#this cover is so pretty but the timing is killing me

[themareverine]

A KING & HIS CASTLE ▹ IN YOU, MY FORTRESS

— oldman!Logan x fem!OC drabble

SERIES SUMMARY: Breadwinner. Bring-Home-the-Bacon. King of the Castle. He's heard it all before, but it's never been true of the Wolverine. Until her. Coming home to her is the only thing to live for, the only thing keeping the heart behind his ribs spinning.

SYNOPSIS: Insane, sick. Straight to hell if that’s the case—he couldn’t think of worse torture, and he’d outlived excrutiating. He knows it more intimately than he should, living it every day. Leaving his small Eden behind, in the biting Mexican dust that wilds it away in the glass of his rearview, it’s hell beyond the little limits of everything he, now, holds close.

warnings: drabble series, day-in-the-life, dad!Logan, age gap, angst, domesticity, pregnancy, babies, children, Logan is a boy dad because I said so.

a/n: based on this. and I have to dedicate this to @1800-fight-me for that post, which changed my brain chemistry and prompted my first oldman!Logan.

SERIES MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

On days like this, Logan could kill. 

Redlight. Redlight. Red, again. Red fuckin’ light. 

He could see them in his fuckin’ sleep. At a little after four, a text from a bunch of digits suggests a phone number—Chicago, if his guess was right. You booking rides? like it’s normal business hours instead of ass o’clock in the morning, like he hasn’t just passed out in bed after getting home and standing beneath a lava-hot shower for all of a handful of minutes—managed three and a half hours of fucking, much-needed racktime. 

Need a limo for five, 7:15. $1k green. 

Squinting into the screen without readers had been like staring into the sun, but Logan had managed. Dimness dropped to low as hell—fine, i'll be there with slow thumbs that burned, felt as if the weight of US-57 had been chained to every fiber of his skin structure. He’d managed to arrange a call time without so much as hammering his phone through the floor, a small mercy—place was barely standing as-is. Hauling old bones from bed was just short of crawling from hell, the warmth of under-covers and threadbare sheets more alluring than Egyptian gods. 

Hair not dry from his first shower, smothered against a thick, hard pillow for the three hours of sleep he’d managed, he stalked his ass back into the shower. Tried to work the cold irritation at humanity swimming in his veins beneath more hot water, failed—wrangled into only-slightly wrinkled slacks and jacket, may as well have been like roping steers. Skipped shaving, fuck that, started the hunt for another of his damn socks. Fumbling about the room like a green linebacker, he didn’t even feel the bed stir. Tangle of sheets around feet, the low moan of a curious, half-asleep lover. 

“Logan?” Drowsy, she props her pretty self up on an elbow. He can see her squinting into the lowlight of the room, thick streams of light from the moon creep over the bed in an otherworldly, nightingale kind of way—half bathed in lunar milk, he couldn’t miss the slight pull of her satin nightdress for anything as she sits up, scrubbing a hand down her face. She asks him what’s up, “Haven’t decided to finally leave me, have you?” 

Insane, sick. Straight to hell if that’s the case—he couldn’t think of worse torture, and he’d outlived excrutiating. He knows it more intimately than he should, living it every day. Leaving his small Eden behind, in the biting Mexican dust that wilds it away in the glass of his rearview, it’s hell beyond the little limits of everything he, now, holds close. Never in a thousand lifetimes would Logan ever imagine being that guy—the guy who fortresses a home. The man who makes vows. Oaths before heaven, whispers sweet nothings and pretty everythings to a heart that beats like his. Never was one for wishing on stars or counting them, slow in a different kind of way—slow in sense of the half-dead, way that smells roses hardly fathomable. If anyone would’ve told him his heart would beat for someone else, for living—-in this shell of a body, this phantom of a man, he’d have laughed. Never believed, no sir. Not him, not the Wolverine. 

Her slow, half-drunk chuckle off the statement claws at his aching ribcage. Fingers brushing what feel like a wad of socks, Logan moves to stuff them into his pocket. Swipes shoes from where he’d dropped them not long ago, slips through the darkness carefully. Where she’s risen from bed comes up quickly, and he blocks the milk of light swathing over their bed from view—fingers her hair away from her face, wild from where it’s fallen from her usual satin cap. 

“You’re dreamin’,” he hums, can’t deny the hint of a mile as she manages a rough, morning-dry chuckle. It sits low. Rattles around the adamantium in his chest. “G’back to sleep, baby—it’s early.” And if that isn’t the God-awful truth, he isn’t sure what is. 5:34 glares back at him when he checks the screen of his phone, not missing the pretty smile laughing back at him from the lockscreen. His lips brush her forehead lightly, hand firm at the back of her neck as his thumb skips over the steady thrum of her pulse. 

Lithe, curious fingers reach for him in the night. As always, they find him—her nails scratch lightly through his unshaven face, skin that’s dewy. An idea of Irish Spring still floats in the air around his nose, but it’s overpowered by the scent of her—the flow of her blood, the oil of her skin. Frankincense she uses in her hair before bed claws at his chest, unmistakable hints of petroleum jelly on the plush of her lips lights cravings in the back of his throat. Even today, after years, her touch still trailblazes through him like wildfire—cuts trails through the jungle of his unknowns, his hesitations. Three days away had felt like fallout, she’d been asleep like any sane person at 3 in the witching hour when he’d dropped into bed.

Blood pistoning to his cock reminds him how long. He’s been a starving man, deprived of her honey—her fruits. 

“You’ll be back?” Her palm against his cheek is God’s gift to humanity, may as well have carved the peak of mountains. “You just got in, Lo,” even in the light of stars he can see the worry mottle pretty features, the depth of her eyes couldn’t be masked by any amount of midnight the universe knew. “You sure you’re okay to drive?” I can drive, if you need me to. She hadn’t driven in years, not since—

“M’fine,” he nods, “don’t you worry ‘bout nothin’ honey.” Slipping her hand into his, he lifts it to press an airy kiss the heel of her hand. It’s soft, for the most part—only partly chapped, mostly from the dry. Dry, and the in-and-out of the desert sun. Keen senses can still taste the brush of earth on her skin, dirt from good hours spent outside. Laughing, running. Playing pretend, exploring the mesa. Like a child, like innocence. 

“Be back tonight,” it comes off a thick cough, “don’t have to wait up.” 

Her snort is sharp. “ I’ll wait. Hate this BS,” the nod is resigned though, knowing. A deep sigh puffs out her cheeks, blows hot against his lips as she looks up at him. “Need you here, Logan,” I know, don’t I know—guiding her arms around his middle, her cheek falls against his chest. Her weight against him reminds him he’s alive, still breathing—reminds him that this, right here, is his. He can feel her hum low at the bottom of her ribs, and rests his chin in her hair, rocking her back and forth lightly. Relishing her heat, the slip of satin. The spring of curl cream in her hair, the zip of adrenaline and sex in his blood. “Want you here.” 

As 5,000 volts as the day he met her, all those years ago. Logan can still taste the rain in the air, the sting of sour sweat and testosterone in the bar. The bite of the steel cage. It’s still clear in the back of his head, glancing at her on a barstool in the corner—more of a drowned lizard than a girl, as the bartender had so aptly noticed. Tired, pretty in the eyes. Broke as hell and as lost as they came—he’d never forget the smile she gave him as he’d tucked her back into that ancient Jeep as long as he lived. 

And she’s still pretty in the eyes, even if they are a little deeper. Haven’t aged a day in all the years she’s been chasing shadows, stalking the sun by his side—racing to die, chancing to live. As Wolverine as they came, in a different kind of way. Unkillable, like him. God’s gift to him, certainly—an Eve for his unkillable Adam, to taste the sun. Lifetimes and mementos of the forgotten behind them, this is his castle. His home— life that, had finally, birthed. 

Wrapped up in pretty satin and swaddling clothes. “I should check on little man,” and there it is. The nail in his coffin. Mention of their son—his son, it’s like a slow poison. Logan never, in any of his days, would imagine that the idea of a child, his offspring would do such devastatingly good things to him—he can’t remember when it changed, how it happened. But it stabs at the mesh of his ribs unlike anything he’s ever felt all the same, toys with his pleasures like a cat with a mouse. Her head tipping back greenlights the pad of his thumb gently pulling at the plush of her bottom lip. Looking up at him with a teasing smile, through low lashes undoes him in a way that should be sin. 

And he kisses her the way she likes, slow. Hard. When her arms snake around his neck, pulling him close, he loses his composure. Deepens the kiss, moans against the heat of her tongue playing with his. “Careful,” he smiles through every languid stroke of her tongue, every little breathless gasp, “don’t start somethin’ we can’t finish, pretty.” 

“Who says we can’t?” 

“When I get back, baby.”

Her pleasured hmmm, heady whispers in dark shadows light him up like a firecracker, but he can’t. Can’t stay, can’t go—trapped in situation’s limbo. Hell of a thing, really. His finger traces the curve of her hip, up—falls in line against her bottom rib, tugging at the skin beneath satin. Erupting in a fit of ticklish giggles, her fingers tug at his hair, play with damp at the nape of his neck. “Logan—not fair!” her breathlessly sharp whine—it fucks his brains. 

“Plen’y fair,” another kiss, one more taste of her, and he steps back. Creates a chasm and his pulse jumps, almost flatlines. Fingertips linger against his as he moves for the door—her tongue chases over kiss-fat lips, and Logan swears to God he can see the fire dancing in the cradle of her womb as she follows after him. Once they hit the door, he kisses her again—it’s the only thing that will keep him alive. 

“I love you, kid,” kid. Hasn’t called her that in awhile. She still smiles at the name, like she always has. It’s true but isn’t—he’s 200 years older than her, another sin on his growing list of indiscretions with God. But she’s lived enough life at his side for it to count, seen enough blood. Heart racing behind his ribs, waiting—breathlessly. All too damn breathlessly for a man who couldn’t give up his breath if God asked. 

“Love you more,” a Betty Crocker kiss to his cheek and she slips away, into the darkness, opposite direction. Nursery, the quiet pull of the innocent. His feet point to the kitchen, to the reckless hour of the world’s morning. 

Twenty-seven steps. Out the door, sink into the limo. A text lights up the phone he’s tossed to the passenger seat as headlights cast lowbeams into witchy darkness. Foot on the brake, he fumbles the breastpocket for hardly-new readers, ignoring the tag still hanging out on the templepiece. Grabbing it, opens the photo attachment. Her, and his child—his son, his side of the bed. His never-in-a-million-years, impossible-to-the-stars family—

— his fortress, the castle to which he returns. Lucky son of a bitch. 

tags: @fandomxo00 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

[reds-skull]

The frames of the video from the comic in the previous post. I experimented a lot with this, it was really fun to work with this chunky brush I found. Also the first time I draw the Reaper of Destruction as it was before Lumity!

More comments under the cut+a frame I ended up scrapping!

I'll go by order of appearance, because it's basically a chronological retelling of the events of part 1.

So the first frame is the least fancy because it was the first and I didn't nail down a style for this yet lol. It shows Ghost and Soap's first true meeting, in chapter 1, where Ghost helps Soap when he gets impaled by a rebar.

The second frame jumps to chapter 8, when Ghost first put Soap in Limbo. The triangle around them was a later addition, taken from the next frame. I love this scene, it's so fun to see it drawn out now :)

The third frame was the most important one to nail the style. I painted a whole frame, only to come back to it the next day and restart from almost 0.

This is the original third frame

They both show the same event - chapter 21, the second time Soap is thrown into Limbo. The difference is, one shows a more literal image of what happened, and the other is more symbolic.

And by now I think you know how much I love symbolism lol

What also bothered me with the scraped painting is that the composition isn't central, and the entire pose, while more dynamic, isn't fitting the mural feel the rest has.

There's an even earlier version of the scrapped painting, with Soap's face, but nowhere else there are faces in these series, so I went wild with it and covered it with flames. He had them behind him already, as the description of this scene in the fic says Soap had a helo of fire behind him.

(also hated how Limbo's victims looked in the scrapped version like... ew lol)

There wasn't a real reason to add the circles around Soap. I just wanted to lean more heavily into the mural style. But I took that circle motif to the end, after that, and added it to Ghost as well, hence the triangle.

Soap has one skeletal hand, and one palm. That one is on purpose, to show he's hanging in between life and death.

The fourth frame is pretty self-explanatory, it shows the part in chapter 21 where Soap gets the dark marks on his forearm. If the colors look weird in that one, it's because I messed with them so much I couldn't tell if they look good anymore on not

The fifth frame shows another favorite moment of mine, the moment Ghost gets his marks, the white tear tracks, when he finally notices Soap fighting in the void.

The sixth frame is my favorite of the bunch. Soap and Ghost, the triangle and circle combined. The moment they killed Graves, Ghost in full control of his subjects, Soap with his sword of white fire and army of burning moths. They look so scary in this one I love them

The seventh frame shows Void and Destruction. Void was straight forward, I've drawn it a few times before, but I had to make a more detailed design for Destruction, and I only had the very first sketches I made for Revenant AU to go off of, as well as Lumity's design. Idk why I designed Lumity before Destruction, but that's how it is. I wanted Destruction melting, like it can't handle its own heat.

The eighth frame is of Void and Destruction combining. In the fic they had in-between states, it didn't look like this, but for the sake of the video I thought it'd be nicer to have a clear frame of them combining.

The ninth and last frame is of our beloved Lumity. Their design is a little more detailed than the drawing I made a while back. This frame is also the only one that interacts with the foreground, aka Makarov. I think he was jump-scared, don't know how much that comes across.

Damn I had a lot to write. Well, when given the opportunity to ramble...

[highprettybabyy]

Cookies on the kitchen counter

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: you bake cookies and wanda wants a taste

warnings: fluff, severe gay panic, swearing, suggestive themes?, unserious murder attempts

AN: I saw a comic and inspiration struck

word count: 1101

—//—

You looked so cute, Wanda could just eat you out up. Sitting on the kitchen counter in the compound, your phone in hand and your sweater and cheeks blemished with traces of flour from the cookies that were baking in the oven. So free and careless, softly tapping your feet against the cabinet below you, enjoying the lollipop that Natasha had given you that morning. It was the afternoon now, the golden hour almost on the horizon, the sunlight getting warmer and warmer in tone with every passing minute.

Finally noticing the presence of the witch who’d been eyeing you for the past 3 minutes, you looked at her with a wide smile, the kind that fully reached your eyes. “Hi Wanda!” She returned your smile “Hi dorogaya, whatcha making?” She asked as she moved to stand between your legs, blood immediately rushing to your face. She immediately saw your cheeks turn a bright pink. “I made my triple chocolate chip cookies, I think I perfected the recipe this time.” “Yeah? I’ll judge them for you, how about that?” She looked at you with bright eyes and a soft smile, slowly turning into a smirk as she grabbed the stick dangling from between your lips and slowly tugged it from your mouth, then placing it between hers. The delicious fruit mixing in with a distinct flavour that's just you “Hmmm strawberry, delicious.”

Your jaw hit the floor - she’s trying to fucking kill you. After seeing your reaction her smirk grew wider and she started laughing. “Wandaaahhh” You whined “You can’t just do that.” Your hands came up to cover your face from her, you were sure you resembled a very ripe tomato at this point. “Why not detka? I share my treats with you, do I not? Plus, you look absolutely adorable.” Wanda grabbed your hands and softly put them to the side as she grabbed your cheeks to lightly pull at them. The oven timer distracted you as the witch grabbed your chin, pulling down your bottom jaw. With her other hand she grabbed the lollipop from her mouth, sticking her tongue out slightly to give the candy a final lick before placing it in the gap she created. She finalised her obvious murder attempt by placing a kiss on your cheek. She was proud of the burgundy lipstick stain that was prominently left on your cheek

She turned around and used her magic to turn the oven off and placed the tray of cookies on a cooling rack. “Hmmm they smell phenomenal malysh, I want to try one already but I think they're way too hot now, aren't they?” Not hearing a reaction she turned around to look at you. You seemed pretty out of it, a faraway look in your y/e/c eyes, but lips tightly wrapped around the stick. “Hello? Earth to Y/N/N?” The smirk wasn’t able to be wiped off of Wanda’s face at this point.

“You can’t just do stuff like that, you know how I react.” You pouted and then covered your face once again. “Oh but baby, I like flustering you, you look sooo cute.” “Wandaaah” “Alright, alright, I’ll tone it down.” By now your treat was finished and you wanted to throw the paper stick away in the hidden trashcan on the other side of the kitchen. Wanda seemed to know and took the stick from your hand “I’ll throw it away princess, you just stay there and look pretty for me.”

“Wands you’re actually trying to kill me.” She came back to resume her first position, eyes looking up at you with adoration and mischief. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Normally, she was taller than you with about 3 inches, but now you had the height advantage. She looked gorgeous, soft rays of golden sun highlighting brown specks in her irises and soft freckles adorning her nose and cheekbones. You moved your hand up to tuck away a stray strand of brown hair, now tuned a golden light brown because of the sun, behind her ear. Your fingers seemed to follow your eyes, softly grazing the freckles, then taking your sweet time tracing the bridge of her nose with you fingertip.

Wanda bathed in your sweetness, her eyes closing while she hummed in content with your administrations. When your touch became so light it tickled, her nose scrunched upward and it was the cutest thing you'd ever seen. Not able to ignore the mouth watering scent any longer, the witch floated over a cookie and split it in half, measuring the biggest piece to give to you, before biting into the soft chewy treat. The moan she let out was almost pornographic and your jaw fell open again. “Oh baby this tastes so good, here try some.” She grabbed the piece out of your hand and placed it to the side, before grabbing your cheeks and kissing you. She slid her tongue into your mouth, swirling around to make sure you tasted everything. Swallowing each other’s moans for a few minutes before having to pull away for air.

Seeing your dazed state, she smirked again before taking another bite of the cookie. It was as if all the neurons in your brain finally decided to fire, when you simply took the remainder of her cookie from her hand and tossed it to the side where your half presumably was. Your eyes were half lidded as you licked your lips and tugged Wanda forward by the neck, immediately taking advantage of the gasp she let out to lick around her mouth with your tongue, tasting the sweet sweet taste of Wanda Maximoff and chocolate. You were pulling at each other's clothes by now before you were rudely interrupted by a certain redhead in the adjacent room

"Hey, can you two go fuck somewhere else instead of on the cookies, they smell delicious and I want to try one" You involuntarily flinched away from the woman in front of you, hiding your face in your hands again. Wanda just let out a laugh in response "They are very delicious Nat! But something sweeter just caught my eye." She pulled your hands away and winked at you, officially another murder attempt. "Yeah yeah, just put one aside for me alright?" You heard chuckled from the other room. "Will do!" Wanda yelled before resting her forehead against yours, running her hands up your arms then down to your waist before her lips turned upward in a huge smirk.

"You heard her, let's put aside a few and go to our room to continue this, yeah?"

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Past and Present

A very big thank you to @poetnix29 for providing me with a source of inspiration in the form of one of their poems (linked below). Do go check it out, especially if you're a transformers/megop fan all the poems are rly good I promise you.

I did make Megs a little crazy in this fic but I'm pretty sure eons of war will drive anyone a little crazy yea?

Megatron can't help it, his spark thrums every time the familiar flash of red and blue appears in his vision. Even though he's covered in Energon, both his and his enemies', the Prime is still a sight to behold. The Autobot leader's Energon axe swings gracefully through the air, slicing a blaster in half before tearing through metal and wires alike before coming down to deflect a blade aimed at his legs.

Beautiful, is all the Decepticon leader can think, even as Autobots hound him from all sides. They are nothing but pests, blocking his view of the only one who truly matters. He hungers to know the emotions the stoic Prime hides behind his battle mask, to taste the anger he knows for certain is lurking behind the calm facade. He loves pushing Optimus to his limits, testing the boundaries for that sweet satisfaction of knowing he is the only one who can bring the Prime to life.

"Megatron!" Ah, there it is, the oh so familiar battle cry. The Prime has finally made his way over, blue optics blazing with a fury reserved only for him and Megatron feels special. The Decepticon warlord smirks, swatting away the annoying Autobot who tries to attack him and focuses on the mech in front of him.

"Optimus," he very nearly purrs. Megatron shoves away the thought of how similar Orion and Optimus' optics look when angry and deletes it, Megatronus and Orion are dead now, replaced by leaders of opposing factions who are determined to kill one another to win this wretched war. Still, Megatron can't stop thinking of how the light reflects off the red and blue armour at just the perfect angle, giving the Prime a sense of divinity.

Said divine figure had a deep gash in his shoulder he could have well avoided had he not pushed one of his precious Autobots out of the way of the explosion, and he now places himself between Megatron and the annoying Autobot, urging the pest to run.

That damned selfless nature of his, Megatron muses, once he had thought it endearing, but now he found it irritating. He unsheathes his blade, licking his fangs in anticipation for the fight to come. The only opponent to ever get him this fired up is Optimus, and he's almost afraid to find out what happens when he kills the Prime, but it's not as though he's not going to try anyways. He knows they're both difficult to kill, they've survived time and time again where most could not, and that eases his spark just enough for him to bring his flail down with all the might he can muster.

He relishes in the way it punches through armour, smashing apart metal and ripping through wires, eliciting a grunt of pain and for a moment, he sees the bright blue optics wince in pain, but the mask quickly slips back on and Megatron has to dodge a swipe from the Energon axe. He laughs, closing the gap so that his fists can continue the work his flail has started and feels the rush of air as a fist nearly clocks him in the cheek. He retaliates with a punch of his own which also misses, and he can feel the thrill of battle coursing through his veins.

This is how it's meant to be, a deadly dance of death, a clash of weapons, an exchange of fists, nothing else can satiate him, and judging from his opponent's gaze, the same goes for the Prime. He sidesteps yet another blow, laughing at the growl of irritation from the usually calm Prime and rams into him, tackling the red and blue figure to the ground.

Optimus throws him off with a grunt, but Megatron lands on his feet, fusion cannon already charging up. Optimus quickly fires a shot of his own from his blaster, catching the Decepticon warlord in the shoulder. The Prime doesn't give him a moment to rest and charges forward, slashing open a cut on his cheek. Megatron simply grins, the sting of the wound only serving as fuel to strengthen his attacks and licks the Energon that drips into his mouth, sending Optimus reeling with a punch to the stomach area.

How does Optimus taste, he wonders, watching as more Energon oozes from the Prime's injuries. He's never been one to obsess over anything, but his arch nemesis is slowly starting to change that. He hates how all he can think about now is Optimus, from the way his hands curl into fists to the way he shifts into a defensive stance. He can see the scratches on the red and blue armour amidst the wounds that litter the Prime's frame, the little twitches of his audial finials as he tries to formulate a strategy to take his enemy down.

He grins, but it's quickly wiped away when Optimus staggers slightly. His spark aches and his lips curl into a frown, but the worry is quickly replaced by white hot hate when the Autobot symbol on Optimus' shoulder flashes into view.

Orion is no more, he reminds himself, all that remains is the traitor Optimus Prime. Still, a part of him wants to linger on the past and leave this war behind, but he knows that future has long been buried in the ashes of war. He moves to close the gap so that he can rip the damn symbol into pieces but then a blade swipes at him and he leaps backwards, avoiding the blow.

Typical Optimus, still able to fight back despite the numerous injuries that would have rendered a normal bot unable to move.

His lips curl when he sees the fire in the light blue optics that once looked upon him with nothing but pure adoration and he swings his own blade, wanting nothing more than to split the orbs apart but another figure jumps into the fray, blocking the blow. Other Autobots scramble to get their precious leader to safety and Megatron watches them go, knowing this will not be the last time he and Optimus cross blades.

This war will go on until one of them inevitably falls, even if it means they are the last ones remaining on the battlefield. Destiny has carved this path out for them, star-crossed lovers to enemies, kindred souls ripped apart by the hand of fate, and Megatron regrets nothing. He would do this all over again, given the chance, to see the look of seething fury upon the usually impassive face of Optimus Prime, to devour the look of devastation upon the Prime's face as he rips apart the innocent, to know that he would be the only one Optimus would ever think about.

He laughs, tearing open the healing injury on his cheek as it dawns on him. They are bound indeed, by the red string of fate, whether as lovers or enemies, and neither can run from the other. He will forever chase Optimus, and Optimus will forever chase him. They will obsess over each other for all eternity, never able to wipe the other's past self from their memory, but never able to stop trying to kill one another because they both know the war will not end otherwise.

Megatron laughs and laughs at this new revelation, but Megatronus weeps for the past that can never be reclaimed.

[ioser-boy]

hahahsgahahahahahah i love paintbrush. ragh

do you have their moveset? it doesn’t have to be super specific like damage and all that just like what the move does.

whatre some dialogue options for them?? (like kills, assists, interacting with others, etc.)

also do elaborate on that au you mentioned!! i love phighting AUs :3

trying to get more art out i’ve just been super busy- trust tho i’m working on a ton of stuff for y’all :]

but heres their moveset + some dialouge under cut!! accompanied by messy lil doodles and occasionally my funky handwriting :]

okay so fair warning i have no idea how to make balanced movesets so they may be really overpowered or underpowered i have no idea

also some lore i havent explained yet is scattered in their dialogue just for funsies so if you have theory’s pls share i’d love to see them :]

Paintbrush is a tank!!

They’re a mid range melee fighter thats heavy n slow but does high damage

ok heres the actual moveset

Passive- PAINT SPILL

The more you attack, the more paint you lose. Losing paint increases your attack speed but decreases damage dealt. Regain paint slowly overtime or by 50% upon elimination.

Using your primary attack covers enemies in paint each time they are hit. At five stacks apply slow and vulnerability to an enemy.

Primary- (name pending)

Swing your paintbrush forward in a wide radius.

Secondary- DRYBRUSHING/(name pending)

If at less than 30% paint, quickly slash forward four times, favoring speed rather than damage. Doing this doesn’t add marks to an enemy.

With paint, slash twice, dealing knock back and applying slow to enemies hit.

Q- DIP!

At the cost of paint hold ‘Q’ to drag your paintbrush across the floor, giving you a small speed boost. Releasing ‘Q’ or running out of paint: jump and do a flip into the air before slamming your brush down, causing AoE damage.

If you run out of paint before attack finishes, deal significantly less damage.

E- (name pending)

Use your palette as a temporary shield for up to 15 seconds or until it is destroyed. Press E again while your shield is still up to toss your palette in front of you and knock back any enemies.

( Once you toss your shield it doesn’t come back to you until the ability cool down finishes. It’s not a boomerang )

PHINISHER- WATERCOLORS

yeah i’m still thinking of ideas for this one :cri:

My reasoning behind the moves I chose

you can skip to dialogue if you don’t feel like reading a ton of text cause there’s a lot lol.

My thought process behind the passive effect with the stacking and everything is like- they’re ‘covering’ their enemies in paint, so when covered in enough paint (the 5 stacks) it makes the enemy slower and leaves them more vulnerable if that makes sense. I also wanted paintbrush to have some sort of big limitation which is where the limited paint mechanic comes from cause I had a feeling i would probably accidentally make them too op lol.

Primary is pretty self explanatory. Though, the secondary im really proud of simply because I like the name ‘drybrushing’ lol.

The Q ability was actually suggested by a friend. Originally Q was just a dash ability to give paintbrush a chance to get away from faster characters since they’re naturally slower but i liked the lil flip idea just cause that seems fun :]

Also I called it ‘dip’ because the slam into the ground made me think of dipping a paint brush in paint? if that makes sense? (though.. that is a very aggressive way to get paint if ur doing it how Brush does in the attack lmao)

Ok my favorite, the E ability!! So if you haven’t seen my other post abt them (go look at it!! their ref sheet, lore and character relationships r there /nf)

But yeah if you haven’t seen it, Paintbrush is based off of the ‘powerful paintbrush’ item, which also comes with a palette that acts like a shield. I didn’t want to give them both a shield and their brush, so I decided to turn it into a ability.

I will say this ability is definitely the most thought out one. The idea is that since Paintbrush is slower they’re more susceptible to being rushed by faster characters like say- Skateboard or Biograft for example. So this shield is there to block those attacks, but also can be used to knock enemies back to give Brush a chance to escape. You can’t attack with the shield up so it’s use is purely to just deflect damage until you toss it or until it breaks/runs out.

DIALOUGE

ok, these were actually very fun to write so here you go.

BASIC DIALOGUE-

Biograft: IS THAT YOUR WEAPON?

Paintbrush: Uh.. yeah!

Biograft: IT IS LARGE AND INCONVENIENT.

Paintbrush: …Thanks?

Coil: Brush!? When did you get here?

Paintbrush: Pff- I’ve been here, Coil.

Paintbrush: An exploding sword? That’s pretty creative.

Sword: Thanks!

Sword: Wait, who are you?

Katana: Your paintbrush, is it not heavy?

Paintbrush: It is, but I’ve gotten used to it!

Hyperlaser: You’re quite skilled. Both as an artist and a phighter.

Paintbrush: Thanks! You’re not so bad yourself.

Paintbrush: As a uh, as a phighter- I mean.

Rocket: Brush! It’s good to see you again.

Paintbrush: Likewise, Rocket!

Rocket: Brush? When did you dye your horns?

Paintbrush: Not too long ago, did em’ myself!

Rocket: Huh, they look good!

Paintbrush: Thanks!

Paintbrush: You saw..?

Rocket: Yeah- I saw it.

Paintbrush: Yeesh, never going to get that image out of my head.

Rocket: Yeah… Does this make us siblings?

Paintbrush: Wha- Slow down!

Slingshot: Haha! You must be new here!

Paintbrush: Hey! Wait!

Slingshot: Sorry, try and keep up!

Shuriken: Speed it up, new kid!

Paintbrush: Huh? Hey! I’m no kid!

Paintbrush: Hey.. aren’t you-

Scythe: You keep yer mouth shut.

Paintbrush: !!

Scythe: Those horns of yers are pretty.

Paintbrush: Oh, thank you!

Scythe: How’d you feel if I cut em off? You could match yer dad!

Paintbrush: What-?!

Boombox: You listen to any music, Brush?

Paintbrush: Definitely! It helps with the creative process.

Boombox: Do you have a favorite genre, Brush?

Paintbrush: Not really, I’ll listen to anything as long as it’s upbeat!

Paintbrush: Hey! I like your music!

Boombox: Really? Thanks!

Paintbrush: I could do with a shield!

Boombox: On it!

Paintbrush: Thank you!

Boombox: Hey! I like your style!

Paintbrush: …

Paintbrush: Wait, was he talking to me?

Paintbrush: Hey! Wait up!

Vinestaff: Please use caution, phights can be difficult to adjust to.

Paintbrush: I think I know what I’m doing, but okay!

Vinestaff: Please use caution, phights can be difficult to adjust to.

Paintbrush: I appreciate your concern, but i’ve got this!

Vinestaff: You’re friends with Sling, right?

Paintbrush: Huh? Does he consider us friends?

Paintbrush: Then I guess so!

Paintbrush: Seriously? Why do they keep pairing me up with you..?

Skateboard: Hey! You got a problem?

Paintbrush: Ack- you weren’t supposed to hear that..!

Skateboard: I swear, If I have to hear one more song from Boombox about you-

Paintbrush: He.. makes music about me?

Skateboard: Hey! You didn’t hear it from me!

Paintbrush: …Okay?

Paintbrush: Oh, it’s you.

Subspace: What?? What’s that supposed to mean!?

Paintbrush: I don’t want your help.

Medkit: You don’t have much of a choice.

Medkit: Have we met before?

Paintbrush: No.

Medkit: …Alright.

KILL ASSISTS-

Skateboard: Too slow!

Paintbrush: Wha- That was totally my kill!

ok!! that’s it for my ramblings!!

Thank you for listening to me yap abt paintbrush again- they’re actually one of my favorite oc’s and i’ve put so much work into them.

(also i was going to talk abt the AU as well but tumblr is actively lagging because this post is so long so maybe another time lol)

have a good day!

[fishii-writes]

alibi - reo mikage

paring: reo x gn!reader

cw: not proofread, intended lowercase, probably ooc reo (SORRY.), murder, mentions of blood (nothing graphic!), reo is a tiny bit possessive, a bit of swearing ("bastard", "assed"), lwk shitty ending. lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: i wrote this in like maybe 30 minutes... writers block kicked my ass but hey i wrote for once 🤯🤯 hope you enjoy, requests are open and i'm open to interactions as usual! forgive me this is shitty.

word count: 1111

based off the song alibi

it’s a common saying, red is the colour of love. who should deny it, love hearts, roses and everything nice are red! including the liquid staining your hands, clothes and skin. only a few specks of it flicked onto your white shirt, but your hands and face say otherwise.

another day, another night of killing under cover. you feel your shoulders loosen tiredly, watching the last desperate breaths escape the crimson liquid source. one last breath, their fingers that were curling in the air in futile attempt to cling onto, maybe life you think, fall to the floor. you flop down a safe distance away from the body, sighing out.

you hear clapping behind you, a short round of applause that anyone could guess are sarcastic. but not anyone could guess who the audience is. no one would even guess.

“my, my, [name]. you’ve outdone yourself once more~” a flirty voice, one you didn’t expect to hear, calls out. you don’t need to turn around to know what sick bastard was flirting with you, even after he watched you murder a person. a living being. well, now not living.

“mikage.” a name, or rather, last name, you hate having to leave your lips. you don’t turn around still, but you know he’s doing that — oh so cute — thing where he tilts his head slightly and pouts those pretty pink lips.

“how many times have i said, just call me reo? what, you’re tryna practice my last name before you take it?” he teases, walking closer. you can hear it, he wasn’t discreet about it either. he stops right behind you, looking down and smiling. a drop dead gorgeous smile, one that was sure to charm anyone who sees it.

you throw your head back, propped up on your arms as you lean back a bit, looking up at the — undeniably gorgeous — purple haired man.

“hmmm~?” he hums, teasing smirk on his lips. you roll your eyes.

“no. i’ve said it before, i’ll say it again. i don’t want to associate with you.” your eyebrows furrow at his sickeningly sweet smile. his smile doesn’t falter as he talks, its almost scary.

“might you remind me why?” his lips morph into a borderline fear-inducing grin, or maybe its his eyes. they do say, “its in the eyes.” yeah. maybe it is the eyes.

those ethereal lavender eyes, ones that glare holes into the backs of people who talk to you, people who touch you, your victims that speak back — basically everyone who isn’t him.

“because we are nothing. you give me orders to kill, i do. you’re not even a-” you get cut off by his smile suddenly fading, and his eyebrows furrowing so harshly they change the shape of his eyes.

“[name]. get up.” his tone changes, from flirty and sweet to as ordering as he is when giving you missions.

you look at him, a confused and weirded out look. he repeats his order, his voice laced with urgency and concern. you refuse again, so he — as gently as he can, but unfortunately, the haste made it rough — grabs your arm, dragging you to stand up and points to a large pillar.

“hide behind it, when they come in, run.” he whisper-shouts, gently rubbing the spot he grabbed your arm.

“mikage- what’s going on?!” without realising it, you also whisper-shout. he shakes his head, as if to say he won’t tell you.

“mikage!” you raise your voice, causing him to give you a dirty glare. a look he’s never looked at you with, let alone a glare.

scoffing in defeat, you drag yourself with a half-assed sense of urgency, to hide behind the pillar reo instructed. you peak over the edge, confused. it doesn’t make sense, not at all. but on the other hand, he’s a man of his word. he wouldn’t lie, roughly handle you and glare at you for no reason.

just as you’re about to question, he cuts you off.

“say, [name]. what were you going to say? what am i “not even”?” he asks, in a semi-bitter tone. but his eyes give him away. they look at you with a hint of guilt, of sadness and somehow love.

ew! reo mikage, the reo mikage! in love? with you? how scandalous!

if him being the head of an agency that hires people such as yourself to kill, yeah, that’s right. if that isn’t scandalous enough already.

“i was… i was gonna say, you’re not even an accomplice…” you mutter, and he somehow hears you from the distance he stands. he smiles, almost a little sadly. before shrugging.

“i don’t know, maybe i like another word better.” you watch as his smile almost screams cockiness.

but that’s when you notice. whenever he usually comes in after you finish, he stands beside you. never in direct view of the door, or any windows. so are you looking too far into this when you realise he’s walking backwards, slowly but surely, towards the door?

“mikage…” you mumble under your breath, hands sweaty from clinging onto the corner of the pillar.

“[name].” his eyes are serene, loving, even.

“mikage!” you yell out. he shrugs, eyes almost animated as his lashes touch his upper eyelids. oh.

“mikage don’t you dare do it-” you yell out again, pushing yourself off the pillar and running towards him. he simply winks, blowing you a kiss.

“have fun, and remember two things. one, call me reo.�� he giggles, it’s terrifying.

“what do you mean?! are you serious?!” you freeze in place, as he shoos you away in a playful manner. but his now open eyes betray his feigned innocence.

“and two. i’m your alibi~” he blows you another kiss, before you hear loud sirens. red and blue lights seep through the small crack in the entrance doors, one of two exits in this abandoned warehouse.

“go, now. don’t want my love to go to waste. well, i guess we could both rot in jail together. ah! how romantic~” he does that — stupidly charming, even in this situation — thing again, he tilts his head and pokes the tip of his index finger into his plush cheek.

“reo!!” you yell out, watching him point to the exit once more. he mouths the words “go now”, and you do as he says. just in time, as well. the sirens blare even louder when you’re outside, they’ll turn off when he’s inside.

taglist: @your-local-reblogging-kazoo , @nareldata , @seungsuki +

open (send an ask if you'd like to be added! :D)

likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated!! <3

© fishii-writes 2024

[shieldofiron]

The Beast of Dunnottar

Also on AO3 | Harringrove | Medieval Omegaverse, Arranged Marriage | 792 words

Why? Why not?

At least the Scots was fair. He had blue eyes and tanned skin, a fine looking tunic dyed a deep red bringing out the gold in his curls.

He'd heard his father talk about how Hargrove was some kind of beast, rumored to have killed his father. Steve was expecting a large and fearsome alpha, covered in blood or something. Hargrove looked to be around Steve's age and size, though Steven was quite large for an omega, even a male.

Steven had stammered through the introductions, tripping over his traditional Omega's skirts. He was more used to wearing braes at home, when his father was often away and the servants let him have the run of the house. But it would be improper to appear in anything other than skirts for his new Lord. Or Laird. Actually, Steven wasn't entirely positive on Hargrove's title.

Hargrove just watched him, those cold blue eyes taking Steven in like he knew what he looked Steven looked like naked. He let his sister speak for him, negotiating with Steven's father and Hopper, the Steward. If Hargrove had any specifics he wanted in the marriage, he must have worked it out with his sister ahead of time.

Steven's father tried to phrase it delicately, bringing up the broken marriage with the Wheelers, and trying to assure Hargrove in the most animated language that Steven was a pure omega, and he needed to have no worries.

But Hargrove's sister just laughed, looking at her brother as if sharing a joke.

"I'll have the Pretty Boy," He growled, speaking for the first time. "Din'ae care if he's pure."

It was all done too soon for Steven to understand. It felt like he blinked and he was in front of the bishop, Hargrove's warm hand taking his and grounding him. It felt like he was floating above the world, unable to come back down.

At the wedding feast he must have talked. He was known to be gay and merry at feasts.

But his bridal joy was tempered with the knowledge that they would leave immediately for the boarder. Steven wasn't sure he was ready to leave Hawkins castle. It was said Hargrove's home was on the sea. Steve had never seen the sea. Perhaps his new husband intended to throw him in it.

At least there was Lady Max, who was currently charming all of Steven's omegas in waiting, especially Sir Lucas de Sinclair. She seemed kind enough. Lady Heather, Hargrove's steward, also seemed kind enough, though not much one for talking.

As the feast wound down in the early morning, Hopper's wife Joyce and daughter Eleanor Jane were pinching Steve's cheeks, making him promise to write, which just made him cry more, as he was awful at writing and he had no idea if Hargrove would let him send them. All Steve's boys were crying, and he had to tear himself away. At least there would be his maid and her son, Sir Henderson with him, so he would not be quite so alone but they would be traveling separately in a few days time, delayed by sickness.

He was surprised to see the Hargrove Clan had brought a carriage for his conveyance, though it was not in the best condition, and mainly stuffed with all of Steven's chests. He was surprised even more when Hargrove followed him in.

In the drafty space, Hargrove's wool dampened alpha scent seemed to fill the space, smelling of the early morning dew and fresh herbs.

"I'll ride along side." Hargrove said haltingly.

"Yes." Steven said, more confused than anything.

"I ought... I... I saw you."

"What?" Steven frowned.

"At the King's Hall. Seasons past. For your presentation. I saw you."

Steven didn't even know what to say to that.

"Prettiest Omega. Struck me silent at the feast, laughing wi' your alpha." Hargrove bowed his head.

Steven's throat felt tight.

"I'm glad tae meet you again," Hargrove reached for Steven's cold hand, kissing the knuckle just above the gold ring set with garnets that he had given as a wedding gift. "Lor' Steven."

Steve let out a breath. "Laird. H-Hargrove."

"William," He smiled, dropping Steven's hand, and Steven wondered if he was called the beast for quite a different reason. His alpha fangs flashed bright white in the dim light from the braziers outside. "Please."

"William."

"Best to get comfortable," Hargrove removed the checked fabric that hung about his neck, handing it over to Steven. "It's a long journey."

Steven wrapped the cloth, still alpha-warm, around himself and tried to settle on the stiffly padded bench. He was still scared but with the warmth laying over his lap and the scent of fresh heather in his nose, he was feeling less alone.

[amalythea]

moonstruck ; birthday event !

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

As a way to celebrate me being old and a way for me to get back into writing I decided to host an event! I wrote these prompts like a year ago back on @soleillunne with the help of @starrveill (i love you)

This is a request based event, if you have an idea in mind send me an ask with a prompt, a genre (optional) and a character of your choice.

You can send in as many asks as you want, but only one prompt and character per ask is allowed. So you can ask the same prompt for different characters with multiple asks.

I will delete any request that's against my rules and just make me uncomfortable in general. If you have any questions about the characters I write for please don't hesitate to ask.

I will tag this post and each post related to this one with "moonstruck!", and the event will get its own masterlist. I don't know when I will close the event, but I will announce when I do.

Below are the prompts, go crazy (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

1. “don't smile at me like that!”

2. “may i have this dance?” “well, if you insist.”

3. “stop moving, i'm almost done!”

4. “well, if i tell you it wouldn't be a secret.”

5. “the moon is beautiful, isn't it?”

6. “i wouldn't wanna fight you. you're pretty feisty.”

7. “your eyes are always on them.” “…are they? I haven’t noticed.”

8. “do you think the moon is jealous of how pretty you are?”

9. “are you sure you're okay? your face seems a little red.”

10. “...on the bright side, we'll know how not to cook next time.”

11. “you're my favorite person.”

12. “close the curtains! my eyes are burning!” “don’t you think you’ve slept in long enough, you little vampire?”

13. “here.” ”what are you doing?” “giving you my jacket. cover yourself up, people are staring.” (bonus: “…are you sure you’re not the one staring?”)

14. “how… do you understand my feelings so well?” “…because i’d been in your place once”

15. “i love you. now say it back.” “please— stop talking, save it till we get you help—” “say it back—” “i love you. i love you, i love you, i love you so fucking much, please don’t leave me—”

16. “dont miss me too much, okay?”

17. “tell me what i can do for you.” “stay.”

18. “wait! don't go... not yet.”

19. “i swear to you, that as long as I’m alive I won’t let a single soul ever harm you.”

20. “how do you make the pain go away?”

21. “you feel like home to me.”

22. “it's okay to cry, you know.”

23. “you're acting like my mom.” “shut up and let me take care of you.”

24. “i'm never leaving you. you're stuck with me.”

25. “in your darkest moments, I'll be your guiding light.”

30. “you're exhausted, honey.”

31. “can i have another blanket?” “do you really think that’s a good idea, love?”

32. “come over here; let me patch you up.”

33. “how do you do it?” “do what?” “make me feel alive.”

34. “i have no idea how i got through my days before i met you.”

35. “what do you feel when you're with me?” “when i'm with you... i feel at peace.”

36. “you lied to me. was i just a pawn in your game? the easiest one you can discard?”

37. “you make me feel so alone.”

38. “i don't know what to do without you.”

39. “make sure it kills me.”

40. “i love you, until the end of the world.”

41. “you had your chance.”

42. “wait for me, will you?”

43. “i don't want to go.”

44. “i'm sorry, have we met before?”

45. “it's okay, you can let go.”

46. “i can't help but wonder if you ever truly loved me.”

47. “given your history, i should have known better.”

48. “you made a promise.”

49. “in the end, I was just a stepping stone in your path to success, wasn't I?”

50. “i can't trust you anymore, not after what you did.”

51. “…please don’t come any closer.” “why not?” “i don’t want to hurt you.” “who said you would?”

52. “people always leave, so why should it be any different now?” “what if i told you that i never planned on leaving? not now, not ever?”

53. “the only thing that makes every ounce of pain worth enduring is you.”

54. “i love you too much to stay away, and I wouldn't wish for anything less than to spend an eternity by your side.”

55. “the day i lose you is the day that i lose everything.”

56. “please don't go... i love you.” “...i wish i could believe that.”

57. “i'm sorry. you deserve so much more than this, and i can't even give you that, no matter how much i want to.”

58. “do you know the difference between history and you?” “what?” “history is the past, but you’re my future.” “…oh my god.”

59. “now remember, you don’t need to apologize for things you aren’t responsible for, okay?” “okay! i’m sorry!” “…i literally just said not to apologize.” “sorry..” “damn it. we’re gonna have to work on that a bit more.”

60. “i’m sure the feeling won’t last, but let me hold onto you a little bit longer before i go.”

Bonus: send me a prompt/lyrics of your choice!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

moonstruck — unable to think or act normally, especially as a result of being in love.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

@amalythea 2024. | do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media.

[redfire-dragon]

I am so sorry, but this inspired me like lightning when I saw it last night. --------------------------------------

It hardly seemed a living thing. It hardly seemed real for that matter, or maybe it wasn't that it wasn't real, but that everything else was less real. There was a weight about it, a finality, like you could throw the whole world at it and the world would be the one to crumble to dust. As he had progressed as a warlock Jazz had found that the laws of physics he had once thought of as absolutes, were easily bent and manipulated if you knew how, this thing though? It felt like maybe it was the 'Laws of Physics' for the magical world, a law and order that even magic had to bow to. It was frankly terrifying. But that was part of what had gotten Jazz into this whole 'magic' thing from the beginning. The terror, and the exhilaration that followed it as he remade the world around him. This thing though, he was not ready to even try to fully comprehend it. And yet it remained there, almost silent, and utterly still; beautiful but in an unnerving way, too perfect, too symmetrical, with the primal look of something that had no need for weapons, that nothing could be made strong enough to withstand its raw physical strength. And yet it knelt there, head bowed, bound to what looked rather like a simple grave marker, a large cavity in its chest big enough Jazz could place his entire head in without scraping his horns, that made it clear its heart, and perhaps some other things, had been utterly removed. If Magnus was the one who had done it Jazz had seriously underestimated the ancient warlock.

Jazz had met demons before, it was part of the trade. They teased, they taunted, they did flirting behaviors to draw you in. This thing, was something else, or maybe just a different class of demon. Was 'Demon' just a catch all name for everything sufficiently powerful and strange? It did not invite you in, it did not alter itself to ease communication or connection. It just was. Loud as thunder and unapologetic, like the look Magnus had given him of the plane of eternal storm, a force beyond comprehension observed from safely out of reach. No wonder Magnus had said it must not fall into the wrong hands, it could destroy everything. Wait no, he had said more. "He must not fall into the wrong hands." It was a he.

It was a bit different looking at it like a 'he'. It was white with large grey scale like patches along the outward sides of his limbs, and horn-like growths springing around major joints. The extremities darkened to a similar darker grey tinged with red, a pair of simple but unfamiliar spell circles binding the clawed hands to the grave marker. Long neat white hair covered his head, held back by a prominent crimson chevron-like crown adorning the front of its head. Jazz couldn't make out much detail of its face from where he stood but his overwhelming curiosity held no power here, and he stuck to the entryway like his life depended on it. Closer inspection would come later, after he had some time to prepare.

Demons did not need their hearts. It was an organ of power and motivation, but the beings were usually too powerful to perish at simple removal of their heart. Sometimes such things were used to enslave them, as the destruction of said heart could often kill them permanently. Removing it could also… leave them like this. Empty, hollow, without motive power. a puppet with cut strings. The being alive on the inside, but unable to act on their own will. Jazz was pretty sure it required immense magics to do so, everything involving bending demons to a warlock's will did. Empty, waiting. You would think it was dead except Jazz could faintly hear it breathing. In and out, as regular as a metronome, yet without the slightest hint of motion.

Written before it, in an ancient demonic script, were the words "Give me fuel, give me fire, give me that which I desire." Was that it then? Waiting for the right 'fuel' to turn it back on? Like a machine? Had some ancient god or warlock hollowed out this… this force of nature, turning it into nothing but a plaything for whomever held the key? To pour your own will into, to move the powerful limbs, the most deadly marionette ever to exist? Yet it, no he, was still alive. A funny thought twisted Jazz's mouth. He was like some fallen god almost, trapped in an eternal punishment, to be enslaved to whatever mortal could figure out the riddle until they died and he fell dormant once more. Another thought, like it, chilled him to the bone. That grave marker, what if it were his own? To mark the living death of this terrible immortal being.

Jazz shuddered and backed up, closing the door. He wanted to pretend that it was just because it was cold down here in this cave turned cellar, but he knew to his very core the cold he was feeling had nothing to do with temperature. He hurried upstairs, locking and rehiding everything as he went. The tome, that would help, Magnus had told him it held all he needed to 'wake him'. Maybe bundled up by a roaring fire and drinking hot chocolate by the gallon he could read until things started making sense again, and could feel safe again.

-----------------------------

I also posted it on AO3 one shot for now, may continue this glorious thing you inspired *bow*

So I wanted to do so much more with this concept (and I might eventually) but I just had/have a lot going on 😭 being an adult with responsibilities sucks.

I realize I have no idea how to put a mini comic together but I'll figure out some day! I also learned drawing clutter is, really time consuming! I had this whole sequence of images in my head and underestimated how much time it would take to put together lol but maybe some day when I'm not working with a time limit lol

I don't know if this displays a clear sequence so:

Jazz's teacher (which if id had time to write the fic you'd learn was Magnus) instructs Jazz to locate and awaken "him" (bros dying so he doesn't have a lot of time to be more specific)

Jazz finds his masters secret lighthouse, warlock bunker thing? and follows a tunnel underground and finds a demon. On the ground in front of Prowl in abyssal/demonic script it says "Give me fuel give me fire give me that which I desire" Jazz must read a tome to figure out what that means!

[the-dynamic-duo]

Nightwing #117 - Swimsuit Variant Cover by Belén Ortega

[curiositykilledtheradiostar]

HEY MECHS FANS!

do you like

STEAMPUNK

TRAGIC ROMANCE

STORY HEAVY MUSIC

and

HAUNTING THE NARRATIVE?

Already gone through the entire discography five times? Looking for something new? Well, boy do I have something for you!

THE DOLLS OF NEW ALBION: A STEAMPUNK OPERA by Paul Shapera

On Spotify!

We've got:

Jasper, the KING of haunting the narrative

Hubris of man. SO so much hubris

Necromancy! In the name of love! Twice! (but its a lil bit more fucked up the second time around)

Voodoopunk, which is an absolutely BANGER of a concept and boy does it ever deliver

Lore. So much lore. The world building in this album is amazing it all just feels so real without being imposing or clunky

Incredible use of recurring musical themes and motifs that can and will break your heart and blow your mind

Two sequels, its first in the New Albion trilogy! (Not to mention the extensive discography this guy has how he wrote so much I'll never know)

Please listen to Dolls Of New Albion I need to see it get more attention I've been progressively losing my mind over this thing and have no one to talk to about it there's no one in the tag

[kyouka-supremacy]

Well.

[cashweasel]

They make running away from the paparazzi look so sexy 🥴

( @sysba 🥰)

[good-beanswrites]

hiii!!!!! for the hc ask game: 🧸 A headcanon about their childhood for muu, and maybe 💔 An angsty headcanon for any prisoner (or prisoners) of your choice? your writing is AMAZING btw, i really adore it

AH thank you so much!! I'm glad you're enjoying :D These were interesting ones to think about, ty! The ideas themselves are simple, I'm just long-winded, sorry 😭

🧸I like to think that Muu was just as shy/unwilling to leave her comfort zone as a kid, despite doing a lot of activities with her parents. This, combined with her parents giving her whatever dolls she asked for, results in her clinging to those for support. She has names and personalities for dozens of dolls, and talks to them all the time. She has one in particular she carries around everywhere she goes when she gets scared. The habit lasts a bit into her older years, but she's so downright cute that it only ever earns her doting instead of scolding.

💔 Immediately following the T2 attacks, I feel like Mahiru’s condition is bad enough that Shidou warna everyone there's a high chance she won't make it through the night. There's a solemn, grieving silence as everyone prepares themselves for another death. Shidou is wracked with guilt because he doesn't know if he can save her. Fuuta is dealing with his own injuries, but he and Amane get a kind of survivor's guilt that it could have easily been them on their deathbed. (And now with canon support) Kotoko didn't mean to kill anyone, just rough them up, so she's haunted by guilt/panic that she tries to cover up with a brave face. Kazui takes it the hardest, nearly breaking down in his cell because he blames himself for not getting to her in time.

[snowyfrostshadows]

I know @istadris proooobably meant Mr. L masks his true character under a mean, tough guy act to protect himself from further pain in their Missing Half AU buuuut.

I can't quite separate Mr. L from his iconic mask.

[orcelito]

ok. i finally finished trigun 98.

that. Sure Was Something. it's rly interesting to see how the end of 98 compares to what nightow did in trimax. there are some similarities of course, but overall it felt really... simplified in comparison.

my final verdict is that Yeah trimax is still my fav trigun iteration, but by itself trigun 98 is a pretty emotionally fulfilling anime