#but it'll sure outlive you!

[was-anyone-gonna-tell-me]

art supply companies mark shit WAY up and 99% of the time you can find an almost-identical product way cheaper at the hardware store.

modelling paste = drywall joint compound (or spackling, or wood filler-- compared to the cost of modelling paste, you can afford to buy several of these and test which works best)

masking vinyl = painter's tape

pouring medium = floetrol/flow aid

top coats/varnishes = polycrylic sealer (urethane or polyurethane are also options in some cases & are more durable, but research them first-- there's some paints they won't work well with)

if you're casting something that you're going to paint, don't waste resin-- plaster of paris is dirt cheap, I pay $10 CDN for two litres. if you need something more durable, use concrete.

large brushes, sponges, glue guns, storage containers, etc. can all be obtained at the hardware store at a fraction of the price.

'latex paint' is basically just cheaper, lower-quality acrylic. a can of white latex paint will last you forever. also, stop buying purpose-made gesso! hardware stores sell primer, or you can DIY it (many recipes on google).

the quality of these will be slightly lower overall than purpose-made art supplies, and may not be as consistent from batch to batch. but unless you're a professional or semi-professional artist who's working with these media day in and day out, you won't notice much of a difference.

the gap between artists and tradespeople is absolutely not as large as you've been led to believe, and neither is the gap in our materials.

[sheawritesstuff]

Redacted Characters Who...

[Vaguely angsty edition]

[I've seen a couple people use this kind of format n thought I'd give it a try,, not sure if I did it right.]

✩ Asher who says “I love you” like punctuation in a sentence. Who tells everyone he loves as often as possible just to make sure they know. Who ends every phone call with “I love you” out of habit because you never know when the last time will be.

✩ Lasko who rambles as a way to get information out as quickly as possible without getting interrupted. Who was taught early in life that his input was less important than his mom's. Who always assumes he's annoying people as soon as he opens his mouth.

✩ David who hates saying “goodbye”. Who says “talk to you later” or “see you at [insert date/event]” instead. Who is superstitious that somehow, if he says goodbye, it'll be the last time.

✩ Elliott who automatically assumes he's unwelcome in any given situation. Who hovers around the outskirts of friendly gatherings, only speaking when spoken to. Who thought for years that Aaron felt the same way about him that their parents did.

✩ Milo who gets uncomfortable around alcohol and cigarettes. Who avoids big events where strangers will be drinking. Who always makes sure people get home safe and has the best hangover cures.

✩ Damien who is an overachiever to make up for his “shortcomings”. Who thinks his personality and emotions are inherently negative traits that need to be balanced out with academic success. Who sent his mom test scores after coming out in a last ditch effort to “make it up to her”.

✩ Gavin who knows he'll outlive everyone he cares about. Who knows he'll never love anyone like he loves Freelancer. Who spent so long without any meaningful relationships that he doesn't know what he'll do once he's alone again.

✩ Huxley who loves with every fiber of his being. Who gives everyone the benefit of the doubt, even when he knows they don't deserve it. Who changed himself for years because he was scared of being “too much”.

✩ Porter who keeps everyone at arm's length. Who pretends to be cold and emotionless to protect the people he cares about. Who has never known a life of comfort and gentleness and doesn't know how to accept one.

✩ Sam who learned to fight so he could survive. Who got caught up with the wrong crowd after escaping Mont Blanc. Who still dreams about the life he could've had if he'd never gotten involved with Alexis.

✩ Camelopardalis who never feels good enough. Who believes his struggles to deal with the traumatic memories he's taken makes him weak. Who feels guilty for needing a therapist.

✩ Guy who wishes he earned more money to provide for Honey. Who regrets his degree every time a publisher rejects him. Who is so grateful that his partner supports his dream despite all the setbacks.

[quixotical-lymbo]

Warnings/Tags: Just some tooth-rotting fluff and very brief mention of mortality. Word Count: 600+ words

Wow! You and the monkey king! What a pair of peaches you two are!

Did he make the first move or you? Surprisingly, I think you would have to be the one to make the first move. Obviously, Wukong could have easily done it—we all know how assertive and confident he is, but perhaps he wanted you to do it to see just how serious you are about courting him. 

Sometimes, he'll drop certain hints or try to steer you in the right direction to confess. Things like 'I wouldn't mind if you stayed longer', 'You hungry? I know a great place we can eat at, just the two of us though', or 'We would look really good together wouldn't we? Ehh, maybe not…who knows?' 

After you make that first step and confess, he'll act surprised before asking what took you so long to say anything. Wukong will tease you for weeks on end about how long you took to confess if you don't shut him up

Anyway-

Where do y'all usually do dates? Your home, his home(s), festivals, and rarely do the two of you go outside of China for dates unless Wukong is feeling extra adventurous. Since he's retired, Wukong has a lot of time on his hands when he's not helping MK save the world or training his successor. Other than the locations, I think Wukong would have a lot of things on his 'bucket list' for the two of you to do. 

Gifts? Oh, oh, be prepared to be swamped with gifts ranging from random flowers that remind him of you, bugs, artifacts, and other extravagant things you couldn't possibly fit in your home. It wasn't until you piped up about the bugs did Wukong stop with the creepy crawlies. 

PDA? Of course, but depending on your preference he can be full-on touchy and obnoxiously sweet, or he could be discreet and have a hand on you somewhere. Just expect to be kissed, hugged, or touched in some way every five minutes or so.

If PDA truly bothered you, Wukong would refrain from doing anything–but when the two of you are finally alone he'll stick to your side like glue and it'll take a while for you to peel him off of you. Good luck ^^' 

First kiss? Perhaps after the first few dates you two shared your first kiss together.  

How he acts around them vs others: I think Wukong would act the same, just more handsy and playful compared to others. Bickering about trivial things, pinching you at random times but not enough to hurt, getting in your face to stare at you whenever you aren't putting your full undivided attention on him, and that kind of stuff. 

Of course, there's the omission of information and white lies that you will not tolerate. Wukong could fool others, but you wouldn't stand for dishonesty especially while the two of you were in a committed relationship. 

At first, it was hard getting Wukong to understand this boundary, but not every relationship is perfect–still, trying to break habits that have lasted for who knows how long is VERY difficult. That's why the two of you started off with the little things. Sure, Wukong slips up from time to time, but he genuinely is putting in an effort to not withhold information from you whether it's regarding life-threatening situations or things like how he is feeling. 

Wukong would definitely take every chance to show off to you, especially whenever he was teaching MK. Sparring without his top, taking a few moments to flex in certain angles–he'll even blow you a few kisses from time to time. 

And you'll eat that shit up every.single.time.

Generally, you're going to need to have a lot of patience and be open-minded when dating Sun Wukong. If the relationship could be described with one word then it's a rollercoaster. There's the ups and downs, perhaps a lot of downs (like the fact that he's going to outlive you), but you wouldn't have had it any other way.

🍜 - I do not give permission for anyone to translate, copy, republish, or plagiarize any of my written works. I provide no permission for any of my literary works to be used in artificial intelligence. sparkle banner(s) by @adornedwithlight !!

[powdermelonkeg]

You know, something I realized, a lot of long-lived + short-lived romance in fantasy settings is portrayed as tragic. "Oh, I'm an elf, and you are but a human, I am doomed to live in tragedy as I outlast you" sort of thing. But like...that's standard for elf + elf too, isn't it?

Like, say you've got an elf that's centuries old, and one that's slightly less than a century. They're both adults. One of them is still gonna outlive the other by hundreds of years.

Idk I feel like elves don't think about it as much as it's played up, because that's just an accepted truth for them. Like how you'd outlive a cat. It'll be sad the day it happens, sure, but for now, ooh, kitty. Y'know?

[nervoussystemss]

Not a prompt!

Part 1

The hero had no clue of the time or the hour, nor how much time had passed since the villain had left. All they felt was dizzy and disoriented, and they gulped in labored breaths.

They blacked out for a second time.

"Oh, God, I hope I didn't break you." The villain's voice sounded far away. Unsurprisingly, they didn't sound the least bit concerned.

The hero didn't want to open their eyes to see the world upside down again, but still, what other choice did they have? They cracked one eye open, and the world really was no longer upside down, but... "What is this?"

"I strapped you to a wheel. More specifically, one that spins. You know, like in... I don't know, jeopardy?" The villain joked, itching at the back of their neck. "I don't know. I don't keep up with game shows too often."

"I'm pretty sure jeopardy doesn't have a spinning wheel." They really did not like the look in the villain's eyes.

"Ah, well, no matter. It does now." There was a whirring sound, and along the opposite wall, a set of knives was revealed, all aimed at the hero.

Their eyes bugged out. "What... uh, what exactly is that?"

"Oh, well, it's simple!" they beamed proudly. "I made this game up myself! Me as host, of course. I press that red button over there and knives shoot at you! Isn't it great?" The hero opened their mouth to speak, but the villain didn't let them get a peep in. "And! What's better is I can spin the wheel while the knives shoot at you, so it's only a 50/50 chance one'll nick you!"

"You have to be insane. There's no other possible reason why you're doing this." The hero needed to stay calm, but damn it, it was hard. Still, it didn't stop them from trying to snark back. "I'm going to need you to check yourself in to the nearest mental hospital stat."

"Well, that depends. Me being 'insane' and going through with this, I mean," they grinned. "Are you going to answer my questions and give me what I want?"

Lightbulb. Of course they weren't fully insane. They wanted something. Of course they did. "What do you want?"

"To figure out how you work." They shrugged. "Or, more specifically, how you're immortal."

"How come?"

The villain raised a brow. Waited for them to connect the dots.

"Oh God. Oh no. No, absolutely not. Immortality is a—"

"If you say curse, I will press that button right now and one of the knives will most likely lodge itself somewhere inside your body, and then I probably won't even get you medical attention because you're immortal, but you'll be in pain and suffer and there will just be blood everywhere and it'll be super messy and I'd really rather not clean that up because blood makes me queasy and not to mention it's difficult to get blood off concrete, or at least I think it is, plus—"

"Why would you even want to be immortal?" the hero snapped, cutting the other off.

"Hellooo? What sane person wouldn't?" They grinned, eyes alight with what seemed like mania. "Never being able to die sounds like a dream come true for me. Outliving your enemies. Seeing the world change. Being able to cause havoc and discord and whatnot without fearing death."

"Immortality in the wrong hands is dangerous."

"And I assume you're the right hands." Their tone turned slightly annoyed.

"I am the right hands."

"Mm. Sure you are, for now." They took a step closer, examining their wary eyes. "But do tell me, what happens when you reach a thousand? A million? You think you'll have your morality intact?"

The hero's jaw clenched. They leaned forward as best they could while being strapped to the wheel, glaring into the villain's eyes, and, "I think I'll still be better than you."

A flicker of surprise was shown in the villain's eyes, but other than that, no reaction was given. Then they exhaled slowly. Jaw muscles tightened. A slightly forced smile. The wheel began to slowly spin as they made their way towards the red button. Despite their irritation, they were still going to enjoy this. They'd get what they wanted one way or another. "Have it your way."

They slammed a hand on the button.

[rachelambery]

dbf!joel no outbreak hcs

nsfw near the end

- joel owns 1 pair of boots. at this point it's an ongoing joke that they're gonna outlive him, the once hard protective fabric has turned into something that now resembles tissue paper. they're pretty sure he thinks it's his second child

- you're unsure how he was a single father with his inability to cook anything except for breakfast, as far as you're aware him and sarah lived on frozen pizzas and Chinese takeout.

- as cheap as he is, he refused to skimp out on birthday gifts for you. even when you say "i don't want anything!" he'll show up to your party with a box of whatever trinket reminded him of you

- of him and tommy, he was definitely the lower maintenance of the two. everytime you'd sit next to them by the fire, the conversation of eye cream would always come up, maria put him onto it, and he REALLY things joel would benefit from it.

- joel doesn't play about his cigarettes, you're unsure how all of his teeth haven't fallen out with how many times he smokes a day. you'll look the other way and when you look back it'll just appear in his mouth.

- he smells like a mix of smoke and whiskey, as gross as it sounds, at this point the smell is comforting. reminds you of him. his truck.

- you're pretty sure he's narrowly avoided death with how poorly he cares for himself when he's ill. you'll go with your dad to work and your eyes will settle on him, coughing up a storm and practically vomiting while he builds the roof. when he eventually passes by and you question his state, he'll just say. "it's a cold. everyone gets it"

- once sarah moved out, he'd stay way too late at your dads house. and on nights back from college when you couldn't sleep, you'd end up sitting next to him on the couch, laughing. after a while you'd both fall asleep on the couch, your head normally nuzzled into his neck, enjoying the mix of whiskey and smoke that emanated off him.

- don't let his buff physique fool you. that man is only athletic looking, even at your state, when you hadn't trained since middle school track, you'd smoke him on a race to his truck everytime.

- he's the cheapest man you've ever met. in the 18+ years you've known him, you've only ever seen him buy 1 new pair of pants, and that was onto after he'd ripped his old reliables. you're pretty sure that's the first time you've seen that man cry like that.

- every bandaid in his house has dinosaurs on it, sarah used to refuse to use anything other than dinosaur bandaids, so it's ingrained in his brain to only buy them. even though she's been out of the house for months.

- he once fell off the roof during a job, they don't let him up there anymore.

nsfw starts here !! minors avert your gaze !!

- he's very respectful during sex, talking you through it, kissing you at every opportunity, praising you.

- he refuses to listen to you when you say your legs still work after, he'll pick you up bridal style and lay you in bed.

- he loves teasing you, it's actually sick how much he loves it. placing a hand on your thigh during family dinners, slowly working its way up until it's barely not touching you.

- he's a munch (self indulgent)

- whenever you're alone, he'll pull you into his lap nearly immediately, sometimes just to toy with your hair and sometimes to tease you

- speaking of hair, he likes when your hands find their way to his hair, pulling and gripping it

ok thank uuuuu

this was so self indulgent it's actually insane :P i apologize for my actions

[cattimeswithjellie]

Curses

Curses

What if Secret Life was not about the breaking of curses, but about the twisting of them? Like, sure, you broke the curse, but did you _really_ break it?

Consider:

Jimmy, the Canary Curse. Sure, he didn't die first this time, but he still died at the beginning of the mayhem, warning the server with his death that bad things were happening.

Skizz, cursed to miss the end. He survived into the final episode at long last... but it was a double episode, and he was out very early in the second session. He still missed the end and had to watch his friends go on without him.

Grian, cursed to bring death to his friends. He managed to not actually kill any of his allies this season, well done there. But he still outlived all his allies again, if only by moments, and by sending Cleo out of the cave instead of calling her to hide in the bug-out tunnel with him, he may have condemned both of them to death alone.

Joel, cursed to red madness. He managed to keep his head and hold onto his alliance this time around... but he still murdered his close ally by accident and died senselessly from a crushing buildup of errors he should've been able to avoid.

And Scott, blessed to have winning alliances, well. The Cherry Blossoms didn't eke out a win, that is for sure. But Scott claimed that Scar stopped being his ally, not the other way around. Someone he'd considered an ally did win the game.

Something fundamental changed in the nature of the games with this installment. Something has woken up, something is paying _attention._ Something took everything we thought we knew and gave it a little twist and put it back on the table. It'll be very exciting to see what the next game looks like.

[cressthebest]

Crimson Rivers thoughts pt. 43

chapter 66:

1. holy shit i’m vibrating they’re gonna take the hallow soon holy shit

2. aberforth is that bitch. i love him so much in this omg

3. riddles traps are making me so scared. like, i know my pov characters will live. but i’m so scared everyone else will die. i’m too scared for this

4. 🙂 —> 😧 what is that ripping and tearing beast sound. what monstrosity did riddle release?

5. rita skeeter 😒

6. holy shit. i never expected that from pandora. but then again, that’s exactly what pandora would do.

7. sorry but like, 🩵🌸🥰🌼pandora🌼🥰🌸🩵

8. but also like 😧😧pandora😧😧 babes what is your fucking insane plan again??

9. the “children” dorcas shoot with the haunting question of “The bodies, when they fall, are small. It'll haunt her forever, she thinks. That question she'll never have answered. What if one of them—just one—is real?”

i- oh my god

10. basilisks 😐 i am unamused

11. FLEAMONT NOOO!!! he better fucking live

12. no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no NO NO NO NO NOOOOOO BARTY MY LOVE!!! BARTY NOOOO

13. wait he might still be alive

14. wait did barty ever have a pov? i don’t think so. i’ve made peace with his death. i’m believing he’s dead, so if he’s actually alive, i can celebrate

15. shit no. wait. guns all pointed on marlene and sirius. this is the time she doesn’t make it. i can’t do this

16. wait no the control room beating aurors scene is so fucking funny wait

17. “The way the name is a symbol of peace, given in an olive branch, and how Dorcas ruthlessly snaps it.” that was fucking brutal and honestly it was kinda hot

18. damn go james. marlene and sirius pretty much just got safe passage right into the hallow. holy shit. good on him

19. “"Save one and lose three. Save eleven and lose one. Push the kid, he dies. Hold the hatchet, you have to swing it. Try to do the right thing, something goes wrong. Why? Why? Why is it like this? It's always fucking like this. Why does it have to be like this?"”

hi, my name is cress, and i’m here today because i’m going to think about this crimson rivers quote for the rest of my life

20. “Regulus is somehow sure that, in any world, Barty outlives him.

This one, too.

Please, this one, too.”

fuck. Fuck.

anyways, once again, hi! my name is cress. i’m here today because i’ll be thinking about this crimson rivers quote the rest of my life and mentally stitching it to scenes from canon and ahb!

21. 😦 and then the saviors were fucking shot and so was barty. fucking shit

22. “Barty's consistency breaks, and the world doesn't make much sense like this, and the world keeps turning anyway.”

HI IM CRESS AND IM HERE TODAY BECAUSE I NEED SO MUCH HELP AFTER THIS

[blueskittlesart]

hi :] this isnt really a reqest cuz it'll prob be a longer answer but im rlly curious abt ur comic process

i love all ur comics and somehow they always manage to gutpunch me- and ur composition and the way they read is always so beautiful and adds so much to the message youre trying to get across

yeah lol let's get into it! Ive spent maybe 5 or so years refining this process to the point it's at now so it's pretty much my standard procedure now. I'm going to use Now that you're gone as my primary example here since i still have most of the planning stages associated with it (my laptop does not have a whole lot of storage left so i usually delete my planning once the comic is finished lol) but i'll try to throw in some other examples too!

I almost always start with a written script. (the exception for this is longform oc comics which i find easier to write in the moment, but for my shorter character studies I almost always write first.) I use discord to write because it's convenient, but before i had a dedicated discord server for my stuff i was using txt files on my laptop which i do NOT recommend. anyway, this is what the written script for ntyg looked like:

note that some small elements changed in production, like the amount of time that had passed since link's death. the lines "I look at her and i am only afraid. i remember all the ways in which i hurt you. She's almost as old now as you were then. I cannot stand the thought of outliving her, too" were also added during the rough stage because i felt like there wasn't quite enough emphasis on aryll in the initial script, and since this was a major change that necessitated a whole extra page in the comic I went back and edited those lines into the script so I wouldn't forget them. (both these changes were made during the rough stage. i'll almost never make major script adjustments after the roughs are finished.)

more examples of my scripts; specifically the original script for totk: failure and two versions of oot: adulthood (one before some major refining and one after.) with comics like these, where i have a very clear idea in my head of the imagery i want to go along with the words, i'll sometimes include it interspersed in the script, either spolier-marked or denoted with brackets.

with ntyg and some of my other more. canon divergent? i guess? comics, there's sort of a mini phase in between scripting and roughs where I do some minor character studies to get designs nailed down in the early stages. with ntyg I already had a clear image in my mind for aryll, but the central character was link's dad, whose design wasn't quite so solid in my head. I really wanted to make sure that his design was well thought-out and consistent throughout everything, so i did a few mini sketches and studies to ensure I had his design memorized and could execute it consistently:

these are sans hair and accessories because nailing down consistent facial features was my main focus with them, and both these sketches ended up getting used as references for certain panels later on. This isn't a step I ALWAYS take with my comics, but if there's a central character that i'm not super used to drawing i find it helpful to get some practice in before jumping into the real thing!

after the scripting and design phases i move on to roughs, which I consider to be the most important stage in my process. roughs are very very quick approximations of what I want the final pages to look like. they usually don't take me more than a few minutes per page to create, and their sole purpose is to help me visualize the flow of the page and the placement of major elements like panels, characters, and dialog. this is what the 1st page rough for ntyg looked like compared to the final page:

as you can see, all i have laid out is the major text and visual elements, but it really helps me to visualize how the finished comic is going to flow. i do the roughs for every page before i start on the finals so that i have an idea of what the entire comic is going to look like before I really start finalizing it. it's important that these roughs are FAST--i almost never draw fully-fledged characters unless the pose or expression is particularly important to the scene, and that's because the goal is to allow everything to flow quickly and easily from panel to panel and page to page, and getting too caught up on one panel or element often breaks that flow. Nowadays, i have a pretty good idea of how much room my writing takes up so i don't write out the entire script in my roughs, but back when i was a little less experienced i took the time to write everything out in this stage to ensure that my dialog would fit into the space it was given without getting cramped or cutting off other important elements. doing that really helped me build awareness of how much dialog and panel placement matters and how i could use it, so this rough stage is non-negotiable for me even now!

after the roughs i go straight into finalization. I never enjoyed lineart back when i was learning to draw digitally so i basically built my art style to be understandable and visually appealing after one sketch phase, meaning there's legitimately no in-between stage between that rough and that final page, i just sort of. go for it. this is what works for me, but i think most normal people would probably find a second sketch phase helpful LMAO i'm just crazy and i need everything done as fast as possible. the finalization stage usually doesn't contain any major adjustments of script, composition, etc; i make it a general rule to keep most of the major adjustments confined to the earlier stages, for my own sanity. One thing that DOES occasionally change in this stage is my plans for color--ntyg in particular was originally planned to be completely black-and-white with no grays added, but when looking at my completed pages i found them sort of empty and unengaging without the gray, so i added it. usually if my color plans DO change it's something small like that--I'll almost never switch between full-color and grayscale on a whim because the way that i sketch for those two versions differs significantly so it isn't an easy switch to make.

anyways i hope this is what you were looking for! I'm very passionate about making comics and this process is a result of years of experimentation & finding what works for me, but i hope it's of some use to you as well!

[winteriron-trash]

pinned faq

hi, my name is roman. i used to be a semi-popular winteriron blog, but now this blog is mostly dead. so. rip, gone but not forgotten. but i still get some pretty common questions so here's a one-stop shop for most of them as well as links to the important things.

My Tumblr Fic Masterlist

My Ao3

My (dead) WinterIron Discord Server

Did you write the Tony Stark wifi tower fic?

yes, i wrote that fic! it is by far the most popular thing i've ever written and it will probably outlive me.

I found that fic on [insert site here], do they have your permission?

probably not, no. i have found that fic everywhere. and i mean everywhere. pinterest, wattpad, facebook, instagram, tiktok, mediachomp, and so on. honestly, it's been years and i can't control or chase down every single copy and i have no interest in doing so. i don't love that it was stolen from me (especially on for-profit sites) but it just is what it is. it's a fanfic rite of passage to have your stuff stolen, honestly.

can i do a translation/podfic/write something inspired by one of your fics/posts?

yes! there is always a blanket permission to do any sort of transformative work with my work, especially my older stuff. if it sparks joy and creativity in you, run wild with it. i prefer to be credited, but honestly, i'm just happy to see my stuff still inspiring people.

will you ever write winteriron/mcu fanfic again?

well, you should never say never. but in this case, you might want to say never. i have very little interest in winteriron or the mcu in general outside of nostalgia, and i likely will never write anything substantial for them again. it's sad, i miss it too, but i just don't have that spark for marvel these days. mostly i write dc comics fanfiction.

did you write [insert winteriron fic/post here]?

idk. maybe. probably. i wrote and posted a lot of things. you can scroll the tag on this blog to find all my old posts, some more popular than others. if you think it was me, chances are, it probably was. i got around a lot from like 2018 to 2020.

do you have a tagging system?

i used to but lord if i'm going to use it now. i don't even remember it, so your guess is as good as mine. tbh i just use tags as a place to ramble these days so navigating my blog is about as easy for you as it is for me. which is to say, it's not easy at all. because tumblr's search function is ass. i do know one of my old tags has my deadname in it. you'll probably find it if you look hard enough, but that is what it is.

are you going to revive this blog?

probably not consistently, no. if i have something i really want to say here, i'll say it, but i don't have much interest in maintaining this like i used to. i want to be able to, i miss posting here a lot, i just don't think it'll spark joy for me the way it used to, which sucks but that's just the way things go.

why did you leave this blog?

idk. life happened. i was an 18-year-old fighting chronic health conditions and mental health issues that led to me dropping out of high school so, tumblr sort of fell to the back burner, then got forgotten about entirely. eventually, i lost interest in the mcu as i felt the quality of it took a turn for the worst and i went back to dc, which i'm still into. i read some marvel comics, enjoy an occasional mcu project, but largely i just don't have the interest i used to. it sucks and i miss it, this blog probably kept me alive as a teenager. but now it's mostly just an archive of my past, and i'm okay with that.

can i talk to you/send you an ask/befriend you anyway?

sure, if you want, don't know if i'm good company though. but i'm always open to making friends and reminiscing about winteriron, marvel, and all that good stuff. i've gotta warn you though, tumblr fucking eats my DMs on this blog like no fucking business. i'm regularly fighting it. my discord is devilbonesofmetal if you wanna yell at me there, just say you're from tumblr.

[topguncortez]

Here Comes the Sun | B. Bradshaw

Bradley Bradshaw Masterlist | Main Masterlist

synopsis: there is a reason why children are supposed to outlive their parents. It's so there parents never know a day without the sun. whumpril day 6: bad coping mechanisms.

word count: 2.4k

warnings: death of a child, cancer, grieving parents, tears, bad coping mechanisms, heartbreak.

note: April 6th might be just a normal day for you guys, but its probably the hardest day of the year for me. This fic is 100% self indulgent and for some reason I resonate grief and grieving with Bradley Bradshaw. I wrote this fic based on watching my parents grieve for the loss of a child for years, and then based on my own grief. it's never easy, and it'll never get easier.

That dreaded day came every year, like clockwork. There was a reason parents were supposed to die before their kids. It was so they didn’t have to live with the constant pain and reminder. Their house was quiet, no sounds of giggles or running feet. Everything was clean and tidy, no loose shoes and toys strewn out across the living room floor, or tutus and crayons in the basement. The color had left too, no more bright pinks and yellows, it was all pale grays and beiges. 

Every year they were constantly reminded of what they had. He’d roll over in the morning and see that you were already out of bed, more than likely sitting in your daughter’s room on the floor, staring at the empty bed that was still made and covered in stuffed animals. Even though it had been three years, neither one could find the strength to pack it up, everything still laid in its spot like a frozen time capsule. 

Bradley pushed himself from the bed with a groan, placing his feet on the cold hardwood. He looked over at the family picture that sat on his bedside table, it was one of the last family photo shoots they ever had with her. She looked so fragile, like she could break at any moment. You could tell by looking at her that she was sick, that her body was slowly shutting down, but her bright smile distracted you as she shined in the sun. He picked up the frame and gently ran his finger tips over the glass. It was also probably the last time he had seen you smile. Bradley set the picture frame back down and stood up, stretching his back slightly, and walking over to the window. He wasn’t surprised when he pulled the curtains back to see a gray, cloudy overcast sky. It always seemed to rain on this day. 

He wasn’t surprised to see you sitting at the table in the kitchen facing the large window. Bradley saw the cup of coffee, still hot, sitting next to you on the table. The room felt cold, the gray from outside not helping the feel at all. Bradley walked over to you, and gently touched your shoulder. You jumped slightly and looked over your shoulder, tears evident on your face. 

“Morning, honey,” Bradley said and kissed your forehead. You closed your eyes and nodded, grabbing his hand and squeezing it, “What do you want to do today?” 

“I’m not sure,” You said softly. It was your answer every year. You never knew what to do. How does one spend the day their child died? Bradley sighed and patted your shoulder, walking away and going to make them breakfast.

He pulled his phone out of his pajama pants and looked at the various messages left from friends and family. Each one telling him how they are thinking of them today, or how it’s unfair that their little girl was taken from them too early, or how they’ve never forgotten her sweet smile and laughter. 

“Do you want to listen to music?” Bradley asked, trying to fill the silence. 

“No,” You said quickly. Again, like every year, you shot down the idea of music, too afraid that that song will come on. Even on the other 364 days a year, you were scared that song would come whether you were driving home listening to the radio, or playing music from your phone. You hadn’t been able to listen to that song in full since the day they said goodbye forever. 

“We can go visit her later?” Bradley said in more of a question than a statement.

“I don’t know.” 

It was like pulling teeth sometimes to get you to go with him to visit their daughter’s grave. Bradley liked going, he liked sitting in the grass on a blanket with his guitar, and quietly playing to her, like he would’ve if she was still here. He always made sure to take fresh flowers to put in the vase. You didn’t like going. You didn’t like knowing her little girl was buried alone, in the cold dark earth. You knew that her soul wasn’t in the dark earth, that she had left and was dancing among the sun, no longer in pain and suffering. 

You didn’t say anything, but buried your face in your hands and let out a loud sob. Bradley paused what he was doing, and just listened to your soft cries. He knew there was no comforting you on a day like this, no matter how hard he tried. He had learned over the years that you just wanted to be left alone, and that’s what he did. He went about making them breakfast as you sat at the table and cried. These pockets of emotion would happen throughout the day, and it was best to just let them be and let them happen. 

After breakfast, the two of them sat on the couch, choosing to watch a movie to distract them. Bradley noticed that you held onto your daughter’s tattered teddy bear that she had taken everywhere. You held it close to your chest as you cuddled into Bradley, occasionally taking a deep sniff of it. It was amazing that it smelled like their sweet little girl; like lavender and antiseptic from the hospital. Bradley would occasionally get off the couch when the doorbell would ring, someone sending them a memorial flower arrangement or a fruit basket. 

“Do you think she knows what today is?” You asked Bradley softly. 

“I don’t know. . . I would think she probably knows the jist of it. She’s very smart,” He answered, “I like to think that she had people waiting for her when she got there.” 

You nodded and looked down at the teddy bear with the ripped ear, “I bet my grandma was there. . .or my uncle. Or the dog I had in elementary school.” 

Bradley smiled, “I know my parents were there waiting for her. I bet they had spent the whole time watching and talking to her, letting her know it was all gonna be alright.” 

He swore that in those final weeks he had gotten more signs from Heaven than he had in the past ten years. His parents visited him in a dream the night before their daughter passed, both of them standing in the sun and smiling at Bradley, telling him that he had done all he could do and they would take it from here. Little did Bradley know until a couple weeks later, that you had the same dream that night as well. 

“I hope they’ve been nice to her,” You said, your voice breaking. Bradley sniffled and held you close, rubbing your back as you cried, “Cause I know she’s being nice to everyone, and smiling at them and complimenting their eyes. God, she was always talking about people’s eyes.” 

Bradley nodded and let his own tears fall freely. They sat in silence as they cried on the couch, letting the movie playout. The sounds of rain pelting the roof and windows slowly pulled them to sleep as they both fell into a nap, holding each other, the teddy bear placed in between them. 

When they awoke, they noticed the rain had finally stopped, but the sky was still gray. A shiver ran down your body as you looked out the back kitchen window at the tire swing that still swung from the tree. Memories of the summer Bradley had put it up in the tree filled your mind. You had been terrified that something would happen, like the branch would break and your sweet baby would get hurt. How ironic that it wasn’t the swing that hurt her. 

Bradley was putting his shoes on when the soft sound of your footfalls filled his ears. He had the bouquet of fresh sunflowers to go in the vase at the cemetery, Sarah Kazansky had dropped them earlier, picking them right from her garden. He smiled softly at you, and you sucked in a deep breath. 

“I. . . I need to go with you,” You said and Bradley stood up from the stair he was sitting on. You felt a pang in your heart as you saw the painted names of your child and husband. 

“Are you sure? Cause you don’t have to. I can go alone, it’s fine, I promise,” Bradley said, gently holding your face in his hands. You nodded as tears brimmed your eyes again. He wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly in his embrace. You laid your head against his heart, listening to the soft thudding of it. He placed his chin on top of your head and the two of you stood in silence for a moment. 

He made the first move, and gently sat you down on the step with your daughter’s name painted on it. You had been the one to paint the names on the wood. Your daughter and Bradley always sat on the step and waited for you to come home from work. Her expression every time you’d walk through the door was as if she hadn’t seen you in years. You surprised Bradley with the small gift after he came home from one of his last deployments before she took a turn for the worst. 

Bradley helped put shoes on your feet and then kept his hand in yours as you walked to the Bronco. He had gotten rid of his truck almost immediately after your daughter’s death. He had only bought the Ford F-150 because it was more suitable as a family car than his father’s hand-me-down Bronco. Bradley couldn’t stand seeing the truck in the driveway, knowing he wasn’t going to hear soft giggles from the back seat or feel gentle kicks against his seat as he drove her to daycare in the morning. 

The drive to the cemetery was silent, as you watched the scenery pass by. It was almost the same route that you took on the day of her funeral. You drove by the small church that she was obsessed with. You and Bradley thought it was silly that a little girl was so obsessed with an old white chapel with beautiful stained glass, but it made more sense after she died. The cemetery grass was plush green and looked soft. Shades of gray and black filled your vision as Bradley slowed down on a small path right off the main road. He put the Bronco in park and sat back in his seat, turning his head towards you. He felt his heart break as silent tears ran down your face. 

“Oh honey,” He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. He hated making things worse for you. He hated seeing you cry. If there was anything he could do to switch places with his little girl, he would do it in a heartbeat if it meant never seeing you cry again, “We can leave-” 

“No,” You whispered, “She needs us both here.” 

Bradley brought your hand up to his lips and kissed it. He got out of the driver’s side and quickly jogged to your side, opening the door and grabbing your hand. The earth was still wet from the constant rain of the day, as they walked in the wet grass up to the black head stone. You picked up your long sundress a bit so the bottom wouldn’t get completely drenched. It was a sundress that Carole had made for you before she died, and you wore it to both Carole and her daughter’s funeral. You let out a shaky breath as they stopped in front of the beautiful black stone, with their daughter’s name engraved in gray writing. 

‘Viola Caroline Bradshaw. 

February 12th 2016- April 6th 2021’ 

You ran your hands over the engraving as Bradley placed the small vase of flowers in front of her headstone. The smiling engraved picture of their daughter looking back at them. The picture captured almost everything about Viola, even her bright brown eyes and smile. It was almost like it was real, like they could reach out and touch her. 

“Hi, babygirl,” You whispered, “Sorry I haven’t been here. . . I promise I’ll come back. I promise you.” You pressed your lips to the cold stone, and then stood up to stand by your husband. 

Bradley wrapped his arm around your waist, and you laid your head on his chest. The scene was like one from years ago as they stood in front of the stone. The sky is gray with heavy rain clouds. A brush of wind blew through, making the chimes in the tree they planted ring. You tensed for a moment, and so did Bradley, as the clouds rolled back just for a moment and a ray of sunshine filtered down to the earth. 

You picked your head up from Bradley’s chest, and looked at the bright light as it shone on them, making them feel warm for the first time in years. You gently took a step away from Bradley, almost as if you were getting closer to the sun. He watched you as you closed your eyes, taking in the moment, as the clouds slowly started to roll together, ceasing the sunlight. You opened your eyes, and looked towards the sky, as if their daughter had sent that beam of light to them. Bradley walked towards and placed a kiss on the stone, patting it and then turning to his wife. He grabbed your hand and the two of them walked back to the car, in a little bit better feel than before. 

It wasn’t a happy feeling, it wasn’t an angry feeling, it was a peaceful feeling. They both settled into their seats and Bradley started the car. Both of them froze as they heard the opening chords of that song. Bradley moved quickly, going to change the channel but you stopped him. Bradley looked at you with wide eyes, as you smiled and then looked back at her daughter’s headstone. 

“Thank you, baby.” You whispered to the sky, and Bradley smiled shyly to himself. He turned the song up just a little bit, as he put the car in drive and slowly drove off from her grave. 

The clouds once again rolled back, letting a beam of light shine down on the little girl’s grave, making the engraved quote on the headstone stand out even more than it already did. 

‘Here Comes the Sun. . .’

[clavissionary-position]

Luke, age 14: Hey, Gil. You know how you said people call you the Conquering Beast?

Gilbert: Mhmm. What about it?

Luke: Well, this is probably gonna sound stupid, but...

(warning: gilbert spoilers, subtle angst, implied suicidal ideation)

Luke: ...if you die, do I inherit that title from you? Since I'm basically your son and all.

Gilbert: *pout* Even though I keep saying that I'm more of an older brother... I never planned on being a father at any point, you know.

Luke: Just answer the question.

Gilbert: Hehe, so impatient. I'm just providing some exposition.

Luke: You just like hearin' yourself talk.

Gilbert: Maybe I just want to say enough that you'll remember.

Luke: Remember what?

Gilbert: Me of course, hehe! But what was that you just said? If I die, not when I die?

Luke: *scoffs* Come on. It'll be a cold day in hell before a scary guy like you kicks the bucket.

Gilbert: What a nice way of putting it. But can you be so sure about that?

Luke: 100%. I'm pretty sure you'll outlive me, if I'm bein' honest. I've only got one goal, but you wanna save the whole damn continent. With an ego like yours, I don't see you stoppin' there.

Gilbert: So in other words, I've got too much to do? Interesting, interesting...

Luke: And also... *mumbles something*

Gilbert: Hm? I didn't catch that?

Luke: Nothin'.

Gilbert: What do I hate again?

Luke: *eye roll* It wouldn't kill ya to let stuff go every once in a while.

Gilbert: Ahaha, no, no, it certainly wouldn't. In fact, I overlook quite a number of things when it comes to you.

Luke: Then you can let this go.

Gilbert: I could, but I won't. So will you tell your dear papa what you said just now?

Luke: Gross, that pout doesn't work on me. Put it away.

Gilbert: Oh, the pout isn't the threat.

Luke: ...?

Luke: Crap, don't tell me you're threatenin' to keep that ugly pout on until I cave.

Gilbert: *smiles sweetly*

Gilbert: *returns to pouting*

Luke: Ughhhh. Fine.

Luke: I basically said that... *clears his throat and looks away*

Luke: Look, I didn't exactly have the best relationship with the woman who raised me. But that's not the case now, and so there's no way I'd ever want to imagine my dad dying.

Gilbert: ....

Luke: Yeah, super-cringe, I know.

Gilbert: ....

Luke: ....?

Luke: Gil?

Gilbert: *bittersweet smile* There's no way I'd ever want to imagine my son becoming the Conquering Beast.

Luke: Huh?

Gilbert: Ah, by the way! Roderich mentioned a honey tasting fair happening in the town square today. If we stroll a little less leisurely, we might make it in time to requisition some free samples.

Luke: That's fine, but... Hey! Wait up, you never answered my question!

[instant-delusions]

Request for possessive Giyuu x female tsugoku in which he feels conflicted about it but needs her in his presence constantly. Maybe suggestive ending?

I love him sm ♡

giyuu tomioka x f! tsuguko! reader

cw: possessiveness, mentally ill behavior 😔

🇱​​🇮​​🇬​​🇭​​🇹​​🇧​​🇪​​🇦​​🇲​​🇪​​🇷​​🇸​

"again."

giyuu might be quiet, introverted, maybe even isolated, nevertheless, he's a ruthless teacher. you were practicing water breathing, specifically the eighth form : waterfall basin, a technique useful to slash downward while falling. obviously, giyuu wants you to have the most effective training, which is why he insists on you jumping down a cliff to attack him from above. "I want a breaaakk..." you whined and slumped against a tree, glancing up to him with a little pout. surprisingly, the smallest of smiles graced his featured and he handed you a rice cracker to restore your strength. "eat up, you worked hard. let's continue in twenty minutes."

tomioka giyuu is loving, he might be too loving, actually. in his most beautiful dreams, he could drop the cold facade and be his romantic, aloof self. he knows the consequences of idealistic wishes, though. losing you would be his last straw, the guilt of outliving his precious loved ones has been weighing heavily on him and you're the only thing preventing him from falling off the deep end. giyuu knows he loves you, he's sure of it, though he doesn't want to burden you with all of his troubles, so he keeps his distance.

you chewed slowly while looking at him, smiling at him happily, what a beautiful expression on you. yes, distance is good, but he wouldn't be able to live without you by his side, so he begs of you to keep him around. just so he can look at you, at least. it'll fill his heart enough. "giyuu, hellooo?" waving your hand in front of his face, you caught his attention. "sorry" he mumbled in a sheepish tone, taking your waving hand in his. it's so, so soft and fits perfectly in his.

maybe he needs you closer, he can't just be watching you. giyuu needs you all to himself.

[boringkate]

Anal sluts: Wreck my hole, daddy!

Also anal sluts: Should I get a bidet? Gotta make sure I get enough fiber. Which brand of wet wipes do you prefer? I want a butthole so healthy that it'll outlive me.

[crownmemes]

Criminal Sentences, Vol. 4

(Sentences from various sources for criminals and/or dangerous muses. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"Since when was ambition an offence?"

"Don't pretend you're not enjoying this."

"Nothing made me. I made me."

"Are you trying to blackmail me?"

"Pass me your revolver. I have a sudden need to use it."

"I'm going to put an end to some emotional attachments that have long outlived their purpose."

"I don't like getting my hands dirty."

"How did you find me?"

"Don't snivel. It'll do nothing to impede the flight of a bullet."

"Nothing you can do will end this."

"I like to take an interest in those that take an interest in me."

"If you have what you say you have, I'll make you rich."

"One more word out of you, just one, and I will decorate that wall with the insides of your head."

"I will kill you if you ever breathe a word of this to anyone!"

"Your death will mean nothing to me. You are but a minor distraction."

"If you actually wanted to kill me, I'd be dead, wouldn't I?"

"So nobody else knows about this?"

"Did you get arrested again?"

"You don't seem very afraid"

"Are you expecting me to beg?"

"Are you afraid to die?"

"You may consider him under my protection."

"Money, power, fame - some things make you untouchable."

"You are but an inconvenience."

"I would make some kind of threat, but I'm sure your situation is quite clear to you."

[the-journey-was-the-point]

Spare Thoughts

There was a prompt on the Tolkien OC's discord server about last meetings! I've been thinking for a while how Linnéa must have felt when she left Dale, knowing the people there still needed her. Decided this was a good opportunity to get into it!

Summary: After being given the opportunity of her immortal life, Linnéa prepares to leave Dale, knowing she's the town's only apothecary. Featuring Hilda from The Hobbit PJ films! Relationships: Linnéa & the people of Laketown/Dale

"Don't you worry overmuch, dearie. Bard can't begrudge you for leaving an' he knows it."

Hilda spoke as she helped pack away supplies. Linnéa busied herself crushing herbs and making them into big batches of medicine, to last the people of Dale until they found a replacement.

"I remember when you first came to Laketown," Hilda continued, content to ramble on as the seemingly-younger woman silently worked. It was the dynamic one usually found when in the company of the town's only apothecary. "What was it, five years ago? We were a sorry lot then, still are, I suppose. Didn't see why someone so learned would go where folk couldn't even afford to get well, but, we were grateful all the same."

Linnéa distributed the remedies into glass bottles. To these, she attached paper labels which clearly described each bottle's contents, their effects, and what ailments to use them for.

"More so with the Master out of the way," Hilda added a bit more spite at the late Master of Laketown's mention. "You did much for us when it mattered, an' Bard knows it, I promise you that, my dear."

Linnéa set the bottles into a basket before hefting it up a shelf. She paused in her work at Hilda's silence, and turned to see the woman had approached her. This close, Linnéa could see that though Hilda smiled, her eyes were glistening.

Linnéa studied her for another moment, thinking of what to say. "I'm glad to hear it. I was afraid he'd be angry. Him and everyone else."

Not entirely true. Linnéa needed to leave on good terms in case Dinentir decided she return to spy on Dale. Apart from that, she couldn't care less what Bard thought. Anyway, she'd outlive any grudge he'd hold against her.

Hilda shook her head, sincere in her reassurance. "Your roots don't go deep like ours. You've got your whole life ahead of you, far too much to waste here. Why, if I was young like you, I'd surely follow a Dwarf prince on an adventure too!"

Linnéa ignored the part about being young. In truth, she was over a hundred years old, much older than Hilda at this point.

"That all said, here." Hilda waved away her jest and tottered over to a nearby crate. She rummaged through its contents and pulled out a thick scarf. "It's too warm to wear right now but, it'll serve you once the winter comes."

Linnéa examined the gift, reaching out to take it and feel its softness. It was worn from many years of use, but doubtless in its ability to keep its wearer from the cold.

"You've always kept your own company," Hilda continued. "But all the same, it was a pleasure knowing you. Bard said it might be that you won't return. Still, I hope you'll spare us lake-folk a thought every now an' then."

"Thank you, Hilda," Linnéa said with a slight bow. "I will wear this come winter, and think of you all."

Hilda pressed her lips together, tears threatening now to spill from her eyes. She briefly placed her hand on Linnéa's cheek-- a touch that reminded the half-Elf of her own mother from many years ago.

"Well! I'll call on Percy, have him help you load these onto a cart---" Hilda resumed her ramblings, speaking of this and that to do, really more to herself than to anyone. Linnéa looked out the window, gazing at the city of Dale that was being rebuilt. Across the water, Laketown was being rebuilt as well. There was much progress, but also much work to do still.

Summer was kind, but Linnéa knew when the seasons turned, more would fall ill. The people of Dale would have to rely on their Elven allies and neighboring Dwarves for medical aid.

But she couldn't stay and languish away. This was an opportunity to possibly have the chance to leave Middle Earth and by her immortal life, she was taking it.

She packed the scarf into her satchel. Then she gave her former workspace one more sweep before closing the door behind her.