months ago
Text
Evan tells Tommy that he's babysitting Jee, but he still really wants to spend time with Tommy, if Tommy doesn't mind - and Tommy accepts. Jee's part of Evan's family, and Howie's family, and how bad can hanging out with a three-year-old - almost four, he is told by her in the car - be anyway? What he's expecting is a night on the couch watching Frozen. (Kids still like that, right?) Maybe tea parties. What he does not expect is that Evan already has an outing planned to Chuck-E-Cheese. Surprise - Chuck-E-Cheese still exists. He would've sworn they went bankrupt back in 2020.
He's not sure what Jee is going to think of him, but she remembers him from the hospital as "Uncle Buck's dirty friend" and accepts his presence easily enough. She keeps her hand in Evan's as they walk into Chuck-E-Cheese. It's one of the cutest things Tommy's ever seen. There's a thousand kids around, laughing and crying and shouting. He only has to focus on one, he tells himself, and lets Jee lead him and Evan through the maze of games. She stops at a claw machine and demands that her Uncle Buck win her a rabbit toy. After ten minutes, fifteen dollars, and Tommy tagging in, they finally succeed. The next two hours are filled with more exploitative games, the greasiest fucking pizza Tommy's ever had, and Jee spending five minutes deliberating between two similarly-colored bouncy balls to exchange for her tickets. Throughout it all, Evan's patience never wavers, even when they lose Jee for five minutes in the crowd and have to search for her. She's hiding under the air hockey table.
Tommy's doing his best to keep up. He's led all over the place, recruited to help with games, and tries to make sense of Jee's non-sequiturs. While they're standing in line for the bouncy ball, Evan nudges him. There's a big smile on his face. "I know this isn't an ideal date. Thanks for being here." "Of course," Tommy says, and he nudges Evan back. "I like getting to know your family, Evan." It's not what he expected, but seeing first-hand how full of love Evan's family is, how much love he has for them - he wouldn't trade it. Not even for the bluest bouncy ball. Evan's smile grows even wider. They're almost out the door when Jee spots a photo booth and hones in. "I wanna photo," she says, tugging at Evan's hand, and Tommy dutifully follows along. He'll - wait out here, he guesses, while Evan and Jee take their photo. They wouldn't all fit, anyway. It's a little awkward, hanging around the photo booth, but it's fine. They disappear behind the curtain for a moment and Tommy can hear Jee's high, insistent voice and Evan chuckling and responding, though he can't make out the words. Jee and Evan poke their heads out a second later. "You too!" Jee says, and Evan echoes her with a grin. "Yeah, you too. Get in here." They quickly learn there is no way the photo booth is going to fit them all. Tommy fits maybe a third of his body in. Evan frowns, then lights up again. "Hey, Jee, why don't we get out for a second? Then Tommy can sit down and I can sit on his lap and you can sit on my lap. Okay?" "Okay," she says, so Tommy squeezes in, and a second later Evan plops all two hundred pounds of himself and thirty pounds of Jee onto his lap.
"Evan," he hisses, and Evan grins at him, unrepentant. "Smile for the camera, Tommy," he says, and Tommy finds that his smile comes easily, especially when Evan turns to kiss his cheek on the last photo. After they scrabble out of the photo booth, Evan looks down at the strip of photos and their wide, grinning faces. "Oh, yeah. That's going on the fridge for sure." "For sure," Jee repeats for emphasis, and looks up at Tommy expectantly. "For sure," he says, and he's met with twin smiles.
[this fic has matching art by @aringofsalt! it's adorable and you should definitely go take a look]
815 notes · View notes
navstuffs · 8 months ago
Text
About Tradition and Responsibility
Pairing: Gojo Satoru x WifeF!Reader
Summary: You, a non-Jujutsu sorcerer, married the Gojo Satoru. After having your first child, the higher-ups demand to meet you and your first born son.
Warning tags: protective!Satoru, tiny angst if you squint, non-jujutsu sorcerer reader, no y/n usage
Author's Notes: hiii, i wrote this based on my own post, having one of my favorite tropes (protectiveness)! this might have a second part i haven't wrote yet, we shall see. enjoy your reading!
Tumblr media
You keep your head down, trying to focus on the peaceful expression of the baby in your arms, your first newborn son, Kotaro. He is perfect, from his white curls to his tiny toes. You can't help but give him a small smile, your hands gripping his little body, promising silently to always protect him from any harm in the world. You feel so much love for your son that it is difficult to understand anyone who could find his existence wrong due to one ridiculous minuscule detail: when Kotaro opens his eyes, they are your eye color. Not your husband's vivid, ethereal blue eyes. 
Because of that, Kotaro Gojo is considered a waste of time—almost a mistake, but no one would dare say that in front of you or his father.
The door in front of you opens, and an older lady announces that the elders are ready to see you. You get up from the bench, bringing Kotaro closer to your chest. 
It is finally time to face your curses.
-x-
When Gojo Satoru decided to marry a non-jujutsu user, the higher-ups thought it was a joke. A good one especially coming from Gojo, who was known to do anything to piss off the hierarchy of the Jujutsu world, as if Satoru's whole existence wasn't on top of all that, as if any of those ancient and outdated men had anything to complain about the woman he chose as his wife.
However, when Gojo decided to proceed with this marriage, most were still shocked. They never thought Gojo would marry anyone, so soon, interest spiked in the mysterious woman he decided to marry. 
You wish you could tell your first meeting with the strongest sorcerer had been something glorious, but no. It was in your small candy shop, the one passed down to you by your parents from their parents. On a rainy day, that strange tall man with white bandages and white hair entered, sniffing the air like a hound dog. Gojo insisted on buying all the sweets you had on display, and instead of leaving, heard you explain how you made each of them, fascinated. 
After that day, Satoru started appearing daily, buying all the sweets on display by the end of the day. Gojo always mentioned he first fell in love with your cooking, but you didn't know when exactly you fell in love with him. Maybe it was the comfort of having someone understand those sudden chills around your body as if something had been watching you until Satoru entered the shop. He never found that weird at all. 
At first, Gojo kept you away as best as he could. You could sense curses with a chill in your body but couldn't see them (a blessing, for what Gojo described sometimes). And since you met your now-future-husband, as powerful as you could remotely grasp he was, Gojo was also the silliest and most annoying man you ever met. If you got upset with something he did for any reason, he would not leave you alone until you reassured him you weren't mad anymore. On top of that, Satoru was easily manipulated with sweets. Again, a big grown baby.
He never shared the consequences of what it meant to marry him. The letters started coming two months after the marriage, with your name on them, presenting themselves as chairpeople of the Jujutsu Sorcerers, and they were eager to meet you whenever you could. Gojo always told you to ignore those letters, throw them in the trash, and burn them if you wanted. 
Then Kotaro was born. It had been a normal pregnancy, with the usual sickness in the morning and mood swings, but at least your baby was born healthy. You couldn't be happier, and Gojo couldn't be happier. The baby not having the same blue eyes didn't concern your husband, reassuring you that everything was fine.
Until it wasn't: the letter that made you come into this meeting with the elders without your husband's knowledge had a clear underlying threat in those polite words: You were to bring Kotaro for them to look at, or they would be forced to bring you in. Gojo had shielded you from this for far too long.
As soon as you enter the oval room, you notice the covers: you can't see any faces, but you are sure all stares are on you and your baby. Kotaro rubs his face against your chest, and you bring him closer, shielding him from their judgmental glances.
"Come forward." A masculine voice demands.
You walk in the middle of the room and stop. No one speaks.
"You wanted to see me?" You ask, surprised your voice isn't trembling. You wonder if they can hear your heart exploding in your chest. 
"Yes. We never had the chance to meet with the wife of Gojo Satoru; he has kept you hidden for a long time."
"I am sure he had his reasons." 
"Not that it matters who Gojo Satoru decided to marry, but his decisions impact the Jujutsu World, wanting or not." An older voice speaks, clearly angry with your disobedience. 
"And who would stop him from making those decisions?" You question, trying to sound courteous but instead sounding resentful. Satoru has told you about these higher-ups: focused on their old ways, not allowing anything that disturbs their way. Only their way is correct. Tradition. Anything that breaks from the fine formal line should be eliminated. "No one can stop Gojo Satoru from doing what he wants. As his wife, I should be the first one to know."
Silence. You breathe deeply, part of you still fearful of what is about to come. They have yet to speak about Kotaro, so you dread the inevitable moment. Now, something deep inside of you screams you should have told Satoru. What if you walked straight into a trap?
"Your child." A third voice speaks, and the whole atmosphere of the room seems to change when he mentions your son. You grip Kotaro's small body again, ready for what will come. "He does not possess the same eyes as his father, as we can see."
"So? It is not like every single member of the clan was born with six eyes." You ask defiantly.
"Of course not," The man snickers. "But this is Gojo Satoru's son. Haven't you thought about the consequences of having a child with a man like that?"
"Satoru keeps us safe! And if he isn't here, I keep my child safe. Never underestimate the love a mother has for her child."
"There is no doubt in a mother's love for her child. There is also no doubt that some might carry a heavy hatred for Gojo Satoru. If, for some reason, you were caught vulnerable…"
"What? What are you talking about?" Your voice shakes a little, but you keep yourself steady. For Kotaro.
"Many curses and even sorcerers have hidden and disappeared because of Gojo. Many fear him. When your husband was born, he altered the balance of our world. If there is an even remote possibility Gojo can't defend himself or, even worse, if you get pregnant again and this baby comes with six eyes…we can't even imagine how bad it would be the repercussions." The tone of false concern disgusts you. Sensing your uneasiness, Kotaro starts whining, and you start rocking him. 
You are not stupid. Those men didn't care about you or your baby's safety. They wanted six eyes that they could control, nothing else, nothing more. You haven't given any proof that you are worthy of being married to Satoru.
You don't get to answer because the door behind you opens, and all eyes are directed to the man behind you. You don't even have to turn around, your sixth sense telling you: Satoru. And he is pissed. He takes a moment to analyze the room in front of him, seeing you in the middle with your son in his arms, crying. His son crying. Gojo walks in, no blindfold on, without asking for permission (not that anyone was waiting for one), and ignores everyone as he stops right before you.
His blue eyes scan you and Kotaro from the top of your head to the feet, concerned. 
"Are you okay? Is Kotaro okay?" Satoru asks in a gentle tone, ignoring anyone around. You nod, starting to form an apology, but he shakes his head, calming you. "There's nothing to apologize for. You did well. You always do well. Stand beside me, okay?"  
You nod as Satoru forms a shield between you and the higher-ups. Surprisingly, Kotaro has stopped whining, feeling his dad is close by. No one speaks, and everyone seems to be holding down their breaths.
"So," Satoru's tone is calm, "who cares to explain how my wife and son ended up here?"
No answer comes, and you can sense the fear over the room, which differs from your husband's posture. Those who don't know him might believe in Satoru's calm posture, but you and probably the rest of the elders knew this was only a façade. In Satoru's veins, there is only anger. The only reason any of those higher-ups are still alive is because of your and Kotaro's presence. Not because Satoru would hurt you or his son if he had to kill them, but because he didn't want to shock you or accidentally make you fear him. You had never seen him kill before.
You don't know yet what lengths he would go to protect you and his child.
"We were just worried about her well-being, that's all." Some brave higher-up answers and Gojo snickers.
"Oh? More worried than her husband then?"
"You know, we had to meet her eventually. You kept her away from our world, your world, for far too long."
"And she was fine until you brought her into this. My wife and my son are none of your concerns."
"Not if she births a child with six eyes. Then it is our concern." Your body tenses behind Gojo, immediately causing him to react back, his murderous energy filling the room. If you felt it, those elders felt it as well, silencing them.
Kotaro starts crying again, sensing the threatening energy in the room. You had never felt such a destructive sensation coming from your husband before, but you managed to grab Satoru's arm.
"'Toru? Kotaro is scared." And you are scared.
The energy instantly leaves, and Satoru turns around, worried. You tremble with fear, and Kotaro bawls, tears dropping from his eyes. He instantly places his black blindfold on his eyes before taking Kotaro from your arms and gently rocking him. 
"Can we leave, please?" You ask, and Satoru nods, grabbing your hand with his free one. Before turning around to leave, he announces in a frightening tone to the entire room, "If I ever hear any of you trying to make any sort of contact with my wife or son, I won't be so merciful."
With that, Gojo Satoru pulls you away from that horrible place you promised to never see again.
-x-
Satoru dismisses the driver who drove you there. Instead, he takes you to his car, finding Kiyotaka Ijichi with a nervous smile when he sees you. You manage to smile back, and Ijichi seems relieved that you and Kotaro are okay. The ride home is silent, and Satoru never lets go of your hand. Kotaro is in the other one, sleeping safely in his arms. You can't bear to look at your husband, too afraid of what you are about to see: disappointment? Anger? He would be right to feel like that. You endangered not only yourself but Kotaro in this whole situation.
After Ijichi leaves you at home, you gently take a sleepy Kotaro away from your husband's arms. Satoru had this enchantment with your son, making him feel calm and safe. Like mother like son, you guess. You place Kotaro gently on his mat, watching as he gets comfortable. How careless of you to put your son in such a dangerous situation.
"Do you want to talk about this?" Satoru whispers, and you shake your head.
"I am sorry." To Kotaro. To Satoru. To yourself. "I thought I could—"
Satoru slowly closes the proximity between you two. He waits, watching the tears flowing down your eyes, sitting at your side, and when you hide your face on his shoulders, his arms are around you, bringing you to his lap.
"You had no idea."
"I endangered our son! Do you know how serious that is?"
"You would never let them do anything to him."
"How would I even stop them, Satoru?"
"I don't know, but I know you. You would find a way." Satoru simply shrugs, which sounds to him like the most obvious answer, and you don't know if you laugh or cry or his hopes on you. "Which would involve bringing me there."
"Yes, bring my most dangerous weapon: Satoru Gojo." You two chuckle low so you don't wake up Kotaro.
"Nothing will ever happen to you or Kotaro. I won't allow it. Be sure of it."
"They said you have enemies…"
"Who wouldn't dare to lay a finger on one stray of Kotaro's hair. Or yours. Come on, you don't have some faith in me?"
Remembering the amount of energy you felt earlier, you feel a chill pass your body. "I do, 'Toru. I was crazy enough to marry you."
"And would you lose the chance to be the luckiest woman alive?"
"With the most pretentious husband ever." You roll your eyes, feeling happy inside. The earlier one may have scared you. But you know this Satoru, back to his usual pretentious self. 
You get more comfortable in Satoru's lap, your eyes never entirely leaving Kotaro. He looks so peaceful with his eyes closed like that; he is Satoru 100%, except for his eyes. What blame did he have? You vowed to protect and love him as soon as he came out of you, no matter what came after him. And by the looks on Satoru's face, he also does.
Slowly, you can feel your eyes getting heavy as you become more comfortable in Satoru's arms—like a mother, like son. 
"Rest, my love. I will take care of it all. I will never leave you, I promise."
1K notes · View notes
ask-the-pioneer · 7 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
"I sure do! Watch this..."
Tumblr media
"I can make explosive spears and throwables, just like my mom did. I can also propel myself in the air by whipping my tail very fast, which sets off the same flammable compound in my tail surface for an explosive boost. Very handy for movement, but also very loud… not great if you're trying to be stealthy. And yeah, my sibling could do that too, but he was always more interested in doing other things. An energetic but very scatterbrained kid that he was."
[She takes aim and throws the spear somewhere far away. It ignites and explodes with a loud dull bang that shakes the ground slightly]
"I can't do that too often, though. Maybe a handful of times in quick succession before my muscles tense up and burn as if scorched by flames. One time it got so bad that I lost consciousness and couldn't move for a couple of minutes after waking up. That was scary, and hurt like hell... since then I've been more careful. That said, I wonder if there are more slugcats with similar abilities to mine out there? I have not met that many scugs in my life to begin with, if I'm honest..."
Tumblr media
"Of course I remember my family, how could I not! My sibling's name is… hmmm, right, let me explain this first. Slugcats have very good sense of smell. Usually, we know one another by our unique scents. They are incredibly complex, but can be written down as series of letters, if you map those symbols to the corresponding scent proteins and other chemical compounds. For example, my scent name would be:"
Tumblr media
"Addmitely, this notation method is very over-engineered – a slugcat just knows you are you if they smell you. From what I learned, scugs don't really use a coherent writing system.. of any kind. I think the colonies may use pictograms? I uh, I've never been a part of a colony, so I'm missing a lot of info here. Still, what I wrote on the wall – I have used an Ancient script, which I roughly mapped to key compounds that make a scent. As you can see, it's incredibly long, it can also change over time, parts of it can be masked with non-organic aromas to hide your identity, so on and so forth. To simplify even further, these long strings of letters can be shortened to just the last three or two characters, and this is what scugs may choose to use to refer to one another. Here, my scent name is MGV."
"Then, there are names that resemble the form that the Ancients would use. It's considered more refined, and more common in big colonies where people adopt their preferable roles. Those names are viewed as a kind of «gift», because you receive it from your community. It's a symbol of how they see you, what you mean to them. Of course, my closest family was never a part of a colony… but my mom would still give me and my sibling those special names. I was named «Blue», which is the color of the sky above when it's not raining, and the color of clear water. My brother's name is «Bryn» after a very fragrant medicinal plant that relaxes your muscles when consumed. I always found it funny, as my brother was often the one getting in trouble and giving our mom heartaches."
[She pauses for a moment, thinking intensively]
"Hmm, I never thought of asking my mother about her name. I wonder if she had one? To me and it was always just «mom»…"
Tumblr media
"My other parent? I never knew him. Must have left just before or right after my mom had me, because there is literally nothing I remember of him… or them… whoever they were."
[She takes some pearls out from her bag, and inspects them one by one just to keep her hands busy]
"Mom would never talk about him, as if he never existed. And I never questioned her, I was too young to understand and simply accepted everything at face value. It was just the way things were. Would I want to meet my other parent? Maybe, but I doubt it'd make a difference. What would I even say to them? «Thanks for abandoning mom and leaving her to fend for herself»? "
Tumblr media
"I don't know. Maybe I'm too harsh. Maybe he was a hero who sacrificed themself to save my mother. That could explain why he was never seen or heard of again. But… I have no way of knowing for sure. It's the life I won't be getting back anyway."
// In the second drawing, I've used logographs from @ikayblythe's Standard Hegemonic Dialect
448 notes · View notes
bbybluemochi · 1 year ago
Note
hey :) really like the way colors work together on your movie poster art- you got any tips for a beginner artist on how to find/pick colors for a piece so that they would look sick together?
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Here's a small step by step breakdown of my drawing process for that specific drawing!
As for picking colors- my knowledge on color theory is pretty much non existent so this answer will probably be a bit disappointing sorry!! but anyways,,, I started working on this drawing with a clear vision in my head (the woods at night + a warm source of light closer to the viewer) so I went on pinterest and looked up some references! I always start by choosing the background color, and then I start picking the rest of the colors in relation to that, in order to avoid colors that are too bright/saturated, etc for the scene. And I always try not to go overboad with overly complicated color palettes and try to stick to 3-4 colors max (that's a trick to make your drawings look very cohesive with minimal effort!!). Simpler color palettes are also easier to work with and can help make your color choices look very intentional (if that makes sense,,,).
For example; the background is literally made of 2 colors: red and dark/lighter blue depending on how far the trees are.
1K notes · View notes
imagining-in-the-margins · 8 months ago
Text
🌈CM Pride Challenge🏳️‍⚧️
The following are prompts including LGBTQA+ PRIDE! Reader, Original Character, Character/Character ships, Gen/Platonic fics are allowed!Please check out the Rules below the Keep Reading.
This event is over (Masterlist of Fics here), but you are welcome to use any of these prompts. If you would like to be added to the existing Masterlist of entries, please check out the Rules below!
Tumblr media
General Prompts 🏳️‍🌈
Coming out is so much harder the second time
Describe Character’s first kiss with the same gender
Describe Character(s) spending a day at a Pride parade
The team realizes that A&B were more than roommates
Penelope goes a little overboard on rainbow decorations at Characters’ wedding
Character's marriage mutually comes to an end when they come out... now what?
Character comes out at the same time they announce their new relationship to the team
Character A fears it’s too late for them to live authentically, and B assures them that’s not true
Character A gifts B something colored like their pride flag because “the colors reminded me of you”
Child realizes that not every kid has two moms/two dads and they have a lot of questions about it
Queer characters have a hard time deciding what their child should call them and come up with fun ideas
Character A goes to a LGBT bar with B as a wingperson (or maybe they want them, themselves?)
Anything else you can think of!
More prompts (transgender, assorted, dialogue) below!
Transgender Prompts 🏳️‍⚧️
Character A helps B get their first tailored dress/suit
Character A helps B shave and/or put on makeup
The couple is looking for gender neutral nicknames
Character A buys B specialty gender affirming lingerie
Character is casually referred to with an appropriately gendered nickname for the first time
Characters are renewing their vows and redoing their wedding photos following a coming out
Character A walks in on B wearing a new gender-affirming outfit and surprises them with an enthusiastic compliment
The team throws Character an impromptu first birthday party following their coming out (how did they get a banner so fast?!)
Character A buys B a gender affirming but stereotypical gift (sports jersey, neon pink purse, etc.) that they would otherwise hate (but find absolutely hilarious)
Specific Prompts 💝
[Bisexual] Character gets irritated when people reduce their sexuality to their current partner
[Bisexual] Character A is in a M/F relationship with B and worries that their queer identity will become invisible dating them
[Asexual] Characters explore different forms of non-sexual intimacy
[Asexual] Characters are both asexual but too nervous to tell one another. They awkwardly attempt to have sex but end up laughing at how ridiculous they feel.
Dialogue Prompts 💐
“Are they… flirting?” “Big time.”
“I got to fall in love with you twice.”
“To be seen is to be loved." "I see you.”
“Be gay, do crimes.” “Aren’t you a cop?”
“There is no heterosexual explanation for that.”
“Life is very different once you find your people.”
“Cardinals and hydrangeas can change. Why not you?”
“You're still the person I love. Nothing will change that.”
“We both wear pants. Makes it easier to kick your ass.”
“It’s never felt like this before. I've never felt like this before.”
“I guess it makes sense now why it never worked out with my exes.”
Am I allowed to look at her like that? Could it be wrong when she's just so nice to look at? ("She" by Dodie)
“You can kiss a hundred boys in bars, shoot another shot, try to stop the feeling ... Well, good luck, babe. You'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling.” ("Good Luck, Babe!" by Chappell Roan)
Rules ❤️🧡💚💙💜🖤🤎
The fic can be a Reader insert, an Original Character, a character/character ship, a platonic ship, or a Gen fic. It can feature any Criminal Minds character. AUs and crossovers are more than welcome.
Tag me in the fic, or send the link to me in a Direct Message. It can be already written, or you can write it for the challenge - I’m collecting both! You can also tag it “#mentioningmargins” which is a tag I track.
The fic can be any genre, but ONLY send me smut if your bio states you are 18+. I DO NOT WANT smut written by minors. Ever. At all. I will check.Platonic ships and pure, fluffy fics are 100% allowed.
Please include Content Warnings and a one-sentence Summary of the fic in your post.
Have fun!
Tumblr media
🌈Happy writing! 🏳️‍⚧️
310 notes · View notes
imababblekat · 2 years ago
Text
Vicarious Happiness
Tumblr media
Anon Request, “Hi!! I love your work so much and I hope your doing wellI have a request if thats cool, it's fluffy raphael x reader(she/her) and it's like raph being all soft for once and letting his gard down and laughing and his brothers seeing this and they get all sappy”
~xXx~
It was the sounds of loud, hardy laughter that drew Leo from his once peaceful meditation. He knew that laugh and felt a familiar agitation itch at his mind, wondering what prank Raphael had pulled on Mikey this time. However, when he stepped out into the main living portion of the lair, he was quickly surprised to find the red banned turtle to not be cackling at his youngest brothers peril, but instead joyfully laughing along with you. While his laughter was louder and much deeper, no one could miss the cherry colored blush of your face as you laughed equally along. The leader of the four brothers made his way over to the kitchen, where he had spotted his two other siblings apparently watching the wholesome scene between Raph and the brothers close friend. “Donnie, you didn’t drop laughing gas again did you?”, Leo questioned with a raised brow and covering his snout. Hazel eyes glared behind self made classes. “I’ll have you know that was Casey’s fault! Also, no, I didn’t. Why do you ask?” Rolling his own eyes, Leo pointed a thumb over to where you and Raph sat close on the couch. “I ask because I’ve never seen Raph like that unless he did something. What’s up with him?” “Can’t you tell?”, Mikey jumped in with a swoon, batting non-existent lashes at Leo, “What’s up with Raph is (y,n)!” Leo scoffed, shoving Mikey out of his personal space as the other wiggled his brows. “Wait, are you guys serious? I know the two are close, but Raph like that? No way!” The two youngest brothers only smirked at each other, Donnie then stepping over to throw an arm around Leo. “Au contraire, my dear brother. Just take a look for yourself.” Leo did, and as he took a moment to really examine the scene before him, it wasn’t long till he caught on just like Mikey and Donnie had. It was the way Raphael looked at you, as you babbled on about something random but dear to yourself. His eyes held a fondness so rarely seen for someone such as him, a softness to his gaze rather than typical annoyance. It was as though he was deaf to your words, instead memorized and taking to memory the way you shined and glowed as you spoke so excitedly. However, Leo was also sure that for you, Raph was also making an effort to remember each and every single one of the words your spoke. Your voice and tone sounding like a melody to the terrapin no doubt. His body language was also a dead give away. Rather than taut or imposingly flexed, Raph sat comfortably with an air of, dare Leo even think it, vulnerability. There was not a sense of guardedness, no such thing as what he gave even around those he considered friends. With an arm slung over the couch and just an inch from being wrapped over your shoulders, an amorous smile and wholesome gaze still on your fast talking self, it was as though in that moment you were Raphael’s entire world. A cheeky grin found its way to Leo’s face. While he was already thinking of ways to tease the broad ninja turtle later, he at the same time couldn’t help but feel a sense of joyfulness for the other. The honorary leader had always been of a realistic mindset, had always been one hundred percent certain that they would never get to experience the pleasures of normal people. While a few years younger version of him would have been skeptical and jaded of this situation, the current more mature him felt nothing but elation. He’d always expected out of any of them for Mikey to somehow end up with a human partner if anything, but seeing Raphael of all people, soft and full of passion, it truly made him happy for the brother he’d so often fight with. Glancing over to Donnie and Mikey, the fondness they each shared while also watching the deepening bond shared between you and Raphael, he had a feeling they felt the same.
~xXx~
1K notes · View notes
oepionie · 2 years ago
Text
—"GOTTA ESCAPE THE VOID." overblot mc!
SYNOPSIS: The Ramshackle prefect has a reputation for frequently encountering fatal magical mishaps. And when a magical accident involving Crowley almost kills them, Crewel resolves to take matters into his own hands. But it appears that his impulsive decisions cause the prefect to reach their limit and go off the rails.
⊹ [ cw ] — heavy warnings, please read before you proceed. arguments with father, self-depricating thoughts, mentions of blood, protective parent, thoughts of offing self (only once), overblot mc!, miscommunication w friends, crying, physical fights ◞
⊹ [ tags ] — angst! gender neutral reader, crewel really embodies the 'cruel' in 'cruella', ace gets mad at you :(, deuce tries to comfort you through it all, crowley feels guilt (wow), crewel is vry vry angry and punches crowley, crewel has a mother gothel moment<3◞
⊹ [ w.c ] — 2.5k+◞ | 🦇masterlist◞
Tumblr media
YOUR VISION WAS NOTHING, but a myriad of colorful blurs and shapes. Muffled voices spoke to you, but everything was practically just incomprehensible, panicked babbling. The heavy pressure of metal was pressed up against your windpipe, restraining your breath as it wound tighter and tighter. Though, a few seconds later, it vanished as if it had never existed, bursting into bright magical sparks.
The gush and pool of blood surrounds your dirtied, tangled mess of hair, a dark scarlet seeping into the knotted strands. Kneeling before your body, Crowley felt his heart skid to a stop. The sight of your fatigued form writhing around the ground tore at his chest, claws of guilt digging in deep and dragging across thick tissue.
"Prefect…Can you hear me?" The crow murmurs, clawed hands pressing against the side of your pounding head as he guides it to rest atop his lap. Vibrant blooms of red stain the dark fabric of his pants, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
"Dad…it hurts s'much." You slur in hushed tones, your eyes wringing shut from the pain. That was enough for Crowley to put his arms around you.
He shielded your body with his torso, hands clawing at your back as he wracks his mind of what to do next. Hastily turning round, he shifts his gaze to the surrounding students, all of them looking equally mortified.
"What are you standing around there for?! Call the nurse!"
"Y-Yes, sir!"
Drip. Drip
Tumblr media
The pungent smell of alcohol and medication fill your senses as you groggily blink awake.
The familiar creaky wood of Ramshackle's ceiling greets you as you pull yourself from dreamland. Looking over both sides of your bed, you smile once you see both Deuce and Ace seated on a nearby couch. Both of them were quick to jump up and approach you, fussing over your bedridden form.
"Thank Sevens." Deuce murmurs, tenderly combing your damp hair back. You roll your head to the side to face him, but wince at the sudden throb of pain in your spine. Ace darts over and hushes you, gently repositioning your head to face front once more, making sure your neck was supported by a pillow. "Hey…It'd be great if you don't move so much…"
“Right. Makes sense. 'Nways…how bad was my injury?” You mutter, your recollections of the past event still foggy. All you could remember was that Crowley had fired a spell, and you somehow got into the crossfire.
“Fucking horrible.” Ace scoffs, looking at you sternly.
"Yeah, take it easy for a bit. The injury was…pretty serious. It was a miracle that the spell missed your head by a thread…" Deuce murmurs as he presses a gentle hand on your bandaged forehead.
Strands of blueberry hair fall loosely at the sides of his face as he stares down at you with worry. "You were out for three days."
"Ah…well—you know, me and my dumb non-magical ass. Always getting into trouble," you giggle, a cheery grin stretching over your cracked lips. Though it rapidly drops when you realize your two friends aren't laughing with you.
Ace shifts his gaze to the floor, hands clasped into a fist. "You're not dumb, prefect…"
"Well—I kinda am," You snort, tugging the blanket closer to your chilly form. "I really have to stop being around the old man's magic shows."
Unconvinced, Ace only shakes his head and scoffs at your jokes. The ginger reclines back into his chair, hands vigorously tugging and pulling at his hair. "You aren't. The real issue here is that deadbeat crow. I mean...hasn't he learnt anythin' from last time? What kind of idiot treats his child—"
"It wasn't his fault, Ace." Pushing yourself off the bed, you immediately interrupt him, voice stern as you rush to defend Crowley. "He didn't mean it. I got in the path of his magic. And—I'm pretty sure he's already beating himself up over this."
Sinking back into the bed, you clasp both your hands together. "It wasn't his fault. Sure, he's reckless and all but…but he's still my dad."
Silence washes over your room.
Ace was visibly frustrated, the blunt tips of his nails dug deep into his skin, nearly piercing past skin. With a final scoff, he stands from his chair and quietly excuses himself from the room.
The door slams shut with a blaring bang as both you and Deuce were left alone.
Sighing, the freshman takes your trembling hand in his, clasping it tight as his body temperature warms the cool skin. He draws your right arm up to press your palm against his cheek, eyes looking deep into yours.
"Professor Crewel is pissed," Deuce whispers as you trace gentle circles on his skin. A pair of shaky cyan eyes meets your concerned ones. "He was planning to—"
Deuce's mouth parted open and close and yet he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. You cast a questioning glance his way, but Deuce shakes his head, disregarding your questions.
"…nothing."
Surprise washes over you as you stare down at Deuce's hunched over form. It…wasn't like your friends to be so dismissive.
You, Ace, and Deuce had always been good friends. Sure you had your differences but you always communicated openly with one another. Nobody has ever been this...secretive.
Just…what was happening?
Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
Tumblr media
The sickening crack of a bone echoes through the faculty room as the rough knuckle of Crewel's fist connects with Crowley's face. The headmaster reels, mask flying off as his hands fly to his bloodied nose.
Everyone in the vicinity quieted as the only noise heard was the potionology professor's labored breathing.
Then, without hesitation, Crewel surges forward. Loud commotion and screaming could be heard in the meeting room as everyone quickly circles around the two. A couple of hands seize Crewel by the arms, but the professor only grows more agitated, attempting to fight past the herd.
"Let me go!" Crewel roars, tugging his arm free as he attempts to swing a fist at the headmaster. "Dire! This is your fucking fault!"
"Divus! Calm yourself!" Trein scolds, arms locked tight around the man's torso. A few more pairs of hands restrain the professor as he is forcibly pushed down onto a couch.
His face was the epitome of unrepressed rage: With his cheeks drawn back in a deep sneer, eyes bloodshot red, and hair a knotted mess.
Trein stands before the younger man, looking down at him with disgust. "Have you no shame? What will the prefect think once they hear of this?"
Across the room, Crowley spits out a little blood, blinking fresh tears out of his eyes. For the last three days, the crow has been suppressing all of its emotions; however, all of a sudden, he is overcome with an unfettered and unhindered flood of shame and rage.
When the headmaster finally turned around, he fixed Crewel with an expression so scathing that the potionology professor felt compelled to charge at him again.
Once, coldly, sharply, and bitterly, Crowley laughed. "It's my fault, you say? You think I don't know that?"
"Oh please—Dire. I couldn't care less about what you think." Crewel seethes, venom practically dripping from his lips. The alchemy professor strides forward, heels clicking against the floor as he grabs Crowley by the collar.
"You're a failure of a father. All you've ever brought their way is danger." The professor cackles kicking the crow's skin.
Digging deep into his red handbag, Crewel snatches out papers and jams it into Crowley's chest. The crow unravels the creased pages to read the text on the document, eyes ripping wide open as he realizes what it was.
"You…can't possibly." The headmaster sputters, hands shaking as he reads the texts again and again.
"Oh, but I can." Crewel sneers, taking pleasure in the look of fear Crowley sends his way. He snaps around, coat billowing up behind him as he briskly walks towards the entryway. "I expect those papers to be signed by tonight."
Before walking out of the room, Crewel spares the headmaster one final glance. "The prefect departs this Monday."
Tumblr media
Days after the event were all followed by violent storms that appeared to go on forever. Every night and day, the rain endlessly poured down from the bitter grey skies and roars of thunder echoed through the dewy clouds. Some days, it was nearly impossible to go to school.
It was almost as though Mother Nature herself was upset.
Just like how everyone was.
Crowley and your other friends shunned you like you had the plague. Even bright Kalim greeted you with a deep frown, a flimsy excuse slipping off his lips as he ran away. Only Deuce stayed by your side through it all.
The blueberry had told you everything was alright—that everything was normal and fine— but you couldn't help but be skeptical.
So when Crewel came to visit, you welcomed him right in. Eager to hear what he has to say.
The clatter and click of your father's heeled boots echoed through the walls of the dormitory as he examined the premises, comparing it to his own much more lavish flat back home in the city.
Finally, after an excruciating 5 minutes. his gaze flitted over to your bedridden form.
And the words he utters out next shatter your entire being.
"I'm withdrawing you from NRC."
What.
The glass clasped in your bandaged hands slips from your grip, smashing onto the oak wood of Ramshackle's flooring. You raise your mortified gaze to scowl at your professor, jaw dropped open in shock.
"What?" you breathlessly utter. "What do you mean?!"
"I'm transferring you to another school." Crewel replies, pushing himself off the fireplace and slipping his thick fur coat off his shoulders. The scant light emitted by the candles atop your study table did nothing to help you navigate his form as he strode around your bedroom.
"Now. You might be asking why? For one, look at the…accommodations Dire provided you with."
Crewel kicks a piece of splintered bark aside while making a gesture towards the disorder and wreckage all around you.
In the evenings, you had to use candles because the ceiling lights seldom ever functioned. The flooring had so many tears and holes that they were virtually falling apart. On occasion, you could even see the scuffle of rats beneath. The roof leaked, horribly; You had no money to fix it so you placed a bucket below instead. The front door was broken, barely hanging on its hinges, evidence of all the times your friends visited and never bothered to knock.
All of these problems and so many more were present, but this dorm was with you since the very start. It provided you with a roof over your head…it helped you survive.
"So what?" You retort, leaning back into your bed and sinking deep into the scratchy yet familiar pillows. "I don't mind it!"
"A foolish decision." Crewel sneers, running a hand into his hair. "Your accommodations aren't the only problem. Your self-destructive habits endanger you as well!"
There it was.
Groaning, you wring your hands through your hair, tangling it up. "When are you gonna stop saying that I'm self-destructive!?"
"When you start acting like somebody that actually cares about their life!" Crewel barks out, hands grasping your shoulders. The sudden increase in volume makes you recoil, but you were stubborn and refused to give in just yet.
"But I do care about my life!" You sputter out. "Why can't you just—"
"Remember what happened when Rosehearts overblotted?" He reminds you, "You charged towards a bloodthirsty tyrant with no protection, no magic, and no plan." Crewel then crosses his arms over his chest, addressing you with a pointed glare. "And you have the nerve to tell me you're not self destructive?"
"Riddle is not a tyrant!" Crying out, you slam your hand against your bedsheets, face twisting into an unsightly sneer. "I was trying to save my friend!"
Crewel gets right in your face, returning the expression of anger you sent his way. "Those friends of yours only care about you when you're useful!" he thundered, jabbing a finger into your chest.
That comment immediately silenced you.
Your hand was clasped over your mouth, jaw dropped wide open in disbelief as a sharp gasp escapes your dry throat.
A poisonous and dangerously harmful feeling gripped at whatever remnant the professor had of a heart. It colored his thoughts with regret as he began to feel a twinge of guilt, the weight of words sinking in.
There was a deep sigh of resignation from Crewel before he put a hand on your shoulder and looked you deep in the eyes, voice lowering to a softer lilt. "Why is it that every other person in that dorm had the sense to run away from the blots, but you didn't?"
Kneeling down, your father gazed at you with such vulnerability in his eyes as he murmurs, "Do you know how terrified I was every time I'd get the same message from Dire that you were out fighting overblots again? Putting your life at risk for those rabid dogs?"
The recognition of your destructive habits hit you like a splash of ice cold water. With a guilty and uncomfortable grimace on your face, you averted your attention to the floor. "I just wanted to help."
Slowly rising to his feet again, Crewel casts a deep frown your way. "I know you do, but you're careless with your life and if you're not careful…one of these days, you're gonna die."
"I will not hear anymore disagreements about this, do you hear? I've allowed you to run rampant around these past few months. You will so as I say and I'll have you transferred by the end of this week." He says simply, dropping a pristine sheet of paper clasped in a clipboard before you. Your dull eyes flicker across the title as you grudgingly reach for the pen he offers you.
TRANSFER APPLICATION.
That blank line at the end of the page is swiftly covered by your shaky red signature and Crewel is powerless to stop the relieved sigh that heaves past his lips.
A surge of victory, certainty, and an intense sense of relief overpowers the tangled and conflicting sentiments of guilt that were swimming through his chest.
You were safe, that's all that matters.
With a grieving heart, you nudge the pen and page back to your father dismissively, placing them both atop the bed. Crewel re-rolled the page and tucked it back into his handbag along with the pen.
The professor raises a hand to gently pat your shoulders as he bends down, pressing a kiss atop your head. "Father knows best."
As Crewel quietly takes his leave, he is none the wiser to the formation of impure, tainted tar-like blot dripping from your tears. Curling in yourself, you tuck your head into your knees, a broken sob spilling from your lips.
A sick and twisted feeling arises in your heart as you replay the argument you had with Crewel, and you start to wish that maybe, just maybe, Crowley's spell had succeeded in striking you.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
"Oi…Henchhuman?"
Drip.
Tumblr media
—TAGLIST:
꒰ ♡🧷: if you want to be tagged for ALL of my works, comment here!
@keedas @spadecentral @crypticbibliophile @pastellepastary @cassidycampfire @cocomollo @poisonioushearts @kawaiipotatoghost@ramvuda @sweeneyblue1 @the-lost-anime-dad @kyraxiyn @mayaaaeo @fluffimemes @awkwardspontaneity @gussuri @lunavixia @heatofmyexoheart @pianopuppygirl @cross-crye @cerisescherries @teenage-discomfort @cecilebutcher @savanaclaw1996 @msykaroly @a-bit-late @imdevotedtoyou @syl-lithy @solomonslostsock @noidonothavetimeforthis @driftaway27 @supernovaicloud @yevenle @senpaiofotomeome
2K notes · View notes
realbubonicsword · 6 months ago
Text
An Analysis of Shelly
I know what you're thinking. "But Toffee, you only ever post Goob-related content! What's with this sudden Shelly craze?"
Now, my one and only favorite character is and always will be Goob, but I have started to take an interest in Shelly's character lately. And hoooo boy, it has been one HELL of a rabbit hole. Plus, I haven't seen anyone else actively point this out, so I'm doing it myself.
Are you ready?
Let's begin.
(analysis below cut)
The first thing about Shelly that struck me as odd in the new update was her design.
Now, there is absolutely nothing bad about her design-I find it very good, actually!-but when I saw that she was a MAIN CHARACTER TOON (I wasn't keeping up with update news), I was shocked. Everything about her design, from the clothing she wears to the colors made her look like a more...out of the way character. A character meant to have one singular purpose, and then be brushed aside and forgotten. The fact that she was one of the main toons was....strange.
I mean, look at her compared to Teagan!
Tumblr media Tumblr media
If you knew about Dandy's World, but didn't know about the update, which one would you guess was the main toon?
I found this...interesting.
Then, I looked into her dialogue on the wiki.
Average stuff, for the most part. She didn't really have anything that jumped out at me. In fact, she didn't show too much unique personality at all. The only thing she was really doing was helping others, or occasionally asking for things from others. Nothing else, really.
Although, there was one strange piece of dialogue that caught my eye, that actually showed a hint of what kind of person Shelly is.
Tumblr media
Odd, but ok...
And then, I read the description for her twisted form after finally getting 50%....
And it all made sense.
Tumblr media
See it yet?
Let me highlight it for you.
Tumblr media
"The blatant ignorance of her existence by everyone around her has enraged her."
At first I thought that this had to be an exaggeration. Surely this friendly and helpful toon couldn't just be ignored like tha-
Oh.
They're right.
Every single bit of dialogue she has is either her helping someone or her asking for something. It's sort of like that person at a job you like being around, but you never really get to know. That's Shelly with basically EVERYONE.
Seriously, name ONE genuine friend that she has currently IN THE GAME (not counting Sprout) that she has had an actual conversation with where they bond and get to know each other as people.
The only time she had some sort of conversation was with Teagan, when she mentioned she was doing ok..."sorta-ish". That line in itself is interesting as well, as it shows how she feels about all of this. But still, they don't really seem to be friends.
We're dipping into a bit of headcanon territory here, but I believe it's rooted enough into Canon to include.
Shelly is someone who craves human (or in this case, toon) connection. She wants to be dependable, to be the one people can fall back on when they're feeling down, to be the one people rely on, and she has that, in a sense. However, no matter how much she does for others, no matter how much she helps them and supports them...
People only see her as..someone to ask for help on occasion. Uh oh, I dropped something, better get that fossil girl to help, since she's always so useful. And that is a part of what Shelly wants!
But that's it.
Useful.
A tool to use and then toss aside for the next person until they need her again.
That's all there is to almost every relationship she has.
And part of it is her fault.
You see, Shelly is so focused on helping people that she forgets to take that next step to forge true friendships, and unfortunately, nobody seems to ever catch on that she wants to take that step to forge genuine bonds with others.
She's non-confrontational by nature, and she doesn't want to ruin her perception of being useful, because then people might forget about her entirely, so she waits and hopes that someone will hear something that she will never say herself.
A good example of this is the strange dialogue I mentioned earlier between Shelly and Vee.
Tumblr media
Vee asks if she's busy after they're done with going down the elevator. Shelly initially doesn't believe that anyone would ever ask HER of all people to...possibly hang out...and talk..like friends...
So she gets excited. She asks what they're going to do together (although notably phrasing it in a way so it seems like she is offering to help), and...
It was...just moving some supplies. More work. More reasons to be useful. This isn't a bad thing! It means that people care about her! That they have need for her, so they'll never forget about her! It's not like she hoped that someone actually wanted to take time out of their day to hang out with her, nope! She'd never tell Vee any of that! And besides, she's totally fine with this!
So why does it hurt so badly?
Shelly's greatest fear has been happening to her for years, and she refuses to agknowledge it. To her, it could be so much worse if she stopped helping people. As long as she's useful, people will like her. They would never even think to toss her aside and forget about her, right?
Except they have been for a long time now.
When people talk to her, she either has to initiate by asking for something, or they initiate only because they need something from her. She wants to tell them so badly, to ask them why they never seen to pay any attention to her, or attempt to even have a real conversation with her, but she will never be that bold.
Even with the cardboard cutouts on one of the maps, she's hidden in the back-present, but barely noticed by those around her. (this is more obvious in game)
Tumblr media
No matter how much she tries, no matter how friendly or helpful or dependable she is, people never seem to see her as a person. Why don't they see her?! She's right here! She's here and she's endlessly waiting for connections that will never come to pass! It's fine though, really!
Keep being friendly, and people will like you more.
Keep being helpful, and people will have a reason to talk to you.
Keep being dependable, and people will have a reason to come back. They won't ever leave you alone. Right..?
Keep being friendly.
Keep being helpful.
Keep being dependable.
(That's all you'll ever be.)
Ironic that a fossils greatest fear is being forgotten.
132 notes · View notes
tangerinelabyrinth · 5 months ago
Text
In theory Martha Jones and Mickey Smiths relationship makes sense. In both of their stories they had similar themes to each other and if they had planned out their relationship (like they should have done) it wouldn't have been far off the realm of possibility that they would end up together.
Unfortunately, their story was non-existent reduced to a fifteen second clip mentioning that they were married and never showing us how they got there. Last, we leave Martha engaged to her fiancé saying goodbye to the Doctor and taking off with Mickey and Jack, with Jack mentioning her quitting UNIT and hinting that he had a job for her at Torchwood because at that time Torchwood had lost two members. (RIP- Toshiko and Owen).
I've seen talk recently that their entire relationship was put together as a joke, which just further shows how little the show, and the show runner cared for Martha's character, and because of the lack of reasoning behind the relationship feels as though last minute they decided to shove the only two black characters together. (Which is exactly what they did)
Having them end up together feels to me like a slap in the face, as it ruins all the development the characters had went through especially Martha. I hate it even more when people say it's perfect that they ended up together because both of them couldn't end up with who they wanted. (Rose and Ten) (I can't even get into depth on why I don't like when people say that because my thoughts aren't working)
The only way Martha and Mickeys relationship makes sense is if they joined Torchwood together, or Mickey joins UNIT otherwise what would be the reason for them to be around each other so much that Martha breaks up with her previous fiancé. We know Jack calls Martha in series three of Torchwood and mentions Martha being on her honeymoon, which is most likely with Mickey. I guess there is always the possibility that Martha and Mickey just decided to become freelance alien hunters together and did not join Torchwood at all, Jack did only say that perhaps Martha should do something else besides UNIT but didn't say Torchwood.
It would be nice if the showrunner actually cared for the characters, (The only two main characters of color at the time) and actually put thought into the relationship so it didn't quite literally come out of nowhere. Even having Martha and Mickey somehow come together in that episode and maybe sharing some flirty or even just friendly banter would have been a bit better in segueing into the fact they get married.
It's a shame for how little they cared for these characters and their story, it honestly feels as if they were just used as tools for both the Doctor and Rose. This is one reason in the multitude of others why I won't stop talking about the disrespect and treatment of Martha, (And the characters of color in all the fandoms I'm in) and why those who deny that these characters are treated unfairly by both the media they are in, and the fans are wrong the proof is right there. Martha's story ends unfinished, and her and Mickey get thrown together as a joke.
These are my thoughts on Mickey and Marthas Relationship, it could have worked but it didn't.
Tumblr media
109 notes · View notes
casscainmainly · 4 months ago
Text
Duke Thomas and the Robin Mantle
Tumblr media
There's been some minor discussion about whether Duke counts as an 'official' Robin or not. While that discussion is interesting, I actually don't think it's the crux of the Duke and Robin issue. To me, the question is whether or not he should be Robin. And, to me, the answer is definitively yes.
This is purely my opinion, and I haven't read every single Duke comic so it's possible I've misread/missed things. Any Duke fans, absolutely feel free to add or disprove anything here!
The Changing Robin
The first thing to understand is that Robin, as a mantle, has shifted with each person it's been passed to. Tim's Robin doesn't mean the same thing as Jason's Robin, which doesn't mean the same thing as Damian's. A mark of a true Robin is the ability to shift the meaning of Robin by wearing the colours.
Duke absolutely fulfils this criteria. In fact, him and his We Are Robin crew are the biggest shift in the meaning of Robin since its creation.
Tumblr media
Cover from We Are Robin #1. The phrase "We're not sidekicks. We're an army!" signals the shift from Robin as individual to Robin as collective; from Robin as tied to the singular Batman to Robin as a wider movement, a socio-political force. The last question, "are you ready?", is vitally important as well. Duke as Robin is meant to be different. He's meant to be non-normative, a groundbreaking turn in what Robin looks and feels like.
At the end of the first issue, a disguised Alfred (who started We Are Robin) thinks the following:
Tumblr media
Alfred infuses the phrase "of color" with two meanings: the Robin colours, and People of Colour. By explicitly linking Robin to POC, the comic is suggesting that not only can kids of colour be Robin, but that they should be Robin. Robins of Colour are the "future of this city," and Duke is the vanguard of this future. It's no coincidence that the Robin before (Damian) and the one after (Maps) are both POC. Duke, however, is the Robin that gives the mantle an explicit direction towards diversity: him and WAR use Robin as a social movement, and in doing so transform the colours of Robin into a symbol for the diversity in Gotham and the world.
Robin as Collective
Duke doesn't change Robin alone. The point of We Are Robin is that Robin is a collective, and it's important that Duke doesn't start WAR (as much as people like to say he did). By joining late, the comic demonstrates that Duke is part of a bigger movement.
Tumblr media
The Robin community represents POC solidarity, the necessity and ability of the oppressed to band together. Lee Bermejo ends We Are Robin's final issue with "stress on the word "we"" - Duke's arc, in one sense, is learning to rely and work with others (he initially mistrusts basically everyone). The WAR community is essential to both Duke's character development and his tenure as Robin.
So to have this page, affirming his loyalty and love for them, to be followed immediately by them being written out is... something.
Duke appears next in Batman: Rebirth, where Bruce gives him the yellow suit and tells him he's not looking for a Robin. As soon as he stops being Robin, the community around him quite literally falls apart. Izzy sticks around for a bit but fades into obscurity, Riko and Dax turn evil, Dre ends up in Arkham - all of these fates are antithetical to these characters and genuinely tragic.
Tumblr media
Batman: The Secret Files: The Signal is possibly the worst Duke story in existence, but it's important to understanding why Robin!Duke mattered. Riko calls Signal 'Bat-Signal', highlighting his sudden reduction to a Batman acolyte. His friends turning on him shows how, by losing Robin, he also lost the community formed by WAR. In every way, his transition into the Signal was saturated by loss.
Robin Doesn't Need A Batman
Bruce giving Duke the Signal suit is borderline insulting. He already had an identity predicated on the fact that he didn't need Batman.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
From Batman (2011) #45, Batman: Rebirth, and Night of the Monster Men. "Robin doesn't need a Batman" is an inversion of Tim's 'Batman needs a Robin' - in many ways, Duke is the opposite of Tim, who's rich, White, and whose Robin is the most focused on helping Batman. If Tim is the ideal Robin-as-partner, Duke is the ideal Robin-as-individual. His idea of Robin is not, and has never been, associated with Batman.
People who say Duke isn't an official Robin since he was never Batman's partner miss the point. He is Robin because he was never Batman's partner. That's what Robin means to him - a mantle free from Bruce and all authority.
"Batman is on the gargoyle. Robin... Robin is on the street." Robin is the person on the ground, who lives and belongs to the people. When Duke becomes Signal, this ground aspect - as well as his separation from Batman - is gone.
Tumblr media
In this cover from Batman & The Signal, they gave him a Bat symbol and put him on a gargoyle. They erased every single part of his Robin philosophy.
The Original Robin
Post-We Are Robin, Bruce becomes the Batfam member Duke interacts with the most. Besides the insult of Bruce withholding Robin, this fact also strips away one of my favourite aspects about early Duke - he was tied to the Batfamily through the Robins (especially Damian and Dick), not by Batman.
It's Dick, the original Robin, who chooses him.
Tumblr media
Dick recognises that him and Duke have a lot in common. He tells Duke in Robin War that he's "got it," and that he's a natural leader - Dick knows Duke has what it takes to be Robin, and explicitly endorses him.
Not only that, but when Dick sends Duke to jail (along with the other Robins, official and unofficial), he tells Duke that he "take[s] care of [his] family". He basically inducts Duke into the family then and there!
Dick's endorsement of Duke makes it more interesting that Bruce doesn't make him Robin. Despite Duke's disillusionment at the end of Robin War (dispelled soon after in WAR), the events in RW confirm that Duke can and should be Robin. Bruce not making Duke Robin is defying both Duke's potential and Dick's right to choose Robins.
Robin as Family
Tumblr media
On the rooftop in Robin War, Dick tells Duke that Robin is about family. This is the fundamental connection between them both: Robin acts as the link to the families they've lost and gained.
For Dick, Robin keeps John and Mary Grayson alive, while also symbolising his connection to Bruce. For Duke, Robin is the intersection of three families: the heroic legacy of his parents, the tight-knit community of We Are Robin, and the newfound friendship of the Batfamily.
Tumblr media
In Batman (2011) #45, Duke tries to give his friend Daryl a Robin badge. He says, "you and me, we came up together. We're fam[ily]." Even before Dick, Duke associated Robin with family, and Daryl implies in the next issue that Duke became Robin because of his parents' inclination to help. Signal, of course, also comes from his mom; but unlike Robin, Signal isn't a legacy mantle. As Robin, he constantly inducted people like Daryl, Riko, Damian, etc. into his family. As Signal, his circle shrinks immeasurably, until it's really only the Batfamily and the Outsiders if we're being generous. (Daryl also turns evil - a really unfortunate pattern for Duke side characters).
Lark and Conclusion
Tumblr media
I'm going to end with this panel from Batman & The Signal #1, which is emblematic of the way DC has treated Duke and Robin as a whole. Bruce tells Duke that Lark is "too soft" a name. DC was probably debating between Lark and Signal, but it's telling what they went with. How is Lark too soft, exactly? How is it any softer than Robin?
By overtly dismissing the bird-like name, Bruce - and DC editorial, or whoever decided this - is definitively moving Duke away from Robin. And it's a shame. In Duke's transition from Robin to Signal, he has next to no agency. Bruce tells him he's not Robin, Bruce gives him the suit, Bruce tells him not to be Lark, Bruce gives him another suit. It's a stark contrast from his induction into Robin - though Alfred arranged it, he gave Duke a choice. Duke chooses Robin.
Duke being disallowed the Robin mantle is, to me, on par with DC stripping Cass of the Bat symbol during the New 52. The racism behind both these decisions cannot be overstated - both Cass and Duke redefined their mantles, and their mantles defined them. At least Cass' mistake has been corrected, and lots of writers and fans acknowledge how horrible that period was. For Duke, he was never given a real chance. And it's unlikely he ever will be.
This is not a knock against the Signal identity or any writers. However, it genuinely saddens me to think that all of this story potential - Duke's redefinition of Robin, his relationship to Dick, his connection to We Are Robin, and above all his ability to choose who he wants to be - has been neglected and cast aside. Even if they never acknowledge his role as Robin, I hope future stories centre him once again, because it's what he deserves.
144 notes · View notes
caesium-55 · 9 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
Lewis just wants to sleep. He's tired. He just arrived yesterday from Las Vegas and he needs to grant himself a lazy day or else, he'll go insane. He already planned out a perfect morning. You, on the bed with him in the most innocent sense—Lewis wouldn't mind sex because sex is nice and all but he also loved just resting with you and basking in your existence and your being—freely drifting in and out of the realm of sleep, no annoying alarm waiting to ruin his morning with that god-awful buzzing nose, basking in the silence and peace of a morning in the quiet part of Monaco, and letting the hours pass by without care. Then, when you both get sick of the sheets, you go down and grab breakfast in that café just across the building that sells amazing crepes.
But he wakes up and your side of the bed is cold and empty and panic sinks in his system quickly. He glances around the room. Sunlight peeks through the tiny gap of the black out curtains in the window. Besides the night lamp, it's the only source of light in the room. Your phone is not on the bedside table, Lewis notes. That means you slipped away from the bed and left the room some time ago without Lewis noticing. Usually, he'd feel it if you even just twitched and he'd wake up in a heartbeat, but the jet lag and the exhaustion that engulfed his entire body must have stopped him from doing so.
He sits up and rubs his face with his palms. He decides to follow after you downstairs.
The door abruptly opens with a loud bang, making Lewis flinch and turn his head towards. Lewis's face transitions from sleepy to shocked to confused.
You're wearing a gown that greatly resembles the type of gowns that the female cast of Netflix's Bridgerton wore in the show. It's a mixture of lilac and pink, both are pretty colors. Your hair is fixed into an elegant half-do with a plastic tiara to complete everything. On one hand, you carry a portable Bluetooth speaker. In the other, a microphone. You sport the most serious facial expression in the universe but nothing about you screams seriousness at all. Especially not with the funky-shaped eyeglasses that sit on the bridge of your nose.
You slam your hand against the light switch next to the door and the entire room brightens. Lewis chuckles at the sight of you, eyes twinkling with mirth. The room never feels more alive than it does now.
"Ta-da."
"Good morning, baby."
The intro of the song starts blaring through the speaker. A strong beat of drums. Then, you began to sing.
“After the war I went back to New York
A-after the war I went back to New York
I finished up my studies and I practiced law
I practiced law, Lewis worked next door—"
"Baby, you practice medicine—"
"Even though we started at the very same time
Lewis Hamilton began to climb
How to account for his rise to the top?"
You point the mic towards him. Lewis smiles and shrugs his shoulders.
"Man, the man is non-stop."
Lewis chuckles, amused. You are getting into it. You put your mic on your mouth again.
"Gentlemen of the jury, I'm curious, bear with me
Are you aware that we're making hist'ry?
This is the first murder trial of our brand-new nation
The liberty behind deliberation (Non-stop!)
I intend to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt
With my assistant counsel
Co-counsel—"
Lewis tries to leave the sheets so he can get his phone and capture you in video. You stop him by putting a hand on his shoulder.
"Hamilton, sit down."
"I'm sat."
You begin pacing around the room, hands waving around in theatrical fluorish.
"Our client Levi Weeks is innocent
Call your first witness
That's all you had to say
Okay
One more thing–"
You walk up to him and Lewis waits for your next move.
"Why do you assume you're the fastest in the room?"
"Because I am?"
"Why do you assume you're the fastest in the room?
Why do you assume you're the fastest in the room?
Soon that attitude may be your doom!"
Lewis shakes his head at you.
"Why do you drive like you're running out of time?
Drive day and night like you're running out of time?
Every day you fight, like you're running out of time
Keep on fighting, in the meantime."
Your number ends with you doing a dramatic pose and Lewis bursts out laughing, the sound mixing with the fading music.
"I love you so much. You have no idea."
This is far from the ideal morning he's planned out. This is not quiet. This is not peaceful. This is boisterous and obnoxious and too much energy so early in the day and every bone in Lewis's body still screams exhaustion.
But Lewis wouldn't trade this morning over the peaceful morning in his mind. Not when you looked so happy singing and rapping that Hamilton song. You theater nerd. God, Lewis didn't know he was physically capable of loving a person this much.
"Hey baby, if we get a son, can we name him Alexander?"
"Whatever you want."
Lewis wishes this morning will never end.
156 notes · View notes