#i need some fluff with this ship...

[umblrspectrum]

happy solvermas

[spacebubblehomebase]

"Say My Name."

Tumblr "Poll Results" for my #HHStargazersAU are out and so I'm releasing ALL the currently available titles of my future posts for this story!!! Though to not completely spoil the plot for everyone, I redacted some parts on the list. Just know that, while I DO have plans, they could always change and not everything is complete. But if you're still willing to be patient with me, here's a taste of my writing and art! Nothing serious. Just to see if it's to your liking. I won't always stick to such style, but there WILL be consistent world building as it's my favorite part of starting any AU! And if you like Chaggie or queerplatonic Radioapple centric stories then you're in luck because that's EVERYTHING I'm here for! It'll take a lot of effort, but GOD will it also be a LOT of fun! XD Still a show is nothing without an audience and according to my list, it's time for an INTEREST CHECK, so what say you? 👀✨️ -Bubbly💙

(For more context, check out "Part One" of my story! "A New Day Will Dawn...")

[nemo-of-house-hamartia]

Please, someone stop me from listening to Josh Groban, because otherwise I will end up DRAWING ANOTHER "MOTTIE AT BED" ARTWORK.

Like seriously, I cannot.

When I hear him sing "You have no idea" all I can hear is Mathias singing to Dorothea AND MY HEART CANNOT TAKE IT.

IT'S EXPLODING WITH SOFT TENDERNESS.

(and I have become the joke of my own household, because my husband, loving Josh as much as I do, now DOES IT ON PURPOSE OF PUTTING HIM ON OUR SPEAKERS, especially when he sees that I am busy working on something not Mottie-related. He knows how my brain works. HE KNOWS IT. So if sometimes you see me derailing, IT'S MR. NEMO'S FAULT AS WELL).

[13ag21k]

Ah yes the good old "I can't remove my boyfriend's mask" trope.

[iceman-soup]

ghost x soap

Of course it's fucking raining now that Soap and Ghost finally on leave. Sure, it's not unusual Scottish weather (they're staying in Johnny's small flat in Glasgow), and it's not like they were gonna do much today anyway, but still. It has them waking up in an already lazy mood, Simon shuffling to cuddle into his boyfriend closer and groaning.

The bed is too comfy and warm to get up, and Si doesn't want to move away from Soap's sleepy embrace. They're both conscious, quietly making incoherent noises of complaint at that fact back and forth at each other. Eventually, Johnny presses his lips to Ghost's forehead and rolls them over, sitting up on Simon's stomach to look out the window like a curious rabbit, then leaning down and littering his unmasked face with pecked kisses.

Simon laughs, running his hands through Soap's mohawk. Raindrops patter against the window as he flips them over again, hugging Soap tight then sitting up opposite him, pulling on a pair of comfy military-issued socks and one of his hoodies. The Sergeant sits up too, also pulling on one of Si's hoodies, and much fluffier socks with little skull prints all over them that Gaz had bought him as a gag gift which he ended up adoring.

"Mornin', love," Soap smiles, voice deep and groggy as he leans forward to rest his head on Ghost's chest, who hums in response and nuzzles his cheek against his hair. After a couple moments just sitting like that, the two reluctantly flop out of bed, padding their way over to the tiny kitchen before realising they barely have a scrap of food in the flat, only just having a few general ingredients and a small selection of tea and coffee.

Simon groans again, scanning the fridge as if something new is about to spawn in, before turning around, picking his boyfriend up and setting him on a counter, then passing him flour, eggs, milk and some oil, and getting out a frying pan for the stove.

"What're we making?" the shorter man asks, swinging his legs and playfully kicking Ghost whenever he gets in range.

"Secret," is the only reply he gets, but it's quickly obvious by the way Si mixes some flour, milk and two eggs together, creating a thin batter which he splashes into the pan, just about remembering to put oil in first so as to not completely fuck it all up. Then Chef Riley takes charge, and suddenly Johnny is being bossed around, ordered to get plates and get cutlery and cut up a lemon and put some caster sugar in a small bowl and set it out all pretty on the tiny dining table. In his own home, he complains lightheartedly.

The first pancake served is happily accepted by the Scot along with a quick kiss. The shit weather had only gotten worse, but that meant a perfect background noise for them to eat (although it did make conversation a little difficult). Once the batter is all used up, Ghost puts Soap on washing up duty, whilst he dries and puts everything away. And then it's essential to curl up on the sofa together, wrapped in one of Johnny's blankets, watching a randomly-selected war film and criticising even the slightest inaccuracies to make each other laugh.

[saccharineomens]

Their best relationship development is still to come, but the chapters today's episode covered are a great start!

[nekogaaaaaaa]

Yes yes.. this power couple is hot and badass

But what if they found a cat

[moxtoons]

I miss hatter crow. Spare a crumb of hatter crow please

I've been wanting to draw these boys for a while 💛

Feels good to go back to some BTAS work.

Reblogs are appreciated please don't Repost

[holeodemony]

Laughing crying choking on my tears why am I constantly haunted by the thoughts of all these tragic little gay men I just want then to be okay for once yet terrible things always happen why they just need to be in each others arms and in my arms I need to comfort them why because they're tragic little gay men and they're stuck in my head and consuming my every waking thought and I'm not okay because they're not okay.

[mi---amor]

Where The Heart Is

A//N: Chef Saltbaker x Self Insert OC

°•°•°•°•°

The funny thing about going off to explore the world was, at the end of the day, there was no place like home. 

Chalice had roamed the isles of Inkwell for several centuries; infinite freedom to witness the passage of time and march of progress at the cost of not being able to experience any of it. However, her postmortem predicament had recently relented and she was now free to venture on two solid feet wherever she desired. 

The change was nice. It was new. It was exciting! 

And most thrilling of all, it was tiring.

All credit went to accompanying the two knucklehead cup brothers on whatever adventure they embarked. Dueling grown adults, monsters, and Satan himself was no longer a pastime, thankfully. They could finally just enjoy being kids. 

As much as Chalice loved those two to death (quite literally) and would gladly take on a million brawls for them, a girl her age needed time to herself. Two whole weeks of romping around Isle One left her sore from straw to toe, not to mention incredibly homesick. 

After a prompt but sound boat ride, Chalice twirled and skipped towards the humble town square of Isle Four. The day was drifting into late afternoon, meaning the bakery would be closed, but her pops would be on the lookout for her.

He always waited down by the old well, and once they caught sight of each other, he'd open his arms and smile big. Chalice would smile even bigger and rush up into his awaiting softness. It was probably the best feeling since returning to life, she'd say. 

That and gobbling down a plate of her favorite fig and almond tarts he'd make as a welcome home present, just for her. They'd go inside and Chalice would chatter on about her two weeks of non-reckless-but-maybe-rowdy fun while her father listened with interest, happy she had returned safely, happy she was happy.

And Chalice would be happy- as soon as they were reunited. 

The cup girl crossed the cobbletones before a bare spot at the well’s side. She craned her neck and hopped around like a twitchy bird. Her father wasn't where he usually sat right at the front. He had to be somewhere, though- hopefully not at the bottom of it. But no, he wouldn’t let falling down an old well stop him from missing her first day back.

Chalice's excited heel taps slowed as she checked the entire circumference of the area. She even called down the dusty stone reservoir, just in case. Nothing but her confused little voice came back up to greet her.

She pouted, but shrugged off the slight disappointment. Her pops was a busy guy. The best baker in the land. He often made time for her, but Chalice knew he wouldn't always be able to. She’d been an adult before, hadn't she? There had been many occasions where she may or may not have wished to get the hassle of living and dealing with so many responsibilities out of the way. She understood the struggle perfectly. 

Anyways, despite being returned to the mortal realm as a child, she was ‘a smart little cookie crumble’, as her pops liked to put it. She could figure things out for herself. 

Chalice shouldered her backpack and scurried toward the bakery, which doubled as their house with an upstairs floor. The sun dripped down the windows like melting golden butter. A chalkboard sign at the door read: Closed. Chalice checked the knob. Locked. Not a problem. Fishing a key from a necklace hidden under her collar, she unlocked the door and stepped right in.

The warm, cozy smell of home embraced Chalice, and if she could have given it one in return, she would have. She'd missed the place terribly. Something about Saltbaker’s bakery had tugged at her soul when she first explored it as a specter. She knew now it was because it had been built over a mausoleum, with enough astral energy to draw in powerful beings of the past like herself. Nowadays, it was just magical in its everyday simplicity and, most important of all, safety. 

Maybe it was where she was meant to be all along… although luckily not in a tart tin.

The storefront had been left neat and tidy, same as before she’d left. Given how much he prided in presentation, Chalice could believe her father had missed the time while cleaning or finishing some other end-of-the-day matter. 

She wouldn't hold it against him. In fact, she pitied the poor guy. He often got swamped with work and cheerfully waved away any concern he could clearly use.

Because of this, Chalice had suggested he at least entertain the idea of hiring more staff. Like any good daughter, she helped when she could with chores. But after the whole… Wondertart fiasco… the chef didn't seem entirely comfortable having a child carry out hours of unpaid manual labor in his workplace. 

Chalice appreciated the consideration immensely; he'd learned his lesson and was being the best dad he could be. But still, he was through with community service. He didn't have to toil alone as a consequence anymore. Hopefully he’d heed her advice and quit being such a big stubborn dummy. 

Heading toward the stairs of their living quarters, Chalice overheard an unmistakable belly laugh coming from the kitchen. She paused and listened closer. The radio was on too, playing a merry melody. 

Her pops loved listening to music while he cleaned. 

Grinning, the cup girl rushed behind the counter and through the swinging door, ready to tackle him for his forgetfulness, which she would easily forgive over a plate of fig tarts. 

And there he was, leaning back against a counter, stirring a full wine glass. Chef Saltbaker was chuckling in a noticeably giddier pitch with a rosy hue dusting over his glass features. Across from him stood a stranger Chalice couldn't see since they were turned away, but it seemed to be a woman.

“Pop?” she asked, not hiding her slightly bewildered tone. 

The chef caught sight of his daughter through a distorted view in the wine glass raised to his lips. He choked into it, and after a brief coughing fit, he seemed to suddenly speak fluent gibberish. 

“Chalice! Ah-! I- um- you- drat! Today!”

“Don't get your cap in a twist,” Chalice muttered, stepping slightly closer to the guest who had an apparent VIP pass to loiter in their kitchen. She didn’t mean to crinkle her nose at them, but she felt like she had a good reason to. “Who’re you?”

The woman was short and stocky, a little on the chubbier side, and had a semblance to one of the pastries in the bakery's many display cases. She was kinda pretty, which wasn't a good thing as Chalice tried filling in the blanks of whatever this oddly intimate situation was while awaiting a proper explanation. 

The woman cleared her throat, looking toward the chef as he hurriedly set down his cup and switched off the radio. 

“She doesn't speak English, I’m afraid,” Saltbaker said. He went and knelt beside Chalice, seeming a bit sheepish. “I had hoped you might’ve overheard the news since word travels at the speed of light around here, but I digress.” He then held out a palm toward the mystery woman. “This is Amor, my new baking assistant! Amor, esta es mi hija, Cáliz.”

“Oh! Mucho gusto.” Although stiffer than the peppy chef, the woman offered a hand and smile to the girl as Saltbaker translated.

“She says it's nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Chalice said. Without returning the gesture, she stared at the woman, the wine glasses, and then her father. She waited, letting the awkwardness sink in perhaps a bit too cruelly, before asking, “So… she’s just an assistant?” 

“Of- of course.” Chef Saltbaker’s not-very-convincing stutter was out of pure confusion. He had no idea what on Earth his daughter was trying to insinuate, but a child's imagination was terrifying and he wasn't about to start guessing.

The Amor lady mumbled something Chalice didn't quite catch. She was familiar with Spanish as well as a variety of other languages, and although she didn't exactly remember how, she knew her past life had something to do with it. 

There was an oddity to how Amor spoke. Her Spanish had a twang, like a Southern accent. Chalice had never heard it before, nor had she even seen the woman on any of the isles in her two entire lives. It was strange, and unfortunately just made her plain weird. Worst of all, now she had her father acting all strange and weird and secretive too. 

Sensing a souring atmosphere, Chef Saltbaker calmly replied to Amor while ushering Chalice out of the kitchen. As soon as they were alone, like they were supposed to be, he knelt and cupped his daughter’s shoulders. 

“Oh, sweetheart, I completely forgot about walking you home! I'm real sorry, really I am. I've been busy showing Amor the ropes, see. She's not just new to the job, she's from another archipelago entirely.”

“Huh,” Chalice said. “That explains it.” 

“Explains what?”

“She's… well. Different.” Chalice made sure to pick her words to sound judgment-free. She didn't really know why she had the urge to do the exact opposite… but she had a good guess. Ever since the Wondertart incident a year or so ago, she had a rightful amount of wariness for anyone who seemed too friendly on the outside. 

And that was pretty much everyone. 

Chef Saltbaker was a firsthand witness, if not the guilty culprit. She wasn't going to get over the instinct anytime soon, but at the same time he really didn’t wish for her to feel that way constantly. 

“Yes, she is different,” he said. “But different doesn't mean bad.”

Chalice rolled her eyes. “I knowww. C'mon, I ain’t five.”

“Then why the suspicion?” 

Her father seemed to genuinely want to know, and Chalice hadn't even noticed that was the exact emotion she felt. Having it pointed out aloud made her sound… pretty harsh.  

“I don't know,” she admitted. “Maybe because she randomly showed up? And last I checked, you don't need a bottle of wine and mood music to chit-chat.”

Chef Saltbaker hadn't the foggiest clue as to where his daughter had pulled such an assumption from. It bordered on impudent, but he didn't think admonishing her would solve the issue. He believed there could have been a better way to present the situation. And darn it, presentation was his thing, he knew better. 

“Sweetheart, part of getting to know someone is to make conversation and be polite,” he reasoned. “Where we come from, pouring a drink is a gesture of hospitality as well. Amor is bright and has a great attitude, a marvelous culinary background, and she's leaped at the chance to work here… even with knowing about my- ah. Record.” 

Chef Saltbaker dodged the sore subject and waggled Chalice's shoulders with great enthusiasm. “She's proven to be a great help in only a few days! I'm ahead on my orders and she could take over a few tasks to free up my schedule! Isn't that what you were telling me I needed?”

When he put it like that… not to mention looked so happy while telling her about it… maybe Chalice had been too hasty. She'd said it herself; she knew nothing about Amor. While there was still a persistent fear that she had other intentions, there was also a chance she could have been an angel who'd dropped down to their doorstep. 

Meanwhile, the chef had paid his daughter's wishes mind. Didn't that also mean he was thinking of her? To make more time? Because he cared? 

The little cup girl twisted her foot behind a calf, downcast. 

“Oh,” was all she could manage to say. 

“Oh?” Chef Saltbaker gently teased. He chucked Chalice under the chin, meeting her guilt-ridden gaze with an endlessly loving one. “I wouldn't hire any random person off the street, y'know. Part of the ongoing interview process is assessing if she'd work well with another helper around, should I need you. You're a much bigger priority to me than anything else, dear, even my old bakery, and if things don't work out for whatever reason, I'll see to it. Alright?”

A warmth lit in the depths of Chalice's soul at his assurance, lifting her eyes and mouth high. Playfully, she flicked her father's nose. It made a funny spring door stopper noise. 

“Since when did they start calling you Chef Sappybaker?” she asked. 

Her father retaliated by pinching both her cheeks and squishing them around. “Oh, since I had the pleasure of looking after you, cookie crumble. You won't hear the end of it, I promise. Ah! Before I keep being a forgetful fool…”

Chalice gasped in delight as her father flourished a hand and summoned a sparkling plate of fig tarts from thin air. Steam swirled above them, and the dollops of cream glistened like freshly fallen snow. 

“Amor helped make these when I told her you were coming home today,” Chef Saltbaker said. He meaningfully tilted his head toward the kitchen. “She's shy at first but opens up to kindness. She's looking forward to meeting you. Now, I won't force you to make conversation, but I do request you be polite. Do you think you could introduce yourself a bit better?” 

Chalice stood straight and nodded like a steadfast soldier. Her father couldn't resist giving her cheek another doting pinch. 

“That's my girl.”

Amor waited in the kitchen, every second tightening like a vice around her heart. Had she said something wrong? Looked the wrong way, worn the wrong clothes?

She hated social cue guessing games like that, but sadly that was the only way she could afford to try and fit in at the moment.

Maybe it was the clothes. It was always the clothes. She could wear what she wanted back home, back where no one batted an eye at a woman with short hair wearing pants. But here, everyone noticed. If your hair was long and your pants were short, they noticed. If your hair was cut and your dress flowed to your ankles, they noticed.

You could work harder than anyone, get more cuts and tears and dirt stains all over those blouses and jeans, and still, all they saw was how badly you stood out like a sore thumb.

Amor leaned anxiously from foot to foot. She could only hope that the little cup girl saw her like her father had. See she was trying to make a good first impression and not seem weird or mean on purpose. First impressions meant everything these days when so many others were next in line to snatch a job.

The kitchen door swished open and Amor turned, hands fidgeting in place of being nibbled on. That had been fast. Had they talked about her? Was her financial fate really going to be set in the hands of a child? 

Holding onto her plate of goodies, Chef Saltbaker gave his daughter a push and wink in Amor’s direction. Chalice smiled at the visibly apprehensive woman and held out a hand. 

“¡Hola! Soy Cáliz. Es un placer conocerte, Señora Amor, y agradezco que estás ayudando a mi papá con nuestra panadería.”

The little girl's tooth gap adorably complimented her earnest expression and perfect Spanish. Any suspicion Amor had initially sensed was long gone, having been swept aside to reveal something much sweeter and approachable like she'd seen in the head chef himself. 

It was excellent customer service in the making if Amor had ever seen any. To top it off, the sound of her native language alone made her feel right at home.

“Gracias, señorita. Me siento muy bienvenido aquí.” 

[charles-leclerc-official]

What characterization do you enjoy in lestappen fanfics and what era/year of them is your fave?

As a toxic yaoi enjoyer I love anything 2019, like the true I wanna kill that guy rivals of it all was seen there in Austria. I eat that up.

As far as characterization goes, I need them to butt heads a little, I don't think they'd perfectly get along (too similar, I fight the mirror of myself type thing) so they gotta have that undercurrent of rivals for me, that yes we are obsessed with each other but at the end of the day we are on opposite sides feeling.

[quazikam]

i see you morphing into a saiibo shipper in reblogs quazi /pos

I'VE BEEN A SAIIBO SHIPPER FOR A WHILE AHHH I LOVE THEM

THEY'RE BOTH SO AWKWARD AND IT'S THE CUTEST THING HELP MEEE

KIIBO'S LOVE HOTEL IS ONE OF THE ONLY ACCEPTABLE ONES BECAUSE LOOK AT THEM THE ANXIETY KINGS

also I feel the need to say I am a MASSIVE mulitshipper if you couldn't tell already- like I ship shuichi with like half the cast for his sopping wet cat energy attracts all

[love-and-indoor-sports]

Heists gone wrong (or right from a certain point of view) and smoke breaks

At what point do I just start a Coalecroux fan blog cuz these idiots have me in a headlock and are stealing my lunch money

[sickpunk-selfshipper]

Imagine your F/O helping you take care of your joints

They apply ointment and massage your sore joints

Especially with your hands and wrists, they help you put on medicated compresses

Your F/O makes sure the bandages aren’t too tight

And they help you slip on your splints/ braces

Once your joints are supported and immobilised, your F/O pulls you into a hug and rests their head against yours

They mumble sweet nothings to you as they hold you close and the both of you wait for the ointment to soothe your joints

antis DNI! This post isn’t for anti-shippers!

[alaskasbignaturals]

York idly kicked the edge of the seat of Cal’s chair.

This is one of I think many more doodles to come from the amazing fic by @thesbian-who-writes​ (heres the fic)

I’ll have you know that I was on the floor in a puddle because I melted from all the sweetness and fluff and love its such a good fic... definitely becoming a new comfort fic for sure >:3

[sweetvillainjude]

just finished reading the folk of the air series for the first time, over the course of exactly four days, and i’m in shambles. like this has altered my brain chemistry forever i fear. thinking about jude and cardan and faerieland and complicated relationships and what it means to be a warrior, a ruler, a lover…

what magic did holly black put in those books