#and those are notoriously terrible at cooling

[grumpy-bat-central]

if your computer FRIES running anything then it's a problem with your computer. A properly working computer will NEVER get damaged from running a program (unless said program is a virus that overrites built-in protections, and there have been one or two instances of games doing that because they were so incompetently made). A computer WILL ALWAYS safely shut down if things start to go to shit, and ideally it will never even reach that point. That's why we have features like thermal throttling. If anything burns/melts/stops working, that's because your computer got pushed to a degree it never should have. It would've had to have extremely poor or broken power management and/or cooling.

A GAME CANNOT MELT YOUR HARDWARE UNLESS YOUR HARDWARE IS ALREADY FUCKED UP

you genuinely don’t have to increase graphics in games anymore. I don’t have a spaceship to run this on. My previous laptop blew up trying to run animal jam. I was more than happy with Skyrim graphics and portal 2 looks breathtaking to me. I just want to be able to play your game. I don’t want to see their pores and uncannily delineated teeth. One time fallout 4 crashed so hard it basically uninstalled itself from my computer. Ffxiv completely fried my laptops motherboard and I just kept playing ffxiv anyway. For where else would I go? Who else could I love but you

[becsabillion4]

take it out on me (carmen berzatto x reader)

so this is my first time posting a fic of mine on tumblr since i was 14 and i'm slightly terrified by the formatting but i posted this on ao3 yesterday and someone told me to post here too (<3) so i hope you all enjoy it as much as i enjoy the thought of getting pounded by carmy in the walk-in

pairing : carmen berzatto x f!reader

summary : Carmy is having a terrible service, and you're sure some time in the walk-in will help him cool off (although it gets hotter in there than you might think).

word count : 4,410

tags: SMUT, rough sex, angry sex, unprotected sex, fingering, creampie, choking, semi-public sex, ending with soft carmy which makes it all okay, 18+ only

note: this is explicit 18+ only and also this is NOT an advert for safe sex, it is merely a fantasy i have been playing with since my own days as a waitress and carmy has helped me to realise it. also i'm obsessed and i know y'all degenerates won't send help so instead i ask that you send me asks so i can write more about this wonderful man

Disorienting. Overwhelming. Stressful, painful, unrelenting. Burning your hand hard enough for it to stick to the pan, hard enough that you know on the way to the sink it’s too late, that you’ll bear the scar of that mistake for the rest of your life. Knives slicing always so close to your skin, living on the point of pain, focus trained so hard on the blade you can’t even blink. Shouting, screaming, the place could be on fire, and you wouldn’t look up from the art you’re creating. Flames licking at your apron. Beautiful.

Kitchens are the prison and the heart of a chef, and the one at The Bear is currently the pride and the bane of your life. Plating up your one billionth focaccia of the evening as Marcus rushes by holding a tray of cannolis aloft, you try to tune out Sydney shouting instructions to the new servers, trying to drill something, anything, into their panicked, under-developed skulls. 

But none of this worries you. What worries you is the ominous, creeping silence from the station to your right, where you know Carmy is cooking up not only the best food you’ve ever tasted, but an internal storm that is going to be unleashed any, second, now-

“Chefs! Where the fuck is my garnish? Tina, are you dead? ‘Cos you need to wake the fuck back up.”

Tina is already by Carmy’s side with the garnish, but the damage is done. She doesn’t bristle at his words, but shoots you a worried look as she slides by, murmuring, “Sorry, Chefs. Behind.”

Since you started working at The Bear six months back, you’ve witnessed a rare few Carmy outbursts, and you know everyone feels the same way when they happen. It’s like the moment you miss a step on familiar stairs, stomach lurching and fear sweeping through your body. Carmy is this kitchen, and his boiling point is the moment things tend to spin out of control. 

And yet, Tina’s reaction is everyone’s; disappointment in herself, instant forgiveness because she knows Carmy is doing everything he can for this team. Last week, after you and Sydney spent the evening getting wasted on her couch, she’d confessed to you how hard Carmy took his notorious opening night failure, and how he’s been struggling to make up for it since then. And it’s been working; his kindness, patience, and passion for elevating those around him have always outshone the occasional harsh word during service.

But this service is just bad. It’s been bad since 5AM, when you got here to take in the delivery and found out that the grapes needed for the welcome broth had somehow been left off of the order. It’s been bad since Marcus ruined three batches of cannolis in a row, and when Sydney tried to touch his shoulder and ask him what was going on, he stormed out. Since Sydney snapped at Richie for singing Taylor Swift badly during family. The hundred little underlying frissons of tension that normally dissipate as soon as service rolls around have congealed today, like oil in balsamic vinegar, rubbing together but refusing to meld into the team you know everyone can be.

And you know Carmy can feel it. His anger is a physical thing beside you, like standing next to a hot pan with too much oil in it and just waiting for it to start spitting at you. Knowing you have to keep stirring it anyway.

“Four top, two steak, one bucatini, one fish,” Sydney rattles off, and everyone responds “Yes, Chef!” a little too loud.

“Can I get some hands for this focaccia,” you shout through the din, pushing the two boards forward, but nobody responds. “Hands, please, get these off my station before I eat ‘em!” you call, trying to bring some levity to the atmosphere before-

“Hands, fuckin’ hands, Chefs, FUCK!” Carmy explodes, appearing by your side so suddenly you almost jump. His hands hover over the foccacia boards like he wants to adjust something on them, fix something, but you know as well as he does that they’re perfect already.

And of course, this just makes things worse.

Carmy properly looks up for the first time, straightening out of the “chef about to have an aneurysm over plating this fish” posture and into his “everyone here is about to get fucked” pose. “These are good to go, why are we not? Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ. Go fuck yourselves-” one of the new waitresses approaches with trembling hands and Carmy pushes the boards at her, disgusted, almost taking them over the edge of the pass, “-all of you, what is the point of any of us being here if nothing is leaving the fucking kitchen!”

“Carm, it’s okay, they’re going out,” you can’t help cutting in, but you should know better than to try to soothe a wild animal. Carmy doesn’t say anything, turns back to plating up his fish, but his beautiful artist’s hands, which you often find yourself trying to draw in the margins of inventory checks, are shaking now. You’ve never seen him this bad. The whole kitchen waits on a knife edge. You glance up, watching the waitress leave with your focaccia, and have a brief but fervent desire to be her as the doors swing her out of this hellhole.

The fish is beautiful as Carmy puts the finishing touches to it. A server steps up to take it as other dishes for the same table coalesce at the front of stations, all elegant, all perfect, all more than worthy of the restaurant’s Michelin star.

Carmy is completely still. Staring. And you know it’s too late.

Plunging his fist down, he crushes the fish into sea-scented pulp. The shells of oysters, hand-selected, crack into broken-mirror shards; the sauce is peppered with shoddy scraps of lobster tail.

It’s still not enough for Carmy, as he picks up the plate and sends it spinning into the back wall, narrowly missing Sweeps’ head. “ Shit, ” Carmy mutters, turning back to his station and searching for more things to destroy. You watch him contemplate the knives, and you can’t stay out of it any longer.

“Carmy. Chef. Carmy,” you say as you reach out to grab his muscled arm, pulling him round to face you. You can feel the tension corded deep under his skin, see the sheen of sweat coating his tattoos. Normally, any skin contact with him sends your brain into overdrive, but you can’t afford to be anything but calm right now.

His eyes are wild, but you watch him steadily, and he watches you straight back. You’re not sure why, but the moment reminds you of how you felt on those rare occasions he invited you and Syd over to brainstorm new recipes in his cramped kitchen. Especially that time Sydney couldn’t make it, and you were midway through describing your idea for a yuzu-infused scallops course to him - “with maybe, like, a garnish of broccoli just absolutely smothered in hollandaise” - when he reached forward, tucked a scrap of hair behind your ear, and the very idea of food whisked straight out of your head - but you still felt hungry. And whilst he’d tried out your broccoli idea over and over again that night, you found yourself blushing every time he passed you a spoon to taste it. 

You never could get that dish right. Every time you thought about it, you couldn’t separate the flavours from the curious look in his eyes, the way he drank in your ideas, absorbed them before he responded, how his eyes tracked every thought that crossed your face.

Now here you are again, staring at that measured, thoughtful man turned savage, and you wonder if you have the guts to do what you’ve been thinking about doing for a while.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you murmur beneath the clatter of plates behind you, just for him. You don’t look away even when you hear something shatter. You move your hand from his arm, up over his shoulder, push your palm into the curve of his neck and hold it there. 

Then you wait, feel his shoulders jumping up and down with his rapid breathing. Wait until he leans into it a little, chasing your solidity, and it’s all the response you need.

“Come with me.” It’s not a question, but he nods anyway.

“Sydney, you got this?” You ask, never taking your eyes from Carmy’s face, worried that if you do, you’ll lose whatever grip you have on him right now.

“Yes, Chef,” she replies, and you feel her edge round the side of Carmy to put another fish on rapid fire. He catches her eye as she passes, and brings his hand up to his chest, rubbing it once in what has become the team’s official way to apologise during service. She responds in kind, and he lets you drag him off the station, past the others shooting him worried looks, straight into the walk-in.

You shut the door carefully, recalling the stories of Carmy’s previous imprisonment. It’s still securely closed, giving you both some calm and privacy to cool off.

Except cooling off is not really what you have in mind.

You turn to see Carmy slumped in the corner, curled in on himself and running his hands through his already-chaotic hair. He stands again suddenly, bracing his hands on the wall behind him as if to remind himself they exist.

“Carmy.”

“Yeah, shit. Sorry, I just need a second. It’s just, I didn’t sleep at all last night. I was thinking about doing something with ceviche, but I couldn’t figure out what fish would work best, and then that sorta spiralled into a panic attack which kept me up whisking eggs for something until three, and then-” You watch his eyes darting over the shelves around him as he talks, and you realise he’s taking stock of what’s there. Even during a full-blown meltdown, he cannot stop working, stop thinking. He starts pacing.

“Carmy,” you say again as you try to catch his eye. He’s staring at some spare T-bones like they’ll explain to him whatever dish he was whisking eggs for last night. Fuck it. You grab his chin, tilt it until he has to look at you.

“D’you know the best way to calm down?”

“Lock yourself in the walk-in for three hours?” He’s trying to relieve some tension, but you have other ideas on how to handle that.

“Sex, Carmy.”

There. You’re terrified that you finally acknowledged it, finally confessed to what you’ve been thinking about for months, but thank God it’s out in the open. You’ve been blushing at his compliments on your food for far too long, ignoring how good he looks in a white tee for even longer. And today has been such a shitshow it can’t possibly get any worse by admitting to this too.

You wait for Carmy to shut it down, laugh it off, maybe even fire you, but he just looks shellshocked. Then again, that is his default look.

“I, um…” He rubs a hand over his forehead, glances up at you almost shyly. “I mean, um. What?”

“Listen, you’re fucking up service. You’re distracted, tired, stressed beyond belief. I want to help you, and I won’t pretend it’s just out of the goodness of my own heart. I’ve been interested in you for a while, Carmy. You can take that or leave it or kick me out of this walk-in if you want, but I’m here. I want to help you work through things, through all this anger. And…I want you to know you can take it out on me. And maybe even feel better at the same time.”

Carmy is flushed, and you’re all out of words. You kind of wish he was still looking at the T-bones.

“We, uh, we can’t.” Carmy leans back on a freezer for support, crossing his arms in a pose you normally associate with him working something out in his head, deciding what a dish is missing or what it needs to take it up a notch. “I mean, not now. Not here, at least. And I don’t know, we work together. I’m your boss. It’s not a good idea.” He reaches a hand round to his back, starts massaging the strain away there. It’s an especially effective position as he doesn’t have to look at you as he does it, as he says, “Sorry.”

You shrug a little, smile. Try to pretend it doesn’t hurt. Keep it professional, or as professional as you can get in a kitchen. “Hey, it was worth a shot. Get some sleep, Chef.”

You turn to go, hoping that stirring and slicing and plating up will shake off the embarrassment currently burning through to your bones.

But you don’t live to regret the offer as Carmy grabs your arm, spins you and shoves you hard enough into the walk-in door that it rattles on its hinges.

“Hey, everything okay in there Chefs?” you hear Marcus call, and it’s a reality check you absolutely don’t want right now. Carmy doesn’t even seem to have heard him, trailing kisses down your neck, collarbone, shoulder as your body arches into the feeling. You’ve had one too many fantasies about this walk-in since you started, but the actual feeling doesn’t begin to touch the dream.

“Yeah, all good Chef!” You manage to reply, but you barely get the ‘Chef’ out before Carmy’s lips slide over yours, pushing, demanding entry as his body keeps you pressed up against the door. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place, is all you have time to think between kisses.

There is no room or time for playing around. Carmy needs this, and you intend to provide, but you’re damn sure getting everything you can out of it just in case it never happens again. One of your hands curls deep into his hair, pulling his head back as your teeth click together in the ferocity of the kiss. You swear you can taste blood, but neither one of you pulls back, the saltiness only urging you on. Your other hand is busy loosening his belt, and you tug it hard to pull the silver prong free of the leather, hard enough that his hips jerk forward into yours and you moan, long and low.

Gravity suddenly spins on its axis as Carmy lifts you, turns and drops you down onto the freezer Fak installed last week. And for once in your life, thank you, Fak. The movement seems to shake Carmy out of it for a second, and he pulls back, hesitates. A hand curves around your cheek, and you can feel an apology coming, see the reticence forming in his eyes. And honestly, fuck that.

You hook fingers through his belt loops, dragging him closer and then using them to tug his trousers down. You’re not gentle as you reach into his underwear, wrap a hand around his cock, and you can tell that’s what he needs as he hisses, his head drifting back.

Removing his hand from your cheek, you guide it slowly down to your neck. His head snaps up, and there’s a darkness, a need, that wasn’t there before as you move your hand slowly, torturously, down his length.

“Hey,” you whisper, reluctant to interrupt the low grunts spilling from him with each of your movements. “I’m not going to break.”

You squeeze his fingers around your throat a little tighter, and it’s this that has him surging forward, messy mouths pressing together again and everything condensing into a rippling, burning, rightness as the fingers of his other hand shove themselves between your legs.

He lingers there for a moment, breaths short and sharp in your ear as he breaks free from your kiss and whispers, “If we had more time, I would clean up the mess you’re making all over my freezer, Chef.”

“My apologies, Chef,” you pant, the sweetness of the apology marred slightly by your fingers tugging hard through his curls. Then you’re pushing up his white shirt at the back, reveling in the heat of him, the muscles straining under your touch. “What’s my punishment?”

Carmy hesitates, then withdraws his fingers from you slowly, and it feels like the calm before the storm. One hand is still pressed loosely around your neck as he brings the other up to your face, runs the edge of his still-wet fingers over your lips. Asking or demanding, you don’t know, but you’re happy to comply. His pupils are blown so wide you can barely see the blue behind them, and when you slide your mouth over his fingers, taste yourself on him, he closes them in momentary bliss. And it’s so beautiful to see that you can’t resist pulling him in to share.

A Michelin-star chef with one of the most sophisticated palates on the planet. A renowned food critic once wrote of him, “In my next life, I’d like to be just one of the taste buds in Carmen Berzatto’s mouth.” And here he is, savouring you, tongue searching out every corner of your mouth as if he wants to figure out each and every component of your taste. Add the recipe of you to his menu, and make it every night.

You’re both done waiting, and the clock is ticking. You can faintly hear Sydney calling orders through the wall, although she sounds steadier now. You don’t know whether anyone out there knows what you’re doing, but a rampaging elephant couldn’t stop Sydney when she’s on a roll.

Carmy pulls you closer to the freezer’s edge, jeans and underwear falling to his ankles and suddenly he is right there, and-

“Oh, fuck,” is all you can say as he pushes forward in one swift, animal movement. And oh, pain flickers down your spine as he slides almost free of you and thrusts back, relentless, and this is exactly what you signed up for.

“ Fuck ,” he echoes, hand sliding down your neck to settle over your racing heart. “Fuck, you…I don’t know how you do this to me,” he pants, and you try to keep your moaning down so you can hear as words spill from him, “When you come in with your hair down before a shift, when you - ah - when you borrow my knife and I see you using it all service, when you let me light your fuckin’ cigarette for you. Shit. You drive me crazy on purpose, and you wanna know what the worst part is?”

You can’t breathe, let alone answer him.

“The worst part is I eat that shit up every time, ” he snarls, punctuating every word with a short, sharp thrust.

This is the animal you saw tonight, spitting curses, destroying his own food, all sharp edges and uncompromising will. Grunting as he bottoms out inside you, fingers clenched around your upper thigh hard enough to bruise, littering bites over your neck as if your colleagues aren’t an unlocked door away.

But the animal isn’t the end of Carmen Berzatto. There is more to him than the bear, and you intend to remind him of that before you’re through.

“Look around you,” you pant as he thrusts again, harder, sweeter, and you have to get this out before you tip over the edge. So you risk bringing the hand you were using to support yourself forward to turn his chin towards the walk-in’s walls, to beyond them, to the restaurant hard at work and the satisfied diners metres away who have no idea what’s going on in here, and fuck if that doesn’t make it all the more delicious. “Look what you made. Look who you are.” You watch his flushed face, hope he understands the praise, but you can’t hold on anymore to see your words land.

“You’re fuckin’ unbelievable, Carmy,” is all you manage to choke out as every muscle in your body lights up, tenses and releases in a flood so strong you wonder if you’ll ever surface, and if you even want to.

Carmy fucks forward into you twice more, and his head drops onto your shoulder as he groans, shudders, relaxes fully for what may be the first time in his life.

You stroke a hand over his head, pull him closer. You’re not quite sure when this stopped being a no-holds-barred quickie and became a quiet, intense embrace, but it feels right. All the desperation, the keyed-up energy, is gone from him. And if he never wants anything more than that, even though the idea is more than a little disappointing, you can take consolation from the fact that you at least managed to stop a raging Carmy in his tracks.

Although it is a little quiet.

“Carmy?” You ask, hesitant to break the silence. Thankfully, it still sounds like it’s all bustle outside. You wonder how long you’ve been in here, and try not to think about how you’re going to emerge with any shred of dignity intact.

Carmy pulls back, and you can’t define the look on his face, but it worries you. His eyes shine slightly, and his gaze skips across your face, down your body, not holding your stare.

“Are you okay?” You ask, praying this isn’t about to get really awkward really quick. The man’s still inside you, for Christ’s sake.

“Yeah. I, um, I should be asking you that.” Carmy’s hands skim down your sides, fingers pressing in randomly as if to check for bruises. He tilts his head to look under your chin, as if to check he hasn’t caused any permanent damage to your neck. “Jesus. Are you alright? I’m sorry, that was rough.”

“I’m totally fine.” You don’t know what to do to reassure him, so opt for two big thumbs up. “See? Voice working and everything.”

Carmy chuckles unevenly, takes a careful step back, and you try not to consider how empty you feel and how cold and slippery the freezer now is underneath you. You hop off, catching yourself on the side when you realise just how shaky your legs are. When you glance up at Carmy, he’s just staring at you, which is, frankly, unnerving.

“Do I look that bad?” you ask, pulling your hair out of what’s left of a ponytail to start again.

“No. No, I’m just…I’m just taking you in.” The raw honesty in his eyes pins you in place for a moment. But of course, Richie shouts “ Cousin!” before you can read into it too much.

There is a moment of panicked dressing and clean-up, a nod to each other to confirm you both look relatively sane and not totally fucked (even though you doubt it), and then a collective deep breath as you push open the door of the walk-in.

You don’t catch anyone’s eye for a second as you head to your station, Carmy’s presence like an open flame behind you.

“Corner. Corner. Behind, sorry Chefs,” you call as you slide back into place. Two quick glances calm you; one at the clock - seventeen minutes - and one at Sydney, who doesn’t look like she’s about to throw up and only has three tickets in front of her. You spare a final one for Fak in his position by the door, who you are positive would be grinning gleefully if he, or anyone else in the kitchen, knew what just went down in the walk-in.

“What do you need, Syd?” you ask, picking up the familiar back-and-forth of the kitchen again with some relief.

Carmy is quiet, focused, for the last half hour of service, but you can’t keep your mind clear. As soon as last orders are sent out, you slink to the back for a cigarette, hoping the smoke will at least wipe out your brain fog. It does the exact opposite. When you let me light your fuckin’ cigarette for you. You exhale, waving the smoke away as the words churn through your brain. I eat that shit up every time.

“Hey,” you hear, and you’re almost thankful to speak to the real him just to distract yourself from thinking about earlier.

“Hey.” You offer him a smoke, and he takes it, sinking onto the step next to you. The brush of his leg against yours is a lot more comforting than you expect it to be, relaxing a secretly worried part of you.

He takes a long drag, the kind of drag you only take when it’s been a shitshow of a day. “I just want to say I’m-”

“Sorry? It’s okay. It doesn’t have to happen again,” you finish for him. It hurts less that way.

“What? No.” He looks at you until you reluctantly meet his gaze. “Not for that. I’m not sorry about that.” He lets that hang there for a second, holds your eye. “But I’m sorry for losing my shit earlier. Nobody deserves to be around that, and…I want you to know I’m working on it. I wanna be…I wanna be good at this.” It’s a stilted apology as he thinks through every line, and it feels all the more sincere for it.

“That’s okay. I know. We all know.” You reach a hand out to touch his arm, and after a second, he lowers his head to rest on his knee, although his face is still turned towards you. You see his eyes flicker from your hand on his arm to your face.

“Although that wasn’t exactly how I expected that to go by the way,” he says after a moment.

You don’t try to pretend you don’t know what he’s referring to. “What, in the walk-in?”

“Oh, no, I’ve thought about it in the walk-in.” You ignore a pulse of feeling at his casual confession, at the idea that he’s thought about you. “I just didn’t imagine it so…heated, I guess.” Carmy raises his head again, traces a finger along your hand where it rests on his arm until you shiver. “Not that I didn’t enjoy it.”

You hesitate for a second before replying. Before extending the branch. “Well, I’m sure there’ll be other times, Chef.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, and it’s your turn to watch his thoughts flickering there, watch as the fog clears, the idea forms, and he says, “Yeah. Next time.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------

wow guys thank you for reading i pray through the act of writing this that my jeremy allen white obsession will calm the fuck down, but i fear i've made it worse

if you'd like to keep up with me on ao3, you can find me here and please do send me any comments or feedback or prompt ideas, i would love to hear them <33 thank you!!

[cer-rata]

I did it, I finished the fic.

Cover by the amazing @nicodrawings

It's 109k and fully complete, welcome to my oc's first cursed, sappy adventure.

"Heart of Gotham"

Fandom: Detective Comics

Rating: T M

Summary:

Conrad Bishop thinks he knows who he is: A nerd, a goof, a coward. But heartbreak comes along to destroy that version of him. As he shatters, an alien ring decides that the depth of his pain has the potential to forge him into a potent Star Sapphire. While grief may be a devastatingly powerful form of love, can he survive on it alone? Maybe not. But it’s what he thinks deserves.

Everyone thinks they know who Damian Wayne is: A prince, a pariah, a hero. The truth is worse. No one thinks he’s easy to love, and he agrees. It’s fine. He doesn’t need it, he’s got duty and a body to spend in service of it until there’s nothing left to hate. But sometimes? Sometimes he wonders if that’s all he can be.

By chance they share the same science class, and--for better or worse--that's all it takes to send them on a path that neither of them would have ever dared to consider.

Love conquers all.

...Maybe

Excerpt:

Damian started changing out of his uniform and Conrad awkwardly looked away. He cleared his throat. “Hey, so, I’ve been thinking…”

“Hmm?” Damian grunted as he unclasped and slid his tunic off.

“Well, you used the ring to save me, right? But you know...the whole bit is that if you want to heal someone you have to…uh. You'd…you'd have to love--"

“Philia.” Damian cut in quickly.

“Did…did you--was that a slur?”

“…No! Philia is the Greek concept of love between friends. That’s what the ring was pulling from.” It was mostly true. It was mostly philia. Mostly.

Conrad considered that for a moment, then beamed. “Oh. Oh! So you admit it? You think we’re friends?”

Damian finished pulling a hoodie on and turned to squint at him. “How are you this stupid.”

“Oh my god you do!”

“If you’re like this for the entire ride back, there is a high likelihood that I will change my--oh come on!” Damian complained fruitlessly as he had to endure yet another hug. “I should have let you bleed out.” He hissed, and Conrad just laughed.

“I love you too, buddy.”

A tip of the hat:

Before I get into anything else, again the cover and reference sheet were done by the amazing @nicodrawings. She's terrific, professional, easy to work with (and I am ANNOYING), and I think the quality speaks for itself. Her art is tremendous and her covers are maybe the highest quality I've seen from an indie artist.

And those colors.

Her commissions are open right now and she's making a fan comic that looks so cool, and she does all this other cool stuff. Check her out, okay?

Concepts, Themes, and Character Focus

The core questions I wanted to ask were:

"Can two broken people ever be good for each other?"

"Can you actually move past the pain of loss?"

"How do you love someone?"

I love Lantern lore, and Star Sapphires specifically. Maybe too much

I was fascinated by a Corps that represented love but was usually fueled by despair and anguish instead, and wielded one of the harder to control colors of the Emotional Spectrum. So I decided to create one from scratch and place them in Earth's most notorious tragedy factory: Gotham City.

Conrad is shamelessly emotional and ruled by his affections, and was like that even before the ring. The only son of a pair of Haitian immigrants, Conrad grew up feeling very loved, and even his parents terrible handling of his attempt to come out wasn't enough to shake that. But his parents never really pushed him, and his easy-going nature meant he didn't develop a lot of self determination. Then he suffers an incredibly traumatizing loss, and suddenly his carefully laid carpet of normalcy and avoidance is torn up to reveal some structural problems underneath.

Damian is emotional and ruled by his affections, and is a little ashamed of it. He also felt loved when he was growing up, but unlike Conrad, much of the love he received was in the form of praise for his success, which had the unfortunate effect of making him seek approval in ways that were often unhelpful, most often to himself. He's tried so hard, and done so much work to be a better person, and he's even accumulated a group of peers who adore him. But he's still lonely, has trouble accepting his own progress, and the guilt he carries making new connections difficult.

Everyone is a couple of years older than they are in canon, which I did to make the content more appropriate, and also so I could play with the ambiguity of those three undocumented years, and hand wave away some of the more...uncharitable parts of canon without having to rewrite everything. This is Damian still on his early Rebirth character track, before the many resets to his character development. He's still harsh and somewhat antisocial, but he's also older, more mellow, and has worked through a couple of things. He's settled enough to allow for some honest introspection.

I didn't initially plan for this to be a love story, but their internal conflicts were complimentary and their deepest wishes slotted together so neatly that the direction felt natural. They cover many of each other's weaknesses and blind spots, while making some of their other hangups worse.

The romance isn't even the critical part really, it's just the way they end up expressing emotional intimacy. They are friends first, and that's what holds everything together. It's all about them showing up for each other in ways that are sometimes difficult, and the fact that they always will, regardless of whether they're in a relationship or not.

It's an awkward, intense, teen relationship, and it's not always a good thing for either of them--even before factoring in cosmic super weapons and secret identities.

Also, there are... a lot of cameos and odd side characters.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

The Rest Is History

A/N: Listen, was I supposed to be working on IPB AU? Yes. Did I write this fun drabble instead? Also, yes. I'm surrounded by enablers.... but the fact remains that Cassian is absolutely thinking abou the Roman Empire daily. And he would make a hot history nerd, so here we are. Dedicated to the GC ❤️

“Listen. I get it. It looks cool and all that, but you seriously expect me to believe any general in their right mind is going to use catapults and ballistae in a forest? A forest? Just imagine the poor guys trying to maneuver those into place between the trees. It would take forever and only leaves you exposed and puts you at more of a disadvantage.”

Nesta has to bite her lip around a smile as she listens to Cassian rant in the other room. Even through the closed door, his voice carries down the hall to her.

She had known Cassian was a history buff from their very first date. They’d gone to a bar in the historical part of town, down by the harbor, and as if he simply couldn’t stop himself, Cassian had leaned over after they’d ordered their drinks and explained how the location was notorious for shang-haiing back in the day. How one of the most notorious culprits was actually a woman who would flirt and trick sailors into having drink after drink with her until they passed out and woke up dazed and confused on a ship the next morning while she walked away with her pocket full of coin.

He had apologized almost as soon as he’d finished speaking, clearly embarrassed by the outburst. But Nesta had been so entranced by the way his hazel eyes had lit up when he spoke, the golds and greens of them practically sparking even in the low light of the bar. Entranced by the way his lips had tugged up into an easy, excited smile around the words he spoke. Entranced by his passion and his love even if it was for a topic she didn’t necessarily share in.

It had been enough to want a second date with him.

It had been enough to want a lot of dates with him.

And now, here Nesta is, curled up in the room they converted to her own personal library and office, listening to Cassian rant away to his followers on TikTok. It still leaves her with that same feeling as their first date, that same soft warmth blooming between her ribs. Still has her shaking her head fondly, as she burrows deeper beneath her pile of blankets and returns to the final chapter of her book.

By the time she is finishing the last page and finally closing the book, Nesta is less than impressed. She digs her phone out from where it’s buried between blankets and opens her Notes app, adding to her running list of points to make in her review. The ending? Terrible. Nothing worse than an author who clearly got offered a new book deal so they suddenly decide to add unnecessary plot to the final ten pages to set up another book. She’ll definitely be warning her TikTok followers about that.

To take her mind off the ending, she decides to open up the app in question, to check on what her followers are saying about her last book review, liking and replying to a good chunk of them. With a soft sigh, she sinks deeper against the pillows at her back, navigating to her FYP. Almost all of the videos are a trend sweeping across BookTok, of different creators trying to teach their boyfriends and husbands how to be a good book boyfriend. It has an idea sparking in Nesta’s mind, her eyes dancing toward the closed door to the library.

With a decided nod, she clambers up to her feet, padding out of the room and down the hall. She pauses in the doorway to Cassian’s office, leaning casually against the door jamb and watching him work. He has his ring light set up on the desk, phone poised and recording in the center. His hair is scraped back into a bun, and he’s wearing a loose tee that teases just enough of the dark swirls of ink that splash across his collarbones, that twist down his arms. But it’s his hands that really have Nesta’s attention, the way he waves them about as he passionately speaks to the camera.

“And don’t even get me started on the depiction of Marcus Aurelius. Did they even have a historian in that writer’s room?”

As Cassian continues to rant about the Roman emperor and his character in the movie, it’s clear that he can feel Nesta’s eyes on him. It’s the smile that gives him away first, the slow tug of his lips until the soft, dopey look he fondly calls his ‘Nesta smile’ takes over his face. And then his eyes start glancing toward her, and even with the distance, Nesta can see the way his gaze softens around the edges.

Even still, Cassian continues talking, continues recording as if nothing’s amiss. Nesta rolls her eyes fondly, but that merely has his smile growing. She always teases him when he does this, for the way he won’t re-record any of the videos and posts them regardless. When Nesta had taken a peek at his account and his videos, she’d seen plenty of comments asking what or, more particularly, who he was looking at.

When Cassian finishes, he reaches forward to stop his recording, turning to give Nesta his full attention. “Hey, Nes. Finally finish your book?”

“Yes. The ending was terrible.”

Cassian chuckles, the sound deep and warm. “I’m sure your followers will appreciate your honesty on that.”

Nesta shrugs noncommittally, but she knows he’s right. It’s how she built her following in the first place: completely honest and transparent book reviews. “Speaking of followers. I do need your help with a video, a BookTok trend. We can call it even from when you made me chase after you for that August video.”

“Hey, that Pheidippides joke was hilarious,” Cassian defends, standing up from his chair even as he shakes his head as though fondly remembering the video. “The Persians slipped away like a bottle of wine…”

Nesta snorts at the reminder of the caption he used, turning on her heel and leading the way back to her library. She grabs her phone from where she left it, taking the time to set it up so it has the perfect framing of the door. Once she’s happy with it, she presses record, curling her hand around Cassian’s wrist and tugging him into the shot.

“So the trend is to lean against the door frame like the men in books do.”

“Lean against the door frame?” Cassian asks, shifting until his shoulder presses against the door jamb.

“No, the top frame,” Nesta corrects, grabbing his wrist again and tugging his arm up to demonstrate.

Cassian readjusts his stance, settling his weight forward as he leans against his raised hand, and offers her a winning smile. “Like this, sweetheart?”

“Yes, but you’re not supposed to smile. It’s meant to be sultry,” Nesta explains, frowning at Cassian’s expression. “What is that face?”

“Blue steel.”

“That’s it. You fail,” Nesta laughs softly, turning to walk back toward her phone and stop the recording.

An arm snakes around Nesta’s waist, fingers curling and spinning her back around. She barely comes face to face with Cassian before he’s backing her up against the door jamb, caging her in with his large body. Her breath hitches in her chest at the way his hazel eyes have darkened, and she can’t look away, even when his arm tightens around her waist, arching her back and pulling her flush against him. His hand slides along her jaw, thumb skating across her bottom lip before he leans down and kisses her, Nesta sighing into his mouth.

“How’s that compare to the men in your books?” Cassian whispers when he pulls back.

Nesta is sure that she must be blushing, but she clears her throat and extricates herself from Cassian’s hold. She can practically feel Cassian’s smirk on her back as she walks back over to her phone and stops the recording, but she refuses to give him the satisfaction. Especially when she watches back the way she became flustered and then melted into him in 4k.

“Well, I can’t post this.”

“You should definitely post it,” Cassian murmurs, his voice closer than she expects, but then his arms are curling around her waist as he plasters himself to her back.

And maybe it’s the warmth of Cassian wrapped around her. Maybe it’s the peace and security she’s found in his arms. Maybe it’s the way this history nerd has made her feel happier and more loved than she ever thought possible. Maybe it’s the way his lips pressing a line along her neck is very distracting.

Whatever it is, Nesta finds herself trimming the video to remove the parts at the beginning and end where she started and stopped the recording. Finds herself quickly adding subtitles and typing out an easy caption of, ‘I guess he passes after all… #BookTokChallenge #BookBoyfriend.’ After all, she can always delete the video later if she really wants to.

She presses post and tosses her phone aside, turning around in Cassian’s arms and kissing him properly, more than happy to go stumbling down the hall to their bedroom in a tangle of limbs. And later, while Cassian makes them dinner, Nesta sits atop their kitchen island and decides to open TikTok again, unable to hold in a surprised laugh as she reads the top, most liked comment on her most recent video.

Is that the fucking HistoryTok dude????

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck

[mariyekos]

For those of you (like me!) who missed it, there was a Behind the Scenes video released for the first Devil May Cry Netflix Anime back in November 2023, which includes a few scenes that aren't in either the old or new trailer!

This is where we got the shots of the female character who might(?) be Lady but didn't appear in the trailers. It's also where we got shots of a fight that doesn't appear in the latest trailer...unless it's an old version that's since been changed. Putting some screenshots and thoughts below the cut!

"Lady", or the Woman in the Behind the Scenes Video

Above: 1) Dante and the woman running on a rooftop, 2) The woman falls off rooftop, Dante sprints to the ground past her, 3) The woman continues falling and Dante gets prepped to catch her (note: there's something on the right that at first I thought might be Kalina-Ann, but on re-watches looks like a broken pipe).

My thought is that this could be Lady because it mirrors their encounters in DMC3 to an extent. The first shot makes me think of running through the library during her fight. The second and third shot of her falling and Dante catching her is reminiscent of when she fell off the Temen-ni-gru and Dante caught her (by the leg).

However...I hope it's not Lady, because other than the hairstyle, she doesn't look like Lady to me. This DMC is clearly going for a more modern aesthetic than DMC3 (and most of the DMCs, with 5 having the most "modern" look in terms of the city), but this woman's outfit reads very techo-futuristic to me and I would rather not have Lady dress like that. It just doesn't feel very Lady-like to me, y'know? That and I just think it was cool when Lady decided to shoot Dante and save herself when falling in DMC3. Please don't damsel in distress her like this :(

(Related: While I know the real reason Lady dresses like she does is that it's cute/hot, I like to HC that she typically doesn't wear armor because she needs to be able to move, and she figures any demon who'll be able to hurt her will be strong enough to make it through armor anyway so she might as well something mobile and comfortable.)

Now I will say, this woman doesn’t have the Kalina-Ann on her, just two pistols(?), so one possible story-line I’m thinking of is that this is Lady, but in a point early in the story where she’s working for some mercenaries or some sort of group to establish herself while she’s hunting Arkham. Then, later on she might split from them and don something more akin to her usual outfits while she runs around with the Kalina-Ann we all know and love. Another option is that this plain isn’t Lady. That’s my ideal.

Another reason why I’d like if this isn’t Lady is that I really do enjoy the young/schoolgirl aesthetic Lady has going in the original DMC3 and DMC3 Manga, because it sells just how messed up Arkham and his actions are. The scene of a teenager being the one to end her father's life and crying over him feels so much more chilling than it would if she was, say, 25. Lady’s a teenager who’s had her mother and her life stolen from her, and that’s tragic. This woman doesn’t read like a teen to me. And while Dante also reads as a little older and anime is notorious for making 17 year olds look 30 and 30 year olds look 17, that doesn’t eliminate the fact that I think an older looking Lady would lower the impact of certain scenes, even if the show says she’s 16. I like when Lady is younger than Dante, because Dante’s this teenager who’s so irresponsible, but then in comes Lady who’s even younger but seems to have it together…until eventualy you come face to face with the idea that oh, oh boy, this is all terrible and no one should be having to deal with this, Arkham what have you done (both with essentially orphaning Lady and partnering with the teenage Vergil (and screwing over the teenage Dante) as part of his evil plan. Which Vergil agrees to and helps with, so he's far from innocent, but still).

Comparison between Behind the Scenes and the New Trailer

It's also possible that the show might've changed aesthetics a bit between the previous trailer and this one.

See these shots from the new trailer (which I will refer to as NT)? I wonder if they're updated variants of this scene from the Behind the Scenes (BtS) video below.

Now I'll admit this is kind of a stretch. Buuuuut I'm going to stretch to make it anyway. In both scenes, Dante is being attacked by a group of humans. Yes, he fights humans across different media, but if the DMC anime is mostly Dante vs a bunch of humans with human weapons, I'm going to be very bored, so that's why I'm hoping this is just storyboard vs Final version of a scene. And yes, I know that's a lot of work to redo...but maybe reception was bad and they pivoted, and that's part of why we went a year without any news.

Other big things: the arcade cabinets.

I'm pretty sure this is supposed to be Dante's shop in both shots, and again, if Dante gets jumped by a bunch of humans in his shop multiple times, I'm going to be upset/bored because really? That's such a basic thing to reuse. Please don't do that. Thus I'm banking on the BtS version being the original idea, with the NT version being what the animators/director pivoted to.

And the thing I caught onto before I noticed the arcade cabinets: the guy(s) on the floor.

Again, it's entirely possible these are different scenes. A guy getting knocked out is one of the most basic things in any show that includes any kind of fighting. But...if they were redoing a scene, why not keep a few of the elements like the guy(s) Dante has knocked out? Are we going to have multiple scenes of people jumping Dante in his shop, Dante knocking them out, and the shop being partially destroyed? Seems excessive.

Lastly, these two shots:

Now the Rebellion thing is deeeeefinitely a stretch. The other stuff I mentioned in regards to this two scenes is stuff I'm pretty sure of Rebellion nah, especially since it doesn't come right after the other scenes in the BtS video (which are all together), whereas all the shots I included of the NT are in sequence. But the reason I included it is because it feels like a very good establishing shot of Dante, where they might have initially wanted to have him fight some people and pull up Rebellion on its own, but later changed their mind to having the zoom happen mid-fight. The way the walls are messed up in the BtS video makes me think that shot's in Dante's shop, and as I've said a million times before, I think it would be boring/lazy to repeat the same events in the same place.

Closing Thoughts

If the fight scenes above ARE the older and newer versions of the same scene, this does give me some hopes that if the woman in the top shots is meant to be Lady, they might've gone back and fixed up her design to make her more Lady-like. I don't want techno-futuristic outfits. I want someone who's in more traditional combat gear or otherwise at least in more cloth. The thing I love about Lady is how she looks like a teenager whose life veered off the road into the realm of demon hunting, and I think the whole "high school uniform paired with guns and belts and so on" does a great job of visually expressing that.

I will say that the military does seem to get involved at some point due to some shots of a gatling gun, armored truck, and missile, and the guys in the BtS video look more military than the mercenary types of the NT, so they still could be two different fights... but I hope not. The modern tech stuff doesn't feel very DMC to me. I want to keep the spirit of the games, even if we go for new things. (And yes, I know the military shows up in DMC5, but they're there for all of two minutes so if they do show up in the Netflix DMC, I hope they're only there for a short while.)

If you've made it to the end, thank you for reading! If you want to see me break down the new trailer, I made a post about it here.

[steddie-my-love]

Tangled Up

Dads!Gentlebeard x Daughter!Reader

When you’re just about done with your tangled hair, ed comes in with a solution to stop you from doing something drastic.

A/N: I wrote this based on my experience as an individual with 3a texture hair growing up- i apologize for any inaccuracies as pertaining to other people’s experience with hair

—-

If there was one thing you didn’t account for when becoming a pirate, it was how to take care of your hair. Sure, a day at the beach wouldn’t do anything too terrible but after months your head was in rough shape.

it started as a few tangles at the base of your head, but quickly grew tighter and thicker until it was impossible to fix. Eventually the skin below grew tender and you couldn’t stand to even lay on your back, feeling the tension.

So, as Stede and Ed stood out on the deck planning their next move you slipped into the captain’s quarters. Digging through Stede’s things you found mountains of trinkets until you found what you were looking for; a pair of fine, shaft scissors perfect for cutting hair.

Steadying yourself, you pressed the cool metal to the back of your head. Your hand began to close in until-

“What on earth are you doing?” Stede’s voice rang out, eyes wide as he took in the scene “you know you could have hurt yourself with those!”

you dropped the scissors to the ground, stomach dipping as you were caught. embarrassment burned in your eyes as the two captains stared you down.

“here mate,” Ed murmured to the blonde “i’ll get this sorted, just bring me a coconut yeah?”

Without a word stede flounced to the kitchen, leaving you and the dread captain alone in their quarters. ed cleared his throat “how bad is it?”

You looked away, not wanting to meet his eyes.

“i promise it’s nothing to be embarrassed about-” ed continued “you don’t have hair as long as mine without some nasty knots popping up here and there”

Ed moved over to the couch, picking a few choice pillows before throwing them on the ground, creating a seat. “take a seat please doll, i promise it’ll feel better without it tugging on your neck like it is”

Timidly, you walked forward, eyes downwards as you sat before the notorious pirate captain. Despite his callused fingers, ed’s touch was gentle, parting the uneffected hair out of the way.

“i’ve got the coconut for you darling” stede called, the top of the fruit already chopped off.

“what are you going to do with a coconut?” you timidly asked. A furrow in your brow that seemed to mirror stede a little too much making ed laugh.

“It’s not for drinking” ed chuckled, before taking some of the water into his hand and scrunching it into your hair “coconut water helps strengthen and detangle hair. i’ll just let it absorb and then try to lightly comb out the rest.”

Once the coconut was drained, Ed took a fine comb from stede’s personal collection and had begun detangling the mess of hair, starting from the bottom and working his way up.

“How did you learn to do this ed?” you asked as the conversation lulled, gentle fingers carding through your hair.

“i suppose it’s a skill my mother taught me.” ed said absently “she always said that it was important to look your best i guess.”

After a while, ed had finished. your hair was now back to its normal, untangled and glinting under the lantern light.

“how about i braid that up for you?” stede interjected, hands twitching in his lap as he waited to be helpful. “if you keep it braided it’ll protect against getting knotted up again.”

Ed gave a nod “that does help, though it’s your choice kid”

With your nod, stede took ed’s place on the couch. gently taking your hair he wove it together, occasionally stopping to ask if something was hurting which it never was.

At the end, your hair was left in a simple, yet elegant braid, two whispy pieces left to frame your face. “stede this is gorgeous, where did you learn this?” you asked, mouth agape as the gnarled hair was now smoothly tucked into itself.

“wow! ed- stede- thank you, i don’t know what to say!” you exclaimed, wrapping the two men into a hug.

“of course kid” Ed said, pulling you tighter. “We’ll always be here to help.” said the other. And so that braid stayed in until there was another, and another, and eventually your hair braiding became the preferred nighttime ritual of the dread blackbeard and the notorious gentleman pirate.

[lanternb61]

Second Chance

Final Part

As you groggily opened your eyes, the stark white room and the familiar scent of antibiotics filled your senses. Your mind slowly regained clarity, and suddenly, the weight of your recent breakup came crashing down on you once again.

Memories flooded back - the realization that Togame wanted to break up with you because he perceived you as weak, the constant eyes of his enemy watching over you, thinking you were cowardly and hopeless. All those negative thoughts, the burden you felt upon him... it all became unbearable.

As you were lost in you own thoughts, Togame entered the room with a heavy step, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the quiet space. Your heart clenched instinctively, unsure what to expect from the interaction. The air felt charged with unspoken tensions and lingering emotions, the weight of recent breakup pressing upon you both.

As Togame stood before you, his towering presence filling the room, you couldn't help but feel a mixture of apprehension and vulnerability. The blanket wrapped around you seemed like a meager shield against the weight of strained relationship. Stuttering, you weakly asked, "What do you want?" The anticipation and uncertainty hung heavily in the air, mirroring the tumultuous emotions that had torn both of you apart.

Togame's gaze locked with yours as he quietly sat on the chair beside you. The tension in the room was palpable, the weight of unspoken words lingering in the air. With a heavy sigh, he exhaled, summoning the courage to speak. His voice was softly, tinged with the weight of recent turmoil and the pain of broken relationship.

"I'm sorry for everything...."

Togame's voice trembled as he uttered his apology, his remorse evident in every word. "I'm sorry for everything," he repeated, his sorrowful gaze fixed on you. The simplicity of his words belied the depth of his remorse, his heart weighed down by the pain he had caused.

"Sorry for?..." You waited for his response.

Togame took a deep breath, his heart heavy with the weight of his guilt and regret. "I'm sorry for pushing you away," he confessed, his voice filled with sincerity. "I was wrong to make assumptions about your strength and cowardice. I see clearly now that those were just excuses I told myself to justify my own insecurities. You are strong, and you always have been. I should have supported you, instead of pushing you away."

You looked at him "Then.....?"

Togame's gaze softened as he caught his sweetheart's subtle questioning look. He gently reached out and took your hand in his, the warmth of his touch mingling with the coolness of the hospital room. "Then, that means... I made a terrible mistake," he confessed, his voice filled with vulnerability and honesty. "I was too blinded by my own fears and insecurities, and I hurt you in the process. I want to make things right, if you'll let me."

You paused. His strong hand held yours. You know what exactly this feel. You felt safe around Togame as he always protect you from dangerous men that try to screw around with Shishitoren, the notorious gang that lift absolute creed strength as their morale. 

"Please give me some time, Togame."

Togama's grip tightened gently around your hand, his strength and reassurance palpable even in his touch. His expression softened, a mixture of acceptance and regret filling his emerald eyes. "Of course, my love," he replied quietly. "Take all the time you need. I will give you space and be here when you're ready. I promise to prove to you that I'm sincere in my apology and my desire to make things right."

After Togame left, your mind raced as you tried to make sense of your tumultuous relationship with him. Memories of your previous breakups and the reasons behind them swirled in your head, further fueling the whirlwind of emotions that consumed you. However, amidst the turmoil, a realization dawned upon you — Togame had initiated the breakup, yet you had responded with fear and avoidance.

As you lay in the hospital, you knew you had to confront your fears and make amends. You could no longer let the past dictate your actions and jeopardize your relationship with Togame.

As you carefully walk outside of the room, you noticed Togame from behind, sipping a ramune bottle and casually lounging by the vending machine in his familiar Shishitoren jacket. The sight of him, even from behind, brought a wave of mixed emotions crashing over you. Taking a deep breath, you summoned you courage and whispered his name, "Togame..."

Upon hearing his sweetheart's voice, Togame turned, his emerald eyes widening in pleasant surprise at your presence.

Togame's heart leapt as his sweetheart threw herself into his arms, embracing him tightly. Caught off guard, he instinctively loosened his grip on the ramune bottle, causing it to spill as he tried to free himself to hug you back.

As the liquid splattered on the ground, Togame frantically reached for something to tidy up the mess. His emerald eyes widened, his cheeks flushed with a hint of embarrassment as he grappled with the sudden situation.

"Y....Yes, sweetheart?"

Togame's voice trembled as he spoke, his heart still racing from the unexpected embrace. "You...?" he began, his words coming out in a soft, bewildered whisper. His mind grappled with a mix of emotions—surprise, confusion, and a hint of delight.

Togame's emerald eyes flickered with a flurry of unspoken questions, searching for answers amidst the surge of emotions flooding his senses.

"I want to say sorry for everything. I know you suffered because of me. You know I'm an idiot that cannot stand on her own feet yet you still try your best to make me fall for you again." You spoke as you rest your head on his broad chest.

Togame's chest tightened, his heart overflowing with a mixture of emotions. He gently wrapped his strong arms around you, the weight of your words sinking in as he held you close. His voice softened with understanding and sincerity.

"You are not an idiot," he assured you, his thumb gently caressing your back. "You've never been weak. We all have our strengths and weaknesses, and I've always seen your strength, your resilience, and your courage."

"And.....?" You lift her head looking at his tired eyes behind his shades. How long actually does this guy have time to sleep?

Togame met her gaze, his emerald eyes peering at you gently from behind his shades. The exhaustion in his gaze was noticeable, a testament to the countless sleepless nights he had endured.

He softly admitted, "And, I may have been a little harsh. I was scared. I saw you running off earlier, and the thought of something happening to you..."

"......is unbearable?" You finished off his sentence before himself.

Togame nodded slowly, the truth of your words sinking deeply into the very core of his being. "Yes," he admitted quietly, his voice laced with a mixture of vulnerability and regret. The weight of his emotions hung heavy in the air, and he reached out to gently hold your hand, intertwining with your fingers.

"Don't worry. I never leave you behind again, Togame. Thank you again for taking care of me when I'm  sick. But please don't smoke again or else I fell sick you know." 

Togame smiled warmly, his emerald eyes shimmering with a mixture of fondness and relief. He tightened his hold on your hand, his touch firm and reassuring. "I promise, my love," he murmured, his voice filled with sincerity. "No more cigarettes, not if it means you stay healthy and happy by my side."

As you cupped Togame's cheek and rained kisses upon his face, he couldn't help but chuckle softly, his heart swelling with joy and contentment. Each kiss felt like a sweet caress, a declaration of the love and appreciation you had for him.

In that moment, as you two stood together in the quiet solitude, Togame felt a profound sense of gratitude for the love that surrounded him. With his sweetheart back by his side, he felt complete, as if nothing else in the world mattered.

Part 1/2/3/4/5/6

[popart-vvv]

Michael Jackson Collage (+ My Picks)

I made a collage of a childhood favorite...

(a bit of censorship because I don't want to take my chances)

Anyway, this is my personal dedication to the King of Pop himself. His post-Motown eras, specifically, from Off the Wall to Invincible. Plus song lyric highlights from each respective album.

I can feel the impact this dude has had on the world of music; he's tried out pretty much every popular genre of his time--starting from disco, then dance-pop with a touch of rock, and then maturing throughout the years. Seriously, even when he started to fall off the radar, he still made some bangers! HIStory especially; I'd say it's his darkest album yet, musically and lyrically, and it's all the better for it.

Everyone knows Thriller...

And the moonwalk...

I'm gonna go and mention some other cool tracks from him casual music fans may not know about, though.

First off, Leave Me Alone.

Pretty much a warning of what was to come, this song is a response to all those terrible rumors about him. It became even more poignant a few years after release...

Black or White

Not only is the track a still-relevant cry for human equality, but there are quite a few badass lines too. "I ain't scared of no sheets!", anyone?

Scream (with Janet Jackson)

A team-up between MJ and his sister Janet? Yes please! Make this the opening track to the aforementioned HIStory? A hell of a first impression! (Plus, to deepen the impact, there's an f-bomb in there.)

They Don't Care About Us

The succeeding track on the album is VERY relevant today. Long story short, it's an anthem for pretty much everyone who has been the victim of social injustice.

Unbreakable (with Notorious BIG)

The opening track to MJ's overlooked final album, this jam has the King boast about how, despite all the crap he went through, he was still the King of Pop. Plus, he's aided by a posthumous verse from Biggie Smalls.

Well, that's my dedication to the King of Pop himself. Hope you like it! ;)

P.S. I even got the licensed dance game when it was in print!

[just-prime]

I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything of the sort; I understand that fics are written by real people with real lives beyond what I read on the screen. (As someone who is notorious for never doing anything on time, I don’t want to make you feel pressured in that way.)

I am very grateful that, despite this full life I assume you already lead, you, and other writers, have chosen to not only create, but also share your work with the greater community! Thank you!

however

I have literally been on the edge of my seat waiting to read the Horror of Dream House

I assume this is how other people feel when they are waiting for a cake to finish baking, although, as a terrible baker and voracious eater of cake batter, I have rarely, if ever, felt this excitement in the literal sense

so

Are we cooking? Cooling? Burning?

Boiling? Pickling? Fermenting?

Popping? Locking? Polka-dotting?

Inquiring minds (and bad bakers) want to know :)

So I was in class when I received this ask, which is the only reason it didn't get answered immediately.

This ask absolutely made my day!!!

It's incredible to know that there are people out there who are interested in my work, and nothing gets the creative juices flowing like people expressing said interest.

That being said, baking-wise, I apologize in advance because it is probably going to be a long wait. I am very much the sort of person who likes a chunk of fic done, and given that this will be my first longfic, I want it to have a consistant posting schedule.

I took a pretty big writing break over March, so April is where I am easing myself back into the process. However the fic is still nowhere near done. Currently, I'm shaping up to *hopefully* hit 100K words by the end of the month, but again, this is going to end up massive, since the full end is not in sight.

My current plan is to try and finish up Part 1 and then start posting (I am putting it in writing here so I can't back out of it later), because that will give me a lot of leeway to work on what will probably end up being a shorter Part 2. The epilogue and a short connecter story are already written, and there are tentative plans for at least a sequel and threquel fic...however I'm not letting myself think about those all too much lest I become distracted from the task at hand.

It's been a slow but steady process and I am learning when I need to take breaks so I don't burn myself out too often, but honestly I've very much kept the spark of the idea, and it is definitely still in the works.

If we want to continue the cake metaphor, for this fic, you'll be getting two cakes, Part 1 and Part 2. Currently, there are some cooling tiers across the board, some that still need the batter mixed, and some that are cooking. However, Part 1 is definitely getting closer and closer to being finished, and I certainly am able to roughly count how many tiers it will be before it's done.

All in all, keep an eye out here, I will definitely let you all know when Part 1 has hit the editing stage. I am so deeply excited to share it with you.

[penname-artist]

So I know that "avian" universes have been created by a few Planes folk, or at least just by buddies @c-119 and @ask-dusty-boy (that I'm aware of currently) but I'm quietly toying with a similar idea of my own, just on the...Opposite side of the scale?

By which I mean, goddamn tiny bird people.

So this is where I wanna dump all of that plated spaghetti of unsorted ideas. I have lost my writing muses so pardon the mess.

I know for normal-sized people to have bird wings, generally the rule of thumb is that you make them bigger, and their wings much bigger, to reach accuracies and such for how they'd get into the air. And also power. Big powerful bird person cool.

For me, creating my own little side-dish sandbox of "human Planes characters but with bird wings so I can play birds too because fuck you still you one human person from an unspecified number of years ago who wouldn't let me play with them" means going the other way. Making them TEENY. fairy sized. Dollhouse scaled. Itty-bitty please do not step on them little bird babies.

This might also be so I can save a bunch of DIY dollhouse items to my Pinterest and melt over them with an excuse that I'm "conducting research" for such a world.

Anyways.

Somewhere I already said and or drew or did something where I was like "Blade. Hummingbird boy. Nuff said." But like LEGIT, I bring this up again. He would have a hummingbirds wings and have similar qualities. Probably would struggle with discerning reflective surfaces in bright sunlight so he's probably hit his head more than once on stuff.

Baby go boom, pass out on ground for while til someone hands him an appy juice (natural sugar is very helpful for replenishing an exhausted hummingbird's energy)

Dusty is probably one of those small wild birds you hear in the morning. Maybe like a robin or something. Loud in the morning, chirpy, big on vocalization and tree branch hopping

...Nick's probably a chickadee. The colors tho. The little round ass fucking body, that thing is so B O R B. He is small round borb. A mess of feathers.

I also won't take literal fairies off the table here because that would be an interesting combination. Or butterflies! Or moths! Or literally any other type of small creature capable of flight. And the likes, for the non-fliers as well

*cough* spider Maru *cough*

Fuck now I want to ironically make Cabbie into some kind of tiny bat thing

The SJ can be his bugs- I mean um beetle styled people

GUYS, NOBODY SLEEP ON KEEPING TINY BIRD PEOPLE IN A DOLLHOUSE AT HOME THO.

I imagine there's a terrible pet industry for them if that's the case, but my point still stands that if you take good care of them you should get to have them around as trusty companions! Maybe less like a pet hamster and more like a befriended hive of bees

They have predators. Likely just any animal that would eat what they would be animal-wise. But like not each other. That'd be weird. Also if that was the case Cabbie would be down like, five Smokejumpers. So no it's just the big pred animals going after them not them after themselves

Cats are NOTORIOUS for getting to them. I fully believe Rip would have set one on Dusty in their final race, on purpose.

They probably aren't like, just woodland fairy like creatures anymore, like the stories would have you believe. I think they'd all be integrated somewhat with the modern world and have a lot of evolution themselves, so they basically have scaled down versions of everything normal humans have, even down to styled choices of clothing...well, minus the added wings

They probably don't lay eggs

They do molt though when stressed

I have to imagine there's SOME sort of process to the insect ones on shedding skins?? That's kinda gross but like? It's nature??

*cough* spider Maru *cough*

Catching them is probably illegal, especially inhumanely (ie in ways that injure or risk injury to them, like using bug nets, zappers, etc) and accidental capture (like from mouse traps let's say) may be fineable

(okay but someone stuck on a sticky mouse trap is kind of funny to me. They have such an angry grin and the occasional 'flflflflfl!' of wings)

That's it that's my post byeee

[inkofamethyst]

March 3, 2024

It's so weird to already know what instrument I'm going to learn next (and also to have purposefully selected a time to learn it). Like, I didn't know I was going to want to teach myself the saxophone in high school, it just kind of happened (though these days I do lowkey wish I had gone for alto rather than tenor (will not make the same mistake with the bass, will prob go for a short scale)). Same with the uke--I was just bored one summer. But knowing that the bass is coming up (but that I'll be waiting over a year for it still (not a bad thing, as I'll be able to use this summer to learn more about my community at large)) makes me a bit antsy to just start playing. I'll be listening to music and will have to make a mental note of a cool baseline I'd like to learn (the "Life Will Change" bridge !!!!!!!!! (though I'll prob have to learn something like "Mask" from P5 before that if I want to play while singing (supposedly notoriously difficult on bass which is lovely)--slower, more repetitive)) but like, that's over a year away. I mean the wait gives me time to save and plan, sure, but I also just want to play something sometimes.

Speaking of planning, when I get to that fateful day next May of picking a bass (not sure if I want to go the cheap route and grab something used online or the Main Character route and have some hot guy in a guitar shop help me pick one out based on his expertise and then offer to give me lessons and then we fall in love (can you tell that Hadestown has pushed the dial right back over to R??) (though the guitar shop plan makes more sense for my first one (of one? of many? who knows) since I don't know any bassists and I don't know what I'm doing (yet))), I'm also going to have to decide whether I want to go for lessons. Honestly? I'm considering it. I know my whole deal is like "hur hur hur im a self taught multi-instrumentalist" (!!!! I'm a multi-instrumentalist !!!!!) but also if I can't find good videos on/am unsure about technique, might as well talk to a professional.

God I'm so excited to learn that instrument. Can you tell?

Speaking of saving, one thing about my savings goals notion page is that I wish it was more.. dynamic. In that, sometimes I save extra towards a goal one month, and it'd be nice if the suggested monthly savings amount went down to reflect the new minimum needed to reach that goal by the desired date. Or alternatively, change the end date based on the amount saved if the minimum payment stayed the same. I don't know how to code either of those, but they'd be a nice touch.

Though, kind of on a similar note, saving so aggressively in January and February has meant that, after typical spending habits, I've been left with basically nothing at the end of the month lol. Everything else taken into account, I've got ~$200 for random discretionary purchases monthly. That's been perfectly fine (aka just enough) but it also feels a little tight? Idk. I suppose I can rationalize it by the fact that it will keep me from overspending and will allow me to reach other goals quicker but it still feels like I'm livin paycheck to paycheck hehe. But this will only last as long as my ultra-aggressive saving strats do, so for about another year, then I start letting up (if all goes to plan).

Also, went ahead and did the per-day calculations because I've always heard that it's cheaper to make your own food than to buy it, and I am actually saving so much by making my own meals every day*. Like, so much. Now, at my uni, getting breakfast or lunch a la carte isn't terribly expensive, but it certainly can and likely would add up.

*Granted, I do benefit from the occasional free lunch or dinner.

Can you tell I'm rationalizing anxiety with over-strategizing? I truly do not make enough money to be so focused (rationalization: start good habits early). The moneydiaries subreddit has fried my brain I think.

Thinking about putting on some fake tattoos at the end of spring break. Partly because they make me immensely, unreasonably happy, partly because I'm curious if anyone would ask about them hehe. The last time I did a full sleeve and met up with some friends (years ago) they were a lil shook.

Today I'm thankful for.. a lazy weekend. And nighttime rain storms.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Mind Control

Let's kick the darker part of December off with Námo having an idea, Irmo enabling his brother, and Fëanor having a very bad time because of it...

Please be advised that this story, as all stories, are on the fringe of consent and good taste at times.

Please proceed warily! Take care of yourselves, loves!

Prompt: Mind Control

Characters: Námo, Irmo, Fëanor x Nerdanel

Words: 2 210

Warnings: Minor Manipulation, confusion -> dubcon, NSFW, nudity, reference to potential incest, vaginal sex

“Brother!”

Irmo looked up in surprise—it was rare that Námo came to see him at work for the eminently dignified Lord was usually entirely absorbed by his own tasks.

Curiosity and earnest affection gave the Ruler of Reveries wings as he rushed over to the dark shadow’s side, basking in the air of cool efficiency emanating from his older sibling.

Where Nienna was warm and soothing, Námo was the blessed, fresh breeze on a sweltering day, and Irmo loved them both more than words could describe.

“What can I do for you, oh Lord of the Dead?” he asked teasingly—he was too attuned to the desires and impulses of those around him not to notice the discreet thrum of unspoken wishes in his brother’s soul.

“Punishment,” Námo replied calmly.

Sucking his teeth, the Lord of Dreams and Desires shook his head. “That is not my purview, as you well know, and I am sure that my wife would not approve.”

The heavy cowl dissimulating a pale face of heart-wrenching, soul-destroying beauty shifted as Námo cocked his head in disbelief.

“I am the judge of all things—I am the law and the right—and you think that I’d come to you behind Estë’s back?”

It was now the older one’s turn to cluck reprovingly.

“Your wife has given me quite an interesting lecture on the bodies of incarnates—she agrees that, once an impasse such as the one I am facing is reached, one must consider more drastic therapeutic measures.”

“Very well then,” Irmo gave in. “Am I right in surmising that it is one of those pesky Ñoldorin kings of yore who is to suffer terrible nightmares?”

Pride and affection shone in tangible waves from the deep, dark recesses of Námo’s obscuring cloak as he nodded slowly. “Curufinwë Fëanáro himself,” he admitted. “And—ah! Come and see for yourself.”

Irmo followed that exhortation obediently even though he was already perfectly aware of the confused and torturous labyrinth of half-formed wishes and reluctant desires smouldering in the Elf’s soul as embers in a neglected forge.

“Methinks, he doesn’t need any of us to make himself laughably miserable,” he remarked upon sliding up beside his impassive, motionless brother when they finally reached the cell of one of the most notorious of the Children.

“He needs guidance,” Námo started decisively.

“He’s always refused it,” Irmo reminded him gently.

“Yes.” A hint of supercilious humour tinged the Judge’s voice now. “That is why we won’t give him any choice this time.”

Fëanor stared despondently at the wavering nothingness surrounding him when he was quite overcome by a sudden wave of fatigue—he instinctively knew that there was nothing natural about it, but he could not shake off the blinding mist obdurately flooding his leaden mind.

Everything around him seemed to blur into a maelstrom of melting time and swirling events, and he could do nought but bear it, in hopes that sooner or later the sickening vertigo would subside.

When he finally managed to blink and clear his sight, he was standing in a bedroom he had not seen in an eternity. In front of him, stood a young maiden with whom he had once exchanged a few flirty, inconsequential quips in the halls of his father.

“’Náro,” she sighed, undoing the laces of her tunic and laying bare beautifully youthful, pert breasts that were screaming for his attention and tenderness.

“No,” Fëanor muttered. “This is not what happened—we have never…”

He could feel strange, inquisitive eyes burning into the back of his neck, and he rolled his shoulders uncomfortably to brace against the pervasive influx of corrupting madness some evil power was pouring into his befuddled mind.

He had always known, he reminded himself adamantly. Even in the most foolish years of his unsullied youth, he had been painfully aware of his duties, and she had been but the daughter of a minor courtier. He would never have risked her reputation and his hand for a fleeting tryst.

Before his very eyes, however, she now undressed further and extended her pale, soft arms to him, and he found himself unable to withstand the alluring call of her self-forgotten willingness. Too long had he abided in solitude and darkness, condemned to mull over his crimes in utter isolation, and so he could not forego the chance to feel another body’s heat chase the ubiquitous chill that had crept into his immaterial bones.

At the very moment that his body was about to collide with her firm, nubile flesh, though, the whole scene shifted once more.

“Brother,” Ñolo, his half-brother, turned around and gave him one of those tender, slightly awkward smiles that did nothing to distract from the impressive shapeliness of his bare chest. “Have you come to reprimand me for being late? Which one do you like better?”

Fëanor shrank back as the old-familiar burn of illicit, morally abhorrent desire made his thighs clench and his mouth go dry.

Indis’s first-born had ever been as compellingly gorgeous as infuriatingly oblivious of that fact, and he had hated him with a fervent passion for fear of what other feelings and yearnings might be hidden just underneath the thin veneer of his hurt pride.

While Fëanor was battling his baser instincts, Fingolfin was holding up two shirts—one of a subdued eggshell colour and the other one a mesmerizingly deep blue—as if he was truly expecting his seemingly not-all-too-surprising visitor to help him choose between them.

“What do I care?” Fëanor barked so he would not pounce upon that naked flesh and sink his teeth into the bulging muscles to make the other squirm and squeal with pain and rapture alike.

The disappointed, injured look spreading across Fingolfin’s soft, sweet face made Fëanor’s heart clench, but his involuntary reaction of relenting tenderness only gave rise to another slew of all the more vicious snarls and aggressive gestures.

This was just a dream, he tried to tell himself—none of this was real, but when his half-brother’s mouth, soft and desperate, was pressed against his own taut lips, he could not suppress the very real shivering sigh that escaped him.

Endless training sessions in the study as well as in the courtyard had left the younger one’s sensuous fingers strong and unexpectedly calloused, a hidden feature of which Fëanor had not been aware until slightly rough palms slid under his tunic to trace the outline of his well-honed, frantically clenching muscles in a caress so corruptingly naïve and eager that he had to force himself to stay still lest he do something unforgivable like succumbing to the torturous onslaught of shameless seduction.

“This didn’t happen,” he whispered. “I would never have dishonoured our father and his house so.”

“But you wanted to,” an insidious voice, incorporeal and wavering, susurrated, telling Fëanor that he was definitely not alone. He bristled—he had never allowed anyone to know about the strange tension between his half-brother and him, and he was loath to let down his walls even in death and desolation.

“That is of no consequence—what is this? A compilation of all the opportunities I’ve missed? It was a conscious decision, and it does me credit,” Fëanor spat resolutely even as the hands of one who had no reason or right to be here moved in tantalising circles across his trembling skin. “Leave me be! I shan’t submit to your ludicrous corruption!”

Irmo cocked his head at his brother. “He certainly is a fiery one,” he commented, a hint of amused fondness in his voice. “He knows that you are toying with him.”

Nodding, Námo pointed at the edges of the vacillating soul—they could see the ignominious former King of the Ñoldor such as he truly was through the sheer veil of a body his memory had merely conjured up, and it now became evident that Fëanor’s essence had grown more solid already. “Naturally, he persistently misunderstands my purpose, cursed be his defiance, but it’s working.”

“Love does that,” Irmo agreed pleasantly. “That is your design, isn’t it? After neither friends nor family could move him sufficiently, you thought to skirt the brittle, dangerous boundaries of modesty by digging into his more depraved memories? Devious, but effective!”

There was no judgment or reprimand in those words; Irmo was veritably impressed by how ruthless and determined his brother was in the pursuit of the questionable goal of getting Fëanor ready to be returned to those who awaited him most patiently.

“Shall we get on with it? Maybe we should let him…consume the act this time? He seems to grow rather…impatient,” the Lord of Dreams then remarked lightly, nodding at the flickering cluster of bright, pulsating light radiating from the core of Fëanor’s quickly firming silhouette.

“Her then,” Námo relented immediately and smiled when the scene shifted yet again.

“Nerdë!” Half-scream, half-sob, the name of his lost wife sprang from Fëanor’s tingling lips.

“Hush, I’ve only just gotten Káno to stop yowling,” she chided him softly as she sat up in a bed he remembered all too well.

Her smell—clay dust and wildflowers—filled the room, and this time, he did not hesitate to hasten over to let himself be embraced by those impossibly strong and yet incomparably soft arms.

A remnant of doubt lingered in his mind, but he could not say whether this torturously tender scene was a fabrication or a bona fide memory; there had been so many evenings just like this, sitting in bed and talking, while their sons slept down the hallway.

Nevertheless, Nerdanel, the Wise, seemed to have different plans for she pulled him closer to her alluringly freckled chest and sighed when his lips closed around her right nipple through the thin chemise she was wearing. He had married her out of love and folly, and he was sure that none of the chronicles of his terrible crimes would even bother to mention how unconditionally and desperately he had wanted her.

Of course, the staggering number of sons as well as their relative youth on their wedding day were clear signs, but he still hoped that these scheming ink-smeared liars would have the decency to pay homage to Nerdanel’s beauty and his devotion to her appropriately.

“We have to be quiet,” she whispered again, and now, he thought that he recognised her conspiratorial, youthful tone.

As her thighs fell open around him and her broad, nimble fingers tangled in his unbound hair, a surge of compounded darkness made his head spin and his blood boil. Here she was, his one true love, opening up beneath the unyielding pressure of his heated flesh like a blossom in spring, and he might have wept for joy and relief.

Mouthing the name of a child not yet conceived, he closed his eyes as she shifted ever so slightly to steer him resolutely towards the voracious heat of her desire—everything about her touch, her almost mocking smile, and her tiny gasp as he slid into her was so painfully familiar that—for a single, precious moment—Fëanor entirely forgot that none of it was genuine.

How could he have thought of the Valar and their senseless games when Nerdanel’s flesh was writhing—warm and tight—around his cock? Could anyone have faulted him for losing sight of the unfathomably convoluted games of destiny and retribution when he was losing his mind, his heart, his whole self in the velvet abyss of her burning gaze as she met his every thrust halfway?

Her body was strong and glorious, and he worshipped at the altar of her lust as the inexorably increasing pace made his hips stutter against her—Nerdanel laughed breathlessly and surged up to capture his lips in a searing kiss, greedily drinking every tiny moan as she had once lapped dew off green leaves at sunrise.

Nothing mattered besides her—the softness of her breasts against his heaving chest, the clenching ripples of her cunt as her own climax threatened to overwhelm her, and her throaty moans that spurred him ever on—and Fëanor, ever a slave to the fatal flaw of impatience, grabbed her waist possessively to lift her just a fraction before bearing down in frantic movements of unbridled rapture.

Teeth clenching mercilessly around her slender wrist to keep from waking her precious babies, Nerdanel arched into his punishing thrusts one last time; seeing her come undone once again was an image so exquisite that it burned itself through Fëanor’s eyes straight into what was left of his soul.

Throwing his head back in a soundless scream of deliverance, he exploded within her.

Just as he was about to bend down to kiss Nerdanel’s sweat-sheened brow, though, he was whisked back to his cell, alone and shivering. “Come back, you coward!” he bellowed, blind anger and devastating loss ravaging his tortured soul. “Take me back.”

“It actually worked,” Irmo muttered as if he was surprised himself by how successful his brother’s hare-brained plan had turned out to be. “I shall come back soon then?”

“Thank you,” Námo said, bowed, and retreated.

Had he not known better, Irmo would have sworn that the Lord Judge, ever serious, was skipping merrily down the wavering halls of Mandos.

-> Masterlist (by @tolkienpinupcalendar)

Lots of love from me, please take care of yourselves!

[endsupes]

Indie Billy Butcher from The Boys Amazon series (possible small comic influence) . Non-selective and open to AU, OC, and crossovers. Discord given to mutuals only. Personals do not interact.  Rules under readmore.( Sideblog @riplander )

Rules and Notes

First of all, thank you for visiting this page.  Even if you only skim this, I’ll love you forever.  Most of these rules are pretty basic, common sense stuff, but I would really appreciate it if you read them.  I know it’s long, but I’m just trying to make sure no one is offended or uncomfortable.  I’ll try to make this as painless as possible.  Bear with me.  I’ll try to bold the basics.

            — the basics.

I have a few verses to choose from, and I’ll probably place you in the one that will most easily fit with your character’s canon unless otherwise specified.

Butcher isn’t always the most pleasant person. Please know that anything mean said is not a reflection of the mun’s feelings.  IC =/= OOC.

Don’t god-mod.

OC and Au friendly, but please have an about page so I can gauge whether our characters will be able to interact.

Memes and opens are free game – anyone can send one or respond to one.  However, I may not respond for some reason or another: it may be in violation of one of my other rules, or due to external factors.  If you’re worried that I missed something, feel free to come to me about it, but please don’t constantly badger me for replies.  It’s rude.

I reserve the right to refuse to roleplay, especially if I’m uncomfortable.

DO NOT under any circumstances try to bring me into out of character drama.  If you have a problem with me, contact me privately or just unfollow.  Vague blogging, callout posts and the like are annoying, and I ask that you would tag them.  This is something I will unfollow over if I so please.

            — on selectivity. 

I will be selective with my threads and who I interact with.  I would love to interact with everyone, but I’m very busy with school and other blogs, and I don’t want to overload myself.  If this bothers you, feel free to unfollow.  If you have any questions about whether I have time, feel free to jump into my ask.

Also, I am far more likely to RP with mutuals. That’s not to say I won’t RP with those I don’t follow or those who won’t follow me, there may be exceptions. But it is far more likely.  That being said: if I follow you, I want to write with you.  Probably a lot. I’m just too shy to say anything because I’m a weenie pissbaby.

Starter calls, unless otherwise specified, are for mutuals only.

            — on content.

I’m 20+, so mature content is cool with me.   NSFW and triggering content will be present on this blog, but it will also be tagged in the following manner: n.s.f.w., tw:

As for smut: first of all, I will not smut with anyone under the age of 18.  Don’t ask me to; the answer will be no.  And just in general, don’t come to me looking for smut.  I’m not terribly good at writing it, so it’s very unlikely that it will occur on this blog.  I need to be pretty comfortable with someone to smut with them.  If by some miracle a thread is looking like it’s going to get smutty, feel free to hop into my ask and talk to me about it.  We’ll figure something out.

In relation to that, please do not send me overtly sexual memes if we have not interacted.  Kissing memes are fine, but I tend to get uncomfortable with anything beyond that.  Please respect this.

            — on replies.

I’m an adaptive roleplayer, meaning I’ll likely respond in a manner similar to yours.  If you format, I’ll format.  If you don’t, I won’t.  That sort of thing.  I also try to match length with my replies, but some days I struggle.  If you’re ever unhappy with the quality or length of a reply, please let me know and I’ll do my best to fix it.

I don’t always get to things right away.  I’m notorious for avoiding drafts, and especially right now, I’m pretty busy with schoolwork.  However, sometimes I’ll reply at the speed of light.  It’s really varied, and I’m sorry about that.

Sometimes, I’ll drop things that’ve been in my drafts for too long, or things that I feel aren’t going anywhere.  If you think I’ve dropped/missed/lost something that you wish to continue, come to me politely and we can talk about it.

            — on shipping.

I’m admittedly kind of a ship-whore.  If there are sparks, I likely ship it.  I ship Butcher/Chemistry, but again, it’s rather unlikely that Butcher will engage in a sexual or even a romantic relationship.  Them’s the breaks.  BroTPs are great though.  Also, I’m only human: I sometimes play favorites with my ships.  Sorry.

Please please please DO NOT force a ship on me.  It makes me extremely uncomfortable, and I will not hesitate to unfollow or even block you.  I will try to politely let you know if I feel that our characters do/do not have chemistry.

            — on credit.

Most icons, art and edits are made by myself, and are usually tagged as #my art or #my edits. Otherwise, I do not own anything!

          — on the mun.

My name is Élise, I’m 20+, living in Midwest America, EST.  Feel free to contact me via ask at any time. I love talking to you guys! Discord is available to mutuals upon request – again, I reserve the right to refuse to give these for whatever reason.  I have no triggers, so as long as you talk to me prior to introducing something triggering to a thread, I’ll be cool with it. Just talk to me about it beforehand and I should be fine, but if I’m not feeling it, please respect that.

That’s about it.  Thanks so much for reading these.  Smooches! <3

[cardonaire]

I hope I'm not too late to the party, mon ami. I'm always up for a good fight... Consider me your Ace in the hole.

Indie Remy Etienne LeBeau roleplay blog from Marvel. (moderate comic & HC influence) . Non-selective and open to AU, OC, and crossovers. Discord given to mutuals only. Personals do not interact.  Rules under readmore. ( Sideblog to @endsupes )

Rules and Notes

First of all, thank you for visiting this page.  Even if you only skim this, I’ll love you forever.  Most of these rules are pretty basic, common sense stuff, but I would really appreciate it if you read them.  I know it’s long, but I’m just trying to make sure no one is offended or uncomfortable.  I’ll try to make this as painless as possible.  Bear with me.  I’ll try to bold the basics.

            — the basics.

I have a few verses to choose from, and I’ll probably place you in the one that will most easily fit with your character’s canon unless otherwise specified.

Remy isn’t always the most pleasant person. Please know that anything mean said is not a reflection of the mun’s feelings.  IC =/= OOC.

Don’t god-mod.

OC and Au friendly, but please have an about page so I can gauge whether our characters will be able to interact.

Memes and opens are free game – anyone can send one or respond to one.  However, I may not respond for some reason or another: it may be in violation of one of my other rules, or due to external factors.  If you’re worried that I missed something, feel free to come to me about it, but please don’t constantly badger me for replies.  It’s rude.

I reserve the right to refuse to roleplay, especially if I’m uncomfortable.

DO NOT under any circumstances try to bring me into out of character drama.  If you have a problem with me, contact me privately or just unfollow.  Vague blogging, callout posts and the like are annoying, and I ask that you would tag them.  This is something I will unfollow over if I so please.

            — on selectivity. 

I will be selective with my threads and who I interact with.  I would love to interact with everyone, but I’m very busy with school and other blogs, and I don’t want to overload myself.  If this bothers you, feel free to unfollow.  If you have any questions about whether I have time, feel free to jump into my ask.

Also, I am far more likely to RP with mutuals. That’s not to say I won’t RP with those I don’t follow or those who won’t follow me, there may be exceptions. But it is far more likely.  That being said: if I follow you, I want to write with you.  Probably a lot. I’m just too shy to say anything because I’m a weenie pissbaby.

Starter calls, unless otherwise specified, are for mutuals only.

            — on content.

I’m 20+, so mature content is cool with me.   NSFW and triggering content will be present on this blog, but it will also be tagged in the following manner: n.s.f.w., tw:

As for smut: first of all, I will not smut with anyone under the age of 18.  Don’t ask me to; the answer will be no.  And just in general, don’t come to me looking for smut.  I’m not terribly good at writing it, so it’s very unlikely that it will occur on this blog.  I need to be pretty comfortable with someone to smut with them.  If by some miracle a thread is looking like it’s going to get smutty, feel free to hop into my ask and talk to me about it.  We’ll figure something out.

In relation to that, please do not send me overtly sexual memes if we have not interacted.  Kissing memes are fine, but I tend to get uncomfortable with anything beyond that.  Please respect this.

            — on replies.

I’m an adaptive roleplayer, meaning I’ll likely respond in a manner similar to yours.  If you format, I’ll format.  If you don’t, I won’t.  That sort of thing.  I also try to match length with my replies, but some days I struggle.  If you’re ever unhappy with the quality or length of a reply, please let me know and I’ll do my best to fix it.

I don’t always get to things right away.  I’m notorious for avoiding drafts, and especially right now, I’m pretty busy with schoolwork.  However, sometimes I’ll reply at the speed of light.  It’s really varied, and I’m sorry about that.

Sometimes, I’ll drop things that’ve been in my drafts for too long, or things that I feel aren’t going anywhere.  If you think I’ve dropped/missed/lost something that you wish to continue, come to me politely and we can talk about it.

            — on shipping.

I’m admittedly kind of a ship-whore.  If there are sparks, I likely ship it.  I ship Remy/Chemistry, but again, it’s rather unlikely that Remy will engage in a sexual or even a romantic relationship.  Them’s the breaks.  BroTPs are great though.  Also, I’m only human: I sometimes play favorites with my ships.  Sorry.

Please please please DO NOT force a ship on me.  It makes me extremely uncomfortable, and I will not hesitate to unfollow or even block you.  I will try to politely let you know if I feel that our characters do/do not have chemistry.

            — on credit.

Most icons, art and edits are made by myself, and are usually tagged as #my art or #my edits. Otherwise, I do not own anything!

          — on the mun.

My name is Élise, I’m 20+, living in Midwest America, EST.  Feel free to contact me via ask at any time. I love talking to you guys! Discord is available to mutuals upon request – again, I reserve the right to refuse to give these for whatever reason.  I have no triggers, so as long as you talk to me prior to introducing something triggering to a thread, I’ll be cool with it. Just talk to me about it beforehand and I should be fine, but if I’m not feeling it, please respect that.

That’s about it.  Thanks so much for reading these.  Smooches! <3

[viltrumite]

"You don't seem to understand. Earth isn't yours to conquer..."

Indie Nolan Grayson from Invincible Amazon series (moderate comic & HC influence) . Non-selective and open to AU, OC, and crossovers. Discord given to mutuals only. Personals do not interact.  Rules under readmore. ( Sideblog to @endsupes )

Rules and Notes

First of all, thank you for visiting this page.  Even if you only skim this, I’ll love you forever.  Most of these rules are pretty basic, common sense stuff, but I would really appreciate it if you read them.  I know it’s long, but I’m just trying to make sure no one is offended or uncomfortable.  I’ll try to make this as painless as possible.  Bear with me.  I’ll try to bold the basics.

            — the basics.

I have a few verses to choose from, and I’ll probably place you in the one that will most easily fit with your character’s canon unless otherwise specified.

Nolan isn’t always the most pleasant person. Please know that anything mean said is not a reflection of the mun’s feelings.  IC =/= OOC.

Don’t god-mod.

OC and Au friendly, but please have an about page so I can gauge whether our characters will be able to interact.

Memes and opens are free game – anyone can send one or respond to one.  However, I may not respond for some reason or another: it may be in violation of one of my other rules, or due to external factors.  If you’re worried that I missed something, feel free to come to me about it, but please don’t constantly badger me for replies.  It’s rude.

I reserve the right to refuse to roleplay, especially if I’m uncomfortable.

DO NOT under any circumstances try to bring me into out of character drama.  If you have a problem with me, contact me privately or just unfollow.  Vague blogging, callout posts and the like are annoying, and I ask that you would tag them.  This is something I will unfollow over if I so please.

            — on selectivity. 

I will be selective with my threads and who I interact with.  I would love to interact with everyone, but I’m very busy with school and other blogs, and I don’t want to overload myself.  If this bothers you, feel free to unfollow.  If you have any questions about whether I have time, feel free to jump into my ask.

Also, I am far more likely to RP with mutuals. That’s not to say I won’t RP with those I don’t follow or those who won’t follow me, there may be exceptions. But it is far more likely.  That being said: if I follow you, I want to write with you.  Probably a lot. I’m just too shy to say anything because I’m a weenie pissbaby.

Starter calls, unless otherwise specified, are for mutuals only.

            — on content.

I’m 20+, so mature content is cool with me.   NSFW and triggering content will be present on this blog, but it will also be tagged in the following manner: n.s.f.w., tw:

As for smut: first of all, I will not smut with anyone under the age of 18.  Don’t ask me to; the answer will be no.  And just in general, don’t come to me looking for smut.  I’m not terribly good at writing it, so it’s very unlikely that it will occur on this blog.  I need to be pretty comfortable with someone to smut with them.  If by some miracle a thread is looking like it’s going to get smutty, feel free to hop into my ask and talk to me about it.  We’ll figure something out.

In relation to that, please do not send me overtly sexual memes if we have not interacted.  Kissing memes are fine, but I tend to get uncomfortable with anything beyond that.  Please respect this.

            — on replies.

I’m an adaptive roleplayer, meaning I’ll likely respond in a manner similar to yours.  If you format, I’ll format.  If you don’t, I won’t.  That sort of thing.  I also try to match length with my replies, but some days I struggle.  If you’re ever unhappy with the quality or length of a reply, please let me know and I’ll do my best to fix it.

I don’t always get to things right away.  I’m notorious for avoiding drafts, and especially right now, I’m pretty busy with schoolwork.  However, sometimes I’ll reply at the speed of light.  It’s really varied, and I’m sorry about that.

Sometimes, I’ll drop things that’ve been in my drafts for too long, or things that I feel aren’t going anywhere.  If you think I’ve dropped/missed/lost something that you wish to continue, come to me politely and we can talk about it.

            — on shipping.

I’m admittedly kind of a ship-whore.  If there are sparks, I likely ship it.  I ship Nolan/Chemistry, but again, it’s rather unlikely that Nolan will engage in a sexual or even a romantic relationship.  Them’s the breaks.  BroTPs are great though.  Also, I’m only human: I sometimes play favorites with my ships.  Sorry.

Please please please DO NOT force a ship on me.  It makes me extremely uncomfortable, and I will not hesitate to unfollow or even block you.  I will try to politely let you know if I feel that our characters do/do not have chemistry.

            — on credit.

Most icons, art and edits are made by myself, and are usually tagged as #my art or #my edits. Otherwise, I do not own anything!

          — on the mun.

My name is Élise, I’m 20+, living in Midwest America, EST.  Feel free to contact me via ask at any time. I love talking to you guys! Discord is available to mutuals upon request – again, I reserve the right to refuse to give these for whatever reason.  I have no triggers, so as long as you talk to me prior to introducing something triggering to a thread, I’ll be cool with it. Just talk to me about it beforehand and I should be fine, but if I’m not feeling it, please respect that.

That’s about it.  Thanks so much for reading these.  Smooches! <3

[flowerbloom-arts]

inspirations behind those starry outfits?

they r gorgeous btw

Thank you so much!

I actually pull out from alot of inspirations, alot of which I think are subconscious, but I think one of the major inspirations I could point out are the gems from Steven Universe, especially with the star motif and almost-human-but-not-quite alien fashion. I also tried to make as many direct references to the characters' corresponding Tarot Card as I could and give each character their own style, like for example;

Muddler's outfit in the ref sheet I made was inspired by Regency Era male fashion, but besides that I would imagine he wears other sorts of 19th century outfits pulled from any year he feels like wearing that night. His outfits would generally feel close to home (especially for older people in the time the AU takes place) but holy and regal and old-looking enough to feel just out of reach, just like how Muddler himself can't help but be placed a step above everyone else despite his desperate want to be among them. I also took some inspiration from The Sun tarot card, especially with the rays of his halo, it's not too prominent for the outfit I drew in the ref but I do plan on designing outfits for him that do incorporate more motifs from the card.

Fuzzy's outfits is most certainly taken directly from the Justice tarot card but given more flow and a space-like aesthetic. The gradients I think are directly color-picked from pictures of comets when I made her first ref sheet and I just took those colors again but tweaked the shades a little to fit her more intense fur color(s). She also has a cool flaming sword because the Justice card had a sword, comets used to be compared to flaming swords in the sky, it fits with the idea of her sort of being Muddler's knight, and it looks cool.

Hodgkins' white outfit is directly inspired by those white US navy captain's uniforms and I added a cape to represent the dark side of the Moon. Hodgkins will notoriously have a different outfit ever single time to represent the different phases of the Moon so I'm going to have a fun time coming up with those I imagine, their main aesthetic is mostly going to be navy military-looking because he really wants to go for that captain motif. His grey shoulder boards are a direct visual reference to the two towers in The Moon tarot card and his golden buttons are the gold droplets that are also on the card.

Fuddler the least realistic and more covering/clumsy looking outfit out of all of them because he is the most out-of-touch with Earth culture and is terribly awkward and ignored by many besides his parents. I kind of tried to create a similar silhouette to his canon outfit, particular with the turtleneck cape and the leg warmers. The frog buttons are a reference to his canon interest in frogs and buttons. Also, this isn't part of his clothes but the stars in his ears are a straight rip of the stars in The Stars tarot card, right down to the placement (the big yellow star is on the back of his head).