#not for one specific magazine which i find odd

[notjustjavierpena]

Nerf

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A/N: There’s a little background to this. Sweet @sawymredfox posted a picture in an inbox that I can’t remember who belonged to but the picture was of a Nerf gun with a note asking for a gunfight over dinner. This one's for you, Wym! 

Summary: Hubby returns from work to a Nerf gunfight over takeaway privileges. Luckily, he has tactical training and quite the appetite.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: Domestic bliss, fluff, pregnant reader, javi loves and worships his wife, pussy eating, fingering, squirting, rough piv sex, multiple orgasms, creampie

Word count: 4.7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57685981

Nerf

Javier comes home to his apartment like always on a Friday afternoon, fiddling around with his bundle of keys that he fishes out from his pocket to find the one to the front door all the while carrying his work bag in his other hand. He has planned a date night with you tonight and has been excited about it since Monday morning when you suggested it over breakfast. He cannot wait to see you in your shared home, already grinning from ear to ear at the idea of giving his wife a long kiss as you discuss the movie choices you’ve rented at the local Blockbuster. He doesn’t really care about what you insist on watching, easily distracted by you anyway as you watch your movie with curious eyes. He’s more interested in the food that you are going to eat, hooked on the idea of ordering greasy Chinese food to share with each other. 

When he finally gets the door open, the apartment is dead quiet and the noise of Javier throwing his keys on the side table echoes through the hallway. 

“Honey?” He calls out but you don’t reply. 

He takes one step forward only to hear the sound of cheap plastic scraping across the floorboards. He furrows his brow and looks down, noticing the toy gun with a sticky note attached to it. He sets down his bag by the shoe rack and bends down to pick the gun up. 

It’s a Nerf gun, more specifically a poor imitation of an automatic weapon. He checks the magazine and sees that it is full, loads it again, and only then reads the note sticking to it. 

Husband, 

Welcome home. I’m hiding in the apartment with a Nerf gun. Here is the other one… The winner decides what takeaway we’re having for dinner. 

May the odds be ever in your favor,

Your wife

A grin spreads on his face, his senses heightened now that he knows you are watching him from somewhere.

As he pockets the note with as little noise as possible, he smirks with determination and thinks that you have no idea who you are up against. He secures his grip on the toy gun, remembering his tactical training from Colombia, and moves silently through the doorway to the living room. 

He scans the space with his heart beating in his ears but where he expects you to jump out from somewhere, maybe behind the couch where you’ll be relaxing later, he finds nothing. He takes silent footsteps across the wooden floorboards, knowing which creak, as he makes his way through the small space, checking behind the curtain by pulling it open with the tip of the rifle. Not there either. 

“I’m coming for you, esposa (wife),” he tells you tauntingly when he makes a left into the kitchen. You’re usually more into pizza, stringy with cheese and topped with mushrooms, but he really wants that goddamn chow mein from just around the corner. He tightens his grip, on a mission.

He inches forward to see if you are underneath the breakfast table with a cloth that you bought at a flea market a few months back. He didn’t think it would fit the rest of the furniture in the apartment but you insisted, and you were right. He loves the mismatched chairs surrounding its slightly quirky pattern now, pulling one out to make sure you really aren’t underneath the tablecloth by quickly lifting it and aiming.

The kitchen is completely empty, he decides, unless you are hiding in the refrigerator which he seriously doubts. Despite this, the silence is thick with impending doom and he takes a deep breath to steady himself, not about to lose to a person with no experience in the field. He listens carefully, taking a few steps back and suddenly a Nerf dart flies past his ear. 

He whirls around, having noticed the slight movement just in time. And there you are, right in the doorway to the kitchen with a huge, beaming smile on your face, gun pointed at him, and wearing nothing but your white cotton underwear. He fails to concentrate on anything else except your gorgeous body, the only one in this whole world that he has worshiped multiple times and hasn’t lost interest in. He smiles at the sight of your baby bump that has just started to grow round and the way your panties’ elastic band sits across it. However, you play unfairly, a Nerf dart suddenly making its way toward him. 

He manages to duck it, hearing it hit the kitchen cabinets behind him with a soft thud before clattering to the floor. He raises his gun and you squeal with delight, turning on your heel, and running through your shared home. He fires a few darts in your direction without hesitation but none of them get you and you’re gone again. 

“Nice try, baby!” You laugh triumphantly. He follows the sound of your voice, your padding feet, and your giggles that elevate his heartbeat with indescribable warmth and happiness. They lead him to the bedroom, steadily creeping along the walls until he nudges the door open with his foot, gun at the ready. 

He guesses that you’ve stepped into the closet where his shirts hang because you won’t have had time to roll underneath the bed. He makes his way across the floor and swings the door open only to find nothing but his old clothes. He furrows his brow but then tenses up at the thrilling feeling of the tip of your gun poking into his back. He smirks to himself. 

“Hah!” You exclaim with glee, “Isn’t this a surprise? I can’t believe I won!”

His smile becomes more mischievous. You haven’t shot him yet, too arrogant to think that you won’t have to because he’ll surrender. Too bad for you that he is a stubborn man who loves you just a little more than anyone else before him. It’s enough to not let you win as you love it the most. 

In a flurry of tactical decisions and moves, he manages to whip around and grab the gun to fling it out of your hands. It falls to the floor with a clatter and your eyes widen. It dawns on you that you have noticed his plan too late and you end up with a Nerf dart hitting you square in the chest. 

“Gotcha!” Javier celebrates. 

You stumble back dramatically, clutching frantically at your chest after impact to earn a genuine laugh from your husband. You end up on the floor and Javier steps forward to stand with a leg on either side of you. 

“Do you stand down, soldier?” Javier asks, imitating the sound of reloading. When he aims at your chest again, you hold your hands up in mock surrender. 

“Fine, you win take away privileges,” you giggle but still try to reach out for his gun. 

Javier drops to his knees, getting comfortable on your thighs while you start to squirm, “You’re not very convincing, wife.”

“I’m being completely genuine, husband,” you reassure and accidentally push up into him, the slightest friction against his jeans making him feel a stir of desire in the length of his cock. 

Just when you try to reach for his gun again, he throws it next to the other and thus out of your reach. He leans down over you, hovering over your pouting face, and kisses your lips, “You really thought you could beat me so easily? Chica tonta (silly girl).”

The exhilarating feeling of your little game has left him clouded by thoughts of you. His eyes start to wander down your figure, his yearning for you that’s been building since he left in the morning making him unable to stop them. Your chest rises and falls a little quicker underneath his greedy gaze. Your breasts are more full than usual because of the baby growing inside of you and you look so stunning sprawled out on the floor at his mercy that he can’t help but let his hands wander as well.

You arch up to catch his lips in a tantalizing kiss that leaves him short of breath. Warmth thrums underneath his skin, a result of your heat radiating through him even as his fingertips only ghost down towards your waist and stomach. Your skin is electric, soft to the touch, and glowing just right because you are pregnant. 

“Javi,” you breathe softly as your hands come up to tangle in his hair, messing it up after he has had it under control the whole day. He nods but doesn’t keep his mouth on yours, instead lets the tip of his nose trail over your cheek and down your jaw whilst leaving kisses on your trembling neck as he descends. 

“I missed you all day,” he whispers, nibbling and kissing your skin until a thin sheen of spit runs down the pulsing vein along your throat. When he reaches your belly, beautiful and pregnant, he presses several kisses all over the growing bump while listening to you sigh with contentment. He smiles into your skin, briefly resting his cheek on you to look up at your face, “How have you both been today?” 

“We’ve been good,” you hum and run your hand through his hair, flattening it down again by pushing it back as you caress the top of his head, “We’ve missed you though. They’ve been moving around a bit but I think they’ve gone to sleep now… all that running around.” 

“Lots of privacy for us then,” he teases. He shifts positions, scooting backward until he is kneeling between your legs. He pecks your belly repeatedly, “You just sleep, bebito (little baby) while I take care of your pretty mamá.”

“What do you have planned?” You ask, wiggling your hips to try and get comfortable on the hard floor. He smirks at you and crawls forward to yank at the covers on the bed, pulling them far enough off the mattress until the pillows follow. He helps you to lift your pelvis up so he can scoot the soft pillow underneath your hips and then does the same with your head. 

“Can I eat this sweet little pussy, mamá?” He asks, finally kneeling in position again and watching you plant your feet on the ground by bending your knees. His own knees are hurting slightly but he ignores it because he knows he’ll forget it once he gets lost in your cunt.  

“Please,” you swallow thickly after a hitched breath. You nod eagerly with that little expression on your face that he loves when you’re getting treated for simply being the love of his life; all softened features, mouth slightly open, and pleading eyes watching as he goes down. 

Gently, he puts his palms on the back of your warm thighs and pushes your legs towards your chest, enjoying seeing you in the same position that he put that baby inside of you while he still can. You follow his movements without protest, keeping them there while he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties. 

“You want it?” He asks while dragging the fabric down over your hips as you nod repeatedly, snapping it slightly from how you barely register that you have to cooperate. He laughs as you do, a tiny giggle escaping you as you hold your legs up with your hands under your knees when he slips the underwear off your feet and tosses it to the side. 

Your pussy is on display for him like this, your pushed-together thighs and your ass slightly elevated from the pillow making it stick out even more. You squeeze around your calves to hold your position and he can see your dripping slit quiver, inviting him in to squish his head between your thighs. 

He flattens his tongue to lick a long, greedy stripe from the cleft of your ass to your clit, feeling you pulse in excitement as he finally touches you with his mouth. He groans at your sweet taste, repeating the move to concentrate on gulping down some of your slick like he hasn’t had a drink all day and Texan summer is peaking. You make him so hard in his jeans that it hurts, the length of his cock straining against the zipper as your sweet scent fills his nostrils. As he eats you out slowly and hears you sigh with pleasure above him, he agrees with himself that he’ll fuck you too. He thought this would be enough but no, you look perfect, swollen and warm below him and he doesn’t want to go through this late afternoon without feeling your heat around his cock. 

“Fuck, baby,” you gasp the way you do when your orgasm starts to tug from within you. He stops only using the tip of his tongue to be more forceful in his treatment. He covers your mound with his mouth, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks at your clit to hear you whine a mhmm…

You gush a little wetness when he releases you briefly, a drop of it sliding down between your cheeks so it accidentally wets the pillow you’re writhing on. Javier doesn’t care right now, will just throw everything in the washer later. He kisses your clit a few times before going in again, this time pressing his tongue against you to wiggle it against your clit that’s now hard from how turned on you are. 

There’s a climb in your pitch, a little higher moan coming out your mouth as he starts to let small flicks of his tongue rain down on your gorgeous clit. He concentrates on getting you there, heart beating in his ears but still managing to listen to your heaving breaths, notice your palms tighten around your legs as you channel the intensity into whatever you can and feel your hips involuntarily move so he has to grab the widest part of your thighs and hold you in place. 

When you start to hold your breath after a particularly long whine, he pulls away to stop your orgasm with the excuse that he has to breathe. You look down at him, releasing your grip around your knees to let your thighs fall out to the sides. You look frustrated, your racing heartbeat evident from the way your pussy pulses in a steady rhythm. 

“I hate you,” you say through gritted teeth, hips lifting off the pillow for just a moment as you chase something, anything to no avail.

“No, you don’t, Mamacita, not with what I’m about to do to you,” he grins, eyes glued to your glistening slit, watching the shine of his own spit covering your delicate skin. He grabs your ankles to plant your feet on the floor like you’d done briefly earlier, only to slide his hands upward over your shins, knees, and thighs until they sit on your hips. He gropes your jiggly thighs for a second, watching his movements vibrate all the way up to your bra-covered tits. They jump a little and he knows he has never seen anything so perfect, catching his hungry eyes and attention for a little too long. When he wants to smirk at you, he sees your pouty face and chuckles, “Alright, I’ll hurry up. Gotta give you what you want when dinner isn’t your call.”

You bite your bottom lip as he descends on your cunt again, tensing up the muscle of his tongue to lick a long stripe between your soaked folds. He moans when your hands find his hair, tugging gently on the follicles of his scalp. When he dares glance up at your writhing body, he can only see your tensed-up jaw as you have thrown your head back.

“Fuck, Javi,” you whine, “F-fingers. Make me come on your fingers, please.”

He can definitely do that. He lets his dominant hand slide down between your legs while he holds himself up with the other one on your hip, keeping your pelvis down as he sucks hard on your clit. Two of his fingers enter you and curl toward the front of your walls, seeming to have a direct line to your spine because you arch your back with a groan. 

Javier hums with pride, fucking you open on his digits whilst hollowing his cheeks around your clit. He drags the pads of his fingers over your g-spot again and again, hearing how your breathing speeds up once more and feeling your heartbeat as you rhythmically start to clench around his middle- and ring finger. He doesn’t have to look, is simply driven crazy by the mere thought of the finger that he wears his wedding band on disappearing into you over and over. 

“I’m coming,” you announce with a cry, barely able to catch your breath at this point. You tug harsher on his hair, pushing your hips up to earn more friction, “I’m gonna come, baby. Fuck, you’re making me come.”

Javier bobs his head slightly as he nips and sucks and licks, moving his fingers inside of you almost frantically to get the reward that he so desperately wants and needs. You squeeze your eyes shut, thighs tensing up and then go completely silent above him for less than a few seconds. 

You come with a high-pitched squeal a moment later, pussy going off into rapid spasms that choke his fingers but not enough for him to stop dragging them out while they curl upward. He releases his mouth from your pulsing clit, withdrawing his head from between your thighs so your arms fall to the floor. You gush all over his hand which he doesn’t manage to pull away, twisting your gorgeous body in surprise as you practically wet yourself on the floor. He tightens his grip on you to keep you on your back, hearing you sob with pleasure as he sinks his fingers knuckles-deep into you again and repeats the move. 

Another gush soaks the floorboards and you are practically levitating by now, enough for Javier to be sure that he has made up for the fact that his pregnant wife won’t get her takeout craving satisfied. He hears how it sounds in his head, knowing immediately that he should decide on that goddamn pizza if he wants to have it easy. 

He snaps out of it to go again at least three times more and when you seem like you can barely handle it anymore, he pulls back but only after a gentle peck on your swollen clit. You squirm in oversensitivity, shaking your head repeatedly while he cannot stop grinning in self-satisfaction. God, how on earth can he of all people have the privilege to make you feel so good? 

It takes a moment before your mind isn’t fogged by fireworks going off between your legs anymore and you slump on the floor with a satisfied smile on your face, a giggle bubbling up in your throat which is the most heavenly sound he has ever heard. 

“Okay?” He asks with a dazed expression, the taste of you lingering on his tongue. He rubs your thigh up and down, feeling the slight dampness from the sweat and wetness of your body. 

You nod in reply, “Mhmm…”

“Made a mess on the floor,” he tells you with a hint of taunting in his voice. 

“Mhmm,” you repeat, no shame in your tone which he loves completely, “You’ll clean it up.”

“Oh, will I?” He laughs quietly at the state of you. It’s true though; he will, and as you nod once more, he is already getting up from the floor with an aching hard-on in his jeans. 

“Yes because I’ll let you fuck me when you get back,” you grin lazily, letting your thighs fall out to the sides even more to show him your wet cunt. He could skip the step where he gets a towel but you’ll complain about it later tonight if he doesn’t nip it in the bud.

He adjusts his cock in his jeans when he is on his feet and undoes the pants on the way to the bathroom, hands gripping the handle on the bathroom drawer a little too hard when he gets a towel. He slings the towel over his shoulder and pushes the fabric of his pants down over his hips, relieved when his cock is only covered by the softness of his briefs. 

When he has patted down the floorboards, just managing to do it before your come has started to soak into the wood, he throws the towel to the side and kneels between your legs again. He looks at you with longing, with a fire in him that feels as if it is getting poured gasoline over it when you look into his eyes with a mischievous grin. 

“Can I have it now, baby?” He asks politely as he pushes his briefs down, letting them sit just below his hips because it feels like too much work to undress completely when he so desperately wants to be inside of you. You nod and hold out your hands to signal that he needs to come closer, and he follows through on your silent request but only after taking a last look at the beautiful mess between your legs that he’ll push into soon. 

When he crawls over you, you unbutton his shirt to reveal his chest and touch him all over. Your delicate hands roam over the skin of his torso, fingertips sliding through the little but sexy amount of hair there until you grab around the small of his back. You pull him in, he moves closer. 

A sharp exhale leaves him as he enters you finally. You on the other hand moan shakily as he fills up every last inch of you, intruding just a little before you relax around him. Your hands slide down and your nails dig into his ass, motioning for him to start moving inside of you. 

Your head falls back when he thrusts once then twice, fucking you slowly but harshly into the floor. It’s so ridiculous to think that he only had plans to kiss you when he came home, maybe making love to you in bed after the film you definitely won’t fall asleep to. He braces himself with a hand beside your thrown-back head, leaning down over you to practically latch onto your throat. He kisses along the beautiful arch of your neck, tasting your salty skin and feeling your throat vibrate against his lips with each noise of pleasure you make. 

You bend your legs to wrap them around his hips, rocking with him as he fucks into you deeply. Your cunt is so wet and warm around him, echoing each of his groans by choking his dick just as he has come to love it after he started fucking you on the regular three years back. Here he is, happily married to you and he is going to be a father. The thought of what you two have together, what you will achieve together, makes him impossibly hard inside of you, especially when you go and do something as stupidly adorable as a Nerf gunfight. He must have you. Fantastic, sexy, beautiful you.

He rolls his hips to hear you say his name, the floor creaking underneath you as you move together. You tilt your head forward again to kiss him, slotting your mouth over his and tasting your sweat and slick on his tongue. You suck at the tip, hinting at how good you are at going down on him and he groans with how wanton you can come off. You’re not just a sweet girl like everyone says.

“There! Oh fuck, th-there,” you break the kiss to yell out for him as he hits an angle that wasn’t even deliberate, the noise bouncing off the walls. The little old lady who lives downstairs from you will be banging on the door tomorrow, gone before you can answer and having left a cheerful yet unhappy note that starts. It's so nice that you enjoy each other. Javier thinks it’s more than nice. 

“Yeah? There, baby?” He does it again to piss off the whole building instead and your fingers dig into his skin with how good it is, “¿Así (like that)?”

“Sí, así (yes, like that),” you sob, your cunt squeezing his dick with how you have another high incoming. He seeks out your lips again but you are busy; your eyes are squeezed shut in concentration on your pleasure and your mouth hangs open as moan after moan leaves it, so he settles for a desperate bite to your jaw. 

“I love you,” he says as clearly as he can muster, his own orgasm creeping up on him as he spears you again and again. He moves a little to go harder and faster, his pace slowly increasing until you need to hold onto him to not go upwards on the floor with the strength behind his hips. You slide your hands up his back, nails scratching in their wake until you pull him into your arms. God, he feels so good and safe when you do that. You are both sweaty, chests sticking slightly to each other from how much effort you are putting into being together like this. 

“I love you too, esposo (husband),” you whimper feebly and tighten your legs around him to keep him where you want him the most. He can hear you are close in the way your breaths fall from your lips. 

“Come for me,” he whispers with a hot breath against your ear that has you shivering on top of everything else, “Por favor, mi amor. Quiero sentirte (Please, my love. I wanna feel you).”

His words send you there, your sounds send him there. You come with a pained noise and then a string of moans, your brows furrowed as your cunt goes off into spasms that he relishes in. They pull his own high from him, his muscles tightening before pleasure washes over him as he fills you up with his spill. It is accompanied by a guttural groan that makes you clench around him just when he thought it was over. He cannot control his hips as he feels it. His pace, albeit slowing down, gets uneven until it comes to a complete halt. 

Eventually, he rolls off of you. The both of you groan as he pulls out, and he immediately reaches for the towel which you place between your legs. He turns his head towards you when you do and as you gain eye contact, the both of you laugh in post-orgasmic bliss. 

You scoot closer by wiggling your entire body. You also decide to share the pillow under your head with him, pulling into the space between you. 

When you rest a hand on your baby bump, he reaches to hold it. Your breaths fall in sync with no need to say anything until you have the energy. 

When that time comes, you look at him out of the corner of your eye, “So.”

“So?” He asks and pulls up his underwear. 

“What did I lose to?” You elaborate while he buttons and zips his jeans. 

“Chinese,” he replies and tries to suppress his excitement in case you start pouting. Instead, you laugh out loud. 

“What? Why’s that funny?” He probably looks confused. 

“I wanted Chinese,” you clarify with continuous giggles. 

“Oh,” he joins in and chuckles, “You never want Chinese.”

“The baby wants Chinese,” you pat your belly with your other hand.

“Must be my kid,” he smirks and rolls onto his side. He pecks your cheek repeatedly. 

“Must be,” you turn your head to kiss him but it doesn’t quite feel enough. So he kisses you again, squeezing the hand on your pregnant belly as he does it and when you giggle against his mouth, it seems like the whole reason he was put on Earth is to do all of this and what’s to come with you.

.

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[deepdreamnights]

Hey there, saw your post re: harassment around artists using gen ai and thought it was great esp with the debunking of data usage myths. Would you share your thoughts regarding concerns that models are being trained to copy specific art styles and thus pose a direct threat to the artists whose art styles are being used?

Well, there's several levels to that.

The main one is that on copyright grounds, styles are explicitly non-copyrightable. Moreover:

No one's style is unique

No one's style is unimitatable by analogue means.

The second point is important, because anyone can go on Fiverr right now and and find someone to replicate any given art style, and every competent draftsperson has to be able to do it to some degree or another. No major animation house, art studio, or comic company has ever hired someone because they couldn't find someone else that could imitate the surface-level aspects of their style.

The first point is just a matter of basic reality. Ex-nihlo creativity either doesn't exist or is so rare as to be a once-in-an-epoch thing. Everyone builds on the influences that they learn from, and if you think someone has a unique style what they really have is a different media diet than you.

For example, Don Bluth. Born 1937, aged 15 in 1952.

Same year Time released this this picture of Burlesque Performer Dale Strong.

Someone made an impression.

Marilyn Monroe was also a national sex symbol when Bluth was a teen, putting some context to most of his other ladies, but especially Goldie Pheasant (or maybe she's more Jayne Mansfield, hard to tell through the bird-ness). His art style has obvious roots with Tex Avery and I would guess he read Mad Magazine a lot as a kid.

And Not to hang the guy out to dry alone, I was a teenager in the 1990s, and most of my sexy fictional ladies are 9/10 some combination of Dana Scully, Peg Bundy, and Rhonda Shear.

The point being that style isn't something you create intentionally so much as an accumulation of influences, drawn from the commons. Attempting to claim ownership of such a thing is by itself an act of theft in my view, and allowing them to be protected under the law would mean a judge being shown exactly how many pieces of prior art the Walt Disney Corporation owns that your work superficially resembles. Why, they'll even run it through a style recognizing AI to make sure they catch them all.

But let's talk about style matching.

It just takes one image now, and doesn't require training.

Which I'm sure sounds frightening, but this has been the situation since February for Midjourney, and it was available in the Stable Diffusion ecosystem long before that. If the threat were as pronounced as feared, we'd have seen the impact by now. And we haven't, and we're unlikely to, for several reasons, several of them listed above.

The largest is that style isn't even close to the be all/end all of what an artist brings to a given project. And the kinds of execs who are making a 'replace 'em with a robot' kinda decision aren't the kinds of people who care about art style beyond how much it looks like the most recent successful thing. And nobody's ever needed a robot to ride coattails.

But the next largest part is that AI style imitations aren't really accurate because the robot doesn't see style in the same way we do. It's all just math to the robot, and it prioritizes what it notices, not what we do.

I'll demonstrate.

Jack Kirby will be my example, for several reasons.

He has a bold and identifiable style, he's arguably the most famous artist in western comics history, and he has many analogue imitators and homagers.

Using Midjourney and prompting "an illustration of dana scully by jack kirby, 1968, in the style of 1960s marvel comics --ar 3:4 --s 15"

Using the base model, on the first roll we get three complete style mismatches and one that's kinda close, though I'd say that's way more Sal Buscema or John Byrne.

Kirby's women had a certain, difficult to describe oddness about their faces that the robot doesn't seem to grok, and it doesn't touch on the kinds of wild patterns and bold black/white swatches that make Jack's work feel 'jack'.

Tom Scioli's take on Kirby is a sort of lovingly flanderized parody, but it captures the spirit of Jack's art much more directly even if a lot of individual details aren't period-accurate. He draws Kirby the way you remember Kirby from your childhood, but I don't question whether the page above is trying to be a Jack Kirby homage or one to Sal Buscema.

But Midjourney has style reference, so we can inject the Kirby right in. Using the picture of Sersei dancing from above with the same prompt, we get:

Well, the work is more convincingly period, but again, we're not terribly close to being on-point. In fact, they're not very consistent between each other. Top left is any 80s marvel fill-in artist. Top right is maybe Kirby-esq. Bottom Left is flat out Jim Lee, bottom right is very Byrne-y.

Using three reference images to give the best shot, I'm also moving to using images of a similar color style, and all with a woman as the central focus. I have included the infamous Crystal pin-up shot because as I said, Kirby women have a certain oddness to them (fondly).

Results (MJ 6.1 on the left, Niji 6 on the right):

It all says 60s-70s Marvel, but I don't think Kirby would be the first guess for any of them. Maaaaaaybe the lower-left Dana in image #2 if you squint.

And that's Jack Kirby. Massively popular and prolific with a career spanning decades. If anyone in the comics space should be impersonatable by this thing, its him.

I'm sure you could train a LORA to get closer, and sure, the tech is only going to get better from here, but by the nature of how the system works no generation pulls just from what is referenced. Every generation is both blended with other concepts and emphasizes only what the machine catalogs as relevant, not what we might.

There's not much to stop someone from imitating your style with a machine, but there was nothing stopping them from doing the same with an underpaid freelancer. The results are likely to miss the mark regardless.

If the client wants you, they'll try and get you. If they just want something kinda like you, they've always had an avenue to that.

Fortunately, you're more than your style, and whatever anyone can do with the machine, you can do better because you've got access to both.

[coreene]

Drow Name Tables from Dragon Magazine

Have a little treat for you drow lovers - a name table for your characters! I was trying to find a name for an OC and came across this post in reddit, thanks to u/dalioftheWoods.

I went ahead and found the Dragon Magazine issue they mention on the post in internet archive here. Issue #267 and page 28.

I am putting the transcript of How It Works text under the cut along with Table 1. Tables for the names are already shared in the reddit post.

Minthara's name can also be found on the this table. Min meaning "  lesser, minor, second" and thara meaning "glyph, marker, rune" It's up to you to decide what her name could mean. The Second Glyph, Lesser Rune, Minor Marker.

I've also noticed a few other names for the drows used in the game on the table.

Nere - Neer "core, root, strong"

Sorn - enchanted, spell

Nym - lost, skeleton, skull.

Interestingly, Nym is the masculine version of this name but female drows can use masculine names without issues, unlike males who will be labelled troublemakers.

How It Works

Each drow name consists of a prefix (from Table 2) and one or more suffixes (from Table 3). Since female and male drow names are often very different, many table entries list a female name fragment and then the male equivalent. Although the names might not seem particularly gender specific to an outsider. any drow will be able to tell the difference immediately. Rarely, a female drow might take part of a purely masculine name. However, any male who uses a solely feminine name fragment would be considered a rogue or troublemaker.

You can randomly generate a drow name by rolling on Table 1 Definitions have been included in these tables to help determine what a name means once it has been generated. If you prefer, it is also possible to pick a set of definitions you like and assemble a name that matches them. If your character is a powerful priestess of Lolth, you might decide her name should reflect this. Looking at the definitions, you decide her name will mean “Spell Weaver." This results in the name “Instra.” For a man, the name would be “Sorntran.”

Keep in mind that drow names frequently sound odd to human ears and might be difficult for humans to pronounce If you really don’t like a particular combination, try adding one or more letters or an apostrophe between the name fragments. Although not every combination of prefixes and suffixes will sound right, usually only a minor change is called for. If you can’t make a particular name work, try one with a similar meaning. If you didn’t like “Instra." try a name that means “Web Priestess” instead.

If you have randomly generated a name and don’t like its definition, try altering the order of the words. It is also possible to use the definition as a starting place for a name’s meaning. Often this definitions can be combined in a poetic way for better results. In the case of a three-fragment name, try dropping one or more of the definitions.

Thus “Halicedril" could mean “The Spider-Taken Warrior.” “Deft Knight." “Nimble Warrior.” or just ‘The Spider Taken.” Don’t worry about two names sharing the same meaning or having two definitions for one name. Two names might sound the same to a human, but a drow would know the difference.

Although some drow have a surname that denotes what family they are descended from or to which guilds they owe loyalty, noble drow and titled commoners can use the name of their noble house, clan, or trading house as a surname. Those drow are free renegades, owing allegiance to no one, sometimes keeping their house name as a reminder of where they came from and what they've escaped. A house name can be assembled from Tables 4 and 5, either by choosing a definition or by rolling once on each.

Table 1 (Roll 1d10)

1d10 Result

1-3 - Roll once on Table 2 and once on Table 3.

4-5 - Roll once on Table 2 and twice on Table 3.

6-7 - Roll once on Table 2, once on Table 3, add an apostrophe, then roll again on Table 3.

8-9 - Roll once on Table 2 and once on Table 3 for a first name, then roll on Table 1 again for a second name.

10 - Roll once on Table 3, add an apostrophe, then roll once on Table 2 and once on Table 3.

[disillusioneddanny]

Day 6: Grandparents | Lost

“Are you sure it’s a good idea? My father is, strange,” Damian said as the couple stared up at the entryway of Wayne Manor. 

“We’ve been putting this off for five months now, Damian. Cecilia needs to meet her Grandfather and her Great Grandfather,” Danny chided. “You and Bruce are both being weird and keep avoiding this for some reason and it’s dumb. Your dad loves you and he’s going to love our daughter too,” he said before he lifted Cecilia’s baby carrier and the two made their way up the steps, leaving Damian on the sidewalk to glare at the manor. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want Cecilia to meet his father, per se. It was more that he didn’t know how he was going to react to Cecilia. Sure she was a baby but in Batman’s eyes, she was an unknown and he didn’t need Bruce to see his now eight-month-old daughter as some kind of threat when she was nothing of the sort. He didn’t know how Bruce was going to treat his daughter but he remembered his own appearance on Bruce’s door step and he didn’t want the same treatment for his baby. 

He let out a sigh and followed his boyfriend to the door just as Alfred answered the door and smiled at the three. 

“Ah Master Damian, about time you brought your partner and daughter to meet us,” he said with a small smile. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Master Daniel and this must be Miss Cecilia,” he said, peering down at the baby carrier.

Danny grinned. “Please, just call me Danny! And yes, this is Lia, if you’d like once we get inside and Damain is finished forcing you through all of his precautions you can hold her,” he said as Alfred stepped aside to allow the family into the manor. 

“Precautions?” Alfred asked, glancing over at Damian curiously. 

“It’s like preparing for surgery for anyone who isn’t family to hold her,” Danny teased and Damian just rolled his eyes. 

“That is for the imbeciles that we call my siblings and your friends. I trust Alfred to maintain a high level of cleanliness and am just fine with him holding our daughter after he sanitizes his hands.”

Alfred let out a chuckle and led the family into the sitting room where Bruce already sat reading a magazine. Damian narrowed his eyes at the man as he slowly set the paper down and looked between the couple.

Here it was. Bruce was going to question Danny within an inch of his life, question everything about him, who his parents were, what he did for a living, and every other question he could think of. And then he would do the same about Cecilia, questioning her creation and whether or not he was absolutely certain that Talia wasn’t up to something. 

Which for once, she wasn’t. Talia had just developed a rather odd taste for love bombing and thought that giving them a baby would get back into Damian’s good graces. Danny had even turned into his ghost form and stalked the assassins for a week just to see if he could find anything and had apparently called in a favor with these strange beings called Observants to keep an eye on them. Something about trying to kill him as a child was a reason that they owed him a favor. Damian didn’t know the specifics and he didn’t particularly care to know the specifics. 

Bruce stood and walked towards the couple and their daughter who hovered awkwardly in front of one of the couches. “Damian! I’m so glad you brought Danny and Cecilia to come and meet us! Alfred has been very excited all week,” he said, casting an amused glance at the butler who had pulled a small bottle of hand sanitizer from his pocket, taken off his gloves, and tucked them into the pocket before he sanitized his hands vigorously. 

Danny just grinned and took Cecilia out of her carrier and held the baby close. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Wayne and Mr. Pennyworth, Dami has told me so much about both of you,” he said just as Alfred came close and Danny happily handed the baby over to the older man who let out a soft coo and immediately took a seat in one of the sitting chairs and held her close as he murmured quietly to her. Damian smiled at his grandfather who was now a great-grandfather. 

“Yes, we thought it would be a nice time for you both to meet her and for her to meet you all,” Damian said watching as Danny and Bruce awkwardly shook hands. 

“Dami is scared that you’re going to question me and make me uncomfortable,” Danny said bluntly, taking a seat on the couch as Bruce returned to his own chair. 

“I am not!” Damian argued, glaring at Danny as he took a seat beside his boyfriend on the couch and crossed his arms over his chest in a pout. 

Danny just snickered and looked back at Bruce. “Either way, I prepared. I figured if I was going to meet Batman who would more than likely consider me an unknown, I needed to do that,” he said as he crossed his leg over his knee and took Damian’s hand in his. “So, to get started, my name is Daniel James Fenton, although I’m sure you’ve already run a pretty thorough background on me, I doubt you were able to get through the firewalls, am I right?”

“How did you know about the firewalls?” Bruce asked a frown on his face already. 

“Because I helped put them up,” Danny said with a sharp-toothed grin. “So let’s get into this, I’m the son of the ecto biologist Doctors Jack and Maddie Fenton. I was a pretty big part in lobbying to get the Anti-Ecto acts overturned a few years ago. I died when I was fourteen and became a halfa, something that is now considered a meta I believe. I have powers and used to be a vigilante under the name Phantom. I also am now going to Gotham University where I’m getting my English degree. I’m also currently working as an English tutor at the library. Is there anything else you need to know about me?”

“Why the firewall?” Bruce asked, eyes still narrowed slightly at Danny. 

Danny grinned. “I didn’t need anyone learning about Phantom outside of Amity Park. I’m out of the hero business for good, I don’t want to be involved in any of that and I didn’t want any other pesky hero organizations to bother me after getting a call from the Doom Patrol once,” Danny said simply. “Easier to keep Phantom under lock and key so that no one knows about me.”

Bruce crossed his leg over his knee and crossed his arms over his chest as he watched Danny for a moment and Damian held back an eye-roll. He knew what was coming next because it was the exact same question he asked Danny when he had learned about Phantom. 

“Don’t you think that is a waste of your powers to not help others?” he asked. Damian felt a sense of pride as Danny just looked the man, The Batman down and smiled prettily. 

“No,” he said simply. “I don’t have to be a hero just because I have powers. It’s not an obligation, and I didn’t want to be one in the first place. There are enough heroes in the world, I’d rather just do what makes me happy instead.”

“Very well,” Bruce said and smiled. “Now, Alfred, will you stop hogging my granddaughter so that I can meet her?”

“Later, sir,” Alfred said, not looking away from the baby babbling in his arms. “We are having a very important conversation at the moment.”

Damian and Danny just looked at one another and smiled. “See?” Danny murmured. “You have nothing to worry about.”

Damian just stuck his tongue out and looked over at his family as Bruce moved seats to coo over Cecilia while Alfred refused to share the baby with him. 

“Are you alright? You have been quiet since we arrived home,” Damian said as Danny set the baby down in her crib and ran his fingers through her hair slowly. 

“I just miss my family,” Danny said softly, Domain came over and wrapped his arms around the halfa’s waist, resting his head on the man’s shoulder. “Things have been strained for a while now. My parents never knew how to react to me being a ghost after spending years hunting me. I think they feel guilty but don’t know how to handle it. And my sister, I love her but she has always acted like she knew what was best for me. It’s always been her telling me what to do and how I did it wrong,” he said quietly, still staring down at their daughter. 

“I hate what my family turned into. I hate that Jazz and I have gotten distant the older we get. I hate that my parents can’t look at me without guilt in their eyes,” he whispered. “And sitting there with your dad and Alfred and then your siblings came over and I got to see how happy you all were and how excited they were about being uncles and an aunt and grandparents for the first time and I realized I probably won’t ever have that with my family. My parents will probably never meet Lia, Jazz probably won’t either. I don’t even remember the last time I went to visit them and none of them have come to visit me in Gotham, not a single time since I moved here. It just sucks.”

“I’m sorry Beloved,” Damian murmured, he pulled away from Danny and took his hand. “Let’s go lay down? Maybe you can tell me some of your favorite memories about them? Would that make you feel better?”

Danny gave him a small smile. “Yeah, let’s do that,” he whispered. 

“Is this an ice cream kind of sad or a chips and dip kind of sad?” Damian asked, willing to risk getting crumbs in their bed if it made Danny feel any better. 

“Chips and dip kind of sad,” Danny said, giving his boyfriend a small, thankful smile. 

Damian let out a forlorn sigh. “Go change into your pajamas. I’ll go get the hot Cheetos and cheese sauce.”

“Damian,” Danny said, grabbing his boyfriend’s hand before he left the nursery. Damian turned back and smiled. 

“Yes, beloved?”

“I love you,” he said with a small smile. 

Damian simply kissed the back of his hand. “I love you too,” he said before leaving to get the comfort snacks. He couldn’t fix the past, but he could make Danny’s present better. 

@dpxdc-familyweek

read the rest of my family week series here

[weemssapphic]

in my head (series)

Chapter Twelve: in my head

Larissa Weems x f!reader

previous chapter | series page

words: ~3.7k, ao3 link

chapter-specific warnings/content: mentions of alcohol, nsfw (smut) - cunnilingus, fingering, tribbing, praise kink

chapter summary: An evening with Larissa cements the love you share for one another.

A/N: Welp. It's here. The last chapter. I am very sad to see this fic come to end - I will miss our lesbian idiots dearly <3 huge thank you once again to @afeatherformills and to my lovely girlfriend for being here for the whole journey to beta for me, and thank you so much to everyone who has read, interacted with, and supported this fic - I appreciate you so much!!

Larissa Weems looked stunning that afternoon, like straight out of a fashion magazine; hair and makeup styled to perfection - there was no doubt about that. But there was something about Larissa now as she stepped out of her bathroom - face fresh and devoid of makeup, damp hair down from its usual updo and hanging over her shoulders, clad in a t-shirt and drawstring shorts - that made your heart beat faster and your stomach flutter pleasantly.

You were sitting on her bed, towel drying your hair, wearing only an oversized t-shirt of Larissa’s and your underwear. Larissa approached the bed, standing in between your legs and running her hands over your bare thighs as she leaned in for a kiss.

“Can I interest you in a glass of wine?” Larissa husked. At your confirmation, she disappeared into the kitchen, returning shortly thereafter with two glasses and a bottle of red.

“You said something about looking at photo albums?” you suggested innocently as Larissa began to pour the wine. She stilled in her movements, glancing over at you, her expression unreadable. You pouted, batting your eyelashes for good measure. “Only if you want to, of course.”

“How am I supposed to say no to that face?” she said with an exasperated sigh, though her lips curved into a smile that gave her away. “Very well, let me find them.”

That’s how the two of you found yourselves sprawled across the rug that adorned Larissa’s bedroom floor, photo albums and stacks of photos surrounding you as you sipped your wine and listened to Larissa talk about her childhood. Raindrops pelted the windows and dark clouds cast a shadow over the little apartment, which was illuminated only by the warm glow of various odd lamps.

“I didn’t know you were so sentimental,” you teased, gesturing to the many albums that littered the floor.

“I like to keep records, I suppose,” Larissa mused with a sip of her wine. “I don’t have much contact with my family so it’s nice to have the photos.”

You hummed in appreciation, watching Larissa’s face as she flipped through one of the leather-bound albums.

“This one was taken at my seventh birthday party,” she said, poking a red-tipped finger at a black-and-white photo of a young girl blowing out the candles atop a decadent cake. Her pale blonde hair fell in loose curls onto the girl’s shoulders, bright eyes were trained on the lit candles as her chubby cheeks puffed out.

“Your cheeks!” you squealed, earning yourself an eye roll from the woman beside you. You reached out to pinch her cheek, but she playfully slapped your hand away before you could accomplish your goal.

“Try that again and I’m putting these away - no more photos for you,” she warned, a teasing lilt to her voice. 

“Fine,” you huffed, dropping your arm back down to your side.

“Good girl,” Larissa purred seductively, and a heat began to spread through your entire body, your cheeks blazing. You turned your head and took a sip of your wine.

She began to flick idly through pages upon pages of photos, some of herself, some of various strangers who you assumed to be family members. “These are my parents.” A photo of two adults - a man and a woman - with a young Larissa, possibly around twelve or so, sandwiched between them. The photo felt very formal - it looked like it could have been taken in front of a church on Easter Sunday or something of that nature. Larissa was already starting to grow - she’d almost reached her mother’s height.

She’d gotten her hair and her eyes from her mother, that much was certain - the woman standing next to her was the picture of a bombshell blonde, dressed similarly to how Larissa might dress now, in a formal skirt and a blouse. Her hair was done up and she wore a string of pearls around her neck, smiling haughtily at the camera.

The rest of Larissa was clearly her father though - he had a kind smile, the same high cheekbones as Larissa. He was a tall man - that was clearly where Larissa got her towering height from. The slight dent in his nose mirrored Larissa’s, and his eyes crinkled at the outer corners as he beamed at the camera, reminding you so much of the woman you adored.

“You look so much like him,” you murmured. “He would’ve been really proud of you, you know?”

Larissa smiled. “I know.”

~~~

As the evening wore on you ended up lying side-by-side on your bellies, shoulders touching, wine glasses empty. You felt like you were getting to know a new side of Larissa through the photos - Larissa with her parents at Christmas, Larissa playing with her cousins as a child, Larissa on vacation at the sea, Larissa as a teenager with classmates at Nevermore.

Without thinking, you reached for the wine and took a swig straight out of the bottle. You held it out to Larissa, who took it without question. Her fingers brushed against yours and it might’ve been the alcohol, or the sentimental mood that clung to the air around you, or the depth of emotion swirling in Larissa’s bright, sapphire eyes, but you suddenly felt warm all over.

You watched, your arousal growing by the second, as Larissa’s lips parted to sip the wine from the bottle, as her throat bobbed, as her pink tongue darted out to lick a stray drop of wine from her upper lip. She passed the bottle back to you and flipped the page of the photo album. 

“This one was taken before the concert.” It was a photo of Larissa and her father, standing in the hallway of an unfamiliar house - probably the residence of her family in London. Both of them were beaming at each other, caught in a candid moment, bright smiles stretching from ear-to-ear - she looked happier here than in any of the other pictures. You could feel the love between the two of them radiating off the glossy page.

You turned your head to look at Larissa. She was staring down at the photo, a deep crease forming between her eyebrows. Taking her chin between your fingers, you turned her head towards you, her eyes reluctantly leaving the page to meet yours. You leaned in, your lips meeting the spot between her brows, softly kissing the creased skin. When you pulled away, you could see her eyes had fluttered shut. The crease was all but gone, her entire face relaxing.

“Would it be alright if I kiss you now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I’d be upset if you didn’t,” she murmured, opening her eyes which landed immediately on your lips.

“We wouldn’t want that, would we?” You smirked and Larissa shook her head gently as you leaned in once more, this time pressing your lips to her own. They were soft and pillowy, and the kiss was tender and emotional - you tried to convey everything you wanted to say to her, all the words that died in your throat, all the love and care that you felt for her. And you felt, with the way that she kissed you back, that she understood.

Your hand moved from her chin to the nape of her neck, gently tangling itself in long tresses. She sighed into your mouth, twisting her body so that she was propped up on her side and could pull you closer by the waist. 

You could feel desire coursing through your veins, thrumming deep within you as you kissed Larissa with unmatched ferocity, desperate to show her how much she meant to you.

This time, Larissa was the one to slow you down - she pulled back, breathless. “Darling, I-” She hesitated, seeming to struggle for words. Then, softly: “Let me take care of you tonight. Like you’ve taken care of me.”

You surged to claim her lips, letting out a desperate whimper into her mouth which she immediately swallowed as she deepened the kiss. Her hand slid down to your hip and rucked up your shirt, slipping underneath it and caressing the bare skin of your waist. 

“Riss,” you mumbled into the kiss as you felt her shift next to you, moving into a seated position and pulling you with her. 

“Yes, love?” She had both hands under your shirt now, fingers tracing every inch of skin as she pushed your shirt up higher and higher, until it was pulled over your head and tossed to the side.

“Please.” You didn’t know what you were asking for, but Larissa seemed to. She stood, pulling you with her, her lips chasing every inch of skin she could reach. She pushed you gently backwards onto the bed, leaning over you and tugging down your underwear.

Her lips found your pulse point, soft kisses turning into gentle nips and lighting a fire in your abdomen.

“I want to see you,” you whined through your lustful haze, roughly pushing at Larissa’s shirt.

You could feel Larissa smile against your neck, her teeth grazing the tender flesh. She stood, making a show of pulling her shirt over her head and exposing her chest - smirking at your sharp intake of breath. Tugging at the drawstring of her shorts, she pushed them over the swell of her hips and allowed them to drop down her long, long legs, exposing her soft, creamy thighs. Her underwear followed and then she was hovering over you again, straddling you, her eyes dark and filled with lust as she met your gaze.

“Darling,” she purred. “You make me so wet.” You were about to reach your hand down to feel her when she swiftly grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand. Then you felt the little curls on her mound tickle your abdomen, before Larissa lowered her cunt fully onto your stomach. Her lips parted as she did so, a small gasp escaping her throat and mixing with the moan you let out as you felt her slick soak your skin.

Larissa began to rub herself against you, rolling her hips to gain friction against her swollen clit. She held your gaze the entire time, watching your pupils dilate as you stared into her face. It was impossibly hot, this stunning goddess using your body to pleasure herself. 

You could feel your own arousal drip down your inner thighs as you watched Larissa’s eyes roll back in her head, breathy moans spilling from her kiss-swollen lips.

“You like this, don’t you?” she teased as her movements became more urgent. You nodded vigorously, only to be met with a raised eyebrow. “Be a good girl and use your words, love.”

“Y-yes,” you replied, swallowing thickly. “God, Riss, you’re so hot.”

Larissa hummed, her chest pink and heaving slightly as she rutted against your stomach. Her grip on your hands loosened as she got closer to the edge, and you used the opportunity to hold onto her waist and guide her movements.

She came with a soft cry - her thighs trembled and her eyes screwed shut as she rode your stomach. Her body became heavier atop yours as she came down from her high, and you gently stroked her hip bones with your thumbs as you watched her regain her breath.

“Gorgeous,” you murmured, and Larissa’s eyes fluttered open to look down at you. She shifted her weight onto her knees, whimpering at the loss of friction against her heat, then leaned down to press her lips to yours. 

A plethora of warm, wet kisses were placed down your throat, your collarbones, your sternum, until Larissa’s lips reached your stomach. She looked up at you through soft, blonde lashes, barely a sliver of sapphire visible around her widened pupils as she stretched out her tongue and licked up the remnants of her arousal from your skin.

Her tongue was like velvet as she happily chased her own juices - you groaned, burying your hands in her hair. Her hands reached up to fondle your breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples until they were almost painfully hard. “Please,” you mumbled, squirming underneath her as you felt your clit throb and your walls clench around nothing. Larissa resumed her trail of kisses, reaching your hip bones, the soft curls between your thighs, littering your inner thighs with kisses and bites that would surely leave tiny red marks in their wake.

Finally, finally, her tongue found your soaked folds, dragging a slow path up to your clit. 

“You taste divine, my love,” Larissa moaned, before closing her lips around your clit and sucking gently. Your hands tightened in her hair as you began to buck your hips against her mouth.

“That’s it.” She explored your folds, lapping hungrily at your arousal. “So pretty for me, so perfect.” Her hands held onto your thighs, which trembled with your increasing desire. She dipped her tongue lightly into your entrance, drawing a soft moan from your throat.

“C-can you… go inside?” you panted. Larissa hummed in acknowledgement, her tongue finding your clit once more as she gently teased your entrance with a finger. Slowly and gently she pushed the digit inside, allowing you to get used to the sensation for a moment before beginning to move in and out at a tantalizing pace.

“Fuck, Ris-sa,” you mewled as she curled her finger into your sweet spot, simultaneously flicking her tongue across your throbbing bundle of nerves. You squeezed your eyes shut, allowing yourself to get lost in the heavenly shocks that were coursing through your body.

Larissa added another finger, stretching you out and eliciting a deep groan from your chest. Your walls fluttered and contracted, as if trying to pull her in even deeper as she thrust in and out of you, her pace steady and languid.

“Look at me, darling,” she commanded, her tone low and raspy. With some effort, you opened your eyes and looked down the length of your body, your gaze meeting Larissa’s. The sight of her between your legs, lapping hungrily at your pussy while she peered up at you with doe-eyes, pupils wide with desire - it was nearly enough to send you over the edge. 

Without breaking eye contact, Larissa allowed her teeth to graze your clit as she curled her fingers just right - you whined in response, fisting at the bed sheets for dear life.

“Keep looking at me,” she said firmly as your eyes threatened to shut again. You felt your breathing quicken in time with the increased pace of Larissa’s fingers and you forced yourself to keep your eyes open.

“Good girl.” 

Her words drew a moan from your throat - you could feel your thighs begin to close around Larissa’s head, the coil in your abdomen seconds away from snapping. “C-can I… please…”

Larissa responded by sucking fervently at your clit, giving you a slight nod and coyly batting her eyelashes. One last curl of her fingers and you were sent over the edge, your entire body tensing as your walls clenched around Larissa’s fingers and your back arched off the bed. A rush of euphoria flooded your body as you watched Larissa watch you, her eyes hooded, her fingers flexing against your thighs.

Your eyes fluttered shut of their own accord as you felt yourself sinking into the mattress, the tension slowly leaving your body. You were vaguely aware of Larissa’s fingers sliding out of you, her tongue soothing over your folds and your inner thighs. You felt her move, the mattress dipping next to you as she settled by your side and pulled you closer to her, pulling your head onto her chest.

One of Larissa’s arms wound around you, enveloping you in her warmth. Her other hand rested on your hip, fingers tracing soothing patterns across your skin as your breathing slowly evened out. Tonight you relished in the feeling of Larissa’s bare skin pressed against your own, nuzzling your head into her chest, allowing yourself to completely let go - it would be the first time you knew you could stay, and a deep calm spread throughout your body at the realization.

“Can I ask you something?” Larissa’s voice was soft and thoughtful, her chest vibrating slightly with every syllable.

You hummed and opened your eyes, mind still foggy as you twisted slightly in her grip in order to better see her face.

“What was Miss Sinclair talking about earlier? When she said something about you reading Miss Addams’ mind?”

You tensed, hesitating for a moment. You didn’t think Larissa would ever judge you for your ability per se, but conversations about your mind reading had never really gone particularly well in past relationships. When you began to speak, you avoided her eyes, feigning great interest in a loose thread on the bed sheets.

“Enid came to see me last week. Wednesday was ignoring her and she needed advice. She asked if I would read Wednesday’s mind for her, see what she was thinking.” Larissa watched you contemplatively. 

“I didn’t, of course, I would never do that,” you added hastily as Larissa opened her mouth to speak, your cheeks burning for a reason you couldn’t quite place. Maybe you worried she would think you an unfit teacher. Maybe you worried she would come to distrust you. Maybe you worried she would think you’d read her mind without permission.

“I don’t think you would do that,” she said gently, brushing a lock of hair off your cheek and tucking it behind your ear. “I do have another question, though.”

“Okay?” You furrowed your brows, trying to stop your mind from jumping to the worst possible conclusions as it tended to do.

“You don’t use your ability often, do you?” Larissa’s voice was low and her fingers never let up in tracing soothing patterns all over your hip.

“No… More so when I was younger, unintentionally though. It’s… not exactly ethical to read someone’s mind without consent, and I haven’t found many people who are eager for me to search every crevice of their brain.” You tried for some dry humor, smiling wryly, but Larissa didn’t laugh - she simply looked pensively back at you.

“Is that hard for you?” she murmured finally.

“Pardon?”

“Is it hard? Neglecting a part of yourself like that?”

No one had ever asked you such a thing. Was it hard? You hadn’t spent much time considering that - usually, you were more concerned with the morality of what you were doing - as a child, it had been hard to control, though it had gotten easier as you’d aged. The few times you used your ability as an adult had left you feeling guilty and ashamed (well, aside from that waiter when you’d gone out with Larissa, though you could’ve done without the obscene visuals you’d gotten from that).

“I guess? I haven’t thought about it that way. Sometimes it feels like… like a blind spot? Or like a muscle that hasn’t been stretched in a long time.”

“That feels… unfair.”

You shrugged, choosing to play with a lock of Larissa’s hair, twirling it around your finger. She fell silent for a time after that, seemingly deep in thought.

“Does it bother you?” you asked quietly, afraid of the answer.

“Hmm?” Larissa stilled in her ministrations for a moment, looking genuinely confused.

“Does it bother you that I could read your mind, if I wanted to?”

“Not at all,” she said firmly. “I trust you.”

Then she hesitated.

“What if I wanted you to read my mind? Right now?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Larissa, I can’t-”

“Can’t or won’t? I just told you you could.”

You searched Larissa’s eyes, finding nothing but fierce determination.

“Okay.” You sighed, trying to concentrate, holding eye contact with Larissa as you did so. Her mind was unbelievably calm, only one thought repeating like a mantra:

I love you.

Quickly pulling out of her mind, you couldn’t help but stare at Larissa in shock. “Riss?” you whispered, your voice impossibly small. Larissa licked her lips nervously, her eyes flicking between yours.

Warmth flooded your body. Larissa trusted you, enough to allow you to see inside her mind. Larissa loved you. The revelation was everything you could’ve ever hoped for and more.

“I-I love you, too, Riss.”

The smile that unfurled on Larissa’s face was blinding as she closed the gap between you two and pressed her lips to yours. “I love you,” she murmured against your lips. “Maybe it’s too early but at the same time I have the feeling we’ve always been together…”

Deepening the kiss, you pulled Larissa closer, until she was almost on top of you. You didn’t pull away until your brain was begging you for oxygen.

“Thank you. For trusting me like that. I promise I will never take it for granted.”

Larissa rested her chin on your chest, looking up at you through long lashes, her eyes the brightest blue you’d ever seen. “Your ability is not something to be ashamed of, darling. I believe I recall you helping me feel less ashamed of my own.” Pure adoration was woven into her smile, flooding your heart with a surge of love for the shapeshifter.

You had never felt more understood, more wholly loved than in this moment - you hoped you could provide Larissa with the same feelings of love, understanding, safety, warmth, that were all flooding your heart. Judging by the way she snuggled in closer, the content expression on her face as her eyes fluttered shut, burying her face in your neck and gripping your waist tightly - you would say she felt the same.

“Darling?” Her voice was thick and raspy - she was clearly fighting sleep.

“Hmm?” 

“You’d better be right here when I wake up,” she mumbled sleepily, possessively tightening her grip around you.

You let out a low chuckle as you recalled her pout when you’d tried to do her a favor and get up earlier to make coffee the morning after the Rave’N. Truth be told, you thought as you pressed a reassuring kiss to her shoulder, you were looking forward to holding Larissa and watching her slowly wake up in your arms.

“I wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else.”

x

A/N:

Here, have a little bonus "scene" that I toyed with incorporating but didn't:

“You know Enid said we won a poll on her blog for cutest couple at the Rave’N?”

Larissa stared up at you, lips parting in shock, her cheeks slowly turning pink.

“Riss? You okay?” You smiled teasingly at her.

She cleared her throat, a shy smile creeping its way onto her face. “I suppose even the students noticed before we did.”

“At least we got there in the end,” you teased. She let out a low chuckle, one which you matched, before nuzzling her face into your neck.

[cocoaletta]

realizing i never elaborated on this. so basically i thought reavers color scheme and fable 3 was odd cause white and black is an odd combo for steampunky colors esp if there isn’t a lot of brown. but they’re also too drab to be flamboyant reaver colors and like, it’s just a weird color combo. anyways i fell into a rabbit hole about colors in the victorian era and their common usages and white, black, and purple are all common mourning colors. sure i guess you could argue that these colors on the characters represent wealth and prestige but if i was reaver and the bestie died, id be dramatic as fuck about it too. anyways there’s a lot more under the cut so fuck it

disclaimer I know fable 3 isn’t explicitly set in the Victorian era but it takes a LOT of inspiration from early Victorian/Industrial era Britain, enough so that I feel its fair to interpret through that lens.

Reaver

Men’s wardrobes were often fairly muted with some browns allowed, and colors would differ depending on the period of mourning you were in (black> black and grey> black and white> black/white and purple> normal colors again)

also important to note that the mourning period would change based off of how close you were with the deceased. Mourning could be anywhere from a few months to a few years.

Black silk top hat with a seven inch crepe (the band on the hat) that is either black, grey or beige.

His clothes are all white with black trimmings which would have been common half mourning attire

ALSO his undershirt under his brown vest is black. Which is also just uncommon in the Victorian era and also in fable 3 lmao, no one fucking dresses like him

his cravat is also black which you literally do not wear unless you are in mourning. Its weird

Like sure you can say he wears white cause he’s a factory owner and is able to stay clean cause he’s rich, but who shows off their wealth in the dullest, most drab colors. All the other nobles walk around in the brightest, most vivid, eye assaulting color combinations, why is he different. Here are some examples of black and white half mourning and quarter mourning attire.

Most of the examples are women’s clothes because um, Victorian misogyny and women being expected to mourn longer while men were expected to be breadwinners and provide for their families. But if you read through old magazines and guides from the time you’ll find that men also wore similar clothes made with the same colors and materials, just usually for a shorter period of time.

In conclusion you can interpret this as however you like but personally I like this idea cause his clothes are just so ugly otherwise.

Little bonus to talk about the HOBW and Logan because they both wear purple and you could fairly interpret that as “oh those are royal colors” “purple is meant to be a neutral color opposed to blue or red”. But look.

Purple, specifically purples with white were often worn by the children of the deceased while in mourning as drab colors would raise an ‘unpleasant child’.

[dj-of-the-coven]

Thanks for asking @vivi-mire and @goldensunset! To answer your questions, I'll preface this by saying I don't actively seek out character playlists that often, but I like making them. Unfortunately this leads me down some dismal fucking roads while looking for other people's thoughts on the subject.

Possibly to the surprise of some, offline I am known mostly for 2 things: anarchy and music. Music is my life. I have one million other hobbies, and in online spaces I mostly talk about video games, but my true essence is music--particularly rock and punk. My collection spans over several mediums. I have a 2018 Victrola record player that I've repaired by hand, a 2004 CD-radio player, a 2021 cassette-CD-radio player, and a 2007 Insignia MP3 player. Most people around my age ditched CD players by the time they were in high school (no judgement there), but I used mine this morning. I have two books in my bag on cassettes right now. I play two string instruments and have considered picking up a third! I don't say any of this to brag--it's just what I choose to do with my time and money, same as anybody else. The reason why I bring it up is to emphasize that I both know and care a lot about this particular subject. And let me tell you. What I feel when I see the same 6 artists over and over again in every character playlist is not simple haterism... it's pity with a dose of concern.

What bothers me more than the music being ill-fitting for some fictional character is the tangible evidence that most people do not have the means to discover new artists; also, to some degree, the foreboding conclusion that we are losing a diversity of taste. There used to be magazines and independent radio shows, local performances, older kids in the neighborhood you could talk to to find new bands, but the rise of streaming as the primary distribution method has severely limited the ways through which interested parties can discover music. Ask someone you know how they discovered their favorite artists--for real!! Most of the time, they'll answer, TikTok, Youtube, or Spotify. Algorithms. Mathematical processes designed to funnel people into profitable avenues of advertising. These are the things determining the music taste of today's listeners, and it's powerful fucking stuff, to the point that even radio stations have been affected by the algorithms of these unrelated websites. When I was living in Los Angeles, I had to watch the station 106.7 KROQ slowly go from playing 90s grunge and nu metal to running the Arcane theme song by Imagine Dragons 27 times daily, because it was being played to market the show. Everything is morphing into profit sludge! An equation on somebody's computer somewhere determined that this specific pool of artists would be able to turn a bunch of queer 16-24 year olds into a marketable demographic, and thus Tumblr is overrun by the same 8 or so bands in every poll, every uquiz, every embedded spotify playlist. You guys ever heard of Hozier? I've been listening to a rad new artist lately, yeah! It's Cavetown. You should listen to Mitski! Did you hear about Mitski? I think you should listen to Mitski. What about Mitski guys. What about Mitski.

Again, it really doesn't have anything to do with the quality of any of these artists (except for Imagine Dragons, which I'll never hesitate to shit on). I just think it's... odd, and upsetting, that so many people are trapped inside this tiny little bubble of music that has been algorithmically determined for them as the genre they can be arbitrarily sorted into for marketing appeal reasons. It's like hearing someone say they've never seen it rain before. I discovered many of my current favorite artists by browsing through secondhand stores, talking to older punks in my community, renting CDs from the library, reading magazines (I recommend Razorcake), and going to local $5 cover shows held in the basement of a record shop. It physically pains me that this method of discovery is dying. It hurts to think of how few people are engaging seriously with the music scene in the places they live. It devastates me to see so many people being restricted by their circumstances from finding the music that will speak to them, specifically, not every single young, white, very online gay person living in the United States.

Basically--this is not okay. Something has to change.

[vortainz]

How it ends

the ending of IZ is ,, a really odd topic

technically it has 4 endings, well, 4.5

1 : invader dib

no, it in no way was a planned ending ever, but i feel it deserves mentioning considering how prevalent it was

it originally started on TAIZS when the producer was interviewed, he went on to confirm there was a intention to steer the show towards IRK and talking about its “”existence””

(also istg there was a ask where he vaguely explains the plot as a joke but i can’t find it for the life of me)

there were multiple versions of it but there’s two that circulated the most

A: “this special would have allegedly followed Tenn’s kidnapping by the Meekrob, and an all-out war happening between the Meekrob and the Irkens, which would have ended with Zim (aided by Gaz) being victorious over Dib, The Resistys, and the Meekrob, and finally conquering Earth.” (fan wiki)

B: the focus of the show would slowly shift towards irk, dib would get more crazed trying to stop the empire, zim and gaz would team up (or date, depends on who you asked) and stop both dib and the empire. everyone else dies and zagf/r saves the rest of earth

2 : space smoothies

In a nicktoons magazine, IZ made its “””final””” return. in which it had its first comic iteration where zim successfully took over the earth, but just kinda gives up when he sees the merch of himself. dib complains and zim offers to just have a jolly ol’ time in space, them both leaving earth in disarray while just being buds

3 : dookie loop

The “”canon”” ending, basically zim traps dib and the rest of the universe in a timeloop due to not being able to finish a puzzle. blah blah blah i’ll rant about his reasoning for that in another post ANYWAYS,, he eventually finishes it and resigns to fixing the timeline, but the “fix timeline button” doesn’t work and the universe implodes, everyone dies.

4 : nothing is real

i haven’t fully pieced together the lore but this is what ive gathered

rk is god. kinda.

in their orginal universe, zim and dib are real people, dib has gone missing and zim conquered earth. the conditions are really bad till he finally gets the idea to just indoctrinate them all

rk uses the comics as a “coping mechanism” of sorts, avoiding what’s really going on by just reading the comics, it’s really the only think they can do anyways

here’s where my idea sort of splits

A : they continue reading the comics and recapping them all, imagining this fantastical world where life is just zim and dib fighting in middle school, each winning and losing occasionally. rk starts making their own comics and aus, getting more and more absorbed by the characters of zim and dib that anything other than them is incredibly distressing

they get so sucked into their own mind that at this point they feel as though they ARE the creator of these characters and comics. when the story in their mind gets too off track, when it’s getting to the point where it might end, they insert themselves into it and fix whatever issue there was

B : bk (brain kid) is god essentially, rk was originally from the universe as described before but was scooped up by bk at some point and put into the recap section of the comic universe, something similar to in issue 40. in the comic universe, IZ isn’t real, it’s just a comic. yet rk is still able to manipulate the story and interact with the characters, when the comic is finally coming to and end they step in and just start everything over again

oh yeah in both A n B what i mean by ‘the comic ending’ is that earth is burning and no one wins, both zim and dib are about to die

⬆️ sorry if none of this made sense 😭 i’m struggling to word it correctly + still theorizing

4.5 : timetravel

Probably the most simple one, zim conquers earth, dib dies by being stupid, zim gets killed by his younger self, the end. the only reason it’s “4.5” is due to it being specific to the timeline of that issue, as none of the other entries acknowledge it

[malaierba]

I saw the Karamatsu sales ace skit, and HELP IT'S KINDA WHOLESOME??? If we ever get a season 4, I would love to see that skit in there. Also, if Studio Pierrot would STOP PLAYING GAMES and give us Nozomi back... that would be nice too/j (adapting manga into anime isn't easy, so they're allowed to take their time, but bringing back favorites would be nice ;-;)

I'm obsessed with anything and everything where we see Karamatsu working because it just.... Really shows he's SOOOOO UNFIT FOR TRADITIONAL WORK lmfao.

In the taxi driver skit, we see how his Thing with embedding his personality into everything he does actively gets in the way of him being able to do things seamlessly and efficiently (his taxi's gadgets popping up at inconvenient times and annoying Totoko), to the point where he can't focus on what he's doing and ends up getting lost and needing to be given a pep talk by his client. Incredible stuff.

And then in the bar skit, a job that you'd think he should be a good fit for him, the lack of, ah, creative freedom? (Meaning: he wants to do flashy stuff but the clients, again, want things to be done simply and efficiently) eventually kills his vibe and he begrudgingly agrees to give the girlymatsus what they want. Only to not go through in the end.

That skit reminds me a bit of season 3, where sometimes he'd pull one of his increasingly rare karamatsuisms (strike a pose, summon sparkles, wax purple prose), only for his siblings to not play along, which in turn have us viewers a close-up of him going from 😎✨ to 😒

I do love that he tries to find ways to put his personality into what he does and like, try to hype things up for himself, try to make work fun etc. He's just so... Chaotic and immature about it ckdkkfkd. I'm trying to picture him as a salesman and I think most people would be weirded out by him, it takes a very specific (open minded + curious + with time to kill?) type of person to watch a man in a fur coat strutting your way attempting to sell you some magazines, and think "I need to figure out what your deal is".

With that in mind, I think it'd be so cute if Studio Pierrot brought back Nozomi for a few skits with Kara 🥺 Because from what we saw in the movie... She's actually that type of person? She saw the sextuplets as being a bit too much, a bit odd, and it just made her want to get to know them better. I think most people don't expect a seemingly shy character to fit the characteristic that I listed before, so there's definitely some fun to be had at highlighting that gap.

Also. Airhead X 2 friendship ftw.

[titanomancy]

For a game that bills itself as a boomer shooter, Boltgun owes a lot to Doom (2016). The game is structured as series of escalating encounters culminating in an arena where you’re locked in with wave after wave of daemonic adversaries until all enemies have been purged; at which point you get a bit of a breather for some exploration before the gameplay loop ramps up again.

Movement is fast and combat is frenetic, with enemies shedding health and armor ups to keep you in the game, but the resource management seems to be less nuanced than in Doom since the manner in which enemies are dispatched doesn't seem to affect the quantity or quality of powerups they drop. 

A lot of the enemies are pretty spongy but I'm not sure how much of that is playing on Hard difficulty. Ammo is plentiful throughout chapter one, as far as I’ve played so far, although it’s entirely possible to run short for any one weapon during a protracted arena purge. I find I tend to burn through armor and health before my magazine is dry.

The weapons, themselves, are all useful and distinct, and mostly feel good to wield, although the plasma gun could be snappier. The slow-moving projectile seems at odds with protagonist Malum Caedo’s Doomguy-like agility. Darktide, for all of its other faults, still has the best plasma guns I've seen in a 40k game.

The bolter is suitably beefy, splattering cultists and staggering heretic astartes, although the shotgun is downright spectacular; inflicting knockback on its power armored targets at close range.

Secrets are varying degrees of useful power-ups including super health and armor pickups, box magazines of specialized bolter shells, single-weapon buffs for the duration of the level and short timer invincibility or infinite ammo; the latter two of which I only seem to come across when I don’t have enough enemies left to make them feel really worthwhile.

Level design is extremely on brand and environments are reasonably varied in spite of the extremely Imperial aesthetic. There’s a certain degree of repetition that comes from leaning hard into the standard template construction motif, but the spaces they’re assembled into are all distinct.

I do feel that the game is ill-served by its commitment to emulating the aesthetic of mid-90s shooters, however, because it’s really not all that committed; enemies are rendered as two-dimensional sprites in the same manner as Doom, but weapons, ammo and power-ups are three-dimensional models more akin to Quake.

It’s a minor nitpick, but I think the overall experience would have been enhanced by picking a specific point in the evolution of shooters to emulate, and the fact that there’s still such an active community surrounding Doom after thirty years shows that you can go primitive and still create compelling experiences.

Nostalgia helps the game to resonate, but it’s a solid experience in its own right. If you’re into 40k and shooters, it’s an easy recommendation at only twenty bucks.

[sweetcloverheart]

Actually I’m still bitter about the finale - here’s an AU

I’ve lovingly decided to call this “Because the Butterflies Hate You” AU (Because Butterfly Effect is a spiteful bitch as Gabriel will soon learn).

So Gabemoth does as leaked and tries making his wish to “undo his past mistakes” via taking on Emilie’s coma status and giving his life for hers.

Un(Fortunately) for him, my version of Gimme is petty AF and the dictionary definition of the Jerkass Genie trope+monkey’s paw, so it grants his wish by taking him literally and undoing all his choices that lead him here to this moment - including his meeting Emilie. Should have been a bit more specific on that part Gabbie-boy!

So instead of croaking, Gabriel wakes up in his old family flat from back when he was still Gabbie Grassette. A quick search of his things and his old diary reveals that in this new reality, Gabbie’s attempt to strike out on his own fell flat, as never meeting Emilie meant he never met her parents or Audrey and Andre to help get his fashion career off the ground and create his “Gabriel Agreste” persona to escape his past. After too many failures in attempting to start up his own brand, he eventually (and reluctantly) returned home and took over the family frystand as was originally ordained for him.

Needless to say, Gabe’s not happy about this (nor the fact that he’s still alive, because that means Gimme didn’t use him as the wish’s price as planned), especially since despite all his googling, he can’t find anything about Emilie in the new reality (or Nathalie and Adrien).

So he gives temp control to one of his family employee’s and asks Harry (Who’s comedy career sadly failed to take off) to drive him to Paris under the guise of “Fry research” to see if he can gather clues there (and maybe see how much this world differs from the old one)

When he arrives, he sees the entire city has changed. Certain shops aren’t where they’re supposed to be or replaced with unfamiliar businesses, different people have taken different roles and jobs, and there’s no one who recognizes him. Even Andre, Audrey, and Tomoe are no longer the same people they were in the original universe either...

But even with all that, Gabriel still can’t find any sign of Emilie. Even researching her family turns up no clues for him (though that blasted Amelie seems to be doing well though). He had originally assumed she somehow still managed to break away from her parents, but none of that explains why he can’t find anything about her. It’s like she vanished into thin air. The only real clue he has is that she clearly didn’t find any success as an actress in this universe since he can’t find her filmography.

The same goes for Nathalie - though she seemed to have had a very detailed and lucrative career as an archeologist and explorer a few years back before she all but disappeared from the public eye some odd months ago. Conspiracy theorists point the finger at the mysterious research benefactor from her last expedition, but so far her case has many people stumped.

Which just leaves Adrien - and while his son seems to no longer have articles or magazine covers to track him with in this universe, Gabriel at least hopes one thing hasn’t changed in the universe.

“...Gabbie?” “Yes Harry?” “This isn’t about fry research is it?” “What makes you say that?” “*Gestures to the fact that they’re two grown men hanging outside a middleschool in a van*” “...” “...” “...I promise this makes sense.” “Do you now?”

Luckily for Gabriel, he was actually correct on that point - the Adrien of the new universe still attends Francois Dupont, and he spots him exiting during the lunch bell with some friends (Though that Dupain-Cheng girl isn’t with him - Strange...?). He still looks the same as the old universe, the perfect image of him and his beloved’s dream child

...Except, isn’t his hair a little darker? And the shade of green for his eyes is way off - nothing like the subtle emerald hues of his wife? Also, is that a cane? And why is he wearing that trashy bargain bin outfit for? Just what did that blasted Gimme change to cause his son to become so different!?

Before he can question it more though - a Sentimonster attacks. Yep, still a thing in this universe. Gabriel gets separated from Harry in the chaos but remains calm. After all, if there’s still an active Peacock user (which means it got fixed in this world as well), then that must mean the butterfly must be active too, which also mean that blasted Ladybug and Chat Noir are still around. They should be able to help him.

And Chat (or at least a new one it appears) does show up alongside three other heroes...but there’s no Ladybug among their numbers. An akuma never shows to help the sentimonster either. They take down the creature and rescue civilians caught up in the attack, but the damage done around the school remains as the children are forced to leave early, Adrien included.

Naturally, the lack of a Ladybug wielder despite the Peacock (and what happened to the Butterfly Miraculous? Is it not active? Was it never found?) still being in play is concerning, but Gabriel’s more interested in following his son (who technically isn’t really his son anymore but eh - semantics), to make sure he gets home okay - aaaaaand maybe learn more about his new life in the post-wish verse and possibly find a clue about Emilie. After all, if their son still exists, that must mean she still used Dusuu’s powers to create him which also means his wish didn’t change anything

Of course, it’s just then that Gabriel gets ambushed and dragged away into a random alley. When he finally regains his wits he learns his attacker is...

Marinette (wielding the Pig Miraculous no less), who as it turns out, still remembers the old timeline too - and is very pissed at Gabriel for that backstab venom (oh, and also for throwing the fabric of the cosmos out of whack because he thought he knew better than her, his wife, and the centuries old cosmic demigod).

Lucky for him though, she’s prioritizing undoing his universe-sized goof up over payback (for now), so now the two have to work together to find the Ladybug, get the Cat’s new owner to help them, and undo Gabriel’s wish to turn things back to normal. Hurray...

[angelwishess]

💌🏡💘👁️ for ur fankids pls!! (u can choose which children to do for each if you dont wanna write abt all of them HBHASIJD)

1. 💌 ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ What was their first word?

Marven’s was “Mama”, to absolutely no one’s surprise😭

Evelio’s first word was “Shush.” Even though im not sure if it even counts as a word HAHAHAHA. He got annoyed of Marven crying and literally shushed him, accompanied by a tiny baby hand covering his twin’s mouth before turning around and going to sleep LMAOO

Alora’s first word was “Dada”. Because shes a total daddy’s girl HAHAHAHA

(I mean atleast both Kyra and Floyd win HAHAHA)

17. 🏡⋆.ೃ࿔*:･What does their room look like at home? What does it look like in their dorm?

Marven’s room is VERY messy. Well, a more accurate description would be “Organized Chaos” since he seems to know where everything is. A bunch of black and white decor, occasionally some reds and purples too. He def has an electric guitar or two displayed on his wall as well as a bunch of posters, fashion magazines scattered around and his closet is probably on the verge of exploding with how many clothes he has😭 His shoe rack??? Overflowing too. Funnily enough, his clothes and shoes are the only thing in his entire room thats organized.

Evelio’s room is actually just as chaotic. He likes a more vintage style— but he also has a bunch of silly looking decor that he got just because it looked dumb. His shelves are filled with random silly little bits and bobs, and he has WAAAY too many books to fit his room. Everywhere you look, theres probably a book there. Since he just puts them wherever he can. In the drawers? A book. In his closet? Some stacks of books hidden behind the hanging clothes. Under his bed??? You guessed it, books.

But unlike Marven, he doesnt know where anything is. Usually he has to call Marven over, since he has this odd sixth sense to just… Find something he’s lost. Evelio’s room may look more refined at first, but really, its even worse than Marven’s.

Alora’s room is OVERFLOWINGG with plushies. She definetly has a lot of super cute stuff! As well as creepy decor she finds at a halloween store. She quite literally has some skeletons in her closet. She definetly has an assortment of cheap halloween masks somewhere, as well as a bunch of creepy dolls and other “haunted” things she found online or in person at antique stores. A perfect mix of scary and cute! After all, she truly is just a girl :33.

20. 💘⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Who was their first crush?

Evelio never had a crush…. He IS the crush 😭😭

Marven liked this one guy when he was in middle school and he was in SHAMBLESS, literally RAN to Kyra about it and she had to reassure him it was okay and that she and Floyd would still love him no matter what 😭😭 They never ended up dating, but that was Marven’s bisexual awakening HAHAHAHA

Alora had a bunch of crushes before. Way too many to count, and none of them are really notable. They always end up being scared of her anyways, but a girl can dream😭

16. 👁️⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Do they have any unique physical traits? (moles/freckles, hitchhikers thumb, dimples, etc)

Alora has central heterochromia!!! :3

Marven has two moles beside eachother under his left eye!!

Evelio’s has a super long birthmark on his back, specifically tracing down his spine.

[yacinthemorning]

Tailored to Your Liking

Chapter 3

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Summary: Tumble Town attracts all sorts of misfits looking for a fresh start on the frontier, but everyone still needs clothes. Be it extra limbs or high temperatures, Jimmy caters to every hyrbid's needs.

Ships: Jimmy/Tango (slow burn romantic)

Warnings: Implied traumatic events, no workplace safety, awkward flirting

On a particularly unbearable evening as far as the weather was concerned, Jimmy hid away in his dining room with several magazines and catalogues. He flipped through the pages, sighing every time he spotted something he very much could not afford.

“You sound like a steam pipe with a leak.” Voiced Tango where he leant against the archway. 

Jimmy’s head lulled miserably to the side to look up at him. “You’re back.”

“Please, hold back your applause.”

“Wh- No, that’s not what I meant-”

“I know, I know.” He pushed off to lean over Jimmy’s shoulder. “So, what’s wrong, Sunshine?”

With some attempt to hide his pout, Jimmy flipped to another page. “Oh, you know. Lamenting the bachelor lifestyle on my finances.”

Wrinkles formed under Tango’s eyes. “Are you okay? I’m sorry if I-”

“Oh, it’s not you… well, it is a bit you. But no. Things are just expensive, and it’s difficult to balance expense and pricing and my conscience.” A very lovely sewing machine, one capable of multiple different stitches, took up the entire page. Several paragraphs boasted its qualities, but his lip twitched at the price below. Jimmy lifted it high for his housemate to see. “Look at this! You could get a good horse for that price! And that’s before the shipping costs. If they could even mail it out here. It’s an insult towards me specifically.”

“You don’t have one?” Tango asked, pulling the catalogue out of the sulking man’s hands.

“There’s always something else more immediately important to purchase whenever I save enough. It’s not as though a frontier town like this gets a lot of these fancy newfangled machines just appearing in the shops, either. It’s just a dream, as are too many things.”

He picked up his tea cup only to find it empty and sighed as he stood. “I trust things went well with the delivery? Since you’re back already.”

Tango’s tail curled up like a cat with a mackerel. “Bigb was thrilled with it. He um,” claws fumbled in his back pocket before showing a handful of copper. “He gave me these as a tip for the delivery.”

“Oh, that’s kind.” It was hardly anything, really, the sort of change given out to the newsboys and children selling flowers they picked, but it was more than Tango had made in the couple weeks he’d been living with Jimmy.

They found their way into Jimmy’s palm nevertheless, for which the taller gave his companion an odd look and tried to return them. “What’s this?”

“Well, I have to pay you back somehow, and I hardly did anything more than walk down the street.”

This again. Jimmy’s expression twisted. He grabbed hold of Tango’s hands before he could fully retreat, placing the coins back in his hands. “What you can do,” Started Jimmy, voice harsher than he intended, surprising the both of them for a brief moment. When he started again his voice had softened, perhaps a bit too much to compensate. “What you can do to repay me is get back on your feet. And you can’t do that if you don’t have even a copper to your name, can you?”

“But I-”

“No buts, I won’t accept it! If I find them in my purse I’m turning them into buttons!” His hands went up with finality, not waiting to hear anything more. Instead he did as he first intended and marched towards the kitchen to refill his cup. Though quiet he could feel Tango’s presence follow behind him. A small noise escaped him when Jimmy turned around to glare at him. “I mean it!”

“No, that’s not… I was going to say something else.”

“Well, then, say it.” Jimmy crossed his arms.

Tango fumbled with the coins, slowly pouring them back into his pocket. “I was going to say, the delivery gave me an idea. It might not be much but, until my order’s done and I can find a real trade, I thought I could pick up odd-jobs.”

“Oh.” Jimmy perked up. “That is a good idea.”

“Yeah. And I wanted to ask, since you seem to know everyone-”

“Not everyone .”

“-almost everyone, if you knew who to talk to in order to put an advertisement out in the paper?”

A hand was brought to his chin in thought. “Well, if you want a spot in The Herald, then Cleo is who you’ll have to speak to.”

“I knew you’d know!” Tango snapped his fingers, grinning from ear to ear while Jimmy pouted.

Cleo was an imposing individual, broad and robust, with a long head of bright orange snakes that slithered across their shoulders menacingly. They disappeared under their hat which was curtained with a shining vail, though even it could not fully cloak their piercing glare. It was, though, enough to safely seal behind it their power, as Jimmy had carefully crafted for them. “What is it you want, Jimmy?” They bellowed, irritation already in their voice.

“Just a moment of your time for my friend, Cleo.” He tried to assure. Tango waved shyly.

“I was looking to put out an ad in the classifieds.”

Two snakes perked up while a third hissed. “Alright, let me see it.”

On a small scrap of paper was written a meagre two sentences, as short as Tango could make them. Cleo snatched it up, and they all nodded before placing it on their desk.

“That’s fine, although your spelling is atrocious.”

“It’s his second language.” Jimmy quickly defended.

“I’ll fix it up either way. Should be in this Sunday’s paper.”

“No cost?” Tango asked, tail perked.

“Our classifieds take up only a quarter of a page in a small town like this.” Cleo leaned forwards as their snakes curled around each other. “The other three quarters of the page are always bought up by one Mister Goodtimes’ latest concoction’s extravagant campaign, which he may, perhaps, be foolishly unaware of the average cost of in other papers.”

Jimmy tried very hard to keep his feathers smooth against his body’s instinct to hide from the shame of his not-quite-brother-in-law, while Tango and Cleo’s unified laughter echoed through the small printing press. In an attempt to bring the interaction to a swift end, Jimmy grabbed hold of Tango and gave Cleo a small bow. “Well, thank you very much for your assistance, Cleo. We’re very busy today, so we’ll be off.” He said, then darted out the door. 

Thanks to Tango’s unprepared footwork, they stumbled out into the dirt road hard enough to kick up a cloud. When Jimmy went to apologize, though, he found the blazeborn staring a bit stunned between them. At first, he was unsure what had caught Tango’s attention. Then he felt the hand he’d thoughtlessly grabbed twist in his grip until it’d comfortably laced itself with Jimmy’s and a teasing grin was sent his way. “Where to now, darlin’?”

Jimmy turned away. “Home. This sun is melting me.” His voice came out too high. The weather was surely overheating his brain, or he would have had the mental capacity to shake off Tango’s hand. “And this dust is getting between my wings.”

“I could help with that.” Tango offered.

Involuntarily, Jimmy’s feathers puffed out. Words failed him as he tried to gauge how sincere that offer was, or if there was any awareness behind it. “Maybe another time, Mister Tek.” Was all he managed to mutter out.

“Mister Tek?” Tango squawked, caught between confusion and unsure offence. “Why so formal all of a sudden?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Mister Tek.”

“You…”

“Yeah, would you two mind doing your little dance literally anywhere else?” Cleo interrupted. Both turned to see the gorgon leaning in the press’s doorway, snakes low in agitation.

Sputtering like a drowning man, Jimmy darted off immediately, squeaking out an “Apologies!”

Once again, he forgot to let go of Tango’s hand.

The advert worked surprisingly well. A few folks showed up to the shop throughout the next week looking for Tango. First was an old woman who needed someone to crawl down her well to retrieve her bucket. Then some newcomer requested help with raising their barn. Some of them were the oddest things Jimmy could not even begin to imagine how they wound up needing assistance, such as catching a prairie dog alive and holding it for measurements.

To the point, more than no one had taken up Tango’s offer of miscellaneous work. None of them offered much, but it was enough that Jimmy lent the man an old coin purse and a spot in his safe. He’d wished Mumbo had been there with his camera to capture the look on Tango’s face when Jimmy shared the combination.

“Well, you haven’t robbed me yet. And to be frank, I know quite a few conmen, and I’m not sure you have the… spark for that line of work.”

“Uncalled for.” He grumbled, but his tail was curled cutely in amusement.

It seemed to have been a good idea, though, as not a day later Joe had given them unfortunate news.

“Seems there’s been a massive issue with shipping from the Nether this month. Your package likely won’t arrive for a while yet.”

“Of course.” Jimmy muttered while Tango rubbed his arm soothingly. “My terrible luck strikes again. Thank you for the news, at least, Joe.”

“No problem, sir.”

“Looks like I won’t be out of your hair anytime soon. Sorry.” Tango gave a wry smile, for which Jimmy glared at him until it was gone.

“You’re not in my hair, I’ve already told you.”

And such was the subject of their argument until they made it back home. It ended only because Jimmy set himself to work on the gown Lizzie had ordered, stubbornly ignoring Tango until he apologized for apologizing. As revenge for the annoyance caused, Jimmy began to draft up plans for a proper bedframe and mattress to replace the makeshift cot Tango was sleeping in.

A tiny, whispering voice at the back of his mind propositioned that it would be significantly easier as far as time, supplies, and space were concerned to simply expand his own nest a little. Jimmy smothered that thought along with his candle. Just because his brother wished to be some open-nested harlot for any man in a nice suit did not mean Jimmy had to follow his example.

… Although, the safe was looking quite sparse lately…

His solace was that the harvest season was around the corner meaning an influx of winter orders and repairs. It was times like these that Jimmy was thankful for his career’s stability. Particularly when he watched Tango rush around from job to job.

At least Tango seemed much happier. Marching in through the door with his clothes coated in sooth, sleeve torn, probably too few diamonds for whatever ridiculous task the townsfolk found to give him that day, and an exhausted but satisfied grin. He’d crash onto the bench and take a short nap while Jimmy wondered if this was similar to how it was to let a cat out at night for a hunt. Then he’d work on Lizzie’s gown, taking care not to hum so as not to wake Tango. When he woke up, Jimmy could fix the tear, wrestling it from Tango who would insist he’d learned how to do it on his own but continued to prove he had not.

All in all, life fell into a very odd new rhythm. Odd, but not unwelcomed.

For the umpteenth time that day Jimmy cursed under his breath and undid a pin. Tango looked up from the broken lock he’d been fiddling with for Impulse. “Are you okay?”

“Perfectly fine.” He said very convincingly. Despite this, Tango still placed down his tools and approached the man.

“Aren’t dresses usually made by dressmakers?”

“They are in towns that have a dressmaker, besides the necessary adjustments.” Jimmy let out a long sigh and gave up on the frill. It refused to happen, and he was just turning his test cloth into swiss cheese. Instead he turned his attention to the pile of mock-ups scattered across his station among catalogues and guides to drapery. “Lizzie’s dinner party is in only four weeks and I haven’t even started on the actual gown.”

To say nothing of the sorted piles in the corner for three other orders, looming like storm clouds in the corner of his vision. They could wait, simply because there was no one else, but he would rather not his reputation be that he was better than quite literally nothing.

 “Artist’s block?” Tango offered sympathetically.

“I’m beginning to wish she hadn’t given me so much freedom. This fancy sort of thing is beyond me. And now everyone’s orders are behind.”

While Jimmy wallowed in his failure, chittering to himself, Tango stood up. Where he went, Jimmy was too deep in misery to pay attention, but he did look up when he came back, nervously standing by the door to their home. Jimmy gave his housemate a raised brow.

“So, um.” Stray sparks flew from his whipping tail. That was new. “So I’ve made quite a good bit the past two weeks.”

“Yes, I’m very proud of you.”

Tango paused, shoulders going stiff at the praise, before he took a deep breath and nodded. “I know I should be saving every copper I get but you know, I couldn’t help myself with the redstone.”

Jimmy pursed his lips, still unsure where this was going.

“And, well… gah, you know what, I’m terrible at this sort of thing.” The blazeborn finally huffed out a cloud of smoke and reached into the closet beyond the doorway. Whatever he was getting was either stuck or heavy, as he struggled for several awkward moments. Ready to go over and assist him, Jimmy only managed a single step before Tango burst back into the room, and stumbled like a circus performer over to the desk. The object in his arms thunked down onto the wood, loud enough for Jimmy to be concerned for one or both.

It was not until Tango backed away that Jimmy realized what was in front of him. Mismatched, oddly shaped, and by no means compact- the true sign of something made by hand, yet clearly it was functional from the thread already woven into its needle.

“A… Is that a sewing machine?” He chirped, unable to hide the excitement raising his feathers. Jimmy bolted over, Tango barely stepping aside in time, and bent down to examine it.

“I was going to wait to give it as a parting gift,” Tango explained behind him while the machine was tilted and prodded. “But who knows when that’ll be at this point. It could help you get those other orders out of the way sooner, so you can focus on the gown, I figured...”

Jimmy finally let go of the machine and turned to Tango, eyes wide with wonder. There was a trill in his throat, though he was unsure if it escaped as he could only hear his own blood. Without thinking twice about it Jimmy cradled Tango’s face and pulled it forward until the blazeborn’s forehead connected with the avian’s lips, then decided it was still not enough and instead wrapped him up in a tight hug. “How on earth!”

Tango wavered, face blooming with colour. “Well, you know. Reverse engineering, a lot of trial and error… But you said it was one of your dreams. And I can’t do much, can’t even pay for the shirt on my back, but I figured maybe I could do this.”

“Well, thank you. This means a lot to me, Mister Tek.” Jimmy beamed, then pulled his companion back into another hug. Tango gladly returned the embrace, a soft purr rumbling in his chest.

“Anything for you, Darlin’.”

[gren-arlio]

We are so back. Well, I somewhat am. Welcome to Episode 11 of (Waku) Puyo Extras.

(What a lovely image of Rulue and Minotauros as a team. Surely nothing bad will bestow him...seriously, this image is amazing.)

Hey everyone, Gren here, back from my break. It was a nice break, and I was able to focus on schoolwork. We don't talk about my Pre-Calc grade (just know I got a C) but I got an A in every other class. This episode is a little late because I was focused on the Splatoon 3 Splatfest (I was Team Handshake, GGS to all,) but it's here nevertheless.

As the year is slowly coming to an end, my workload increases. I think this'll be the last Extras episode until the NEW Episode of Waku Puyo Translations. Which means me dying to Kikimora text. Fun, yeah? Yeah.

So, with my absence, what game will we cover this time around? Well it's one I've mentioned a couple of times, which is...actually kind of nice, no researching history for me; Rulue's Spring Break of Fists...or Rulue's Iron-Fist Spring Break. For today, I'll use the first version.

This game is thankfully one of the easier ones to get footage of. Besides, the game itself is fairly interesting with its current casting, with people that you don't really see every day. And hey, this is the first time we've properly covered Rulue here, so there's a first for everything.

With this, I really hope you enjoy this and my derusting of my skills.

Oh, and random thing. My account turned 2 recently, though I began posting...in April of this year? Wahoo.

What's the Origins for the Game itself?

Similar to many games I've covered here (if only I had a good computer, I would probably make a funny YouTube series,) Rulue's Spring Break of Fists is a Disc System game released on Volume 14 of Disc Station Magazines in 1997.

(The opening to the game. Nothing amazing, but certainly an...opening?)

The game itself is somewhat of a Choose Your Own Adventure game, with you playing as the lady herself, Rulue. Here, you get to...choose your own adventure. There's three main things you can do:

Find the five divine treasures.

Explore the land. Or "The Wonderful Land".

Gather ingredients to cook.

It's interesting how the character most associated with fighting has a game where... you kinda don't fight unless it's a very specific circumstance, which I'll get into later.

Visually, I won't deny, it depends from person to person. If you like the 90s Moe eyes, then this artstyle is genuinely amazing, but if not, lotta characters look weird.

(This is a prime example, with Kikimora. Her eyes are huge, and personally I like them, but I can totally see why someone doesn't.)

So for this episode, I'll throw a question/poll:

This'll last a week, and I'm curious to see.

-----

How About Gameplay?

Something I want to note for this game is that in this... there's a LOT of different dialog choices. You're gonna have split paths all the time, though to my knowledge, they more just impede you until you guess right...or get a bad ending.

(Something like this. Also, rare Black Kikimora appearance, though...with an item Rulue gets, she transforms back into Kiki? It's odd.)

Whilst exploring and doing the routes, something you'll note is that there's a lot of quizzes, questionnaires, etc. Now why does this matter?

Because some of these questions are fucking hilarious man

What do I mean? Well, y'all know Momomo? Silly little shopkeeper? Well, they ask you a question for a quiz, and guess what the question is?

How much Yen will it cost to buy Disc Station Magazine Vol. 1 through 13 on their online store?

(This is Rulue trying to solve that question. Lowkey...I forgot the answer.)

This guy really thinks I know. And I think inflation has really made these prices seem cheap in the long run...

Oh, and another question, one I've mentioned before. You encounter Witch in one of the routes (oh boy), and she gives you a quiz also, albeit one that's...certainly biased towards her, asking stuff is "How cool am I?" And them sorta deals. Though, one question is literally "What is the size of my top?"

This game loves its odd questions.

-----

So, What's the Story? Well, Stories?

Well, simply put, apparently this game is after Chaotic Final Exam, and is MUCH calmer than said game. People from the game apparently have new personalities due to the events of the game, and Rulue...is delivering letters given via Masked Prince.

As stated prior, there's three routes in this game:

Characters that appear on all routes are Arle, Rulue, Masked Prince, and I believe Momomo.

Route A:

Rulue sets to find 5 magic items. Most notable characters here are Apparently Schezo, Serilly, Draco, Minotauros, and shockingly, Count and Vamp.

(Quite the shock, eh?)

This route...is certainly interesting. Between seeing Mino battered and bloodied by a fight, a literal possessed Arle by Count (or Vamp,) you FIGHTING Arle due to that, same deal goes for Schezo, he also got possessed, and a final fight with Count if he was overly buff...it's certainly one hellva route.

(This is...wow. What an experience.)

Route B:

Rulue, with envelopes given via Masked Prince, has one of them stolen by something, and she goes to investigate it. Getting sucked into a "Wonderland," younalso get some backstory about Rulue, notably hearing her grandmother. I'll tell y'all, I was given help by people who work on the Puyo Nexus and other Puyo Translations:

Rulue and her grandmother were very close, and she gave Rulue a music box when she was about 5 years old, under a Sakura tree. When she turned 6, her grandmother fell ill, and Rulue, upset that she wasn't spending time with her on her birthday, breaks the music box.

However, when Rulue sleeps, she has a dream about her grandmother, with her saying to not be upset with her...and when Rulue woke up, she felt like she'd never see her grandmother again.

(Edit:

Notable characters here are Kikimora and Black Kikimora, Serilly, Rulue's grandmother, and Demon Servant. Yeah, he's alive in this game.

I forgot to credit the main person who did this part, @klug. That's completely on me, my apologies. They did help quite a good bit for this, so thank them for the research and info. Wouldn't have gotten this without them. Again, apologies for not putting credit.

Here's their Puyo Nexus page. Go check em out.)

(YOU'RE ALIVE IN THIS GAME?)

So you know when I said this game was a lot more casual? I look real silly saying that now.

Route C:

Easily the most casual route, Rulue...is trying to cook. The grill calls for her name. I'm not joking when I say that the only characters here are Momomo and Witch. I guess Witch can cook?

This route is uh, odd. You spent most of the time doing quizzes and route splits because...I guess Witch and Momomo feel devious today. This route is notable for Witch asking that question in her quiz and only having 5 endings...Yep. 5 endings.

Something I've neglected is the ending to these routes.

There's about 30 of them.

Yeah. Good luck.

(Autism be damned, Witch can apparently cook. Just have fun on the quiz.)

-----

So, The OST and Final Verdict?

The games ost is honestly decent. I can't describe it well but a lot of the music is just flat out solid, with no real complaints here. I'd say check it out at least.

And the final verdict?

The game itself is honestly very fun to browse and look around. The game gives us Rulue lore RANDOMLY that I'll gladly accept, Demon Servant, Count, and Vamp make an appearance, and the game, while confusing, is really fun to watch.

I'd say for Disc Station, it's very solid.

With that...that'll be all for today. Next week I won't post due to Thanksgiving and spending time with my family, but next time we meet, we'll finally continue our Waku Waku Puyo Puyo Dungeon translations after SO long.

See y'all then. Hope you enjoyed the show.

[qan-t]

moment from holy eternity

i wanted to do some digging into setsuna’s name and its meaning, because it was chosen very deliberately and makes for an interesting subject. for starters: how is setsuna f. seiei written in japanese? 刹那・F・セイエイ interesting right off the bat. we’ve got three writing systems here: kanji, the roman alphabet, and katakana. mixing kanji and katakana is unusual irl (you wouldn’t find that or a middle initial in the average japanese name) but it isn’t necessarily odd by the show’s standards: saji crossroad is written 沙慈・クロスロード, and sumeragi lee noriega is written  スメラギ・李・ノリエガ, for example. katakana is generally used for rendering non-japanese words, and actually contains sounds that don’t normally exist in japanese, like the ‘ti’ in tieria. kind of interesting that actual japanese words like ‘sumeragi’ are written in katakana rather than kanji? i’m mostly mentioning this because trying to verify the meaning of ‘seiei’ drove me slightly insane thanks largely to being written in katakana. put a pin in that. alright. so. 刹那, literally meaning ‘moment’ or ‘instant’. according to wikitionary, “From Middle Chinese 剎那 (MC t͡ʃʰˠɛt̚ nɑ), a transliteration of Sanskrit क्षण (kṣaṇa).[1][2] Originally a Buddhist term meaning the smallest possible moment in time: a split-second. Carries favorable connotations of "precious" from the Buddhist teaching that one should live well even in the shortest moment of time.” now we’ve got the F. this would be impossibly mysterious... if we didn’t have an official answer. yeah, the post title spoils it, but it’s literally ‘From’. thanks to this individual doing a srwux let’s play, we even have a specific source for where this statement originated: Newtype Magazine of September/2008 but as they also mention, setsuna’s name reads as Setsuna From Seiei, meaning Moment From Eternity. it’s correct, but not complete. (again, the title spoils the mystery, but let me have this.) we now move onto seiei. this is where i lost my mind a bit. if you plug ‘seiei meaning in japanese’ into google, you get 精鋭, meaning elite. but wait. that’s wrong. i went into this knowing that the gist of setsuna’s name is ‘moment from eternity’. what do you mean elite?! there has to be another kanji or something it’s referencing. i double check what the japanese word for eternity even is, and it’s 永遠, eien. not seiei. okay, what the hell. at that point i took to the japanese and chinese side of the internet and found multiple references to different characters: 聖永 alrighty, let’s put this into deepl, and... my brother in christ, what do you mean this translates to “Eimei era (1558.2.28-1570.4.23)” and is pronounced ‘seinaga’?!? the alternate translation given is “eternal sun”, which is... close-ish, but still not right. that’s not ringing any bells. this is turning out like one of those math problems where you’re given the quotient first and your job is to determine a corresponding equation. finally, i try kanshudo’s kanji search. and what have we here. what we need to look at is how these kanji are pronounced individually. 聖: セイ sei, meaning holy and  永: エイ ei, meaning long time notice that the ‘ei’ kanji is the same one in eien/eternity 永遠 (fun fact, if unrelated: 永 is made up of the characters for ice 冫 and water 水 . after a long time, ice melts into water! what a clever way of conveying the meaning.) and wouldn’t you know it? plugging 永 into deepl gives me ‘immortality’ and ‘eternity’ as less common meanings. which leaves us with Moment From Holy Eternity. i had heard ‘holy eternity’ before, but had forgotten it until this kanji deep dive. from what i can gather here, series writer yosuke kuroda was the one who came up with setsuna f. seiei and the meaning behind it, but director seiji mizushima seems to have went “this kid’s from the middle east tho” and setsuna f. seiei became a codename. which leads me to the last thing i want to mention. it seems like common knowledge, but it’s worth repeating since we’re on the subject: the name soran ibrahim was taken from the real life actor soran ebrahim who starred in the kurdish war drama ‘turtles can fly’. if ‘setsuna f. seiei’ came from kuroda, it’s reasonable to assume that ‘soran ibrahim’ was mizushima’s choice. THIS WAS AS LONG A POST AS I EXPECTED IT’D BE, HHHH. i hope it was interesting!

[declinlalune]

Jirt and Tie || Andy & Ryan (Ray)

TIMING: current. PARTIES: @spaceforanother & @declinlalune SUMMARY: andy runs into ryan again while thrifting after he saw her stealing the last time. CONTENT WARNINGS: Brief mentions of memory loss.

Andy heard the bell above the door ring and turned around to see Ryan as he walked in in the sweater she had helped him pick out the last time they’d run into one another, which, coincidentally, had been at this very spot. “That thing makes you look a little aged, I warned you.” She let out a laugh before moving down the row of hangers, moving aside a rough looking jacket that could not be saved. She had already found a few things for herself and Alex, and was beginning to look for Kaden, just as a means to let him know that she was grateful he was around. With her basket of findings hanging over her arm, she sighed as she moved away from the lost causes. 

The last time she and Ryan had run into each other, he had seen her slipping something into her bag. Instead of saying anything, he turned a blind eye and had asked about the sweater he was currently wearing. Andy picked out another jacket that looked a little too small for Kaden and held it up to Ryan with a tilt of her head. “This is more in line with the trends, I think. That still matters, right?” Not that she would know– she never had much of a life that existed within said trends.

Ryan had certainly gotten better at taking over Rays body since the first time. And the first time had been months ago, back when he’d first bumped into Andy actually. She’d let all his odd mannerisms pass her by as he fought to keep control. Or perhaps she was being kind because he’d not said a single word about her pinching something off the racks. Who was he to judge, he was stealing someone else's life at the moment after all. He’d even given her his real name, a mistake he hadn’t made since then, but it made him feel so normal to see her. So he’d come back thrifting often, getting into the habit not only to potentially run into a prospective friend but also to indulge in the more outdated clothes places like these held…clothes that reminded him of his own style before he’d died.

“Can’t hurt to look a little older right? More respect from the oldies on the street this way.” Ryan shot back with a cheeky grin. He held out both arms when the jacket was lifted to Rays form, letting her size him up. “I’d say it depends on your aims, are you trying to be trendy or do you prefer comfy? Or maybe you even want to look at little aged.” he teased her slightly. “What are you looking for today anyway? Anything specific?” Looking back to the racks he started to shuffle the fabric around.

“I mean, I guess?” Andy arched a brow at Ryan’s comment, not truly understanding him, but deciding not to fight him on whatever respect he wanted to delve out in the form of a sweater that looked like it’d been from a vintage magazine. “Is that the grandpa sweater thing? I think I saw that on tik tok, teens just going thrifting for the sake of finding old people’s sweaters they either donated or were forced to donate, if you know what I mean.” The whole concept was kind of sad. 

“But obviously comfort is key, anything else, and what the hell is the point?” Even if Andy had lived a different life— one with normalcy like a regular education, a high school education, she would have preferred comfort to style any day. It showed in the dungarees she wore and the way her converse were worn in. “Eh, nothing really, not for myself. For my sister.” She pulled a t-shirt off of the rack and quirked her lips to the side after noticing the bleach stain. “I could probably tie-dye this or something.” She’d done that a lot, in the past— to make it seem like she and Alex had new clothes. A new appearance could do wonders for the grueling day-to-day they once lived. “What about you? Out here for more grandpa sweaters?”

“They’re doing that? That’s a bit offensive…I’m not a grandpa and I like this sweater.” Ryan pouted a little. But if he really thought about it, at least a familiar style was coming back into style, it’d be easier to act more of this time if he spent some of Rays money on anything. Casting an eye around he wondered if any of his old stuff would surface in a thrift like this. Maybe his parents had donated all of his things, maybe his roommate back in college had stolen a few things that didn’t fit anymore. He hadn’t really thought about it too much.

“What sort of thing does your sister like? Is she all for comfort over style as well?” Ryan let Rays face bloom into a smile. “Now tie-dye is something I can get behind.” he complemented. “Oh nothing specific, but also something very specific…you know…the usual thrifting situation.” he joked shuffling through the racks idly, just happy to be chatting. “Maybe I can help you look for something…or cause a distraction?” he said, amusing himself quietly and flashing a smile to Andy to show he meant no harm.

The way that Ryan seemingly fell into thought wasn’t lost on Andy. She watched him for a moment, but decided that asking him why it seemed like he’d seen a ghost was pushing too far past any kind of private barrier that’d been set up. She knew she had her own, and the wall grew larger with every day. Who was she to ask her new thrifting-friend what was going on in his head? “Being a grandpa is in though, remember?” She grinned at him before pushing the t-shirt back onto the rack, deciding that the beach stain was in too weird of a position for it to be redeemed by a tie-dye job.

“She wears a lot of… t-shirts.” That didn’t really help at all, but did it matter? Before they’d gotten to Wicked’s Rest– before Andy had gotten a proper job, they simply got what they could afford. Now that they both had a means of income, even if it were on the smaller side, they were better able to express themselves in their style. “Think of a hiker, then think of somebody who plays soccer?” She let out a laugh before moving onto the next t-shirt. At Ryan’s question, Andy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, ha-ha, funny. I’d do that even without your distraction, thanks!” She leaned against the rack and stared across to the other side of the aisle where a pair of denim cargo shorts stood out to her. “Had no clue they made those in denim.” 

She brought Ryan out of his thoughts with her comment and he felt a small tremor shake Rays body as if he’d lost a bit of his control being so lost in thought. Wiggling his fingers as discreetly as he could he pulled another sweater off the rack and shook it at her in mock outrage. “Damn right it’s back in. It should have never left. It’s the perfect style if I do say so myself.” Shaking off his melancholy thoughts he dove back into the task at hand.

Ryan glances at Andy with a slight raise of Ray's eyebrows at her less than descriptive answer. Even as she expands he doesn’t quite know what to do with that sort of information. “They don’t really go together in my head I’ll be honest. But I can try my best to match the idea.” he chuckles, starting to search for some sort of jersey, or maybe a t-shirt with a funny caption on the front. That was hiking attire as far as he was concerned. “Ah but think about how much more you could get with a little more time and effort.” he waggled Ray's eyebrows another time for good measure before following her gaze towards the denim. “Everything should be denim, all things deserve a denim twin. Full denim is what you should get your sister. That’s proper hiking clothes, durable and versatile. Would she suit it?...who am I kidding, anyone would suit denim on denim.” he walked around the racks and found a denim jacket to vaguely match the shorts.

“No, they go together. I think you just need to see her, or it, in action.” Andy had figured out her sister’s style and that it wasn’t too far from her own. While Andy wore a lot more overalls than Alex did, they had been able to exchange shirts back and forth for the most part since the height difference didn’t matter quite as much. At the mention of denim on denim, Andy shook her head with a laugh. “Hell no. Do you know how much denim makes you sweat? Please don’t tell me you’re hiking in denim.” She scrunched her nose and pulled at the nylon t-shirt. “This is better than denim.” 

Even though he’d clearly been joking, she couldn’t get the idea out of her head. “Hey, don’t they call that something? Canadian tuxedos, or something?” She swore she had heard the saying before. When, she wasn’t sure– possibly on the television in a motel room or something. Who the hell knew. Andy put the shirt back onto the rack and hummed under her breath. “I don’t know anything about style, really, but I do know that that jean jacket you’ve got in your hands? An eye sore.” 

“Whatever you say,” Ryan agreed idly as he’d shifted the racks in order to find what he was looking for. He lowered his prize at her displeased face. Denim on Denim wasn’t coming back? But sweaters were? God what were kids his age in this decade even doing. He didn’t think the kids at the college looked too terrible, but they were clearly missing some of the real flare of the last few decades. “I only hike in denim.” he pouted at her rebelliously, not telling the truth but not willing to let this issue pass by.

“Do they?” Ryan asked curiously. He’d not heard that, but then again it seemed he’d missed a lot in the darkness before he’d found Ray to possess. He recoiled dramatically and clutched the jacket to Ray’s chest. “No way. A masterpiece, I’m going to wear this every day from now on and you can’t stop me.” he jutted out Ray’s chin and took the coat off the hanger. He looked at it for only half a second to register that it was indeed a womens small before he put a great deal of effort putting arms into the sleeves and trying his very best to get it over broader shoulders than he was used to on his old body. 

“You sound like my little sister.” Really, he seemed her age, too, which meant that in theory, he should be able to help her with the current trends, but with his grandpa sweater on, Andy wasn’t all too sure he knew them much himself. “You only hike in denim?” She arched a brow and shook her head with a laugh. “Sure, and I’m sure you wear clogs while doing it, right?” Wearing denim while hiking wasn’t entirely unheard of, but it sounded uncomfortable. She only wore it when she knew she wouldn’t be outside a lot of the time, and out of anything, flour had an easier time coming out of her jeans than it did anything else. 

“They do. Is that not a thing anymore?” Andy questioned reality for a moment, thinking back to the show she’d seen it on, but she couldn’t recall the exact timing of it, or decade it had taken place in. “Maybe you can bleach it, make it look a little bit acid wash, really fall into the vibe you’re obviously trying to set for yourself.” She watched him as he started to put the jacket on, and it was then that she noticed it was going to be way too small for him. Andy snorted before stuffing a t-shirt that looked okay enough for Kaden into the basket. “You know, I don’t think that being able to make things larger in the washer machine works, just the shrinking thing.” Which she’d done a lot of, if she were being honest. 

“Of course I wear denim, it’s all about the warmth and durability of your clothing on the open trail.” Ryan insists. He’s definitely joking, Ray doesn’t own a denim jacket, and he wasn’t quite ready to start financially running the kid just yet. At least not on something like that. He was fine with hoodies for the moment. “Clogs? We all have our limits. Clogs might be mine. Are you saying you have seen someone in clogs recently? Is it your sister? Is that why she won’t wear denim on denim?” He teased making a face at her as if this was the more horrific news he’d heard recently. 

Not willing to give up so easily, he tried to turn Ray’s shoulders this way and that in order to squeeze every millimeter of him into the jacket. It was very much not working. But Ryan was having fun trying. “Are you kidding, this is my exact size, I’m but a tiny little guy. The smallest guy around, I’m a small I swear I am.” he insisted. At some point his grip on the fabric slipped and he was unable to reach the ends of the jacket anymore. It was sticking up at the back like some sort of tiny cape in the breeze, except it had also trapped his arms and elbows to his sides. He was pinned. Not willing to admit defeat, he turned around like nothing was wrong and nodded at the t-shirt she’d found. “A good find? Is that your sister's style?”

“I can’t argue against that, considering the amount of times I’ve used jeans as a blanket.” She paused for a second before picking back up, “I sometimes get lazy and forget my comforter in the dryer.” That was a lie, but Ryan didn’t need to know that. Andy squinted at Ryan with a raised brow at the mention of clogs. “You know, I think she might be the kind of person to be into clogs. They might make her taller.” Andy was only about five inches taller than Alex, but she sure held it over her sister’s head. In fact, it was the only thing she held over Alex’s head. 

Andy leaned against the clothing rack as she watched Ryan attempt to fit the jacket the rest of the way over his shoulders. It looked like the seams would pop in protest at any moment. “Yeah, you definitely are. Got the t-rex arms going on and everything.” She pointed out the fact that his elbows hadn’t even reached through to where they should have been. It was an occurrence she faced often– getting too toned for some of her favorite jackets. She hoped it never looked this comical. “You should get it, I think you look great in it.” Andy grinned at Ryan before turning her attention back to the t-shirts. “A good find, something that doesn’t have holes in it, and something that will make her feel good, yes. I guess. That pretty much sums it up.” She shot a look at Ryan who was still stuck in the jacket. “I think you ripped it at the back.” It was a lie, but she wanted to cause him even further defeat, just as a means of having fun.

Ryan paused for a second and turned to give Andy his full attention after hearing her words, and then she clarified and he averted Ray’s eyes. Was she a liar? Perhaps. Was HE a liar? Definitely, so who was he to try and pry and judge. They were only acquaintances after all, just friends of the thieving kind. “Aren’t…” he hesitated for another moment wondering if he was going to sound crazy, he really was still only learning the trends these days. “Aren’t crocodiles technically clogs? You know that squishy shoe people like?”

“Yeah if you’re not wearing your jackets with t-rex arms what are you even doing, clearly nothing good. You should really get yourself sorted, you know.” Ryan laughed a little when she played along and agreed. “Maybe I will.” He scanned Ray’s eyes over the racks and nudged a few more shirts up towards where Andy was looking through for her sister. It sounded like she was making a good attempt to cheer her sister up if he had the right end of the stick at least. He was willing to help any way he could, even if it was being an accomplice to more crime. What would he care anyway, if they got caught it’d be Ray going down for it, he was sure the kid could figure that out for them. A small shiver of worry filled his soul as she mentioned ripping the back. Maybe he WOULD be the one taking something today. “You’re kidding right?” he said, trying to look over at the back of the jacket unsuccessfully. He then attempted to remove his arms to get it off…and could’t. He shot her an imploring look. “Help.”

“You can’t wear crocodiles.” It took her a moment to realize that he had meant the shoe, after he clarified. “Oh! Well, maybe?” She knew that crocs were expensive, but maybe she could either find a discounted pair or a knock-off brand and gift them to Alex. Andy knew that they had charms, too. She’d seen a girl with them once and had commented on the rainbow flag. The girl lit up like the fourth of July at being recognized. It made Andy feel good. 

Andy rolled her eyes, a small smile curving at the corners of her lips. Ryan reminded her of Alex a little. Nothing in the appearance (clearly), but in their mannerisms. Alex was a little more cold towards people she didn’t know, but that came with the territory of what they’d been through. Andy was far more outgoing, and even it was a stretch to claim that she was at all. “You got me there. Maybe you should get one of those masks, too. Like at a costume shop.” She continued to look through the rack only to admit defeat a couple of seconds later. There was nothing else good that anyone in the house would appreciate. When Ryan asked for help after struggling to look over his own arched shoulder, Andy snorted. “Yeah, yeah.” She set her basket down and helped Ryan out of the jacket. She held it out for him to take after they’d gotten it off his arms. 

“You should try to go smaller, I bet those would fit great. Like a kid’s shirt.” Andy picked her basket back up and turned her attention to a different rack– overalls, she could use another pair. 

Having decided that perhaps one instance of being trapped for the day was enough Ryan found the empty hanger for the denim jacket again and hung it back amongst the other clothes. “As much as it’s the fashion I don’t think I could spring for a coat like that. Someone will have to bring back denim on denim without me until his next paycheck.” As he said this his phone lit up in his pocket. He pulled it out and cringed visibly, unable to smooth that over if she’d seen he spoke quickly so as to avoid suspicion. That had been Ray’s co-worker at the restaurant texting him to remind him of a swapping of shifts. Not one to completely ruin his host's life Ryan would have to give control of the body back as soon as possible to let the kid earn money. “Ah damn I forgot I had a shift at work.” Ryan explained quickly to Andy. Sliding the phone back into his pocket Ryan flashes her a smile. “Happy hunting? I’ve got to run. See you next time!” 

Ryan didn’t wait for much of a response before heading for the door. If anyone watched him closely as he made his way down the street his whole body shuddered through a few steps before he blinked… or rather Ray blinked. He was dazed and confused looking down at the phone in his hands open on a text. Right. Work. Got it.

Andy frowned. “So much for the Canadian tuxedo.” She flicked through a few more items, watching Ryan out of the corner of her eye as he took out his phone. He looked visibly uncomfortable with whatever was reflecting on the screen back at him, but Andy didn’t think anything of it. “Oh–” She turned around to watch Ryan as he ducked out of the shop, not giving her any time to give him a send off. He was a weird kid and kind of funny. For once, she was glad that there was nothing inherently supernatural about him– it was easy to get lost in a conversation without the constant reminder that she was the predator and those around her were unknowingly prey. “See ya.” Andy muttered under her breath as she turned around to continue shopping.