#even though it was necessary

[divine-swag-summit]

grosssssssss i hated that

[elizabethemerald]

Aquaman DPxDC Prompt

Real Life Mermaid Danielle

Ellie has explored a lot of the surface world over the last couple of years, but now she has a new place to explore, the entire ocean! Obviously to explore the ocean a little easier she changes her form to that of a mermaid so she can live out every little girl's fantasy (at least according to Jazz) At least until Aquaman finds a child mer exploring the ocean. He and Mera always wanted a daughter. His rage when he finds out she's a clone made by a man she calls "The Bastard" against her template's will will be breathtaking to see.

[technically-human]

So, @meraki-yao sent me a request today (thank you! I will work on it soon...ish) and I won't spoil what it is but it got me (and my girlfriend, because I showed her the request as I usually do) thinking and...

Edwin as Cinderella AU... Kind of

So I don't have a lot of details but the concept is basically one of Hell's tortures is just... Setting Edwin free for a few hours. Maybe he has to spend them at The Ball™ if we want to go the fairy tale route, maybe at St. Hilarions, the point is, he knows he has a limited amount of time because this is meant to be torture. Maybe it happens more than once.

He ends up finding Charles. They fall in love very quickly because this is a Cinderella AU, bla bla bla, come midnight, Edwin drops his map of Hell just like in the show and Charles goes after him, rescues him and they live happily ever after.

Perhaps it wasn't meant to be torture at all. Maybe it was Death, or the Night Nurse, or someone trying to help, idk. But the possibilities.

[turtleblogatlast]

I honestly love the clothing styles of each of the turtles in this show and I love how these styles really incorporate their personalities as well.

Like, obviously Donnie has the best sense of style, yeah? Think that’s something pretty agreed upon here. Everything we see him put together is very meticulously crafted and clean. That goes with his personality because Donnie is a very meticulous person in general, and he knows what he likes very, very well, and knows how to flaunt it in turn. Him commenting on colors he enjoys or disapproving of outfits that the others see no problem with also shows how he just generally has an eye for this kind of thing. He doesn’t just know what looks good on himself, but also what looks good on others - and I think this ties into his love of gift giving too. Donnie also has a flair for making sure that his things have his “mark” on them, and his clothing is no exception. All that he wears and how he wears them screams “Donnie.”

Mikey is really fun because his styles are honestly a pendulum between super simplistic and incredibly out there. And often, you’re going to see a lot of color or patterns to both. And in my opinion I think that all reflects really well on Mikey’s character - he’s got a colorful personality but even more than that he’s incredible sure of who he himself is. Mikey’s style, I feel, is less what looks good as clothes and more what sparks joy in Mikey himself. His bright stickers he wears are a testament of that! He’s comfortable in his own skin and his style reflects this perfectly, whether he goes for a more out-there look or a more toned down one.

Now, for Leo. Okay, I think I’m actually in the minority here I feel because Leo’s style isn’t really that bad? Hear me out- if you actually look at what he wears, try taking out, like, one accessory. Suddenly, that outfit works! He even manages to put together many good outfits in the series, but his “bad” ones are the ones that tend to stand out, alas (just like how his mistakes tend to be big ones oop-) Basically, my personal look at him is not that he’s inept at styling at all, but that he has a “too much” gene. And like everyone else, this sense of style is completely like him, too. Going too far to impress when all he needed to do was slow it down some to think things through. (And funnily enough, a lot of his outfits take random aspects from his brothers too - “nothing without them” huh?)

For Raph, I feel bad for him since pretty much all of his clothes are inevitably going to be ripped, but he makes them work pretty much each time. Like Leo, Raph tends to go more sporty with his looks, but I also noticed that his stuff often goes in that in between of comfy, cool, and cute. His pajama suit in particular comes to mind in terms of “cute” as it’s more something you’d see younger children in rather than older kids, and I think it can be a subtle nod to the fact that for all Raph tries to seem older, he’s still just a kid too.

I could probably go on, but these are just all off the top of my head - I love how the boys’ personality’s come out in so many different ways.

[sun-e-chips]

It’s nice to get work done with company :)

^These are the quiet moments to live for

@corrupted-tale for you an Aztec room reveal!

[deadbaguette]

I loved your hcs for the "Diomedes goes to Ithaca au" sm! May I ask more about that? In your au does Telemachus ask Diomedes to teach him how to fight? And what kind of relationship do Penelope and Diomedes have? Are the suitors scared of Diomedes?

Omg I’m so glad to hear you liked it! Yes, I would love to answer more questions about it !!🥹❤️

Does Telemachus ask Diomedes to teach him how to fight?

I would say so! But I think Diomedes won’t end up teaching him much for one of the following reasons (i’m not sure which one yet):

Telemachus is young when Diomedes first meets him, like tween/early teen. It’s the first time Diomedes confronts the thought that maybe, he shouldn’t make a child warrior out of Telemachus. He’s seen child warriors, HE was a child warrior. He personally had no problem with teaching Telemachus, but he hesitates this time because he considers Odysseus. He knows Odysseus didn’t want to go to war, he knows he would’ve done anything to keep Telemachus safe, and if there is anyone that should teach Telemachus to fight, he felt it shouldn’t be him.

Athena tells him not to lol. Not his fate or some bs. This is obv a much easier route, and I could probably get away with Diomedes teaching him some form of self defense. < this is with probably a lot of persuasion though, since Athena likely doesn’t allow Telemachus to get so strong yet in this scenario because it could impact his fate.

And what kind of relationship do Penelope and Diomedes have?

Considering this IS an Odypendio AU, it’s not entirely platonic but romantic isn’t there perfect word either. But I also don’t imagine it to be a friends with benefits type situation. It’s more like partners?? If that makes sense???? Diomedes at the surface level is taking Odysseus’ place. BUT, it is very important that neither Diomedes of Penelope really think of it in this way. Penelope cannot think of Diomedes as her husband while Odysseus is gone, because he’s her husband. And likewise, Diomedes cannot think of Penelope as his wife because that’s Odysseus’ wife. The one all his stories are about, the one that lights up his world, the one he longed to return to.

Both of them are kind of at this like impasse where they have grown to care for each other, and they’ve built some level of codependency that is reminiscent of a relationship. But until they’re sure Odysseus is there and alive, they’ve both acknowledged that nothing is official. They care deeply for each other, but like at the same time they both love Odysseus too much to make it official. I’m sorry if this is a very confusing and borderline incoherent answer 😭

Are the suitors scared of Diomedes?

Terrified. Diomedes is like the strongest soldier in the Achaian/Achaean army that’s alive. Plus, considering how in the Odyssey, Odysseus wiped the floor with the suitors, I imagine Diomedes could do so even easier! And they know this, so they still push Telemachus around (Diomedes has been forbidden from intervening, something about politics and fate), but when Diomedes tells them to get out they will.

Tysm for the ask! It means a lot that people are interested in my silly AUs <3

[simplydnp]

actually kind of crazy how quick phil was in clearing the air when saying the gorillas were gay, but not together. like i've never ever heard him say that. he only calls himself and dan gay all the time--

[clownsuu]

gyad DAMN art block sucks ass but I hope this will shoo it away for you :)

just thought of this interaction between Robbie and Ashton and HAD to draw it skjskjsk. just—Ashton running away from Robbie whenever they see him and tattling to Wally is so funny to meeekjhskjbskesehj!! silly little goobers…also Robbie is rockin the SpongeBob fit 💪💪we love him for that

Prank em, papa

[arohuacheng]

imagining the story from pei ming's perspective is rlly funny i think. this god from all that time ago ascends again (you were there for the first two times) and immediately waltzes into a situation that fucks something up for your descendant (putting both of your reputations on the line, messing up how hard your descendant worked to become a god and how hard you worked to ensure that he would have that chance) and then refuses to let you smooth the situation out and on TOP of that your friend's little sister (who hates you and who you are trying to look out for by request of your friend) is on your case about it too. so you've gotta work all that out and then like. you chill for a little bit (still kind of upset about your descendant) until your friend undergoes a heavenly calamity. and then in the space of like A Day the god from earlier shows up again with a fucking ghost king, your friend dies, the little sister you're supposed to be looking out for disappears, and everything just kinda goes to shit. so you're like. grieving. trying to process everything. until your OTHER close friend goes off the fucking rails with the spirit of that guy she murdered, and then you get called out to the spooky ghost mountain where you're confronted with the girl whose death YOU were essentially responsible for and have never really come to terms with, and then like. you just kind of hang out with these gay people until everything resolves itself. fight some ghosts. fight the heavenly emperor. get your friend to stop being evil for a little while so she can fix the filing systems. and then you just have to keep being the god of love i guess

[inoreuct]

drink from me

a sherry-laced conversation about thirst and running away. zosan | 2k | hurt/comfort

Being a coward isn’t as easy as one might think.

It’s juxtaposition in its own right; cowardice is, as defined, a lack of bravery— And yet Sanji supposes it takes bravery to be able to ditch everything you stand for. To turn tail and run. Bravery to bear upon your shoulders the disappointment of everybody who had ever believed in you. 

He sighs deeply, tilting the bottle in his hand so that the dregs of liquor slosh within. This is why he doesn’t drink.

It’s relatively easy most days. To lock his past behind a set of double doors, bar the handles with a padlock and chain so he can pretend that everything he’s running from isn’t just three paces behind, snapping at his heels, starved and ready to eat him up whole. Alcohol slots the key back into place and twists it without his permission. Twists his heart until it aches.

He doesn’t know why he’d started. The bottle of sherry had sat, nondescript and guileless and half-full on the galley table after the night’s dessert, and Sanji had paused before he’d slowly wrapped his fingers around the neck of it and let his nails scrape against the dark glass.

The cork had popped almost too easily and here he is now, taffrail digging into his forearms as he takes a long drag from his cigarette and lets bitter smoke fill his lungs full to bursting. Blood orange coats the back of his tongue, cloyingly sweet, thick on the roof of his mouth— He’d made a layered trifle with cacao nibs and caramelised cream that had been slathered between slabs of boozy vanilla sponge, and the aftertaste clings to his teeth. Sanji peers down as what’s left of the sherry glimmers vaguely inside the bottle and fights the urge to chug the rest. 

He could, if he really wanted to. He hardly drinks but it certainly doesn’t mean he can’t. 

A soft scrape against wood catches his attention, barely perceptible. He fights to keep his spine from stiffening, fights to maintain his loose-limbed, easy demeanor; the liquid warmth in his veins helps some but not enough, and he’s halfway through another drag when near-silent footsteps stop just behind him. 

Zoro’s haori shifts in the wind, palm loosely wrapped around the end of Wado’s hilt where she’s strapped alone to his hip. “Was wondering where you went,” he says easily, looking out over the ocean. 

Sanji scoffs. It burns his throat more than the sherry did. “For someone built like that, you’re surprisingly quiet, marimo.”

The immediate urge to kick himself is something new. He rarely feels it— It appears often, don’t get him wrong, he just. Ignores it. It’s a little more difficult tonight. Built like that. The noise that escapes him is mirthless. What’s that even supposed to mean, huh? Alcohol’s always made him snappy and he does feel bad for once — But he’s tired, and the chores won’t do themselves. 

“Make it quick, would you?” he mutters when Zoro still hasn’t replied, low and quiet in the still evening air as he curves down to dig the heel of his palm into his temple. “My spice jars are still all over the counter, and I have to mop the floor before I wash the dishes—”

“It’s done.” 

Sanji blinks, before his eyes narrow and he turns his head to look at Zoro properly. “The dishes?”

“Everything.” The swordsman huffs when Sanji gives him a dubious look, gaze flicking over and away again as he rolls his eye. “Luffy asked me to clean up the galley. Said you needed a break.”

Well. The cook exhales, measured, and buries his face into the crook of his elbow. Taps his cig so that ash doesn’t fall into his hair where he’s holding it aloft above his head. “Tell him thanks, but I don’t.”

He clocks it out of his peripheral vision when Zoro smirks and waves a hand to gesture to his cigarette and his slouch and the glass bottle dangling against wood. “What’s this, then?”

I don’t know. Shop’s closed, please fuck off and come back tomorrow morning. 

The other words that sit at the tip of Sanji’s tongue are far more scathing. He feels them, bites them back viciously before he can burn anyone other than himself. “If there’s a single thing out of place in there I’m gonna—”

“Kick my ass, I know, I know.” Zoro chuckles under his breath. “Don’t you get tired of saying the same things over and over again?”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t constantly choose to be selectively deaf, moss-for-brains.”

The swordsman huffs another soft laugh, and conversation peters out after that. Sanji feels an itch building at the base of his skull, flickering just under his skin; it’s making him restless. He taps the bottle against the rail just to fill the silence. Zoro reaches a hand out and Sanji gives it to him easily, unthinkingly, watching and pretending he isn’t as the swordsman thumbs over the faded paper label that’s peeling at the corner. 

Zoro’s hands are scarred, he notes. He knows this, of course, but he never gets tired of letting his gaze drift over tan skin and old scars, thin slivers of pearly tissue painted silver in the moonlight. A breeze ruffles his hair as Zoro finally drinks, and he’s distantly surprised to see that it’s a measured sip and not a swig like what it usually would have been. 

Fucking hell. Sanji’s inhale shudders when he pushes himself up and stands straight, now-free hand wrapping around lacquered wood as he finishes his cigarette and tosses the butt over the side. He needs to stop thinking. He’s paying too much attention. There’s a pressure building behind his forehead and Zoro is an overwhelming presence beside him, unavoidable, stoic and staunch as ever, perfect posture, perfect honour, a sentinel with a pure white sword like some sort of— of hero from a storybook. Perfect perfect perfect.

It’s all building like a scream behind his lips, a river at a bottleneck, and he clenches his jaw to keep it in. Grits his teeth until he hears them creak because what would happen if he opened his mouth? Nothing good, he’s sure. Nothing anyone needs.

Sanji nearly startles when the bottle taps against his elbow. “Talk to me.”

“Nothing to say,” he replies immediately, taking a careless gulp and holding in a cough. 

Zoro’s slow exhale feels like it shifts the wind itself. Their ship creaks gently. “You always have something to say, curls.”

“Look, you—” He cuts himself off, tempering his breath. “I’m tired, alright? So can you just get to the point?” Fuck, he needs another cigarette. 

Maybe that’s the problem. He knows he’s the problem, sure, but Sanji suspects that he’s been running for so long that he’s forgotten how to walk. It’s grown into him like weeds wound through his ribs, the way he sees poison in water that’s perfectly clean, the way peace makes him more anxious than chaos does. He needs to stop running. He doesn’t know how. 

Zoro pries the sherry from his fingers and it’s only then that he relaxes the death grip he’d unintentionally had, a shudder slipping over his shoulders. Zoro holds the bottle loosely between his scarred fingers and doesn’t drink.

The silence thickens. Static crackles within his bones.

Sanji doesn’t know why he starts talking. Doesn’t know why it feels like a dam breaking in his chest, but his mouth is open, and the words are emptying out. “I’m tired of looking over my shoulder for something that isn’t there. Luffy gave me something to run towards, for once, but—”

He doesn’t know how to say it’s not enough without sounding ungrateful, without being greedy. “Sometimes I think I could… consume every one of the Blues, and still want more,” he allows. “Need more.” His fingers lace together, and Sanji dips his head with a wry smile even as he looks at the endless expanse of sky in front of them. “I’m afraid I’ll drink the world and still come up dry.”

There is a thirst in him. Something different than what had wracked him for a month on that barren rock. Hunger he can handle; he eats just enough to stave it off and goes about his day. This, though— Sanji can’t help the way it buzzes in the back of his head and keeps him wound up like a coil of electrical wire. He kneads dough and whisks egg whites just to have something to do with his hands. He defaults to his usual barbs when he’s feeling ungrounded so he can kid himself into thinking he possesses some semblance of normality. His shoulders ache as he stares out over the sea and wonders what it’s like to hold so much and still, still, be so achingly empty.

The winds change, carding cool fingers through his hair. 

“Drink from me,” Zoro says, and Sanji’s breath catches between his teeth.

His head snaps up to find Zoro already looking at him, face unreadable, elbows on the taffrail and bottle cupped in his hands. The swordsman looks serene, Sanji thinks. Gaze trained straight ahead, ever clear of his objectives as Wado gleams at his side, starlight in an ivory sheath. 

“Drink from me,” he repeats. The words are solemn as they always are in moments like these, the liminal space just after dusk but before true night, as his eyes shift over to Sanji and lock in place. “I won’t let you go thirsty again.” 

Sanji’s mouth dries. It’s hard not to feel pinned as Zoro looks at him; the weight of his gaze is almost physically tangible, like a familiar green coat settling over his shoulders. That’s the thing about Zoro— For all Sanji jokes about him having plant life in his skull, the swordsman has a penchant for dropping absolutely earth-shaking statements without even seeming to think about them at all. The cook swallows once, twice, tries to find his words as his lips part and loses them as soon as he takes his next breath.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop feeling like a ticking time bomb. But as Zoro’s lashes flutter and he looks away, Sanji feels something in him settle. The relentless buzz that always seems to sit just beneath his skin soothes out into a quiet hum. 

Maybe part of it’s how Zoro’s scarred and still perfect. Untouchable. Sanji couldn’t hurt him even if he tried, even if he blows apart.

His fingers wrap, unthinking, around the neck of the bottle as it’s pushed back into his hand, the pressure of Zoro’s touch lingering until he’s sure that Sanji has a good grip. The swordsman’s boots brush softly across the planks as he turns to leave and he’s halfway to the stairs before Sanji speaks.

“Marimo.”

He knows Zoro turns without even looking. “Hm?”

“Did Luffy really ask you to clean up the galley?”

A pause, before Zoro starts walking again. “Get some sleep, cook. I’ll take the rest of your watch.”

The silence he leaves in his wake is honey-thick. First watch is Sanji’s shift, it always is— He cleans up the galley and stays awake until Zoro comes to take over. 

(The galley is clean. His watch is covered. His mind is quiet.

For once, he can’t find himself another reason to stay.)

 

The sherry holds no evidence of them ever having shared it. Sanji lifts the tinted glass and there’s no trace of Zoro, no proof that his mouth had ever been where Sanji’s is— None of the candied orange and rosemary from the duck they’d had for dinner, gamey and blood-sweet.

I won’t let you go thirsty again.

Sanji tastes it still, gentle in the back of his throat as he drains the bottle.

[valtsv]

Do you write stories?

occasionally, but mostly i just come up with ideas that never make it past the worldbuilding stage

[septimusmoonlight]

You doing ok?

hi

[starbuck]

the thing is, it’s always a triangle. it’s never not a triangle. i cannot just write about two characters. where’s the third character? i need them..

[whetstonefires]

You know, I've been thinking about it, and it is absolutely essential to the narrative that Jiang Cheng is a dick and a trash fire. (Affectionate.)

Like, first of all, if he was a sainted little angel of a shidi the way Jiang Yanli is a shijie, Wei Wuxian's choices would become obvious, sort of impersonal, and boring.

Sure, lots of people wouldn't tear themselves apart for such a person in such a scenario, but they're not the protagonists of novels, are they; in a book you have to justify not doing that. So white lotus Jiang Cheng is off the table.

Jiang Cheng who isn't fragile-and-insecure but also stubborn-as-hell and violently reactive also won't wash.

If he wasn't the kind of person who sincerely tries to die under these circumstances, Wei Wuxian would have had the option of loyally supporting him in a less self-destructive way; if he was someone who could be trusted to handle the revelation without suffering a ruinous fracture of identity, Wei Wuxian wouldn't have been forced to distance himself after the war, because he could have come clean.

If Jiang Cheng wasn't the kind of person who centers on his own pride and hurt feelings and lashes out about it, it would be very hard to set up the lategame scenario where they're 'enemies' in a real, meaningful way, despite still loving each other and Wei Wuxian never wishing Jiang Cheng any ill. Even with Jiang Yanli's death.

And I mean, you could get most of the plot without doing this interesting thematic examination of the classic 'bond between martial brothers severed by one going to the dark side' trope, but I'd argue you'd lose an enormous chunk of the story.

And without Jiang Cheng's weaknesses, Wei Wuxian's motives don't cohere. His weaknesses form the foundation of at least two of the backstory's major turning points.

There's the tantalizing possibility that Wei Wuxian wouldn't have done it, if Jiang Cheng hadn't strangled him while blaming him for everything.

Probably he would have, all else being equal! But neither we nor Jiang Cheng can be sure.

Jiang Cheng sucking a lot, and knowing his own flaws perfectly well without that granting him the ability to do much about them, is heavily load-bearing. Which gives him such a fantastic implied point of view!

[thatneoncrisis]

every day i remember the Japanese tlt covers and put my head in my hands (nuance in tags)

[canisalbus]

I just recently started following you so i don't have the full lore of your murderous gay religiously traumatized doggos, BUT, from my understanding, they are Italian and i don't know what part of Italy they are from, yet i can't help headcanoning Vasco as Tuscan, while Machete is probably from some part of Veneto. And as an Italian who has heard Tuscans and Veneto dialet, well it's an hilarious mental image.

Vasco is indeed Tuscan, Florentine to be specific. He comes from a wealthy and influential noble family that has lived in Florence for centuries. He's proud of his roots, and it's usually easy for strangers to tell where he's from. He's a resonably successful politician and has worked as an ambassador and representative of Florence on numerous occasions.

Machete is originally Sicilian (ironically about as far from Veneto as possible), although he was taken to mainland at young age and has lived in several places since then, before ending up in Rome. The way I see it, he exhibits very little local color, his demeanor and (even though Italian hadn't become a standardized language yet) way of speaking are formal, neutral and scarcely give away any hints about his personal history, at least in the 16th century canon.