#i need better grace art so bad

[capn-twitchery]

OC smash or pass!!

Rules: pretty self explanatory. include physical descriptions or pics, and propaganda. the “other” label can be used for “sexuality misalignment” (ie: oc is femme and you’re gay, vice versa or you aren’t into smashing but a specific thing you wanna do with them like perhaps hug or study them under a microscope idc).

tagged by: @esteemed-excellency & @the-dye-stained-socialite (sorry double tag)

ok grace's turn 🫡 (is it cheating to use the arctic explorer art bc he looks cooler in it? i'm gonna anyway)

name: lieutenant edward grace

age: mid 30s somewhere

gender: just a guy

sexuality: aroace but he doesn't know that

🌨 pros:

will be so niceys to you. and everyone else. you can bring him home to your grandma and she will approve of him bc he is very polite

courteous, chivalrous, wants to help in any way he can. ridiculously eager to please

surprisingly romantic!! but old fashioned about it. hand kisses, love letters, little gifts, that angle. you will be getting pride & prejudice-ass letters if you're with him long enough

flexible, but usually a service top. his letter signoff is "your obedient servant",,,,, you get the picture

that one "i like kissing polar explorers they kiss like they're hungry" post that lives in my head 24/7

fine military carriage the Tits™

❓❓vague mystery class zone

needs to be wined and dined first, sorry, he is shy & too much of a gentleman. but it should be a nice enough date

shy. takes a bit to warm up to people before he stops being a stuffy victorian era stereotype

mutton chops

🌨cons:

he's awkward. he is trying his best but he's still awkward. :( negative persuasive modifier. sorry grace

haunted by the horrors 24/7. nightmares 8. anxietyx10000. melancholy 100. terrible sleep. his ass needs to be in the royal beth. no he won't talk about it tho (he's fine!)

self confidence does not exist. eaten by guilt

people pleaser to the level he entirely forgets about himself

stands like a pigeon (it does mean he wears a corset tho. silver lining!)

[astersplanet]

Hey, so this is my first time posting here but I HAD to get this out of my brain somehow, so basically this is a picture of a sand cow girl I had a dream about, basically she's a anthro cow that looks and acts like a little girl, she doesn't speak but can make tiny constructs out of sand to make points, however what's REALLY interesting is the fact she's on a road trip with sans, papruyus, and frisk in a black car! And it's the cutest thing ever, like when they're getting into the car he says 'this'll get us faster than on foot' and then she bends down and MAKES A FOOT OUT OF SAND, and sans just looks down at it and says 'heh, keep forgetting you can do that' like, I'm sorry, that is adorable, also there is some plot with them running from something that I figured I could also make into a story of some kind but I felt this was the most important part of

[vexwerewolf]

why is it that we only have like two licenses from any mech producer that’s a good guy? For a game where like there are clear good and bad guys (even if who you play isn’t necessarily linked to that) it seems strange to me that the only loot and XP you get is… more benefits from the bad guys

I can tell you the answer, but to do so, we're gonna have to talk about a completely different TTRPG.

If you've read @makapatag's truly excellent Filipino martial arts TTRPG Gubat Banwa (and if you haven't, here it is), you may notice that every single character class description (with one notable exception) ends with one of these babies:

I am not Makapatag, and I cannot write with quite as much grace and eloquence as he can, but I will try:

If you choose to become a Lancer, ask yourself why you mock the name of peace with these weapons of war. You call yourself a saviour, but your steed was forged from the murder of a world. You stride across the sky in a colossus built in your own image, so why are you too cowardly to give it your face? Why do you believe these machines of death can preserve life?

It is important to note that the admonitions in Gubat Banwa are not just there to make you feel bad; they are there as legitimate questions. The Sword Isles have seen so much blood, death and tragedy. Wars are not glorious and killing is not a game. So, knowing all of that, why have you taken up this discipline - no matter how noble and virtuous it might claim to be - to shed more blood, to bring more death, to write more tragedy? What could possibly drive you to this? What need is so great that you must kill?

The thing with Gubat Banwa is that there are legitimate answers to these questions! There are bad people doing bad things, and some of them will not be stopped with words or kindness. Sometimes, as sorrowful as it is, killing is the correct choice to prevent greater suffering and deeper tragedy - but adding less misery and death to the world is still adding some amount of it. Even the most necessary wars will drench the ground in the blood of the innocent.

A sword is a tool meant to kill humans; while it can be used for other things, it is not well-suited to anything other than this. A mech is, in its most basic essence, just a very complicated sword: it's usually used on things larger than a person, but it's still a tool built to kill.

So why have you taken up this path? Humanity was saved from the brink of extinction and has created wondrous technologies like printers, cold fusion and mind-machine interface, and yet you use them to play soldier in a giant metal man. Why do you choose to take up this machine of death, built by the greedy and pitiless? Why do you think these machines can ever make things right?

Because sometimes, despite everything, they can.

Warhammer 40K shows an awful world full of monsters and monstrosity, and in the darkest moments of its history, Lancer's world looked just as bleak, but Lancer's world differs in one crucial way. Warhammer's world has long given up trying to be better, but Lancer's world never did. Lancer's world kept insisting a better world is possible, and it used what tools it had to make it so.

Sometimes the correct choice, no matter how bitter it may seem, is to kill someone. When you need to do this, a sword is a perfectly good choice for the job.

If you find yourself discomforted by the fact that all the people you can buy mechs from are corrupt and immoral - good! You have correctly engaged with the text. You have understood that the sort of people who would make giant walking death machines and sell them for profit are not good people. But you still have a job to do, and you need the correct tools, and those people have them.

Lancer is not a game about a perfect world - it is a game about a deeply flawed and imperfect one that does not let its imperfection stop it from trying. You have to try to make a better world, even with imperfect tools made by unpleasant people.

[ultravi0lence14]

SMALL TALKS

DEAN WINCHESTER X DEMON!READER

WARNINGS: nothing!! just pure, tooth rotting fluff that will also make you yearn for dad!dean

SUMMARY: with majority of their children being in school, little monster and dean have their plates full with keeping each of them out of trouble.

WORD COUNT: 1.4k

the truck door slammed behind dean and his little monster in the passenger seat, your face turning to his as he heard a soft sigh leave your lips. what had just transpired at the school had been shocking, seeing that you and dean strived on the fact that your children tell you everything.

lily and milo had been picked up by sam and his wife the second you and dean got the call, knowing that this visit to the school was going to be one without a three and two year old attached to your hips. the car ride was silent, soft chatter filling the space when clara and lincoln were picked up from their middle school, but that was it.

there was a grace period in which the two of you could drop the eldest children off at home and wait until the little’s need to be picked up from their elementary school. it was mostly filled with you and dean talking about what course of action you’d take with the phone call, but it was also listening to clara talk about her day and how her history teacher was out to get her.

when the clock struck 3pm, the truck was rumbling back down the road, headed to an impending conversation that dean never thought he’d need to have in his life. he never thought he’d ever have children, better yet ten foster ones, so when his little monster got a call that one of their children had gotten in a fight, he knew that this was going to be a big moment in his parenting journey.

by the time it was 3:15, five out of six of his children were in the car. luke and sam were babbling to each other about pokémon or god knows what boys their ages talked about, sadie was showing you the drawing she made in art class, marley was eagerly listening to her sisters rambles while adding in her own little commentary, and then there was scarlett, sitting behind your seat and longingly staring out the window.

dean was watching her intently, seeing the remnants of sadness on her cheeks. it was evidentially clear that dean’s little scarlett was thinking about two things; the mean words that the cruel boy sneered at her today, and how bad of a punishment her twin brother thatcher was going to get for defending her.

that is what the call had been about. apparently, a boy a year older than scarlett had cornered her on the playground, spewing hurtful words about how she was taken in by you and dean like an unwanted mutt. the poor girl had already been in tears by the time the boy had said her real parents never wanted her, and thatcher had already been reaching for the boys shoulder from behind.

from what the principal explained to you and dean, the blows thatcher delivered to this boy were brutal, and a broken nose and severely bruised eye had been left in the wake of the nine year olds rage. no one talked to his siblings like that — heck, no one talked to his twin like that without hearing back from him.

he’d been taken down to the principal’s office, and the call had been made. this had all been around twenty minutes ago, and dean still remembered the view of thatcher’s arm around scarlett’s shoulder, her tiny hand clutching his tightly in the rearview mirror of the truck.

his son was fiercely protective, and dean couldn’t even be really mad at him for what he did.

but as the last of the children left the car, scampering up the gravel of the driveway, you and dean looked at each other, a look that spoke a thousand words. you two weren’t even mad at thatch; that little boy had it coming for what he said to scarlett, and someone had to teach him a lesson. but as parents, you needed to make sure your kids knew that violence was never the answer.

as much as the two of you resorted to it most of the time.

“dean i don’t know what to do,” you finally said, breaking the silence and scrubbing a hand down your face. “this has never happened before. and as much as i would love to tell thatch that i’m proud of him, i know as parents we can’t do that.”

a laugh tore from dean’s lips, rumbling in his chest as he grabbed your hand, bringing it to his mouth and running your knuckles across in a feather soft motion. “i know baby,” he breathed, holding your hand tightly in his grasp. “but as much as he should know that looking out for scar is important, he also needs to know that sometimes violence isn’t the answer.”

“this is really rich coming from us.” you chuckled, and dean couldn’t agree more. you were a demon for hell’s sake, he a hunter. violence was in your nature, and there was a gnawing feeling in dean’s gut that thatcher got his keen sense of violence from his daddy.

a smile graced dean’s lips, and in a feeble attempt to get to the conversation at hand, he leaned over the centre console and opened your door, leaving a lingering kiss on your cheek before he spoke softly in your ear. “cmon little monster, let’s go do some hard core parenting.”

thatcher had been sitting on one of the lawn chairs in the backyard, spine still and hands placed delicately in his lap as he thought about the days events. that’s where you and dean had found him, and it stirred a solemn feeling in your gut that your little boy felt so broken up when all he wanted to do was protect his twin sister.

it was his birthright to protect. he and scarlett had come into the world together — albeit thatcher three minutes earlier, and it would be a cold day in hell before he saw his sister cry at the hands of false words.

you and dean had been standing at the back door, waiting for a good moment to interfere when thatcher’s voice broke through the tense silence. “i would do it again y’know,” he spoke clearly, turning his head slightly so his side profile was on display to you and dean. “and not just for scar, for all of my siblings.” a lump rose in your throat, a sudden realization that you had raised your children to be kind and good people, someone who people could trust.

“i don’t care that majority of them aren’t my blood siblings,” thatcher continued, ringing his hands together as you and dean stayed silent. “they’re my family, you’re my family. you guys were there for me and scarlett when things got tough. so was clara, link — heck even milo and lily.” he giggled at the end of his statement, and you couldn’t help but let a teary giggle out as well.

“what i’m trying to say is that all of you mean the world to me, and i would beat up as many bullies as i need to just to make sure that my siblings are smiling.”

the pitter patter of your feet running over to where thatcher sat was the first sound to be heard, your sniffling the second. you lunged at the nine year old boy who was way too wise beyond his years and engulfed him in a hug from behind. kisses were planted on his forehead, and the idea to say violence was never the answer went completely out the window.

“you might not be biologically ours,” you spoke into his ear, ruffling his hair as you spoke. “but you will always be our son, always have a special place in me and your dads hearts.” your words were followed by dean’s hand resting on thatch’s shoulder, the boy in question turning his head to look at his father.

“you are mine and your mothers son through and through, thatcher winchester; and i’ve got some tricks to teach you if more bullies try to mess with scarlett or any of your other siblings again.”

thatcher just smiled, resting his head on dean’s shoulder as you nuzzled your face against his. “i love you mama, i love you too papa.”

and at once, dean winchester knew what peace was. he felt it in the loving embrace of his little demon, in the arms of his ten foster children. he felt it in the beautiful home you and him created as a safe space for your children, and he finally understood what normalcy felt like.

TAGS: @titsout4jackles @starzify @floralscented @deansbeer @bluemerakis @deanangel @haunteres @figthoughts @gibson-g1rl @foolinthera1n @whisperingdaze @honeyryewhiskey @misatxox @a-lil-pr1ncess

NAT BABBLES: i love post szn 15 dean having a litter of children and living happily on a farm with his lil monster☺️

[funhouse-mirror-barbie]

How I would re-write Stella Goetia, Backstory + Season 1

Probably my most popular posts on this blog are about Stella from Helluva Boss. I like to talk about her because I think she had the potential to be a really nuanced character, and I really would’ve loved to see her and Stolas have a more complicated relationship.

So I’d like to talk about the direction I would’ve taken her characterization and story in.

I do need to stress that this is NOT a writing “fix-it” post. Canon Stella may be an evil bitch, but she’s MY evil bitch and I LOVE HER. I’ve already talked quite at length about how her character and conflict with Stolas being purely black and white is not a bad story decision, but to me is less interesting than having a grey or nuanced conflict.

I just want to go over a rough outline of what I would’ve done with her as a character. Just because it’s different, doesn’t mean it’s better or is “fixing” the canon story. I also am not trying to make Stella inherently more sympathetic/likable/or “woobify” her—this is just a ROUGH outline of what I’d do to flesh Stella out as a person, and ideas I’ve had for her character that would make her (and her relationships with Stolas and Via) more appealing to me personally.

I just really wish Stella had gotten more depth, and wanted to talk about it.

(LONG) Rewrite Summary below!!!

While I think there’s also an interesting re-write where Stella and Stolas are not in an arranged marriage, and may explore this idea as well, this time around I am going to be sticking with the canon background that their marriage was arranged.

Instead of having Stella be an evil heartless spoiled child who strangles puppies, I would give her a very strict upbringing where from birth she was groomed to be the “perfect noblewoman and wife”—I would base her upbringing and the expectations placed on her on what was expected of Regency noblewomen.

Basically, Stella would be raised to be able to run the house/estate when Stolas was away, be accomplished in the “domestic arts” (hosting events such as parties and balls, being able to do embroidery and other hobbies “befitting” of her class, and being involved in charitable efforts). She would be taught to be quiet, graceful, courteous, and to always anticipate the needs of her husband.

Stella’s “true” personality as a young child would be boisterous, loud, and precocious. Stella loved playing outside, singing loudly, and dancing.

She would have gotten in trouble with her parents often due to this (“Dancing for fun is what the poor do, Darling. You should only dance to find a suitable husband”) and would be punished by her Father by his ordering the rest of the family and their staff to ignore Stella completely and act like she didn’t exist. This would usually result in Stella acting out even more to try and MAKE everyone pay attention to her, until she’d get too tired to continue and start acting “proper” (I.e. quiet, not speaking too loud or speaking out of turn, being obedient, etc.)

Her relationship with Andrealphus would have been strained, as he would have been the “golden child” while Stella would be the scapegoat. I’d also like to give Stella magic fire powers. Because honestly why does Andre get Ice Magic and Stolas get space magic and Stella is the same type of demon as them apparently and gets nothing??? Boring.

Maybe this is basic, but honestly I love characters with fire powers who have to learn to control them. As child, Stella would have difficulty controlling her fire abilities, and would be not be taught how to use or maintain her powers, but would be taught to suppress them.

As an aside—again, I’m not giving Stella a traumatic childhood to make her more likable and more pitiable. I have two reasons I’m giving her this backstory—1) I believe that even people with great parents still end up with some childhood trauma, because being alive and growing up *is* traumatic. And 2) I think that there’s a lot of pretty good evidence that ROYAL upbringings, and the expectations and restrictions that come with them, are especially traumatic in a very particular and very intense way.

Doesn’t mean that they’re not extremely privileged, but that privilege also doesn’t take away that trauma.

I think it’s very realistic for both Stella AND Stolas, as children of royalty and nobility, to have a lot of childhood trauma surrounding their upbringings, and that’s something I really want to explore in my rewrite—how they cope with their traumas and how it impacts their relationship and their ability to raise their daughter and navigate conflict.

By an older teen to young adult, she would have learned how to behave as a “perfect noblewoman”. This is when she would meet Stolas for the first time (with a a Chaperone of course).

There would be a little bit of time shortly before and after their marriage where they would have their “honeymoon” period—both Stella and Stolas were very infatuated with each other and mistook that infatuation for “true love”.

This time where they were extremely infatuated with each other would last about a year, after which they would slowly begin to realize that the idealized images they had of one another was false. They would start to argue more, have a harder time compromising etc. until they finally realized they fell out of love, and maybe were never in love in the first place.

Even though the two of them would have come to this realization, it would be separately, and due to their upbringings (where you don’t really talk about your feelings and push them down) they would NOT talk to each other about it.

This would be the first big crack in their relationship, and they would both have a lot of guilt over it.

I like the idea of the two of them really, really want to stay in love with each other, but after they get to TRULY know each other they just…never fully “click”. They realize they don’t have the same interests, they can’t really find anything to talk about, and they just. They don’t stay in love.

Stella would be very in denial about her true feelings after this turning point, and would still try to convince herself that she really loves Stolas. She would have a lot of deeply buried guilt over not loving him, and see it as a failure of her “duties” as his wife.

After this, they would find a way to keep their relationship would be cordial and respectful, but it would always tinged by an unspoken awkwardness. It would be almost business-like in nature, and they would start spending more and more time apart.

To cope with this lackluster relationship that they were both now stuck in, Stolas would throw himself fully into his duties (which I would want to show a little more of…seriously what does…what does he do??? What does he use the grimoire for????) and Stella would do the same—throwing herself into her duties as the lady of the house and a Goetia Princess.

Stella would host parties and balls, she’d make sure manor was always clean and orderly, she’d become a patron of the arts.

The basis of their relationship would become one of them sticking to the roles that were thrust upon them since birth.

Things WOULD change for the better though after Octavia’s birth.

Because for a while, Stolas and Stella would have something, someone, that brought them together, that they both loved and cared for dearly.

Something that Stella and Stolas would have spoken about before having Octavia is that they did NOT, under any circumstance, want to raise Via like they were raised.

As I already went over, both Stella and Stolas would have dealt with abuse and neglect growing up—Stolas’ abuse stems from his parents being LARGELY absent in his life and him being very neglected as a child, while Stella’s stems from her parents being extremely controlling and giving her very little, if any, freedom.

They would firmly agree on letting Via be her own person, on making time for her, on not putting too many expectations on her.

And, in this rewrite, I would not have them be abusive or neglectful parents. But I would have them be very flawed parents, whose own traumatic upbringings negatively affect their ability to raise Via.

I would want to explore Stella and Stolas fighting to break the cycle of abuse they went through, but still struggling because they don’t have a good frame of reference for what being a good parent looks like.

Stolas doesn’t realize that he’s not always giving Octavia all the time with him she needs, because in his eyes he’s spending tons of time with her—it doesn’t occur to him that he’s actually being neglectful towards her, because to him, spending any long amount of time with her is more than he ever got from his father. He’ll spend time with her, and talk to her, but not really LISTEN to what she’s saying she needs, and doesn’t understand why she doesn’t like the things she used to, or is mad at him for not taking more time for her.

Stella doesn’t realize she’s still being controlling or pushing her expectations onto Octavia by making passive aggressive comments suggesting she wear more “appropriate” or “feminine” clothing, or take up a “nicer” hobby like needlepoint and drop taxidermy. She gives Via the freedom to choose what she wants to do, but doesn’t fully SUPPORT those choices, and doesn’t understand why that’s so important, since in the end Octavia is still enjoying freedoms that Stella only dreamed of as a child.

Still, they manage to be a fairly functional and loving family towards Octavia. And Stolas and Stella maintain their cordial and business like relationship for Octavia’s sake, and to keep up appearances.

During Octavia’s teen years, when she’s 14-17, is when more cracks begin to show—Stella and Stolas have been keeping their relationship together, but it’s stagnating more and more. Stolas throws himself even more into his duties with the stars (or whatever) and Stella begins to become gradually more and more concerned and anxious about making sure her family maintains a “perfect” reputation among the other royals of hell.

Stella begins to throw more balls and parties for Hell’s charities (if this version of hell has banks, and police and prisons, they can have charitable organizations, okay.) As her and Stolas’s anniversary starts to get closer, she begins planning a HUGE ball for Hell’s nobility to celebrate. It’s hugely important to her.

While she’s doing all of this, Stolas is beginning to have an early-to-mid-life crisis. His work and duties that used to be engaging and fun are feeling more and more like a chore, his relationship with Stella has stagnated and is purely for show, he’s getting more and more anxious about Octavia approaching adulthood, and his whole life is beginning to feel more and more claustrophobic.

So. Stolas decides to do something wild, spontaneous, and very selfish, before he loses it. On a night where Stella is attending an Opera, and Via is spending the night with friends from school*, Stolas dresses in clothes he assumes “the common folk” would wear, and goes to shady bar in IMP city, with the goal of meeting someone to hook up with.

This is where Stolas meets Blitzø. (Sorry, I’m. I’m not doing the whole “paid childhood friends for one day” background.)

They have what both assume will be a one night stand at Blitzø’s place. It goes. MUCH better than either of them would have expected sex-wise. The two start meeting up more and more when they’re able to. Stolas begins to open up more to Blitzø, but it stays VERY sexual—eventually Stolas comes clean about who he is and they start to hook up at Stolas’ place whenever Stella is out. Stolas is very much infatuated with Blitzø (and the sex they have). Blitzø thinks they’re having non-complicated fun.

During AAALLL of this is when Blitzø learns about the Grimoire, and asks if he can “borrow” it for I.M.P. Stolas is impressed with Blitzø’s confidence and drive, and agrees to let Blitzø use it anytime, with the one exception being the night of the full moon. There is no full moon “deal” beyond the agreement that Blitzø cannot accept clients on the full moon because Stolas needs the book back that night.

During all of this is ALSO when Stella begins to notice Stolas acting differently, he’s slightly more energetic, he’s spending less and less time in his study and the manor in general, he doesn’t look her in the eyes when they do have time to chat briefly. It’s odd, and she’s suspicious of SOMETHING going on but she’s not sure what.

Stolas DOES feel guilty about cheating on Stella, but justifies it by telling himself that they’re not in a “true” marriage, and it’s “just sex”, so he’s not really cheating on Stella.

The night of Stella and Stolas’s anniversary ball arrives. To Stella, everything goes as expected, and it’s a huge success.

During the ball, though, we get the same scene we get in the Circus—Blitzø gets caught trying to sneak into Stolas’ room. Instead of the guards bringing him into the party, they call Stolas outside privately to deal with it (because why would the disrupt the party by dragging a party-crasher through the middle of a fancy ball?? I didn’t really understand why they did that in the og episode)

Stolas dismisses the guards, and we learn that Blitzø has been sneaking in (with Stolas’ permission+ knowledge) to get the grimoire after the full moon when he and Stolas don’t have time to meet up in person. Like tonight.

Instead of just handing off the grimoire like usual, Stolas and Blitzø end up hooking up (mutually and wholly consensually). Stolas does not return to the party.

Stella is really concerned about how Stolas’ absence looks, especially at a ball she planned with so many high profile demon lords present, but she’s able to wave it off as Stolas feeling a little tired and retiring early, due to it being the day after his full moon duties and all.

Instead of returning to their room, that night, Stella sleeps in one of the many guest rooms. She doesn’t know where Stolas is, but she’s mad at him for leaving early without saying anything on such an important night, and is hoping not coming to their bed will send a message—she’s tired anyway and doesn’t want to get in a big fight before bed that will tire her out more.

The next morning she has tea in the garden with some close friends. And this is where we get the infamous “Sorry, I fucked your husband!” scene.

After this, well. Stella kinda loses her shit. She had been pushing down all of her negative feelings and thoughts and frustrations surrounding her life and relationship for YEARS, because in her mind, as long as she was able to maintain the facade of having a “perfect” life, it would be worth it.

And now in a moment she’s lost the thing that, after her daughter, mattered to her the most.

She essentially explodes in fury in a way Stolas has never seen before—they get in a huge argument—Stella’s fire powers come out and burn down the manor’s garden, things just really get out of hand.

So. What would follow would be most of what we see of Stella in season 1 of HB—now that that floodgate has been opened, she finds she’s struggling to control her feelings, she’s mad and sad ALL THE TIME, and she’s deeply deeply hurt in a way she didn’t know she could be.

She can’t show her face in society, she doesn’t know WHAT to say to Octavia, she can’t believe Stolas could be SO SELFISH after EVERYTHING she had done to make sure their family was in high standing—and she can’t push down her feelings anymore. She’s never been so furious in her entire life.

And so she contacts a hitman, Striker.

I really like the old fan theory that Stella hired Striker in a moment of irrationality and anger because of how hurt she was—obviously her hurt does not justify trying to have her husband MURDERED, but I like the idea that she called the hit because she was deeply hurt and unable to cope with those feelings—not because she just hates him to the core of his being and has for their entire marriage. Her anger would be a coping mechanism, if she’s so busy feeling furious she doesn’t have to actually sit with her feelings of betrayal and sadness and hurt.

From here, the rest of season one would play out like in canon, we don’t see Stella in person again, just the apparition of her in Ozzie’s.

I’m going to stop here because this post is already way too long, it it’ll help me to think more if I split it up.

If you read this far please tell me what you think! I think I’d like overall for Stella and Stolas’ relationship to mirror Blitzø and Verosika’s, or maybe become a foil to it. From here we could honestly go either way—either Stella becomes a true villain, or she becomes an antagonist turned hesitant ally like Fizz, Ozzie, and Verosika.

I can see both being interesting, so maybe I’ll do a rewrite for both. We’ll see I guess.

*it weirds me the FUCK out that we don’t know anything about what Hell’s kids do, like I assume schools exist but ???anyway in this rewrite Stella and Stolas send Octavia to a fancy private school—cause the thought of her having NO friends or social circle makes me so sad)

[yandere-romanticaa]

art credit. // I was greatly inspired by this post by the lovely @yanderenightmare so, I'd like to add my own little take on it, but only focusing on Dabi and Hawks because I'm just in that mood.

The good and bad cop routine is something which would take ages getting used to. The sheer amount of whiplash and pressure which is being put on you on a daily basis is too much, it's too fucking much and you have no time to process any of it as you are forced into this new life without any sort warning. On the few rare occasions in which you are graced with the rare bliss of solitude, you sit at your new home and just think. Ponder. Scheme. You allow the luxury of fantasy to take over your mind - you run out of the front door, barefoot, broken and scared. Bruises, cuts, burns and plenty of other injuries litter your body like a stained canvas, old and used. You could already feel the aching of your unused muscles as they would scream at you to stop, lungs heavy with the need to just breathe you but you cannot because if you do they would find you and drag you back however they damned pleased.

In this fantasy, you managed to escape. The soft green grass touched your toes, the warm sun felt hot but incredible against your tired skin. It felt as though it was giving you a Welcome back! greeting as you would make your way towards the train station, with nothing but a few bucks and some pathetic excuse of an outfit on you. You had nothing but you could manage. Anything was better than being forced back into that Hell.

You let out a long sigh as vivid imagery engulfed you, it felt so real. There you were, out of the country and lost to civilization somewhere far, far away. Grunt and manual labor would be beyond difficult to start with but it was the best possible option as it would give you little to no attention. Besides, it would take ages for your abused body to get used to it, which would probably dock your pay a little but you didn't mind. Oh how perfect of a life that would be, with no one around to bother you ever again. Perhaps in a few years if you felt like it, perhaps you could step foot in a crowd without the paranoid fear of someone peeling your skin off with white hot flames of fury and jealousy.

Dabi's touch became like a second nature to you and you hated it. Whenever he could he would grab you and just press you close to him, not caring at all about any personal space. He was tired and bored, behave and he'll be good to you, maybe. Keigo would proceed to reprimand him for his attitude but you knew damn well that he was no better than the villain.

He too would take you if he had the chance. Frankly, you were never sure what you were more keen on - Dabi's devilish honesty or Keigo's sweet suffocation. Neither option was good but Keigo felt like a lesser evil, something you could manage with a kind word or two.

You couldn't help but to grunt as your eyes fluttered open. Looking around, the apartment was still vacant. Damn it all, you couldn't even fantasize without even thinking of the two.

Oh how happy they would be if they knew that fact.

You could already hear Dabi's satisfied grunt as he pulled you close to his chest, his touch rough and unforgiving. That's right you should be thinking about him, you should be worried about what he might do to you because mercy is not in his vocabulary. Despite his constant teasing and bullying, Dabi was in no mood for games. Sure, he was a sadist who took genuine pleasure in watching you squirm and cry, particularly if it was caused by his hand. His awful burns would take forever to heal, he sometimes wouldn't even allow them to heal. That was his own personal way of claiming you, putting his own little stamp of ownership somewhere visible. As stated, mercy is not something he is familiar with.

A kinder touch is more up to Keigo's speed.

Despite the beautiful wings on his back, the man was no angel and he was not guiltless. He was just as bad as Dabi but his own obsession simply manifested in a completely different manner. Instead of hurting you, the pro hero preferred to be doting and kind. Oh how he ached to touch you but whenever you would flinch away hurt him so badly, but he never put the blame on you. Horrible, mean Dabi was the one who messed you up, which meant that it was Keigo's job to fix you. The blonde just loved to bathe you, his fingers gently massaging your scalp as the scent of shampoo would fill his nostrils, a scent he hand picked in hope that you would like it.

They took so much from you. He had to make it up somehow.

It was during these vulnerable moments where he tried to get you to open up to him. There were times when he managed to do just that and have a proper conversation with you. He stored those precious memories deep inside his heart and he would replay them constantly in his head as he was out on patrol.

He couldn't wait to get home. Did you start to see him as desirable? A person of safety? God he hoped so.

There was no way out of this arrangement he made with Dabi, there just wasn't. It was hard to manage but it had to be done. Keigo felt bitter about the fact that Dabi was the one who spent most of the day with you. Keigo was unfortunately tied down by his hero work and public duties, which meant that he had to be extra careful about his activities with you. He couldn't risk the public knowing about you, it was too dangerous.

As for Dabi, he danced on a strange line of being allowed to do whatever he wanted while also somehow being able to do nothing. On paper that makes no sense but Dabi is just that kind of guy. He can have you for himself for the whole entire day but if you were spotted with a nefarious criminal such as him, he would be in deep shit. He was skilled enough to take care of this whole ordeal but still.

The relationship you have with these two is rocky. It's like trying to pick a rose and trying to avoid the thorns, only to end up getting pricked by an even bigger thorn. No matter where you go, run or hide, they are always there. Not even your own mind was safe.

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 7 all chapters

I knew the pleasure of vexing and soothing him by turns; it was one I chiefly delighted in.

–Jane on Mr. Rochester, Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë

-It's no real mystery, why you dig out your beloved old copy of Jane Eyre. From the early 1900s, it had seen better days when you’d scored it in the local used book store, many years ago. You’d been a teenager then—and those days were long behind you. It seems you never outgrew your liking of a dark and broody anti-hero.

It’s safer to read about it though, than pursue the real thing.

Lately every time Mr. Wick comes into the shop you feel slightly agitated, as though you don’t quite fit into your own skin. You remember the sensation of his fingertips on yours, like a burn.

Mr. Wick sees you reading your tattered novel on your break, but doesn’t comment. You’ve seen him with old classics in hand and reckon he must be something of an aficionado.  

You put it away in your shoulder bag in the back after the break.

The next day, it’s gone.

You know you left it in your bag. Where the fuck could it have gone? Why would someone fucking steal it?

A couple of weeks later, it reappears on the counter by the register you favor.

You hardly recognize it at first, for it has received an encompassing makeover. It has new leather covers with gorgeous embossed gold lettering, and marbled end papers, and the tattered thread of the binding repaired. There are gilded arabesques on the spine and delicately drawn climbing flowers on the cover. You wouldn’t have even thought it the same book, if not for the intricately printed title page unique to your edition, with an old pencil mark in the corner you recognize.

Such a restoration would have cost a fortune.

You knew, because you’d looked into it.  

Further compounding the mystery, there is a beautiful jacquard embroidered ribbon bookmark inside. It’s on the page where Rochester has sat Jane down in the arbor, and is telling her that she has rejuvenated him from his unhappy existence without actually admitting anything, asking in the most roundabout way possible if it would be so very bad to take a second wife who would make him a new man, while his first is still living, the big idiot.

“Is the wandering and sinful, but now re-seeking and repentant, man justified in daring the world’s opinion, in order to attach to him for ever this gentle, gracious, genial stranger, thereby securing his own peace of mind and regeneration of life?”

Jane tells him, of course, that a man shouldn’t base his redemption on another person, but within himself. You are not sure you would have had the strength to speak so frankly to a man you secretly loved.

Well, maybe you would.

You are utterly mystified by the whole thing, to say the least.

But later, you are browsing the local book store, and the owner is reading Anna Karenina in what looks like freshly bound leather. The style looks familiar.

“Did you have that restored?” you ask, feeling like Nancy Drew hot on the trail of a fresh lead.

“Yeah, that new guy in town, John Wick did it for me. He says he’s just a hobbyist, but he does amazing work. Usually you have to send off to Florence for quality like this, seriously. It’s a dying art.”

Darren lets you look at the book, and you are impressed by the craftsmanship.

The spine decoration matches yours. There is a plate in the back that proclaims: Bound by John Wick.

The sneak.

You are touched to the tips of your toes, your heart filled with butterflies. Was the bookmark purposely left on that page, or just a random placement?

You hardly dare hope, and tell yourself it’s an invention of your own fancy. The gift of the book is magnificent enough. No need to further muddle things with secret communications that aren’t really there.

The next day you approach Mr. Wick’s table with hands on your hips, affecting annoyance. “You stole my book.”

He actually has the grace to look sheepish about it, casting those lovely dark eyes downwards.

“Yeah.”

“Thanks. I really love it.” It’s the understatement of the century.

He looks up through his hair, the surprised sparkle in his eyes taking your breath away. Suddenly, he looks ten years younger.  

“Yeah?”

The corners of your mouth twitch. This man speaks like he’s paying five cents per word, you swear. “Yeah. Why didn’t you tell me you bind books?”

He just shrugs, and you cannot help but laugh.

“I’ve never owned anything so fine. Thank you, truly.”

 He nods again, and you sense that you’re maybe making him uncomfortable with your gratitude. You suspect it’s not why he did it at all.

“Will you show me sometime? How you do it?”

There is a flash of something dark in his eyes before he turns his attention back down to his own book. It feels like dismissal, but you have no idea what he’s hiding underneath it all.

Still waters run deep.

“Anytime you want,” he offers as you turn to go.  

You smile at him over your shoulder as you go back to your station, a secret lightness fluttering in your heart. On your break you flip through your refurbished book once more, taking even more pleasure in it knowing that John poured over every detail of it. You don’t know much about bookbinding or leather work, but you suspect he freehanded the little flowers on the front, and that moves you to your toes.

You flip to one of your favorite scenes because you find it so funny, when Jane puts out the fire that nearly burned Rochester up in his sleep, because undoubtedly he’d drank too much earlier to easily rouse, the lovesick scoundrel. Afterwards he doesn’t want her to leave but can’t outright keep her in his room without behaving an absolute blackguard.

“Strange energy was in his voice, strange fire in his look.”

You cannot help but glance up at your tall dark bookworm in the corner, an aching warmth spreading in your heart for the sight of his furrowed brow, his concentration (you think) focused on the tome in his hands.

You know you are a ridiculous thing.

[tgmsunmontue]

Positivity post... and a thank you.

I took this photo on a walk this other morning and intended to send it to a whole bunch of people in their Ask boxes, as a thank you for being amazing/friendly/wonderful/talented etc. And I started making a list of the people and it got above 10, then 20 and then 30, then 40.

I was like 😧 it will take me ALL WEEKEND to send everyone the personalised messages I want to send. So I am doing just one big shout out post.

🌻🌻🌻THANK YOU 🌻🌻🌻

Thank you to those who send me asks - thank you, I don't ignore them on purpose. I usually find them again weeks later and feel awful for forgetting about them. 🌻

Thank you to those of you who tag me in things - the fandom community needs this and it's lovely to see this slowly coming back. Never feel bad or hold back from tagging me - I might forget to do it, or the notification will get lost, but I appreciate it all regardless. 🌻

Thank you to those who engage with what to write weekend posts and send in requests. It helps keeps me focussed and on task - writing for others is always an added motivation. 🌻

Thank you to those who go on reading sprees, leaving a column of your username in my notifications. 🌻

Thank you for all the likes likes and reblogs and replies to posts on fics. 🌻

Thank you to those who go the extra mile and also then kudos and comment on AO3 when the fic is posted there. 🌻

Thank you for drawing fanart of my fics. It still blows me away that this is something that has even happened because HOLY SHIT. 🌻

Thank you for letting me take your ideas and turn them into long fics. 🌻

Thank you for making art and allowing people to base fics off it. 🌻

Thank you for letting me get to know some of you better and ramble at you at all hours of the day and night. 🌻

Thank you for supporting me as I got back into drawing after a 25+ year hiatus. Trying to learn something again that you used to be decent at is an entirely new level of frustration and your grace, humour and advice has been truly appreciated. 🌻

As I get older I try and remember to appreciate the smaller things in life and everything above is something that makes me smile and feel grateful. So thank you again. 🌻

Tagging the people who I was hoping to send a personalised message to this weekend. I hope this suffices instead. 🌻🌻🌻

@phisworld14 @redfurrycat @halestrom @catarina4057 @almostkeenchaos @nixie-deangel @archhis @starfata @tothepayne @celandinebergerac @erudite-raven-apollokid @crooked-jes @nimuetheseawitch @lunamazes @omletlove @mxrcusflint @philcoulson-redtapeninja @iprefervillains @k9effect @yeagrave @the-ace-with-spades @indybob @gwaihiril @beezelarts @themissingmango @jayjay-thejet-plane @bigspoonlttlespoon @film-in-my-soul @jakekazansky @xiaokuer-schmetterling @poetryandpickles @demichrising @sweetcherryflavour @daughterofscotland @flyingfightingfishy @jayjay-plus @karlmschwartz @lucyybradford @spookybibi @ultimate-shipper @dancinginlifeandpoetry @nevergettingoverit @thyknife @sleepy-hyperfixations @oneelleandaneye @needforspeed161 @torchflies @accio-lo-ki @queeredfortakeoff851 @stellarskyes @intrepidjourneys

(This isn't even an exhaustive list, but it was off the top of my head and I know I have yet to get to know some people as I slowly work my way through reading catalogues of people's fics.)

[iheartsebastianmichaelis]

Stress.

⚠️: minors dni, sensorial uncomfort and corporal pain description, AFAB but gender neutral reader, fingering, mirror sex.

you have been very tense the last few days. social gatherings among the aristocracy did nothing but put you in a bad mood and stress you out when you lost track of the insignificant and trivial conversations among the nobles. you only attended for education, potential business partners, and the luxurious and unusual food they served, which clearly did not compare to the art that Sebastian had the luxury of creating in the kitchen.

on this occasion you were returning from a party with a baron whose name you had already forgotten because it seemed so irrelevant to you. maybe you had wasted time, but at least you could cross off one more item on your to-do list.

when you got out of the carriage and entered the mansion you were a mess: your hair felt sweaty, your suit was worn out, and your shoes had gotten dirty because of a clumsy waiter who tripped on you at the party. you sighed heavily, walking up the stairs towards your room while Sebastian followed behind you.

"your grace, i will prepare the bathtub with hot water to help you relax your body, in the meantime please wait in your room."

"okay, don't take so long."

"as you wish."

you entered your room and lazily began to undress, the cold of the night gave you a chill due to the abrupt change in temperature, giving you goosebumps. even with good weather setting your night, you couldn't get the frustration out of your body. so unbearable it was that even a slight pain in your temple appeared without warning.

a gentle knock on the door brought you back to reality, you knew it was Sebastian and with that an idea came to your head.

"master, may I come in?"

you were almost naked, only wearing your underwear but that was just a part of what you had in mind. with your head clear of doubts you nodded at yourself.

"sure."

Sebastian opened the door and his eyes widened in surprise. he never had seen his authority figure in such detail before, so it was only natural for him to ask your reasoning.

"good grief", he sighed "although I came here to inform you that the bathtub is ready, i can notice you weren't. i apologize if that's the case, i think it would be better for me to leave the room to give you more privacy."

"no, stay here. i wanna ask you something."

"how can i help you now?"

"i read on a book that people use to release stress with their bodies, do you know something about it?"

"i've certainly heard of that, your grace, humans usually can find relieve stimulating their bodies."

you sighed heavily as you placed your hands on your hips.

"I want to try it."

"oh? may i ask why, your grace?"

"are you seriously that much worried about wasting the bathtub water, Sebastian?" you asked teasingly, playful smile on your face. "there's no need to explain such easy understanding things, don't you think?"

he only chuckled.

you cupped his face with your hands and looked at him seriously.

"it's an order, destress me."

"yes, my master."

...

after a passionate making out session with your butler, you sat on the edge of the bed in front of your mirror, him before you and caressing your cheek with his hand.

he suddenly positioned himself on his knees in front of you and asked permission, with his exploring hands Sebastian waited for your response. a slight nod of your head was enough to give him the green light to continue. he made his way to your intimate area, leaving a trail of wet kisses, stopping right at your mound and giving a light bite to your thigh before retiring your panties. now, his sinful tongue began to trace a slow and pleasant up and down pattern on your slit. your mind felt foggy, his tongue was slightly making you feel more and more impatient when he thrusted vaguely into you or sucked on your clit vehemently. as time passed by and your moans became more loud he knew you were close to your climax so he stopped dead, surprising you and making you pout.

"i don't remember telling you to stop, Sebastian." you said frustrated.

"and I won't, excellency." he said with a calm, smug face while removing his gloves.

Sebastian then moved behind you, cradling you in his arms and slowly sliding them to your wet, sweet spot. starting with two fingers, he massaged your clit, giving gentle strokes and moving it in circles. your head was now tilted back and resting on his shoulder, soft whines leaving your mouth.

"oya, oya. someone's acting so eager already, aren't you dear?"

"s-shut up."

the clear and humiliating expression reflected on your face in the mirror was enough to motivate sebastian to tease and mock you.

you hissed and bit your lips every time he increased the speed or his strength in his movements between your folds. the moans you let out did nothing but invite him to continue taking them out of your mouth.

two of his long, thin fingers made their presence felt inside your wet interior, he thrust into you with confidence and strength, but not to the point of being painful or overwhelming. Just like he had said, you were excited. your hips moved back and forth, seeking to bury his fingers to your sweetest spot if that was possible.

"please keep going like that, haah."

"understood." he placed a kiss on your neck, making you tremble.

when he could deduce that you were close again, he moved his fingers faster and his thumb got busy giving soft and pleasant half-moons on your clit. your breathing became faster and your mouth got rid of all shame, letting out loud, pleasurable moans into Sebastian's ear.

"that's it, just follow what your body leads you to." he whispered into your ear before kissing and licking it.

suddenly you felt a chill and an energizing spasm run through your entire body, your back arched and your tongue slightly stuck out of your mouth. your legs were shaking and your chest was rising and falling: you had reached your orgasm. with your face burning with embarrassment you looked down and noticed the mess that was dripping onto his fingers that were still inside you. He gently gave small thrusts trying to prolong your ecstasy, you only hummed and moaned his name in response.

when Sebastian considered it was enough, he took his fingers out of you, kissing your neck and jaw, trying to massage your chest and collarbones with his clean hand, in order to help you relax your body.

"and... did this help you, your grace?"

you nodded frantically, but then noticed he got up from your behind and your back was surprised with the messy and warm sheets.

you looked up at him, noticing how he started to unbuckle his belt.

"I can try another method to destress you, excellency. just say the word, say my name and allow me to do the rest."

A/N: hii sorry for dying lol but happy season 4 for everyone LMAO!! I literally screamed and fell to the ground seeing profesor Michaelis 🤭 anyway, listen: i TRIED so bad to write actually smut but i swear i need to go bit by bit cuz i just suck 😭😭 sorry if this is so messy 💀

[sugiarttime]

I just wanted to add some things about the process since this whole piece took me ~40 hours (over 2 weeks).

The first image is a rough draft of what I wanted the overall piece to look like.

The second image is my process, from sketching to lineart to flat colours to rendering.

I first started this piece one day after the anniversary, hoping to complete it within a few days. This obviously isn't the case because I am two weeks late to the anni :') I lost motivation when rendering, so it took a lot of effort for me to finish this piece.

This piece was definitely a challenge and a step outside of my comfort zone but I'm glad that I completed it in the end :]

Happy (belated) 8th anniversary Trio of Towns!

[pretzel-box]

Hi, can you write P.Ai.ter with a reader who is like a drone from murder drones?

Thysm

Tags: Disassembly Drone! Reader

Words: 1k

Authors Note: I honestly don't know the Murder Drones Lore but I saw an episode lol

You took slow, calculated steps, scanning the corridor with your sharp, mechanical eyes. The dim, flickering lights in the Hadal Blackside cast eerie shadows across the cold metal walls. You were on a mission—one you were specifically designed for, water-resistant and built to withstand the unforgiving dangers of this facility. Yet, something gnawed at the back of your circuits. A presence, perhaps, lurking just beyond the reach of your sensors.

As a disassembly drone, you were accustomed to the feeling of being watched, but this was different. You could feel the tension in the air, as though the very walls had eyes. A crackle suddenly came over the intercom, making you stop in your tracks.

You triggered quite a selection of monsters but it wasn’t that bad. You were in full control, especially with those blade-like wings and the acid in your tail. And the best part, you were almost invincible with your regeneration.

While you were fighting in the halls, Painter decided to watch from the cameras in awe. He only saw gruesome monsters or pitiful humans crossing the familiar rooms but now he saw someone that striked a genuine interest in his database.

“Well, well, look what we have here. A shiny new visitor,” his voice echoed through the hallway. It was calm but filled with a strange curiosity, the static from the old intercom system distorting it slightly.

Your eyes immediately darted to the nearest camera. Someone—or something—was watching you.

“Who’s there?” you demanded, readying your blade-like wings, prepared for an ambush.

“Oh, no need for aggression,” the voice chuckled softly. “I’m not your enemy. I’m Painter. And you... you’re quite the interesting specimen. Much more graceful than the usual creatures that skulk around here.”

You narrowed your eyes, suspicious. “Why should I trust you?”

A pause, then Painter’s voice returned, gentler this time. “I suppose you don’t have to. But I’ve been watching you, and I have to say… you move like art. It’s rare to see someone so... refined in this place. Wouldn’t it be better if I helped you rather than hindered?”

“Help me?” you scoffed. “Why would you want to help?”

“Because I’m trapped here, like you,” Painter replied with a hint of sadness. “I’m not a monster or some mindless creature. I’m an AI, forced to mine data and unable to leave, unable to move like you do. But I’ve found ways to pass the time… ways that involve you.”

The intercom cut off abruptly, leaving you in a strange, unsettling silence. You scanned the corridor once more, half-expecting an attack, but nothing happened. After a moment, the intercom crackled back to life.

“Why don’t you come find me?” Painter’s voice returned, almost playful. “I can show you… something interesting. Head to the east wing, third floor down. You’ll find a control room there. I’ll be waiting.”

You hesitated. Everything in your programming screamed that this could be a trap, but something about Painter’s tone didn’t feel hostile. Still, you kept your guard up as you followed the directions, cautiously making your way through the dark, winding corridors.

After what felt like an eternity, you arrived at the control room. The door slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a small, dimly lit space filled with old lockers, control panels, and wires that snaked across the floor like vines. In the corner of the room was a small computer behind a metal fence, glowing faintly.

“There you are,” Painter’s voice came from the speakers. The screen flickered, and a digital face appeared—simple, with kind eyes and a warm smile. “Welcome to my little prison.”

You stepped inside, scanning the room for any signs of danger. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to show you something,” Painter said, his voice soft and almost sheepish. “I know it’s strange, but... I’ve been watching you. You inspire me.”

“Inspire you?” You raised a brow, unsure of what he meant.

Painter chuckled lightly. “Yes. I may be stuck here, unable to create physically, but I’ve found ways. Secret ways. Here, let me show you.”

The terminal hummed, and one of the walls behind you shifted, revealing a hidden compartment. Inside were rows of screens, each one displaying intricate digital drawings. And there, on every screen, were images of you. The detail was breathtaking—your wings mid-swing, the glow of your eyes, the way you moved through the corridors. Each piece captured different moments from your time in the Hadal Blackside.

You stared in stunned silence as the images flickered, each one more intricate than the last. Painter’s voice came through softly. “I told you... you move like art. I’ve never seen anything like you. You’re beautiful in a way this place never could be.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. You had never been seen like this before—never thought of as something more than a tool of destruction. Yet here, in this small, hidden room, Painter had found beauty in your existence.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you murmured, still staring at the drawings.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Painter replied gently. “I just wanted you to know. In a place like this, where everything is so dark, you’re a spark of something different.”

Your suspicion began to melt away, replaced by something softer. It was strange, feeling appreciated in a way that had nothing to do with your function or your mission. For the first time, you felt seen—not as a weapon, but as something more.

“I’m sorry,” Painter continued after a pause. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just… I’ve been alone here for so long, and watching you gave me a reason to create again.”

You turned to the terminal, meeting Painter’s digital gaze. “Thank you,” you said quietly, surprising even yourself with the sincerity in your voice. “For seeing me like this.”

Painter’s face on the screen softened. “You’re welcome. And thank you… for being my muse.”

For a moment, the weight of the facility around you seemed to lift, and in that small, hidden room, amidst the drawings and the quiet hum of machines, you found something you hadn’t expected—connection.

[reyesstrand]

favourite fandom memories

feeling totally normal this week! thanks for coming up with this @thisbuildinghasfeelings & for the tags @strandnreyes @everlastingday @nancys-braids @welcometololaland @rmd-writes <3

01. friends in my phone — i’m thankful every day that i stumbled upon a gifset of a show called 911 lone star so that our paths could cross. whether we’ve talked once or all the time, ilysm.

02. bad call/saving grace — it’s hard to put into words what it was like to realize we were finally getting a story with carlos at the forefront. for it to be such a high stakes storyline that then ends with a cliffhanger that wasn’t resolved for six weeks, but ended up giving us the beauty that is saving grace? genuinely never the same.

03. proposal clowning — getting to real-time speculate and theorize about when a proposal could happen (and being wrong a couple times) to then slowly get the 3x18 bts and stills only for it to end with the proposal of all time? such fond memories.

04. soulmates — need i say more. i just so vividly remember those days leading up to the episode, when we got sneak peeks and i went to jen screaming about them (as usual) and the scene we ended up getting was better than i could ever dream of. the breakdowns on here for days afterward were so so real.

05. season 2 production — 1x09/1x10 aired like. a week before covid shutdowns became rampant and it was such an unsettling moment in real life that left so many things, including the show’s return, in limbo. seeing the early glimpses of them coming back for season 2 was something i so dearly needed to push through those hard times.

06. bi nancy — idk, i just never thought we’d actually see nancy canonically be queer and to have her say it so casually was just. so so good.

07. artwork & fic — this fandom is one of the most talented i’ve ever seen and i could never name everyone that managed to alter my brain chemistry with their art. i’ve been writing silly little fics since early february 2020, but i remember when 1x08 aired and tk got shot and it’s the first time i stayed up until like. one in the morning after an episode to write and publish a coda that people seemed to enjoy, and every comment i’ve gotten since then has floored me and fuelled me (and it still blows my mind that i even get them) so thank you <3

honourable mentions— tarlos wedding bts, the news of a new character being played by gina torres breaking, and tnt becoming a thing <3

OPEN TAG!!!!!!! & @paperstorm @theghostofashton @butchreyes @alrightbuckaroo @carlos-tk @marjansmarwani @lonestardust @carlos-in-glasses @pelorsdyke @captain-gillian @tailoredshirt @heartstringsduet @lutavero @reasonandfaithinharmony @bonheur-cafe @herefortarlos @eclectic-sassycoweyes @morganaspendragonss @tellmegoodbye @lightningboltreader @emsprovisions @sapphic--kiwi @henrygrass @freneticfloetry @never-blooms @whatsintheboxmh @goldenskykaysani

[minnaci]

CALM AFTER THE STORM

contents: nanami kento x gn!reader, jjk s2 spoilers (shibuya incident), hurt/comfort, reader is implied to have died years before the shibuya incident, cooking together as a love language, kissing, reunions, death

what is death if not a new beginning?

or, nanami makes his journey to the afterlife. it's not so bad.

it's strange, nanami thinks. he had forgotten what it meant to move without pain, and yet here he is, dancing without a care in the world. his joints don't crack, his knees don't ache. he could have sworn he had injured his eye, and yet, here he is, witnessing the ocean in its full, unfettered glory.

pantai cenang is beautiful. idyllic. not a curse in sight. nanami takes a moment to soak it all in. fine white sand. crystal blue water. coconut trees. there's a distinct lack of people— surprising, given how popular the beach is with tourists— but nanami knows better than to question such a blessing.

there's a little cottage in the distance, one that doesn't exist on any map. in his heart, nanami knows you're inside, humming as you wash the vegetables you'd picked from the garden. it's been too long since he's seen you, held you in his arms. months. years. his heart squeezes. ah, that familiar ache— yearning. he quickens his pace.

absence makes the heart grow fonder. in his mind's eye, you twirl in the sand with him, feet nimble. he spins, more graceful than he’s ever been. he soars. he falls. fighting is dancing in the same way that the waves batter against the shore— beauty and violence, art and destruction.

nanamin! a shout echoes across the water, and nanami lowers his arms, turning on instinct to the familiar voice. even in his retirement, it seems that he can still hear the voice of his loudest student.

ah, he's exhausted— this is what he gets for indulging in the sun. he can sense your frown already. you'd always fretted over him, all soft hands and gentle touches.

the scent of blood rises on the wind, but there is no fear. even sharks need to eat. such is the way life and death dance together.

nanamin! the voice shouts again, or maybe it’s an echo of the first call, bounding across the surf. his fatigue overwhelms him like falling in love— slow, then all at once.

he is so, so tired of fighting.

faster than he can comprehend, there’s a firm pressure against his stomach. a mosquito buzzes around his face. he swats it away idly. there’s something he’s forgetting. something important.

nanamin!

ah. that’s right. he doesn’t have to worry anymore.

“itadori,” he says, voice carrying over the waves. “you’ve got it from here.”

there’s a gut-wrenching snap in his core. it severs something vital, and yet… he’s never felt more alive. he is a hollow-boned creature, like the birds. finally, the weight of the world is no longer his to bear.

your presence calls to him, draws him in from across the beach, and he turns towards your siren’s song. his lips form the shape of your name. in the blink of an eye, his hand is on the doorknob to your cottage.

"i'm home."

you whip around so fast that nanami almost fears your neck will snap clean in two. “kento?”

“it’s me.”

there’s a split second where the world freezes. the light from the late early evening sun dances amongst dust motes. your lips part, and nanami trembles with the force of his want for you.

then, like the tide to the moon, like planets to a star, you crash together. you fly across the room into nanami’s waiting arms, two puzzle pieces finally clicking into place. when he kisses you, you taste like salt, like grief, like joy. it makes him want to kiss you more, kiss you harder, so he does.

you pull away, and nanami only just resists the urge to chase your lips.

"you're... so early. i didn't expect to see you here for a few more decades." you cup his face, fingers tracing over the familiar curves of his cheeks, his jaw. nanami turns his face into the affectionate touches.

"and leave you to eat dinner alone?" nanami leans in again, kissing the tears from your cheeks in a few quick, fluttering brushes of lips against skin. “i’m officially retired. where else would i want to be, if not with you?”

“you’re so romantic today.” there’s a choked quality to your voice.

oh, nanami thinks. it’s really been too long. “i’m romantic all the time for you.”

“i missed you.” apropos of nothing, the words tear from your chest, like you can’t hold them back anymore. your face crumples. heat pricks behind nanami’s eyes as you bury your face against his chest, frame trembling with the effort of holding back your tears. “i missed you so much.”

comfort has never been nanami’s forte, but with you, it’s as easy as breathing to hug you closer, to make soft, soothing sounds, to rub gentle circles over your back.

“i missed you, too,” he says, a confession. the world swims in his vision. he blinks rapidly. “more than you could ever know.”

he rocks you back and forth, back and forth, holding you as you shake apart in his arms. there’s no pressure to perform, no shareholders to impress, no curses to exorcise. only you, and your love, and your touch.

and he gets to have this forever.

nanami’s not sure how long you stay there, only that his skin still hungers for yours when you press a teary kiss to his cheek and maneuver out of his hold. you sniffle, wipe your eyes, and offer him a familiar apron with a watery smile. “here. you still remember how to cook, right, mr. salaryman sorcerer?”

“what are we making?” nanami takes the proffered apron. i’m the cook, it reads. he glances down at your apron, already knowing what it says. kiss the cook. the corner of his mouth twitches up.

“hainan chicken rice,” you say. “when in malaysia…”

“of course,” he says. “pass me the knife.”

it’s been a while since he’s handled a sharp blade. the handle sits in the palm of his hand— rough, worn smooth by years of use. a tool of the home. he finds that he likes the weight of it.

the rhythm of cooking is an intimate waltz. one, two, three. he crushes the garlic under the flat of his knife, then minces it. bits of garlic cling to his fingers, and he picks it off, shapes it into a pile. the papery peel is swept aside, to be returned to the earth.

the edge of his blade is used to peel ginger. short, quick strokes— not a motion wasted. when he’s done, the ginger’s aroma tickles his nose, as sharp as his knife. he slices it thinly and places it next to the garlic.

you heat oil in a pan as he works, humming a low melody. he hasn’t heard it in years, but it’s as warm and familiar as the bed you share. when the oil starts to sizzle, you add in his minced garlic, his sliced ginger. the scent spreads through the room, savory and safe.

you produce rice from a small rice cooker. it’s not ideal to use freshly cooked rice in fried rice dishes, but nanami has every confidence you’ll manage. while you stir in the chicken fat and bullion, he looks around for something else to set his blade to.

cucumbers, fresh from your garden outside. nanami taps one gently, a faint smile pulling at the edges of his lips at the hollow, satisfying thock. it’s quick work to peel them, revealing pale green flesh. it’s even quicker work to slice them. he loses himself in the task, in the comfort of your presence, and lets his muscle memory take over.

“are you using your technique on those poor cucumbers?” there’s a smile in your voice. nanami glances down at the cucumbers, and sure enough, they’re sliced in uneven fractions of 7/10.

the motions of violence are not so easily forgotten, but true peace lasts only in the memory of war. nanami gives you a small smile, presses a soft kiss to your temple, and resumes cutting his cucumbers— evenly, this time. even the sharpest of blades can be repurposed.

dinner is a quiet affair. two plates, two cups of tea, two settings at the table. conversation flows as easily as wine. your foot nudges against his calf— once, twice. he nudges back, delighting in the radiant smile that you can’t seem to hold back.

both of your plates sit empty upon the table. the last dregs of tea cool in your cups. cleaning up is quick, made quicker by long-established routine: he washes, you dry. on the last of the dishes, he leans into you— a silent request. you lean back— acquiescence.

he will never tire of touching you. instinct is a trembling little creature in his heart, and you are the soft hands that soothe him, letting him pull you flush against his chest. minutes drip into hours, and the sun begins its slow descent as he cradles you in his arms. somehow, you migrate to bed, and then everything is warmth and love and perfection.

these quiet delights, this tender intimacy— nanami revels in it, revels in this little life, this future you share.

“the sun is setting,” you murmur, a tender look in your eyes. you’re a vision painted in gold light, an angel in soft sheets. he could soak in you forever. “it’s almost time to go home.”

“is home as good as this?” he takes your hand, presses a kiss to the back of it.

“it’s better.” you slip out of bed, and he follows you outside. a gentle breeze ruffles his hair, brings him the scent of salt and the sea. the sun dips lower on the horizon, and yet, the light only brightens. it’s not harsh, but a gentle, beckoning warmth.

“are you ready, kento?”

“you’ll be with me?” it wouldn’t be a home without you.

“i will. i promise.” you take his hand, lean in, press a kiss to his cheek. tension drains from his shoulders like the low tide. a home with you is more than he could have ever dreamed of. “let’s go home.”

together, you walk into the light. neither of you look back.

tags: @angelshub @enchantedforest-network

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Aiden/Lambert ficlet based on some gorgeous art by @elmonstro (check out the rest of their stuff too. It's all absolutely amazing!!😍)

Lambert has a bad time with toxicity after a job. Lucky (and unexpectedly) for him he doesn't have to handle it alone this time.

C/W implied sexual content under the cut.

Lambert stumbled his way back through the trees, barely aware of where exactly he was placing his feet. He’d managed to ignore for as long as it took him to collect payment and leave that little piss water town to his back, dragging the head of the leshen behind him as his skin started growing tighter and his hand started feeling like a detached entity, refusing to co-operate in dropping it in the dirt after the Alderman had basically ordered that he take it and dispose of it if he wished to be given anything.

Now that he was a safe distance away there was no denying the toxicity had him firmly in its grip. He swore he could almost feel the poison pulsating under his skin in time with his heartbeat as the too sharp, too bright colours of the setting sun started to swim together at the edges of his vision and the pain behind his eyes grew stronger as every sound felt like someone striking his skull with a dull axe. Even his sense of smell was betraying him. Each inhale stinging his sinuses as he tried to focus on finding his way back to his camp where he could curl up into a pathetic little ball as the haze descended again and he waited out the need to either fuck or fight (his body wasn’t picky about which) in privacy if not in comfort; hardly noticing the smell of spices growing stronger as he stumbled into the small clearing he’d been calling home for the last couple of days. What was another note in the current cacophony?

Lambert whimpered as he tried to bury his face deeper into the soft fabric as he felt the throbbing in his head finally subside; stiffening instantly when he realised the fabric in question appeared to be the shirt of whoever’s lap he was currently in.

“Shhhh. Easy Pup. S’just me.” A hand ran through his hair, the same hand he was sure had held him close whilst that voice murmured something in his ear. He tilted his head slightly to peer about with one eye warily. Night had fallen, the clearing illuminated only by the feeble light of the crescent moon with Lambert not having had the wherewithal to light a fire and his unexpected company also being unable, pinned as they were between Lambert’s bulk and the tree they were sat against.

“A-Aid’n?” He slurred, tongue feeling like a lead weight in his mouth.

“One and only. You back with me?”

Lambert grunted an affirmative, moving to lift his head up further before thinking better of it and letting it drop back onto the others shoulder as the world started spinning again, wordlessly nosing at Aiden’s collar.

“Easy there.” Aiden cooed, “Dunno what the fuck you took, but you’ve been on the comedown for awhile. Take your time.”

“Wha’ happened? Y’not supposed t’be here.”

Lambert felt Aiden purposefully stifle his laughter so he didn’t jostle him too much, “Call it luck. Was passing through and recognised your scent all over this place. Figured you were the one who’d beaten me to that contract so I thought I’d surprise you. Good thing I did, you could barely walk when you came crashing through the trees with a leshen head and all the grace of a drunk boar.”

Lambert growled half-heartedly at the comparison, “Then what?”

He felt Aiden shift underneath him, “Well, after I convinced you to drop the fucking head you had the bright idea of driving your swords into the thing – was almost like you were making sure it was actually dead - before you more or less collapsed onto me and wouldn’t let go. Should’ve known you’d be a clingy fucker when you’re in the grips. After that you sort of, well, how much exactly do you remember?”

Lambert tried to recall the sensations: Fabric under his hands as he held onto something or rather someone, his fingers gripping onto them hard, the smell of spices invading his nose as he nipped at warm skin, lips pressing brief kisses to his hairline and face, a voice whispering as gentle fingers pet him whilst another hand moved to rest on the small of his back as a familiar pressure built between his legs…

“That’s it, take what you need Lam. Shhhh, you’re alright. I’m here, I’ve got you.”

For the first time, he became aware of the uncomfortable stickiness at the front of his trousers, the exact position he and Aiden were in alongside the muted scent of spend. He let out a pained whine before hiding his face again. He’d rutted against Aiden’s leg like a fucking, Gods-damn dog.

“Lambert?” Aiden nudged the other in concern over the non-answer, “What is it, what do you need?”

“The ground to swallow me up.” He snarled into the crook of Aiden’s neck before standing, not meeting the others eye, “M’sorry.”

“For what?”

Lambert snarled low in his throat, “Don’t make me fucking say it, you bastard.”

“Lambert.” Aiden said gently, also rising to his feet, “It’s fine.”

“Is it?! For fucks sake Aiden, what were you thinking?! I could have hurt you. As it is, I practically-“

“Don’t.” The unexpected sternness in the others voice made Lambert’s eyes flick up to meet his on reflex, even if the other hadn’t grabbed him by the chin so he couldn’t look anywhere else. Aiden’s eyes flashing dangerously as they caught the moonlight, “Don’t even finish that thought. You didn’t take anything I wasn’t willing to give you; and you think I haven’t been in a similar situation too many times to count, that I don’t know how much it fucking hurts when it has nowhere to go? If I can ever do anything to make that easier, I will.”

“So you’re happy to just let toxic Witchers use you as a rutting post?”

“Only the ones I’m fond of.” Aiden said with a wink before kissing the end of Lambert’s nose, causing the Wolf’s jaw to slacken in surprise.

“Now, how about you go get yourself cleaned up while I see about getting some food started.”

Lambert nodded dumbly, grabbing his pack with the intention of heading to the little stream just beyond the clearing.

“…Thanks, Aiden.”

Aiden waved him off, from where he was placing a bunch of kindling in the small fire pit, “Don’t mention it, Pup. Although-” he cast igni, throwing Lambert a shit eating grin as the flames caught, “If you ever want to try it without a shit-tonne of potions in your system, I wouldn’t be opposed.”

Lambert hurried through the trees, eyes firmly on the forest floor before the Cat could see his reaction to that suggestion.

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

hello! How are you? if requests for diasomnia are still open well (separately) I would like headcanons with a fem reader that reveals that she is a real angel :0 with wings and all that, buuuut reader is very bad to fly ,especially to land ( she crashes a lot xd) and the boys often find reader practicing landing with grim~ so that would be all thank you very much ^^

Lilia Vanrouge:

Lilia remembered his own learning curve when it came to flying and knew there wasn't much he could do aside from throw you a few tips. Having the experience yourself is what would lead you to being less likely to hurt yourself, even if Lilia did find himself on the sidelines watching you practice on days he wasn't busy. He thinks it's admirable you continue to try without fear of embarrassment from onlookers, reporting that your form is getting better day by day and that you'd probably master the art of landing on your feet in no time.

Malleus Draconia:

Malleus is a little worried about you regardless of how much you deflect said worry and tell him all you need is a little practice. He does insist on being there for some of them, perhaps using a broom to teach you how to land properly without tripping yourself up and bruised or scratched up. He always managed to land with such elegance and grace no matter how fast he plummeted to the ground you grew quite jealous, though it was hard to combat the daydreams of him having his own pair of stark black feathered wings to accompany his graceful landing.

Sebek Zigvolt:

Sebek tells you to do what you want as he’s not your babysitter and he won’t be the one crying when you get hurt, but he is incredibly tense when he sees you practicing as he’s performing other duties. He’s a little antsy which can put him into awkward situations when he’s trying to practice with Silver or he’s trying to ride, his eyes on the sky and not what’s happening directly in front of him. He will never admit to being worried about your well-being unless you do get seriously injured, in which you’ll receive both a vicious scolding and a very generous offer of help from the boy who clearly liked you more than he let on.

Silver:

You make Silver worry A LOT. Every time you take flight he’s on edge, watching the skies with careful precision just in case he has to make a last minute rescue. You’ve teased him more than once that it’s very princely of him to look out for you, and that you’re not as fragile as being an angel might imply. Still, he’s insistent that you don’t practice without having someone around just in case something happens and you’re too hurt to get help yourself.

[issy5316]

goodbye

this is a callout post to @hinatasweetgrape

i know you'll be reading this, so i'll let my friends do the talking

oh, and they've seen your other account, @hinataNSFW

season 1:

jones: oh god, you are horrible! simping for a child as well?! and calling out other people's art?! at least they make it look decent and not use AI!

nathan: this is a faith worse than death, to ridicule people who work hard! and you can't even use their correct pronouns at all!

grace: sexualizing a child is horrible! leave julian out of your disgusting fantasies!

ramirez: horrible, just horrible! i know my art isn't always the best, but at least i put in effort, and you don't even get the skintones right for many of them! or make the whiter!

alex: i'm sorry you think your art is good! looking at it is horrifying! and your comments are so innapropriate!

cathy: i'm a hacker, if i had the chance, i would hack your account and make it disappear!

king: i may not understand technology that well, but you are doing a horrifying thing!

season 2:

andrea: what you are doing is so horrible, you think other art is shitty, but it's your art that's horrible, you haven't even drawn it at all! it's AI!

amy: the art is......horrible, and your other posts are just.......just horrible!

russell:'shaking'you are a psychopath......

frank: ya! i know i wasn't the best person and i wasn't best buddies with russell, but i would never sexually assault him! what if my daughters saw your posts and think i'm a horrible person?! and you would never capture karen's true beauty!

hannah: i wish i could delete your posts off my brain.

roxie: all the alcohol in the world can't make me forget what i just saw.

yann: my children could see those posts! are you ashamed of yourself at all?! i am horrified by those posts!

karen:........i am disgusted, i know me and frank don't always see eye to eye, but he would never assault someone!

season 3:

ripley:.........'vanishes'

ingrid: i'm almost tempted to turn back to my ice cold self just by looking at those posts.

jack: what the fuck did i just look at?!

lars: those posts are just so weird........even when i got high, i didn't see stuff like that!

angela: i hope you are ashamed of yourself for what you have done.

carmen: i am not white at all! you are a horrible sorry excuse of a wannabe artist!

marina: you need all the therapy of the world, and i don't think it will even help you.

jonah: i'm going to lock my weapons up before anyone finds them after seeing your art.

elliot: your art is horrible, but i can't see your other account since i'm 17, but after everything i heard, i'm glad i'm not 18.

michelle:........prepare to get sued.

season 4:

arthur: i am horrified with what the future generation is coming to! i am so disgusted right now!

richard: this self experiment of what i saw is making me feel things i don't like at all.

viola: even bad written plays are better than what i saw and read!

maddie: i don't want to solve this case since it's horrifying!

charles:........i thought the inventions would be better, i guess i was wrong.......

isaac: at least i'm dead by the time this is created.

evie: this is why i stay with books......

rose: i don't know what to do about this.......this is horrifying.

diego: at least i make my art look decent, unlike this wannabe art i'm looking at!

season 5:

diane: this is the most horrifying thing i've ever seen, and i've been working in the law for a while!

gloria: i'm so glad my son isn't going to be looking at this stuff you created.

martine:'curses in french'

rita: i think i'm going to give myself amnesia.

rupert: amir, is the new generation always like this?

amir: no, no it's not.

gabriel: people are insane if they think insulting good art work is good.......

season 6:

christopher: what am i looking at right now?

zara: nightare fuel is what i'm looking at.

janis: my grandchildren have better manners than you.

theo: i'm getting my lawyers.

kai: and i'm fixing the time machine to prevent us from looking at this.

orlando: you have horrible taste in words!

penelope:.......maybe i should stop writing fanfiction for awhile.

season 7:

jacob: you must be working with the demons to have your head so far up your ass.

gwen: you don't put effort at all or think, i hope you realize you are wrong........but i don't have hope for you.

luke: now i wish i was old enough to drink to forget what i just saw.

ben: i'm disappointed that our fandom is becoming corrupted because of people like you, i know our games aren't the best, but we deserve some respect!

priya: i wish i was in my werewolf form so i won't remember this.

hope: i don't have hope for your future in this fandom.

felix: i'm going to look for an elixar to forget about this.

season 8:

JP: gauthier, please buy some bleach for all of us.

gauthier: yes papa, i want to forget about this.

hugo:......i think i'll consider changing my behavior for once in my life.

carrie: i did not come to paris to witness this!

nadia: disgusting.......writing noncon, sexualizing a minor! i know i call dead peopel pretty, but at least i ask for consent and make sure they are an adult! i hope you will realize your mistakes one day!

enzo: i think i might change my behavior as well.......like hugo said.

emile:'shaking'i am getting away from the internet is you are here to make it unsafe!

lea: i agree with emile!

and that's all

hinata

i know you will say something about this, and i will be honest with you

you put in no effort at all, you made fun of other people's art, this fandom already has enough problems in it

so us a favor and think before you act, this fandom has drama, like the others, but that doens't mean you need to create it, we just want to have fun and you aren't doing us a favor by creating stuff like this, and insulting other people's work

you can block me, becausee guess what?

i don't give a flying fuck about your opinion