#fic: i found love

[karnesworth]

whumpy/angsty/shippy things in my current wip that Get Me (tm)

(tw: includes nsfwhump, and noncon)

they're about to go undercover, and they're taking one last moment to calm their nerves. the deep breath before the plunge. they're reaching for each other with trembling hands. but the bad men arrive too soon and they have to cut it short, have to bite back the words they were going to say. they take their places but can't stop looking at each other. the charade begins, and there's so much unsaid.

they arrive at the compound that will be their home for the next weeks. he is posing as captor, she as captive. it's a brutal introduction as she is manhandled and restrained, inspected and handled like a piece of meat. there are so many hands on her, assaulting her, and she can't run or cry for help. and he watches, and all he can do is hold her gaze and silently mouth the words it's ok, i'm here, i'm sorry

he's fantasized about kissing her for years but he never wanted it like this: fast and fierce, a power display, a show of force. their first kiss isn't even for them, it's to placate the voyeurs who can't seem to wait for them to make a mistake.

each privately telling themselves: this is not real. this is not desire. this is bodies, and nerves, and chemicals. they do not love me. they do not want me. this is an act and i must make it real

it is morning and he is still asleep. she dares to touch herself, dares to find comfort in her hands. she is quiet but not quiet enough. he wakes and stares at how her mouth is open, her cheeks flushed. she tells him to take her, and tells herself it's for the cameras

she feels everything. she can't not. he tries to feel nothing.

she wants-- she needs-- no. the job demands. nothing else matters.

he knows he's hurting her. he knows he wants her. he thinks wanting her and hurting her are the same thing.

she comes in his arms and he thinks she faked it. he doesn't know why he feels betrayed

she can't stop herself from reaching for him. reaching for him will blow their cover. it's almost a mercy when he ties her hands.

she is beautiful, and he wants her, and he hates himself.

he is beautiful, and she wants him, and she hates herself.

someone else touches her, hurts her, and he cannot intervene. she has told him to let it happen. he holds her down while she is assaulted, and she doesn't recognize his touch. she is panicking and begging and she says his name. his real name. the others think she is crying out for someone else.

she has a panic attack so bad that she stops breathing. he gives her rescue breaths that feel more like a kiss than anything he's known

he looks at her just right, and sometimes she forgets to believe that she is unlovable.

his cover is blown. he might be able to preserve hers. he has to hurt her, treat her so badly that she cannot possibly be mistaken for his accomplice. she will hate him, and she will live.

he can't do it. he would rather die than hurt her. she thinks he would rather die than love her.

did you ever want me? she asks. not like this, he answers. never like this.

she tells herself: he never wanted me like this, like a lover or a bride. she is not the kind of person who gets this. she is razor wire-- a grenade-- a molotov cocktail. she is the tool that fixes the problem, or the weapon that obliterates enemies. she doesn't get to feel good. she doesn't get to be loved.

when they take him, he doesn't react. doesn't resist. he just looks at her like she's the only thing that matters

they hurt him and he tells himself he deserves it: for thinking of her alone at night, for wanting her, for being aroused at the sight of her. dying for her is all he's ever been good for

they bring her to see him. beat him while she watches. she says she doesn't know him. it hurts more than he thinks it will

they beat him. she watches, and all she can do is all he's done for her: she holds his gaze and silently whispers it's ok, i'm here, i'm sorry

her cover blows anyway. they beat her and throw her in the cell next to him. he begs them to hurt him instead

she drags her body across the concrete floor to rest her head in his lap

they don't ask each other are you hurt, they ask how bad.

if he doesn’t love her, she will know she’s unlovable.  if he doesn’t love her, nobody will. (if he loves her, it will be that love that kills him, and she doesn't know which is worse.)

she makes a plan. one last, desperate devil's bargain. she barters herself for his freedom, but she has to make sure he won't come back. she has to keep him safe. she has to convince him that she hates him.

he comes back anyway. he fights through a compound of enemies to get to her, leaving blood and bodies in his wake. he falls to his knees at her feet

he asks what now. she says we're friends, colleagues. this doesn't change anything. we go back to the way it was before. before he can stop himself, he asks what if i can't? isn't there anything from the last month and a half that you'd want to keep? he wants to add, not even me?

she asks herself, how many times did he fuck me and wish it was someone else?

he's drunk. he says i love you. she says no, you don't. she isn't human. she is a weapon. a soldier doesn't fall in love with a bullet.

the smell of her is on his skin, and he cannot get it out. he rubs his skin raw in the shower. when he pulls the curtain back, she's there. he rushes out of the room without a word.

she guzzles energy drinks to keep herself awake, to keep herself from dreaming about him in all sorts of indecent ways.

she's drunk. she calls him, and doesn't know why. his voicemail beeps, and she can't remember why this was a bad idea--

she doesn't remember, he tells himself the next day. she was so wasted she can't possibly remember telling you--

she remembers.

she wakes in a hospital bed. he's not there. she lurches out of bed to look for him. he's not here. he's not here. her legs give out. she crashes to the floor, and wails.

he wakes in a hospital bed, and can't talk past the breathing tube in his throat. he can't ask about her. nobody will look him in the eyes.

they say she can come see him tomorrow. she doesn't come. she's fallen, hit her head and sparked seizures. he knows she fell trying to get to him. he needs to see her. the hospital staff holds him down, tells him he can't be out of bed yet. he struggles so much they have to restrain him

(thank you for indulging my brainrot)

fic here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18638950

[tadfools]

You guys are commenting on the fics you read right? You’re at least leaving kudos on the Astarion smut and the pairs that have less than 20 fics for them too? You’re bookmarking stories you really like that are still being updated and ones that haven’t been touched in over a year right?

You know that even the smallest interactions are like cocaine to fic writers right? You understand how important a string of emoji hearts left behind on a chapter at three am is right?? Right????

You’re treating AO3 like a community and not a content factory….right?

[morganbritton132]

17 year old, CEO Tim Drake canceling a press conference and then putting out a statement like, “Sorry for canceling last min, Alfred said that he was going to run my laptop through the dishwasher if I didn’t clean my room. I think he’d do it :/. Also, wasn’t really in the mood. Cya -Tim.”

[patolemus]

It’s very humbling when you’re reading a book —part of a trilogy, very acclaimed— and the only thing you can think of is ‘the fanfic I read the other day was better’

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Astarion Jealousy Part 2

The graphic extension to this but a lil less serious and definitely not sfw.

CW: Jealous spawn astarion who is still a sweetheart, but the drow twins get under his skin. graphic sex scenes, oral, relatively tame honestly. The sex part will be under the cut btw which is m/f. Also vampire man drinks blood. mentionable incorrect language for sex workers

~

It was odd, being home in Baldur’s Gate without the threat of Cazador always looming. Odd, but equally as wonderful. It had been so thoughtful, if not a little idiotic for Cazador to end up being your first stop in the city. The fight itself had been a blur, a barrage of intense emotions and bloody violence. Astarion had come so close to losing himself back there, losing everything that made him better than the man who almost ruined him. But then… you stopped him. You saw something more in him, a chance for a better life. A more meaningful life, away from the shackles of vampiric power obsessions. 

He was officially free. Now he could exist without any fear of his disgusting master’s retribution. He could just… be. Well… not including his darling’s own myriad of enemies that seemed to follow them about everywhere. And there was still the matter of defeating the elder brain, and lord knows if any of you made it through that alive. But at least his personal demons were slain and out of the picture.

Every little step counted after all. Perhaps some of your delusional hopefulness had finally started to rub off on him, but Astarion was actually starting to look forward to his future. Your future, together. All he had to do was get through a few more perilous adventures and then he’d really have you all to himself. 

All that said, Astarion could really go without the frequent visits to the local brothel. Was it the best place in the city for gathering information? Yes. It seemed that every walk of life in Baldur’s Gate found their way into Shar’s Caress and if you were going to find alternative passage to the underworld, this would be the best place to find it. But that didn’t mean he had to like it. For one there were the unwelcome advances to his own person, the concept of grace and personal space apparently left at the door. He was so very close to breaking the hand of the next person who thought it was appropriate to grab his ass. And if they could afford to get kicked out he would have by now. Your verbal, angry tirades in his defense could only scare off so many. 

But as terrible as his own discomfort was, it was nothing in the face of how often you were being fawned over. What was it about you that seemed to drive everyone mad? Yes you were objectively attractive, but this was frankly getting out of hand. First there was the green skinned druid doing something sensual to your mind, then there were the general stares and whispers as you walked by, and now a pair of gorgeous drow twins trying and failing to proposition you. 

It was getting tiresome. There were only so many times a man could take his lover being offered “free” services before he snapped. 

On one hand, he could respect the dedication they had to the craft. He could be considered something of a hired whore himself in his time, the old, “the first one’s free” was a tried and true trick. And he also knew, vaguely, that no one was actually trying to steal you from him. But on the other, he couldn’t help the fact that he wanted to claw their eyes out for looking at you so brazenly.

He hadn’t expected the eyes of the woman to wander over to him, like she was just noticing the possessive arm he had wrapped around your waist, “Is that your partner with you? How would you both feel about having a little fun?”

Absolutely fucking not. Maybe the old Astarion would have smiled and nodded, ready to do whatever was asked of him. But the man from that wretched era had died, or at the very least was dying. And he would be damned if he let you lay with another, never less participate in it. 

Astarion interrupted your overly-polite attempts stuttering of a refusal. He glared at them both, a sneer painted on his face, “We’ll be passing on that. You’d think the first no would have sufficed, but I suppose it’s not fair to expect everyone to have basic language comprehension. Now as illuminating as this conversation has been, we have places to be. Excuse us.”

Then he was pulling you away, happy to ignore the offended huffs of indignation he had left in his wake. 

“We’re supposed to be investigating, remember?” You said with a giggle, not even questioning him as he dragged you to the second floor, “Being rude is not the way we’ll find travel to the hells.”

“I highly doubt they would have been of use,” Astarion said as he pushed you into the first empty room he could find. He felt off, maybe even a little crazed as he turned to you, “Tell me darling, what is it about you that makes you so irresistible, hm?”

He crowded you against the closed door, ducking his head into the crook of your neck to breath you in. You smelled heavenly, you always did. He could trace the barest whiff of your blood from beneath your skin, always calling to him. You were the sweetest thing he ever tasted. Delicious even, for more reasons than one. 

“T-They just wanted my coin,” You gasped when he started to suck bruises into your skin, “That’s all.”

“I think they wanted a bit more than that,” Astarion bit out as he shoved his thigh between your legs, “What will it take for others to realize you’re mine.”

His hands were wandering, resting low to grip your hips. He was using them to move you, forcing you to grind against his thigh. You grasped at his shoulders, trying to bite back a moan as you stared at him with wide eyes, “You want to do it here? Does that door even lock?”

It looked like it didn’t, not that Astarion cared. Maybe walking in on him ravishing you would finally start getting the point across of who you belonged to. Astarion shrugged, "There are less appropriate venues than literal whore houses."

“But-”

“But I can tell you want it,” Astarion interrupted with a smirk, his hands barely working to move your body anymore. But that wasn’t stopping you from rubbing yourself all over him, “Just look at you darling. Desperate little thing. But if you really don’t want to…”

Astarion made a lazy attempt to step back, laughing out loud when your desperately pulled him back, your desire finally winning out over your common sense. But you were glaring at him, obviously annoyed that he was so good at riling you up. He had seen that look before, the one that just screamed that you were scheming something. 

He just hadn’t expected you to drop to your knees in front of him, huffing as you started to undo the fastenings to his pants, “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit of a shit?”

“Maybe,” Astarion said with a strained laugh, his breath catching when you pulled his half-hard cock out, “But it seems to keep getting me the things I want.”

You rolled your eyes before licking a wide strip up his cock, like you weren’t directly proving his point. You looked amazing own there, you’re half-hearted glare morphing into a blissful haze. 

Gods, how were you real? Astarion wasn’t quite sure why you were such a fan of getting him down your throat, but he knew that he was a lucky bastard for it. 

“Sweet girl,” Astarion sighed, letting a hand drift down to tangle in your hair, “Sweet girl with a perfect mouth. And you’re all mine, aren’t you?”

You made a small, affirmative noise around his cock, taking him in deeper as you clutched at his thighs. You were so good at this, so well-trained after months of being together. He loved the soft, wet sounds that would escape your lips as you swallowed him down, the pretty way your eyes would water as you encouraged him to fuck your throat, how you would squirm in place on your knees, no doubt ruining your panties with how wet you were getting. 

And no one else would ever know. No one would get to see you like this again, feel you like this. Needy, desperate, and his. Oddly enough, that thought was what sent him over the edge. He came down your throat, groaning as you eagerly swallowed around him. 

You pulled off of him slowly, panting while you smiled up at him. There was the smallest string of spit mixed with his come, connecting from the head of his cock to your lips. You licked it up, still clinging to his thighs as you hazily stared up at him. Sweet enough to make his heart skip a beat, and his dick give a valiant twitch.

He pulled you to your feet, not wasting any time in smashing your lips together. He spun you around, pushing you towards what he prayed was a clean bed. 

He pushed you back onto the sheets, making quick work of tearing your pants down your legs as he grinned down at you, “Your turn.”

He kneeled in front of you; spreading his hands over your splayed thighs to peel off your underwear. The core of you was already glistening, slick enough to make Astarion’s mouth water. He licked his lips as he spread your legs further apart, shameless as he feasted on you with his eyes. 

You were shaking in his hold, biting your bottom lip when you whined, “Stop staring already…”

“But you’re so pretty here my sweet,” Astarion cooed, tracing a single finger over the seam of your cunt, “And you’re dripping. Poor thing, have I kept you waiting too long?”

You nodded excitedly above him, your hips bucking when he let his fingers dip in further between your pussy lips. He lightly traced your clit, softly laughing at the way the simple touch made you whine.

It was his own fault that you were so needy, a fact that brought a smirk to his lips. You always got so wet after you had him down your throat, soaked and gorgeous. 

Astarion dove right in, loudly moaning as he licked into your folds. He dragged his lips upward to suckle on your clit, basking in all the cries and whimpers escaping you.

He licked back down, teasing your hole with his tongue as your legs quivered around his head. He let the sharpness of his fangs scrape against you as he started to fuck you with his tongue, threatening your most intimate places.

He knew you liked that; little minx that you were. The slight risk of pain that was always looming. It made him want to sink his fangs in you for real, a hunger that he'd sate after he had you gushing into his mouth.

You were already close, he could tell from the way your cunt was tightening around his tongue; too worked up from the thrill of being in public and the taste of him still lingering on your tongue. Astarion trailed talented fingers up to rub against your clit, his tongue still curling inside of you as you cried out. Finally falling over the edge. But that wasn't stopping him from continuing to play with you.

You had to tug on Astarion’s hair for him to finally pull away, too over sensitive to handle his talented tongue. You were still trembling by the time he leaned back, licking his lips. He rested his head on your thigh, obviously pleased with himself as he grinned up at you. He could feel your heart racing against his cheek, the sound of your blood pumping singing through your veins. It had his mouth watering for a completely different reason. 

He let his fangs drag against the delicate skin of your inner thigh, looking up at you through his lashes, "Can I?"

A superfluous question. Not when he already knew the answer before it escaped your lips.

“Y-yeah," You mumbled, lovingly gazing down at him. He would never tire of seeing that look on your face, "But be gentle? Please?” 

"Of course my love," Astarion murmured, before promptly sinking his fangs into your flesh. He had to hold you down from the way you were still trembling, your quivering only getting worse at the pleasure mixed with pain. He didn’t let himself go rabid, just enough to get a taste. He was pulling back too soon, smiling to himself at the little whine you let out. He gently licked over the wound before standing, not yet swallowing the last drops on his tongue.

Instead he leaned forward to kiss you, more than happy to share the sweet taste of your blood as he slipped his tongue into your mouth.

“Thank you my dear,” Astarion sighed as he pulled away, “That was exactly what I needed. Now I think that’s enough investigating for one day.” 

You sighed, taking the time to card your fingers through his hair, “Agreed. Though you might have to carry me out of here now.”

Wasn’t that a wonderful idea?

Astarion hummed as he pulled your clothing back on, “I think I like the sound of that," He didn't give you time to respond, too busy sweeping you up in his arms with a grin, "I'll be taking you up on that."

You squeaked when he hefted you up, bridal style, “I wasn’t being serious!”

But it was too late, Astarion was already kicking the door open. He shrugged at you, completely shameless as he winked at a few onlookers, "Then you shouldn't have suggested it."

You groaned, hiding your face in his shirt as he happily took you outside, “I’m going to get you back for this. I hope you know that.”

Astarion laughed as he kissed the top of your head, “I’m sure you will.”

It was a childish stunt, borderline on par with a jealous tantrum, but gods, did it feel good. Good enough to sate Astarion's obsessive tendencies for an impressive amount of time. Under normal circumstances. 

But what about your lives were normal?

[forgetful-nerd]

The best tmnt crossover fanfictions have this interaction I swear. These fanfics are feeding my soul.

[brainmuncher]

The emergency

A good number of members within the Justice League have children. Not all of those kids are biological or adopted but they are their kids nonetheless. Some of those kids are even old enough to be adult heroes of their own, but even then they are still their kids. And the other kids tend to take up heroism at a very young age to most people's chagrin. Although as shown by the original child hero, now going by Nightwing, it’s not as easy as telling the kids to stop.

It was learned through intense hardship that smothering the child heroes was just asking for trouble. Despite how much the older heroes wanted to stay close to their kids, it was seen as overbearing and a show of mistrust. They would act out with even less backup in retaliation, which would only bring even more stress.

So to satisfy the need for protection without stepping on any toes, two new emergency meeting signals were introduced.

One was for the kids to send off. Each one was gifted a small device that could be hidden in their person. The device had both a mic and a tracking chip that could be activated when they were in extreme danger. As soon as the device was active a signal would be sent to the league for an emergency distress signal with the details of who sent it. Due to an outcry from the kids, the device could not be activated by the guardian of the child. The mic and locator could only be activated from the device itself. It wasn’t nearly as protective as some of the more worried leaguers would like, but it was at least something. 

The second signal was one that the leaguer with a kid in danger could activate. This signal could be activated with a single code into the communicators that every member owned. If the member who sent out the signal didn’t specify what kid was in danger, every member would receive a generalized notification of the emergency alert for one of the kids. This wasn’t ideal, but it was learned early on that the guardian of the child was often too distressed to make the code more complicated. It was best to leave it simple and answer questions at the emergency meeting.

Which was great in all, until someone who doesn’t have a child involved with heroics in their care sends off a general emergency.

In places all over the globe, an emergency meeting signal message was sent by Hal Jordan, one of the lanterns. He didn’t include what child was in danger in the signal, meaning that it could be any of the underaged heroes. And considering he didn’t have a child in his care, that made multiple members panic.

When was the last time they checked in with the kids in their care? Who was the one he was sending the code for? What happened to the child he had noticed was in danger? Why is he the one that noticed? Where were their kids? Who was in danger?

Because of the nebulous nature of the call, it didn’t take long for multiple heroes to find the nearest transport to the watchtower and tumble in. What they didn’t expect was the absolute haggard appearance of their friend. He was standing in the meeting room looking like the world had been destroyed before his very eyes. The way he sat without even cracking a sarcastic remark made multiple members pause.

“Hal?” Wonder Woman called, her face pinched in concern. “What has happened?”

The aforementioned member looked over who had already arrived before settling on her face. It was at that moment she knew that he was only looking so collected through willpower alone. This wasn’t just any child of the league, this was personal.

“My nephew Danny has been captured,” He began, sending a wave of different emotions circling the room. “I’ve been trying to find where they took him for a week now and I can’t get any leads. I need your help.”

The unsaid questions and emotions were nearly palpable. Multiple members turned to one another or stared with a million questions. Nobody had known that Hal even had a nephew named Danny. Sure he mentioned someone named Jason at times, but he never indicated anything else. The fact that he hadn’t mentioned him or the fact that he’d been apparently searching for a week was strange.

“And why are you only telling us now? Why did you wait so long?” Superman asked, speaking up the question that was on multiple minds.

A fire of anger curled in Hal's eyes. It was fierce and protective. It was a mixture of appalment for being questioned on his decision and fury for the reasons why he had to do it in the first place. He stepped forward towards the center table, slamming his palms down and leaning into it.

“Because any person that goes against the group will be declared an enemy of the United States. I’ve already had my account and housing connected to Green Lantern seized,” He explained with a deceptively calm tone. “I also needed to make sure that they didn’t have any connections with the Justice League. They have their agents everywhere.”

Unsurprisingly, Batman appeared from the gathered heroes from seemingly nowhere. Despite the feud between the two of them, the Bat was completely zeroed in on the situation. While he had a decent amount of distrust in the lantern, mainly because of the parallax incident, he could tell that the man was genuine. And the Bat always did have a blind spot for children.

“Explain,” Was all Batman said, staring Hal down.

The lantern in question looked at him with a grim face. This was it. Now or never.

“They’re called the Ghost Investigation Ward, or GIW for short. They hunt down and either exterminate or experiment on anyone they deem ectocontaminated or a ghost,” Hal started to explain, his hand curling on the table in frustration. “My brother Jack faked his death and ran off to be with another woman. Those fucks deemed my nephew as ectocontaminated and tried to take him from his home. He ran from his family so that they couldn’t be arrested for knowingly harboring an ecto entity. Told me that he remembered my face from a photo his dad tried to hide in the attic and sought me out.”

If the fire in his eyes were any stronger, they would probably become physical and burn down the room. It was undeniable that Hal Jordan was understandably completely pissed off. This situation was terrible from down to the very root.

“I tried to hide him but they somehow found him anyway. Now my civilian name is being heavily monitored and Green Lantern is being hunted down,” He finished his explanation. “If you join me in this, be prepared to lose everything.”

This was so much worse than anyone could’ve predicted.

[keferon]

Did you think I was done? Ahahahaha no, I have more.

Because chapter 70 of MOMU gave me the very dynamic between them that I missed so much, I just blacked out and started drawing uncontrollably lmao

Also. ALSO. I noticed a while ago that Prowl has the habit of..like…constantly frowning. So. I did a bit of research and made this graph.

In 70 chapters, Prowl frowns rougly 104 times. And the intensity of this gesture is very clearly correlated with the development of his relationship with Jazz, as you can see ahahahahah It might be wrong tho don’t take me seriously I’m not good with graphs

[starrypawu]

the stickfigure gijinkas are fighting supervillains holy!!!!!

some fanart for this fic called "Super Sticks" made by @dynamic-k !! its a superhero au and i have been enjoying it so far! though i did kinda wing it for the designs since im not sure on their outfit details and also their hair- so i mixed it with my designs !!

close ups below:3

[flying-cat]

I just thought of Izuku immediately shooting up in the hero rankings like a week after he becomes an active pro-hero again because everyone is so happy that he's back and Katsuki wants to be annoyed that Izuku ranked higher than him so quickly like he would've been, once upon a time, but he really can't be because this is what he worked eight years to see, and now he can finally compete with him again. So he sits in his apartment, TV on, watching Izuku try not to stutter his way through his first returning interview with fondness and pride, and thinks it's finally time to put some actual effort into climbing higher on the hero rankings.

(Not that being #1 is his priority anymore. He's just happy that he gets to fight alongside Izuku again, that they can compete with one another as equals, and that they can complete one another like two sides of the same coin. For the rest of their lives.)

[lucky-fy]

For the Laicion nation (aka, me and three other people)

I had this illustration commissioned (a big thank you to @lunehowls) for my werewolf AU Laicion fic (still a WIP).

The general pitch is as follows :

AU in which Laios never got to meet his sister again, putting his life on a whole other path, a more desperate one. A military deserter with barely a coin to his name, Laios hitches a ride on a boat to one of the elven continents, where he learns about magical tattoos that binds one’s soul to a wolf’s, effectively making them artificial werewolves. Illegal magic be damned, this feels like the answer to… everything.

In the process, he learns about the existence of an illegal fighting ring in one of the elven cities, where beastmen gladiators gather. Freshly tattooed and without anywhere else to go to, Laios decides to head there, where he meets Lycion, an elf and artificial werewolf gladiator. If they first bond over a simple shared meal, by spending time together (sharing the same room in the barracks, maybe the same bed? gasp) they find that they have a lot in common, notably a shared distaste for the body they were born in, a dysphoria partially remedied by becoming a werewolf.

They bond :)

NB: I commissioned another piece, go take a look :D

[karnesworth]

I-3 Wardrobe Deep Dives

KARINA: Always wearing one of her 3 favorite cardigans.  Knits, soft fabrics, brocades.  No visible zippers or denim.  Only wears leather as an accent over things.  Very few patterns: only tweeds / gentle plaids.  fern/leaf/vine/moss motifs.  Metal tips/accents: collar tips etc.  Layers layers layers.  The same clothing, layered in different ways.  Natural fibers: cotton, linen, wool.  Muted colors: greens blues browns khakis. Solid colors, but everything has a subtle texture to it.  She wears tactical gear (harnesses/etc) but they give her very little coverage and always leave her neck exposed.  Knees always covered.  Knee and elbow patches.  Fit-and-flare.  Softest fabrics close to her skin, then more tactical stuff on the outer layers. Flowy sleeves but always rolled or pinned up so they don’t get in the way. Three-quarter sleeves.  Rolled hems.  Straps across her chest and neck like a cage.  Chokers. No pleats. Crisscross lines.  Collar details: brooches, tips, embroidery.  Dark gold/bronze jewelry.  Vintage jewelry, borrowed from her mom.  Bare feet, strappy sandals, boots.  Low heels. Nails always bitten down.  Sleeves either three-quarter length or too long, there’s no in-between. Hair always falling out and wisping away.  Messy buns. Formal dresses are off-the-shoulder. Wrist warmers and fingerless gloves.  Soft a-line formal dresses.  Shoulders covered, throat open.

CONNOR: Older items meticulously cared for.  Light academia.  Tans, browns, blues, silvers.  Elbow patches.  Sleeves rolled up.  Pleats. Shoulder / pauldron details.  Sweater vests.  Worn jeans.  Solid colors.  Anatomical/bone motifs.  Henleys.  Oxford shoes.  Hand-mended.  Shirts tucked in.  Leather details.  Messy curly hair. Vintage formalwear. Thin ties.  Shoulder harnesses. Thin, faded t-shirts he’s saved forever, each with a sentimental story behind it.  

MICHAEL:  Seatbelt material. Polyester/nylon.  Webbing. Graphic t-shirts with the sleeves cut off.  He is physically incapable of buttoning the top two or three buttons of any shirt.  Low necklines / v necks.  Tight pants.  Chain motifs.  Letter/motorcycle jackets.  Shoes: Sneakers and loafers.  Untucked shirts.  Tight haircuts / fades.  Designer formalwear.  Ridiculously thin ties / bowties.  Buys new clothes instead of doing his laundry.  Hip harnesses.  Sleeveless tank tops.

CLAIRE: everything has a subtle sheen or sparkle to it.  Leather and satin.  Miniskirts with boots.  Ombre and color blocking.  Purples, silvers, golds, blacks.  Dagger motifs.  Structured clothing.  Rarely, if ever, rewears.  Princess waist. Sleeveless/strapless.  Strappy details.  Shiny velvets. Always has a knife or three hidden.  Bright whites.  Harnesses.  Crop tops / open sides / sheer cutouts.  Plunge / deep v necklines.  Pleats and folds.  Side slits.  Visible decorative zippers.  Designer trench coats.  Steals hoodies.  High heels. Nails always done.  Ankle boots. Hair always perfect, meticulously styled. Jewel tones. Glamorous athleisure. Bodycon formal dresses. Faux fur. Halter necks.  Fashion-forward asymmetry.

JUDITH: At first, you think she’s always wearing the same thing, then you realize that she’s wearing subtle variations of it-- her ‘comfort fashion’. Sun/star motifs.  Buckles and zippers.  Dropped waist.  Grey, black, crimson.  Very little color.  She has 45 iterations of the same t-shirt but some are more worn/torn/stained than others.  Either long sleeves or sleeveless, there’s no in between.  High necklines. Holster always visible.  Thigh Harnesses.  Angular lines.  Silver / icy platinum jewelry.  Motorcycle jackets.  Metal studs.  No heels.  Only wears skirts or dresses for formal occasions.  Hair braided and out of the way. Structured shoulders. 

[dukeofthomas]

Here's my controversial opinion; if you're trying to write Bruce as a non-abusive, good parent, you should also write him respecting his kids' privacy, boundaries, and not stalking&surveying them.

[wispscribbles]

Ghoap sketch page

[mystiffox]

— for the protection of creation.

is ftfo still relevant around these parts?? (/lh) but hi yes if you havent heard of this fic, you're missing out. its got heavy hurt (it gets worse before it gets better) but if you love found family its sooo so worth it bc omg i Love the found family SO MUCH (also ft. some human healer!ink and ftfo!error designs bc slay)

also some (sorta spoiler-y doodles) !! theres a few more on my insta but im too lazy to get em all lmaoo

[foolishlovers]

anything can be a good omens au if you’re unhinged enough