#the feelz

[kharmii]

It's the Subway Bosses!

She tells Ingo to smile then is moved to tears from it. Emmet quizzically asks, "What?!"

Art credit: @O_Flo_wer Twitter.

[kharmii]

Judging from spoilers in the tags, this looks like what could have been if Touya would have just gone home instead of becoming a villain.

[kharmii]

Emmet: That's it...not from the start!

Art credit: 𓉔𓄿𓂋𓅱@touminnsit Twitter.

[hitwiththetmnt]

Sweet Dreams P2

(P1)

@butterfilledpockets felt inspired to make the second half of this lil comic :}

I’m also going to warn you, there been some minor angsty ideas floating around in the noggin lately (;ﾟωﾟ)

[cringefail-clown]

thinking about them again (turnabout au post-scratch jakehal)

[kharmii]

Sorry to hear about your kitter. I had one who lived to be seventeen before being put down, and another one who got ran over when she was only two years old.

(Solution is always MOAR)

Weight of love

Give a hug for your furry little friend for me, and tell them they're important

Tw, sad;

Today I sent my beloved little kitty, my best friend since childhood, on her final journey.

She was at an honorable age of 22 years, now frail and weakening. I had been preparing for this for 3 years and I knew this day would come soon. And I can say I have no regrets, for I gave her everything I could in my capacity to make her life comfortable all the way over her golden years.

I know it was the right decision & the greatest act of love, but... yeah

This is the price of love

Only 5 months ago we had to say goodbye for our 11 yr old funny & clever kitty... it's getting very quiet in this house

I loved her so much, my precious little soft ball of pure affection, my treasure... and she loved me back, always following me with her bright green eyes and asking for pets and kisses. And treats of course!

She was grey and white, with pink nose and pawpads. She had a grey chin that gave her a perpetual smile and which she rubbed me on the nose back and forth when I leaned towards her. She would sit on my bed and we would touch foreheads and stay still for good long minutes. She would ride my shoulders and I could do all the chores with her purring in my ear. She was comfy with pets and rubs anywhere but the paws.

She was a picky eater, but whenever you had something she liked she would come to you, sit politely and gently touch your hand with her white mitten. Except once when eating a subway sandwich, she was so thrilled she grabbed the bread with claws ahah! She never hurt anyone on purpose, only when she was jumpscared while held

She was a fierce feral little furball when I picked her up hiding in our barn with her two siblings. After a month she would play with my hair and play chase with her sister and brother, who both got adopted. It’s wild to think she outlived both of them, and lived without any problems (apart from deafness around 16 years old) until the last three years. What a lucky lady. I was so lucky to have her

She was a fighter. She had hyperthyreosis, survived a dangerous tooth surgery only a year back, and even went blind for a week because of med dosage change but her vision miraculously came back..!! She was literally walking into walls and other cats and yowling heartbreakingly the whole week and even after the emergency checkup where the vets would say the med shock probably broke the eye structure, but on Sunday she was able to follow my hand movement with he eyes and soon fully recovered!!

Each time I had prepared for her departure because the situations seemed so dire and I knew she was old, but I could see it in her eyes she wasn’t ready to go. I underestimated her strength, but I took the risks for the sake of improving her life and they paid off! She would always bounce back despite the odds.

She didn’t want to go now either… but I saw how frail and hurting she was. I could feel her spine, she was light as a feather in my hands, and I saw her tired, pained look on her face. I knew she would last only a month or two or a year at max and I didn’t want to put her through another difficult treatment, so I decided it’s time to let her rest. I gave her kisses and pets all the way to her last breath, and even after.

She had many funny nicknames over the years, usually silly gibberish derived from her actual name, Kalevi. Which funnily is a male name but as kids we didn’t know better and couldn’t imagine her with any other name anymore, it was already perfect.

Everyone who met her liked her for her friendliness, softness and beauty. She enjoyed pets and gave kisses to other people too, but she was always the most attached to me. She chose me out of all the people she met, and that made me feel very special.

I miss her very much, my dear life companion

Now I’m free of worry over her, but… will anyone ever love me as unconditionally as she did, I won’t know

Things have been rough for quite a while, but I'll get back on track, eventually

Thank you for your patience

If possible, I would appreciate if you could throw a few coins my way via Ko-Fi, the vet/euthanasia costs burned through my savings

Thank you very much 🫂💖

[ansonmountdaily]

So, we go public. They can't ignore your record. No. This is my life. I'm not letting my mistakes ruin yours.

STAR TREK: STRANGE NEW WORLDS 2x01 "The Broken Circle"

[platinumtimesbaby]

[iceclew]

Some Kafhoshis for u ♡( ◡‿◡ )

Sorry for the weird sizing, I kinda unsaved the version I worked on and had to stick with the jpg. version to finish this...

I kinda convinced myself to practice some kafhoshi, I really wanted to do this for a while now.. I'm still not feeling comfortable, but I guess in a way it works out... (also I gave up on the smoochies, trust me I tried and they sucked.. gonna get there..)

Just wanted to put this out of my head, since I'll be off until next Monday and I already miss them very much... (I'm mad enough to treat myself to a rock festival for nothing less than 4 days, lol, but at least imma go fancy camping this time :D I hope I don't freeze to death.)

Anyway...I should be packing up already.. have a great evening/day/morning ♡＼(￣▽￣)／♡

[kharmii]

Art credit: さわきいるか - pixiv

[blackjackkent]

Prompt fill for @astreamofstars from this ask for this prompt meme. Karlach - "It is my fault, I think, that you have forgotten to fear me."

-----

“Oy, who’s the glowy bitch by the door, then?”

Karlach knows better than to bother looking up when the fresh-meat greataxe grunt starts talking, down the barracks a ways. This shit isn’t new. They always like to talk, the new arrivals to Zariel's army. And as soon as they see Karlach, no other topic will do.

Fair play enough, after all; she does kinda stick out. There's nobody else like her in the platoon, or in the whole army. In the eight years she’s been here, nobody else has ever gotten the tin can stuck into them and survived. She’s special, as Zariel likes to assure her, though special has never bought her anything but more blood and death - and the attention of every ignot who want to pick a fight.

Today’s mouthy prick is a draegloth, which explains why he’s talking a big game. A dogskull’s almost as unique as Karlach is around here; makes sense he’d pick out a target fast before anyone can pick him out for an asskicking.

“Oh, that? That's Cliffgate,” says another voice. This one Karlach recognizes - Namtar, a cambion, one of the platoon sergeants. He and Karlach have butted heads before, because Namtar is a rotten pissant. “Zariel's little kiss-ass. No heart, just an infernal engine in her chest.”

"No way," the draegloth says. "That's the Demonsbane? A ruttin' tief? Not even hellsborn?" He laughs sharply. "Lettin' in all sorts these days, uh?"

Karlach ignores the mocking words, focusing on choking down the tasteless morsels that pass for rations around here. The bunk across from her creaks unhappily as weight hits it.

“They're talkin’ about you, Dart,” Flo says with a nasty grin, settling onto the bed and lounging back against the wall. “Gonna sit here and take it?”

Karlach sighs. She picked up the nickname around her second week in the Hells, and it's never once been meant with kindness. Even Flo says it with a nasty edge, and Flo is the closest thing she has to a friend.

Good reminder, I guess, that no one here really gives a fuck about me, no matter how much I might like to pretend. Even after eight years, she can sometimes, if she squints, convince herself that there's camaraderie here, like there was in Gortash's old crew before he sold her out. But it's vain hope, a desperate attempt to pretend this place isn't rotting her fro the inside out; the illusion never lasts long and always just leaves her feeling lonelier.

"If it's not them, it'll be somebody else," she says noncommittally. "Lemme eat my dinner in peace."

"Nawww..." Flo says, comfortably dismissive. "C'mon, Dart, give us a show. Been too long since we had a proper scrap in here besides the piece in your chest."

Karlach laughs softly in spite of herself. It's a pretty weak pun, but the jokes in Avernus are as bad as the food. "I'm wore out, Flo," she says, shaking her head. "Leave off."

She looks up to find Flo's smile has turned a shade more brittle. "C'mon, now, Dart," she says, and there's a warning note in it now. "Y'know I can't be seen bein' friends with a softy. Give us a show, I said."

The message is loud and clear, as it always is. My friendship is conditional. And you'll do as I say, 'cos you *don't* want to be my enemy. Now dance.

Karlach huffs out a weary, flame-hot breath and tosses aside the last bit of her ration pack uneaten. With a groan, she pushes herself to her feet and strides down the barracks corridor towards Namtar and the draegloth.

"Hey, there she is." Namtar looks up with a lazy grin as she approaches. He's flopped on his bunk with his boots off, his wings furled neatly under him and feet up on a stack of equipment piled at the foot of the bed. "How's tricks, Dart?" Before Karlach can respond, he shoots a conspiratorial glance at the young dogskull. "Y'know why we call her Dart, Markos?"

The draegloth -- Markos -- looks puzzled. "Why?" he asks.

"Dumb-Ass Rusty Toaster." Namtar brays with laughter so hard it shakes the bed a little. "Fits, too, cos all she's good for is throwing at things t' poke holes in them."

Markos snickers loudly. Several more of the platoon have picked up on the conversation; smelling blood in the water, they've started to circle up, leaned casually against the walls or peering over the edge of their bunks. Some of them are grinning, enjoying watching the Demonsbane get a dunking. Others - the smart ones - are eyeing Karlach warily. She hasn't said anything yet, but her eyes are smoldering. In spite of herself, the rage is building. 

She doesn't want to fight them. She never has. She's always been loyal, and even in this bitch of a place, even under Zariel's thumb, she'd have fought hard for anyone here who wanted to fight for her in return. But that's never made the slightest bit of difference, because everyone here is a fucking tosser.

Hells. Maybe, when you come right down to it, so am I.

And that, really, is what enrages her, far more than these empty little insults.

"Y'know," she says slowly, looking the draegloth up and down. "I expect this sort of crap from the fresh meat. A mouth spewing shit 'cos you haven't learned to shut the fuck up yet. But you--" She turns her gaze slowly and deliberately to the sergeant. "Eight years it's been, Namtar, and neither of us dead yet, so you'd think you'd have figured out not to mess with me." She lets a slow, feral grin curl across her lips, and there's a ripple of anticipatory mumbling from the gathering crowd around them. "My fault, I guess, that you've forgotten to be scared of me. But I can fix that."

She moves suddenly, with no windup, her fists and feet all shifting at once. Her left fist crashes into Markos's jaw, knocking him back into the steel frame of the bed behind him; his skull ricochets off it with a metallic whingggg as his skull ricochets off the metal. With her left foot, she kicks behind his knee while he's unbalanced and fully flips him sideways. As he bounces back from the bedframe, he goes careening onto his front, his nose crunching into the stone floor.

Meanwhile, her other hand grabs Namtar by the collar and drags him out of his bunk. He has almost two inches on her, but she lifts him with ease one-armed, the engine roaring in her chest and sending energy coursing through her bicep. Spinning out of the kick at Markos, she slams Namtar into the wall, then releases her grip for a split second, only to refix it tightly around his throat before he can fall.

All of the cambion's bravado has vanished. His eyes are wide and brilliant white in the dark red of his face and he squirms ineffectually against Karlach's implacable grip. His wings, crunched between his back and the wall, struggle feebly. "Oy! Let me go!" he bleats, gripping her hand with both of his and trying to pull it away.

She glares at him. "Maybe. If you want to grovel a bit. Otherwise I'll finally just kill you. Maybe everyone else would finally get it through their thick skulls that you don't mess with me."

He sneers in an attempt at disdain, though it's considerably weakened by the fact that he's now struggling to breathe. "You wouldn't dare."

She laughs humorlessly and leans forward until her nose is nearly touching his, so he can feel the heat radiating off her body and see nothing but the exhausted fury in her eyes. "That really a chance you wanna take, sergeant?"

He hesitates, balanced between his anger and his fear. But something he sees in her eyes must convince him, because the fear wins. "Sorry," he mutters.

"What was that?" she asks coolly. "Didn't hear you."

"I'm sorry," he snaps. "Now let me go."

She could drag it out further, but the whole situation feels sticky as hot tar on her skin, burning down into her bones. Gods, I hate this. I hate all of it. I don’t want to be this thing they’ve made me, but I don’t know how to stop.

She releases his throat with a jerk, letting him slide down the wall to the floor, where he sits clutching at his neck and wheezing. Markos, nearby, is out cold where he hit the floor.

"Good," she mutters. "Just... stay there and shut the fuck up." She doesn't wait to hear what the other gathered soldiers might have to say, but turns and stalks away back down the row of beds towards the other end of the barracks. 

Flo gives her a slow clap as she returns to her bunk, grinning unpleasantly from ear to ear. "Nice one. Damn good show, Dart, just as I asked."

"Shut up," Karlach answers, tossing herself facedown onto her mattress. The engine is still running hot, surging pain through her chest and her head and her arms with the slow letdown of adrenaline; she can smell it searing a scorched mark into the bedsheets. "You too - just... just shut up and leave me alone.”

[kharmii]

Nice touch with the tear drops.

Emmet month - Day 4: Memories

though Ingo may be gone, he'll never be forgotten

[jalebi-weds-bluetooth]

Saheb, Bibi aur Ghulaam

#2 Monta Re

For the lovelies who are celebrating IPK to its finest @arshifiesta

Character. Gentility. Obedience.

These were the jewels of being an honourable woman and Khushi Dasgupta had none of those.

Her character, a question ever since she was born out of a wedlock between a British soldier who never returned and a Bengali singer who never sang again. The only thing she had left was her extended family who reluctantly gave their name to her and her father’s hazel eyes.

Her gentility was nowhere to be found for she was to be often found at pro independence speeches or singing revolutionary songs. Her mother’s talent was the last thing she inherited. It is said she had driven off at least seven suitors with impeccable terrible grace, off key singing and barely controlled tongue.

Obedience was what her family tried beating into her. But perhaps it was her aunt’s gentility and selfless, guiding hand that Khushi obeyed her family as a debt owed to to the kind woman.

She took the effort to recount the love story the city never saw.

Shashikala never approved her sister’s decision of singing. Yet when Ganga Devi Burman took the stage by storm, she had no option but to smile. Especially when she fell right off the stage and landed into the arms of a British soldier - Lt. Kennedy Watson.

If it hadn’t been for the summer tan, Ganga would have never found him appealing. Definitely not for his hazel eyes nor for his flawless understanding of Bangla and its literature.

After all, he was born in the same city as her.

At first Kennedy fought with the feelings he felt for Ganga for she pushed him to unlearn the imperial love for his country if he wished to love her. Then he fought for the land he was raised in as opposed to land he was taught to worship.

The first day Kennedy returned bloody, with a rebellion in his eyes that Ganga saw in her revolutionary brothers eyes - she gave her heart, soul and a kiss-

This is the part of the story of the story where Khushi always giggled, making Shashikala shush her before continuing, continuing to stroke Khushi’s head on her lap.

And then, Kennedy did propose to Ganga. They had planned a long wedding. One Christian to honour his God. One Hindu to honour hers.

This is where Shashikala would end the story for the wedding never happened.

It was tale as old as time. Just when everything good was about to happen, the opposite occurred. The imperialists were not happy to find one of their own defect. He disappeared without a trace, leaving Ganga, their child and love without a name.

Khushi hugged her Mashi (aunt) even closer. Despite the tragic tale being her favorite lullaby, even as an adult, she could only hope for a love as strong as her parents.

And hoped to be a human as kind as her Mashi.

— — —

Things changed dramatically as Shashikala Mashi passed away due to an early sudden heart attack.

The house grew colder, the perceptions of her more apparent, and her burden on the financially strife family heavier.

Khushi had to be sent off. There were three other sons to marry and two daughters to be married off.

The man who arrived with gifts at her doorstep to relieve the Dasguptas of their burden neither promised a love story like her parents, nor kindness like her aunt.

Sharp eyed, broad framed, wealthy and the heir of the Mullick family - Shyam Mullick was here to find a second wife in Khushi.

Dread settled in her stomach as her relatives seemed pleased with the money in front, even though the man seemed at least twenty years older than Khushi.

Or that he was already married to the Anjali Rani Tagore. The finest lineage, and a pool of infinite wealth, wisdom and beauty.

Khushi ran up the stairs. She had to run. Run as far as her two legs could take her. Where did she make a mistake? When did that man see her and fancy her? Was her relatives so eager to dust her off their hands?

“Oh Maa, bachao amake,” Khushi prayed to her Goddess and ran through multiple roofs.

Except one gave away and she fell straight into someone’s arms.

She opened her eyes and stared into the strangers face. Brown eyes, clenched jaws, perfectly shaped lips and a gaze that set her heart fluttering.

Was he a prince?

But since when did princes dress up like an English babu?

The sound of hurried footsteps broke them apart. Khushi turned red, her skin flaming up at where his fingers touched her skin.

Gently, as if she weighed a feather, he set her down. Worry returned to his face and he seemed to have aged in an instant.

“Arnob-da…” a man panted.

“Ei boka, kotobar bolbo Arnav-da doesn’t like to be called Arnob” another said.

Arnav glared at the two men - probably his househelp?

“I know where he went.”

Rage filled Arnav’s eyes. And without another word he stormed out.

— — —

The monsoon storm died out overnight, leaving Khushi to enjoy one of the last things she could - a small ride on a ferry across Hooghly.

Her protests against the marriage fell on deaf ears. If anything, her ears still rang from the slap Pishimoni gave her.

Shyam Babu offered to assist in Payal’s marriage. Why was he so intent on marrying Khushi? What did Khushi even do? How did he even get to meet her?

“O Maa,” this time Khushi touched the holy Hooghly river, “please help me,”

The ferry bumped into the shore and Khushi collected herself to step out when,

“Tumi?”

“Aapni?”

Khushi blinked at Arnav. Standing tall, this time in not his entirety of a tailored piece suit, just in his full length shirt, suspenders and pant - he took a keen look at her.

Khushi touched her cheek. Did the slap leave a mark? She fixed the edge of her saree. After a moment alone, she spoke.

“Sorry, you must want this boat alone,”

“Are you going to the other side?” Arnav asked. Khushi couldn’t help but feel that she was being studied. She nodded.

“OI, TARATARI-” the ferryman swallowed his hollering as Arnav shot a glare at him.

Khushi didn’t know what happened when he boarded the ferry. Except that the ferryman must have taken his anger out on by moving it away before Arnav could fully stand.

Leading him to fall right on Khushi.

Khushi prayed her eyes didn’t reveal her secrets and desires. And prayed that he would be unable to read anything at all.

She scrambled to sit up and sat horrified at the red on Arnav’s chest.

Did she kill him?

“Oh this bloody pen!” Khushi sighed in relief at his curse and his discomfort over a broken red pen. The ferry rocked out of nowhere, splashing him with water.

Khushi could spy a devious smile on the ferryman’s paan stained lips.

Arnav let out a colourful string of words as he attempted to wipe himself, leading to the ink to spread more viciously on him.

Khushi burst into laughter as he got completely worked up.

Oh it had been years since she laughed this hard.

— — —

“Laughing suits you,”

Khushi laid awake all night. The depression of her impending wedding not settling in for the three words he said.

And the thousand he didn’t.

He saw the slap. And she saw the tick in his jaw. The questions he refrained himself from asking. The stories she refrained herself from telling.

Khushi tried sleeping, these days of Durga Pujo were peace. She could try running away for real.

But with whom?

Khushi’s heart twisted into knots as a face became clear.

Without a full name and more than twenty words exchanged, Khushi saw more hope in a stranger than a suitor.

Oh dear, none had a more foolish mind than of Khushi Dasgupta.

— — —

A/N: omg thank you for all the love before! Let me know how you liked this chapter 💕 (also sorry not proofread!)

Tagging some lovelies here @chutkiandchotte @barshifan @laadgovernorandsankadevi @laad-governess @shiyaravi @msbhagirathi @phuljari @hand-picked-star @aye-masakalii @featheredclover

[tenochconamor]

Namor's trauma started before he was born.

Namor was born a king without a kingdom. Because of colonialism, slavery and disease his mother was coerced into ingesting a potentially dangerous substance to keep them safe.

He was born different, revered and worshipped yes, but also restricted by the burden of the responsibility of leading his people from a young age.

Namor's people called him K'uk'ulkan but his mother called him something else. When she taught him the language of her ancestors, she called his name, when she taught him their history, she called his name. When she taught him how to care for himself and his people after she was gone, she called his name.

Namor watching his mother grow old and die was not his first encounter with trauma but it was the first time he was aware of it. How helpless did he feel, worshipped as a god to his people but powerless to slow the effects of aging on his mother. His mother would have been the only person alive to keep him grounded, the person he could share his very human worries with, the first person he loved, the only person who knew his name.

Namor only wanted to bury his mother and honor her wishes but, nothing goes as planned for Namor, nothing ever does. If Namor had any sort of childhood innocence left after his mother died, the anger he felt watching people like him tied up, whipped and enslaved, set it ablaze. He lost his mother, devised a way to breath on land to honor her wishes and killed a man in cold blood for the first time all in a short amount of time.

El nino sin amor ~ a child without love.

Namor wears his trauma like an amour. Holding on to the dying words of the Spanish priest he killed, Namor sees the world that could produce such unnecessary suffering as his enemy.

So he creates a divide. There are only his people and his enemies. His people he would protect, provide and care for with every resource available to him because they're his connection to the first and only person that really saw him as human, the only one that ever spoke his name. Namor would move mountains for the people he loves. He would bring down the sun for them. He would fight everlasting wars for them.

[kharmii]

What makes this extra sad is the older siblings and parents have to lose Touya all over again. Shoto barely knew him the first time and has to go through it again. Touya got his wish where his dad watched him the second time he got cremated.

What if this became my 13th reson 😭😭

[lorei-writes]

Since it came to my attention that I've become associated with hosting events... I must say, I am grateful that they are enjoyable, but none of them would have been possible without the lovely people who decide to give projects I'm involved in a chance.

Not only that: I am beyond lucky to be working with incredibly kind, passionate and creative people.

Thank you, @violettduchess and @wordycheeseblob for choosing to work with me on various creation challenges. I love it when we come up with concepts, develop them, and then gasp together when we see what people came up with.

Thank you, dearest @flash-exchange staff, @nuttytani and @cheese-ception , my co-criminals of nearly 3 years now -- IFE as a project would have died long ago if you were not involved in it. But now? We're brewing more and more things. I am so proud of our work. Never have I dreamt it would happen. Our entire crew is the absolute best.

Thank you, @olivermorningstar , for taking that leap and giving it all to Mayday!Heyday OC Gift Exchange. It was a huge unknown. There's still much to see there. But I'm glad we gave it our best shot and working with you on the back end of things has been nothing but pleasure!

Thanks you, @writing-wednesday crew -- @venulus @lyrical-cynical and @the12thnightproject ! IT'S BEEN GOING ON ALMOST FOR A YEAR NOW?! WHEN WE STARTED, I NEVER THOUGHT WE'D MAKE IT A YEAR?! AND WE HAVE MORE PLANS FOR THE FUTURE?! Thank you for sharing your insight and curiosity.

Thank you, @the12thnightproject for co-writing the most chaotic advice columns with me. Dear Kitsune was wonderful. Art of Love? Ha. We went ham and I'd do it again, anytime, anywhere.

And lastly, thank you to the sweetest OC Central, also known as OC Love Club, @olivermorningstar , @keithsandwich and @bicayaya , with whom I'm working on something that is yet to be released. You guys took an idea nugget and breathed so much life into it that I can hardly comprehend it.

Simply put, thank you for being my friends and building things together with me ;-; <3