#night time reblob

[dog-ending]

More details:

They'd probably end up being between 6-8ish inches tall shelf sitters similar to these*

that i made for friends last year, except better and not on a 3 day time crunch

details like horns, wings, spots/stripes, manes would be fine, along with minor changes like ear size/shape. clothes negotiable but would cost more.

*made with someone else's animal crossing pattern that i ended up HATING as far as actually sewing went, so they wouldnt be exactly like that

who'd be interested in getting a cheap (im thinking $25 plus shipping) plushie commision from me in the future?

i wanna start pattern testing my own designs once i get my sewing space unpacked but it gets boring doing the same blank plushie form over and over, so doing someone else's pets or fursonas or furry/creature ocs would be a fun way to mix it up

theyd be made of felt and pretty small to keep costs down so pretty much display-only pieces, and i couldnt guarantee exact color matching without having to charge extra for dye

[kemendin]

Update - Chapters III-V

Reaching // Remnants // Rescue

Jedi Knight Caspian Serapis is at last reunited with his missing crewmates, Kira Carsen and Lord Scourge, when the two make an unexpected appearance on Corellia to rescue him from the wreckage of the Meridian Complex. As Cas recovers and reconnects with his companions in the quiet aftermath of the battle, it isn’t just his own long-lost yearnings that are pushed to light. Now, after so many years apart, both Cas and Scourge must decide - does the path ahead lie again in their curious bond as allies, or as something more?

MAIN POST | Read from the beginning

Read on AO3 (short excerpt below cut)

Far, far below, at the base of the spire, a bulky, grey-armoured figure hurtles past squads of Republic troops towards the entrance. The soldiers are too startled to do more than fumble with their weapons as the blaze of a scarlet lightsaber flashes past, too disoriented to do more than stare after him and wonder at the idea that they have, somehow, just escaped the wrath of an obvious Sith.

An auburn-haired Jedi is in swift pursuit; but oddly, her double lightsaber is sheathed on her belt, and she makes no move to attack. Her only gestures are frantic flappings of her hands, motioning for anyone nearby to get back, out of the way of the Sith now charging into the body of the spire.

“He won’t hurt you! Let him through, just let him through!”

She is partially correct. The Republic soldiers, the CorSec forces, the Green Jedi - they are not his enemies, and he won’t hurt them - unless they stand in his way.

His chest heaving, his lungs seared with smoke, Scourge barrels out of the corridor linking to the monorail and into the spire’s core. His senses are flinching under the barrage of warning slamming at him through the Force. For three hundred years, he had felt it with the clarity of someone reaching through a sheet of transparisteel - muted, yet immediate, the luxury of drawing on its energies without fearing to be overcome by it. But now there is no such barrier, and the Force is driving at him, churning through his emotions like boots losing their purchase in the mud of a battlefield. Telling him that he must go faster, that there is danger, and he cannot afford to falter for even an instant -

The screech of collapsing metal assaults him the moment he’s inside. He is forced to pull up sharply and dive out of the way as a twisted length of durasteel crashes down near the entrance. Rolling to his feet, he jerks a wild glance upward - and his heart stops.

An immense piece of broken machinery is plummeting from the height of the spire, accompanied by an array of structural debris. And falling in the midst of it all, small and fragile and frighteningly limp, like a child’s toy cast away by an uncaring hand -

“CASPIAN!”

There’s no time to move, no time to act, no time to do anything except bellow the Jedi’s name, before the echoes are lost in the devastating impact of the generator as it crashes into the bottom floor of the spire.

Even within his hastily erected Force shield, Scourge is driven back into the nearest wall as the resulting shockwave slams into him. Smaller, still-significant chunks of the Meridian Complex rain down, crushing a dozen or more unlucky individuals not quick enough to get away. 

The entire structure of the spire trembles violently around Scourge as he struggles to regain his footing. The air is thickening again with smoke, even as the fire suppression systems tamp down on the flames sputtering within the wreckage.

“CASPIAN!” he howls again, clawing at the wall behind him for balance, his throat and his chest tearing as one.

[torawro]

LIKE SPECKS OF SUNLIGHT IN THE EARLY MORN. ( p. a.)

portgas d. ace & marine!fem!reader.

cw ━━ ! minors, ageless and blank blogs DO NOT INTERACT. reader is written / portrayed as a black woman but you do not have to imagine it as such! everyone is welcome to read <3 reader wears glasses, and is a marine stationed on an unnamed island at a base along the grand line. ‘lazy morning’ / ‘morning after’ kind of vibes so, a bit of pillow talk (?) . references to smut & making love (it already happened). contains some angst & angsty themes throughout (i.e., ace dealing with his self esteem issues, low self worth, etc..) otherwise it’s supposed to be fluffy ( the quiet, somber kind i think ) ! descriptions of kissing & borderline making out. ace is kind of lovesick and clingy but it’s subtle-ish. lots of introspection and reflection on both him and the reader’s part. kind of based on mitski's "my love, mine all mine", definitely had that song on repeat as i wrote this. romantic and deeply poetic rhetoric but y’all already know that’s just how i write lol. told from omniscient point of view (third person). proofread this as i was feeling sleepy, so please excuse any mistakes or things that don’t make sense!

word count ━━ ! 3.9k

notes ━━ ! guess who's baaaaack.....! i know it's been a while since i have published any original work and i want to apologize for that. lately it's been difficult finding the energy to write something for more than five minutes and honestly, i think i just need to rediscover what drives me so i can tap into the zone more often. i missed it though, and hope i get to write more this year <3 anyway, first fic of 2025 and it feels right to make it about second commander of the whitebeard pirates, portgas d. ace. this fic is my late birthday 'gift' to him and something of a love letter because ohhhhh i miss my pookie bear so much :(( this entire idea started as just me thinking about kissing each of his freckles because i have the personal hc that he doesn't really like them, the reason for it is inherently tied to his distaste for his father and by extension himself :/ and then it just turned into this lmao. i hope ace doesn't behave too out of character here, as this is also my first time writing for him in any context, so pls be gentle with me. REBLOBS + COMMENTARY ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED.

IT WAS NOT THE LIGHT chirping of small birds that awoke you, nor was it the ringing of your biological clock telling you that the dawn was near. Instead it was a familiar tugging sensation within the pit of your stomach— the need to relieve yourself— that caused your eyes to peel themselves back slowly and with struggle, slumber from the previous night hasn’t been completely washed away yet.

It took your brain several more moments to dust off enough of its sleepy exhaustion before you attempted to sit up from your comfortable position in bed, but were immediately met with some light resistance.

The resistance in question was a long, muscled arm thrown around your soft torso, blackened ink of a tattoo staining the skin on its bicep. It was still too dark and you were still too tired to make out the sharp angles of the marking, but you knew what they were; your eyes have gazed upon it more times than you could count, and it has made a home in your memory.

That’s when your ears registered the rhythmic and almost nasal snores that flowed from the mouth of the man who held you so securely against his chest, and you almost smiled at how completely at ease and relaxed he seemed. 

At times like this, when things were still or you had a moment to yourself, you still could not wrap your head around the fact that you had gotten yourself involved with Portgas D. Ace— willingly at that. 

The first time was a fluke at best. That’s the excuse you were going to go with. You didn’t realize he was a pirate— an infamous pirate with hundreds of millions of Beri to his name— until your clothes were already halfway off and you were feverishly grinding down onto his lap like some touch-starved whore who’s been aching to feel something. That ‘fluke’ was one spurred on by alcohol, a particularly rough week at sea, and a sizable lapse in judgment, but you hadn’t felt that…… alive in a long time. But now, two years have passed since you have been seeing Ace in secret like this, and you have long since given up blaming it on a fragile emotional constitution further weakened by alcohol. You knew good and well what you were doing, and you could no longer deny the way your heart was constantly set aflutter whenever you spent any amount of time with him.

You did try your hardest to not let yourself enjoy how … domestic it all seemed: waking up next to him in the morning and falling asleep entangled with each other at night, having him hide out at your cozy apartment for days at a time, cooking him meals when you were relieved of your duties for the day. You wouldn’t— shouldn’t let yourself enjoy such content thoughts too much, because you also knew it could all be over in the blink of an eye. The world could be cruel that way if it wanted to.

But still, that didn’t mean you couldn’t be grateful for these moments. From what you could tell, Ace seemed to enjoy this arrangement as much as you did. And for now, that was enough.

Lightly wrapping your fingers around his wrist, you carefully lifted his arm from around you, moving slow so you wouldn’t wake him up. Once you’ve successfully loosened his hold, you sat upright, a muted ache shooting through your lower body as you shifted around to stand. The ache mostly resided in between your legs, and a flood of memories from just hours ago rushed over you at once, causing a tingling warmth to bloom underneath your skin. Ace had poured so much into you, it never failed to leave you equal parts stunned and breathless when you witnessed his passion overflow from the brim of his being. His hands, calloused palms that always ran hot, had been everywhere— your body could still feel the heat of where they had laid, caressed, groped, smacked, and squeezed. And you involuntarily jolted as you recalled where his fingers and lips had been, how it felt to be pressed so closely against him as he simultaneously took you apart. 

After another moment of being lost in your own reverie, you pulled yourself out of it and filed those memories away in a separate corner of your mind, so that you may more fully indulge in them later. As you carefully removed the blankets and climbed over the sleeping pirate, one bare foot had hardly hit the cool wooden floor before a hand wrapped itself around your wrist. 

A quiet grumbling noise vibrated from behind Ace’s lips, his eyes remained closed as he spoke, indicative that he was barely awake. “Wh…where y’goin’....?” His words were slurred and thick with sleep, his deep voice reaching the depths of your being to spark something to life in the pit of your belly. But you promptly ignored it for now. 

“To the bathroom, I gotta pee.”

He replied with another mumbling sort of noise, presumably one of acknowledgment or begrudging acquiescence— you couldn’t be sure. “M’kay, just . . . hurry back t’bed, will ya? M’cold.” 

You found amusement in the inherent irony of his claim that he was ‘cold’  when he always ran a little warmer than most— not to mention his devil fruit powers— but also in the fact that despite his urging you to take care of your business swiftly, he hasn't released his hold on your wrist yet. In fact, he tugged you a little closer to him, as if he was trying to pull you back into bed. 

A small smile began to curl at the corners of your lips as you moved to manually pry his fingers from your arm so you can make your way out of the bedroom and down the hall.

For the next several minutes, Ace was left alone. 

He stirred in his partially-awake state as he made himself comfortable again in bed, but one eye managed to pry itself open by a few millimeters. It was unfortunate he was roused from his deep  sleep, but he was sure he��d doze off again soon enough. 

From what he could see, the room was still dark for the most part, his surroundings washed in a rich, navy blue color, a telltale sign that the sun would rise within the next hour or so. Aside from the faint rustling coming from the bathroom, the air was occupied by a serene silence, meaning his innermost thoughts became that much more perceptible to his mind’s ear. 

Sometimes, a part of Ace felt like fate had shined upon him— just a little, just this once— when his mind mulled over his…unique relationship with you, and all the events that led up to this exact moment. He too understood the implications of seeing you like this, but he couldn’t find it within himself to let go and move on. There was just…something about you, something special. 

Even now, he still couldn’t quite understand why you were taking such a big risk and basically throwing your life away by getting comfortable with a pirate like him. The both of you came from two different worlds, the morals embedded within those worlds constantly pitted you against each other. 

But you willingly ignored them, and so did he. 

Perhaps that was the ‘special’ quality about you and this relationship that he still struggled to articulate, how pure and genuine it all felt— how you were. Either way, he was grateful that he wasn’t the only one being a little selfish. And every now and again, Ace might silently thank the universe for allowing him this one thing, even though he hasn’t, and probably never will do anything, to deserve it. 

The increasing volume of footsteps pulled Ace from his thoughts, and soon enough you reappeared in the doorway, making your way back to bed– back home in Ace’s arms.

Your lips parted in a yawn, putting your hand over your mouth to muffle the sound, before carefully climbing over the taller man to reclaim your spot next to him. Ace wasted no time encasing you against him once more, one arm laid lazily across your stomach and the other resting under your neck, acting somewhat as a pillow of sorts.

“...took too long,” the pirate muttered under his breath, the low, vibrating sound of his voice so close to your ear did nothing for your fiercely pulsating heart. It was the only organ in your entire body that seemed to be fully awake right now.

“I wasn’t even gone for that long, ya big baby. Prob’ly less than five minutes.” A soft sigh punctuated your reply, snuggling more into the toned front of Ace’s chest and abdomen as he adjusted the thick blankets over both of your bodies. The covers, as well as the gentle warmth radiating from his exposed skin, provided a steady stream of heat that battled against the crisp morning air, both sensations nearly enough to lull you back to sleep. You enthusiastically pushed aside the fact that you had to get up again in two and a half hours for your shift to patrol around the city.

“Shuddup, let’s go to sleep.” Ace grumbled, pulling you even closer to him so that very little space existed between both of you, and nearly nuzzling his face in the bonnet you wore on your head. A soundless chuckle rumbled within your chest, finding his sleepy and almost pouty tone both amusing and adorable.

However, despite his own request, and the fact that his own eyes were barely open, Ace was finding it difficult to once more quiet his thoughts enough to drift back to sleep. They were still a bit too loud and knocked against his skull too much. 

Such thoughts only seemed to intensify when both of his eyes managed to peel themselves open this time in order to observe your form next to him. From what he could see based on where he laid, Ace silently took note of how tranquil your expression was as your breathing began to even out, how long your eyelashes actually were without your glasses obscuring them, and the small birthmark on your cheek that he developed a habit of kissing. His dark eyes roamed across every inch of your face, and he relished in the soft flesh of your stomach underneath his fingertips, giving it a feather-light squeeze every now and again.

You were here with him— in this bed, hardly wearing anything at all, and practically clinging to the arm wrapped around your abdomen— bound together with a kiss on that fateful night two years ago. You wanted to be here, he knew that. So why was it he still had to wrestle with the phantoms of doubt in the darker sectors of his mind? Why did they haunt him so, and prevent him from just plainly accepting this for what it is? Accept that it was okay to indulge, okay to claim this one thing as his and his alone? He didn’t even claim his own father, but this— you? Oh, how he wanted to be greedy, he yearned for it. But something in him, some dark, caustic, unforgiving thing, made him feel like he shouldn’t.

But didn’t he deserve something nice too? Something that wasn’t, or could no longer be tainted by the wicked and unloving world they were born into?

Ace knew that you cared for him— quite a lot, more than you should. There was a four letter word he might have used to label the way in which you cared about him, and he about you, but he dare not say it. He dared not say it in fear that the universe would snatch it away the moment it left his lips, and reveal that it was only playing a heartless joke on him.

“Hey. Are you… okay? Okay with this, I mean.” The words left his lips without putting a real thought behind them, for his mind was preoccupied with trying to keep itself afloat above the sea of negative ones that tried to carry him off to a place he did not want to visit.

Your left eye opened, then your right, as if opening them would help you better process his sudden question. Your brows furrowed next, digging deeper into your forehead in order to figure out the hidden meaning behind his words— or if there was one to begin with. “I…this position is fine, and I’m comfortable. Unless you want to be closer to the window?” You replied with your own question, uncertainty of what he was asking about thick in your tone. And judging by the way his arm tightened around you by a fraction and the nearly inaudible sigh that left his lips, it became clear that’s not what he was truly asking.

“No, I meant…are you okay with us?” Ace’s already husky voice quieted even more, nearly tapering off into a whisper. But he was pressed close enough to you that you were still able to hear him loud and clear. Something about the way he phrased his question rang a silent alarm in your head, indicating that the forthcoming conversation was going to take a more solemn turn.

With that in mind you shifted in his arms, turning around so that you were now facing Ace directly, still so close that the tips of your noses nearly touched each other. His hold on you readjusted as a result, the tattooed arm once more staking its claim on your waist and effectively trapping you against his front. His sable tresses fell unceremoniously across his face, a few strands nearly covering one of his eyes. Your fingers didn’t miss the opportunity to brush them away. 

“Yes.” Your reply was simple, and you thought it important to make that clear first because something, an emotion you were unable to categorize, flickered in his still-hooded eyes. And something about it worried you. “I am more than okay with us. There isn’t another person I’d rather be with right now.” The fingers lingering on his skin suddenly became your entire palm, as you were now cupping the side of his face.

Ace burned even warmer here compared to the rest of his body, and you found physical comfort in the sensation. His skin seemed to ignite under your touch despite his sleepiness, and the dark-haired pirate was internally grateful that it was still quite dark in your room, so you were unable to see the light flush that was beginning to form underneath his freckled cheeks. 

“Why are you asking?” Your inquiry was as tender as your touch, and it made his chest ache. 

It took Ace several seconds to search for his next words and arrange them in a sentence, for your straightforward reply admittedly caught him off-guard. Now he was unsure if there was a need to continue at all.

But the specters of doubt were ever persistent.

“I just…” The words faded away on his tongue before he could say them and instead, your response rang loud in his head. 

‘There isn’t another person I’d rather be with right now’.

Did you mean that? Have you always felt that way? Did you just happen to say that because he asked a question, because somehow you knew that’s what something in his soul wanted to hear?

And then, Ace found his words again. “You can do better, you know.” His voice turned more gruff, rough around the edges, as if he had to forcefully tug those words from the back of his throat. As if it hurt to say that. “You could, if you wanted. You’re gorgeous. Intelligent, resourceful. You have a respectable career, and you can cook damn good.”

You released a soft chuckle at that last part, finding it comical how he always found a way to talk about how good your food was. But whatever uptick on your lips faded as soon as it came once Ace parted his lips to speak again.

“You don���t have to spend your time, money, or energy on someone like me. You didn’t have to spread those pretty legs of yours for me, either. Didn’t have to let me stay here whenever I come to town. You didn’t even have to let me sleep in this bed so close to you.”

He paused, the muscles laying against and wrapped around you tensed briefly, his eyelashes met the apples of his cheeks when he allowed his eyes to close for a moment. When he opened them again, he found it harder to look at you— if he did, he might crumble away. “You could do better than a pirate like me, who has nothing going for himself except for instability, anger and…and hate. So, why?”

The next words reverberated in the air without Ace even having to say them. Why choose me? Why risk all of that for me?

Similarly, something throbbed uncomfortably within your chest as you listened to him speak, even after he finished and silence descended upon the both of you. 

You could only wonder where this line of questioning originated from. It was uncharacteristic of Ace to voice thoughts of this nature, even more so when there was no prior word or action to lure them forward. You continued to observe him in the quiet, not even realizing that you had been softly caressing his cheek all this while until your hand came to a halt.

Why? Why were you with Ace, entangled in every sense of the word and jeopardizing the life you’ve built for yourself for his sake? The answer seemed so simple, but not as much now that you had to consciously think about it; you somehow struggled to put it into words. 

Ace was like the rays of sunlight that peeked through heavy drapes in the early morning— much like they would soon be in a few hours— or like the flickering flames of a small fire that offered you solace on an unkind wintery night. He was warm and intense, but mellow and tender at the same time, in his own way. He offered you comfort when you needed it, stirred up something in you when you wanted it, brightened your life when you didn’t even realize how dull and monochrome it was. Ace was…

“Allow me to offer a question of my own. Why are you taking an equally significant, if not greater risk, just to curl up in my bed with me? Why come back so often to this town, risking capture, if only to hold me close, eat the food I make, and to make love to me?”

Your inquiries seemed to tug you forward, motivating you to scoot a little closer to Ace so that there was hardly even an iota of space existing in between your faces. His breath hitched quietly in his chest at that, more so when you leaned forward and simply placed your lips on his cheek, right on top of the dozens of prominent and faded freckles that resided there. Something about the gesture felt intentional— like you did not kiss his face, but the light specks on top of it. And thinking about it like that made his taut chest twinge again in a manner he could not describe right now.

Your breaths against his flesh were soft and leveled, and successfully fanned the flames of an even pinker flush to blossom across his visage.

He struggled to give you a coherent answer to your questions because his inner thoughts seemed to reset every time your plush lips came in contact with his face— all gentle like he would break if you applied too much pressure. He never associated that word with himself before, nor had anyone else in his entire life.

So why did he do it? Why did he do any of it? Why was he so attached to you, to your existence, your presence, and everything that reminded him of you? 

Ace knew the answer. 

He fears he’s known it for some time now.

But would it be right— would it be okay to label it with the word that was sitting on his tongue? Did he truly have the capacity to bear the weight of it? Would this blissful reality he found himself nestled in start to unravel the moment he said it? Would the universe truly let him have this one thing to himself, forever?

A feathery, open-mouthed kiss from you onto his nose cut off his thoughts, but confirmed his answer. 

A bleary sort of smile, edges softened by his affection for you, tugged the corners of Ace’s mouth upwards. The hand that encased your waist traveled further downwards to take the meat of your thigh in its grasp, and toss it over his own hips. He had slung your leg over himself in an attempt to hold your bodies inexplicably closer, the feeling of his fingers gliding lazily across your exposed skin caused your pulse to quicken.

“I understand. Thank you.” 

Within another second or two, his mouth eventually met with yours. His lips and yours seamlessly molded together, like they were two carved parts of the same whole. It was a slow, saccharine thing, ultimately leading your fingertips to slide back and thread themselves through his dark locks, and the calloused, hot palm on your thigh to grip the area ever tighter— as if you’d evaporate if he didn’t do so.

Ace loved you— was in love with you. His heart thrummed against his chest when he tossed that fact around in his head, gradually accepting it to be true as he steadily deepened the kiss.

He murmured those three words into your mouth after languidly coaxing it open with his tongue so the wet muscle could slither inside and make a home there. It was barely intelligible, but somehow you knew what he’d said. Such a declaration was only reserved for you, so of course you recognized it. Ace didn’t even want the words to linger in the air, lest the universe heard what he had said. He still thanked it though, grateful to whatever deities thrusted you into his path that night so that he could have this moment with you, and build similar ones like this hereafter.

You reciprocated it, quietly sighing the words back into him and he eagerly swallowed them up, giving your thigh an affectionate squeeze in response.

Briefly, you pulled back, but only by a millimeter— not wanting the cold air of the early morning to catch you yet— and your palm ended up on Ace’s jaw. The pad of your thumb brushed over the sheet of freckles with no particular pattern or rhythm, and you absently thought about how they might be your favorite feature on his entire body. As if to emphasize this point, you pressed a lingering kiss onto its surface again, and for a moment, Ace thought he might shut down. He simply could not comprehend the loving nature behind such a simple act, or why it affected him so; all he could do was offer a small, fond grin.

Time still marched forward, but it graciously allowed the pair of lovers to bask in each other for a little while longer. The sky’s hue would slowly shift from a deep navy blue to a slightly brighter one, causing the dimness of the room to inch back into its corners for the day. The sunlight would soon come.

( # ) @icy-spicy @triangularz @pookieace @ichore @valentineluvu

[deludedfantasy]

Thanks to @pancake-breakfast for tagging me!

Without further ado, one song for each letter of my username (sourced entirely from my liked songs on Spotify)...

D - Demolition Lovers by My Chemical Romance

e - Expo '86 by Death Cab for Cutie

l - Lover, Please Stay by Nothing But Thieves

u - Unknown/Nth by Hozier

d - Dog Days are Over by Florence + the Machine

e - Edge of Seventeen by Stevie Nicks

d - Don't Leave Me (Ne me quitte pas) by Regina Spektor

f - Fast Car by Tracy Chapman

a - Add It Up by Violent Femmes

n - The Night We Met by Lord Huron

t - TOMBI by Kvi Baba

a - all the good girls go to hell by billie eilish

s - Song for Clay (Disappear Here) by Bloc Party

y - You Know Me Too Well by Nothing But Thieves

A very random assortment of some of the stuff I listen to! I tend to listen to the same thing over and over again and have a hard time getting into new music so I'm actually really happy I only had to repeat an artist once.

Technically, part of this game seems to be tagging as many people as you did letters but uh...not sure I know 14 people I can tag XD Instead I'll tag: @makima-s-most-smile, @alena-reblobs, @lizkreates, @galaxyprince, and @vamp-bites

[theloveinc]

Because he has all these new, still-healing scars across his skin, puffy and pinkish divots you’ve never seen on him before, and by god, have you seen him before.

And though he’s not any taller, he feels such with a tired scrunch to his eyes and that famous scowl of his, deeper now with more prominent smile lines (you can only hope he was smiling out on the field)… looking down at you and leaning further and further into your space until your realize—oh, he just wants a kiss. And you give him one, then another on the corner of his mouth, then another on his cheek, smoothing back his bangs when he sighs into your ear in place of verbalizing his longing.

And Bakugo links two fingers with yours on the walk through the airport, insisting that he still roll his own luggage despite the arduous trip he’s just been through. You want to ask if he’d like a little space for himself, but it’s hard to utter with the feel of his body pressing into your hip and the way you catch him staring at you every time you peak over to give him a little smile.

It’s almost feels like he’s a different man that first hour. Though he’s not different so much as aged, and you can feel it: not in his voice (because there’s no one in the car park for him to yell at) but his difference in form, stature, appearance. He’s no longer as lithe and toned like when he left, but stocky and tense with a thickness to his muscles you don’t remember ever causing such a bulging to his clothing, or waves of something hot and sharp to tickle between your thighs.

And it’s hard to admit you love it, and want to see more of it, especially when Bakugo looks at you like he just wants to go to bed, leaning back in the passenger seat of your car only to pull you in to kiss him one more time before you need to start the engine.

I also like the idea of Bakugo coming home from a long, overseas mission only for you to be surprised when you meet him at the airport cuz he’s twice as beefy and four times more scary looking.

[drabsyo]

Hey! Just wanted to let you know that I started writing the fanfiction after making a brief script for it. Here is the link so you can keep up with it: https://www.wattpad.com/1396897802-veela-louve-a-fleurmione-fanfiction-introduction

I'll make the first official chapter soon, but please send your thoughts and I shall consider them! You're on of my favorite artists and I would love to hear from you! Have a nice day/night!

AAAAAAAAAAAA THAT'S AMAZING!!!! I don't have a wattpad account, but I'll be happy to share my thoughts from time to time or just scream wildly in the comments. I just love seeing art turned into fic, it's one of my absolute favorite things about fandom culture 🥹❤️ IT'S A HUGE HONOR! (In case you're on ao3, I'm on ao3 too)

And thank you, you don't know how much that means to me! Much love! I hope you're having a lovely day too. When you do post it, feel free to send links here if you want, so I can reblob and scream about it :> absolutely no pressure though!! ❤️

[thirddeadlysin]

it's almost summer so it's (way past!!!!!) time to put a springsteen song with immaculate vibes on my daily playlist

reblob for an unmanageable list of suggestions? 😅

here have a mini soul kiss gif

[365-days-of-taylor-swift]

365 days of Taylor Swift

Dear fellow swifties!

The eras tour in the US is coming to an end and for a lot of international swifties like myself, there is still a long wait before she performs in our countries...

So in order to pass the time, my cousin and I decided to come up with a little challenge, to answer a taylor swift related question every day until then. Every month has its own theme in order to mix things up a little bit! 💖

So I'm posting the challenges/questions on here in case any other swifties wanted to participate in the fun! 🤗

I will be updating the masterpost everyday with the links to the respective polls/questions, which will each be opened for a week (by the end of which I'll be posting an update with the results). Everyone is welcome to catch up with past questions by reblobbing the closed polls with their own comments.

If anyone likes this challenge but doesn't want to wait for the links each day, I'd love for you guys to either tag me in your posts or use the "#365 days of TSwift" tag to share your thoughts and opinions on the questions!

So far I have questions planned out until the end of 2023 so in case anyone has some fun ideas for the rest of the remaining time, I'm happy to take suggestions! :D

Themes planned for the months so far:

August: "We're on our eras era"

aka "share your love and maybe some controversial opinions on each of Taylors albums"

💚💛💜❤️💟🖤💗🤍🧡💙

Day 1: What's your favourite debut song?

September: ✨Lost in the memories of my mind✨

aka How do you personally connect to Taylors music?

Yes, I am aware of the irony of not using this theme for August but shush

October: 👗It feels like the perfect night to dress up as hipsters 👗

aka all about her iconic looks on the red carpet, tours, music videos etc

November: 🎶The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me 🎶

aka "What are your favourite lyrics or parts of certain songs in particular, etc..:"

[darabeatha]

I WANNA RAMBLE MORE ABOUT THE REST AND A LIL MORE ON C.AMAZOTZ AND O.ZY BUT MY TAGS GOT CUT AAAAA so dont mind me if i continue this on a diff post later okok

@darabeatha said (inbox):

Shi i'm politely asking for any ideas you have for ozy with any of my muses (be them individually or those that are her on my multi) and/or anything u have in ur writting wishlist that u u want to write and/or explore with ozy because I want to throw someone at him or more of my muses at u but I also have no idea who to send nor from where to start🤲

[SEND ALL YOUR MUSES. ALL OF THEM. IDC WHO THEY ARE SEND THEM MY WAY. But ahem, I do have some ideas, not a lot, but some. Like for Camazotz, I just like that he and Ozy are quite literally opposites in all regards. He is ornery and is bound to the night due to the nature of what he is, and Ozy is the oppressive heat and gentle warmth of the sun all in one. He’s bright, he’s vibrant and wants to be seen while Camazotz prefers to be left to his devices in relative peace (like most bats fjkdshfds). It’s interesting! Like there’s no big idea there but the dichotomy is intriguing. Wouldn’t it be neat if Ozy was a god too and they’ve known one another since forever? Wouldn’t it be neat---

But ANYWAYS for Odysseus, I can imagine Ozy wanting to challenge him with the bow one day because of how good he is with it. He wants to know if Odysseus has that competitive spirit in there and wants to see it brought to light. Probably casually attempts to make it come forward whenever he gets the chance because Odysseus is just so serious. It’s so funny to Ozy and idek why. He feels if he made a joke around him, he’d furrow his brows and spend forever trying to figure it out the same way Arjuna thought about when he had winked at him all day. But also, on more quieter days when he’s feeling less mischievous, he’d probably ask him what it’s like to be on the sea and why he enjoys it so much. Mainly because Ozy himself can’t comprehend why anyone would set sail on it as it partially intimidates him.

FOR NITONITO he’d probably want to do more mundane things with her – or things he deems mundane. The truth of the matter is that Nitocris’ big sister vibe isn’t one-sided. He genuinely, deep down, looks at her as a sibling in a way as well. However, that isn’t something that he would bring to light and still approaches things with her with her as his ‘retainer’, but he’s forever thinking about her well-being. I think he’d just like to sit and talk to her sometimes. Not as a king and their retainer or pharaoh to pharaoh, but just as Nitocris and Ozymandias.

Tezcatlipoca comes across as oddly shady to Ozy and he would like to figure out what lies beneath that divine surface. Sometimes you can forget he’s a god because of his personality, but that is pretty much the case with a lot of Divine turned Servants in Chaldea so that’s not too surprising to him. Regardless of what the Throne has bestowed him information wise on Tez, he is interested in knowing what else is there. His reasons for being in that building, his reasons for allowing himself to be summoned, his reasons for deciding to stick around at all---

DAYBITTTTTT. So like, I really like the idea of Daybit summoning Ozy. I imagine that their relationship wouldn’t be a giant mess since Ozy bores easily and Daybit just isn’t boring to him. At like all. He’s a giant enigma and he loves giant enigmas. He likes taking people apart, finding out what makes them tick and then whether he’s still interested from there leaves much to be desired. But the fact that Daybit isn’t sneaky and is very blunt is a giant bonus as he doesn’t like sneaky people. He can tolerate them if goals align, but if someone attempts to do anything to him like issue a command with those seals, ect., they are dead unless they force him to end his own life first. He would just like taking that breather, I think, and knowing that his Master is so -gestures-

CONSTANTINE FOR KING ADVENTURES. He’s such a polar opposite of Ozy that it’s just so funny.

FSJKDHFKSD THESE ARE JUST SOME STUFF. I don’t want to go on and on since this is like going over 700 words but U GET IT. Give me all the adventures. Toss Duryo at me. Toss Caenus, that ultra shady x 100 Oberon, Morgan --- The list is endless. If you ever want continue something you send in my inbox, then let’s go! Want to just send an occasional thing and built from there? My jam. Send a meme and go from that for further interactions? A-OK---]

[al13n-fr34k]

for that ask agme u reblob like 2 days agow vewibrug: normal, unspeakable brutality, science, heat death of the universe and ofc.. GLITTERRRRRRRRRRR!!!

-yes I am so Normal,I'm super normal,I really totally don't actually make random noises to represent how I feel or want to say when I struggle and don't repeat things 24/7 ! (Lying)

- warning I will start automatically info dumping you things from my hyperfixiations-

- ....Bin...IM TOXIC WASTE- NOOOOO- /j

- wah-? Huh? How tf did them glasses get here?-

-As much as I truly luv glitter....do not actually put it in someone's eyes,it hurts like hell (it's happened to me,multiple times!)

Have a nice day/night Bin! :D

[boyslit]

re last reblob

i actually did have to defend that bitch i hated at my ship/rec job that made my life a living hell because my coworkers were white and incapable of keeping racist bullshit inside thoughts only!

there are soooooooo many reasons to hate her!! you don't have to reach for the racism!!

anyway. this church quote is evergreen and im gonna end my tumblr time for the night with this

"It's not about hating the guy on the other side because someone told you to. I mean, you should hate someone because they're an asshole, or a pervert, or snob, or they're lazy, or arrogant or an idiot or know-it-all. Those are reasons to dislike somebody. You don't hate a person because someone told you to. You have to learn to despise people on a personal level. Not because they're red, or because they're blue, but because ya know them, and you see them every single day. And you can't stand them, because they're a complete and total fucking douchebag." - Leonard L. Church in (Red vs Blue episode) Why Were We Here?

[fangirleaconmigo]

Are you taking requests actually? I want to know if Jaskier ever or often patches up geralt’s wounds

ETA: CORRECTION! THANK YOU ANON. PLEASE REBLOB THIS ONE FOLKS.

Hi Elsa! So here I am apologizing again to a tumblr fren for how long I take. But I really do open a gdoc and pick away at these for months. Hopefully they are worth the wait.

So. Here is your next installment of ...

I Can't Believe It's Not Fanon: facts that sound like Geraskier fic writers made them up, but that are in fact, book canon.

'Bandaging each other up' edition.

In Geraskier fic, the ‘’bandaging each other up” trope is wildly popular. That just makes sense. Geralt has a dangerous job + we all want them to show each other care and tenderness. Restrained yearning while touching is a great combo.

Now, is it book canon? (drumroll please)

Yes folks. It's canon.

They both patch each other up at least once that is mentioned. The time Geralt bandages Dandelion is much more dramatic so I'll focus there first:

Geralt does patch Dandelion up. And while it isn’t just like fanon (there are no kisses) it is an incredibly pivotal moment for Geralt. Seeing Dandelion get hurt and put at risk, fucks Geralt up so badly that it leads to one of the most iconic scenes in the series. It also portrays one of my most beloved tropes of all time. I will get into all that.

 Also, as a bonus, the way their friends react to Dandelion’s (relatively) minor injury, is so fucking funny and cute. There is this fanon going around, (I saw a post I can’t find now) where Jaskier gets minorly injured and the wolves fuss over him and make a big deal over his bravery. XD It’s very cute. 

And actually.

That is canon. Only instead of the wolves, it’s the hansa. (For the uninitiated, the hansa is an iconic group of friends who wander the continent through a war hellscape with Geralt to help him find Ciri)

Ok *clears throat* here is what happens when Dandelion is injured. I talked about this part a bit in my “Geralt being extremely protective of Dandelion” post, but I have something new to say about it, I promise.

So, in Baptism of Fire, Geralt and Dandelion are on the same horse, fleeing an enemy. They are in a clearing, and are trying to make it to a forest for tree cover. Geralt is riding in front, and Dandelion is holding onto Geralt for dear life in the back. If they are caught and overpowered, it would mean certain death. In that context, here is how Dandelion is injured:

When hope dawned that they might just make it, the night air suddenly sang with a whistle of fletchings. Dandelion yelled, this time very loudly indeed, and dug his fingers into Geralt’s sides. The Witcher felt something warm dripping onto his neck.

Uh oh. Bard down. What does Geralt do?

“Hold on!” he shouted, catching the poet by the elbow and drawing him closer to his own back. “Hold on Dandelion!”

So first, he draws Dandelion closer, hoping he can cling to his back. And how does Dandelion react? Well, Dandelion has been hurt before, when the djinn got him. But that was magical. There was no blood involved. No one has ever made him bleed his own blood before. So, he panics.

“They’ve killed me!” the poet howled, impressively loudly for a dead man. “I’m bleeding! I’m dying!”

The tongue in cheek humor is one of the hallmarks of the witcher books. But yeah. The poor guy utterly panics. They almost make it into the cover of some woods when Dandelion pitches backwards off the horse.

The poet thudded onto the dirt and lay still, groaning pathetically. His head and left shoulder were covered in blood, and glistened black in the moonlight. 

Now, this part I've discussed. The next part is where we see how it makes Geralt feel to see Dandelion harmed like that. 

The witcher sprang up, feeling a swelling wave of cold fury and hatred inside him...he wanted to kill.

Seeing Dandelion attacked makes him feel cold fury and homicidal rage. So he faces their pursuers and kills the leading rider in a grotesque way, by way of a blade into his open mouth up to the hilt. (Geralt is an intense motherfucker when you hurt someone he loves) Then he goes back to his friend.

“Dandelion! Where were you hit? Where is the arrow?”

“In my head, it’s stuck in my head.”

“Don’t talk nonsense! Bloody hell, you were lucky. It only grazed you.”

“I’m bleeding...”

Dandelion has never been shot before, so he thinks the pain means the arrow is stuck in his head. Geralt is massively relieved. And then Geralt does something that we do see a lot in fanon.

Geralt removed his jerkin and tore off a shirtsleeve. The point of the quarrel had caught Dandelion above the ear, leaving a nasty looking gash extending to his temple. The poet kept bringing his shaking hand up to the wound and then looking at the blood, which was profusely spattering his hand and cuffs. His eyes were vacant.

So Geralt takes off his own jerkin so he can get to his shirtsleeve and he tears his own clothing to get ready to bandage Dandelion. Dandelion is in shock. His eyes are vacant.

And here’s the part that really gets me.

The witcher realized he was dealing with a person who, for the first time in his life, had been wounded and was in pain. Who, for the first time was seeing his own blood in such quantities.

Now, again, Dandelion was horrifically wounded by the djinn. But it was magical and he was cured. But this is the first time he is bleeding from a wound. And to me it is so crucial that this is the thought that Geralt has. Despite the fact that he’s closer to a hundred years old than fifty, and has been injured countless times, he never loses sight of the fact that his friend doesn’t have the same experience of physical suffering that he does. (I’ll come back to that). Now. Back to the story.

“Get up,” he said, wrapping the shirtsleeve quickly and clumsily around the troubadour’s head. “It’s nothing, Dandelion. It’s only a scratch. Get up, we have to get out of here fast.”

So Geralt wraps up his wound. But since they are in the middle of a battle zone and he is emotional, it is quick and clumsy and he's trying to calm him. And now he needs to get him to safety.

Dandelion managed to get up, but immediately sat down again, groaned and sobbed pitifully. The witcher lifted him to his feet, shook him back to consciousness and hauled him into the saddle. 

Geralt mounted behind the wounded poet and spurred the horse east...

So, he reassures him, rips his own clothes to bandage him and he tosses him on the horse for safety. Now they ride off to find their friends, and now Geralt is behind him, holding him up.

Now, we get back to the hansa. If you don’t know hansa, there is Milva, who I have profiled here. She is a very tough archer who has been through a lot of shit and can beat your ass. There is Cahir, (nothing like tv Cahir) who used to be a soldier. So. Also a warrior. And we have Regis, a several centuries old vampire who can go from genteel to deadly in the blink of an eye. (we don’t have Angouleme yet). I'd be willing to wager that Dandelion is the baddest ass poet on the continent. But compared to Geralt and the other members of the hansa, he is a soft squishy little wet kitten, and they rarely let him forget it.

When Geralt reunites with them, Regis bandages up Dandelion with a real bandage. Regis is a barber/surgeon and very good at field medicine. 

And the way Regis talks to Dandelion is so sweet. Like, there is an inherent ridiculousness but to me it is so goddamn touching. Here he is treating him:

“Be brave, Dandelion.”

Dandelion was brave.

“Almost done here,” Regis said, setting about bandaging the victim’s head. “Don’t you worry, Dandelion., you’ll be right as rain. The wound is just right for a poet, Dandelion. You’ll look like a war hero, with a proud bandage around your head, and the hearts of the maidens looking at you will melt like wax. Yes, a truly poetic wound. Unlike an abdominal wound for instance. Liver all cut up, kidneys and guts mangled, stomach contents and faeces pouring out, peritonitis...Right, that’s done.”

It is so comedic how he talks to a grown man like a child but it's genuinely touching to me because there is real compassion in it. They may have suffered far worse (Regis has been quite literally torn apart), but they still are so proud of him for dealing with his wound. Also, he knows to appeal to two of Dandelion’s biggest priorities; good poetry and impressing women. 

Then, we really see the emotional effects of Geralt seeing Dandelion injured like that. 

Right after this happens, Geralt tries to drive his friends away. He says his mission (they are trying to find Ciri in a war zone) is too dangerous for them. He gives his “I’m going it alone now, you can all leave” speech. Dandelion has no intention of leaving him and sasses the fuck out of him, shading him in a very accurate way, as he does.

“It only concerns you,” Dandelion repeated slowly. “You don’t need anybody. Company impedes you and slows down your journey. You don’t expect help from anybody and you have no intention of relying on anybody. Furthermore, you love solitude. Have I forgotten anything?”

And Geralt’s response shows us how badly Dandelion’s injury had him fucked up. He replies to Dandelion:

“Had that arrow passed an inch to the right, you idiot, the rooks would be pecking out your eyes now. You’re a poet and you’ve got an imagination; so try imagining a scene like that...”

That arrow, that close call on Dandelion's life really shook Geralt. Though he always worried about them, Dandelion’s injury was the inciting event for him to try to push away his friends in order to protect them. But of course no one leaves him. They make him sit down and chop vegetables for the iconic fish stew scene. Ok, now back to the ‘everyone is proud of Dandelion for his injury’ trope.

The group reunites with Zoltan Chivay, their dwarf friend, and he shouts and embraces Dandelion. 

“Dandelion, alive and kicking, even if your skull is bandaged! And what do you say, you bloody busker, about this latest melodramatic banality? Life, it turns out, isn’t poetry! And do you know why? Because it’s so resistant to criticism!”

I love how all of these warrior/soldier/badass types love to tease him about being a poet. It’s the kind of teasing that shows affection and indicates that they consider him part of their group, even though his gifts are different than theirs. Then later, Milva talks about how she misjudged Dandelion and how he is a hero.

“I saw how Dandelion puts on a brave face: but thought him weak, soft, not used to hardship. I was just waiting for him to give up and we’d have to offload him...Now just look: Dandelion’s the hero...”

But of course, Dandelion cannot just be cool about the attention he’s getting. He has to make ballads about himself.

Dandelion followed behind Regis and Geralt on Pegasus, with a bandaged head and a warlike mien. As he rode, the poet composed a heroic ballad...the song clearly implied that the author and performer had been the bravest of the brave during the adventures.

The man just cannot. Be. Cool. About it. But I think it’s cute they all let him preen and they don't tell him to stfu about a damn grazing of the head. XD That's true friendship. True love.

So, can I tell you about what really really gets me about that bit though? 

Geralt, our main character, has been abused and traumatized in every way imaginable. He has been tortured, assaulted, discriminated against, experimented on, beat to shit, and people are always trying to kill him. 

In my experience, people who are traumatized can sometimes resent people who have had an easier life. They can begrudge other people their comparative innocence, freedom, or ignorance. It’s human. It happens. 

So when there is a fictional character (Geralt) who is that traumatized, and they meet someone comparatively sheltered (Dandelion has been beaten for sure, but it's hard to compete with Geralt's experience with harrowing violence), and instead of resenting that person, their instinctive emotional reaction is an undying, almost pathological determination to protect the more sheltered person, that gets to me. It hits me directly where I live.

The compassion and empathy it takes to have a wound like a crater and instead of begrudging other people their relative safety, you dedicate your life to preventing them from getting a scratch, that is profound. And when I see it in a fictional character, I fall in love with them. That’s it. I just hand them my heart. It also sort of implies to me a sense of vulnerability. An instinctive desire for healing. When you can heal someone else and it makes you feel good, isn’t that like wanting healing for yourself? It makes me ache.

Girl help, I’m in my feelings again about Geralt of Rivia.

Dandelion helps Geralt Sew His Wounds

Now, the fanon of Jaskier patching up Geralt is not on the page in book canon. He must have helps him with smaller injuries from time to time, just by sheer necessity given how many years they travel together. And while he hates murder and gore, I imagine he can handle small wounds. But that isn’t on the page.

CORRECTION: AND IT IS ON THE PAGE.

Thanks to a lovely reader/observant anon who reminded me AND hunted down the passage, it is mentioned at least once that Dandelion helps Geralt with suturing a wound. In Sword of Destiny p227:

" Just before the girl arrived, Geralt had poured a coagulating elixir on his mutilated forearm, and boosted it with an anaesthetic elixer, and Essi had caught them just as he and Dandelion were suturing the wound using a fishing line tied to a hook."

Now, other times, when Geralt is very probably-would-have-been mortally wounded (after the striga, or after the redacted), Jaskier is not physically present, and once someone else helps Geralt because they are much better equipped to do so. On the page, it is always usually women who put Geralt back together: priestesses, sorceresses, or dryad healers. 

The women in Geralt’s life challenge him in various ways, and their respect is sometimes hard earned. But they are always there when he needs them. They are all powerful or learned healers. And Yennefer specifically tries to think of his health. She indirectly pressures people to pay Geralt more for jobs so he has more of wages for medical expenses. It is touching, AND really important how it places Geralt and witchers as part of the working class.

Dandelion constantly defends Geralt. Geralt is his specialest boye. But he never bandages Geralt in the books. And he also canonically helps him suture his wounds.

So, this one is 50/50. Half canon half fanon. It's canon, folks.

ALSO, that story, (A Little Sacrifice, which is a short story in Sword of Destiny) is PEAK domestic Geraskier/Gerlion. They pool their money and get in brawls together, and they share a bed and clothing. They also philosophize, psychoanalyze each other, bicker, and swear not to leave each other when they get into trouble out on a hunt. If you don't want to, or can't read the books, I recommend that one short story.

The "male gaze" is heavy (most people's critique of The Witcher books is very true) in that story. The mermaids breasts are described at least twice every time she makes an appearance. But the story IS really fucking delightful and you get so much insight into Geralt and his friendship with Dandelion is in top form. Also, I adore Essi, and she is in that story.

Anyway, thanks again to the eagle eyed anon. I usually try to qualify "that is not in the books" with "that I remember" since my brain is so fallible. But I really thought I would have noticed something like that! Goes to show.

And I think it's HYSTERICAL that the ONE time I write that Gerlion DON'T entirely behave like they're in a fanfic, is the time that I'm wrong XD.

[skaldingrayne]

✨Coën ✨: book!Coën vs TWN!Coen

(Sorry for the repost y'all. Because I replied to the original ask in good faith the first time around, when that person didn't like my answers and blocked me - and then waded thru the list of folks that interacted with me and some other folks that disagreed with them and blocked all *them* as well - it locked rebagel'ing for some of the folks who wanted to share the Coën Facts™. So here it is again on it's own, so those of you that said you wanted to reblob it now can)

[redacted] Here you go, as requested:

1) book!Coën is not a Wolf witcher || TWN has said there is only one school in their canon (Kaer Morhen) and TWN!Coen wears a Wolf medallion

2) book!Coën's first winter at KM was Ciri's as well, he was also an outsider like her || TWN! Coen is (again) already part of the wolf school which kind of makes him just another of the witchers around her

3) book!Coën "was young, apparently the same age as Lambert" according to Triss in BoE - who is relatively young herself (Jaskier is possibly older than she is), so i doubt she'd be calling someone over a century-old "young" || in Netflix's NotW Geralt is the youngest and - as there is only one school - TWN! Coen would have to have been at least old enough to be a full witcher out on the Path at the time of the attack, making him even older than Geralt who's already over a hundred come S2

4) book!Coën did not bully Ciri || TWN! Coen did - a century old monster slayer, and he’s spending his winter helping Lambert bully a human kid

5) book!Coën did not dance with sexworkers brought to KM and then intentionally drugged past being able to remember anything about the night || TWN!Coen did

6) book!Coën "had unusually pale, yellow-green irises and the whites of his eyes, riddled with red threads" (BoE) || TWN!Coën has heterochromia. Now this might be a visual design choice to make that difference in eye mutations between him and the other witchers obvious, or it might be related to Atour saying he had an eye injury when he was young. But because of the nature of witcher mutations, TWN!Coen's non-mutated eye is functionally different than a mere cosmetic choice - it would mean that at the very least his eyes have differing visual levels (which would cause issues on it's own) or could even be a sign of some level of vision loss. And as someone who's had minor vision loss before and has family who's suffered major, I can report back that such a thing does indeed make a difference in one's life

7) book!Coën spells his name with an ë || TWN!Coen has been anglicized to remove the ë, kind of like how some of my ancestors were forced to change their names to not sound too “foreign” when they immigrated to America. To be clear this is not “just removing the umlauts”, it makes it an entirely different letter and is a purposeful misspelling which is generally considered rude to do to a person of another language/culture. It would be like changing Yennefer to Jennefer or Ciri to Siri - it’s not the same name (alright, admittedly this is just a personal annoyance than a true character change, but it’s still rude. names & culture are important)

8) book!Coën had the awesome teaching/foreshadowing moment with Ciri about even the best of fencers all winding up in the same place/in cemeteries || TWN!Coen did not get to have that teaching moment because the line was given to Geralt

All together, these seem like major differences to me though - both physically, in his personality, and in his backstory. So much so that they feel like totally different characters. TWN!Coen doesn't feel to me like someone who's going to march off to Brenna, for instance. So while Atour remains my face claim for Coën, when I write him it's the book character who gives him life. When I read him, I want more personality and backstory than TWN saw fit to give him. Otherwise he's just another Aiden really - which can be fun, but only if I'm in the mood for an OC

When you said "there was no other clarification of 'book canon Coën' besides that tag" - except that tag is on a whole entire fic which would presumably provide the clarification you're asking for, right? If you don't want to read that fic, that's fair. Walk away. But to *not* check your evidence before you go jump online and impugn someone who's just helping readers looking for more book-personality Coën?…Like I said, seems like it says far more about you than it does the writer

Are you upset that people are canon blending characters (as you mention with Triss), or are you upset that people are trying to specify which canon they are using instead of just blending (the whole Coën/Coen thing that started this mess)?

Now as to your tags:

IDK, when I see someone specifically described as pale, I tend to assume that's because everyone else *isn't* (see: Earthsea)

I DO in fact think it's a leap to assume Sapkowski intended the characters to be default anything because a) it’s not just some sort of fantasy Poland - he said they came from all over in a different world and b) there's no such thing as "default white" any more than there is any other kind of “default skin tone.” Look, Western Europe and Eastern Europe have A History, the countries within those regions have A History, the regions within those countries have A History, and to write it all off as "white" so as to conveniently ignore all the cultural/economic/political/historical/social differences that shape them seems as reductivist as lumping people from Spain/Mexico/Puerto Rico/Cuba/Columbia/Peru together as just “those Spanish speaking countries”. You seem like the kind of person interested in doing better and trying to promote diversity, so these comments were pretty surprising TBH

Sapkowski is an old *Polish* guy - which means he grew up in a country absolutely obliterated by the Nazis, lived through communism and revolution, watched his country and people rebuild. And then - at the age of 38, which um...is not actually that old? - he wrote the start of what would become an amazing series of books about power and politics and race and oppression and marginalized groups all dressed up as fantasy so people would read it. I do not know why you would demean his age or culture instead of celebrating it, especially as you otherwise seem to enjoy these books written by an "old white guy" *about* an "old white guy"?

(Coming soon: more on ✨Coën✨ & Implicit Bias...)

[so-this-is-my-blog-i-guess]

So. I haven’t really been here much at all. And now my queue is down to 15 posts. And since I have 14,000+ posts in my drafts, I’ll be reloading my queue soon.

My life has been hectic crazy, and I don’t really have the energy for any of this. Within the last month, my officially ex husband (as of last May. We had the court date on the phone because of the pandemic.) has gotten an apartment and moved out.

Within the last week, my house is in contract. I never even had to list it. A neighbor’s relative wanted to be here, and he asked if I would want to sell. So that was easy. Now I have to downsize and buy a house for me and the cats. I’ve officially reached “cat lady” status. So I’m looking for a place with windows they can look out of and have room to run and play while having room for all my stuff... which has to be sorted through (as I’ve been doing over the past several years... but now it’s go time).

Built this place in 1994, and moved in just in time for my son to start kindergarten. This is all bittersweet. This had been my dream house. My son grew up here. But it’s too big, and I just can’t do stairs as easily as I once had. Ranch time it is. The roughest part of doing this is the realization that my son doesn’t want any of my stuff. He feels that it’s all useless, and he’d toss it all in a dumpster. So. I’m packing things as “things I still need” and “things I’ll have to sort through” over the next few years.

It’s amazing how many clothes I’ve saved since the 1980s with the idea that some day I’ll be able to fit into again. I’ll never wear a size 4 ever again. smh. I’ll be lucky to get into a medium... if.

I’m overwhelmed. Physically and mentally. But I’ve always done my best work when I’m near the deadline. And that’s certainly approaching. Fast. I think tomorrow I’ll be boxing up my sheet music, metronomes, and piano light so I can have that done. That’s a relatively easy goal for tomorrow. Maybe if I get truly motivated, I’ll attempt to organize my cassettes. Then that part of the living room will be done, and I’ll have accomplished something. Reasonable. *sigh*

The anniversary of my son’s accident was the other day. We didn’t talk about it. But today he was reminiscing about a friend who he’d last seen when they were doing shots just hours before his accident. Long story short, my kid went to a St Patrick’s Day parade/bar crawl eight years ago. He was being responsible by taking the train there and not driving. But while he and his friend were walking back to the train to go home, they were hit by an suv. His friend had a couple of scratches and a concussion but otherwise was pretty much okay. My son, on the other hand, well, he went through the windshield head first. Literally knocked out of his boots. Ripped his knee up pretty badly. Concussion with possible other issues. He wasn’t good. But thankfully he’s still here. He knows he is lucky. The anniversary of a hellish night. I was sitting where I’m sitting right now when I got the call from the police that he was at the trauma center. I don’t take anything for granted anymore.

And where I’m sitting right now is where my dear Patrick, my 23 year old Maine Coon, passed in my arms about twenty years ago. But there’s good memories in this place, too. Life’s just going to be a lot different now. It’s strange being alone in this house. I keep thinking that I can’t make noise or I’ll wake someone. I’d probably just disturb the cats, but it’s nearing time for their 3am zoomies... and they’re up.

I should sleep soon.

tl;dr Just complaining. Don’t mind me. Goodnight, y’all.

(Please do not reblob.)

[theloveinc]

anyway today i ended up dying sorry

thank u to the person who reminded me.. I’m going out to lunch w my mama but when I’m back we are going to TALK

[digimonascending]

Digimon Chasm Episode 30 - Silent Night, is now out on the site, dA and FF.net.

It's The Super Shiny Happy Funtime Extra-Length Happy Chasm Chrimbo Special. Only happy fun times here. Only cute warm fuzzies. I've even put in penguins for you.

Chapter links in reblob