#iron frontier

[femmelone]

um. intro post

hiiii i'm moony from @otacringe and this is my jojo sideblog or something. u can check my main for more info but for the basics i go by they/them or de/dem, i'm a minor, and i've been into jojo for about 4-5 years (i can't escape. it never ends.)

i don't really do long dni stuff but the same stuff that goes for my main goes here. no bigots, no proshippers, and no south park/hsr/hp/dsmp fans.

tag info below the cut:

general stuff (same as it is on my main) #moony speaks - for any general discussion/talk stuff. (about jojo ofc.) answered asks go here as well, and i'll probably tag those as asks or something. #moony's art - for any art i post #moonyposting - for shitposts or anything original that i don't deem worthy of being tagged as an actual textpost or art post #moony's ocs - stuff with ocs! each universe has its own tag also.

oc stuff #iron frontier - post-sbr storyline about the son of johnny's daughter in a universe where the wild west went on for. a lot longer i suppose. #rainbow rising - protag!shizuka part. set in the original timeline 25 years after diu. #squadraverse - technically the official name for this one is material world, but i'm just used to calling it this. protag!squadra au in its own independent timeline. trans girl melone centric. decent chance the characters from here might get their own tags as i love to ramble about them.

part-specific stuff since persona has kind of taken over my ability to use p3/p4/p5/etc. as abbreviations, you're getting these. im mostly a part 4-onwards guy though so don't expect as much of the first three #pb - part 1 #bt - part 2 #sdc - part 3 #diu - part 4 #gw - part 5 #so - part 6 #sbr - part 7 #jojolion - part 8 #jojolands - part 9

character-specific stuff i was gonna say oops all melone but i remembered im also the number one hayato co-protagonist truther so he gets one too #melwife - for her... #trans mel - for anything related to she/her mel that has some actual thought put into it on my part #hayato - self explanatory. i have no explanation for why i love this kid he's just cool

[formulas-fatal-to-your-mom]

[smallpwbbles]

This is what happens when y’all influence and hype me up to do things 

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

Insane again thinking about Sonic and Tails

Everyone always talks about the ways in which Tails is dependent on or revolves around Sonic. We talk about the ways in which he's depended on Sonic to save him, the way he likes tagging along on journeys, the way Sonic has inspired him, the way he always maintains Sonic's plane, leaves his door open for him with place to rest and good food to eat

But we rarely talk about the ways in which Sonic is secretly dependent or reliant on Tails

In a large portion of the games, if Tails isn't straight up on the journey alongside him, Sonic has the security that Tails can communicate with him from afar, and Tails usually appears to help out at some point during one of Sonic’s solo journeys. He doesn't have to be without Tails for long

And we see what happens (especially in Sonic Frontiers and Sonic Prime) when Tails is inaccessible. In Frontiers, he wonders where Tails aloud is unprompted, wanting to find him. Sonic's other friends even convince him to bother with the secrets of the starfall islands because doing so may lead him to Tails. He wants to find Tails so Tails can make sense of what's happening. And in Prime, Sonic ends up scrambling without Tails around. Especially in Prime S1 while things make the least sense, he seeks out Tails first (and then later hopes variants other than Nine can fill Tails' role) because he trusts him. He trusts that if Tails is here, then he can just tell Sonic what to do (come up with a plan for him to execute). With Tails around, Sonic doesn’t have to worry about not understanding the situation because Tails can figure it out. Without Tails, Prime!Sonic often shifts between trying to handle things himself to the best of his knowledge while rolling with the punches, and deferring to someone he can trust as a smarter strategizer to tell him what to do (a role Nine fills most notably, but other characters such as Rebel and Shadow fill on the occasion).

Of course there's also the earlier mentioned way in which Tails takes care of Sonic as well. I'm sure Tails isn't Sonic's only friend that he could crash with, but it's Tails who goes to such lengths to open his arms for him. If Sonic wants to crash in an actual house, if he wants to eat his favorite food, if he just wants to hang out, or if he needs help, Tails's home is open to him, accommodating his every need.

In my eyes, Sonic is the one who is surprisingly codependent here, who flounders a bit when everything goes to shit, Tails is nowhere to be found and can't be contacted, and there's no one else that can help him make sense of things. He takes Tails with him on so many journeys, even in games like Colors, where Tails largely follows behind Sonic while Sonic does a lot of the physical work. Tails doesn't need to be "useful" to tag along. He likes having Tails around, he wants Tails around. When Tails can't go with him or it's something Sonic should go alone for, he can always communicate with him and hear his voice from afar. And I'd argue there are more examples than Sonic Prime that may demonstrate Sonic trying to find someone to fill Tails' role the first chance he can get when Tails isn't around and can't be contacted.

The conclusion here is that a lot of people talk about Tails being dependent on Sonic or revolving around him, but they truly are partners. Sonic wants to be around Tails at this point perhaps as much as Tails always wants to be around Sonic. The two are strong together, they fill each other's gaps in ability. They both feel more secure when the other is around, and they rely on each other's presence. They are each a comforting existence to the other in similar and different ways.

[dickinson-devotee]

I'm just gonna say it, The Final Frontier is underrated, it's a cracking album. Great songs, great vibes, Bruce sounds fantastic, the storytelling in each song is impeccable. Chef's kiss, don't get why it's not more appreciated.

[argoscity]

ACTION COMICS (1938) #1044 written by Phillip Kennedy Johnson art by David Lapham

[arainaizevran]

if mizora was smart, she wouldn't have hid the evidence that wyll fought the cult of tiamat while the duke was away. she could've left it there, let wyll appear the hero that he is, make him swear his pact to secrecy but everything else is fair game. that way, wyll wouldn't have been exiled (probably), and mizora would have a direct connection to manipulate the duke without actually manipulating him by using wyll instead.

[wannab-urs]

Burn Slowly/I Love You | Chapter 1

Warnings/Content/Summary: As always I live in a fantasy world where no one gets pregnant or gets STDs and no one uses a condom. This is fiction. Wear a fucking condom. Sex while intoxicated but like it’s two maybe three beers y’all they aren’t drunk. Alternating POV kind of? Reader has burn scars on her left arm, wrapping over her shoulder and a bit onto her chest. No other physical descriptors. Remember that Frankie is strong as hell so it doesn’t matter if you’re petite or amazonian, this man can toss you around all he wants to. Fuck first feelings later type beat. Eventual descriptions of PTSD, trauma, minor character death, panic attacks, flashbacks, etc.

Word Count - 2.2k

Your Chest is Heavy

You’re sitting at the worn oak counter of a dive bar just a few blocks from your apartment with a cheap beer and a copy of The Secret History. Reading at the bar is a good way to scare off most men who would normally approach you. The rest usually fuck off when you don’t even look up from the book, muttering “not interested” in their direction. It’s really hard to focus on this book, though. The plot is a little meandering, for one, but there’s also a lot of people here tonight making it loud. 

A sudden burst of laughter draws your attention. A group of guys stand around a hightop table on the far side of the room. At first glance, none are particularly appealing to you. Rowdy, obscenely muscular, clean shaven, close cropped hair. Not your type at all. You’re just about to go back to your book when one of the guys catches your eye. He doesn’t look quite like the others. Unruly dark curls stick out of a ballcap, a scruffy beard clings to his cheeks. He’s got broad shoulders and big arms like the others, but his face is softer around the edges. His eyes are still caught in the crinkles of his laughter when he meets your stare. Shit you’re staring. 

You quickly look back down at your book, curling in on yourself, hoping he doesn’t come over. You’ve basically used universal bar sign language for come talk to me and that is not what you want. Even if he’s really cute. 

“Dude, she was practically eating you with her eyes. Go over there!” Benny playfully nudges Frankie on the shoulder. 

“You haven’t had any action in ages, Catfish. Go,” Pope teases. 

Frankie scrubs a hand over his neck. “I don’t know. She was probably looking at you, Benny.” 

“She was definitely looking at you, Fish,” Will seems genuine, tone softer and less like he’s setting Frankie up to fail. 

Frankie sighs, lifting his cap and running a hand through his curls before stuffing it back on his head. “Fine. I’ll go talk to her.” The boys cheer like his love life is a fucking football game and he just scored a touchdown. 

Frankie slips into a bar stool beside you. “Uh… hi,” he says sheepishly. He feels like an idiot for doing this. 

“Not interested,” you mutter, barely even looking up from your book. Frankie’s face grows hot with shame. The boys will never let this go. Not a shot in hell. He sits there for a second, caught between facing your wrath if he doesn’t leave and facing the humiliation if he does. But just as he makes the decision to go, you look up at him. “Wait! I’m sorry. Habit.” 

Frankie cocks an eyebrow, but settles back into his seat. “I’m Frankie. Can I buy you a beer?”

“Yeah, Frankie. I’d like that.”

It wouldn’t have been right to send the man away without at least talking to him. That’s how you justify it to yourself. It certainly didn’t hurt that he was absolutely gorgeous up close. In that first quick glance you’d caught the curve of his aquiline nose, the pout of his plump lips, and the blush creeping over his golden cheeks. That was enough to warrant at least a conversation. 

And fuck it was a good conversation. He asked about your book, which led to a rant about all the reasons you didn’t like it and all the reasons you were still reading it anyway, his eyes wrinkling at the corners as he grinned at you. “What?” 

“It’s cute when you ramble,” he’d said, scratching the back of his neck. 

You talked about your job at the library and he told you he’s an ambulance driver. He jerked a thumb toward the guys still nursing their beers behind him, “Firefighters. Buncha pendejos,” he’d said a little too loudly, winking at you. 

You had fully intended on letting him down gently. You didn’t come here to find someone to go home with, you came here to have a beer. And yet you had asked him if he wanted to head out of the bar. And now you’re sitting in  his truck, rolling down the highway.

“Can you turn the AC on?” You’re sweating through your long sleeve black shirt from the heat and your own nervousness. 

“Uh… It’s broken. I’m sorry,” Frankie kind of winces, like it physically hurts him to admit. “Not far from the house though.” 

“It’s fine! Just a little warm,” you play with the sleeve of your shirt and take a deep breath. It’s fine. It’s just a little heat. You’ll be okay. Breathe. “Actually, can I roll the window down?” 

Frankie chuckles and hits the button to roll all the windows in the truck down. Your heart rate evens out as the night air hits your face. 

The truck rolls to a stop in front of a small white house. You pick at your fingers, seriously questioning if you made the right choice. He seems so sweet. You feel… safe with him. But-

“Cariño? We’re here,” Frankie speaks low, like he’s worried you’ll spook and take off. He slowly reaches over the console and takes your hand, stopping your fidgeting. He rubs a soothing thumb over the back of your hand. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah!” you say too quickly, too loudly in the stillness of the truck cab. “It’s just, uh… It’s been a while. I’m nervous.” Frankie pulls your hand up to his lips and kisses it before laying it gently back down on the console. 

“It’s been a while for me too. I’ll take care of you, though. Promise.” He winks at you and it’s so dorky and cute that it calms you down a little. 

Frankie barely gets you through the door before he gently presses you into the wall and his soft, plush lips find yours. You melt into the kiss, bringing your hands up to cradle his face. You knock his trucker hat to the floor and bury your hands in his hair, deepening the kiss with a swipe of your tongue. He tastes like cheap beer and his beard scrapes against the soft skin of your face. He smells like citrus and sandalwood. Your senses are gently overpowered by him, a soft wash of Frankie covering you and settling what remains of your nerves. 

Every fear you had comes rushing back as he slips his fingertips under the hem of your shirt. You freeze before grabbing his wrist and placing a palm on his chest, pushing him away gently. “Shirt stays on and hands stay outside of it, okay? I’m sorry…” Your body tenses in anticipation of the rejection you know is coming. He’ll kick you out. Or disregard your wishes. 

Frankie’s hands find your cheeks, drawing your face up to look at him. “Hey, it’s okay. Thank you for telling me.” He kisses you gently, reassuringly. It hits you again that you trust this stranger you just met in a bar. You deepen the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. He hitches his hands under your thighs and pulls them up around his waist, settling you against his very prominent arousal. You roll yourself against him and he groans into your mouth. His hands wrap tightly around your body and he carries you down the hallway. 

He lays you gently on the bed and immediately goes for the button of your jeans, making sure to stay clear of your shirt. He tosses your jeans and underwear on the floor and drops to his knees beside the bed. 

“Oh, Frankie, you don’t have to-” your sentence is cut off by the low moan erupting from your throat as Frankie pulls your legs over his broad shoulders and buries his face in your cunt. His hooked nose grinds against your clit as he licks into you. Your hands find purchase in his curls and you roll your hips into him, grinding on his face. Frankie eats it up… literally. He groans into your pussy and you feel it reverberate through your entire body. Your head is thrown back in absolute ecstasy as he sucks your bud into his mouth, lapping at it rhythmically. You clench around nothing, pleasure curling up in your core. “Please, fuck, don’t stop. So close,” you cry out. Your voice is desperate, wrecked, and your hips are thrusting involuntarily against his face. 

You come with a near pained shout, hands tightening in Frankie’s hair and pulling him into you even harder as you grind on his nose. Frankie licks a trail from your entrance up to your mound, then presses kisses all the way up your clothed stomach and chest. He nips at your jaw as he unbuttons his pants and clumsily shoves them off with one hand, like he can’t bear to take his mouth away from you. 

“Taste so fucking sweet, hermosa,” he rumbles in your ear. “Could eat you out all night, if you’d let me.” 

You think you would let him, if you couldn’t feel his hardness pressed against your thigh. “Another time, Frankie.” You push your thigh against him. “Fuck me, please.” 

Frankie doesn’t need to be told twice. He stands up and pulls you further to the edge of the bed. He looks down at you, unconsciously licking his lips. “Fucking gorgeous…” he says under his breath. You could say the same about him. Half his curls are stuck to his forehead with sweat and half are standing wild from your fingers raking through them. His big brown eyes are wide, almost in awe. His upper half is wrapped in a tight white t-shirt that accentuates his broad shoulders and strong chest. 

He grips his thick, uncut cock in his fist and lines it up with your entrance before grabbing your hips. He pulls your hips into him, splitting you wide open without moving his hips an inch. You don’t know if you’ve ever felt so full in your fucking life. Your hands fly to his muscular forearms, hanging on for dear life as he sheathes himself inside your tight heat. “Holy fuck, Frankie.” 

“I know, baby, I know,” Frankie whispers as he bends to cover your body with his. He drags his cock out a couple of inches and rolls his hips in a fluid motion, sinking back into you and grinding against your clit on every stroke. Moans spill from your lips unchecked. You don’t care if you sound sexy or if the words you’re babbling make any sense because he feels so fucking good. 

Frankie sits up and wedges his knees under your thighs, kneeling on the edge of the bed. He grips your hips in his strong hands and easily pulls you into him, hitting your g-spot with every thrust. Your arms fly above your head, grasping onto the sheets. Your shirt rides up a little with the motion and you almost panic, but Frankie tangles his fingers into the fabric and holds the hem tight against your torso. Safe. You trust him.

Frankie grips you so hard you know you’ll bruise and slams his hips into yours, driving you closer and closer to coming. “You feel… so good, cariño. So. Fucking. Tight,” Frankie bites out between thrusts. You babble incoherently, the head of his cock is slamming into your cervix and it’s making you feel a little fuzzy around the edges. Nothing matters except Frankie’s cock buried inside you and the coil of pleasure building in your gut. He’s fucking you like a rag doll, now. Your body has gone boneless with the intensity of him inside you.

Your orgasm rips through you like a flame, burning you up from the inside out. You scream his name as your eyes roll into the back of your head and your body goes taut with pleasure. Frankie steadily, brutally, fucks you through it. When your cunt finally stops convulsing around him, he drops your hips and leans over your limp, fucked out body. 

Frankie kisses you with a tenderness that seems at odds with the way he just fucked you, stuttering his hips into you one, two, three more times before pulling out and nestling his cock into the crease between your thigh and your torso. His cum splatters across your shirt in long spurts, coating you in his release. 

His forehead drops to yours and your heaving breaths mingle in the space between you. You meet his gaze and there’s something in his eyes… something like adoration. Affection. He shakes his head slightly and stands up. 

“I’ll get you a shirt to wear,” his voice comes out hoarse, rough with the after effects of his orgasm. He disappears into his closet and comes back with a big, long-sleeve t-shirt. You sit up slowly and take the shirt from him. 

“Thank you, Frankie,” you whisper. 

Frankie wakes up in his bed alone. His brow furrows in disappointment. He usually likes to make his hookups breakfast and drive them back to their car. He knows it’s a little weird, but it’s important to him that he takes care of you. He flops onto his side and catches a glimpse of a piece of  paper on his nightstand. It’s your number, your name signed with a heart and a note promising to return the shirt. 

Frankie smiles, feeling something dangerously close to hope for the first time in a long time.

A/N: This fic has been in the works for a while now. The initial idea was pitched in a chat with @beskarandblasters and she supported me every step of the way <3. Thanks to the Whorehomies for hyping me and this idea up! I appreciate y'all more than you'll ever know. And thanks to @str84pedro for the beta/grammar edit I love you!

Let me know if you want to be tagged <3

Tag List: @beskarandblasters, @cutesyscreenname, @atinylittlepain, @harriedandharassed, @jksprincess10, @fishingforpike, @dreamingofdaddydin, @sad-bitch-disorder

[thehustledimension]

POV you are Silver Justice + Silver Gallant at 3 am

[broken-clover]

Regularly frustrated by the fact that most of my fixations aren't mainstream enough to have much in the way of official merch, but for the sake of both my sanity and my wallet, that's probably a good thing

[artsilon]

YOUR NAME IS MAGNUM ACE

YOU HAVE BEEN TAKEN.

[soupwave]

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Art by Melvyn Grant (b. 1944) for Iron Maiden’s “The Final Frontier” (2010).

[dickinson-devotee]

“I’ve grown up with it for 30 years. It’s always been there,” he says, growing emphatic. “I don’t remember not being in Iron Maiden. People go, ‘What a bizarre life you must lead’, but I put it all in a balloon. At the end of the tour it goes pop and I leave it all behind…” You’re saying you aren’t the man you are onstage. “No,” he says, the warmth leaving his visage, his stare suggesting the weight and pain of experience. “You can’t do that. You lose the plot. There were times earlier on when you’re sort of fantasising about ‘Wouldn’t it be great to be a rock star?’ You’re 16, you read about guys in magazines, but it’s a complete loss of all sense of reality that goes on. ‘Here’s the keys to the Ferrari, an unlimited supply of drink and shitloads of women.’ From a distance it looks like everybody’s dream, but as much as you believe all these people are consenting adults sleeping and drinking with you because you’re such a great guy, it’s difficult to find anybody that actually thinks about you as an individual. Suddenly you go from being the life and the soul of the party to being the loneliest guy in the most amazing orgy in the world. It’s like, where the fuck do I belong? Believe it or not I saw Barry Manilow being interviewed and he was talking about his asshole years, and I went ‘I’ve been there!’ I knew exactly what he was talking about.”

[argoscity]

HAWKGIRL (2023) #4 written by Jadzia Axelrod art by Amancay Nahuelpan

[alexcita]

I fear these are the two most underrated Iron Maiden albums. I love them so much. Especially the talisman and these colors don’t run.