#is still the setting of the wips but still

[valiasims]

WIP#45

Hey everyone!

The bedroom is coming along! I thought I'd show you some lighter swatches to switch up the vibes. You can spot the end table and bench in game. I started to put together the closet and you can see on the picture where I'm at with it. I still need to finish the texture, I just slapped on the wood to see if it works or not. I didn't want to make a full closet set with corner pieces, end pieces because I tend to overthink these modular objects and it frustrates me to no end, so I planned two versions, a shelves and a hanger one.

The doors can be slotted on, either to fully cover the closet or half-half (This works if you have two objects next to each other otherwise it looks weird because half of the door just hangs in the air.)

Also I started to make folded clothes, boxes to put on the shelves and I really want to add some hanging clothes too. If I can finish these then I'm adding lamps if not then this will be the whole set. Oh, and the curtains I made last month, almost forgot about them, they got so much on my nerves I closed them out of my mind for a second. :D

[sevenofninehouseofmusiker]

“She breathes in, about to start, but the look on Raffi’s face is pure mirth, and her stubborn caginess fades like the setting sun, sinking down below the horizon until it disappears from view. Still there, but out of reach, removed from their current setting. Seven’s shoulders shake with how hard she laughs, and Raffi winces in sympathy.”

…perhaps I shall work on the love letters wip this week

This week’s word is…

✨ SHAKE ✨

(We’ll take both the noun and verb)

Find the word in any WIP and share the sentence containing it. Play however you want: reply, reblog, stick it in the tags, tag us in a new post, or keep it private.

[mortallydeepestobservation]

The Case of Us.

Summary: You and Namjoon are an unlikely pair, clashing from the start. He’s a seasoned detective, used to working alone and running on instinct. You, a rookie, fresh off acing your detective exam, ready to prove yourself. At first, you butt heads—your sharp, hardheaded approach grating against his calm, measured demeanor. But there's an undeniable pull between the two of you, an unspoken understanding that begins to form as you both tackle case after case. Through the chaos of the job, you rely on each other more and more. And though you're still figuring out the balance between the stubborn rookie and the seasoned detective, you both know one thing for certain—you're a hell of a team. A/N: Oh Hey everyone... So, I did it again—I got overwhelmed by life and felt the need to write... And you know the drill. (I ended up re-reading Chapter 4 of Holiday Pretense so many times that I couldn’t tell what was repeating and what was just my brain spiraling. And i guess I rage-quit for the day) So instead, I ended up writing something completely different. But this time, it's really random and far "into the story". Also, that pancake dialogue is loosely inspired by a conversation from "Castle"-oldish detective serries i love to this day. Call it a teaser if you will? (I wanna know if anyone would be interested in something like this.) (besides those 5 wips i have already lol. i need professional help 😓��) (thank you always @callmenoona25 for proofreading. love you) Pairing: Namjoon x f.reader Genre: detective/ thriller. neo noir(?) Rating: explicit. Minors do not interact. Warnings: Guns. Mentions of serial killers and bodies. Crimes. Corpses. police/detective lingo. Detective Yoongi and Jungkook being the best duo. (Also, if you know me. I tend to keep it light- not very gore. But i do have a genuine obsession with true crime/detective stories/criminology. So this might turn off some readers. proceed at your own discretion) tag list: @uniquetravelerone @sexytholland @codeinebelle @annyeongbitch7 @rpwprpwprpwprw @goldietigers294 @amarawayne @oneshallsmile

The dead of night. The scent of rain still clung stubbornly to the damp, heavy air, even hours after the downpour had stopped. Your tv was on, though it was on mute.

Then you heard it.

A sound—a shuffle by the doorway.

Instinct took over. The lights went dark in an instant, your hand moving with practiced ease to the gun at your hip. You gripped it tight, steady, breath held as you listened.

The sounds didn’t stop. The lock turned. The knob twisted.

Before the intruder could take a step inside, you struck—slamming your full weight against him, pinning him to the doorframe, gun pressed firm against his throat.

“Holy shit-!”

A familiar voice. Your grip tightened for just a second before recognition set in.

“Namjoon?”  you didn’t lower the gun.

“Who else would it be?” his tone was maddeningly casual, one hand gripping your wrist, pushing the barrel down to his chest, right above his heart. “Just— don’t shoot the face.”

Your pulse was still hammering in your ears, the rush of the adrenaline refusing to fade. You let out a slow breath, easing the gun off his chest but not fully lowering it.

Namjoon let out a short chuckle- half amused, half exasperation. “Nice to see you too,” he muttered, rolling his shoulder as if shaking off the impact.

“You could’ve called.” you shot back, eyes still sharp, scanning his face in the dim light. he looked tired, damp hair falling messily over his forehead, his clothes wrinkled like he’d been running all night.

“And argue with you over the phone?” he asked, rubbing at his throat where the gun had pressed, “I think it worked out better this way.”

Your gaze flicked to the door, still slightly ajar. “You picked the lock?!”

He shrugged. “Old habits.”

You exhaled through your nose, finally lowering the gun all the way. “What the hell are you doing here, Namjoon?”

His smirk faltered slightly. For the first time, you noticed the tension in his jaw, the way is fingers curled slightly over the damp paper bags he was carrying.

“I-” he took a breath, like the confession hurt, “I’m worried about you.”

You huff, incredulous, slamming the door shut behind him and locking it.

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can. Clearly.” he gestured vaguely towards the gun in your hand. “Doesn’t change the fact that as your supervisor and partner, I worry about you.” He moved with ease, setting the bags on your kitchen table, leaving a trail of wet footsteps all across your tile floor.

“Namjoon, I’m not a rookie anymore.”

Namjoon let out a quiet sigh, rubbing a hand over his face before leaning against the counter. “I never said you were.”

You crossed your arms, watching him. “Then stop treating me like one.”

His eyes flicked to yours—sharp, unreadable. “If you want me to stop, then quit making it so damn easy to worry.”

That shut you up for a second.

The weight of his words lingered in the space between you, thick as the humidity still clinging to the air. You glanced at the paper bags on the table, the edges crumpled from his grip. “What’s this?”

“Dinner.” He peeled one open, pulling out a takeout container. “Figured you haven’t eaten.”

You frowned, but your stomach betrayed you with a quiet growl. Namjoon heard it—of course he did—and the smirk that tugged at his lips made you want to shoot him just on principle.

“I was going to eat.”

“Yeah?” He arched a brow, flipping open the container. “What, exactly? Stale instant noodles? Maybe those grotesque granola bars you like to keep in your purse and only eat after they expire?”

You huffed but didn’t deny it.

Namjoon grabbed a pair of chopsticks and held them out. “Sit. Eat.”

“Is this standard procedure with all your trainees?” The sarcasm was thick in your voice, but you still took a seat across from him.

“Just the ones that get themselves targeted by serial killers.”

Your grip on the chopsticks faltered for just a second.

Then you scoffed. “That supposed to be a joke?”

Namjoon didn’t laugh. Didn’t even blink.

Your stomach twisted.

“I’m serious.” His voice had dropped, low and steady, the kind that sent a chill down your spine. “We need to talk.”

You eyed him warily, then set the container down. “About what?”

Namjoon exhaled, rubbing at his temple like he already regretted this conversation. “There was another one.”

Your fingers curled instinctively around the edge of the table. “Where?”

“Downtown. Two blocks from our last case.”

You didn’t need him to elaborate. Your mind was already connecting the dots, pulling up images you didn’t want to see.

Same M.O.? You almost asked, but you already knew the answer.

Namjoon watched you carefully, like he was waiting for the realization to hit.

It did.

“That’s why you’re here.” The words tasted bitter. “You think I’m next.”

His jaw tightened. “And you clearly agree. Why else would you sleep with your gun strapped to your hip?”

“I think you guys are overreacting.”

“Is that why you called the protection detail off? You were supposed to have uniforms watching you right now.”

“The captain is being absurd.” You take a bite of rice “Much like you are right now.” You argue between mouthfuls.

“You’re impossible.” He watched you with that usual superior look of his, that challenging glare that made your blood boil.

“So, what? You decided to break in and deliver takeout because you think I have a target on my back?”

Namjoon’s expression didn’t shift. If anything, his silence spoke louder than any answer he could’ve given.

Your stomach churned—not from the food, but from the implications hanging between you.

He wasn’t here just because he thought you were in danger.

He was here because he knew you were.

“I’m staying the night.”

You snapped. “Oh, like hell you are!”

Namjoon didn’t flinch. He just set down his chopsticks and looked you dead in the eye, his gaze unwavering.

“I’m staying the night,” he repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

You shot him a look that could cut glass, but his expression didn’t change. There was something in his eyes—something you couldn't quite place.

“Not a chance, Namjoon,” you snapped, pushing yourself away from the table. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“No, you need to not get killed.”

The words snapped like a gunshot between you, sharp and final.

Neither of you spoke.

Outside, the rain threatened to start again, fat droplets tapping against the glass.

You held his stare, your jaw clenched and shoulders squared, the air between you so tense it felt like either of you might snap.

“Fine.” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “But you sleep on the couch.”

Namjoon’s lips twitched into a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Deal,” he said, nodding in silent agreement as he slowly backed away from the table. He didn’t argue further—there was nothing left to say once the terms were set. “I also got us a bottle of wine to celebrate you finally taking an order from me.”

“You’re impossible,” you counter, using his earlier line.

You resumed eating, though the rice had lost its appeal. Each bite felt heavy, burdened by the tension between you. Every clink of chopsticks and scrape of ceramic against the table punctuated the silence like a metronome counting down the moments until something else would shatter the uneasy calm.

Namjoon didn’t respond immediately, his gaze drifting toward the kitchen counter, where the bottle of wine sat like a silent witness to the strange turn of events. He seemed content to let the silence stretch between you, his presence still an unspoken weight in the room.

The tension was thick, almost suffocating, but you didn’t care to break it. Not yet. The thoughts swirling in your head—the things you hadn’t said out loud—kept you rooted in place. The noise of the rain outside, once soothing, now only added to the discomfort that crawled under your skin.

Namjoon poured two glasses of wine, his movements slow and deliberate. When he placed one in front of you, you took it without a word. He watched you for a beat, his eyes searching, trying to gauge what was really going on beneath the surface.

You took a sip, the warmth of the wine doing little to ease the cold unease that wrapped around you. The day, the case, everything was starting to feel too close, too personal. And Namjoon’s silent presence wasn’t helping, no matter how much it was meant to comfort.

After a few minutes, Namjoon cleared his throat softly, watching you look down into your glass. “I don’t suppose you’d mind if I set up my gear in the living room?” he asked, voice low. “Just in case we need to move fast.”

You frowned, glancing toward the door where the muted TV light played over the wall. “It’s your turn to be my backup tonight,” you muttered, half teasing, half warning.

He raised an eyebrow. “You know I never leave your side—even if I’m on the couch,” he replied, a trace of amusement in his tone that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You shot him a sidelong look, then set your glass down. “Get your things, Namjoon. And for the record, I’d prefer not to have a detective rummaging through my living room,” you added, attempting to lighten your tone despite the unease creeping in.

He smirked. “I’ll try to behave,” he said with a wink that belied the seriousness behind his words.

Moments later, the quiet hum of preparation filled the apartment. Namjoon unpacked his duffel bag with the methodical precision of someone who’d been in high-stakes situations far too many times. You found yourself glancing repeatedly at the window, where the rain began to fall again in earnest, drumming against the glass like a ragged heartbeat.

“I’ll fetch you some blankets.”

“A few pillows too.”

You chuckle, “Do you want a facemask too?”

Namjoon looked up from his bag, a playful glint in his eyes despite the tension hanging in the air. “Only if it comes with a side of earplugs,” he teased, the corner of his lips twitching upward.

You rolled your eyes, standing up from the table and moving toward the closet “Yeah, baby boy needs his beauty sleep.”

You tossed the blanket and pillows onto the couch, but as you straightened up, the sound of the rain outside seemed to deepen, becoming almost repetitive in its heaviness. For a moment, neither of you spoke—just the low hum of the apartment and the soft drum of water against glass.

Namjoon broke the silence with a more serious note. “Try and get some rest. You’ve had a long week.”

You paused, turning to face him, your gaze met his, and for a moment, the usual banter was gone, replaced by something more sincere—something that tugged at the edges of your own quiet worry. You opened your mouth, but the words didn’t come right away, and you debated if you even wanted to let them out.

“Thank you.”

Namjoon’s gaze softened, the seriousness in his face fading into something just slightly softer.

He nodded slowly, as if accepting your gratitude, though his lips didn’t curve into a smile. There was something grounding about the way he held your gaze, like he understood more than you were saying.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he murmured, his voice low, but the words carried weight. “It’s what we do.”

You exhaled quietly, finally giving in to the tension in your shoulders. “Yeah, well... it’s still nice to hear.” You couldn’t stop yourself from adding, the soft edge to your tone. “Thank you for being here. And for dinner.”

“It’s no problem,” he said quietly, his voice steady but gentle. “You know I’ve got your back.”

“Yeah.” You still sigh despite yourself, pushing towards the bedroom “Goodnight Joon.”

Namjoon watched you as you moved toward the bedroom, his eyes soft, but there was a hint of something unreadable in them. He remained silent for a moment, just watching you before speaking in that calm, reassuring tone of his.

“Goodnight,” he said quietly, though his voice lingered in the space between you, grounding you in the moment.

You didn’t turn back, but his presence, quiet and constant, felt like a weight lifted, even just for tonight. The quiet murmur of the rain outside seemed softer, less oppressive as you closed the door behind you.

~~~

The smell of pancakes felt foreign in your apartment. The rich, buttery scent filled the air, its warmth cutting through the cool, damp atmosphere of the morning. You blinked a few times, trying to shake off the grogginess, your mind still hazy from sleep. It took a few seconds for you to process what was happening.

Namjoon.

You could hear the faint sound of him humming, the clink of utensils, the quiet sizzle of batter on the griddle. The peacefulness of it felt almost surreal after the tension of the night before.

Rubbing your eyes, you stepped out of the bedroom, the coolness of the floor beneath your feet grounding you back in reality. You walked toward the kitchen, where Namjoon was flipping pancakes like he’d done this a hundred times in your kitchen—like he belonged there.

He glanced up when you appeared, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, but it was the kind of smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. The weight of last night still hung in the air between you.

“Morning,” he greeted softly, the scent of coffee following the pancakes.

You blinked at the scene, still a little dazed. “Did you... make this?” You gestured toward the stack of golden pancakes, the syrup bottle, and the neatly placed plates.

“I wanted to make eggs. But they expired last year, and your bacon had something growing on it.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. We need to go to the precinct.”

“Will you relax? Just sit down and eat.”

You shot him a look, but he was already plating another pancake, as if he were completely unfazed by the chaos that had defined your life for the last few days.

“I’m serious, Namjoon. We don’t have time for breakfast. The precinct is waiting, and you’ve got a duty.” You gestured vaguely to the mess of plates and syrup bottles, your voice tightening slightly despite the absurdity of the moment.

He turned to you with an almost exasperated expression, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. “You need food. We both do. The precinct will be there when we're ready. In the meantime, we sit. We eat. You get a few minutes to breathe.”

You huffed in frustration but couldn't deny the logic behind his words. He was right, you were barely functioning on caffeine and adrenaline, and you needed a break—even if just for a few minutes.

“Fine,” you muttered, sitting down at the table. “But as soon as we're done, we're out the door. No more distractions.”

Namjoon gave you a nod, his tone still light. “Oh, I forgot the newspaper.” He turned off the stove and did his little half-jog to the door.

But as soon as he twisted the doorknob, the door slammed open against the weight of the body propped against it. A sickening thud reverberating through the apartment. Your heart skipped a beat as the sight of the corpse registered in an instant—its pale, lifeless face staring up at you, eyes vacant and unseeing. The air in the room felt like it had thickened, the weight of the situation crashing down on you.

Namjoon froze for a moment, his hand still on the doorknob. Then, without a word, he stepped back, his body moving with precision as he grabbed his cell and tossed it to you.

“Call the precinct.” He instructed, fetching his gun in an instant “And stay back.”

Your fingers trembled as you caught the phone, the shock still running through your veins. You barely registered the coldness of the device against your palm, too focused on the scene in front of you. The body. The blood that had pooled around it, seeping into the carpet like it was part of the apartment itself.

You fumbled with the phone, dialling the precinct, your breath hitching in your throat. The line rang once, twice, before someone picked up, their voice professional, unaware of the horror unfolding in your living room.

“112, what’s your emergency?”

“This is Detective Hwang, badge number 1209. There’s a body on my front door.”

The voice on the other end of the line shifted instantly, now alert. “Detective Hwang, stay on the line. Is the scene secure? Do you need assistance?”

“Yes,” you said, your voice tight as you tried to steady your breathing. “We have a body. It's… propped against the door. Get someone here immediately.”

“Understood, Detective. Stay where you are. Officers are on their way. Do not engage with the scene further.”

You glanced over at Namjoon, who was crouched by the body now, his gun trained at the door as he assessed the situation. He didn't flinch or pause, moving with the practiced calm that had always been his trademark.

It took less than 8 minutes for your apartment to be crawling with uniforms, CSU, and of course, Detective Yoongi and Jungkook.

“So,” Jungkook was talking to Namjoon, merely a few steps away from where you sat at the kitchen table across from Yoongi. “Wine glasses.”

“Yeah, Namjoon brought dinner and wine.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, glancing between you and Namjoon with a smirk. “Dinner and wine, huh? Cozy night in?”

Namjoon shot him a deadpan look. “It was supposed to be breakfast, too, until we were rudely interrupted by a corpse.”

Jungkook let out a low whistle, shaking his head “Pancakes?”

You glanced over at him, confused.

“So, nothing else happened?” Jungkook continued undeterred.

“Jungkook what are you on about?”

“Well, you know what they say about pancakes.” Yoongi replied, though his eyes were still glued to his notepad.

You narrowed your eyes, glancing between Yoongi and Jungkook. “Okay, I’ll bite. What do they say about pancakes?”

Jungkook grinned like he’d been waiting for you to ask. “Pancakes are the best way to say ‘Hey, thanks for that amazing sex last night.’”

You choked on absolutely nothing, spluttering as Namjoon let out the world’s longest sigh beside you.

“Oh my God,” Namjoon muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can we not do this right now?”

Yoongi finally glanced up from his notepad, entirely unbothered. “It’s a well-documented theory.”

Jungkook nodded, very seriously. “Classic post-hookup breakfast. Means it was so good that one of you felt compelled to whip up something warm and sweet the next morning.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. “It was just breakfast, Jungkook.”

“Was it?” Jungkook teased, crossing his arms. “Because the way I see it, there are two wine glasses on the counter, Namjoon sleeping over, and pancakes on the table.”

Namjoon made a noise somewhere between a groan and a death rattle. “I hate all of you.”

You threw up your hands. “For the last time, nothing happened!”

Yoongi huffed, and Jungkook shook his head as he jotted down on his notepad “witness refuses to cooperate.”

You gawked at him. “Are you seriously writing that down?”

Jungkook nodded, scribbling dramatically. “Refuses to acknowledge the overwhelming evidence of post-coital carbohydrates-”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, dragging a hand down your face.

Namjoon, looking moments away from actual homicide, turned to Yoongi. “Please arrest him for obstruction.”

Yoongi barely held back a smirk. “Tempting.”

[devondespresso]

First fic tag game 📝

Pick a fandom and post an excerpt of the first thing you ever wrote in that fandom. Could be a scene, part of a scene, a couple of lines, whatever your first foray into writing for that fandom was. Feel free to include a link to the story it comes from if it’s been published (excerpts from WIPs count too).

tagged by my beloveds @carolperkinsexgirlfriend and @stellarspecter

technically the first thing i started writing for stranger things was my Steve Henderson au 👀 tho at this point most of the original draft from then has been edited bc i was definitely learning as i went, this scene below is one of my favorites from that first attempt and has had the least amount of edits (all the plot beats and most of the dialogue being the exact same!!)

<< also thank you guys you reminded me just in time to keep up with my resolution of revisiting this wip at least once a month 🙏 >>

putting the snip under the cut, and going ahead and tagging @sourw0lfs @marvel-ous-m @helpimstuckposting @queenie-ofthe-void @solarmorrigan

@withacapitalp @hairstevington @scriptorbemi @tinytalkingtina @hbyrde36

and anyone else who wants to join!! 💕💕💕

(Context: in season 2 in Dustin's cellar, right after they find and look through the hole D'art dug to escape)

“Great.” Steve sighed, standing up and laying the slime on the ground by the hole, “So now what?”

“We have to find him.”

“Yeah, can’t say I’m thrilled about that.”

“We have to, he ate Mews when he was the same size as her. If he keeps getting bigger he’s going to start hurting people.”

"Mews as in… your cat?"

"Yeah."

Steve nodded slowly.

“You said his face opened up, right? Like,” Steve set the bat down and tried gesturing the petals from the demogorgon’s ‘face’.

“Yeah, yeah, exactly like that. Like he’s an early metamorphic stage of a–”

“Demogorgon.” Awesome. Round two, apparently. “Should we be telling someone about this?”

“I’ve been trying, no one’s answered their walkie all day. That's why I got you.”

“Good to know I’m your last choice.” Steve bitched.

Henderson just rolled his eyes and looked back at the hole.

“Still not a huge fan of looking for a man-eating dog in the middle of the night.” Steve said, “Think it could wait ‘till morning?”

“Maybe? We don’t have any idea where he’ll climb out.”

“Your house’s pretty secure right?” Steve asked. Henderson turned around to look at him, confused. “Just like. He’s not gonna be able to break in while you’re sleeping?”

Henderson’s eyes widened. Shit.

“I… I don’t think so. He didn’t break out when he was cat-sized.”

“Good good, then you’ll be fine,” Steve assured, giving him a solid pat on the back. “We’ll wait until it’s light tomorrow and I’ll come help you find him and we’ll take care of it, yeah?”

“Yeah, good. Sounds good. Tomorrow.”

“Cool, I’ll drop by at eleven.”

“Yeah, just– park at the end of the street. I’ll tell my mom I’m going to a friend’s house.”

“Alright.” Steve slung the bat over his shoulder and walked back to the stairs, Henderson catching up beside him. “And, uh, don’t sweat it, man. The coming-inside-while-you’re-asleep thing. I mean even if he had, like, the brainpower to try and find a way in, he wouldn’t have the force—I mean full grown they’re like sticks—and why would he even want in anyway there's plenty of squirrels and shit–”

“You’re right,” Henderson interrupted. “It’s, uh… just a– He's not big. Yet. So there's no real reason to worry.”

Steve looked at him as he put up a small smile, close-lipped and eyes barely squinted. It could pass as calm if he’d never seen the kid before in his damn life. But talking about it more wasn’t helping.

“Yeah, good.” He patted his arm, then looked at his car for a moment. “Wait here a sec.”

Steve jogged over and opened the passenger's seat, pulling a napkin and a pen out of his glovebox and scribbling his number down.

Steve went to turn around and run back, only to find Dustin barely a few steps behind him.

“Here,” he said, handing Dustin the napkin and closing the car door, “If you need anything.”

He rounded the car to the driver’s side, and when he looked back Dustin was just standing there with the napkin. Steve gestured to the house’s front door.

“Shit, yeah.” He whispered and rushed to get inside, “Thanks.”

Steve waved him off and sat in his car, waiting until the front door closed before driving back home.

Demogorgons again, then. Great. Wonderful

[plague-of-insomnia]

Got any new dolls or anything recently?

uh, I actually was gonna post this bc I finally got Kuromi (my fave sanrio character) from the surprise OMG Sanrio blind balls (I only got 3 dolls after 6 tries and got Kuromi on my 7th, just in time for my bday), so I was happy…

And then I got one of the new double monster high potion blind things that I’ve wanted since they came out and was so happy I got the pair I wanted second most…! Also happy bc even though I have spectra from the first set of potion bottles, they’re slightly different.

I’m hoping to get some command shelves to display some of my smaller dolls in my room.

I’ve been trying to save money so I haven’t been buying dolls as much, but I did restyle a couple of ones I already had:

And I’ve finally had enough spoons to begin working on redoing my displays, starting with my “slumber party” room/bedroom layout… It’s still a WIP but here’s a progress shot from last week (was too tired to work on it this week):

I used some cardboard I covered with wrapping paper for the “wallpaper” for now. I had wanted a leaf design but it kept being out of stock so I settled for this abstract pink and white one bc I knew it would match the closet.

I’m thinking of gifting myself a set of 1/6 scale replicas of the entire kuro manga for the shelves here. There’s someone on etsy who does these and they already said they can do the whole set… won’t be cheap but for that work I think it’s a fair price. (Previously they only did Vol 1-12.) May even ask for an extra copy of Bard’s volume lol.

I also did splurge on 2 “expensive” dolls (they weren’t that much but they’re more expensive than the ones you buy in-stores) for my birthday (though I would have held off the spider one if I had known about the Seb doll…).

They both look SOOOOO nice in their boxes that I haven’t opened them yet… the Venus is on display in the living room for now. Haven’t decided about the other one. It looks so cool in the box, but I bought her bc she’s so fun with her tattoos and unique finger painting that it would be a shame not to unbox her…

you can’t see it but she has dots on her fingernails to mimic spider and her pants are flared and lacey on the bottoms

~thanks for the ask and giving me a chance to show off some of my dolls-

[reve-de-sang]

prompt fills! @theninjazebra requested “Human au rockstar lestat, with magnus still around somehow?” and @framblebee requested pregnant lestat

this clicked with a WIP i've been noodling around with since early 2024 but currently has an uncertain future despite my fondness for it; seemed like a good time to polish up what i've got and just put it out there, even if it's only to be in pieces. but uh. also, i apologize to theninjazebra & framblebee, bc this bit's pretty damn dead dove

Vampires Are Known au set 20 years in our future. human rockstar Lestat and ex-flame Louis, Lestat's agent Armand, shady oligarch superfan Magnus, hacker Claudia.

“A collaboration, with Louis,” Armand was saying. “Then a tour perhaps, depending. Yes?”

Armand was talking to him. Or at him. Kneeling at his bedside. Lestat thought this was one of those centers where they left you alone, wrapped you in cotton wool. He didn’t actually know—maybe there were meant to be medications handed out in small paper cups (they wouldn’t, given his condition, he assumed) and groups of people sitting in circles Lestat would never be able to join, because NDA or no, it would always, always end up published somewhere—

“Yes, it is actually one of those centers,” Armand said. “But you’ve been here four months, and Marius thought creativity might be the better medicine after all.” Armand studied him. “You were using the mind gift again just now.”

Lestat closed his eyes in pain. Fuck. He was never going to get used to this.

“Four months?”

“Yes.”

“Louis.”

“Yes. He’s already agreed.”

Lestat sighed explosively and turned over onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “Well that’s humiliating.”

“Why?”

Lestat turned his head to give him the full force of his glare. “Are you telling me he actually wants to do this for the music, not out of pity?”

Armand considered this. Lestat hated that Armand’s presence could actually be quite calming, when he wanted it to be. Armand’s mouth gave the suggestion of a smile, and Lestat assumed he was accidentally using the fucking mind gift again.

“Can it not be both? Creative interest and—not pity, but support, because he cares about you and wants to be there for you right now.”

“We haven’t talked in years. I don’t even know who he is anymore.”

“Oh, now you’re just being dramatic.”

Lestat felt a pout coming on, and turned his glare back to the ceiling.

“So you’re busting me out of here.”

“Right now.”

Lestat sighed, and shifted his body to sitting. He tugged his shirt down over the swell. “Do not look at it, do not comment on it, tell me you brought a massive coat, a hat, and big fuck-off celebrity sunglasses.”

Armand wordlessly plucked up a Balenciaga overnight bag at his side, the “bitch, please,” unspoken. Lestat nodded, only slightly contrite.

—

It hadn’t been years since he’d talked to Louis. It had been months. And they hadn’t spoken since. The night before—before. But Armand didn’t need to know that.

And the horrifying mess that Lestat’s life was right now should have made Armand’s suggestion such a hard no for Lestat that planes passing overhead would have been able to hear Lestat’s shouting.

But there wasn’t anyone Lestat wanted to see more.

He didn’t care about awkward. Fuck pity. Fuck a collaboration. He just wanted to look at Louis. And then he would figure out where to go from there.

—

Four months ago.

It had hit all the news pages in a tidal wave. The hotel suite rooms, the bed soaked in blood, blood on the walls, on the carpet, streaking the tile in the bathroom. Bloody handprints on the bathroom mirror. Furniture broken like the detritus of a weather event. The horror of Lestat’s victimization had lasted 72 hours, and then, as if it were unendurable by the collective psyche, the reaction pivoted to disbelief, blame, and mockery.

Even the most ardent fans disavowed Lestat, posting conjecture on his either orchestrating this or deserving it for obviously seducing such a powerful vampire. His detractors applauded what they decided was a naked power grab: that he was showing his true colors. Defenders turned into apologists.

(read more)

[ruporas]

i made a digital vw zine, there's a bunch of stuff on here that hasn't been shared elsewhere! if you're looking for a barrage of vw being really clingy and all, look no further :]

LINK

[bizarrelittlemew]

calling it right now that season 3 starts like this

[tomaturtles]

Got inspired by this and had to

[deoidesign]

when your main characters start dating after years of writing so they finally get to be like this

[saessenach]

I keep threatening to draw heartbreaking galadriel/sauron things and yet when I actually get down to it, they want to be tender and naked instead so who am I to refuse them

EDIT: finished piece (and full sketchdump) here

[simandy]

do you guys mind if i go crazy for a moment

[jerreeeeeee]

more and more i find myself interested in the period of time where barry and lup were best friends and sort of both knew they were starting to have romantic feelings but also were both not ready to act on them and continued to be close friends.

like so often i’d resist that sort of story, because they end up in a romantic relationship, and so it feels like that feeds into that narrative of “inevitability,” it feels like it retroactively cancels out the “platonic explanation” for how close they were before, but i don’t think that’s actually true for them? the “inevitability” isn’t that they’d develop romantic feelings, because any friendship that close must eventually become romantic, rather it’s that they happen to develop romantic feelings, and so it’s inevitable that they trust and love each other enough to take their time and change their relationship as they want to, because their friendship means so much to them.

there was a platonic explanation for how close they were before they started feeling romantically and before they started labelling their relationship as romantic, because before all that, their relationship was platonic. they were close friends who loved each other and then they fell in love romantically. they still loved each other equally as much when they were “””just””” friends. if they’d never developed those romantic feelings they’d still be close and love one another. (case in point; their respective relationships to taako, or at the very least lup’s relationship to taako, which is equally close and deep and loving, yet platonic, and in fact directly mentioned as remaining just as important to lup) (and really, case in point their relationships to everyone on the starblaster. in the monologue about lup and barry, griffin takes care to mention that the relationships between everyone on the crew had become indescribably close, and never positions their romance as being “more” than any of the others’ friendships).

the reason i dislike friends to lovers is because usually those stories imply that romance is the inevitable end to a close friendship, that romance is a deepening of a relationship, but taz balance so pointedly does not say that about all its other myriad deep and profound platonic relationships; the narrative, at every turn, fully respects its friendships and platonic bonds, so this one happening to be a romance doesn’t actually bother me. it does actually feel like a choice people made because they felt like it and wanted to, rather than being forced in, and it doesn’t reinforce amatonormative bias, because the story doesn’t.

their ending up as a romance doesn’t invalidate the friendship beforehand, because the friendship was already so deep and valuable to both of them. and honestly, from the way the monologue goes, it seems to me that they weren’t exactly pining, they weren’t longing to deepen their relationship, they didn’t experience distance before becoming a couple; they were together every step of the way. it was already deep and close and loving before they decided to change it, and they took their time because that was how they wanted to do it. not being together romantically never stopped them from spending time together or valuing their relationship or loving one another.

[carrioncider]

gonna be unable to draw for a week so i offer buttercup calcite ROUGH wip that i'll return to later :D (design by @marblegroves). i am not immune to rolleskating disco swag

lil bonus. i love four-armed characters, love to draw 'em. never ask me to animate four-armed characters SJSJ

[mangywayway]

Yeah I have no self control, I'm aware

[edmunderson]

things you see in a graveyard*

*a graverobber and his chronically ill boyfriend making a date out of harvesting zydrate