#as long as you can pay you can draw SO MANY CARDS

[dravidious]

-

Oh gosh the Simic are gonna need so much fucking ramp to keep up with this thing

[herefortheships]

You want another movie 3 speculation?

Ok, so I firmly believe that Lydia's dream at the end points to her subconscious worry that Betelgeuse might move on from her (and MacArthur Park is a song about moving on as best as you can after losing True Love) and target Astrid. With a compounding, and imo deeply fascinating, worry that her daughter (whom the movie/Delia seems to have cast as being very similar to Lydia, though personally I don't see it cause she seems too normal) might be happy with that. And I think that the bed-sharing might've been her brain - or B himself - pointing out the solution to that worry: Just give tf in and marry him already.

As an aside, a lot of Youtube synopses of that movie have AI-generated thumbnails of Betelgeuse threateningly/creepily hovering over Astrid, even though they barely interacted. Apparently lots if people's minds went there, at least for the sake of clickbait. Ffs, a guy tries to marry a teenager ONE time...

Anyway I think it would be hilarious if in movie 3 Lydia gets into trouble and Astrid calls on Betelgeuse for help, telling him she'll pay whatever he wants if only he saves her last remaing parent/family member, and he just goes: "Can you put in a good word with your Mom for me? Like, really talk me up. I didn't make the greatest first impression, and there were misunderstandings, and I don't think I'll have a shot if she thinks you'd disapprove" " I do disapprove!" "Well, just focus on the positives! Awesome powers, saved your life, has a massive di-... actually, forget about that last one. I mean, it's true, but wouldn't be helpful if you mentioned it."

So then they save Lydia, who'd be deeply, deeply worried bc her daughter seems to think B is a pretty cool guy actually, a woman could do worse for a husband. He's fun, he's helpful, he saved them, there's worse-looking dead people. So naturally, she'd find Betelgeuse and be like "If I marry you, will you leave her alone?" ...j/k, she'd try to exorcise him. We need spunky!Lydia back. She may be kind, but there are limits.

Mid-exorcism, Astrid clears up the misunderstanding about what sort of deal she's under, that he saved Lydia because he loves Lydia and without asking for anything bad in return, and points out that her deal didn't make her lie about B's good points. Lydia stops the exorcism via last-minute Green Card marriage. Betelgeuse does a whole triumphant, manic spiel about looking forward to moving in and starting married life. But first he's got to fetch some of his stuff (hc that he has just... so many clothes in an infinite magical wardrope somewhere). He draws a door with chalk, knocks, steps through. Walks slowly through the long, uneven hallway. Turns around to look back. Astrid whispers "If you took a step in there right now..." (Code 699) and Lydia goes "Yeah I know. [then, much louder] C'mon, let's ready the guest bedroom." *

We see Betelgeuse break out into a happy smile for a sec before the door slams shut.

*I don't think it would be believable if a movie ended with them being in passionate sappy Gomez-and-Morticia love. But there's no way that Betelgeuse³ will end without Lydia agreeing to keep him around. On a trial basis. With the understanding that she has the means to get rid of him if he misbehaves too much (he'll misbehave just the right amount).

It's an interesting headcanon that Lydia might have a subconscious fear about Betelgeuse making a move on Astrid. I've seen a few people mention it as well. It wouldn't be too far off to get to that conclusion, either, because of Lydia's past experience. Betelgeuse also had that flyer up in the attic just lying around. We as the audience know he likely put it out there for Lydia to find, because we saw him staring at her photo and talking to Bob earlier about how he's in a distant relationship with Lydia. We saw him trying to make contact and feeling triumphant because she might have finally noticed him that last time.

But Lydia doesn't have access to that info.; only we as the audience are privy to who Betelgeuse is actually after and how dead set he is on it, too. Only Lydia is the object of Betelgeuse's desires, even after thirty years. It wouldn't be a stretch to conclude that Lydia might fear Betelgeuse would go after her daughter, because at first she didn’t know what Betelgeuse was truly after; for all she knew, he’s still just looking for a way to get out and do evil mischief on the world of the living or whatever she thinks will happen if he’s out.

I personally don't think this is a fear she took with her at the end of the film, though. I think she has it clear now how Betelgeuse feels about her, and that he wouldn’t do something to her daughter. She might have thought it was a pretense before, or him being totally crazy, but after that dance mid-air, there's no way she doesn't know how he feels.

I think Babyjuice coming out of Astrid was just Betelgeuse turning Lydia's dream into a nightmare; a prank letting her know he hasn't left and he isn't planning on leaving her (he even thought it was strange himself lol). But yes, Lydia keeping a lingering fear about Betelgeuse going for Astrid is a solid headcanon as well, though it’s not my interpretation.

I know there are edits of Astrid wearing wedding clothes and Betelgeuse being creepy with her, but many of those were created before the movie was out, by people who thought the movie would be about Betelgeuse going after Astrid.

About Astrid putting up a good word for Betelgeuse with Lydia, that would be part of my dream-come-true story for Beetlejuice 3. I just want to see them explore Betelgeuse and Astrid's relationship as stepfather and stepdaughter. I think they'd get along great. As I've said before, Astrid hasn't really met Betelgeuse yet; she only knows two things about him: according to her mom, he's bad news. And yet, he helped save her life, and all it was going to cost was her mom marrying him and not being able to say his name (though he's totally chill with her calling him her "dad", which I totally love and will always bring it up 😂💜).

I wish the movie will end with Lydia and Betelgeuse being finally married, or at least together in love, but I'll accept them not getting married as well, as long as they’re on the way there as friends who may fall in love, and Lydia doesn't end up banishing him yet again or squirming out of another marriage deal. That'd be repetitive at that point. As for Betelgeuse being banished forever or destroyed, that will totally never happen; Tim, Michael, and especially the WB wouldn't allow that to happen. Not only do Tim and Michael love Betelgeuse, he's also a money-maker and widely beloved character for the WB, so it'd be dumb for them to end the movie with Betelgeuse being sent away forever or perma-killed.

To end my ramblings, I totally love the idea of Astrid and Betelgeuse working together in the next one and Astrid helping her mom see the good in him/putting a good word in for him. That'd be fun to watch.

I do have a feeling lately that if the do make the third part (which is looking more likely every day), they will be taking it in the direction of establishing Lydia, Betelgeuse, and Astrid as a family. I'm getting that vibe because I've seen an official promo TikTok about Astrid's family being strange, which kinda hints at Lydia and Betelgeuse being Astrid's family/her parents. Not to mention, the DVD cover photo has those three front and center, instead of having something like Betelgeuse big in the middle and the Deetz women all together below or something like that; a choice was made to have Lydia, Betelgeuse, and Astrid together front and center. Those little details have me like 👀, I'm getting a vibe that we're being led to see them as a family. But don't take my words for fact, it's just what I'm observing.

Thank you for sending me your speculations! I love and appreciate exchanging ideas with everyone. 💚✨

[mythmash]

Bouncer!Sukuna AU Pt. 10 - Furniture Shopping

Bouncer!Sukuna x Stripper/Dancer!Reader. Warnings: MDNI 18+, long, bullet point fic, uncle!sukuna, sukuna's very tired accountant, sukuna being inappropriate in furniture stores, sex toy mention A/N: this is a collaborative work made with the amazing @pastelbunnelby, @pastelpixies & @chaoskrakenuwu Series Masterlist || Previous | Next

Going back to this post, and the part about riding Sukuna on the dining room table

Your first thought is wow that must be a really strong table

But then you think about how hot it is that that’s almost certainly why he picked it

He doesn’t care about how many people it can seat he just wants to know how much weight it can handle for…reasons

You go furniture shopping with him and learn that’s actually how he picks all of his furniture

Sukuna doesn’t give a fuck about interior decorating, it’s all about maximum fucking potential

The employee at the fancy furniture store is yapping about the wood grain and how old the trees the legs were cut from are

Sukuna's not even pretending to be interested

He’s just spaced out thinking of will it wobble when he bends you over it

Before they can even finish talking he just thinks “Yeah, this’ll work.” and slaps his card on the counter

You're looking at bookcases and asking about materials and if the shelves are adjustable

When you ask Sukuna what he thinks, he pushes you up against it and stands between your legs

No, it doesn’t tilt.

Yes, the shelves hold his weight.

It doesn't dig into your back.

Sold.

Here’s his card.

Does he know how much it costs? No. He didn’t look.

It literally does not matter to him as long as it works

He's like a cat just silently walking around nudging things and muttering to himself before he moves on to the next thing

The employees are too scared to ask if he needs help, but also he seems to have…some kind of system going?? So they just leave him be until it’s time to check out

You have to follow behind him to remind him “No. We are not getting that table with a stained walnut finish. I don’t care how sturdy it is, everything in our house is oak.”

He finally says fuck it and starts getting furniture custom made

It’s the perfect shade of ash or oak or whatever you’re talking about and double reinforced so he can bend you over it and give you a real good look at the finish anytime

Sukuna spends an ungodly amount of money furniture shopping with you

And on you in general, no matter how much you try to stop him

His accountant has a lot of questions after Sukuna starts dating you

“What are all these charges for custom tables?”

“Why are you spending thousands on….Pleaser Platform Shoes?”

Can’t a man get a good cunty platform? Gosh

“You can’t write off vibrators and cock rings as a work expense. No, fucking your girlfriend for forty hours a week doesn’t count as a job. I don't care that you're "putting in the work".”

“What do you mean you have an "honorary W2" from The Love Store?”

“Why do you have a manicure budget? And why does it include $200 tips?”

Sukuna is baffled by that one because nail techs do hard work

Do you see how small those nails are and how intricate the designs are?

What is he supposed to do? Not tip? It’s 2024, get with the times Mx. Accountant.

He’ll kill people no problem, but he draws the line at being at not tipping customer service workers

The day Sukuna tells his accountant that half of his major charges are him paying for private dances from his own girlfriend (plus tip) is the day his accountant almost quits

[vagabond-umlaut]

paper planes

brother to fushiguro tsumiki. (unofficially adopted) son to gojo satoru and you. nephew to a host of sorcerer uncles and aunts. (unwilling) assistant to the white-haired idiot. and, finally, ringbearer at your and gojo's still-undetermined wedding.

one teeny-tiny boy with one too many identity is what fushiguro megumi is - until he isn't. with lots and lots of sniffles and sniggers...

▸ gojo satoru x fem! reader; established relationship; post hidden inventory arc; manga spoilers; proposals; adoptions; alternate universe happy for everyone except toji lovers (sorry ＞︿＜)

▸ two fics in a week, wow. guess this is what is called a brainrot, huh? read this post by @/mintmatcha on tumblr and started writing this lol. but the plot of this story is miles, tons, eons away from that post, i swear. also, this fic is set in the same universe as blue hawaii but you need not read that first to read this. treat this as a stand-alone if you wanna! 😊 anyways, gif, divider and characters ain't mine. please don't plagiarize, translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

"yeah, yeah, i've got it all planned."

a discreet eye roll is all megumi gives as he goes through the menu card in his hands. a little distance away, he can spy tsumiki and you seated at a table, you tying his sister's long hair into braids while the latter laughs, probably at a joke you cracked.

a tiny smile rests on the little boy's face at the sight - which vanishes when he feels a large hand tousle his hair. you had spent hours and hours righting his hair into a proper shape; why must this idiot always mess everything up?

megumi looks up to find his guardian looking down at him with a shit-eating grin; though he can clearly see the nerves it's covering.

idiot.

phone wedged in between his ear and shoulder, gojo mutters a "one sec, suguru," and crouches down to the boy's eye level. the latter gives back an unimpressed stare.

"decided what you wanna have, 'gumi? remember mom and sis there asked you to choose for them today."

megumi feels an urge to say you two aren't his real parents - but stamps it down instantly. the both of you have been as good as real parents can be to their kids - or maybe even better. the boy has read books, watched movies and listened to his classmates talk about their families; the tiny urchin-head knows.

with a huff, he points at the double chicken fillet burger box - it's tsumiki's favourite and you too don't seem to dislike it. with a nod, gojo rises and placing his orders, returns to the call, beaming expression again directed at megumi.

"yeah, yeah, don't worry, man," he speaks into the phone, then drops his volume to a mere whisper, "'my little kiddo here is a born actor. he remembers the entire plan, step by step - don't you, buddy?"

megumi gives an imperceptible nod, itching back to get back to the table. he already would have - needless to say, the little munchkin prefers your company to gojo's, way way more - but their orders have not been delivered yet and the boy promised to be-

a little tap on the shoulder draws him from his musings and he cranes his neck up to find gojo frowning. "no, megumi didn't want to discuss the plan with me before leaving. no, he doesn't like you better- hey," the man looks at him, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose revealing his indignant gaze, "you wanna discuss with uncle suguru one last time?"

an indifferent shrug is all the reply he gives.

while uncle suguru isn't the best uncle he has, he isn't the worst either. the others are- oh, wait. the others include uncle kento and uncle yu. they are literal angels compared to him. so... maybe... he is the worst... never mind. it's too late to back out anyways.

grumbling, gojo hands him the phone. "hello uncle," megumi greets just like you and tsumiki have taught him to. the man behind mutters something along the lines of ''traitor" or something; the boy pays him no mind.

"hey champ," the voice floats over the line, pleasant, kind and the way people talk to babbling babies. megumi's bored face turns irritated. "let's discuss the semantics one last time before boarding your flight, okay?"

"yeah, okay," megumi says, and casting a sideways glance at his bundle-of-nerves guardian, continues, "we're going to reykjavik," he looks at gojo, silently asking if he pronounced it correctly. the man sends him a thumbs-up with an encouraging grin.

the kid continues, "the plane will land at noon day after tomorrow, which is mom's birthday. first, we will go to the hotel. then, after resting, in the evening, we will head out in a car to watch the northern lights. and then-"

"-when it's the right moment, your dad will pop the question to your mom and you'll click the camera. got it, mr. future ringbearer?" finishing the rest of the sentence for him, the man at the other end asks, sounds of pans clacking and food sizzling in the background. nana-chan and mimi-chan must have woken up.

megumi nods. "yeah, got it, mr. future best man."

a chuckle comes in response to his comment. "you're a lot like your mom, y'know?"

"yeah," he mumbles, waving back to you and tsumiki, a little smile on his otherwise-impassive-but-always-adorable face, "i know."

"good," the man says, then pauses when a loud crash booms through the air and through the phone, a set of two wailing voices following it not soon after. megumi can quite literally picture the wincing frown his uncle is wearing as he says the next words in a hurry, "okay, 'gumi. talk to you later. bye, and best of luck! satoru's counting on his little assistant."

"yeah, thanks," he responds but is too late - the call is already cut by then.

giving the phone back to gojo, who's tapping his sneakers-clad feet on the floor, he looks back ahead, wondering when the hell heck their token number will be displayed and when they will get their food.

to the kid's great relief, it doesn't take a lot of time.

before long, the four of you are seated around the table, gojo stealing a sip from your drink and you stealing fries from him, all the while tsumiki giggles loudly at your antics. megumi smiles, before he hides it behind the burger which he takes a bite from.

the four of you really look like a family, don't you?

"hey, guys, can i have your attention for a sec, please?" your sudden question startles him from his mind. the boy turns to find you with your usual grin, albeit a smidgen of anxiety can be found in the way your fingers drum on the table.

megumi shares a look with tsumiki and gojo. they look as confused as he feels. "do i have your attention, people?" you ask again, manner growing a tad solemn unlike your usual, though the affection is still evident in your tone.

gojo and tsumiki nod immediately. you turn to him, gently smiling, "can i have your attention too, 'gumi? please?"

the boy nods his head instantly. "yeah, yeah. sure," he replies, scooting his chair closer to yours. you send him a relieved smile. "good, 'cause what i'm going to say next is very important. so, listen to me carefully, 'kay?"

all three of them are eager to nod in affirmation and anticipation.

scouring through your backpack, you retrieve a couple of pretty important-looking papers, and placing them back on the table, clasp your hands atop them. the kid spots gojo shoot you a worried look to which you respond with a reassuring smile.

the man's frown fades a little.

gaze now darting from one kid to another, you begin, "you two know, right, we love you very much?"

"yeah!" tsumiki exclaims, but is quick to fall silent when megumi shoots her a glare. you proceed, lips pressing into a thin line, "but we cannot adopt you two, in spite of how much all us want it to happen. we tried to, many, many times. but those higher-ups just won't let us do that."

a second passes - one wherein his young brain registers your words - before, lower lip wobbling, the boy casts his gaze down upon his light-up sneakers.

is this where you'll say he'll be sent to those zen'ins? away from his sister? away from you and gojo? away from all his uncles, aunts, nana-chan and mimi-chan?

megumi feels a hand card through his locks gently. looking up, he finds you with a soft smile. "but the thing is 'toru and i didn't let them defeat our purpose. we thought, you two can choose to be my clan's wards. not 'toru's, because of fucking - sorry, please forget i said that word - i meant, idiotic clan politics. so, what do you think?"

megumi turns to his sister, a pensive look plastered on her face the way it is on his. gojo adds, a tender smile in place of his usual stupid grin, "no pressure, kids. the both of us won't love you two any less and will be equally fine in case you choose not to."

"you guys can take how much ever time you need to think. there's no hurry," megumi hears you say, your warm hand rubbing circles on his back, as he turns back to his half-eaten burger.

a long moment passes.

passengers enter the cafeteria, they leave the cafeteria. the four of you remain seated, quietly munching on your food.

the boy finally removes his gaze from his now-empty tray and sends an inquiring, confused, hopeful look to his sister. tsumiki smiles back with a tiny nod. the little kid feels his heart burst with joy.

"we want to," the two of them answer in unison, and within a fraction of a second, megumi finds himself swept up in a warm hug alongside his sister, by you. "thank you for giving me, for giving us a chance," he hears you mutter quietly in a tear-choked voice. the boy simply pats your back the way you do to him. he soon feels another set of arms wrap around the three of you.

megumi thinks he has never felt happier or safer than in this moment.

a while passes with the four of you in this manner, enwrapped in an embrace, before you all finally pull away from each other.

the boy returns to his seat, rubbing his eyes. a minute passes in composing all of yourselves before you state, munching on another fry, "so, step one, including tsumiki and megumi into my legal family is done and successful. thank you, my loves."

tsumiki beams back at you; megumi returns a tiny smile. you grin at them - which, the kid watches, turns slyer as you switch your focus to your boyfriend.

the little boy stares at you, then stifles a snicker - he thinks he has a pretty good idea of what's gonna happen next. his gut instincts are rarely wrong, after all.

"but, 'toru..." you drawl, grin giving way to a smirk as gojo smiles back - perplexed but loving all the same. "for the step two, making you my legal family too, guess i need to wait to say 'yes' until the northern lights viewing two days later... don't i?"

a beat passes, then another, and another.

a loud gasp sounds from tsumiki. megumi turns to his dad - who's gaping wide-eyed at his mom now, the man's face whiter than his ugly hair - and smirks. just like the imp the goggles-wearing idiot always calls him at home, despite you repeatedly telling him not to.

gojo looks back at him, shock written on, engraved into his features.

"though i didn't really help you propose, i'm still the ringbearer, right?"

▸ masterlist

[mishacakes]

how do you connect to your character? like how do get to know them so well? how do you pick out their likes, dislikes, habits and those itty bitty bits about them? I've been struggling to do that for sooo many of my ocs, and i'm also at a lost of how to design them. like i once had a clear idea of what kind of character they are, but i wanted to change them a bit, make them a little better, and i feel like I've lost that character and that character i'm working on doesn't exists, no matter how much i loved them and enjoyed writing an drawing them. this has happened with every single character i made and it just makes me think that i may not be cut out for drawing or writing characters. i look up to you so i thought of asking you for help

sry for the long rant idk wat im doing

HELLO HELLO THANK YOU FOR ASKING!! So basically I took this question and turned it into a 1.6k word essay on writing characters and how I like to do it, so, uh, hope you enjoy!! and hope it helps!

OK!! character writing. How do you do it? or, well, how do I do it. I’ve got a few methods that help me out the most and are the most fun for me to think about. Here’s my big secret, if it’s not fun I don’t do it. I’m not here to do homework I’m waaayyyy out of school. I’m a legal adult. I pay my taxes. I’m not gonna do something that doesn’t give my brain the good fun juice. Anyways. My methods are: symbols, archetypes, and character inspiration. I use all these to figure out the CORE of a character, their very beating heart, and most importantly, what haunts them. Everything about a character, in my opinion, comes from this core and their ghost. Their habits, their fears, their joys, their coping mechanisms. So long as you have a clear grasp on their heart, you won’t go astray. Let’s dive into it! The characters I’m going to be using to describe how I use these methods are Alice and others characters from my webcomic—namely Edith, Hatter, and Rougina—and Tomiko (you know her you love her, catgirl supreme).

Symbols! I love using symbols, they’re something that can describe a character through metaphor, even without going into detail about their whole backstory and habits. Tomiko’s symbols are lanterns (specifically light), cats, ghosts/yokai, shapeshifting, and gold. They all work to further her character as a rough around the edges monster cat with a heart of gold, who uses shapeshifting as a method (both literally and metaphorically) to mold herself into what others need her to be. Alice’s symbols are hearts, eyes, and flesh in general. Try picking one general symbol (the ocean, the forest, the city), and see how specific you can get from there. Or pick a god or goddess that resonates with your character and see what symbols are used for them. Rougina (the antagonist in my webcomic) is a war goddess fallen from grace, and is symbolized with land and volcanoes, so I’ve used volcanic plants to evoke her. Personally I also love going through the tarot for symbols, assigning a tarot card to characters (of the major arcana) is a fun exercise. Which leads us nicely into our next method:

Archetypes! The tarot deck’s Major Arcana is pretty much only archetypes. The Empress as the Mother. The Magician as the Wise Mentor. The Tower as The Worst Thing That Could Possibly Happen Oh Jesus Shit. These can help a lot with who your character is. I’m extremely storytelling oriented, so it helps me knowing What Role a character serves in the story they inhabit. Another thing I love in archetypes in the Zodiac. Yes, I am an astrology bitch. The whole reason I love talking about my methods is my Sag rising, I love giving my wisdoms. But astrology can be used for writing, and not just for excusing and not reflecting on shit behavior (can’t help being a gemini!). The zodiac is FILLED WITH ARCHETYPES!!! From elements to how they function! The four elements (you A:TLA bitches know this), and three modalities. If you’re interested please watch Eugene’s Rank King video, it’s very informative on the signs. Also many symbols! For example, Alice is a Taurus—May 4, Alice Liddell’s birthday—so she’s pretty stubborn while also loving creature comforts. Tomiko’s birthday is August 23, making her a Virgo, so she likes being precise in her work. More archetypes you can look for are DnD classes! I love using that to design costumes. One of Edith’s recent costumes is very wizard inspired, since that’s the class I see her having as she’s very studious and driven. Heck, all of Alice and the Nightmare is derived from the character archetypes of the Alice in Wonderland characters! Rougina is specifically the Red Queen, NOT the Queen of Hearts!! The confusion started with the 1951 Disney animated movie when the two characters were merged!! Lewis Carroll himself said the two were different! The Queen of Hearts is an “embodiment of ungovernable passion” and the Red Queen is “the concentrated essence of all governesses”!! GOD!!! Tim Burton meet me in the fucking pit you’ll pay for your alice crimes. anyways.

Archetypes help a lot in costumes too, figuring out what kind of fashion they’d like to wear. You can start broad and get more specific with it (like going from a wizard type character to a wizard character with steampunk themes). Fashion is just an extent of character. What are they comfy in? Are they confident in their body? What colors do they like? Bright high fashion or simple dark sweaters? Ryoko Kui is a master of character design I HIGHLY HIGHLY recommend checking out her work.

Another method I like using, specifically for Alice and the Nightmare characters, is what I call the “three trait method”. When I was in middle school we did a production of Alice in Wonderland (I was the White Knight), and too many girls auditioned for Alice. So the director’s solution was to split the character into three parts, and assigning each part to an actor. Her temper, her intelligence, and her innocence, all used in different scenes. Now I use that to think about my own Alice character, except with “polite, temper, and curious”. Edith’s keywords are “nervous, tactical, and intelligent”. Hatter’s are “kind, enthusiastic, and intuitive”. Using keywords can help figure out how they’d react in a situation, what side of them would shine the brightest. Hatter’s want to help everyone is his kindness, but overstepping his bounds can be attributed to his enthusiasm. Edith can know what path to take in a pinch, but her nervousness can freeze her in place. Reading the source material helps a lot with Alice characters too, which brings us to our final point:

Character inspiration!! The art of taking things you like and shoving them into your own characters and stories. DISCLAIMER THO!!! If you take things without really EXAMINING what about them you like, WHY you like them, and how you’d like to evoke that same love in the things you make, the interpretations can come off as shallow. (for more on this subject, watch HBomberguy’s RWBY video essay, specifically the section on “anime homework”)

Tomiko’s biggest inspirations are Izutsumi from Dungeon Meshi, April Ludgate from Parks and Rec, Power and Reze from Chainsawman, San from Princess Mononoke, and Mei from LMK. It’s a good cocktail of aloof, biting, vicious, weird, fierce, loving, and bright. Figuring out what I love about the characters and what I want to write in a character like that helps a lot in writing Tomiko. It’s also really fun in a sense for screenshot redraws and memes.

Music is also a HUUUUUUGE source of inspiration for me, I love making playlists. And even as playlists can change as characters grow and change, having a couple of core songs still helps me ground to that character’s center. For Tomiko it’s “Make Them Gold” by CHVRCHES, and “Nice Girl” by Ashnikko. Alice’s is “Headlock” by Imogen Heap and “Demons” by Hayley Kiyoko, Edith’s is “Warrior” by Kimbra, and Hatter’s is “Dementia” by Owl City.

Ok, we’ve gotten though symbols, archetypes, and made a couple of banger playlists. Next is something that can help write your character, the Big Lie. The thing that keeps them up at night. Their biggest fear, their ghost, what haunts them. What’s holding them back from their goals? What do they need to overcome? That can be as central to their theme as any symbolism. For Tomiko it’s the lie that her emotions don’t matter, only what she can do to be of service to her mother. Her arc is about overcoming her dismissing her own emotions and learning to not run away from the people who she truly cares for. Alice dismisses the literal ghost that is haunting her believing that that will let her have a normal life. Edith pushes down abilities that come naturally to her for fear that she’ll be exiled, not just from society, but the world. Rougina believes she must burden the world’s problems on her own shoulders with no one’s help. The outer character and the inner ghost can reflect, mirror, and inform each other.

Now, listen, sometimes characters are hard to get to know! Tomiko was lol. Quinn was for a looong time. And in times like this, I just, let them be. I listen to some music to get inspired, and let them tell me about themselves when they feel like it. And they will, it just take a little while. And a few dozen quick exploration drawings. But they come through. Also, try not to get bogged down with habits and little details of their character, keep their core in mind, what their heart is. Start broad and get specific. That way, if you feel like you’ve lost your way or the character feels different to you, recenter yourself at their heart and go from there. Or, if you find that their center no longer fits, don’t be afraid to change it! Characters are meant to be fun! First and foremost!! I make characters cause I like writing and storytelling, and drawing little comic for fun and me time. Sometimes characters stick around, sometimes they fall by the wayside. You really have to find what sparks joy, and chase your bliss!

So as long as you have your character’s essence in your hands, and you WANT to keep working on them and drawing them, there’s really no wrong way to go. This whole essay I’ve given is just a set of tools that works for ME, and I HIGHLY encourage you to find stuff that works for you! I really really hope that all this has made sense and isn’t just the ramblings of a madman. Good luck and happy charactering!!

[angellurgy2]

'SMARTBOY SPECTACLES'

new story! where a deeply indebted trap tries to cheat the house, and is forced to learn his lesson the hard way :)

rape cw

in the middle of a crowded floor, where gamblers and sex fiends bodies writhe against each other in movement from various games of chance, and the air fills with the noise of buzzing golden lights and loud clammoring. Salvage sits politely on top of a plush red stool. out of the corner of his eye he watches curiously as the patrons stream from table to table, while he halfheartedly throws some chips onto his own. the dealer throws him two cards, a 7 of diamonds and a king of hearts. he sighs, definitely not the best, but not the worst. he stands and the dealer deals himself his cards, busting with two face cards and a 3. salvage grins and collects his winnings. he didn’t even really see how many chips he threw in, but he struggles to carry the winnings inside just his two hands with how many there were.

his face warms with glee and he tosses the chips into his shoulderbag - NOT a purse - dashing into a lounge area before he rips off his ZOOM-OMATIC SMARTBOY SPECTACLES 300™. they worked!!! he struggles to not burst into laughter, his cheeks beginning to hurt from his own grin. if only these poor rich snobs knew he was cheating them right under their noses. he can barely believe it worked, but he saw those cards long before they were at the top and no one noticed shit! finally he’ll have a chance to make a dent in his debt- and then he wont have to be trapped in this purgatory anymore!

he uses the short space of privacy here to scruff up the collar of his leather overcoat and tug down the bottoms of his red crop so that it just covers his belly button and pull the crotch of his cargo shorts out of his junk.

he does the soft breathing exercises his therapist taught him the week prior, putting on his (literal) poker face and suavely striding back into the pit. it’s happy hour, so a decent amount of patrons have already poured out of the casino floor and into the nearby bar/lounges by the time he makes it on the scene. the dealers all look relieved to have less on their plate, which usually makes it the best time to play. he slides into another game of 21 and smiles at the dealer, “hey john.” he greets, short and to the point. its good to talk to them, since they all know his deal by now anyway, but too much and he cant be sure he wont let slip something suspicious by accident. he’s good at persuasion, but hiding a secret has never been his strong suit.

winning the next draws are easy. thanks to his SMARTBOY SPECTACLES™ and his better-than-average memory he can win while only half paying attention, giving him plenty of space to ogle all the hotties around him. though he has to make sure he loses every so often to not seem too suspicious. by the time he leaves the table, he feels like he’s won more than he has in months. one day of being a cheat and he’ll already be reaching back into the high life- it feels so good to finally have some assurance.

he mulls over what’s next. blackjack is easy winnings, but its also slow winnings, and worst of all - boring winnings. he spends some time sauntering around the various floors, until he stumbles upon a room where multiple poker games are being played. this is EXACTLY what he needs, more rich assholes to put in their place and more money to take.

he walks in confidently, eyeing up the potential competitors. most tables are full, but a few have a seat or two open. he ends up deciding on a table with one open seat, the rest filled with the crustiest of old men.

“you sure this table’s fit for you, kid?” one retorts. sal scowls. i’m literally 23, come on. the fucking privilege on these fossils.

“yeah, it’s just right.” he grins, sliding in and crossing his arms as he waits for the next round to begin.

despite the wait, he’s grateful to get some time to look up the ‘marks’, and he has to admit, a few of them look pretty damn hot. the rugged, masculine guys sorta faded in with the greyed out wrinkly dissociated guys from afar, but they could be definitely doing so much better than this joint. he’s not even that gay - he always felt a little weird about it, girls are so much easier?? - but he cant help but look when his new specs involuntraily give him a peek at what’s under their shirts.

he’s jolted out of his head by pressure on his shoulders, reminding him exactly where he is, and exactly why he can’t be bothering with physical desires. he nods and throws in the minimum bet and eagerly awaits his cards. an ace and a king, knowing before they reach his hands. the guy next to him, an older man in a dress shirt and tie, looks at his cards briefly and throws in a decent bet. if sal couldnt tell from the expression the man could barely hide, he can tell from the 4 of hearts and 7 of hearts staring right back at him. he raises the bet double.

the rounds go by quick, the bluffing man folds after the river shows a king and a ten, and other two join shortly after. him and 2 other guys get to a pretty tight finish, one of them having a 2 pair and the other having a three of a kind. but sal knows the river will end in his favour. the dealer throws down the last card, raises the bet once more, and wins handedly. he scrapes the chips to his front and gives them all an egotist grin.

one hand down, the rest of theirs to go.

it’s by the 5th game that something comes to stop his reign.

“Sally. Vance wants to see you. now.”

fuck. “cant you see i’m in the middle of something?” hate this asshole. i was just about to finish up here.

“he said now. i wouldnt make him wait.”

“fuck. fuck. fine.”

by the time he arrives back at his usual games, the atrium is crowded almost to full. he loses his sense of time utterly when he’s in play, no clue how long he was at that poker table, but it had to have been decently long if the post-work gamblers have arrived already. he scans over the floor managers looking for Vance. the senior of them all, and the asshole who watched over his debt and servitude. sal thought he wouldn’t have been here on the weekend, thought he’d probably be at home with his whore wife or something- but he thought wrong.

vance leans against the wall like a jock on a lightpole, donning his typical pristine checkered suit and slick black sunglasses. he thinks he’s so cool, just because he has power in this little pocket of space. its honestly pathetic. vances eyes dart up spotting him, and he whistles beckoning sal.

“whatcha been up to today, kid?” stay cool.

he shrugs, manifesting casual. “blackjack and poker, mostly.”

“that it?”

“yeah. been getting pretty lucky today, actually.”

“that so?” vance kicks his leg up, “cause’ i’ve heard you’ve been getting very lucky.”

sal shrugs again and looks away and vance steps closer to close the gap between them. he smells like cigarettes and some shitty strong cologne with a scent probably named something like ‘SPORTS DELUGE’.

“yeah man i just said that-” he stumbles backwards a step, he feels his heart drop in his chest and shouts shame at it in his head. “what gives??”

a heavily silence weighs down the oxygen around them. vance’s breath reeks, but it also overpowers.

he reaches a hand out to salvage’s cheek. sal tries to dodge backwards but vance moves it quick enough to grab his hair in retaliation. hand tight on the bottom of his pony, forced to look him dead in the eyes, right into his own mirrored reflection.

“c’mon sally, you know we don’t take kindly to cheats here-” he lowers his lips to sal’s ear, “you were supposed to be the example of that.”

sal tries to push him but his body is so blocky and his position is so firm that all it does is make an embarrassing thump.

“you want an assault charge too, sally?” the grip on his hair moves down to the back of the neck. he speaks quieter, looking around for prying eyes “i dont think you wanna see what’ll happen if we get that too”

“fuck off vance i’m not fucking cheating-” ringing shoots through his ears alongside a loud pop, red welters his cheek and vance looks down at him with the same happy-yet-still-scowling look as always.

sal can barely see through the blur and daze, and vance takes advantage. grabbing him by the collar and ripping them off the sides and into the middle of the floor, where everyone’s still gambling as if everything is of the ordinary. which it is, of course. who would ever care about what the managers are doing to some random guy? he’s probably just an unruly addict.

vance slams salvage’s back into a golden railing that outlines the table space, coursing pain up through his spinal. he’s never going to get his brains back at this rate. vance grabs his hair again, pulling it taught and shifting his other hand up sal’s side, and grabbing his waist, hard. sal bares his teeth in some sort of stupid attempt at looking confident.

“fuck. you.”

another slap leaves tears dribbling out of his plical and fading down his sweltering cheeks. vance’s filthy boney manhands continue dragging further down, until he’s groping sal’s ass through his shorts, grinning like an egotistical child, stealing another kid’s toys.

“get off me vance i didnt fucking cheat i was just trying to play leave me alone dont do this in front of all these people stop it please man cmon”

vance rips the glasses off of sal’s face.

he gives them a glance over, gaze looking deep into the where the little cameras are hidden. he looks up at sal, grins, and crushes them in his hand. sal almost bursts into tears. he payed so much to get those in his subscription- so deep in debt he had to take a loan out with a DIFFERENT shady entity, but it was supposed to be his one good chance at breaking at all- was supposed to save him.

now his dreams lay shattered at his feet.

he doesn’t even realize his shorts are at his ankles until vance’s hands are groping his taint thorugh his panties.

“fucking trap.” he mutters.

sal starts screaming in his head knowing he can’t make even more of a ruckus here. they’re just comfortable man i’m not a girl they’re just cozier okay god its not gay and so what shut up shut up shut up fuck!!!

two fingers wrap under the waistband, tugging. wait- wait no not here not in front of everyone not “here not here stop please vance don’t do this we can go to your office we can- just not like this please? please.” he can only make himself whimper.

and theyre at his feet too. his little- his dick flops out uselessly as they drop. he immediately notices eyes beginning to stare, some hungrily, some scowling, but none speaking.

“this won’t make the tiniest dent in your debt. but you’re already our property so, who cares right?”

vance grabs sal’s legs and pulls them over his shoulders. sal’s completely suspended now, if he tries to rip himself out or if vance moves too far back he’ll fall and hit his head on the hard wood floor. he looks down and just the foot or two of space between them and the ground is enough to make him lightheaded, terrified.

vance moves forward and spreads sal to the air. he cant look, but he can feel beady eyes staring it down, watching with glee as vance shoves himself inside, shamefully easy.

“do this often, huh girlie?” vance laughs heartily. sal dreams of stabbing a straight razor through his veiny ugly neck, watching the blood spurt out and coat him happily.

“kill yourself.”

sal feels so full, more than he ever has. he hasn’t taken a real dick since, what 2 years ago? back in his college ‘exploration’ phase. he mostly keeps it to the knotted and monster toys now, not that that makes it any less embarrassing as his hole easily and eagerly stretches to fit vance’s huge cock. he has to close his eyes once he sees his own harden in response to his enemy’s thrusts.

“y’know. you should probably talk nicer to the people who decide if you get to live here, or if you get sent to the kennel.”

“what?”

“ ‘wHaT’, do you really think that, the people who own the biggest casino company in the state, wouldn’t have other ‘ventures’?” vance’s smile finally seems to droop. but the thrusts only get harder, only force more pathetic self-hating squeaks out of salvage, choking his words into tattered paper.

“what- are- you- t-a-aalking about”

vance leans in closer, brushing a hand through salvage’s locks falling out of his ponytail. he feels pulsing, heat rising, the tip digging deeper into his guts then hes ever felt, and then hears vance grunting in deplorable satisfaction, voice glowing with pride.

“i’m saying we’re going to sell you, sally.”

[topzsun]

TWO; TO DEFEAT THAT BRINGS CHANGE

── ♡ BELPHEGOR

in which you reach the end of your rope, and give belphegor hope.

Amidst your frazzled mind, you justified that you might as well skip returning to the House of Lamentation. You couldn’t get in any more trouble than you’ve put yourself in already. Mammon strolls beside you, hands shoved into the pockets of his unkempt blazer as he grins away, satisfied. The bags in your hand weigh heavy, and if it weren’t for the sunglasses and second lunch he bought for you, you would have told the prick to carry his things.

While to an outsider’s perspective, it looks like two friends going out shopping. The reality is you are about to throw up the innards of your stomach while Mammon has… well… dissociated and made a choice to enjoy the moment before he is inevitably strung to the ceiling for another month.

The backstory of this chaotic evening began when Mammon kicked open the door of your Enochian class while you were in the midst of packing up and leaving for the day. He boldly declares that you will be accompanying him on a shopping trip (drawing the unwanted attention of several of your lingering classmates), before dragging you out by the wrist. You were surprised by this random invitation, after the events of that disastrous morning. Then again… It’s Mammon. Anytime he’s made you ‘hang’ with him came for self-serving reasons. Today, it seemed he needed a pack mule as he spent away the last of his paycheck. You just didn’t expect he’d been considerate enough to get you anything in return for your efforts. You’ve been on pins and needles ever since.

“He can’t get mad if I tell him I’ll pay ‘em back, right?’ He states it like it's a question, but you know he’s not waiting for your response. You and him both know what the answer is, but only one of you is willing to accept the reality of it.

In one of the many luxury branded shops Mammon decided to spree at, he found a leather jacket with a price tag that had so many zeroes it made your head spin. His final purchase for the day, he justified as he scanned Goldie. When it declines, an embarrassing system error noise that makes you bite the bottom of your lip, Mammon is left with his last resort. Lucifer’s emergency card, in case there is anything you drastically need that exceeds the set monthly allowance Diavolo sends you. You only sigh, knowing any attempt at stopping him would be futile. By now, Lucifer should of long since gotten the notification of Mammon’s purchase. The white-haired demon is a dead man.

“I’ll say it’s for you,” The Avatar of Greed descends into rambles the closer the two of you approach the House of Lamentation, and you realise the panic has finally settled in. “He can’t get mad at me for that, right?”

You think there is a higher chance of Lucifer eloping with you to a flip-flop shop in Hawaii than ever believing Mammon’s poorly thought-out fib.

Your companion opens the towering oak doors slowly and gently, his mop of ivory hair peeking through the entrance hall in search of his older brother. After a minute he ushers you to follow him with a frantic wave and you can only shake your head at the ridiculousness. Regardless, you trail after him as he timorously creeps past archways and doors in fear of Lucifer, stopping every so often to shoot you a sharp glare when the shopping bags betray the sound of shuffling. It feels like forever when you both reach his room, and you’ve never seen him close a door so fast in your life. You set the bags down, your arms and back crying out at the sharp aching that courses through you. You wanted nothing more than to crash into bed and sleep the entire weekend away. The demon responsible for your exhaustion similarly relaxes, flopping the weight of his entire body to his couch strewn with chip packets and unwashed clothing that make your nose upturn.

When he says nothing, not even a “thank you”, you decide it's your cue to leave and return to the sanctuary of your room. You turn your back but waver, your fingers hovering over the cold metal of his doorknob. A question has been mulling in the back of your brain, ever since you stormed out before, and you don’t know if rest will come easy to you if you don’t bite the bullet and ask. You take in a sharp breath.

“Mammon?” There is a few seconds worth of a pause before you hear an annoyed “What?” mumbled through the face pressed against a pillow. “Is Satan really that mad?”

There is another stretch of silence, which has begun to irritate you, before Mammon finally lifts his face from the cushioned fabric, just to face you with a deadpan look.

“Yeah, he’s pissed,” He answers bluntly and you can’t help but wince. With all of his flaws, if there was one thing you appreciated about him, it was his unexpected honesty. For a demon who lies as easily as he breathes, so far he hasn’t sugarcoated anything with you or fed you a sweet delusion just to lure you into a trap. He annoys you, and he pulls you around like a rag doll, but he’s always been upfront about his intentions. It makes him tolerable.

He looks at you with narrowed eyes, before sighing as if he’s given up on something. He flops back down, this time on his back, but he continues talking.

“But when ain’t he? If I were you, I’d avoid him for now until something else gets him worked up.”

“Oh, thank you…” You blink at him dumbly, caught off-guard by the sudden helpful advice. You hesitate before continuing. “And I’m sorry about, you know, before. I don’t really hate you or anything.”

You shuffle on your feet awkwardly when Mammon doesn’t respond. It’s suffocating, this sudden show of vulnerability. You both have never conversed like this, your interactions swinging between the pendulum of him dragging you around, or you witnessing the consequences of his reckless decisions. You ready yourself to just turn and leave, maybe bury your head into a pillow in embarrassment and hope it suffocates you to death.

“You’re so annoying,” He groans exaggeratedly, drawing out his syllables. You almost miss the pink coating the tip of his pointed ears. “Just… avoid Belphie while you’re at it. Even if ya’ avoided Satan, he’d definitely try and provoke him in front of you just for a reaction.”

You can’t hide the quirk of your lips as you thank him for the final time, while he dismisses you with a wave of his manicured hand. You feel a little warmer about your housemate, and with your new sunglasses tucked in a gift bag, you head towards the comfort of your room.

Only to turn a corner and almost run into the looming figure of the eldest brother, his sharp eyebrows raised dangerously and the ever-permanent scowl etched on his tinted lips.

“I will be speaking to you later,” He promises, his voice eerily lofty, and it’s enough for you to scamper out of the way as he makes the familiar stride to Mammon’s room.

The feeling of satisfaction disappears as quickly, and you make the walk of shame to Lucifer’s office with Mammon’s shrieks fading behind you.

The clicking ticks of the grandfather clock and the crackling of fire from the fireplace are the only consistent sounds in Lucifer’s office. Despite the interior picked out to look… somewhat homely, it’s unbearably cold in here. It’s what having Lucifer as an owner does to any living space. Said man sits at his desk, stacking away some leftover paperwork with sharp movements, even the act itself done with a level of perfection. You start to understand the reason why Lucifer felt so distant from the rest of his brothers. While the brothers thrive in their actions of imperfection and sloppiness, everything Lucifer does is precise and accurate. It’s the type of meticulousness no one can achieve, and so that’s why in your mind, you grant Lucifer much less humanity than the rest.

When dark irises finally look up to meet your impasse stare, he begins by saying.

“The unapproved shopping trip is not the reason you are here.”

You stay silent.

“I heard of a… spat that occurred earlier this morning,” He raises a perfectly arched brow, long fingers interlocking together as he places them on the desk. “If you have been troubled by anything during your stay, do come forward and speak to me about it.”

You are taken aback by his sudden consideration of you and your obvious displeasure of your living situation. Lucifer wasn’t the person you would have thought would be the first to be compassionate of your struggles, so sure the extent of his concern would boil down to “just deal with it”. Perhaps you judged him too harshly and quickly. Before you can open your mouth to speak, Lucifer continues.

“Because I can not be having a repeated incident like the one in the cafeteria. You are an exchange student under Diavolo’s care, ergo every action of yours will be a reflection on him. I will not have him be humiliated by your public tantrums,” Lucifer has a flair for stabbing any faith you had in him to death. Hot white anger fills your being, your fingers twitching to strangle him with his own stupid tie.

“Fine,” Is all you manage to spit out, because you think if you had to say anything with more syllables, you’d either start crying or break the nearest piece of furniture next to you. Maybe both. You don’t wait to gauge his reaction, as you’re already briskly storming out of the room, closing the mahogany door behind you with a purposeful slam. Lucifer never comes out to call you out on it.

As you pass by to lock yourself in your room for the remainder of the night, you miss the demon lingering at the end of the hall, who had just eavesdropped on the entire exchange.

Belphegor’s smile only widened.

[rosykims]

my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder.

dragon age origins — king!alistair x mistress f!cousland (elspeth cousland) | minors DNI | rated E for smut | 3206 words | reunion sex, riding, fluff, minor hurt/comfort, marriage proposals | ao3 link

Impatient as he is, he greets his uncle first. He’s the king, after all, and his advisors deserve at least the pretense of an attentive ruler.

Pleasantries are exchanged between them while his squire helps him out of his gaudy golden excuse for armor. Not unexpectedly, the elephant in the room goes undiscussed, as do the half dozen marriage proposals he's certain have piled up during his absence. After six years, Eamon knows better than to press him on that issue. Likely he'll try his luck in the morning, but tonight the wells of Alistair’s patience have been run thoroughly dry. It must read plainly on his face, given how bad he is at cards. 

As the arl's debrief draws to a close, Alistair's eyes, for the tenth time in half as many minutes, dart towards the exit. Eamon sighs. 

“Well, Your Grace,” he says, tactfully clearing his throat. “The hour is late indeed. I imagine you're weary from your travels?”

Alistair nods. “Oh, very weary. The weariest.”

It's not entirely a lie, but his uncle frowns nonetheless. “Then I won't keep you. Good night, Alistair.”

“You as well, Uncle.”

“I will see you in the morning for your small council meeting. Do try not to be . . . waylaid.”

Well. Hint received. Awkward. He lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when he finally presses the door closed behind him.

Next up: a bath. It's sorely needed, after five weeks back and forth across the Waking Sea. His arrivals home are typically received without much ceremony, per his request, and so the palace is pleasantly quiet. A few saluting guards here, a scurrying servant or two there. It's for their benefit that he keeps his footfalls slow and measured, instead of breaking into the wild sprint down the hallway that he's aching for.

One of those servants must have drawn his bath for him already, he guesses, stepping into his chambers to find it warm and awaiting. He wonders if Teagan roused them from their beds for this, or if they've simply clued into his routine after so many years of it.

He forces himself to bathe slowly. For his own sake, but mostly for hers. The heat soaks into his bones, the grime and dust from the road melting off of him as if little more than a bad memory. He tries to enjoy it, despite his restlessness. And the excitement, Maker, like he's still twenty years old and the anticipation alone might just undo him. Or do him in.

He only hurries as he dries off, reaching for the fresh (and mercifully plain) clothes laid diligently aside for him. A part of him considers forgoing clothes entirely – palace denizens be damned. He wills himself to dress anyway, reluctantly. Quickly. It hasn't been that long since he last saw her, anyway, and they've gone far longer stretches before than this. Nonetheless, between Kirkwall's tyrannical templars and the lingering Qunari threat, he feels as if he hasn't held her in an age.

Clean and fully dressed, he frowns at his reflection. Older, harder, more weary. But happy, still, despite it all. Because of her. Her, waiting for him, just a few rooms away. 

Naked, ideally.

He does away with all pretense and hightails down the hall, paying no mind to his kingsguard and their poorly suppressed grins. Smile away, Alistair thinks. I'll be smiling too, in a minute.

Her door is up ahead. And then before him. The handle is inches away from his outstretched hand. He hesitates.

How’s his breath? His hair? He should have shaved, should have put in a little more effort. Can she hear his creepy breathing behind the door? He fixes his clothes. Squares his shoulders. Knocks. 

“Elles?”

A pause. Then, “Alistair?”

His heart tightens painfully in his chest. How he's missed that voice. If Ferelden could speak, it would do so through Elspeth Cousland. The strength of the Frostbacks in that voice of hers. The grim beauty of the Kocari Wilds. Rough like the Highever seas. 

He can tell she’s been brooding before he’s so much as closed the door behind him. Not that he’s surprised — Maker, does the woman know how to brood. She shoots up quickly to her feet, straight and rigid like a soldier standing at attention. Not, mind you, like a Warden-Commander; at this moment Elspeth more closely resembles a clammy-handed recruit, next in line for her Joining. She’s nervous, that much is obvious, with her hands white knuckled and clasped together with uncertainty.  From past experience, he’d wager anything she’s spent the last several days convincing herself he’s somehow fallen out of love with her in the time they’ve been apart.  

And they say he’s the idiot.

Life’s too short to waste on “hello”’s, or “I’ve missed you”’s, or "I brought you a souvenir, but silly me, I accidentally dropped it overboard on the voyage back”. They’ve got less time together than most, after all. Crossing the distance between them is a blur; one moment he's at the door, the next he's hoisting her legs up around his waist, arms enveloping every part of her he can get his hands on, lips working relentlessly against her opened mouth. Whatever insecurities she'd tried to voice in the time it took him to wrap her up in his arms, he doesn't care to hear. He'd much rather focus on ridding her of those doubts entirely.

She gets the message — they've always been in sync like that. Her lips catch up with his, matching the hunger and resolve of his kiss. Her hands, calloused and smelling perpetually of iron, snake around his shoulders. The rest of her smells like roses; she must have come just recently from the garden he’d had built for her, the one place he specifically forbid her from moping in. He takes a moment to refamiliarize himself with her scent, lost in the feeling of her fingers tangled up in his hair, pulling him closer, ever closer, close enough to lose track of whose body belongs to who. And still it's not enough.

He needs her. Badly. She can probably feel as much, too. He carries her to the bed, laying her down amidst the pillows and furs. He finds within himself just enough self restraint to stand back for a long, brazen ogle. Maker, everything about her turns him on. Her freckles, her fingers, her breasts. Her long ashen hair in that ever-familiar braid. Storm gray eyes, pale pink lips. Her nose, one of his many favorite parts of her, set crooked after one too many fists to the face.

That perfect, powerful body of hers, hidden away under just a few thin, tearable layers of clothing . . .

She's way ahead of him, of course, because at this point they've got reunion sex down to an art. She casts off her Warden-blue tunic with only a button or two lost in the process, then grabs him by the front of his own shirt (red, naturally, with a tiny embroidered ‘I love you’ she'd stitched so sneakily behind the hem of his collar) and pulls him down on top of her once it's properly discarded. Their pants and various stubborn affects follow suit, until they’re both left blissfully bare and pawing feverishly at one another, limbs tangled and lips locked. 

His fingers venture down the valley of her breasts, past her stomach to settle in between her legs. He smiles at what he finds, reassured by the proof that he’s not the only one so blatantly aroused. Her thighs part wider for him, hips lifting from the sheets to sooner meet his digits. She moans, perhaps less so from pleasure than the sheer relief of being touched — loved — for the first time in over a month. And he's right there with her. He sighs (or whines, if he's being honest) into the crook of her neck when her own hands find what they've been looking for, working him all too quickly into a frenzy. 

She stops just as suddenly as she'd started, pushing at his chest until he relents and rolls over. She straddles his lap, grinding once, hard and agonizingly slow, for good measure. He moves to drape an arm over his face in some futile attempt to cool his burning cheeks, but she cruelly intercedes, pinning his wrists by either side of his head. He struggles playfully for a bit, laughing breathlessly. His hips buck autonomously at the sight of those strong, muscular arms holding him firmly in place.

They used to spar together, innocently, when they first met. How time flies.

He needs so, so desperately to fuck her. He has all night — all week, all year, all of the rest of their lives— to savor her body the way it's meant to be savored. To make sweet, tender, Chantry sanctioned love to her. But what he needs right now  — what they both need, he recognises — is something desperate and ragged and mindless to the point of being no better than animals. The type of fucking that comes from a shared loneliness he's not certain anybody else has ever experienced before.

He's glad she doesn't give him too much time to dwell on that. Her hips rise just enough for the right angle, before guiding him slowly inside. They both sigh. Elspeth frees his trapped hands to splay her own out against his chest, steadying herself. Her nails dig into his skin as she sinks down onto him, inch by inch, although she's bitten them too short to do any real damage. Alistair fights to keep himself still inside her, waiting for her body to adjust, to give him the go ahead. An uphill battle, really. When he's fully sheathed inside of her she settles, save for the frantic contraction of her muscles around him, driving him to the brink of insanity. 

“I dreamt about this every night I was gone,” he manages. “Maker, I love you, Elles. I love you so much.”

Her eyes go glassy and her bottom lip quivers. It's that old, familiar grief, the one he's never been able to fully free her from after those long, bleak months in the Deep Roads. But as he moves his hips carefully against hers and feels Elspeth moving back, he's confident he can coax it down again, at least for as little as tonight.

“I love you,” she eventually whispers back, and then begins to ride him in earnest.

Ten minutes blurs into one long wave of curling, cresting euphoria. Alistair groans brokenly. He feels absolutely deranged, delirious, gazing up at her while she takes him so completely. Sweat beads at her forehead, and a deep flush creeps from her chest up to her cheeks. His own face must be beet-red, too. 

He's not going to last long, not with the angle she’s hitting and sounds coming out of her mouth. Though, taking those sounds into consideration, he suspects that she won't last much longer, either. They're both too keyed up to pace themselves and too jittery to try, so better to play it out in a wild crescendo. He grabs at her hips, lifting her up and back down onto him, coaxing out one hoarse plea after another. One hand releases its grip to run unfettered across her breasts, and she groans again, falling forwards onto his chest and wrapping herself around him as if she might never get a chance to again. 

Once, a hundred lifetimes ago, his friend Zevran gave him some unsolicited advice about arching. He really hadn’t appreciated it at the time, but he does now, right in this moment, with the friction of this exact position to aid him in such an endeavor. She’s done in half a minute if he can keep her held firmly above him. He’s done, too. He doubles his efforts, recapturing her swollen lips and soon reaching with his tongue to greet the muffled cry when her pleasure finally peaks. Normally he would let her ride it out, but he’s rapidly approaching his own climax and his brain can focus on nothing but her gray, glazed over eyes, her hair in the candlelight, the frantic rise and fall of her chest as she writhes and bucks and bounces against him. Her muscles pulse and he feels himself twitching inside of her in response. 

He’s so close, at the precipice, suspended in mid air, floating . . . And then she tightens around him once more and he finishes inside of her with one long, obscene moan that vibrates through the room and every part of his utterly spent body.

They’re going to get so many looks from the guards come morning.

His every muscle sings with bliss. Their bodies grow slack and boneless together and their movements slow to lazy, drawn out rolls of the hips. He holds her, one hand rubbing her naked back and the other cradling her head as they find their breaths again, together, in the most comfortable of silences. He counts her exhales, and in the afterglow of their efforts he finds himself blinking back tears. Returning to Ferelden, to Denerim, to the palace itself . . . none of it had felt like coming home until this very moment, enveloped in one another, reacquainted at last with the sound of each other’s breathlessness.

He hates it when she rolls up and off of him, but he’s a grown up, apparently, so instead of whining about it he begrudgingly rises from the bed long enough to grab the nearest clean cloth. Then he’s right back in bed with her, his hand returning between her legs to wipe her down, followed by a cursory clean up of himself. She lets out her now thoroughly dishevelled braid while she watches him, not smiling as he’d hoped, but warm and tender nonetheless. Her fingers trace slow and deliberately along the curve of his bicep, frowning at the jagged scar she knows still gives him trouble in the colder months. He makes a mental note to get at least a half dozen laughs out of her before the night is through, just to keep that damned frown of hers at bay.

He offers her a worldless arm when he’s done tidying them both up, and he’s rewarded with a smile, sweet and sheepish, as she moves to snuggle into it. He pulls her close to pepper the top of her head with kisses, humming contentedly in the quiet.

“Marry me,” he says eventually.

Elspeth tenses, and then sighs. “You’re never going to give this up, are you?”

“Ha! Of course I will. The second you say ‘Yes! Yes! Oh, Alistair! One thousand times yes!’”

“I don’t sound like that. Also, do I have to say it a thousand times, or just the once?”

“Well . . . a couple times couldn’t hurt, right?”

And there it is: her first, exasperated chuckle of the night. Winning that laughter means more to him than every battle he’s ever come out of victorious.

“You know I can’t, Ali.” Her laughter fades back into her usual grimness as she runs her palm across his chest, charting routes in the space between his freckles. She places a kiss above his heart, likely in the hopes of avoiding his eye. “We’ve broken too many rules as it is, and I won’t be the cause for yet more unrest in Thedas. I bear responsibility for enough of that already. Besides, I can’t just abandon my men. The Wardens need me.”  

“I need you.” He scoffs as an afterthought. “And the Gray Wardens have Nathaniel, as much as it just kills me to credit that man with anything. But hey! Who said anything about giving them up? A king can be a general. I’m living proof he can be a court jester, too. Why can’t a queen be Warden-Commander?”

She ignores his quip, despite it being a really good one. “Because I don’t know how to be a queen.” She shakes her head hopelessly. “I barely know how to be a person most days. Maybe . . .  maybe I could have done it, once, but now, after everything —”

Better to stop this now before it turns into another one of her signature doom spirals. “Every Arl and Bann in the Coastlands calls you queen already, did you know that?” He grins, having anticipated the eyeroll. Of course she knows that, given how much her fellow Gray Wardens love to gossip. And tease. “The nobles have long been made aware that I won't accept anybody else by my side. And, Maker, it’s not like they would accept anybody else! ‘None but the Cousland Queen’ —  that’s what they say about you. I know that because half of the bannorn have told me. To my face.”  

Some small, dignified part of her — the part that still relishes being a highborn noble — stirs. Her eyes glint with cautious intrigue. “Bann Ceorlic?” she asks.

Alistair clears his throat. “Well, not him.”

 “Hmph.”

“Marry me,” he says again. “Don’t you want to?”

“You know I want to,” she says, “but —”

“— Any excuse you give me will just go in one ear and out the other. Isn’t that just so classically me? Hey, here’s a crazy idea. Let’s get maaaa-rried!”

“You’re just getting funnier and funnier in your old age, aren’t you?”

“And you’re getting grumpier.” 

He takes her face in both hands before she can deny it, kissing her slow and soft and with all of the comfort he knows she secretly needs right now, and likely always will. Now that he’s home - truly home - he can give her as much of that as she can stand, and then some. Tomorrow’s small council meeting be damned. “Marry me, Elles.”

She blinks up at him, searching his eyes for any sign he might one day get tired of waiting. She can find a lot in his eyes (he is really, really terrible at cards) but she’ll never find that. 

“Can I at least ask you how your trip went, first?” she asks finally, softened by the crack of a tiny, rueful smile.

“Ugh.” How could he forget? “Right. That little thing. It -” 

Alistair blinks, Kirkwall forgotten again just as soon as he’d remembered it. “That’s . . . not a ‘no’, by the way,” he says, dumbfounded.

Elspeth settles in closer against him, her leg wrapped around his, her ear pressed in snug at his shoulder. He knows she’s listening for his heartbeat, the thump-thump-thump she’d do anything - everything - for. He knows she put him on the throne to keep that heartbeat going for a few years more, and he knows that’s why it’s so hard for her to give up the endless fight for it now. 

He knows. It doesn’t mean he thinks she’s right.

She looks up at him only after she’s satisfied that his heart isn’t about to cease functioning in his chest. Her hand reaches out to smooth down the errant hairs around his ears, and she opens her mouth several times to reply before pursuing them together in frustration. Then - finally, bashfully - she nods.     

“No,” she admits softly. “I mean, it’s not. It’s . . . it’s not a no.”

‘It’s not a no’. Well, he’s certainly done more with less.

[mikeandikeschmidt]

🎄Christmas with Mike & Abby: Headcanons

•I think Mike would either be a Scrooge like, “great. One more thing I got to worry about.”

OR he’d go crazy trying to make Christmas perfect. He remembers a time when Christmas used to be such a huge thing for the family and he wants Abby to experience that too. And with you in the picture now, it makes him that much more motivated to make this the happiest holiday ever. So I’m leaning towards the latter. That Mike would try way too hard to make a good Christmas.

•First step? The tree. Mike gets a real tree. He’s very particular about it, he likes the smell of the pine, it brings back memories. Then he’s quickly reminded of how much of a pain in the butt they are and he regrets everything

•Abby’s favorite Christmas song is the Chipmunk one. Just because it’s Mike’s least favorite. The high-pitched voices annoy the crap out of him and Abby likes watching him try not to show how big of a headache he’s developing. His second least favorite song is Mariah Carey’s All I Want for Christmas Is You. When he was a mall security guard, he had to listen to that on the PA wayy too many times.

•Mike’s payback is singing along to Bing Crosby’s White Christmas. And he always jokingly exaggerates the crooner’s voice, making Abby complain she hates his singing. You giggle and reassure him you like when he sings but Abby just comments, “I guess love is deaf too.”

•When it starts snowing and actually packing, you take Abby out to build a snowman. But when you see Mike pull into the driveway, you both get a mischievous idea…and you start pelting him with snowballs.

At first, he’s grumpy from just getting out of work and he shouts at you both to knock it off. So you and Abby pout and go back to your snowman…letting your guard down long enough for Mike to get payback. (And that guy has a good arm. He can throw a mean snowball)

•Three words for you; Christmas. Movie. Marathon. I’m talking Home Alone, Christmas Story, Charlie Brown Christmas. Cocoa with marshmallows. Watching movies together. And seeing how long it takes Mike to fall asleep. (Hint, not very long)

•Mike is a bit of a klutz sometimes. He’s so tired all the time, it manifests itself in occasional bursts of clumsiness. One of those unfortunate times was when he was trying to put up the Christmas lights. He got tangled up in the wires and you found him hanging from the roof, upside down. Like something from National Lampoon or Home Improvement. Abby was laughing hard and you were just panicking, trying to get him down without letting him fall.

•Helping Mike pick out gifts for Abby. He’s absolutely lost on what little girls like so you have to help him, but you both were in total agreement when you both saw a journal and marker pack for your little artist. She was ecstatic when she saw her presents.

•You got Mike a watch, some new comfy sweatshirts, as well as an expensive cologne. You felt he deserved to treat himself a little bit. Mike tried to act casual about it, but you could tell he was all bashful at your generosity. Abby also pointed out that he was blushing (which made his face turn redder)

•Abby made you a homemade card with a drawing of the three of you together at home with a rainbow overhead. There’s also a lot of unnecessary glitter that falls into your lap. But it makes you tear up, because it really makes you feel like part of the family.

•Mike’s gift to you is very humble. It’s something small but intimate. It shows he doesn’t have a lot of money but that he listens to you. It’s something you thought he wouldn’t have even noticed or heard you talking about. But he pays attention to you. And it was the sweetest gesture that melted your heart.

•Back to the topic of Christmas lights, it’s a Schmidt family tradition to drive around to look at other houses’ lights one last time.

Mike drives and he smiles softly, looking in the rear-view mirror and seeing Abby asleep in the back. ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ plays on the radio and Mike reaches over to hold your hand, softly rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. And everything feels right in the world.

[freakartack]

hmmmm any volt head canons

VOLTAGE TIME ok so obligatory Papa Volt retread just to get him out of the way. OK now that Papa Volt is done let's move on to the other guys.

18-Volt

-Doing him first because he's my favorite. Anyways 18-volt is an awesome kid because

-Like most other children in Warioware, he has kind of a lonely family situation. He's only ever talked about his mom, who is away a lot as he is able to play video games late into the night unsupervised (unlike the ever-vigilant 9-volt). So it seems like he is kind of a latchkey kid most of the time.

-As a result, he ends up sleeping over 9-volt's house a lot, and he's also kind of glommed onto 5-volt as a friend to boot ("Hi 9-Volt's Mom"). They both canonically have a passion for gardening, so I can imagine they bond over that and she gives him gardening advice and whatnot. Maybe if NINE VOLT wasn't afraid of getting his hands dirty he could join in the fun but alas

-Because of his growth condition, he's gotten a lot of shit in school in the past. As such, he is extremely quick to come to the defense of kids in need; he stood up to 13-amp when she was picking on ralphie, and then extended an olive branch to 13-amp when he realized she was just a troubled kid. This also mirrors how 9-volt befriended 18-volt when no one else would, so it is kind of beautiful in this way. These are some stand-up kids!

-Is way less adventurous than 9-Volt; he went skateboarding with him exactly once and hated it

-Mains Captain Falcon in smash and says "FALCON PUNCH" out loud

5-Volt

-I love that her character card in g&w says "age unknown" and then immediately tells you that she grew up in the 80s

-I also think that the rest of her wardrobe was similarly radical. I've been meaning to draw Young 5-Volt for a while so you might see her soon

-Was the apex predator of her local arcade back in the day

-Contrary to her moveset in Get It Together!, I don't think she has any supernatural powers beyond being scary as fuck. Pay no attention to the woman behind the TV

-Mains ROB in smash and kills people with him in real life

9-Volt

-The entirety of his retro game collection was inherited from his mother; he doesn't know what eBay is

-Has grown his adult front teeth in since Mega Microgames

-Has said "FIRE" so many times that orbulon accidentally picked up on it in smooth moves

-Mains Pikachu in smash and spams down+B the whole match

Fronk

-Unlike Orbulon and the space hares, I can't even begin to speculate on what the fuck he is. I think he has an exoskeleton. I think he is ovoviviparous. I think his distant ancestors were from space and he comes from a long line of rapidly-reproducing alien animals that somehow gained sapience along the way. It is extremely hard to keep up with Fronk Lore because they are constantly dropping bombshells. Do you know he has a wife and kid

-Mains Marth

[samfosho]

I hate to do this, but not asking for help is how I ended up with tens of thousands in medical debt to begin with and I'm getting desperate.

So, hi. I'm Sam. I'm a queer, autistic & ADHD living with mountains of medical debt that has accrued after working a decade at a job I believed in for just pennies, with nothing to show for it but burnout and depression. (Yes, I know there are charities that buy medical debt. I did not know about them before I took advice from An Adult That I Trusted and Thought Was Smart years ago now, who said just put it on a credit card. I have learned and suffered for that mistake)

Fortunately, I've got a good job now. Unfortunately, that doesn't solve all my problems overnight. Currently, I have about $36 to my name, which isn't even mine if you think about it (see: debt), and I don't get paid for a week. I'm working on the Big Shit, but there are two things I really need help with:

Immediate: I have a car payment coming out today for $156 that I can't cover

Less Immediate, but still looming: I NEED to have my wisdom teeth out. I've put them off for a long time, and I'm currently dealing with a lot of pain as I wait for the appointment next month. Insurance came back with them covering half, but that still leaves $1400 out of pocket.

I thought I had everything budgeted a little better this month, and all I had to worry about was the upcoming wisdom teeth appointment. I had a small car issue (tires needed replaced) and I forgot my rent went up this month and not next.

This is a huge ask, and I know we're all struggling, so I'm not asking for that full amount.

That dental appointment is the soonest I can get in, at the least expensive office that takes my insurance, so moving to a different doc isn't an option. They DO offer payment plans, however they only offer 6 months, and the full amount is too much of a monthly payment for me to make and still pay rent/make car payments/feed my cats.

If I can make that first payment on the day as big as I can, and cut the monthly payments, that would be an immense relief.

SO, my goal is $600, if at all possible, in the long run, so I don't lose everything

But my immediate, PLEASE if you can, so I don't lose my car or miss rent or get hit with overdraft fees that will just hit me even harder goal is:

$200

This would get my car payment and a little extra to get as many cheap, non perishable groceries as I can so I don't have to worry about what I'll eating the next few months.

If possible, literally anything is a huge help and amazing. If not possible, a little boost would be amazing.

If you would like to receive an actual, physical thing—like, say, a cussy piece of embroidery—you can go buy something from my Etsy store. Stock is limited, cuz I have been working enough that I haven't had time to make a lot of things or get new supplies, but I have some stupid mushroom earrings I can add to the shop, too, when I get a moment, and some stone jewelry that I made and have been meaning to sell for YEARS.

I also have a comic that I haven't updated in forever, because of the aforementioned busyness, burnout and stress. So I will draw you a little robot or something if you donate if you want

Here is a pic of my cats, they would also appreciate eating

Thanks for taking the time to read, I greatly appreciate that, too 💚

I put my links under the cut, so they're not just out there in case this post travels past my need of it

Venmo @ SamFoShoBro

cashapp $SamFoShoBro

Message for paypal. I have it, I just don't like using it.

[wingfril]

My newest shipment just arrived so let’s talk about some (recent) lottery-only items! The picture above is from the most recent d.grayman playing card drawing, which you could’ve entered by subbing to zebrack comics.

They’re really pretty! I don’t know if it was worth $350 dollars though. There’s only 2 types of illustrations plus the card back and spades,

Funny thing about the prices — I’m pretty sure I’m the reason why the floor for this is 350 on mercari. When the drawing results come out, several people started selling the cards on mercari. I knew I wanted something that’s super exclusive like this, so I started paying attention. There were three sellers in particular competition against each other. over a span of around 2-3 days, the price dropped from ~100k yen down to 59k yen. Keep in mind that these drops were mostly happening while I was asleep being on the east coast. My ideal price would’ve been around 200 usd or ~30k yen, but I’m willing to pay more. Right before going to bed, I saw that the price has fallen to below 60k, and said screw it. Next morning, I woke up, and the main price competitor’s cards were also sold, and a few days later the third person, with a slightly higher price, also ended up selling. Since the price decreases happen primarily while I was asleep, and I knew that as soon as one sells, the other is going to get bought up too, might as well pay a little extra. I’m also 99% sure that at least 2/3 of the other sets on mercari was bought by chinese people, since I see their posts on chinese social media.

To be honest though, if I knew that there’s only two new drawings on these cards, I probably would’ve waited a bit longer before buying them. Oh well.

The other lottery item I had is from the vol 28 drawing.

They’re B5 sized manuscript replicas. They’re stunning — you can see so many details on these. Every stroke on neah/mana’s hair is clear as day. I’d like to frame them but *screams in nyc and paper walls*.

The other drawing item is a acrylic board of the vol 28 cover.

I’m still debating on buying that off of mercari. I think I will once the yen drops a little more, but we’ll see. I wouldn’t lose sleep over not getting it.

As a side note unrelated to dgm: the reason why I’m buying so much recently is 1. I realized that a few thousand literally makes no difference to me and my house owning goals (I LOVE NYC) and 2. The yen is incredibly cheap right now. Even though some Japanese collectors are price gauging, some of the items are not too much more expense than their originals price (there’s a few absurd outliers, which I’ll covered in two months… because I paid for some of the outliers and now they have to be shipped from China).

The Japanese fed has spent billions on trying to stabilize the currency, but to no avail. it’s really bad for any Japanese companies doing import, but it’s really really good for usd based consumers. As long as the US federal reserve and their interest rate remains high (and a bunch of other factors), yen is going to continue getting crushed against the dollar. There’s some items I’m eyeing on that I’ll probably only buy if the yen drops to at least 1:160 against the dollar. If you zoom into the last month of usd:yen, you can literally see when the Japanese fed intervened.

[blackteatarot]

Meditation and Visualization

In plenty of spell work and smaller day-to-day rituals many practitioners will meditate to focus themselves and their energy on the task at hand. For me visualization goes hand in hand with meditation so I’ll be describing how I use it to help meditate.

I always start with music. I’ve put together a playlist that makes me feel rather spooky and I’ve been using it for so long now that just hearing the songs helps to get me in the headspace for witching. It may help you to make one as well!! Whether it’s music, ambient noise, or even the lack of sound, I recommend finding a way to have some kind of fixed audio. Random noises or talking tend to make me lose focus or make me paranoid. I’d like to add that many popular songs have noises recorded into them that you may not have otherwise heard or been paying attention to, even things like door knocks and whispers. Just be aware!!

After your sound is sorted, get your space set up for whatever it is you’re gearing up for. Get out any tools, herbs, etc. you may need so you can go directly into working once you’re focused. I usually light a candle and arrange my altar into a fitting formation, even if it’s just something small for reading cards. This is the time when, if visualization doesn’t work for you or you would prefer another method, I would recommend choosing something to focus on. When I don’t use visualization to meditate, I usually stare into the flame of a candle or at some object of significance. With that form of meditation I try to think about things related to the work that I’m doing, repeat a phrase or prayer, or clear my mind if possible. A personal favorite for tracking how long you’ve meditated is by having a birthday candle burn in its entirety, finishing meditation as the flame extinguishes.

Once your space is arranged, you’re ready to visualize!! Visualization is all about creating a more concrete idea of what and where your energy is so that you can more easily manipulate it. In my case, I find it easiest to think about my energy like the ocean. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. Once it’s steady and I feel calm, I breathe in and visualize that I am drawing my energy into myself. As I breathe out, this energy flows out around me, but never out of my control. When I breathe in again, it comes back to me. I push and pull it like the tide. I repeat this breathing and visualizing process until I feel ready to work. That’s really all there is to it!! If you’re having trouble visualizing, imagine literal water. Think about how it laps against the shore. Imagine it rushing up to you the same way waves draw up before they break and crash. Hold in your breath and imagine controlling the breaking of the wave. When you breathe out, imagine how this wave rushes out, foaming and fizzling around you. When you breath in, imagine it drawing back again like the tide. Repeat this. This imagery can be as detailed or vague as you feel necessary. Between the breathing, focusing, and overall intent of harnessing energy I consider this to be my meditation. It can last anywhere from fifteen minutes to over an hour depending on my mood or need to meditate. I’ve found it to be incredibly effective and it tends to clear my mind completely, allowing me to approach my practice with a level head.

That’s it from me!! If this version of visualization doesn’t seem right for you, chances are you view your energy differently and that’s completely okay!! There’s plenty of ways to visualize energy because it’s yours!! I’m not well versed in other methods, but digging in the tags may give you some insight. As always, do your own research, stay safe, and happy witching ♧

[salternateunreality2]

AGSZC ND AU: Finances

Disclaimer: not an expert

AU setup: all the boys are neuro-spicy except Angeal, who has depression/anxiety. I HC that GZ are more ADHD-leaning and SC are more Autism (ASD)-leaning

From: the archives of my convos with @strayheartless

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

Zack struggles to save. Angeal and Genesis have to sit him down and talk him into setting up a retirement fund that automatically draws from his paycheck before he can touch it.

They also help him set up a savings account and encourage him to use cash to- Zack did you just give half your paycheck in cash to that beggar child? SURE, BUT NOT HALF YOUR PAYCHECK!!! YOU HAVE TO PAY RENT!!! ...and now they're setting up direct deposit on his bills.

There's at least 20 Zack Fair ID cards in circulation around Midgar. It's gotten so bad that he is the only SOLDIER who has to scan his ID AND put in a pin (Cloud's name, but with a 0 instead of an o! Super secure!). So you can imagine how many Zack Fair credit and debit cards have had to be canceled.

-

Angeal is frugal to the point of it being unhealthy. He washes plastic bags (ok, sure, but maybe once they're not water tight, let them go), wears clothes until they literally fall off his body (ok for some things, but Angeal, that shirt is more hole than shirt), reuses the coffee grounds as many times as he can before the other SOLDIERs start a riot (unhealthy in that they're asking for his head on a pike in Lazard's office)...

He's religious about not skipping meals; he considers it a sign that he's "made it" in life, and giving up on the ritual and right to eat upsets him.

-

Genesis got swept up in finance as a hyperfixation/special interest, so he's in the healthiest financial situation, and helps his boyfriends up their games. He set up automatic deposits, has diverse investments, and has controls set in place to help him avoid over-spending if he starts getting impulsive.

-

Cloud is broke and it's not his fault. He fully supports all of Angeal's endeavors to the point of obsession as well. Whatever part of his paycheck doesn't immediately get vaporized for housing, he sends as much as he can to his mom (much like Angeal), and since she refuses to take more, the rest goes into savings.

Unlike Angeal, he will skip meals if money is tight or he thinks he can get away with it. It helps that he forgets sometimes, and he also tries to sleep for meals as a two-for-one on shutting down his senses and saving money. None of his boyfriends are happy about this.

-

Sephiroth has a complicated relationship with money. It's very hard for him to consider it as a tangible thing, since his basic physical needs are met by the company. It took Genesis looking over his finances to realize Shinra was severely underpaying him, even embezzling from him. After a tirade involving Lazard, Genesis, and Angeal vs. the board, all that was straightened out. They couldn't get much back pay, but Hojo got scolded mildly and Sephiroth considered that a win. The others are still unhappy about it.

He doesn't like touching his finances. Genesis encouraged and guided him as he set things up one miserable April, and now it takes care of itself, and he's happy as long as he has enough to treat his boyfriends and buy pasta.

[dandydingo]

Why I’m Leaving Freelance Commission Work An essay about doing furry commissions by DandyDingo

Preamble  First and foremost I’d like to state that this is not a post geared toward complaining about commissioners or fellow artists in my industry. I’ve simply noticed a concerning disconnect between commissioners and artists about several topics and wanted to make something that explains, clarifies, and elaborates on some of those issues.

I love the community I’m a part of and would like to see it do better! Though it���s a meme that if you want to make money as an artist you should become a furry, it’s actually a double edged sword that I’ll be trying my best to pick apart and display. The following points I’ll be rambling about are also based on my personal experiences working in this type of career for 3 years. I am by no means the most qualified but I’m not the least qualified either; this to say please take what I say with a grain of salt. It won’t apply to all situations!

With those disclaimers out of the way, get ready for a whole lot of reading!

What is this job and how does it work? Typically when someone is referring to a furry artist they mean an artist selling illustration commissions on a freelance basis. There are many different kinds of independent creators though and this could include someone who sells merchandise, makes a living off patreon with comic work, or does fursuits. For the sake of staying focused we’re discussing artists who specifically sell illustrations and work one-on-one with commissioners to accomplish this.

As any seasoned commissioner knows, the way an artist’s process works can be varied but typically involves:

buying an open slot for a commission type (ex: a painting)

handing over your references, requests, and paying 

waiting for a work in progress image to approve 

receiving the final product

This process is the basic premise, an industry standard if you will. The artist gets the benefit of controlling when they can take on work and the commissioner has the opportunity to communicate what they want at multiple stages of the project.

But why are there so many variations to what projects an artist will even accept, what’s in their TOS, and how long it takes them to do it?

Specialization  The thing about many furry artists is we’re independent creators with little to no formal education in illustration. We’re not the type of artists you see putting together Magic the Gathering cards or developing a big title game. To expect that level of industrial standard with speed and quality would be ludicrous! This is what makes us appealing to commission though- you’re not going to find our product anywhere else and you’re supporting an artist you like directly. 

In fact, every furry artist is a unique snowflake with their own specializations. This is partially since art takes a ridiculous amount of time to get good at. An artist is almost forced to choose what they can offer and what they’re going to invest in trying to sell. This can even be out of our control! For example, one of the running jokes with my slice of community is the fact that after drawing a single bird furry there was suddenly an entire flock asking me to draw their bird sonas. 

Specialization directly rewards furry artists with more steady income / clients and thus they might have to restrict what they can offer. Again, learning to draw something new takes a lot of time. An artist who has never touched backgrounds will struggle a lot to suddenly try and include them in their work. This doesn’t mean it can’t be done or that an artist doesn’t want to. I would even argue this hyper specialization can often leave artists in a depressing loop they feel they can never escape from. If they suddenly draw something else it won’t sell, their personal interests have been buried by what actually works on the market.

Some artists do break this mold though and either enjoy the specialization they’re in or are experienced enough to draw whatever they fancy at a high quality. Perhaps even, their audience expects and celebrates an experimental approach from them which is something that’s true in my case. One of my most successful commissions were “surprise bags” where requests and edits weren't even allowed! Others are not fortunate enough to have that option though.

In any case, this is not the sole reason for the insane variety we see in furry artists and why their commission processes vary so much but it is a huge part of it. For context, the level of skill you see in my art took 5 years to get to and I would consider myself intermediate at best. It’s truly an underrated skilled trade.

Prices - Part 1 Cost of Living Money, everyone’s favourite non-controversial topic! So why is furry art so expensive? 

It costs a lot to be a living breathing creature with a roof over your head and food in your belly. We all feel the current effects of inflation and ridiculously high rent. This is definitely a big reason why art can / should cost a lot and believe it or not MOST artists do not make minimum wage.

This doesn’t just apply to furry artists of course and I would be beating a dead horse on something we all already know, the economy is in a terrible state right now. It depends on what country / area you live in, what your living situation is, if you have any pets or health issues, etc.

In general though, that $200 price tag for a reference sheet doesn’t make the cut in most places. It might be the single biggest reason why I cannot continue this work anymore, the price I can sell something for is only so high but my workload will remain the same. That reference sheet will take me 2-4 days to complete no matter what if I want to maintain the good quality a commissioner is (understandably) paying me for. 

Depending on what you're selling and where your experience level is at (the more experienced you are the less time it takes to complete something at an acceptable quality) a commission can take 1 hour to finish or it can take 12 hours. So… just do a lot of smaller cheaper stuff right? 

Prices - Part 2 The Great Artist Killer, BURNOUT If an artist cannot manage to sell a few big things to meet their monthly bills they might instead switch gears to sell lots of small affordable things. This can mean doing 20-40 commissions a month at a back breaking pace. While all jobs slowly drain the life out of your soul, art demands a level of mental focus that is often overlooked and in the case of this career, you only have you to do the work that is required. 

There is no one to cover your shift, there is no one to assist you, and if you don’t make your deadlines your reputation is at stake. The very same reputation of good work ethic that keeps your commissioners coming back the next opening. You must push through the burnout! You must work until your hand aches and bleeds! You must- there is no one to save you from this Hell!

If you try to be an affordable or high production artist this is the life you have to look forward to. Desperately churning out product as you retrofit your creativity and passions into a well oiled machine. Often to try and prevent this artists will raise their prices to something they can live off without breaking themselves or have a mix of high / low prices. A middle ground if you will, something that still doesn’t make the standard of living but isn’t a death march either. It’s a precarious and strange limbo with financial insecurity but hey… at least you’re not dead. It should be noted as well that most artists struggle with some form of mental illness and selling commissions might even be the only career open to them. This is not a topic I feel qualified to speak on but it does play an enormous role in experiencing burnout and the general struggles of this career. 

Prices - Part 3 Afterthoughts While I wish artists could push for an appropriate living wage, I understand the commissioners' side as well. Spending $100 that could go toward groceries is just not feasible for the vast majority of us and so when we see something that is actually in our range, a $20 headshot or $10 sketch, we often hop on it without a second thought on the ethics of paying that low. It is okay to buy a treat for yourself that is within a price range you can afford though! You should never spend what you can’t nor should you ever feel pressured or guilty to buy something.

If a commissioner is concerned about paying enough I would recommend saving up and giving as big of a tip as you can! Artists are almost always underselling themselves and even just a $5 tip covers the cut that Paypal takes or buys them a coffee to get through the day. Buying what’s reasonable for you is absolutely still supporting them and a little goes a long way!

NOTE : any artist can experience burnout or struggle with meeting minimum wage no matter what they’re selling; this is a hard topic to pick apart Making Art - Part 1 The Process So how does making art work? That might seem like a silly question but it’s hard to understand when you’re not the one creating it. Given how closely a commissioner and artist must work together in order to achieve a desired result I think it’s worth breaking down what goes into making a piece. Of course every illustrator is different but here’s how it generally works:

Hope You’re Mentally Well Art requires mental concentration, particularly for something complex such as a city. Often a bad mental state can be worked around but sometimes the process stops here- you’re just not able to focus enough to measure out that perspective or break down the complex anatomy that goes into drawing a hand.

Find References An artist may need to take an hour or so to find the right references or to make thumbnail sketches. Especially if your client asked for something specific (like a particular brand of whisky) you need to know what it looks like and how it will fit into the piece. For small quick pieces though this is usually a waste of time and skipped.

Sketching Here is often where the commissioner sees the first glimpse of work done- the sketch! Some artists are messy, some are neat and tidy. They might be drawing you a reference sheet or a headshot but either way you typically get to take a glimpse at their blueprint and ask for changes before the rest happens. Sketches are easy to change and can be redone from scratch with the least amount of time lost if needed. It is the optimal step to work with the client on making sure expectations are met.

Rough Render To keep it across the board for all types of art (painting, cell shading, lineless, etc) we’ll call this part the rough render. A commissioner may be shown the flatcolor swatch to ensure markings were drawn accurately, the lineart to double check all requested details have been included, the rough lighting to give an idea of the mood… the list goes on and on! Some artists skip this step entirely if it’s not needed, there is such a thing as oversaturation when it comes to communication.

Final Product This is simply where the commissioner and artist part ways once everything has been approved, the final product! It may have taken hours or days to get to this step but either way it’s been completed.

Making Art - Part 2 When It Doesn’t Go Smoothly Sometimes an artist’s workflow is so rigid even a single missed day from bad mental health or a life event can have a cascade effect that puts them behind schedule. Quite literally an artist can only draw for so many hours before their hand (or body in general) physically gives out. I’ve had work days where I’ve tried to push myself in order to catch up, to the point of rubbing the skin off my finger enough to make it bleed. In the long run this can mean career-ruining cases of carpal tunnel in the wrist or hand and like with any other desk job; your neck and back aren't very happy about the workload either. Artist work days are often shorter than what’s considered normal which adds to the general difficulty of the career as well. While some artists can certainly work that full 8-10 hour shift, others might only be able to handle 3-6 hours before they can’t concentrate or are in too much pain to continue (speaking in long term for that one, it took a few years of regular work before I started having real physical issues from drawing too much). Given most are stuck at certain price points for selling their art it’s almost impossible to charge more in order to compensate for these possible missed days. It’s an issue with other careers as well which I do want to acknowledge; missing even one day of work could mean less groceries that week or cost someone their job in extreme cases. We truly live in a society! It should be noted though that keeping an impossible schedule is a huge stressor for artists who are stuck having to produce more than they can mentally or physically take on. They often know they can’t do it but what other choice is there- not buying the medication you need that month? This always seems to lead to something public and discussed a lot in the community; the instances of being issued a refund out of the blue or seeing a lengthy mental breakdown post about suffocating in the stress of it all. The wear and tear on creativity is visible as well. An artist’s work may become monotone or lifeless as they sink further from the weight of impossible to meet expectations. They might struggle to produce what they used to be able to as time marches on or simply feel unbearably hopeless. If the unsustainable workflow continues for too many years passion becomes strangled and real physical consequences are apparent. 

Some are able to escape this or don’t have this issue! Others suffer in silence or might not be aware of the strain they are being put through, as is the case with plenty of other careers.

How Can I Support Artists? If you’re interested in making life easier for your favourite artist there are a few simple things you can do; specifically in regards to the commission process!

Read the Terms of Service This is not something you should skip over as it could detail how edits are handled, what an artist is willing to draw, etc. It's beneficial for everyone that the TOS is read.

Look Before You Buy Take a peek at an artist’s gallery and decide if you like their style before you purchase anything OR buy a small sample to see if you enjoy how they draw your character! I feel some commissioners don’t understand that an artist cannot change how they stylize on a whim (for example a semi-realistic artist isn’t going to suddenly draw anime). If you’re indifferent or you like experimentation then this isn’t something you need to worry about.

Have A Reference Sheet Although reference sheets are expensive, if you frequently commission artists and are able to afford it BUY ONE! It saves a huge amount of time and frustration- so much so that some artists won’t even consider accepting your commission without a proper reference sheet. Having to guess the body type or colors takes a lot of time and can easily be prevented!

Leave Wiggle Room Give an artist some room to breathe with a bit of artistic freedom! Do not expect them to get that exact #CCE5FF shade of blue you want or draw every single marking of a complex pattern. Lower your expectations if they’re that high, you’ll enjoy the piece more when you do!

Tip Particularly if you’re commissioning a character with a lot of detail or have very specific requests, leave a tip. Again all it takes is a $5 tip to make a difference!

Advice For Artists If you’re truly looking to get into this industry or have been in it for a while, here are some tips that can (hopefully) help make your job a little easier or get started. I don’t want to discourage people from this job by any means! We wouldn’t have the community we do without freelance artists. NEW ARTISTS

Start Small If you’re just starting out you’ll want to aim for the $10 - $50 price range with marketable pieces such as icons or chibis. You may have to heavily undersell yourself for a while to grow a client base. If you don’t sell anything at first don’t be discouraged! It’s perfectly normal to struggle for a while (even years) before you have anything steady.

Experiment Now is the perfect time to experiment and see what works and what doesn’t, what you like and what you hate. Try different platforms, different commission types and styles, whatever you fancy! The goal is to find a niche you can wedge yourself into, feel happy with, and work towards; not to fish around for immediate results.

Focus On Studying The more experience and tools in your belt, the better. For the first while you should be focusing on improving your art if you’re not at an intermediate level. Once hands don’t feel like such a struggle you know you’re at the right place! This will set you up to be more efficient and feel less frustrated down the road.

EXPERIENCED ARTISTS

Personal Time For the sake of your mental health you need to set aside time to do personal art, experiment, and relax. This could mean having a consistent day off, finding a new hobby, or making vent art just for yourself. Also, don’t be afraid to post personal art! You should not be apologizing for taking reasonable time to yourself.

Experimental Commissions Allow yourself to open weirder commission types from time to time. Maybe lately you’ve been really into drawing beach scenes, you could open a 2 slot commission that promises summer vibes. These could be filler between your bigger pieces or replace them every now and then depending on what you can get away with. Other examples I’ve seen are selling goretober calendar slots or $10 artistic freedom sketches. Just try to get yourself out of that repetitive loop if you feel like you need to, worse case it doesn’t sell!

It’s Okay To Quit Not all of us have this option given personal circumstances but there is no shame in leaving this career. Doing commissions even as a casual filler can rob you of the passion you once had for your hobby. If you feel genuinely unhappy with this job and come across the opportunity to safely leave, go for it! In my case I’m going from commission work to comic work, something within the same general field that I can do at my own pace. 

Afterword Although I tried to cover as much as I could with this, I know not every issue of the relationship between commissioners and artists was addressed. There are artists who take large amounts of money and then ghost their commissioner. There are commissioners who negatively nitpick at every step of the process and leave an artist feeling like a beaten down dog. The furry community is huge with lots of different folks, there will of course be bad eggs that make things harder for both sides. 

I simply hope this leaves commissioners with a better understanding of an artist's perspective and gives some well deserved compassion to the creative people that breathe so much life into our community. We as artists should also appreciate the clients that support us with positive enthusiasm. This special relationship doesn’t exist in a lot of places and I hope I've offered something to help furries have a better understanding of one of the biggest aspects of our community. 

Written with much love for the wonderful people that have cheered me on over the years and the community that has always shown it's full support toward me.

[footprintsinthesxnd]

The Lark’s Song

Summary: Florence Lark joined the ENSA to do her part for the war effort. On a daily basis she is surrounding by charming young men, so why would David Webster the any different. His blunt personality seems to draw her in but with the world at war, can they make it through? Warnings: not too many warnings for this chapter, some swearing

When Two Hearts Meet

Florence tapped her foot rhythmically against the wooden floorboards of the stage, as the music played out from the band around her. Some light chattering from the men in the front row distracted her, eyes hovering over the man at the end of the row, who seemed too engrossed in his novel to listen to her singing. As the instrumental section came to an end she took a deep breath, drifting across the stage as she began to sing again.

“We'll meet again

Don't know where

Don't know when”

Florence preferred singing to the English troops, they always knew all the words and would sing along with her. It was in those moments that Florence felt that she was doing the most good to help boost their morale. The American troops, however, seemed disinterested. Too many of them were smoking, playing cards and talking, but the one dark-haired soldier at the front bothered her the most, his nose buried in a red, leather bond novel. A few of the officers at the back watched her intently, swaying along to the music, whether it was more out of respect for her or because they didn’t have any other plans for their Saturday evening. As the song came to an end, a pathetic round of applause followed and Florence found herself excusing herself, leaving the band playing Glenn Millers' ‘In The Mood’.

Florence lit the cigarette, bringing it to her red lips and inhaling the nicotine deeply, warmth filling her lungs until she exhaled, watching as the smoke wafted gently into the starry night sky. She wondered if her brother, Tom, was looking up at the same sky right now. Whether he was looking up at the same moon somewhere in Normandy. Her father probably was. He often sat in the small back garden of their terraced house, looking up at the sky for any planes. He had been in the Royal Flying Corps back in The Great War before it had become the RAF. He’d flown a Bristol Type 22 two-seater fighter plane with his best friend, Eddie. Eddie had sadly lost his life when their plane crashed which was the same accident where her father lost his right leg. He had been desperate to sign up again when war was declared in 1939, thinking that if he went to fight it would spare his son but being 41 and only having one leg meant he wouldn’t be accepted, so he’d signed up for the home guard instead. Florence often wondered whether having a uniform again gave her father a sense of purpose. After their mother died 8 years ago he’d been lost but had put all his effort into raising his two children and being the best father he could. This was probably why both Florence and Tom had such a good relationship with their father.

Florence took another long drag of her cigarette when she was interrupted by someone clearing their throat behind her. She spun around quickly, expecting to see a half-cut paratrooper trying to make some kind of advance towards her. She’d had to fight off her fair share of unwanted attention from soldiers before and she wasn’t afraid to sock it to them. Instead, she was met by a rather handsome, kind-faced man. His lips pulled upwards into a friendly smile but as Florence’s eyes drifted over his frame she couldn’t help but roll her eyes when she saw the red leather-bound book held tightly in his right hand.

“Oh, it’s you. Sorry, I don’t do private shows, if you didn’t pay attention the first time that’s your loss.” She turned her back to him, allowing her eyes to settle once again across the rooftops of Aldbourne.

“It’s nothing personal,” he spoke up, moving to stand beside her. Florence could feel the hairs on her arms prickly in his presence and a light blush spread across her cheeks. “I just think once you hear one singer, you’ve heard them all. It’s always the same songs, the same dances. It just doesn’t hold my interest anymore.”

Florence snorted, turning to face the man who decided it was a good idea to insult her entire career.

“So what do you want, some strip tease or something? I’m sorry if the ENSA is too tame for you, Mr…?”

“David. I’m David Kenyon Webster,” he reached his large hand forward to greet her but she just brushed him off. “Well Mr Webster, I’m sorry if it’s too tame for you. Maybe you should try some of the London clubs if you’d rather have that sort of entertainment.”

David Webster looked rather shocked by her outburst but reached out towards her.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.” He looked at her sincerely. “I’m just not like the others I guess.”

“Well, at least you sat through the whole performance. Most of your comrades either left or started playing cards. I think your officers only stayed out of sympathy.”

David nodded slowly, contemplating what to say next. “If it’s any consolation it’s not your singing. Your voice is beautiful but most of us have sat through quite a few performances and since Normandy, I guess we’ve all lost something.”

Florence nodded understanding, “I understand what you mean. My brother Tom was at Dunkirk. The last time I saw him he was so different. He’s lost the spark from his eyes, the light.”

David placed a hand on Florence’s shoulder, looking down at her, his chocolate eyes glistening under the light of the moon, illuminating his pale features in contrast to his full head of brunette hair. His eyes were tired, dark purple shadows enveloped his eyes and his forehead was wrinkled with worry lines. He was handsome. Florence had rarely found any of the soldiers she sang for actually attractive, many of them thought they were good-looking and certainly acted in that way but David was different. He was the kind of man who didn’t realise how handsome he was.

“Thank you, David.”

He smiled brightly at her. “You’re welcome.”

“So, what book was taking up so much of your attention?” Florence asked, reaching out to grasp the small book, prising it from David’s fingers and fingering the pages carefully. David just watched in amusement as her eyes danced over the pages.

“Oh well, that’s not what I was expecting. I didn’t realise Paratroopers read classic,” she mused, enjoying the feel of his eyes watching her fondly.

“Well most of us don’t. I’m an exception,” he chided, allowing his shoulders to relax now that he no longer felt as though he was under interrogation. Florence handed the book back to him, “I approve. It’s good to know some of you read more things than Dick Tracey and Flash Gordon.”

Webster scoffed, “Yes. I feel that many of them lack the basic, functional skills to hold an adult conversation.”

“Well you’re right there,” Florence smiled up at Webster and he could feel his cheeks heating up under her gaze once more. “It was a pleasure talking to you Webster but I really must be getting back before the boys start to miss me.” She squeezed passed him and Webster chased himself for staring at her like a fool instead of moving aside.

“I look forward to hearing you sing again,” he called after her and to this she just laughed, not bothering to turn around and Webster watched as his hips swayed rhythmically in her red dress as she disappeared.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Lover Boy Webster. Who’d have thought the infamous Florence ‘I don’t take shit from anyone’ Lark would let the likes of Webster into her panties,” Leibgott’s dulcet tones called from behind him, followed by the sniggers from Luz and Toye.

“Oh give it a rest, Liebgott and Florence’s panties are none of your business,” Webster snapped, his glare harsh as he watched the three men appear from behind the tent.

“Who knew Webster could be so jealous,” Luz gave a low whistle but Webster wasn’t about to wait around to hear what else they had to say. He extinguished the cigarettes he’d just lit, stomping it out under his boot and following the music back into the tent. Florence's voice called to him, wafting like a soft lullaby and pulling him back inside. She was like some sort of mermaid, dragging him down to the deep but also like a songbird singing life into these dark days. Webster wasn’t sure when he’d become so poetic, especially about a woman but he found himself scribbling notes in the back of his notebook, her name flowing from his pen like he’d been writing it his whole life.

Tags: @georgieluz @iceman-kazansky @yeahcurrahhe-e @lieutenant-speirs @blvestxr @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @kafka-ohdear @kmc1989 @mads-weasley @docroesmorphine @liptonsbabe @lena-basilone @sweetxvanixlla @hesbuckcompton-baby @ronsparky @allthingsimagines @whollyjoly @bucky32557038ww2 @panzershrike-pretz @malarkgirlypop @hanniewinnix @inglourious-imagines @l13bg0tt