#make it out to kate

[hurricanes-art]

Presenting King Hubert, the saddest guy I've ever made~💖

I saw this c. 1616 wine cup that has a tiny engraving of 3 lions with sad old man faces wearing crowns. They bewitched me so thoroughly I had to make one I can hold in my hands

[thebrainrotsreal]

Eve, Kate, Mark and Rex! Nailing some ideas down on how I wanna draw them in the future, and enjoying messing with their designs like usual! Not a fix-it whatsoever just fun + ref for the future! I cannot do realistic styles so translating them into something I can do while still being recognizable is peak. I will mess with Rex's suit more. Trust. I Kate so much now. Look at her <333333

[lonely-night]

Voyager Week Day 2: Favorite Character

Captain Kathryn Janeway played by Kate Mulgrew

[tildeathiwillread]

Shallan's armorspren are the cutest things ever just the chorus of "Shallan! Shallan!" and also not really knowing how armor is supposed to behave RIP to Shallan's coat and her bag strap

[sweetsouldhavernas]

it's unfair to society that kate mulgrew looks this good in a suit

[henley-reeves]

Big day for problematic women who love HR violations. I love Kate Stewart.

[linusbenjamin]

Lost + Tags

[kwistowee]

(says the man who has spent the entirety of their acquaintance trying to figure out what makes her tick) #subtle TWISTERS (2024)

[lizzibennet]

"I should like to use that moment to dance with my beautiful wife."

jonathan bailey & simone ashley as anthony bridgerton & kate sharma | bridgerton season 3 (2023)

[killerlittlerejects]

Why I No Longer Support Anton Morrow Or Blessed Be The Wicked

Okay, we're finally doing this. As always: Do NOT harass anyone involved. This is not what this post is for.

So, this has been a long time coming. I know I keep repeatedly saying that I don’t wanna cause drama but at this point? It’s not even a drama anymore. There’s a glaring issue that’s been circulating the fandom for a while, and up until now, people have either been ignoring it completely or are too scared to say anything at all — which is understandable. I’m frankly scared to be finally making this post. But with most of the fandom beginning to speak up on this, now is a better time than ever. 

You’ve all most likely seen my latest, very angry, Jeff rant post, and some of you might have already put together as to who it was about: Anton Morrow, the creator of Blessed be the Wicked.

If any of you remember the whole “mistype” situation that happened in 2024 revolving around BBTW, you already know I have gotten into a bit of a spat with him before. Then it was all cleared up, and we were chill. But now, with all that’s been happening, I’m starting to question that situation as well.

When it comes to creepypasta, you gotta acknowledge and respect both sides of the fandom, because more often than not, they tie together. Anton, however, doesn’t do this at all, creating a space where people feel unsafe and uncomfortable like they have to walk on eggshells. 

We are not mad at the fact that you are trying to make BBTW horrifying, grotesque, and realistic. In fact, a LOT of people were hyped for your project. No, we’re mad that you have to be an asshole about it. Shaming anything that doesn’t fit into your view of what a character SHOULD be, hating on the fandom way more than you claim to love it, villainizing characters that should not be villainized, like Jane, who’s a VICTIM of Jeff, not doing proper research (apparently not knowing that Clockwork was an SA victim despite her being your “favorite character”), being a fucking hypocrite (hating shock value yet using it in your work as well), and most of all, claiming to be bringing back the old roots of Creepypasta when you don’t even understand or know what those roots are. 

This fandom has ALWAYS been cringy, weird, and unrealistic. I mean, we have a tall faceless man in the woods, a magical black and white clown, and a guy whose skin turned completely white because of BLEACH. This fandom was never realistic! 

You can only use the “I mistyped” or “you all misunderstood me” excuse so many times.

Are you telling me you didn’t mean ANY of this?

Like, if I recall, David Near’s, MBK’s, Pastra’s, AND Ekatlani’s Jeff’s are NOT soft boys at all. But you refuse to acknowledge that, don’t you? Because even if they are closer to what you claim to be looking for within a Jeff rewrite, you still hate them because they weren’t what YOU THINK the character could be. 

But somehow, that’s not even the worst part. No, the worst thing has to be what you’ve done to Leech. Characters change, I understand that. My personal gripe with her not being the character I initially was excited for anymore is just my personal bias. What’s NOT, however, is the relationship you’ve put her in with Tyrant. 

Now, I’m all for toxic relationships. I’ve written them myself, but this? This is straight-up fucking grooming. It’s non-consensual, and you straight-up called Tyrant PREDATORY. 

And the fact that you tried to edit your post to hide what you said first tells me all I need to know.

Not to mention, you continuously like to bring up how much YOUNGER she is than the other two (Context: She's in a poly relationship with Tyrant and a character named Marc)

This goes past a toxic relationship, this is straight up fucking CREEPY. You admit that Tyrant is using his VICTIM, cause that’s what she fucking is, as a way to feel like he’s not all the negative, that “he deserves love.” No. Just no. 

I’m disappointed. Tired, angry, and disappointed. I thought you were a cool guy, Anton. I thought all of you were cool. I was genuinely excited for Blessed Be The Wicked, as I’m sure a lot of the fandom was. But you showed your true colors the moment your project began to get popular. 

Not so politely, fuck you. And if all you can do is complain about is the fandom having fun, fuck off. 

[celestial-grls]

You're so money, baby

-Summary: You and Kate are getting ready for a night out. She's as much of a distraction as she is helpful. Fluffy with no use of Y/N -a/n: hope you all like this and feel free to send requests! that's all ok mwah!

"Kaaaaate? Have you seen my eyeliner? I can't find it," You huff while trailing around Kate and your bedroom in your outfit for the night and rollers still in your hair. 

Kate is always ready ages before you. She has the patience of a saint and prefers to keep you company while you get ready, entertained by you like you're a one-woman TV show. 

She's in the closet trying to pick a jacket and answers you through the slightly ajar door, "Dunno, baby. Did you try the little makeup bag?" She's talking about the one you keep for when you guys have to quickly pack to make a red-eye flight to wherever the next basketball game may be. 

You crouched down to open the cabinet under the sink where you keep your travel things, and sure enough, your eyeliner was sitting in the very bottom, buried underneath everything else. 

Kate took a jacket off the hanger and laid it on the bed before crossing to meet you in the bathroom. She leans against the doorway while you lean over the bathroom sink to line your eyes. You're concentrating, but flash her a grin and turn to face her when you're done. 

She's wearing this one sweater you love on her because it's soft, and some of her white t-shirt sticks out from the collar. Your focus starts at her collar but quickly moves to her face as you place your hands behind her neck. "You look good, Martin." 

She gets a little timid under your gaze. The way you look up at her and tilt your head completely knocks her out. Up close like this, you can still see some of the freckles across her nose from the time you spent outside together this past summer. She shakes off shyness before pretending to be all business and tells you, "No fair. I was supposed to tell you that." 

With complete mischief in your eyes, you shift closer to her while shrugging, "There's still time, baby. Night's still young."

She laughs before sitting at the bathtub's edge to finish watching you get ready. She wouldn't tell you, but it's her favorite part of the night. She can't take her eyes off you — bouncing around, the sounds of your makeup clacking together. At the same time, you dig for specific products, an ever-changing playlist in the background. She doesn't know the first thing about makeup and believes it's more magical this way, watching you go to work. 

Your favorite part is sneaking glances at her out of the corner of your eye. There's always a point halfway through where Kate lets you run some brow gel through her eyebrows. Kate closed her eyes, even though she didn't have to, so she could smell the fragrance you had sprayed on earlier. When she opens her eyes, you're balancing one hand on her knee and shaping the ends of her eyebrows into place before you stand up and admire your work. 

"You make my job so easy by having a face like yours," clearly satisfied with your minimal effort on Kate's face and doing whatever it takes to make her blush. 

Kate's hands settle on your hips, thumbs teasing at the top of your miniskirt. She looks at you with your rollers still in and feels like forgoing the going out part so she can have you alone for as long as possible. Seeing your breath hitch and falter a bit at the sight of her big hands wrapped around the curve of your hips gives her the confidence to ask, "How do you manage to do it?" 

You amuse her, touching your thumb to her chin, "Do what, Martin?" 

Kate takes a second to move her hands down, gently cradling the exposed back of your thighs where the fabric of the miniskirt ends. She presses one chaste kiss to your exposed midriff and inhales the light sweetness from your lotion before saying, "Smell so good all the time," 

It's your turn to get all shy and flustered. You play it off by pressing your thumb to Kate's bottom lip, "Don't distract me, baby. There's still lots to do, and I haven't decided on which shoes to wear," 

Kate's always happy to help and asks, "D'you need me to take your rollers out?" 

It's still early days for you and Kate, but considering the number of events and outings she has to attend, you two have settled into some sort of a routine when it comes to getting ready. You consider it while you look for your lipliner: "Okay, yes." 

She starts with the rollers at the nape of your neck, twisting the ends like she's seen you do a million times. "I think you should wear your knee boots, s'cold outside," 

You see her eyes in the mirror and smile because she always knows these things. You apply some gloss to top off your lips as she finishes taking your rollers out. You clear some space on the bathroom counter to look for your earrings, and Kate is still staring. 

"What are you looking at, Martin?" You ask her as she leans her hip against the counter next to you. She's focused on your lips and how the center looks like that familiar sparkly pink you always use. 

"Mhm," she tilts her head, and her eyes start heavily drooping out of longing, "you, of course." 

You place your hands on her cheeks, slotting yourself against her and the bathroom counter, and watch her get a little more flushed the longer you hold eye contact with her. "And what are you looking at me for?"

"You're the prettiest thing, that's why," and when she says that, you feel defenseless. "Think I need to pinch myself, just looking at you," she grins, keeping one hand on your hip and the other steadied on the counter. 

You start to run your fingers along her hair, smoothing the blondest strands away from the perimeter of her face, and can't help but nervously laugh a little at the way she's making you feel like you're the only girl she's ever looked at like this. "Hey, you're nice," you stretch up a little to land a kiss on her, "and you're so money, baby. Look like a million bucks tonight." 

When you guys part, she has a little bit of your gloss. She taps your hip, "We're probably so late right now," you both laugh before grabbing your things and rushing out the door. 

[laswells-ashtray]

John never thinks too hard about his childhood, he thinks he's past it. Drunken dad who died when he was a teen, mum who died the day he was born. No point wasting time on that and he thinks he's outgrown that point in his life. Maybe Dad was a bit heavy-handed with the belt but that was more acceptable back then, no need to fuss, and when he compares it to the stories Simon let slip when they both went a little too hard with the drink, he has nothing to complain about.

He never shares any family stories, yeah, Soap will share a story about how he was named after his dad and it sparks a conversation, Kyle will explain the origin of his name proudly, Simon will offer a sparse answer and none of them will ask for any further context. John will offer some half-assed explanation about being named after his old man's old man, someone he never met and never thinks about. Kyle asks him about his mother with a gentleness that can only mean he's noticed that John never talks about her, he offers the classic "never knew her" and it isn't a lie. It isn't. Because he didn't know her, she left earth the same day he made his appearance on it, the value of his life has always been at the cost of another, it's why he makes such a good captain. And he's sick of hearing "oh, I'm sorry" whenever he mentions that he's dead. He's a grown man, he can only hear so many apologies before they become just pointless words that hold no value.

So, it doesn't bother him. Two people he knew are dead, they started the list of countless other names that he doesn't bother thinking about.

And then he comes back from a mission one day, it was a shitshow. Nothing went to plan because their intel was fucked and everyone is frustrated. Ghost had to get stitches in a wound on his arm, isn't the end of the world but it was avoidable. Gaz, the poor fucker is concussed and Soap has the fun job of waking him up every two hours to check on him, a job he was assigned by a medic after they pulled the glass out of his hand. John is almost certain his ankle is sprained, his entire body is a bruise, he lost a good fucking cigar and he snapped at Laswell over comms so he owes an apology that he's planning in advance.

He wants Nik, it might be juvenile but he's tired in a way he can feel in his bones and he wants his pilot.

He finds Nik, he doesn't have to say anything as they head back to his room. Nik knows, Nik always knows. There's the briefest of exchanges as he strips out of his kit and he heads to the shower with the slightest relief knowing that his night is going to end in lazy sex and being stuck under the warm blanket of the Russian bear of a man.

He walks out with damp hair in a pair of boxers and socks because the floor is fucking cold with the constant draft and all but collapses face-first onto his bed. He'll offer Nik a murmured apology later for being selfish but he just isn't sure he can form the words right now.

He can hear Nik kicking off his boots behind him with little care as to where they land, it's a familiar sound from nights like this. He's as relaxed as he's going to get until he hears it, the sound of someone fumbling with their belt buckle. For years it's been just a noise but for the briefest of moments he tenses up in preparation, shoulders raised instinctively to try and block the leather from catching the back of his neck. He's not sure if he's breathing and he can smell whisky, the old fucker must've lobbed the bottle at the wall again and the last dredges of Johnnie Walker red label are soaking into the carpet again. If he doesn't remember to clean it before he goes up to bed then he's fucked, the old drunk will wring his fucking neck just like last time when he-

"John?" The hand on his back is warm as it lands between his shoulder blades, it should be comforting and he should relax into it. He doesn't. He's ashamed of the way he flinches, kicking out a leg as he tries to push himself up the bed and away from it hits him. It's Nikolai. The hand belongs to Nik.

He turns to face the other man, lying on his side and propped up with an elbow. He isn't sure if the sheer mortification he feels is obvious, or the tremors in his hands. He hasn't reacted like that since he was a boy.

"Fuck, Nik. Sorry, just lost in my own fucking head- Sorry, give me a sec and we can get to it." It's humiliating, he's the one who asked for sex and a fucking belt sends him over the edge.

"No, no `getting to it`. We shall continue another night." And there he's gone and done it, his fucking inability to keep his composure has just put a dampener on their sex life.

The cautious way Nikolai reaches out for him hurts, he's being treated like some scared animal. The large hand on his shoulder does act as a source of comfort when he knows who's behind it. "John, перестань. Talk to me, captain."

"I don't- I don't know, just give me a moment." How long can he spend pleading for just a little more time before Nikolai gets sick of it.

"The belt."

He looks up at the Russian with wide eyes, mouth open as he tries to form a denial of some kind, waiting for words that won't form.

Nikolai stares down at him with a look so gentle he has to look away, he can hear the faint sigh of resignation and the following mutter of something Russian that he isn't paying enough attention to in order to translate it in his head.

He sits in silence as the other man joins him in the bed, leaving a gap between that and offering John the chance to cross it on his own time. He shifts over and plaster himself against his partner's side, face buried in his neck.

"I assumed the scars down your back were from torture, just not the military kind."

"From years ago, don't matter much now do they? Taken a lot worse than a belt since then." His body was covered in scars of varying sizes, from anywhere to the scar on his hand from slicing a bagel to the silver band wrapped around part of his left thigh from a bastard with a blade that damn near nicked an artery. He'd stuck that poor sod's blade through his own throat and left him to gurgle on his blood.

"I assume your father is dead?" The fact that Nikolai sounds hopeful isn't lost on him.

"Drank himself into oblivion years ago." John had always thought it would've been his liver that did him in, would've bet money on it. Would've lost too. The old man had asphyxiated on his own vomit, silly prick.

"Good."

[stitch-me-not]

Binged the final season of You and honestly I had a good time. It was predictable yet so fun.

And I loved the ending which really brought me slap bang back that, before it all went ridiculous, this show captivated and unnerved me because Joe Goldberg could be any and everyone.

Watching each season get progressively more unhinged and unrealistic as a result of Joe never having true consequences to face and ever evolving is truly a mirror of what is happening in this world.

But going back to the show; it was silly, it was heartbreaking and I fully support every woman and Teddy in this show. And I hope Henry gets the best therapist's they can find.

And I love the cameos by previous cast members returning!!! Paco! Dotty! Lady Phoebe!! So many.

And Beck. Marienne. Nadia.

It was wild from start to finish and I'm going to miss that freaky lil guy.

[weregonnabecoolbeans]

Julian Blackthorn’s constant awareness of his siblings is both so heartwarming and so heartbreaking to read

[kays-sunflowers]

Elbert x Kate X Alfons in the brain

more under the cut, DO NOT REPOST

‼️Minors DNI‼️

I have neither excuses nor regrets~ 🌻

[somethingsketchy3]

in addition to the previous illustration, here are some cleaned up doodles drawn up IMMEDIATELY after the premiere of S3 part 2 to cope with the fact that we didn’t get to see baby Edmund 🥲

this was the coping song, trust, i was close to tears