#sorry about taking forever

[timethehobo]

The visual of Emmy being absolutely devastated and heartbroken during the period Rook went missing kept coming up. 😔

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

O, Icarus.

O, my Icarus...

Stanford is desperate. He has tried every method possible to try and rid himself of Bill, and he's got nothing to show for all his efforts but more scars and less sleep.

His head is killing him. Another consequence of his many attempts to just live. Yes. He yearned to live, because he was dying. Dying in the hands of his own muse. Was it so wrong of him to want to live? To fear death? Perhaps Stanford was selfish; a hypocrite, to avoid the same death that had so soon and so unfairly claimed his friend and his brother, but he was only a man.

Stanford knew he didn't stitch his wound right, he could feel it. He could feel the cold nails and bolts dig into his head; his scalp pulled taught over his newly metal plated skull to cover the holes. He felt something rattle when he moved. Perhaps he should have welded the metal plate into his head instead.

Project Mentem did not react well to his open skull and neither did the poorly screwed metal plate in his head.

[artsymeeshee]

Second-guessing

[tubbytarchia]

Missed drawing these two too

Bonuses

[pricegouge]

the erotic pin up thought but imagine nikolai tattooing his favourite pic and surprising his lover with it :3

he's already been away for two weeks when you get a text from an unknown number. you don't need the contact to discern who it is, anyway. in istanbul. things are running long. don't expect me back so soon. you're not expecting a reply when you tell him not to worry, to just keep himself safe, but you're delighted when you get one anyway.

>>You too, milaya.

he messages you at least once a day, just to check in. you've never been able to contact him like this while he's been on mission before and you don't want to ruin it by being too needy but the temptation of your phone lays heavy in your pocket all week. you'd hate to interfere but he makes it hard when he keeps up a slow, steady means of communication. you wonder about the mission, don't dare ask. it seems unlikely that he'd let himself be so distracted if it were something high stakes, though. it's possible he's been relegated to glorified taxi while bigger pieces make their moves and you can't help but sympathize when you picture him waiting around, dining in the quaint kind of cafes he'd never really seemed to find an appreciation for - at least, not on his own. he was always happy enough to take you but it had always been very clear where his interest lied, dark eyes trained on you even as he ordered. observant, filing away each little reaction he could pull from you with savory dishes and select deserts. you flatter yourself, imagining his patience breaking, just a little more each day, just enough to text you, earlier and earlier each day until two weeks have come and gone and you've basically fallen into a constant rapport.

you ask for pictures of the city and he obliges, little peeks into the life he's living while away. yet more evidence this is some bizarrely political mission he doesn't really need to be present for. you note when he moves locales a few times but he tactfully avoids telling you his location again. he stops sending you pictures altogether when you start guessing correctly.

so you start sending him pictures instead. they start out innocent enough, testing the limits of what you're allowed to say on this line. he shows gives no intent to stop you when you show him the view from the summit of a local hike, nor even when you snap a picture outside a local restaurant, its logo left carelessly in frame. he only tells you to enjoy, doubles down when you send a selfie with your cheeks stuffed full of spanakopita.

you start to think he deserves a reward, being on the clock for nearly a month straight and still finding the time to check in with you.

his hangar is a sacred place, one you rarely enter without his accompaniment. too many expensive tools, machinery pulled apart with all its fragile bits exposed. you're always afraid to touch, afraid to break. nik had told you once that every item there was made of sterner stuff, that you couldn't hurt a swashplate if you climbed up on it. funny how you might be taking him up on the offer now.

(you wouldn't know really, the knowledge about what a swashplate even was having gone in one ear and right out the other. not your fault when he looked that good, jumpsuit folded down to reveal a sweaty, clingy tank top, wiry hair visible through the thin ribbed material.)

but you're getting ahead of yourself.

the tarp kicks up a mess when you pull it free, concrete dust having settled in nik's absence. it sends you into a sneezing fit and you curse, smudging your makeup as you try to wipe away the moisture collecting on your lash line. you decide to roll with it when you catch a glimpse of yourself in some nearby chrome, see the kind of effect it brings to your overall look.

your makeup is classic, a bright lip and exaggerated liner. even a painted on beauty mark to really knock it home. the outfit was harder to settle on, your every instinct telling you nik always appreciated when you looked your finest, all dolled up in expensive labels he'd bought for you. but ultimately you'd decided what was good for the goose was good for the gander, pilfering from his closet until you'd found what you were looking for, the exact same outfit which drove you mad.

nik's a big man, his jumpsuit made to reflect that. it drapes away from your waist when you let it hang but it's nothing that a clever safety pin corset can't fix, the top of the suit left to hang over it, hiding it away. long legs are easier to remedy, hems tucked into a pair of hiking boots you hadn't cared about in years, now painted to look the part with the same gear grease you'd smeared all over yourself, tasteful swipes meant to accentuate your soft curves, here on display under the dirty tank top you'd sworn you'd told him to get rid of, now tied tight around your waist to show off your chest. and now with your smudged makeup you think you've finally got it right, the look exactly what you'd been going for when you'd first got the notion in your head.

with the stage already set, the photoshoot goes easily enough. the poses are almost instinctual, the big wrench you wield almost natural in your hands as you lean provocatively over the engine block, tits to squished you doubt he'll ever even notice the size isn't right for the bolts in front of you. you try a couple of different styles, positions which are obviously designed with aesthetics in mind interspersed with more competent looking ones, even though it makes you feel ridiculous when you think of how obvious it will be to him that you don't know what you're doing.

you just have to remember how little he's going to mind it, all told.

editing isn't your strong suit. you're racked with doubt all the while, hyperfocused on every little flaw you spot. it gets easier when you remember the whole shoot is meant to be quite grimy and in the end you settle on a decent collection. you even remember to upload them to a file sharing site to avoid compression, sending him the link with a wink and a warning not to open in front of his comrades.

he calls you naughty immediately, but it's long hours before he can properly respond, a call that wakes you up in the middle of the night so he can pant and moan in your ear about how much he wants to bend you over that engine, peel his suit off of you and eat your cunt from the back. it's the first time you've heard his voice in weeks and the low rumble of it conspires with the slickness in your panties which never fully righted itself after your little photoshoot, the anticipation of his reaction keeping you primed for him. you come together before trading quiet reassurances. how much you miss each other, how you can't wait to see him again. he makes a vague promise to be home soon and you're still so sated that the twinge of loneliness feels like nothing really.

you think that's the end of it. that maybe he'll request more, at most. but then you wake up days later with a furnace at your back and a hairy arm draped over your side. it's still early, the sun not even up yet. you should let him sleep but you can't help rolling within the age of his arm and planting a chaste kiss on his cheek. even in the low light you can see how haggard and hollow he looks, run ragged for too long. his beard is overgrown, the short stubble he usually keeps filling out into a decent beard.

really it's unfair how handsome he looks even now.

"go back to sleep."

you huff a laugh and press another kiss to him. lower now that you know he's awake. above his cupid's bow, your own lips drawn tight with your smile. "but it's morning."

"can't be," he counters, voice thick with exhaustion. "i only just fell asleep."

you hum, distracted as you trace the wrinkles of his forehead. was that one always there? was it new? "maybe it's not wherever you were," you concede. "where were you, by the way?"

"where wasn't i?" he sighs as he rolls away, a great puff of air that cuts through the easiness of the morning, reminds you of what exactly he's likely returned from. the culmination of the mission, even the easy one it seemed to be. he was rarely ever trotted out for emissary visits, after all.

but you don't want to think about all that so you follow him as he rolls, laying yourself across his chest to keep him grounded as you rub against his far shoulder. "well you're home now and my vote's for sleeping in."

his chest rumbles beneath you, a quiet laugh you can feel more so than you can hear. he takes your hand in his and presses a kiss to your fingers before setting it back down in favor of reaching much lower to pull you more properly onto him. your grip shifts from his shoulder to his bicep and you pause when you feel the edge of a bandage there, worry settling low in your belly as you trace the edges of it. "you're hurt?" you demand, but you don't give him a chance to respond before sitting up and leaning across him to turn the lamp on.

it takes you a moment to make sense of what you're looking at, the bandage you'd felt before nothing more than four haphazard lines of tape holding a square of black plastic against his skin. he laughs at your confusion, thumbing the furrow between your brows away as he also sits up, pulling you onto his lap as he reassures you he's not hurt.

"what's that then?" you ask, afraid to peel the edges up and see for yourself.

he's chuckling as he does it for you, the wrap pulling away to reveal the neat black lines and bold color of a traditional tattoo, a plump little pinup in a barely-hanging-on mechanic's jumpsuit, her cartoonishly circular tits squeezed between her own arms as she leaned confidently over simplified engine block. it's good work from what you can tell. his bicep is a big canvas, the tattoo itself appropriately sized, leaving the artist enough room for minute details, smudges of brown oil accentuating your curves and a wry smile below demure lids.

still.

"you didn't," you scoff, too blown away to even know if you're actually mad or not. you don't think you are, but what if he -

what if -

"well it was either this or i get you airbrushed on the side of the blackhawk, but you are mine, and i do not want just anyone to see you like that."

[bunnieswithknives]

Do you think Dale develops (pun not intended) an aversion to bright colors after the attack?

Don’t mind me just hitting the man with my Trauma Hammer

Oh absolutely. Its a good thing he lives in white room

[sun-e-chips]

Wait…

Do the boys fluster easy? Like if y/n ever grew a backbone and said literally anything-

Like the smallest thing or like, taped a flower to suns rays or moons headdress (does it have a specific name please tell me if it does) how would the boys react?

I get a break because of the storm so I’m digging into my inbox! >:D

Great question! I would say yes to the boys flustering easy but they fluster differently if that makes sense.

Moon: Moon I would say flusters the easiest. Though he handles “flirts” from guests with ease, (giving a witty/charming one-liner to keep it professional and lighthearted) he knows it’s part of the job and nothing is serious, but if y/n did or said anything flirtatious to Moon he would freeze up XD

With guests this usually happens during luau’s between when he’s performing or working the bar. Moon realizes guests are just enjoying themselves and mean nothing inappropriate when they’re having fun with flirtatious banter, it’s part of his job to be engaging and pleasant so he doesn’t really mind. That’s why y/n showing any affectionate interest in him would come as such a shock, he never thought about someone being genuinely interested in him that way. Poor guy needs some time to adjust.

Sun: Now Sun is an oddball to me, I’m still trying to understand him and his emotions myself haha. Sun REALLY blurs the lines between platonic and romantic affection, he is in general a very loving guy. With guests personal space is a foreign concept to him, of course he is still very professional and can judge an appropriate situation/person, but he just has a talent for being able to connect with guests so their comfortable with his playful antics. With Y/N however his actions areeeeee a mixed bag I guess, (think of it like a magic fruit basket, Sun is giving you a variety of fruits in one package, if you choose to only take out oranges then it’s an orange basket, if you want to take out apples and oranges then it’s an apple and oranges basket, pick out whichever you like it’s all there but you don’t have to accept anything you don’t like, he’s letting you decide what you want your basket to be made up of) weird analogy I know but it’s what I thought of

Anywhoo for Sun to catch on that an act is flirtatious it has to be clear or at least catch him off guard! Little note here, Suns pupils disappear when he’s flustered from y/n. It’s a lil scary at first, in the illustrated instance this is the first time of this happening and it may be mistaken as Sun freezing but he was very much there and would have returned the gesture if not for the pool noodle -whack- lol

[pleaseinsertwittyurl]

There are always 2 sides.

The discourse around Louis and Lestat being a victim and abuser and nothing more drives me insane.

Something i don't think enough people remember is that the very same reason the fight began in 1×05 (lestat grabbing claudia by the throat when she tries to "take louis away") we see Louis himself do to her in 1×07 when she tries to get Louis to burn Lestat.

They BOTH would harm her rather than live in a world without the other. They are both guilty of abusing her and each other.

There is an implication that a good deal of time passed between Louis and Lestat meeting and the church. Louis expresses that he shares himself with Lestat in a way he only had with Paul. I would assume that goes both ways, to a degree. We know Louis knows at least enough about Nicki to discourage Claudia poking that wound. He also clearly knows that the threat of leaving is his most powerful weapon against Lestat.

Mental abuse is abuse. And Louis abused Lestat mentally for years. Shaming him, ridiculing him, shutting him out, manipulating him into making Claudia (a traumatic moment for him, whether Louis understands the depths of it or not) by promising to give him what he's being denying him, promising to never put him through what he fears the most.

Louis admits to purposely making Lestat suffer. He admits he was warned that Claudia would suffer and he wanted her anyway because he needed to feel redeemed. He is not innocent. He is not a trapped, weak victim. He made choices to hurt both Lestat and Claudia time and time again.

Does this justify Lestat's actions in 1×05? Obviously not. But we now know Louis was not willing to stop the fight. He taunted Lestat the same way he taunted the Alderman. He was unleashing years of frustrations just as Lestat was. His priority was not to protect Claudia, it was to hurt Lestat, consequences be damned.

I hate the drop scene as much as the next person and Lestat has admitted he will never earn forgiveness for what he did. But if you view Louis as some squeaky clean victim who was manipulated, trapped, and abused by Lestat you are missing so much of what this show is conveying.

We will always tend to paint ourselves as the hero of our own story. It is hard to accept your faults or that you hurt people you love. It is much easier to shift that blame on to someone else, to frame them as the villian. But life is not usually that black and white. Claudia had harsh words for them both in her diary, even before they got to Europe, for a reason. They both made hurtful mistakes with her, both treated her like a pawn in their relationship instead of a person, both harmed her, took away her choice, never prioritized her.

That is the great tragedy. That she never had a choice and was not allowed to be her own person. And in the end, they both are responsible for her misery and her death. That's what makes the reunion scene so important. They have been grieving her and carrying that guilt alone, all the while longing for the comfort of the other for 70+ years. Louis has found clarity in his memories, he has accepted his role in their suffering, he has seen Lestat's perspective more fully. Lestat is broken, totally consumed with that guilt and grief. Both know that although they cannot change what they've done, they can forgive the other, even if they can't forgive themselves. They can love each other despite everything they've done to one another because they cannot stop loving each other. But now they can try to rebuild that love from the rubble.

[knockknockitsnickels]

I think this is one of my favorite lines from the Wraith route because of (imo) how much the meaning changes depending on if you got there via Spectre or Nightmare. For Spectre, it honestly strikes me as a genuine question. Why are you doing this to her? If you're on the Spectre route, you presumably already know the Narrator can't really be trusted, since you had to reject his reward to get here. What are you hoping to gain from continuing to hurt her? For Nightmare, it honestly just makes me sad. As the Shifting Mound describes her, "She desires only companionship, but the only thing she knows is how to hurt." This line feels like a plea from someone who genuinely doesn't understand why you keep rejecting her. She wants to be with you, but she just can't understand how to do that in a way which doesn't hurt you.

[nedlittle]

need the historical romance girlies to go back to their roots and read forever amber (1944)

[petricorah]

moar wips [id in alt]

[fure-dcmk]

(Saw your insta) Since you've genderbend the gosho boys, any chance for the gosho girls?

took forever but here you go!! its just them with shorter hair i got no original thought in this head

akako still seduces men even as a guy (fem!kaito his only exception)

[coolnonsenseworld]

A little promo with my little obsession on the side...........

Reminder all items are shipped from Poland - for details on shipping times check out FAQ or send me a private message!

 mmezzy.bigcartel.com

[queerofthedagger]

i'm re-reading the hobbit (aka it's my current falling-asleep audiobook) and there is something to doing that after having just read the silm and the great tales and (almost) the entirety of HoMe that just hits me in the sense of. so much of the great tales talk of great heroics and incredible deeds of valour. and yes of course their mode is different and that's why they feel like this, why they are a little untouchable sometimes, bigger than life, almost. but there still is something so poignant to returning to scared, terrified, shaking-in-his-boots bilbo baggins who faints at the notion of a dragon and baulks at the idea of an adventure and then goes anyway.

i don't have a very coherent conclusion about this yet beyond, it keeps making me think of the 'courage is not absence of fear, it's being scared and doing it anyway' and how on one side it says so much about bilbo, about how he goes, and keeps going, keeps growing with each new step on the road, without ever quite stopping being scared out of his mind. and how on the other side it is also a reminder that regardless of the tales painting them great, we should not forget how often all the great heroes must have been scared, too. how they went anyway. perhaps finrod did not faint at the prospect of facing sauron, but he went anyway. perhaps hurin did not quail in the face of morgoth, but he must have been terrified for himself and his family anyway. how he kept resisting anyway. perhaps luthien did not try to convince herself just to stay home on page, but how hard the road regardless. how she walked it anyway! like!!

[erwinsvow]

i have this entire fleshed out shy reader lore for i guess a hypothetical universe where shy reader dated jj and/or pope first but eventually they broke up because of the whole season one treasure plotline not even because of a lack of love but mostly just her feeling neglected and alone. right at the end of all of that is when she would meet rafe just when he’s in that season two craziness/spiral and they become so insanely codependent and just around there somewhere when the pogues hate rafe even more they find out he’s dating shy reader and it’s just a whole other layer. so basically obx writers let me into the room.

[dogboots]

boyfriend full of facts