#may be inspired by other characters

[your-mothers-wife]

Fic writer as in I write stories about completely my own characters, I just post them on AO3

[canisalbus]

*carefully picks you up and peeks into your conch snail shell*

Ehm... Sorry to bother, but... Could we, maybe, possibly... see Vasco's wife and her lover pictured by your hand? Sorry again, thank you for listening. Take care.

*delicately lays you back into the water to prevent any stress or dehydration*

Unfortunately I don't have her lover figured out yet, but I think Ludovica looks something like this:

[fukutomichi]

Sam Hazeldine as Adar S2.E8 ∙ Shadow and Flame

[irisintheafterglow]

um blah blah blah something about knight!katsuki tearing through panicked crowds to find you slumped behind a knocked-over table, paling when he sees the growing red patch under the hand on your side.

"shit," is all he manages to force out, and it's all he can say for the next thirty seconds while he tries to figure out how to get you out of here. "no, no, no. you're not fine, dumbass," he snaps when you insist that you're fine. he registers a figure sprinting towards him with an axe and throws a dagger from his belt without even thinking, the assailant falling onto the dirt. "this is all your fault," he mutters as he pulls you from under the table and into a nearby alley.

"i can't believe you're blaming me for my own assassination attempt," you exhale shakily, your breathing too uneven for his liking. "all i wanted was to pick some flowers."

"we could have had the flowers brought to the palace," he argues, raking a nervous hand through his hair. "but you wanted to see them straight from the farmer's market."

"there's not much we can do now that i am bleeding out," you groan, fighting down the bile in your throat when you see how red your hand has become. katsuki's hand gently but firmly grips your wrist, forcing it out of your field of vision.

"don't look at it. just look at me," he commands, scarlet eyes revealing his panic. for the first time in your history together, katsuki looked scared. "just keep looking at me, okay? i'm gonna move you to a safehouse a few blocks away."

"no, please," you plead with him, grabbing his wrist before he can loop his arms under your legs. "it hurts when i move."

"the other option is for you to die, princess, and i'm not letting that happen," he swears. "i shouldn't have ever let this happen to you in the first place."

"it's not your fault," you whisper, your thumb smearing red across his cheekbone.

"isn't it, though?" the expression of pure grief on your knight's face disappears in an instant and, before you can protest, katsuki lifts you from the ground like you weighed nothing at all. you muffle a broken cry into your hand and squeeze your eyes tight against his chest, shaking from the white-hot arc of pain cutting your side. "just stay with me, princess. you're gonna be okay."

"it hurts, kats," you sob quietly and a part of him dies. "it hurts so much."

"i know it does, baby. just stay with me and the pain will go away soon."

katsuki isn't there when you wake up in the palace infirmary, but the news of the pub bloodbath where several members of the criminal underworld were being investigated reached you eventually. your knight was supposed to be leading the investigation, but dragon keeper kirishima revealed that, after the attack in the market, he had taken matters into his own hands.

he had a single thought as he inserted his dripping sword back into its sheath. long live the princess as long as he lived.

[amuelia]

small drawing as im looking forward to watching tales of the empire tomorrow

[nataranta]

The Gentleman Scientist

The Puppet Master

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Thank you all for voting in the poll to decide who was going to be the leader of the band! It turned out to be such a close race!

[foggysirens]

my brain is back and hard at work thinking about dinluke and the way they are perfect halves of the other - mirrors of each other's pain and struggles and wants and beliefs and steadfastness. how when din pushes, luke pulls. thinking about dinluke and the way in which they orbit each other - two stars drawn together in the vastness of space waiting to collide into something new and otherworldly. din and his steadfastness, hands made to fit in the spaces between luke's ribs. luke and his power, endless and all-consuming, his faith entrusted and whispered into the hollow spaces of din's skin. the spaces in which they allow themselves to cease being warriors for a moment, to lay down weapons and rest within the breath of someone who understands the dark that lurks at the edges of their lives but who chose to reach for hope regardless. dinluke and the endless pleasure of being known. thinkin' of them.

[inafieldofdaisies]

Character Edit | Deputy Calahan Hartley

— Get 'em falling for a stranger, a player; singing, "I lo-lo-love you"

@socially-awkward-skeleton @aceghosts @imogenkol @cassietrn @purplehairsecretlair

@shellibisshe @direwombat @theelderhazelnut @raresvtm @josephseedismyfather

@josephslittledeputy @strangefable @captastra @derelictheretic

@trench-rot @simplegenius042 @voidika @g0dspeeed @carlosoliveiraa

@simonxriley @cloudofbutterflies92 @thesingularityseries @la-grosse-patate

@dumbassdep @finding-comfort-in-rain @wrathfulrook @justasmolbard

@rhettsabbott @neonshrike @killyourrdarlingss @katsigian

[c-e-d-dreamer]

I'm feeling spicy and hot-take-y on this fine Saturday morning, so I just need to get this off my chest.... I fucking hate Emorie. If Emorie has no haters, then I am dead.

In my opinion at least, it's one of those lazy ships you often see. Because, that's the thing, it's something that exists across multiple fandoms and frankly across media in general. Where two queer characters are shipped together or end up together simply because they're queer.

Like honestly, why do Mor and Emerie make sense as a ship? What is it they have in common? Other than them both being warriors because literally everyone in these books minus Elain is one at this point. Why are they a perfect match? Genuinely asking.

Is it just because Mor is openly queer and Emerie is queer coded? 🙃

Because that's what always happens! It's like oh well these are the two queer characters, so they have to end up together. That is the unfortunate trend. And that's just insulting to any and all queer fans and like I said, it's LAZY! You would never do that to het ships.

I mean look how many essay long, color coded posts for whatever configuration of Az and Elain's ships there are! Do you ever see those for Emorie? Ever see anyone touting out all the contextual evidence of why they're a perfect match?

The only actual contextual evidence we have is Mor saying how much she hates Illyria. In fact, she literally tells Feyre that she wishes someone would burn the whole place to the ground when they visit Windhaven. And you want her to be with Emerie? What in the John Smith and Pocahontas BS? Be so fucking for real. Is Emerie going to teach Mor that not all Illyrians are brutes? 🤮 Spare me!

While I have literally -5 hope in SJM, I would love to see more queer characters introduced! Characters that actually make sense for Mor and for Emerie. Maybe one of the mostly unnamed priestesses? Another Illyrian? Someone new from the Winter Court since we know Mor has spent time there with Vivianne? Like please please please give us more genuine representation! Because both Mor and Emerie deserve happy endings and the type of romance their het-co-characters get! They deserve color coded essays on why this fae is actually The One for them. Ya know?

I just wish that fandoms and media as a whole would stop reducing queer characters to just their queerness. Them being queer is not in fact their entire personality. And that's my soapbox 🫡

[keeps-ache]

pals and other things :D

[bunisher]

might be the aro in me but i think one of the reasons i don’t ship mattfoggy is because i enjoy the idea of platonic intimacy and friendship without romance. i enjoy them as best friends, because their friendship is not any less than romantic love or needs to be. especially for characters like them, i think it’s important that they have friendships that are not inherently romantic. matt, because he has severe abandonment trauma and avoidant attachment, where all of his romances have ended in some form of tragedy. he has trouble feeling comfortable with people, he feels like he has to perform in many aspects, and does not with foggy, at least not anymore. trust is a hard earned thing with him, but it’s not just about trusting with being a hero, but trusting to be himself. in regards to foggy, because he also has his own issues regarding family and not feeling accepted. he needs that friend who provides the motivation, validation, and feeling of being good enough just for being him. his insecurities often come from being underestimated, being awkward, not fitting in, and with matt he can just be. they’re able to have a relationship with each other that has rupture and repair, knowing eventually after time it’s them against conflict and not them against each other. they set the standard for each other in how romantic relationships are. they provide that safe place for love that doesn’t have the weight of being someone’s everything or partner. they’re already partners! they’re best friends. i personally am a little in love with all of my friends, and i am utterly devoted to them. i will be affectionate and supportive and loving and i am not dating them. so yeah i see how stuff could be read romantic, i understand why people enjoy the ship, i get it, i do. but it’s more powerful to me when it’s not. romance is not the end all be all and that’s why i am obsessed with their friendship without it being this stepping stone for romance or there being no other explanation.

[itstimeforstarwars]

On the one hand I could let the death watch kids escape and grow up mostly functional and have a happy life down the line and probably end up meeting kix at some point

On the other hand i could also have them end up back in death watch and then when ben ends up getting captured during the mandalorian civil war...well :)

Decisions decisions.

[whatudottu]

What better way to practice new prosthetics then to piss of the bitch that got you to need them in the first place!

In other news, my pirate ocs Gali and Ido (with a third Meridi not present) who are the two sides of the fulmini cult escapees :P

A bit of backstory under the cut since they're the only fuckers I have WITH a backstory! Which btw does detail cult shit so :P big fat warning for that-

The inciting incident on Petropia that introduced it's modern underground population to the surface named the Surface Craze was in all due part because of fulmini interference at the behest of the High Override, who saw what was initially just a planet entirely made of quartz-like crystal the Override Fleet could use as a power source. Having instead found that the planet was not only populated but by a species of the living variant of that same quartz-like material - electrical properties and all - but that additionally they can regenerate their crystalline body so long as they have the energy to pull from.

Seeing this as a solution to the fulmini's energy crisis - a perpetual machine at it's finest - the High Override sought to heh... acquire some petrosapiens for themselves. To their collective benefit, a community of petrosapiens had found their faith and world shattered, previously having been extremely devoted to the Sugi religion (derived from the ancient texts of Thuugi back when their tongues were long enough to be bitten off). Instead of needing to drag away dissenters who fought tooth and nail against the invaders, this community had already shifted their faith onto the false prophet of the High Override, which already had them fall into the Coupled Override head over heels.

The cult has now expanded it's pool of prey, and like the unwilling fulmini who gives the High Override their tithe (their minds, their central colony), the petrosapien cultists pay with their arms.

50 years (or the closest equivalent) into this arrangement, 50 years Petropia spent experiencing the surface for the first time in generations, Ido was born into the cult far away from the planet she should have known as home. Any doctor worth their salt had enough brains and stubbornness to not fall into faith-based trust of the Coupled Override, so between the lack of those and the remainder pseudoscience physicians left to echo chamber themselves, when Ido began developing Excessive Compression Disorder (ECD, a nerve-equivalent disorder that causes tension fractures throughout a petrosapien's crystalline structure) despite the rather obvious visible signed she went undiagnosed and improperly treated. At the age of 200 - a petrosapien's coming of age, and 50 years after Petropia's destruction - it was Ido's time to pay her tithe and begin her offerings to the High Override.

Gali - her sacrifricant - was to sever her arms below the elbow, as was procedure. What wasn't was the near explosive response from external pressure, or the last compressive force needed to completely shatter what had already started to break.

Cutting people's arms off is technically already a violent act however, though the lower arms survived the procedure as expected, the elbow and even upper arm had scattered shards of glass-fragile crystal in a visceral radius and physically severed through the sacrificant's central colony; then Gali was abruptly severed from the High Override after they felt as if a limb began necrotising. Sacrificants nor executioners really need an active memory to do their jobs, so Gali didn't need to have memory for however long their colony was one with the High Override's. Forcefully amputated from the larger system like an infection without any of the memories of being apart of said system however, kind of rewinds a colony back to the people they remember being long before any interference.

While Ido was caught staring wide-eyed, fearful, and newly lacking the limbs she thought she could regenerate easily - her arms try and try but they shatter like glass, crumble like sand, and she violently shudders like gravel grinding into each other - Gali regained access of their long unused senses and found a sea of hostile enemy combatants staring back. With all the training of a military general with none of the present self-awareness to realise they were the cause of the currently very panicky rock's lack of arms, Gali almost like a flick of a switch reverted to the many rules of engagement regardless of the fact that they were sporting exposed central colony that may or may not have been another's with their own collection of memories.

Seeing to rescue someone who had all their rights to fear them, Gali and Ido fled to the stars.

With a few language barriers mixed with someones learning they haven't spoken much longer then anyone thought they did, discovering how planets that were meant to be each other's home have been destroyed and irrecoverable, and learning the before and after to the horror story that is the High Override and their cultist network of external nerves and collective colony, Gali and Ido may or may not have gotten arrested :P

And they probably would have been tried for crimes neither of them could particularly understand not having learnt any of the common universal languages, up until the point the prison ship was raided by a collective of pirates only working together for equal cuts of the profits (the Plumbers used a prison ship to transport the Annihilargh while they still thought it to be a threat, what's to say they wouldn't simultaneaously transport prisoners - aka, the fucking point - with some high sought-after McGuffin). The pair would meet Meridi, a galvan with a penchant for mechanics and especially the kind that deceives an observer like - for instance - an android suit.

Meridi isn't here but gist is, she pilots both her own ship and an android resembling a human, and spies a pretty prize of walking talking taydenite. Instead of scoring a deal, she takes into consideration (perhaps with a cold calculation rather than a warm sympathy) the condition of ECD affected crystals and how much effort it would take to actually refine it and deems turning Ido into pocket change isn't worth it. In fact, further taking note of the explosive volatile footwork of crystallokinesis with the additional muscle of a fulmini veteran, actively helping Ido (and Gali by proxy) would potentially turn out more of a profit.

Gali isn't in dire need for hiding, but Ido uses shadow and a human-mouth jaw mask as tools to conceal what price her skin costs, while Meridi attempts to make prosthetics for a species that doesn't have nerves that also takes into account the unstable electrical currents produced by the compression of crystalline motor functions.

A bit of a tangent in a very long not-even-bothering-to-summarize backstory, I want to talk about petrosapien prosthetics, at least ones that can have 'motors' like Ido's arms (not like Chio's leg). With no external muscles to help strap in and extend the remnant of tendons humans have running through limbs, petrosapien exoskeletons do not offer the same interconnectivity and do not have easy ways to extend what had been cut off. Myoelectric limbs again by human standards also do not fit petrosapien nervous systems either, especially since the only nerves they have are in their equivalent of the central nervous system which also interacts with internal organs, the peripheral nervous system of a petrosapien operates with the highly structured yet individually unique non-standardised crystalline formations and compression. What Meridi does however is take material from Ido's crystal to create the joints in a conductive copper rod prosthetic (insulated in rubber to prevent harm to others), where Ido's compression triggers electricity to run down to remotely compress the crystal joints, which compress under the pressures of electricity and send the signal to be compressed again until motility is achieved.

And that is a lot of context :P woops- I either make no backstory or I make this convoluted piece of moving puzzle pieces, the duality of man I suppose :P

[katkalis-the-fanartist]

"Oh ho ho...You're one of my brother's goons sent here to sabotage my plans!"

The minion of the Heat Miser stood in place, limbs trembling not only from the chilled, crispy air of the Snow Miser's lair, but in sheer terror of what might happen now that they were spotted. As the towering icy man took slow steps forward, his potential victim shivered with hitched breath and began to lift a foot, preparing to dash away.

Mr. Snow notices this, and his right hand rises from his side, his fingers emitting small icy particles as his scepter begins to shape itself out of thin air.

"Stand your ground, ashrat." He states firmly from his wide crack of a grin, eyelids lowered while glaring, "Or I will see to it that your feet never leave that spot again."

What happened next took place in an instant. The terrified spy turns to run, only for them to nearly fall forward as their feet suddenly freeze to the ice floor. The cold mister had grasped and aimed his scepter forward as fast as lightning to shoot beams of ice at their feet. The ice burned almost as hot as their Lord's breath, ironically. Their feet then became numb incredibly quickly, quicker than they would have in normal snow.

Snow and ice summoned directly from the Lord of the Cold was far worse than anything that had naturally accumulated. It felt as if it was already too late to try and salvage their feet at all. To make matters worse, the Snow Miser now approached the stuck prey, his scepter still tight in his grasp. He kept that sickly grin as he stared his catch down.

"My, you dare to try and test me? I suppose it makes sense that you'd have no brain. That fiery fool never had sense, so why would his lackeys?" He closes his eyes and shakes his head with a "tsk tsk" from his tongue.

The minion of heat could now only whimper quietly, glancing back and forth between the Snow Miser and the direction they came sneaking in from. It was too late now. They doubted they were going to make it out.

A gloved hand suddenly shot forth and gripped their throat. The glove did nothing to contain the sheer cold that came from that hand. They couldn't breathe, but they could hear. They could hear that sometimes kooky voice now deepened, cold, rumbling in the mister's throat. He spoke under his breath, which came out in freezing puffs against the captive's face. They turned their head to face their captor. They both locked eyes.

"My brother and I do have one thing in common, I suppose..."

Ice began to overtake the flesh of the minion's neck. Veins and arteries instantly became sealed shut. Their inner throat pipes were already rendered useless. That voice was now in their ear.

"I don't mind sometimes seeing some white turn red."

All went black for the unlucky idiot. Their head had become encased in an icy prison, and with a hard CRACK, their head had snapped off of their frozen neck and fell to the floor, shattering into pieces. Blood seeped from various slits in the ice shards, staining the ice sheet below.

How convenient, some takeout delivered for Snowy's various creatures of ice to feed upon!

[eyrieofsynapses]

good evening, all. it is May the 25th. our lilacs are blooming, just as the ones at the Watch House did. and I am thinking about remembrance of the fallen, and GNU, and the love in commemoration.

y'know, I read Night Watch… oh, maybe a year ago and some months ago. and the lilac symbolism, the remembrance of the Watch, has always struck me with the depth of the emotion of it, the tangibility of it in the flowers. but I wasn't aware that today was the day until I saw commemorative posts, all that gorgeous artwork and more, on my dash.

I was also not aware, until now, that fans commemorated the day not only because of the book reference, but in support of Terry Pratchett and of those with Alzheimer's. which knocked me over a bit because of course, of course the group that would use GNU to honor him would do that. and… I've been thinking about GNU a lot, lately, and this caught me again.

I read Going Postal a bit ago, and reread it recently. both times, the parts about GNU made me tear up. this idea of the names, the memories, the lives of the clacks workers who dedicated themselves to ensuring that people heard each other's voices—all those names spoken again and again and again by that which they poured their souls into, winging along in the air as they could not, an eternal reminder that they were loved—how could that not touch a person's heart?

when I found out that fans online used it to memorialize him, I damn well cried. hell, I still tear up just thinking about it. do you know, there's a code for an HTTP header "X-Clacks-Overhead: GNU Terry Pratchett" written by Reddit users to put in webpages, where it goes unseen by the average user? and in 2015, when Netcraft took a survey, there were eighty-four thousand websites using it? it's eight years later—how many thousands upon thousands of websites have this now, do you think? how many little cables of light has his name flown along, now? how many times?

that alone is absurdly and unimaginably lovely in its own right, but… there's something else to it. there's something about remembering with the lilac sprigs every year, just as Vimes and those who were there remembered their dead. something about how, when we take up our lilac sprigs, we carry a little piece of the characters in our hearts, too. I kept trying to put my finger on why that makes me tear up the way it does. the conclusion I came to is this:

what greater way to honor a writer is there, but to honor them the way they did the characters they poured their heart and soul into? what better way to say we know you and you are not forgotten and your work and words and gifts to the world are held in our hearts forever than to remember them by their own words, their own vision? how else could we say you embodied all the good you believed in and wished to see in the world, but to memorialize them after the little pieces of their soul they wrapped in ink and put upon the page?

it is a knowing of the writer, to remember them in their way. it is not a worn-out faceless platitude, but a reminder that their work has been read and will continue to be, that the characters and world they loved enough to bring to life last just as their name does. such remembrance is warm and loving and delights in their memory even as it grieves.

and now Pratchett's name has been written in his tradition, over and over and over, across the vast plane of the Internet, where it will—with any luck—continue to fly for generations to come.

there is no way to truly express the beauty of that… but perhaps we can catch a glimpse of it in the lilacs, both ours and the Watch's.