#i feel like it makes more sense to have a cat

[avese23]

I love tired queers hi <3

I have cats and sleep deprivation too

You did not waste my time in the slightest. I wish I could provide better advice on reading but I’m afraid it’s a mountain I struggle with greatly nowadays, although as of recent I’ve made progress. My best luck has been meeting my brain where it’s at. Highschool stole me from YA and fantasy books so I tried to use the forced academicization (that’s a word now shhh) by reading nonfiction books like I would back in school but now about things I like. Most recent reads were Rethinking Sex by Kristine Emba (great points on consent, but she makes a lot of generalizations about women that I didn’t appreciate. Would still reread the book tho) and Contraception from the MIT collection (horrific stuff but important nonetheless. It really examined the complexity of reproductive Justice)

This might be more my cup of tea as an arospec person but I feel like it’s interesting from an aspec lens as well, but I have “The other significant others” on my tbr which goes into platonic friendships that span greater than what’s socially normative for a best friend. Essentially QPRs for straight people

Lmk if I missed anything in your response. Thanks for replying and I’m genuinely amazed you read all that cuz I’m gonna be so real I wouldn’t read all that. Would have used less condescension if I was less tired, and also less of a dramatic bitch. While your initial response was from inflammatory I could get the sense you weren’t intentionally trying to say anything negative you were just a little lost. Thanks for letting me half give explanation and half take the piss (as in I mean what I say but my tongue can be sharp on occasion)

Your name is iconic out of context of this discussion. While all asexuals are valid, as a raunchy jokey person I will say I especially love when people are ironic in their humor about it.

I’m glad you liked my emoji it’s one of my favorites rn. Also I learned tumblr makes arrows from this!! So a win all around

🎩>

<- /. . \ ->

/ U \

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d b

"he's like a woman to me!!!" not true because if he was a woman to you you wouldn't give a fuck about him

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hello omg I love your soft sylus writing a lot !!

May I request please a reader where she loves sylus so much that she tries to express it by words but can’t cause she is so shy and never done so and sylus encourage it and tease her

LOVE UR WRITING

You had something to say and it clear as day to Sylus that you were lost within the internal conflict raging on within your mind, weighing out the pros and cons of speaking truthfully of your heart to him. And while it was adorable to watch you squirm and struggle to articulate your thoughts into coherent sentences for the first five minutes, Sylus was soon aware that since your so hesitant in taking the first step, he’ll have to take the first step on your behalf by grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you onto his lap.

‘Somethings on your mind kitten, it’s eating away at you and I want to know what it is that’s been consuming you from the inside out.’ He says while tightening his grip on your wrist just enough to keep you from being able to pull away, but enough where he’s not bringing you to any harm. You could practically feel your heart in your throat as it righted in on itself, it didn’t help that Sylus’s crimson eyes were peering into you in a way that made it seem as though he knew but loved to watch you suffer. ‘I- I don’t-‘ you stopped before you could even say a full sentence as everything leading up to now had resurfaced in your mind.

You knew you loved Sylus, you have for a while now, but past experiences or close to the sort have made you hesitant in making the first move and into something more meaningful between the two of you. You remember times where you would wonder whether you’d be luckily enough to be blessed with having someone become interested in you, fully investing their time and energy into what you had to say, their eyes remained on you as though they couldn’t bring themselves to look at anyone else.

You wanted everything you’ve seen in movies or read in books so badly, but even if you did find someone who was interested by you, you tended to pull away before they could get close enough to see the real you and become distant because you didn’t fulfill their idea of you that was unrealistic. You couldn’t help it for after being on your own for a long while you have grown accustomed to the idea that you might be left to your own company, maybe have a cat and or a dog in the future to make up for the lack of connection. So the idea of sharing your space with anyone else has always made you feel seriously self conscious and unable to articulate your thoughts and feelings like you’d like to.

However soon Sylus came into your life and you felt the same way you did when you were still talking to the person you preciously liked. You felt jittery, scared, excited and eagerly anticipated when you’d next see Sylus again while occasionally on the look out for Mephisto. Yet once you realised what you were feeling, what you were doing, a cold sense of dread filled you and unfortunately Sylus’s actions towards you only made it even harder for you to deny what was happening between you two.

Sylus would go out of his way to hold you by the small of your back in crowded spaces, keeping you close proximity to him, lightly touch your shoulder or stand closer to you then normal and even get in your face to watch your expressions as he did some lighthearted teasing. He was in your personal space and he was everywhere you went, and since it happened so often it came to a point where you were actively seeking out the tall man with crimson eyes and snow/silvery hair without realising it. The implications scared you gravely to the point where recently you’ve tried to avoid Sylus…only for Luke and Kieran along with Mephisto to find you and inform Sylus before he greeted you in person.

Sylus took your chin in his free hand and moving your head so you were back to staring into his observant eyes rather than to your fiddling fingers. ‘Use your words kitten, after all I’ve got all the time for you to sort out what you want to say.’ He tells you as a smirk played upon his lips as he watched your eyes widened a tad and your breath hitched in your throat. Sylus then taps a finger against your lips softly, letting it linger there for a bit. ‘So speak your mind sweetheart, speak it to me and don’t be afraid of the consequences,’ he then leans forward to rest his head against yours as his eyes looked at your lips briefly before looking back into your eyes, ‘you might like what happens afterwards.’ He finishes as he caresses your jawline with his fingers.

‘Don’t.’ You tell him sternly, taking Sylus back a little. ‘Don’t say things like that if you’re just going to be giving me false promises and leave after I say it.’ You reiterated as you looked at his face as you felt a wave of embarrassment over come you as everything within you screamed to protect yourself.

‘What makes you think I won’t take what you say to me seriously? Have I given you any doubt to distrust me into thinking I would laugh at your innermost emotions?’ Sylus asked and when you didn’t respond his smirk faltered as a serious emotions overcame his face and he took a deep breath. ‘You know I would never laugh at your emotions right? What do I have to gain in knowing your feelings? For I would never use it against you, not when I know that I’d loose you and your trust for that matter.’ Sylus told you as he lets go of your wrist to hold your face between his palms instead, stroking your cheeks softly that you couldn’t help but melt into his touch.

‘I love you Sylus.’ You admitted softly but clearly enough for him to hear as his thumbs stopped caressing your cheeks. ‘I always knew I love you but didn’t want to say anything incase you’d find another person to call your muse, to call your kitten or sweetheart. Someone who can keep up with you where I can’t. I knew I couldn’t confess if I knew that this thing between us will never be anything but serious.’ You continued as you felt everything come to the surface, easing the weight upon your shoulders greatly as you could feel yourself breath properly once more.

Sylus didn’t say anything at first and it worried you, especially with the way he keeps his gaze locked on you as though nothing else mattered in this moment but you. It felt as though he could see right through you and directly into your soul and it made you feel a little exposed and vulnerable. It scared it greatly that your fears were proven right, so much that in the moment you tried to move yourself off of his lap, only for Sylus to pull you in closer to him by your face until you were touching noses and lips were ghosting over the others.

‘Sylus-‘ before you could finish your sentence, Sylus was quick to press his lips to yours as he began to weave his lips between yours with a tenderness and passion you weren’t expecting after confessing your innermost feelings. He held your face as though it was porcelain as he deeper the kiss, moving a hand to the back of your head to keep you close to him, all the while his other hand rested on your waist to pull you further into him as though you weren’t already physically close enough. It was passionate, sweet and warm as you found yourself putting your hands on his shoulders, bunching up the fabric of his expensive shirt under your grip as you melted into the kiss; wanting nothing but to forget everything else except the taste of his lips on yours.

Only for your lungs to burn, forcing you to pull away from him as you catches your breath.

Sylus smirked as he hurried his head into your neck, breathing heavily as his fingers traced your skin over your clothes lovingly while you rested your head against his shoulder, soaking in his warmth and comforting feeling you get from cuddling against his chest. ‘I told you I wouldn’t take you nor your emotions for granted kitten, why would I do that to the person I love?’ He says against your neck and you couldn’t help but smile goofily at his own confession as your heart fluttered.

You were glad that you finally got your feelings off of your chest…even if it did take a little nudge from your crimson eyed beloved to do so as you spent the rest of the evening in his arms and whispering sweet nothings to one another.

[laine-is-pomegranted]

You won’t do it, no balls (like curly).

Jimmy x co captain Y/N smut, or head cannons NSFW and SFW. Anyways you ate your last Jimmy fic!

Jimmy Headcanons ! (NSFW & SFW)

c/w - jimmy being jimmy

a/n - thinking abt doin headcannons for all of the mouthwashing crew.... lmk if that would be something you guys would wanna see... also sorry about this being so short.

wc - 408

(image not mine)

Safe For Work Headcanons !

huge on pda! always has a hand on your waist or the small off your back or an arm around you. not really in a cutesy "i love my partner so much i need everyone to know how much i love them" way but more in a "i need to keep my dog on a leash" kind of way.

contrary to popular belief, i think he is actually very well groomed. he thinks very highly of himself so i think it would only make sense that he wants to make himself appear extremely put together.

uses cremo's 'bourbon vanilla' bodywash and their ' spice and black vanilla' cologne.

love language is definitely acts of service or gift giving.

he hates telling you that he loves you because it makes him feel like you have a level of control over him and he can't stand it. however, he is constantly doing things for you.

your car needs repairs? he's under the hood. you need help moving something? he's doing it by himself and will NOT let you help.

smokes camel crushes. used to use chewing tabaco because pony express doesn't allow cigarettes onto the ship due to them being fire hazards, but stopped after realizing you could taste it in his mouth. now he just uses nicotine patches while on the ship.

listens to divorced dad rock. think hinder, theory of a deadman, my darkest days.

much bigger fan of cats than he is of dogs.

Not Safe For Work Headcanons !

slightly above average dick size, not huge though. quite girthy, though.

not a fan of you riding him, he says it doesn't feel as good as missionary or doggy but in reality it makes him feel emasculated having you on top of in a 'position of power'.

a huge sadist (shocker). he's constantly spanking or hitting or pulling hair.

LOVES making you cry during sex. whether its from overstimulation or just straight pain, it doesn't matter.

really big on choking too.

not very big on bondage or restraining you. he likes to feel you grabbing at him and writhing around under him. it gives him a huge ego boost to know that he doesn't have to tie you down to keep you from squirming away.

bites and leaves hickeys frequently. he enjoys the thought of there being physical marks on your body that show that you're his.

very vocal in bed. he's not necessarily *loud* perse but he talks and groans a ton.

[trash-and-trash-accessories]

I love Spike so much. He's the most character of all time. But it's more than that. He's more than bleached hair, a pretty face, and bloodlust. He makes sense. The character makes sense.

He's William. He's still, despite it all, William Pratt, the god-awful poet and pathetic wet cat of a man under the thumb of mommy his whole life. He just wants to be loved and held and to satiate his unending bloodlust. He's not the big bad. He's pathetic.

He's burnt out on all the plots and schemes. Plots and schemes are Angel's thing. Serving some grand evil purpose is Darla's thing. Cruelty is Drusilla's thing. William Pratt is a poet and a mama's boy who just wants a strong woman to love him and tell him what to do. He's tired. He's so tired of the plots and schemes.

Sure, he knows how to have a good time, he plays kitten poker and sells demon eggs to the highest bidder but that's a matter of making money or hanging out with friends. It's not what he WANTS. The only thing he wants is to be loved by someone who loves him back. The problem is, he's toxic and obsessive. He doesn't fall in love. He becomes consumed. His whole world revolves around the object of his obsession. So when he's with Drusilla, he's the big bad evil guy doing schemes. Trying to impress her with extreme violence and death. Because that's what Drusilla is into. Torture and death. She's Catholic. And a vampire.

He also tries to impress Angel by killing Slayers because Angel is into Slayers and Angel and Spike canonically slept together don't at me. This man is bisexual.

When he's with Buffy he's a loyal dog. A bad boy, a part of the demonic world, but a dog nonetheless. He's a soulless monster but his obsession with Buffy turns him into one of the good guys. It's not natural for him. He feels it happening and he fights against it, but he's madly in love with her and he will be and do whatever it takes to impress her and make her love him back. He's obsessive.

He knows it, and he doesn't like that side of himself. He doesn't like that he's a pathetic dog. Sometimes he pushes against that side of himself. He tries to be a good person, for real. Not just a pathetic stalker of a man.

But he can't fight it. He is what he is.

And unfortunately that is a soulless vampire.

Hence that one scene that I pretend didn't happen.

But despite being definitionally evil, he can't stop being consumed the person he's obsessed with. Buffy wants him to have a soul. She wants him to not be the monster he is. So he rips William Pratt from his grave and resurrects him for her. He goes through hell to put his soul back inside his body for her. It takes her a long time to accept him again after what he did.

But he's the good boy now. He's a good dog.

Only she doesn't see him that way. In the end, he has her trust. Her love. She cares about him and sees him as her equal. As someone she can trust. She can't trust her friends because they're messy and constantly fucking up and betraying her because they don't understand what it is to be The Slayer. To have a human body and a human soul, with demonic power inside, and the divine mandate to sacrifice yourself for others, to save the world. No matter what that does to you.

Spike has a human soul, a demon inside him, trauma, and a divine mission to save the world. To sacrifice himself for everyone.

Spike is the only one who understands Buffy, and maybe the only one who ever will.

He's the perfect culmination of all her other relationships.

He fucks. Unlike Angel, Spike can fuck. He can experience joy alongside her.

He respects her strength and isn't emasculated or intimidated by the fact that she's stronger than him. He loves that she defeated a god. Unlike fucking Riley.

He's lived lifetimes worth of traumatic experiences. But he isn't currently experiencing an ongoing mental health crisis like Faith was.

And he likes poetry!

They even have the same ex boyfriend!

In conclusion He and Buffy are both the most character of all time and the narrative's favorites and therefore they are both perfect for each other and have the potential to be extremely toxic together and I'm so happy for them, I hope she pegs him, I know he would love that.

[dr-spectre]

I think that it's now more important than ever to keep making art.

Whether it's some scribbles on a piece of a paper, paint on a canvas, typing out erotic fanfiction about two cephalopod women, i need you to keep going. OKAY?!

Keep going at your own pace. Don't feel like you have to "grind" to achieve success, you're probably young as hell, you don't need to become a masculine obsessed fucking nutjob that is so obsessed with "discipline" and all this bullshit. Sure "discipline" is cool but... That shit takes a LONG TIME to develop and it only comes with experimentation and see what you believe in and what you enjoy. Don't get.... heh...... heh heh..... BRAINWASHED!!! by women hating bald bastards online who wanna turn you into a fun hating robot that's all about "work work work." Fuck them.

You are a human with flesh, blood, bones, a heart and a brain. You are not a machine. Got it?

Anyways, in talks of art, i wanna give my own sort of help for my writer friends out there! I thought it would be fun and plus, there's too many damn writing tips out there that boil down to "you HAVE to do this thing, you HAVE to follow this structure" and i think that is bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit that gives you more stress than needed. You know how many boring mid action movies come out that follow the hero's journey? The three act structure? The story circle? It is better to just make shit and learn what you could do for next time.

There are no rules, all of the "rules of storytelling" are just optional suggestions that you can either take or leave. Plus it seems like every fucking YouTuber has a different set of rules that conflict with each other anyways. However, I wanna share my own sort of "basic ass fundamentals of stories" that can fit into any story structure you want! I got these guidelines from the YouTube channel The Closer Look. I like their content, it's very insightful.

Here's Dr. Spectre's basic ass fundamentals for stories.

Characters. Simple, a story must have characters otherwise you are making something else that is not a story.

Progression. Is there a sense of progression? Does it feel like for every second of story it isn't stagnating or getting dull and boring? Does it feel like shit is happening and growing? If it feels boring to read for you, then it's gonna be boring for another person reading it. Progression could be plot based or character based and them growing as the story goes on. Doesn't matter which one, can be both or one. Good stories never feel like they are staying the same or spinning their wheels.

Delivery (Aka. Setup and payoff). Do you deliver on the promises in the story? And do you deliver them in a way where the audience after they finishing reading or watching, they felt like it was all worthwhile and they didn't waste time consuming your story.

Everything else? IT'S OPTIONAL!!! COMPLETLY OPTIONAL! YOU KNOW HOW MANY STORIES BREAK THE "RULES"?! Do not become reliant and dependent on these "rules" because it'll slow your development and discourage experimentation. Not every story is gonna fucking follow the Save The Cat format.

There is also the talk of theme and i will say this.

Theme is not "this story is about sex, drugs, greed." No. Theme is a message or argument, it is not a word, it is something you are trying to say via a story. People don't have to agree with the theme, but it must make people think about it. If your story is about sex, what is it trying to say about sex? That sex is a scary thing and that it's okay to feel scared and worried about your first time? What are you trying to say about greed? Etc. Etc.

I read through a Sonic comic recently that everyone loves called Scrapnik Island and guess what? I fucking love that comic too.

Scrapnik Island isn't truly about Sonic and Tails getting stuck on an island and Mecha Sonic is there and he becomes evil and does all this stuff. No, what it's ACTUALLY about is that your worth as a person isn't determined by successes and failures, Mecha Sonic feels like he is worthless and is a failure because he not only failed to kill Sonic, but also failed to help his friends on Scrapnik Island. However, Sonic snaps him out of that bullshit mindset and it's truly, truly wonderful stuff.

Splatoon 2: Octo Expansion isn't truly about Agent 8 being trapped in a facility and defeating an evil ai. It talks about racism and what does it talk about specifically? That it doesn't matter what someone looks like, as long as they are a good person that's all that matters. That life is varied and beautiful and it's worth protecting from those who wish to destroy it.

There's a reason why Agent 8 takes the time to soak in the fresh air and sunlight near the end of Octo Expansion, why Eight has memcakes to collect and we see their thoughts and wishes. it's there to explore that theme, that idea of what the story is truly about.

Splatoon as a franchise is about how wonderful creativity itself is, that art and life are connected and grow together and are important and deserved to be protected. Commander Tartar, Mr. Grizz and Overlorder are all opposed to that idea and that's why they are the antagonists. DJ Octavio less so because he is trying to save his own culture and art, even as to go far as manipulating a mentally ill Callie who was already growing distain and tiredness from her own culture, so it just so happens that these two chaotic forces share the same ideology.

Now, I wanna say, do you NEED a theme to make a story? No. BUT! If you don't have something to say and that connective tissue, then it's gonna weaken everything else and the action, plot and characters have to be fucking top notch. The "Rule of Cool" only works when... you know.... it's cool? And well done?

Anyways, I've rambled long enough. Please keep making art, please? Especially now considering what has happened. I need you to hold onto hope, hold onto creativity and fun. You must. You have to...

Be good people.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

staring at you. l Frankie “Catfish” Morales

Summary:  he saw her in a bar and then everything changed

Warnings:  fluff, slow burn, two people are looking for each other

A/N: I've had this idea in my head for a few days now. I hope for a few chapters. I don't know if anyone will read this... if that's you, good luck.

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

chapter 1.

The first time he saw her was at the bar where he was with Benny and Will. It was a nice Friday night. The place was full of people having fun, pleasant music mixed with the buzz of conversation and laughter, and Frankie was sitting at the bar slowly finishing his second beer.

The feeling that he was being watched didn’t leave him, so he raised his eyes and looked around. At first he thought that Will might be looking for him in the crowd, although he had clearly told him where he would be. 

And then, on the other side of the bar, he saw gentle eyes staring at him. For a moment he thought that she must have mistaken him for someone else. But when their eyes met, she smiled, and Frankie felt a pleasant tickle in his heart.

She raised her drink as if she was making a silent toast, and he did the same, without taking their eyes off each other, they finished their drinks.

The decision was quick, but not quick enough. The urge to approach her was overwhelming, but when he finally lifted his ass off the bar stool, another woman approached her, whispered something in her ear, and she quickly stood up.

One last look, and she disappeared into the crowd of people.

The second time he saw her was a few days later, in a local store. And this time, the universe wasn’t on Frankie's side. 

His brain quickly registered a familiar face. After all, he had spent most of his last days thinking about this lovely stranger. 

He completely ignored Benny, who wanted to buy a beer for Saturday's match, and, leaving him the cart, he set off after his target.

His eyes were devouring her figure, and the girl must have sensed that someone was staring at her. She turned around and spotted him almost immediately. A beautiful and sincere smile appeared on her face, as if she had seen a long-lost friend.

Frankie smiled too. He moved towards her, bypassing a family with small children and an old couple arguing over laundry detergent. But this time he failed too.

The girl answered the phone, grabbed her shopping and quickly headed for the exit. Before she was out of sight she turned around and found his gaze. Frankie saw a sad smile on her face, her lips moving in a silent "I'm sorry."

And she disappeared again.

After a week he spotted her in the city, but before he could react the traffic lights at the intersection changed color and the driver behind him started honking, urging him to move.

"Fuck!" he hissed, slamming his hand on the steering wheel.

It wasn't even a game of cat and mouse. It was more like catching smoke and Frankie found himself looking for her among other people almost all the time. To no avail.

"Does she even exist?" Benny asked when he finally told him about her.

"Of course she does!" Frankie mumbled, scratching his head and pulling his baseball cap back on. "I don't even know her name, but I can't stop thinking about her."

He didn't know her name. He knew nothing about her. All he had was a few exchanged glances, a few smiles. It was next to nothing, but it seemed to Frankie that that should be enough to find her. Right?

And then fate dealt him a good card for a moment. Or maybe he himself contributed to it. He took the same chair again in the same bar. Now alert. His gaze wandered over the faces of the guests and each time he straightened up when the door opened. The first hour passed, and then the second. When doubt slowly started to creep over his skin, that's when he saw her.

She must have entered when he blinked, because Frankie couldn't find any other explanation for it. She was talking to some girl, but her eyes wandered around the place as if she was looking for someone. Him?

Now Frankie didn't wait anymore, didn't hesitate. He immediately headed towards her, afraid that she would slip away from him again. She noticed him the moment she caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye, and her face lit up.

"Hi." was all he could manage.

"Hi." she replied, her voice sounding beautiful in his ears. "We should stop meeting like this."

"Yeah, a bit stressful." he laughed quietly.

He felt as if her eyes were devouring him and heat seeped into the back of his neck. No one had ever looked at him like that, it was even a little embarrassing.

Frankie wanted to say something, make a joke or ask if he could buy her a drink, but then a mischievous smile appeared on her lips.

In a second her hand was on the back of his neck as she pulled him closer. Her lips met his in a soft and sweet kiss. A few seconds during which his heart almost stopped beating.

When she pulled away from him she was still smiling.

"I had to, I'm sorry." she said.

"Jesus, don't apologize." he rasped in surprise. "I mean... We’ve already done this in my head." God! He would do anything for that smile. "Maybe I can buy you a drink?"

"I can't. I should probably go now..."

Something in her eyes changed, some small detail that Frankie noticed right away. He quickly pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket.

"Will you give me your number?"

She hesitated for a split second, but took his phone anyway.

"Just please don't give me the number of a mechanic or something." he snorted, and she shook her head. "Your real number?"

"Check."

She handed him the phone and Frankie dialed the number she had entered. A soft ring sounded in her purse. They both laughed.

"I'm Frankie, and you are?"

She gave him her name, and he repeated it quietly. It was a nice feeling, finally being able to name the being who had been living rent-free in his head for a long time.

He opened his mouth to say something when the phone in her purse rang again.

"Not me now," he joked, but she lifted her hand slightly and reached for her phone.

She was visibly worried as she read the message, and then looked around for her friend.

"I'll have to go now, Frankie." she said as she nodded to her friend “I wish I could stay longer, really.”

He could tell in her voice that she really meant it. He felt strangely sorry for her, he didn't know why.

"Maybe we could meet up?" he suggested.

"Will you text me?" she asked.

"Sure. If that's what you want..."

"Yes, please."

She squeezed his hand gently, smiled, and left.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[sketchy-angel]

Custom Hualian dolls

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

I started this project in February 2022. I originally made a Puqi Shrine diorama out of an old cardboard box. I still have it and I'll post it soon after I make some minor alterations. I just really wanted to share these 2 since I spent so much effort on them.

Back then, I purchased 2 Obitsu 11cm dolls. I bought them on Aliexpress but judging by the packaging and the fact they were around $15 each I'm pretty sure they're legit.

In this blog I'll talk a bit about the process for those unfamiliar with doll customizing and everyone else who is interested in the process. I'm a doll collector but my customizing skills are very rudimentary and mostly rely on winging it and hoping for the best.

And my motto during this process was "nobody's gonna see the back."

I made the prototype clothes back in 2022 and the stitching was ass. And it took me until last week to gather enough courage to start working on the wigs. I originally purchased very cheap doll hair but it refused to cooperate and I decided to use felt instead.

. ₊ ⊹ . ₊˖ . ₊ . 𓇢𓆸

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His clothes were already basically done when I started over. I added the red ribbon details, added the flower nail charm, the red string and I made the wig, of course.

These outfits are by no means historically or cannonically accurate. I had to modify them to accommodate the scale and my subpar sewing skills. I've gotten much better at sewing since then so don't look at those shoulder seams...

And I still don't know what's going on with the back of his red robes. I think I ran out of fabric :-|

The braid is made using a string of black yarn. The vambraces are actually fake adjustable ear cuffs.

I'll show the wig making process more in Xie Lian's section since Hua Cheng's was easier to make. I just slapped a bunch of felt pieces on the wigcap with glue and voilà!

And E'Ming was made using pencils and gel polish on a piece of cardboard and Xie Lian's butterfly was made with the help of a nail sticker and magnetic cat eye polish. In the finished photo you can see a red gem sticker on E'Ming's eye. I don't know how I feel about it. Do your prefer the design without it? I can easily take it off.

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°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･.˚⊹.

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Xie Lian's outfit and hair was a bit of a challenge but it was fun. I was inspired by several designs and decided to just wing it and make my own outfit instead of recreating an existing one in its entirety.

Also, as you can tell, these dolls have many articulation points that allow for so much posability. I sewed the clothes onto them to keep it in place so they have limited range of movement, especially Hua Cheng, but I'm fine with it. They can still pose nicely.

Instead of making inner and outer robes I decided to make one pair of robes and the second pair that's folded over the shoulders stops at the waist and is hidden by the belt/sash(?) idk English forgive me.

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I tried to make the "main robes" fold over at the waist but I misplaced the rest of that white fabric 2 years ago so I just extended the edges on 3 sides with the sheer fabric from an old curtain and hoped for the best.

Oh, and the shoes are also from Aliexpress. I try not to purchase often from them but I could not find any alternatives...

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The wig making process was... Interesting. I won't show the entire wigcap by itself to spare your eyes so here's balding Xie Lian lol.

The bun was made by rolling felt into a little roll. I then stuck two bigger felt circles onto one side and glued the edges after I cut the outer edges like you would cut a pizza. Does this make sense? Probably not.

Basically, make a rose type thing.

And if you're wondering, the wigs are removable and kind of posable as well.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

And that's basically it <3

I wanted to include better quality pics but it won't allow me to post more than 10 at once so I had to stuff them into collages.

Forgot to mute the video so if you hear my cat wreaking havoc in the background no you didn't.

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I may or may not be working on another project centered around Beefleaf...

When I was a kid, I couldn't afford good quality dolls so I played with small doll-like keychains that had knitted dresses, arms and legs made of string, heads made of painted wooden beads and little beanies on their heads.

I have similar beads laying around so I plan to make similar keychains that look like fem Beefleaf.

Of course, I gotta finish that damn Puqi Shrine and hope my cat doesn't cause it to collapse. Maybe one day I'll make keychain versions of other TGCF characters as well!

ଓ༉‧.⭒ֶָ֢⋆.

[weirdsht]

Disillusioned 26 . I Blinked and Suddenly..?

a/n: Happy last chapter! I hope you enjoyed reading this series! Also, it's my first time writing something like this wish me luck! I might upload some side stories though, there's some discarded chapters I didn't include that I think would be fun to use as side chapters.

tags: feelings have finally progressed, a bit chaotic

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are currently closed but my ask are still open (read pinned)

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3 months. That’s how long Cale Henituse had been gone to complete the Sealed God’s test. Time flew faster on Earth 2 but it was still a long time.

Too long.

He enjoyed his experience there. Enjoyed rewriting fate and healing his despair. He knows it will not rewrite his past nor make him forget. Nonetheless, he was happy.

But his even happier to be back to his home. To his family. 

That’s why he allowed himself to be emotional. To bask in the moment while accepting his family's greeting. Even the deadly barrier did little to ruin his mood.

Perhaps he had been too emotional. Maybe he let his emotions get the best of him.

As he stepped out of the grass bed, that’s devoid of barriers, he finally saw one of the people he had been looking for the most.

_____.

3 months. They have been apart for 3 months. Again, it was faster on Cale’s end but it was still too long of a time.

He feels his heart beat faster in his chest. And no it’s not because of the Vitality of the Heart.

Surge of emotions passed him as he stared at their face. They had been waiting at the back, letting the kids and everyone else have their moment first. A smile graced their faces as they watched the scene unfold before them.

“Welcome home. I missed you.”

_____ smiled warmly at him, and for a moment he thought his brains malfunctioned a little.

“Do you know just how much my heart longed for you while I was away?”

‘I’m home. I missed you all too.’

Okay, maybe it wasn’t just a little.

“Cale..? Excuse… me..?”

Fuck it all.

How could he do something so stupid as getting his thoughts and speech mixed up?

For a moment Cale wanted to return to Earth 2.

It didn’t help that in the corner of his eyes he could see Rosalyn holding a communication device with Alberu on the other side of the line. The mage probably called him after sensing that something interesting was going to happen.

Cale didn’t notice the video recording orb on Raon’s hand. If he did he might’ve coughed out blood on the spot.

“Cale..? Are you okay?”

_____ walked towards the silent Cale. They touched his forehead to see if he was sick or something. A blush still coating their face from Cale’s unexpected confession.

“...I’m fine. But for now, let’s talk.”

The redhead drags the healer to one of the empty rooms in the black castle. Behind them, he could hear Beacrox saying he’d start cooking dishes for Choi Han and him. 

_____ sat on a couch inside the room, waiting for Cale to speak. Their mind was too chaotic from his words to start the conversation.

“I… I mean…I’m-”

Cale stammers. It’s so uncharacteristic of him. He never stammers. But he truly doesn’t know what to say. Mind too chaotic to let proper words out.

“Take your time. It’s okay, just say whatever you want to say.”

_____ encourages him while squeezing his hand. It does more bad than good, their bodily warmth making his brain go into even more overdrive. It kind of feels similar to when he overuses Record.

“You probably could tell already from what I said earlier. I have feelings for you. I adore you.”

He decided to not make any excuses. The cat was already out of the bag, might as well make it roam around the house.

“Oh… so you do…”

Cale’s heart drops at the response. It sounds as if the healer was deep in thought.

But it’s fine, they don’t need to return his feelings. As long as they’d still be friends Cale is satisfied enough with that.

As long as their happy Cale will be happy.

“This is a bit comedic…”

_____ started speaking and Cale pushed away his thoughts to listen.

“Back at the Endable Kingdom, I told myself I would let go of my feelings for you. Especially when you were inside that orb. I told myself that I would be satisfied with our current standing.”

Oh

Oh

They felt the same way.

_____ actually feels the same way!

“I didn't expect our feelings to be mutual.”

The healer offered a wobbly smile. One that’s full of emotions.

“I have feelings for you too. And I’ve had them for a while now.”

Everything at once came crashing down on Cale. The confession being the trigger of it all. He felt a myriad of emotions to the point he wasn’t sure what he was feeling anymore.

In spite of everything he had the mind the pull them into a hug. A hug where he conveyed all the feelings he couldn’t say out loud. All the love and longing he has felt. All the hesitation and doubt.

He showed it through that hug.

The healer reciprocated it too. Showing all of their unfiltered emotions in the embrace. From their regrets to the abundance of affection they have for Cale. _____ left nothing out.

“Can I kiss you?”

If Cale is allowing his emotions to control the situation, he might as well go all out.

He opened his eyes that he didn’t notice he closed to see _____ nodding in approval.

With nothing else to hold him back, Cale leaned in until their lips touched. His eyes closing once they do.

If their hug felt as though a door opened to a field of emotions then this kiss felt like a whole new world.

Their movements are sweet, gentle. As if the other was glass that would break if they moved the wrong way. As if they were a feather that would fly away if the wind blew too hard.

Care and love were poured into the kiss. In fact, it was the only thing they could feel. The longing they felt these past months. Inhibition is now being let go after so long— concern for the other’s well-being is showing itself instead.

Such things were being conveyed in a single kiss.

And Cale doesn’t want it to end.

But alas, they are merely humans who need air to live. They also have a lot of things to get done.

“Don’t frown like that silly. We can continue later. For now, we have a lot of business to take care of.”

_____ laughed at Cale before giving him one last peck on the cheek before opening the door.

Thump!

Crash!

Several people toppled over as the door opened. There was even a communication and a video recording device in the mix.

“AHAHAHAHA! Were you guys trying to listen in? Even the rising sun of our kingdom is trying to gossip.”

Cale felt his mild irritation be washed away at his lover’s laugh.

Lover…

That sounds good.

It sounds really good.

“Is this really something that would pique your interest? Enough to eavesdrop like that?”

“But it took you long enough human!”

Raon’s chubby paw pointed at him accusingly. As if he was an avid watcher of a romance telenovela and the main couple finally got together.

Cale raised his hands at the toddler’s action. He didn’t know why he was surrendering but it felt appropriate at the moment.

“Young master, the food has been prepared.”

Ron smiled benignly as if he wasn’t one of the people eavesdropping. To his credit, he was doing it stealthily. 

But still.

“Go eat. As they said you and Choi Han looked a bit skinnier than before. You must eat your fill.”

_____ dragged his hand out of the room. Ignoring the people, and devices, flat on the ground.

Everything was chaotic. From the confession to the situation now. All of it happened suddenly, a bunch of spur-of-the-moment scenarios clustered in one.

However.

Cale and _____ wouldn’t change anything even if given the chance.

For this was their family. A mismatched group of people that somehow came together. And they wouldn’t trade it for anything else in the world.

[i-live-inyourwalls]

random haikyuu characters i think would be friends as adults and why

cannot possibly make it more clear that this is meant to be platonic and not interfere with any of my fav ships or i’ll start biting holes in my couch

kuroo + akaashi

- very different levels of extroversion HOWEVER: in high school Kuroo took care of Kenma (physically and mentally)- Akaashi did the same for Bokuto

^^^ - they both know how to be responsible for a weird little freak & i feel that would be a bonding experience for them

- observative and have similar senses of humor (more sarcastic i feel)

iwaizumi + daichi

- self explanatory

- strong, intense, scary (specifically when they’re angry), in love with beautiful setters

- feel like iwaizumi is more spontaneous than daichi but they’re both really fired-up people - i could see iwaizumi talking daichi into some terrible decisions bc one of them was mad in the moment

kenma + tsukishima

- ok i know this one is kinda weird but walk w me

- both analytical, observative, judgemental

- not obsessed with volleyball in the same way as the others, treat it more like playing chess

- even when they actually are as emotionally invested as the other characters, they either don’t show it bc they’re not expressive or intentionally hide it

- like cats: they need to warm up to u before ur making any progress with them

Bonus:

I think Atsumu and Oikawa would be over-dramatic frenemies the likes of which have never been seen before

they are wayyyy too similar to not have at least a little competitiveness and pettiness between them

if you’ve ever seen vice principals, that’s kinda the dynamic im picturing (except they’re both gay lol)

[babesway22]

Art the clown x femreader.

“Silence” chapter one

Several part slow burn with eventual copious amounts of smut. Mentions of sexual assault and gore in this chapter.

Will be posted shortly on a03 under same username 🫶

The wind nipped at your knees, its icy breath making you shiver as you instinctively tugged at the fabric of your Halloween costume, only to find it stubbornly uncooperative. The chill in the air felt like a mockery of your choice, a playful reminder that perhaps dressing as a slutty cat might not have been the best idea for October.

“Aren't you the most seductive cat I've ever seen,” she cooed, walking backward as she mocked you. “Oh my god, I can't wait to meet the man that steals your morbid dark heart,” she laughed breathlessly, arms jutting out above her head as she spun back around, making dramatic flair to sway her hips back and forth. “You need to get laid tonight, seriously,” she called over her shoulder. She was right, but you couldn’t shake the growing frustration of navigating the dating scene. In Miles County, it seemed like every man you encountered was nothing more than a superficial himbo, charming yet vacuous, leaving you yearning for a deeper connection. The few who seemed promising were often more interested in games than genuine relationships, making it feel nearly impossible to find someone who truly understood you.

��Right, but I don't want to fuck random guys like you do, Jen,” you murmured, remembering in high school when she would bring a new boy home every week.

“Maybe you'll meet your Romeo tonight, and fuck you; I'm a dick connoisseur, not a whore,” A light-hearted giggle escaped her lips, bubbling up with a sound that danced through the air.

As she pushed open the heavy metal door, an overwhelming rush of pungent odors assaulted her senses. The sharp, unmistakable scent of marijuana mingled with the acrid tang of spilled alcohol, creating a thick atmosphere that hung in the air. Inside, the room pulsed with the vibrant energy of dozens of voices, laughter and conversation intertwining in a chaotic symphony of sound. Dark indie grunge music thumped from hidden speakers, its deep bass resonating through the space and merging seamlessly with the animated chatter. Jen gestured to the bar, words useless in such a noisy room, and held her fingers up, making a Square, letting you know to grab your ID. At some point, someone had taken this worn-down warehouse and turned it into a bar, having to know someone who knew someone to get it. After showing the masked bartender, you ordered straight whiskey, earning a nod of appreciation. Jen noticed the subtle interaction, nudging your ribs, and leaned over, shouting over the music

“He's hot; you should fuck him.”

“He’s not really my type,” you shouted, your voice barely cutting through the pulsing beat of the music. She turned her head slightly, rolling her baby blue eyes in a dramatic fashion. While you didn’t despise overly muscular men, there was something about their chiseled physiques that struck you as off-putting. You'd noticed that many of them tended to carry an air of arrogance, their confidence spilling over into egotism, making it hard for you to feel attracted to them.

“"You’d probably find yourself drawn to a serial killer or something equally twisted, you freak,” she teased, laughter dancing in her eyes as she tugged you toward the crowded dance floor. The music thumped wildly around you, each beat pulsating with energy. Her gaze quickly shifted, locking onto her next target—a man clad in a striking Ghostface costume, the mask gleaming under the neon lights.

“They probably fuck good,” You shrugged off the dark thought that had briefly crossed your mind, letting it dissipate as you took a long swig of the amber liquid in your glass. The high-quality liquor burned delightfully as it slid down your throat, leaving a warm trail in its wake. Your gaze flickered over to Jen, who was ensconced in the man's embrace. She smiled up at him playfully, her thick lashes framing her eyes like the delicate petals of a flower. You scoffed, honestly, it was impressive how fast she moved, like some otherworldly sex fiend. You were jealous of her ability to Flirt, something you were never good at.

You called out her name uselessly and pointed toward the bar regardless of whether she saw you and began weaving through the sweaty crowd, occasionally bumping into inebriated, faceless bodies. You inhaled deeply, allowing the cool air of the dimly lit bar to fill your lungs. Leaning forward, you rested your elbows on the slick, damp wooden surface, feeling the chill of the bar top against your skin. You signaled to the bartender and ordered three more shots of house whiskey, the amber liquid gleaming enticingly in the low light. You figured if you weren't getting fucked tonight, you could at least get shit-faced. You downed the first two, watching a couple of people start fistfights before you began to feel the effects, becoming more carefree as you nursed your third. As the warm glow of the whiskey coursed through your veins, it enveloped your body like a comforting blanket, dulling the edges of reality. The room around you now felt stifling, the air thick with the mingled scents of smoke and spilled drinks. You needed to escape, to find a breath of coolness to soothe the rising heat.

With a sense of urgency propelling you forward, you weaved back through the crowd, brushing past oblivious patrons lost in their own revelries. Finally, you reached the back of the room and flung open the nearest door, hardly registering its appearance or what lay beyond.

The moment you stumbled outside, a rush of crisp, cold air washed over you, a stark contrast to the sweltering atmosphere indoors. It kissed your skin like a refreshing embrace, instantly easing the sweat that had begun to bead at your neck and exposed breasts. You stood there for a moment, eyes closed, relishing the sensation. You finished your third and looked up to the sky, the large air plume from your lungs materializing like a cloud, swirling hypnotically. Lost in a fog of thoughts, your mind drifted through a haze, blurring the sounds around you. Suddenly, the deep blare of a horn shattered the stillness, piercing through your reverie. The jarring noise felt like a cruel wake-up call, catching you off guard and eliciting a startled scream that echoed in the air.

“Fuck” You gasped sharply, feeling the adrenaline surge through your body as you stumbled backward, the cool, unforgiving wall pressing against your back. Your heart raced as you turned your gaze to the source.

Standing before you was a tall man, cloaked in a striking black and white clown costume that hung off his lean frame. The silk fabric shimmered slightly under the dim light, contrasting sharply against the shadows that danced around him. His face, disturbingly painted in a ghostly white, was adorned with intricate black accents that framed his large, expressive eyes, giving him an unsettling yet captivating appearance. Atop his head rested a small, perfectly arranged hat that added a touch of bizarre elegance to his ensemble, making him look both regal and menacing.

“You scared me,” you laughed breathlessly, taking in the fake blood that saturated his fingerless gloves and the top portion of his costume. He tilted his head to the side and grinned, showcasing black teeth, seemingly stained with old blood.

“Nice costume, I like the,” you circled him with your finger. “Blood,” you finished with a hiccup, cursing yourself for being a lightweight. He pointed to you and then held up his hands behind his head, making ears. Then he bent at the waist, clutching his stomach, his body shaking in strange silent laughter.

“Oh, yeah, I'm a cat,” you trailed off when he stood back up, towering over you by at least a full head or more. You suddenly felt uneasy under his unwavering stare. His black grin was plastered in place, and his eyes had an unsettling glimmer that your foggy mind couldn't place.

“Are you a…mime?” you asked, the silence uncomfortable. He shook his head, no, a frown marring his sharp features, and pointed to his unusually growing smile. “A clown then? Are you mute or something?”

he nodded excitedly.

“That's pretty cool, actually; I mean, I don't know why you're mute; maybe there's a reason, like trauma…or,” you shut your mouth and looked up to the sky again, sighing loudly. Why would you say that? The drinks were clearly sinking into your nearly empty stomach. “Do you want to come inside with me? Get a drink?” you couldn't believe the words as they left your mouth; he was creepy and didn't seem to reciprocate your flirting if you could even call it that. He bent over again in silent laughter, wiping an unseen tear from under his eye. Even scary men didn't want you, great. He saw your face contort and mocked your micro expression, pouting his lips and crossing his arms dramatically.

“Right,” you smiled weakly, “well, it was nice to meet you,” you said, breaking him out of his mock impression of you. He reached down and picked up a large black

Trash bag and threw it over his shoulder, making it seem weightless despite its bulging appearance. You hadn't even noticed it before and became curious about its contents but decided not to ask after embarrassing yourself enough for one night. He held his hand and waved his fingers under his chin, making you giggle. You threw up your hand in a wave and turned around, opening the door, the sound of chaos filling your ears again.

“Where the fuck have you been,” Jen shouted over the music, barging right into you, making you sway on unsteady feet.

“Jesus, Jen. I got some fresh air,” you said defensively.

“Well, tell me next time, I got worried. My

Pal here,” she gestured behind her to the man in the ghost face costume, “has a friend who wants to meet you,” she gave you a look as if to say, ‘I'm helping you get laid’. You cast a fleeting glance at the man standing behind her, offering a feeble smile that lacked any true warmth or sincerity. Then, you turned your attention back to her.

“Whatever. I'll need at least two more drinks,” you finished, irritation clear on your face, but Jen was oblivious, squealing loudly. She linked her arms with yours, pulling you along like a lost puppy.

“So, he's charming, and I think your type. I don't know, though; your taste in men is questionable,” her lips pulled up in disgust.

At the bar, she ordered you two more drinks, this time fruity, overly sweet ones with little colorful umbrellas in them.

“Cute,” you rolled your eyes, plucking one from the drink and tossing it onto the ground.

“So, this is Maverick, Maverick, this is my super hot friend,” you heard her say. Turning slowly to face them, you eyed him from the floor up. He possessed a certain rugged charm that could easily be considered attractive, with strong features and a confident posture. However, the moment he flashed his self-satisfied grin, an air of smugness enveloped him, casting a shadow over his appearance.

“A cat, huh? Cool,” he smirked, sipping his drink. You glared at Jen before looking back at him. “Wanna walk around and chat?” he asked. He seemed nice enough, and you can't remember the last time you didn't have a hollow orgasm, your fingers only doing so much.

“You know what, sure,” you smiled tightly and began walking away with him before Jen grabbed your wrist, “Hey, me and ghostly are gonna head to my place. Will you be okay for the rest of the night with maverick? Just make sure to call an uber. Don't. Drive.” her mothering tone back in place. You had a flare of anger for her ditching you, but it was nothing new. It created a rift in your friendship, nonetheless. “I'm fine,” your voice took on a harsher tone as you ripped your wrist out of her hand. You heard her mumbled something to her boy toy of the week about you being an insufferable bitch, making you wish you never met her, the state of drunkenness in you both drawing real feelings to the surface. You turned back to Maverick, letting him lead you.

“A little quieter back here,” he hummed, downing the rest of his drink. You smiled as way of answering and looked around, taking in your surroundings. You were in an unfinished area of the building, the music faint but still seeping through to where you were. You awkwardly sipped your drink while holding the other, the condensation threatening to take it from your hand. You were too drunk.

“So,” he stepped toward you, your feet clumsily shifting back, stirring up dust. “You look real slutty. I love Halloween.” he chuckled, proud of himself. You couldn't believe what he said at first. It was all too much, and you regretted following him immediately. He stepped forward again, your back bumping into a cool steel beam.

“What are you doing?” you questioned some ire in your tone.

“I mean, you're asking for it wearing that, right?” he scoffed, taking a drink from your hand and sipping it.

“Hey asshole-” you protested before being cut off as a sharp slap across your cheek stung your face, stunning you into silence.

“Shut the fuck up,” he hissed, slapping you again, this time much harder. Making your face feel like pins and needles.

“Fuck you,” you yelled, voice taught with pain but cut off; again, as he put his hand over your mouth, you struggled against him, but he was too strong, and you were too intoxicated. He began pulling your costume up, exposing your thighs, stomach, and ass.

“Fuck yes,” he growled, tearing your underwear off with one hand and discarding it to the ground, his other hand moving to your throat, gripping firmly.

“Girls are so easy,” he said darkly, and it hit you that this wasn't the first time he's done this. He dipped his fingers in between your legs , only to be met with resistance and no lubrication, which seemed to anger him, another firm slap across your face, so hard it would bruise. Fat tears fell from your eyes dripping onto his hand as you shook your head no. You watched in fear as he pulled out his erection, stroking himself a few times before he let a despicable glob of saliva fall from his mouth onto his waiting erection. You struggled under him, but were held in place, your muffled screams reaching no one. He removed the hand around your neck and wet his fingertips, inserting them Into you, making you scream at the intrusion, your legs kicking out to land a blow, but it was useless.

“Fuck, yes,” he barked, flipping you around, your face slamming into the beam, nearly knocking you unconscious, a cruel, sinister thought crossing your mind that it would be better than being awake for the rape if you were just dead. He hiked up your dress again, pulling your waist so that your ass was presented to him, the head of his dick probing your entrance as another wracked sob left you, this time unhindered, as his hands were busy on your hips. You took it as an opportunity to yell for help and attempt to pull yourself free, hoarse screams leaving you.

“HELP…. Please, someone, HELP,” you begged to anyone who would hear.

Warm liquid spilled onto your back, making you flinch. You cried out, hoping he had finished already, meaning the worst would be over until you felt the warm fluid again and again. You turned your head, a guttural scream leaving you as you saw an old, rusted axe brought down onto his head repeatedly, the exposed bone of his skull and brain matter making you spill the contents of your stomach on the ground. You tripped over your feet and fell to the floor onto your knees, crawling on the dirty, unforgiving concrete. You turned in time and watched in horror as his body fell with a thud, splattering blood all over your face. Behind him, the monochromatic clown from earlier stood, chest rising and falling rapidly, a chaotic gleam to his black eyes, and wearing more blood than he was earlier. He looked at you then, sending adrenaline to your limbs, but you were frozen in place. He tilted his head, then smiled, his bloodied hand that was holding the axe raising in a seemingly harmless wave.

“Hi,” you said, your voice no more than a whisper. He seemed pleased you acknowledged him and turned back to the body. He pointed at the man's exposed genitals and raised his bloody pointer finger and thumb together, leaving little to no space between them, as if to say, ‘look how tiny’, throwing his head back in silent laughter, bloodied hand clutching his stomach.

“Please. Please don't kill me,” you began to cry again. He seemed annoyed at the sound and grimly looked at you with his chin pointed to the floor. Not seeing a smile on his face was most unsettling, making him look like a demon straight from the depths of hell. You scooted across the floor further away from him, watching as he took dramatic over, exaggerated steps toward you, smile back in place.

“Nononono,” you whimpered, looking up at him, shaking your head vehemently at his outstretched bloody hand. He offered it again, more persistent this time. You took

It but mostly out of fear of what would

happen if you didn't and allowed him to pull you up from the floor easily, quietly admiring his strength for only a moment. He motioned to your dress that was still hiked up around your waist, making you gasp at being so exposed in front of him. He laughed again, pointing at your face before mocking your expression like earlier.

“Stop, you're scaring me,” you told him, voice hoarse. He pouted and waved a hand at you dismissively as if to say, ‘no, I'm not.’ You watched as he crouched down and shuffled around the body, finger tapping his chin as if thinking what else to add. He dragged his black trash bag over and began to dig through it, ultimately settling on a dull, rusty butter knife, his mouth forming Into a perfect ‘O’ as he examined the dullness with his fingers. He smiled at you from the ground and began to hack away at the body's genitals. You gagged and turned just in time to spew the rest of your undigested drinks from your stomach. He stared at you, rolling his eyes before continuing. You began to feel dizzy, your brain spinning around in your head until you started to slump over. The last thing you saw was him waving to you, his dark smile lulling you away.

**********

The constant drip of water by your head startled you awake, your bare legs thrashing around on the ground until you sat up, your body buzzing. Your memories from last night came back at a neauseating speed. You were drunk, raped, and almost murdered in the span of several hours. You held your hand in front of you, willing it to stop shaking, although you weren't sure if it was from unanswered emotions bubbling over or the frigid temperatures you were currently exposed to. You stood, straining on your legs, remembering your badly scrapped knees. A clumsy hand reached out to support yourself on a nearby shelf. This wasn't the same warehouse from last night; you were moved. The room started to spin; next, muted browns and black from the room mixing together, disorienting you further. You reached a hand to your forehead and felt around until your fingers trembled over a large cut. That fucking clown, he saved you, but for how long you'd be spared, you didn't know, spurring you into action. You turned to leave the room but met a chest first, strong hands gripping your shoulders to keep you from falling. You opened your mouth to scream, but he clapped a hand over your mouth and turned you around so that your back was flush to his front. His body radiated cold, unmovable firmness that made you shiver. He stared down at you sternly, expression communicating, ‘Are you done.’ You nodded, eyes never leaving his. He released you and stepped back, his stare intense, making you shrink into yourself. He pointed to your head and held both hands, palm up. In your concussed mind, it took some time to realize he was asking about your head.

“Oh, um, it hurts still,” you spoke softly,

Your throat was sore. “I need to go home,” you were afraid to speak, but it seemed as though, for whatever reason, you were being left unharmed.

He shook his head no, pointed outside, then made his fingers walk on his palm, then put both of his hands together and held them to his cheek, his eyes closing before opening them again, nodding excitedly while pointing at himself.

“I don't understand,” you clutched your arms, a cold breeze ripping through the open window littering your skin with goosebumps. He stared at you exasperated and shook his head, jabbing a finger at his chest then pointed to you again, making walking fingers.

“You want to…walk me home?” the implication of that unsettling. “No, I, I'm cold and sore. I can just go,” you stumbled over your words, backing away without realizing it. He held up a finger telling you to wait and left the room. You shifted uncomfortably, looking for any potential exit if you needed to flee, jumping out of your skin when he returned with an old tattered blanket. He smiled, flashing black teeth, holding it out to you.

“Um, thanks,” you grabbed it from his hands, surprised at the cleanliness of the fabric. “Are you going to kill me? Why did you save me?” you asked, more urgently than you intended. You had to know; the feeling of the unknown was unsettling.

He shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. Your eyes widened, and you shuffled back, his nonchalant response making you tremble.

“I-I don't understand, you're just toying with me?” frustration evident in your tone; you wished he would just let you go; your body was overwhelmed with pain and fear, the muscles in your neck stiff from shaking. He walked over to you, his sadistic smile growing wide as he watched your back bump into the wall. Once he was in front of you his hand reached out and patted the top of your head; silent laughter ensued when you flinched violently. He pointed to you, then the floor, waiting.

“You want me to sit?” you asked, having difficulties communicating with his silent movements. He nodded eagerly, head lowering with your body as you squatted onto the floor, watching you cross your legs and pull the blanket around you in a cacoon. You relished in the small comfort of warmth.

He towered over you, eyes narrowed as he took you in. You wish you knew what he was thinking; if he could talk, maybe you could manipulate him into freeing you. He turned to leave the room but paused in the doorway when you shouted for him, “PLEASE,” you begged, his head turning slightly to let you know he heard you.

“I'm scared,” you said, voice coming out broken, mouth dry. You weren't sure he heard you, and you couldn't compartmentalize why you told him that; your thoughts scattered like marbles across the floor, slipping from your hands when you tried to pick them up.

That was hours ago, and the sun was starting to set, your breath making condensation in the air again. You heard him in the room adjacent to you, metal clinking and hammering. You stood on your feet, wincing when you took a step, your body sore and weak. You don't know why you didn't run or why you went to him, but you did, quietly following the noise and stepping into the room he was in. His back was to you as he sat bent over a decrepit desk, various pieces of metal strewn about, his hands stilling on a rusty pair of scissors.

His body turned in his chair until he faced you, legs spread open. You watched as he set the siccors down and placed both hands on his knees.

“What's your name?” you asked, taking another tentative step into the room.

He cocked his head, chin pointed down so he was staring at you through his brows, the black paint around his eyes casting his them in darkness. He waved his hand through the air as if to say, ‘come here’. You shuffled over, watching as his smile grew the closer you got. You stopped a few feet away, which seemed to annoy him, an overdramatic pout pulling his lips down. You smiled softly to appear submissive and stepped closer, eyeing the tools he no doubt has used on other poor souls. His eyes caught yours, and he turned to look at the table and looked back at you, shaking his head no.

“You won't hurt me. Is that what you're saying?”

He nodded excitedly, clapping his hands together, proud you understood him. Ironically the only sound you've ever heard him make. He stilled making an ‘O’ with his mouth, holding one finger in the air. You watched as he disappeared Into what appeared to be a bathroom conjoined to the room, returning a moment later with a tin can filled with strange liquid. He approached you, grabbing your shoulders and turning you to face a blank wall, parts of wallpaper peeling off, exposing mildew-soaked wood. You wrapped the blanket around yourself tighter and watched as he dipped a long finger into the can and began to draw on the wall, quickly realizing the liquid was old, coagulated blood. He stepped back, holding both arms out, clearly proud of his work.

“Art?” you asked, confused.

He nodded vigorously while jabbing a finger at his chest, saying, ‘That's me.’

“Your name is art? I like that,” you said, mulling it over, your lips pulling up in the corners. You looked up to see him already watching you, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Art,” you said again, his face becoming dark at hearing you use his name, his lips pulled down slightly. “Thank you for saving me last night,” you clutched your arms under the blanket, becoming uncomfortable. His face was terrifying when a smile wasn't on it.

“Um, id really like to go home, art,” your voice coming out weak at the potential rejection. He spurred into action, grin back in place as he strode past you, patting your head several times.

You couldn't be sure of the time when you left, but it was late, the cold cutting through the thin fabric of the blanket, short Halloween dress underneath doing nothing to keep you warm. The warehouse he had set up in had been here for years; parts of the building had fallen apart, leaving gaping holes, allowing some nature to make itself home. You remember passing by it as a child on your way home from school; oddly enough, it only sat a few blocks from your house, the one you inherited when both of your parents died the year after you turned 18. You looked up at art; his stride had a playful, mischievous bounce, eyes scanning the darkness for his next victim if you had to guess.

You rounded the corner of your street, your pace picking up upon seeing your home.

“This is it,” you breathed, shuffling up the steps and turning over a potted plant, the house key cold in your hands as you unlocked the door, warm air greeting you when the door swung open. You turned to face him, offering a smile. You weren't really sure how you felt knowing a crazy clown knew where you lived, but it was a little late for late, so you did the unthinkable.

“Do you…want to come in?”

He sat there momentarily, staring before playfully shoving past you into your house.

It was small but suited you. The living room was to the right as soon as you walked in, soft throws and pillows scattered about your couch. The kitchen was straight back, and to the left, a small island littered with bills in the center. He picked up a few before tossing them down, opening a few drawers, and rummaging around. You disappeared into your bedroom a few feet to the right and slipped into the bathroom. You stared at your face for a few moments, blood, dirt, and mascara smudged across it, a

A reminder of what happened. You let out a frustrated whine and grabbed a rag, letting the water get to an unbearable temperature before you started to scrub, your face clean but numb when you were done. You stripped from your clothes and pulled on an oversized sweater and sleep shorts, not able to bear being in the clothes you were raped in any longer.

When you entered the kitchen, a frantic voicemail from Jen was filling the room; you didn't have the heart to get rid of the outdated home phone and machine after your parents died.

‘Look, I know I was a bitch and ditched you, but some guy was murdered there last night, they couldn't even identify him. It's all over the news. Some crazy guy they're calling the Miles County clown. Anyways, I just want to make sure you're alive. CALL ME BACK’

You stared up at him, your head having to crane back, your shoulder brushing his arm. He flipped off the machine as if to say, ‘fuck her’

“Yeah,” you said, finding it funny you were silently communicating with him. Your eyes fluttered closed momentarily, your body leaning onto his arm, admiring briefly how unmovable he was. He tapped your nose a couple of times, making you gasp, your bloodshot eyes shooting open. You were beyond tired with a killer standing in your kitchen, but you weren't scared; you almost felt safe near him. Something you weren't sure how to feel about. You wanted to ask him why he was sparing you, but you didn't want to remind him that he could or should.

He looked down at you, making the sleeping motion with his hands again like earlier. You nodded the affirmative and watched as he walked into your bedroom, turning in a comical circle and taking in your quaint space. He caught your eye, wagging his eyebrows at you, his eyes trailing leisurely up your bare legs to your face. Your cheeks heated, no doubt a deep red blush spreading across them. He bent over

In laughter, slapping his knee and pointing at you. You scoffed and shoved past him, pulling the blankets back on your bed, too tired to know what to do with him. He shuffled around, facing you, with dark eyes watching your movements, making you feel like prey.

“It was very nice to meet you, art, but I need sleep. I have work in the morning”

He nodded and turned to leave, making hardly any sound on the worn-out wood floors.

“Art?” you called, watching as he turned back to face you, eyebrows raised expectantly.

”Will I see you ever again?" your mind swirled, the comfort of your bed seeping into your bones making you say things you didn't mean. You watched him shrug and disappear, not even hearing him when he left and closed your door.

You jumped out of bed and peered through your front window, but no black and white clown was in sight. You threw the deadbolt, the loud metallic thunk reverberating in the room. Although you were sure if art wanted to get in he could.

[divinevault]

Hiiii could I request an Ares x fem/gn!reader? (Doesn't matter which of those genders)

Can it be one where the reader gets hurt or something because she/they are very reckless (which is party what drew Ares to them) and Ares has to take of them and heal/dress (?) their wound(s)?

Why of course! Here you are, my dear!

I do hope you enjoy

“You absolute dumbass.”

Featuring: Ares x Reader

Summary: You’re hurt, due to your own recklessness. A very disgruntled Ares patches you up.

CW’s: Injuries, but nothing graphic

Reader is: Gender neutral!

Words: 546

Type: Scenario- and it's Fluffy

Requested? Indeed it is

(Note: reader and Ares do not have an established romantic relationship for this)

You’d really have loved to scrape by unnoticed and gone home to your little cottage in the woods without anyone noticing the scratches and bruises that littered your body— alas, there was no such kindness in a world like this.

Well— specifically when you had an entire greek god that liked to lurk around your house and bully you into training.

You’d snuck inside under the cover of the moonlight, hoping like hell that you would be able to cover up your wounds before the god found out.

Looking back on it, you should have been far more aware that no mortal— least of all one he likes— was going to escape his watchful eye.

Which now led you to where you were now, sweating as the God of War stared you down under his helmet with a completely unreadable expression. 

“You’re hurt.” His voice— as always— is a mixture of rough and deep. His tone gives you enough insight to be well aware he’s got his eyes narrowed and a likely-disgruntled expression on his face.

“What me? Injured? Ha! Not evennnnNN—” You snatched onto his arms when Ares picked you up like a cat, hands beneath your armpits and began to stride over to the nearest couch. You flushed in embarrassment as he plopped you down, wordlessly taking out the first-aid kit.

“I can handle it myself,” You grumble, the tingling warmth of his touch remaining even though he’s no longer in contact with you, “I’m not helpless, Ares.”

No response, but you get the sense he just rolled his eyes at you.

… It’s clear this isn’t a battle you’re going to win, so you submit to his whims.

His work is quick and surprisingly gentle, calloused hands missing their usual metal-plated gloves as they bandage the cuts. A comfortable silence envelops the two of you, leaving the sound of the wind rustling the trees outside and the fire crackling in the hearth as the only obvious ambient noise. The couch is soft beneath you as you lay back on it, careful not to press too hard in order to avoid the bruises you’d no doubt sustained there.

“You’re not helpless,” You blink at Ares’ voice, glancing up from the careful, precise bandaging he’s doing on your left arm. As always, the shadow obscuring the little amount of his face that would be visible is far too thick for you to see through, but you still get the feeling that he’s looking up at you, “but that doesn’t stop you from being a fucking dumbass.”

A mischievous grin takes over your face, “yeah, but I’m your dumbass.”

“You are, aren’t you?” Ares seems to muse, tilting his head ever-so-slightly. You catch a glimmer of a red iris staring into your own for long enough to make an uncertain blush begin to grow on your face.

“Now get the tartarus to bed.” He stands up once more from his kneeling position, half-kicking, half-sliding the kit back under your couch, “or else.”

“Yessir,” You chirp, saluting at him as you scurry on by to head to your bedroom. You can feel his gaze brush over your back as you vanish into the hallway, heart beginning to hammer.

What the fuck did he mean when he agreed—

[kennytheworkingclasshero]

Alongside Stan, we've also seen Kenny experience addiction issues. Most notably in the episode Major Boobage, where he spends the majority of the time favouring the escapism that cat pee offers him from his day to day life. Kenny is often spending his time taking care of his sister, dealing with his parents' own inebriation and their tendencies towards domestic abuse, as well as having to go through painful deaths over and over again. The relief and happiness he feels when he is able to go into another world, where he is experiencing the things that he loves (good looking women, obviously), is enough to make him do it again and again (despite how worried his friends are).

This is similar to Stan, as seen in Ass Burgers when he has to come to terms with his parents divorce, as well as developing depression and a sense of cynicism in the world. He takes to alcohol very easily in order to numb the pain and be able to make it through his day.

Kenny and Stan are both victims of addiction being passed down genetically; Kenny with his parents being addicts and Stan with his father and grandfather being addicts. However, I do think their reactions to addiction is very different, and it all comes down to the environment in which they were raised.

For Kenny, he grew up with two parents who were very clearly addicts. There was no hiding it, they were always drunk or high and their kids knew that. Kenny as Mysterion even asked them to stop getting high as frequently as they do, which is seen in the episode Mysterion Rises when Carol says they did what he asked and they "stopped gettin' high every night." Kenny has deep rooted trauma which stems from his parents addiction and what happens because of it, like neglect and domestic violence. That is why when Gerald is giving his speech at the end of Major Boobage and he says "Problem is, the more you go into that world, the more you need to go. Until you start blowing off all the real people who care about you." Kenny resonates with this, looking down guiltily and saying to himself "Yeah, I guess so."

Him and his siblings experience this everyday and that has real material effects on their lives. This is seen in The Poor Kid when the McCormick siblings are taken into foster care because of their parents neglect. Karen asks why her mom and dad went to jail and Kenny replies with sentiments that are similar to Geralds speech, of them "blowing off" the people that care for them in real life; "Sometimes, people do stupid things. Sometimes they don't realize what should have come first. Until it's too late."

He doesn't want to become like his parents, he wants to put his family (and more specifically, his little sister) first. Because she's all he's got, because he has taken on the role of her caregiver due to his parents struggle with addiction. If he gives into his own 'needs', who will be there for her? That is why he restrains himself and that is why the way he has been brought up, despite being surrounded by addicts from a young age, has made him want to distance himself from substances.

This is not to say that Stan's upbringing didn't have an effect on his addiction, but the Marshes are able to put on the front of a more put together family due to their economic status, in a way the McCormick's simply cannot. They are middle class, Randy has a good job, they live on the 'good' side of town. Randy is a terrible father and an idiot, who doesn't put much effort into his family members lives, but he is a functioning alcoholic. It is easier to hide and therefore, Stan's trauma is not as clearly linked to substances and addiction as Kenny's is. Stan also does not hold much responsibility for other family members in the way that Kenny does and because of this, it is easier for him to fall into his addiction in the way Kenny isn't. Stan isn't even particularly introduced to alcohol by his father, but rather a group of cynics.

However, this does not absolve Randy from his responsibility for his son's addiction or trauma. It still stems from Randy, but it also functions differently from Kenny's.

[everybody-loves-purdy]

same Duskfur anon but now i want to talk about other cool things Duskfur did that proves she should've been a complete asshole: - Was willing to attack Jayfeather (a blind medicine cat) - Attacked Cloverfoot (Shadowclan deputy) - Mocked Scorchfur - Met with Berryheart - Mocked Tigerheartstar - Supported Frostpaw's exile to a degree (for mocking Tigerheartstar when he took her in) - Argued about Frostdawn training as a warrior - Argued about Icestar being temporary leader - Once again literally argued Mistystar to death and shown little to no remorse afterward - Argued about Harelight being Frostpaw's mentor - "I'm not convinced the living world needed saving." Just wanted to include that quote from her Also Duskfur is just interesting to me as a character. Her kits have no listed father, so I like to interpret it as the father being a rogue. ik a lot of fan interpretation is Reedwhisker being the father, sorry lol. but a rogue is just more interesting to me. It also makes more sense to me. Podlight has white on him, and is shown to be at least partially a point. Neither Duskfur nor Reedwhisker have a hint of white or is a point (Reedwhisker is described as a black tom). ik warriors doesn't follow irl cat genetics, but Duskfur has unknown parents, so my headcanon is that recessive point runs in the bloodline, and that Duskfur is just a tabby masking point (having the colorpoint gene but not expressing it, thus being a tabby instead) from her parents, and the recessive gene passed to Podlight who expressed it bc the rogue was a colorpoint. how Frostdawn is a colorpoint despite neither Curlfeather nor Jayclaw being described as colorpoints is beyond me. Mistpaw being a tortoiseshell could be explained if the Curlfeather's father was a point w/ white (which is rare but possible), and Jayclaw's side of the family--cutting myself off here before i get completely off topic I would say a kittypet could've been the father, but Duskfur seems to like Leopardstar, who was aligned with Tigerstar I. Obviously that's not saying much in these books, but if Erin Hunter authors were better writers, she'd most likely have some sort of prejudice. Also, despite Tigerheartstar fighting with her, he appointed her as temporary leader. I think it was Finchlight or Sunbeam who said that he liked her for some reason. Literally how?? Did they have a conversation off-screen? This also leads into Duskfur being robbed of deputyship in Star, since she, along with Icestar, were chosen as temporary leaders at one point. hell, I'm pretty sure Jayfeather mentioned at some point that Duskfur was doing Mistystar's job for her, which makes sense imo. she never seemed inclined for leadership, but she also seemed to never turn down the chance when it was offered. I know she's old and everyone and their mother wants a young leader, but I just want someone in power who's an asshole, young or not. I don't think we had a decent one since Leopardstar and debatably Blackstar. Everyone else since then has been "nice" (broad spectrum; Tigerheartstar can be considered nice despite being a bit of a problem) if they weren't antagonists. i want someone who will cause issues because they were mildly inconvenienced, and mean Duskfur would've 100% did that considering she mocked Scorchfur for choking on a mouse (or something similar). Frostpaw also seemed to value Duskfur's opinion to a degree. iirc Duskfur was one of the cats Frostpaw wondered about in regards to Owlnose being accepted as temporary leader. I cannot say the same for Star bc I haven't read it yet (I only read spoilers), but it seems even nice Duskfur in the prologue on the website STILL argues with Frostpaw, even if she's more subdued about it. i could talk more about Duskfur in general (and Riverclan cats actually) but i feel like this ask is getting too long but if i could pretty please send more Duskfur/Riverclan asks that'd be lovely :D also sorry for the tangents lol

This is great stuff, some really good analysis about her!

Erin Hunter please read this and respond and give us mean Duskfur again from now on thank you

Also about an asshole leader I can 100% see Crowfeather being an asshole if he ever makes it that far

[alygator77]

ya know, i flip back and forth between thinking gojo is more of a dog person like gege says or a cat person. like i can see both arguments, but what are your thoughts and why? (i put mine in the tags)

[puppyeared]

Big cat

[wired-heartbeats]

For the record I think Vox is being effected and possibly swayed by Val’s poison just like Angel is, the pink signifying it on Angel shows up on Voxs screen during and after interacting and being influenced by Val directly, when Vox is operating independently it isn’t an actual normal feature of his

This paired with an earlier moment from episode 2 when Val first mentioned something had happened with Angel Dust, Vox seemed happy about the idea of Angel quitting

“He quit? :D”

It’s interesting for sure, makes me wonder what Vox actually thinks about Angel, and more importantly, actually thinks about Valentino. He’s a business man, and clearly the Vees all teamed up (at least initially) because it helps elevate their status and power spread, they may be friendly with each other but we as an audience don’t actually know if there’s more to it as of now. But still, interesting