#this was suppose to be for the aesthetics like colours but ended up being about these two

[blindinghope]

favourite panels from nightwing 2021 annual #1

[codgod]

y’know generally i try to limit colour palettes to as few colours as possible to make things more cohesive but despite my best efforts only jay ended up being able to stick to that </3

ANYWAYS here’s the as-of-right-now fully updated designs for these dickheads. these will no doubt undergo even more tweaking as i draw them more but this is a start i guess. also pls open the pictures to look at them properly i worked so hard LOL

some random notes under the cut yaaaay

chip —

he jingles when he walks. somehow he’s still stealthy. i do not know how

kept the platinum ring that bonded him to gillion in the block! because hey he doesn’t really have a reason to take it off (and it’s a nice reminder of how much gill cares about him, and how far their friendship has come since that ice arena)

his tattoos shift and flicker like actual flames, and sometimes (harmless, purely aesthetic) sparks fly off them when he’s excited

i just think smoke coming out of his mouth when he’s angry would be cool :]

chipped teeth from biting rocks and coins all the time :/

he has scars from the red lightning, they’re just mostly contained to his back and shoulders. they’re a similar red to his coat even once they’ve healed

gillion —

the tail sleeve thing is so he can rest it on the ground without damaging his scales, he doesn’t usually wear it when he’s just on the ship because the wood is soft enough that it’s usually fine + it can hinder swimming a bit. it’s mostly meant for places where there’s cobblestone or gravel streets and such. i think his armour would probably have a version that looks similar but covers the whole tail minus the fins, maybe with some armour plating of its own. i didn’t draw it because there wasn’t any room lol

his scars from the lightning are pink mostly because red stood out too much tbh. they softly glow in the dark the same as his coral and the pink parts of his fins

also kept his ring! his hands aren’t really made for jewellery, though, because the webbing means it won’t sit very secure on his finger. so he keeps it on the same chain as the necklace he got from aslana to keep it safe

tried to make him look a bit bulkier and more his age than in my original design? i feel like i was leaning too much into the naivety and. shortness. originally lol. he also has thicker eyebrows now and i’m still trying to decide how i feel about them but i think? i like it? i don’t tend to give many character thin eyebrows so it could’ve been a unique thing for him but alas

i think i made the sword too small but like ignore that

also forgor to include pretzel </3 that’s okay though she can get her own design sheet later. she’s special like that

jay —

i believe in tall jay supremacy

blue magic! i was considering gold but that’d look a bit more like a canary than i wanted for her wings so. blue jay :]

her hair is supposed to look kinda like fire to mimic her dad ! kinda showing that even if she runs from her family and the navy they’ll always be a part of her. and also i just like drawing messy hair

i gave her sturdier gloves just because i feel like it fits her better. also changed up the shirt to more of a button up solely because i don’t like tank tops very much LOL

i did WANT to make her outfit a bit flashier to match the boys better but i couldn’t quite figure out where to Put the flash. maybe that’ll come later, the way the story’s going i might get to design some cool prosthetics for her or something

overall —

because there’s just so many fucking colours i triiied to add at least one or two colours from each of them into the others designs. jay has her necklace with each of their main colours on it, her wings are the same blue as gillions eyes, her jacket and right eye are the same dark blue as destiny’s blade, her hair is the same orange as the lighter part of chips tattoos. chip has a dark green sash under all the belts, the same as the hilt of destiny’s blade. they all use the same shades of black, gold, and brown

the only real exception is gillion doesn’t have anything from the other two because he has Such a specific colour palette and he already had so much going on as-is orz jay was obviously the easiest to do this with because she has both warm and cool colours in her palette by default lol (and i did her design last, so that helps)

[winged-self-indulgence]

This is so rushed and spun off from a truly unhinged discussion but I needed to write something for this AU while I have timeeee @tiffykins-yeah I hope this is at least semi entertaining lmao

The day Binary Star Hero turned against the heroes; the skies went dark.

Metaphorically of course. Strictly speaking, very little changed in the grand scheme of things. Although the NAHA, reporters, and anyone with a media presence certainly behaved as though the world itself had come to an end. Herschel was on the news lamenting the loss of the earth’s brightest star to the forces of darkness, news anchors would not shut up about the catastrophic consequences of losing the greatest hero mankind had ever known, and drama youtubers milked the controversy of the NAHA’s ignominious fall from grace as Binary Star Hero – real name Ray – exited the hero headquarters followed by a bevy of interns, office workers, and bottom-rung employees. Employees who, with vicious innocence, detailed the NAHA’s horrendous working conditions.

“We didn’t even have dental,” one sighed despondently. “My friend’s teeth haven’t been the same since that rock hero went on a rampage in the office.”

When asked the reason they had chosen to follow the new villain – was it blind worship? Stockholm syndrome? Were they being threatened in any way? – the gathering just scoffed.

“He’s paying my medical bills,” one replied. “The NAHA didn’t even want to pay for my insulin. I had to argue with like 5 different people to get it added to my benefits package.”

“Wait, you were getting benefits? I’ve been working on minimum wage for years!”

“You guys were getting paid?!”

At that point, the hero formerly known as Binary Star Hero attempted to fly away from the commotion, causing one of the former NAHA employees to yell something to the effect of “quick, follow that tacky sweater!” Which caused the crowd to peal off after the rapidly shrinking red dot in the sky, leading to several traffic obstructions, and signaling the start to a villainous career change.

Ray stared at clothing rack in front of him, at the five mannequins arranged in various dramatic poses, and finally at the group of expectantly waiting…what to call them? Underlings? Sure, that worked. The underlings stared back at him, some carrying more fabric while others held sewing kits, needles, thread, and baskets of accessories.

There was no need to read their minds to understand what they all wanted, but he still felt the need to ask. “What is this?”

“For your villain rebranding, the team decided on an aesthetic overhaul,” the one at the front announced brightly, gesturing to the steel rack that had been crammed with outfits in a range of dark colours – purples, indigoes, heavy shades of grey and even denser blacks. Some had capes, most did not. “Of course, this would all be easier if you would simply decide on a new name, but I suppose we can whittle down the choices later.”

Ray flashed back to the moment he’d walked past the conference room – a massive underground addition to his lair (he didn’t call it that, but the PR team were very Committed To The Bit) – and seen a horde of them gathered around the whiteboard and shouting suggestions at the person at the front. On the interactive surface were at least 50 names, though Ray only got through Lunar Eclipse and Superordinate Gravitational Collapse before he’d decided to leave that problem for Future Ray to sort out.

Unfortunately, the future had come. “This is completely unnecessary,” Ray plucked at the sleeve of one of the outfits and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was in fact not made of impossibly tight spandex. “I haven’t even had coffee yet.”

Another employee stepped up, swiping the screen of the iPad with a finger. “Sir, [MC] will be clocking into the afternoon shift in approximately one hour. Would you like to pick up your coffee then?”

“Hm,” Ray rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “What’s on my schedule before that?”

“Uh, there’s a senator you hate giving a bigoted speech about drag queens, then you wanted me to remind you to rob that bank on 6th Avenue,” another swipe across the screen, “oh, and you’re out of ice cream.”

“The speech should be happening in the park across from the coffeeshop where [MC] works,” one of the team piped up. “We can reschedule the bank robbery and take some casual photos of you at the coffeeshop. The mid-afternoon sun would be great for the Total Eclipse social media page!”

“Dude, we discussed this! The team hasn’t decided on a villain name yet!”

“For the last time, we’re not choosing your idea!”

“Fuck you, Dark Star is a great evil name!”

“We are not linking him to a shitty 90s movie!”

“You take that back!”

Taking advantage of their distraction, Ray turned his attention to one of his favourite groups in the team. “Any updates?”

The employee saluted – Ray had given up on making them stop doing that – and pulled out her own iPad. “Sir–” (“Don’t call me that.”) “–they liked the post of you singing while playing the guitar and left a sweating emoji on the latest shirtless pic.”

“What about the one of me saving a kitten at the shelter?”

“Unfortunately, it was flagged for violence after one of the team forgot to edit out the part where you tossed someone through the walls for having an unsolicited picture of [MC] as their phone-screen background.”

“Ah, right,” Ray nodded reminiscently. “That did happen, huh. Upload it again, and monitor. If that’s all…”

He took off through the window, off to do various evil deeds and visit his favourite barista, while ignoring the screeching below as the two feuding members of the team finally stopped fighting long enough to notice his departure.

“FUCK, HE DIDN’T PICK A COSTUME!”

“SIR, AT LEAST CHANGE THE SWEATER!”

[kekaki-cupcakes]

hello, are you still doing requests?

if so, could i have some sibling headcanons of nico with a hades kiddo that's really peppy and into colorful things and people find it hard to believe they're siblings at first because their personalities are polar opposites of each other?

thankyou!

Heya, I'm still doing requests but I have so many so it might take a while to get an answer, feel free to request something else though! This kind of went off track but oh well <3

Don't take it to heart---Nico/opposite aesthetics sibling!reader

»»————-　★　————-««

-The minute you skipped up to the porch of the Hades Cabin with your stripey rainbow leg warmers and a tote bag with a stupid pun about a show with something called ‘carebears’, Nico winced.

-He’d need sunglasses if he had to keep looking at you, but he didn’t really want to borrow the big yellow star ones on the end of your nose, so maybe that was a bad idea. Your first interaction went a bit like this:

You: “Heya, you're the emo kid, right? I’m new! So, where’s our cabin?” 

Nico: “Uh… you're supposed to go that way.”

You: “No, that’s the Iris cabin, at least that’s what Chiron said. I’m your new sibling, by the way. Chiron said we have one in Rome too! 

Nico: I- well, yes, I- we do.

You: Are they as grumpy looking as you?

-Needless to say you got off to a great start. Nico proceeded to dump your bags on one of the beds, which has a zebra print doona matching one of your headbands, and then left immediately. You shrugged it off, obviously, and started stacking your things on the coffin shaped bookshelves. You ignored the candle that was supposed to smell like ‘the souls of the damned’, and put your own flowery one next to it. 

-You found out you loved arts and crafts, where you made friendship bracelets with Lacy, as well as pegasi riding. You saw Nico once, and he waved awkwardly, but went back to the small child he was glaring at quickly. You quickly became attached to a creamy coloured mare called macaroni as well, but Butch wouldn’t let her sleep in your cabin. He did take a friendship bracelet, though. And he let you weave daisy chains into macaroni’s mane and tail, so you liked him. 

-You had brought a musty old record player with you after finding out that there was no wifi, but you had to pause ‘Washing Machine Heart’ [by Mitski, of course] when Nico came trudging into the now bright cabin. You’d opened all the curtains and taken the spiders that fell from them outside, dumping them in the bushes behind the Athena cabin. 

-Nico stared at the squishmellows on your bed and then the dreamcatcher by one of the windows, and the row of brightly coloured converse with striped laces lined up by his three different pairs of black Doc Martens. 

-He shrugged his jacket off and went straight into the bathroom, leaving a little trail of muddy footsteps along the heart shaped rug you’d put down.

-He was just adjusting to a roommate, you told yourself. It wasn’t anything to do with you personally. You hadn’t done anything wrong, maybe you should just give him a bit of space. That was a good idea. Leave him alone for a bit until he was used to you, and don’t take it to heart. 

»»————-　★　————-««

-You took it to heart.

»»————-　★　————-««

-Months had passed, and you were thankful for the Ipad Piper [she was so nice, and she let you borrow her Olivia Rodrigo records] lent you so you could facetime the family and friends you had left behind occasionally. They had seemed to adjust to you not being there anymore, now that you knew you were a child of Hades, the outside world was too dangerous to risk. You tried not to take that to heart either.

-Macaroni was getting used to the beaded bridle you’d made her, but you were still training her to get used to flying around while you used your new weapons.

-Nyssa had helped you make them, able to actually craft a design after glancing at you scribbled drawing with glitter gel pens that you really had worked hard on. Now you had a sparkly belt with three attachments, that you could click in your spray cans too. The cans were filled with different coloured paint, only the base liquid was melted down celestial bronze flakes, so when you fought a monster, which you were still learning to do, it would seep into their eyes and turn them blind, or crack through their skin and dissolve them. You loved the spray cans.

-Drew had warmed up to you as well, and you were even invited to Barbie premier night in Cabin ten. You got to wear your sparkly leg warmers and the cropped leather jacket in a light shade of pink.

-You were making your way to the arts and crafts center with a box of clay and little paint brushes in your arms to run the pottery class [you’d been elected as head of arts and crafts pretty quickly, shared with Elsa, one of the Athena kids who specialize in weaving and sewed the cutest pajama pants] when you bumped into Nico.

-Literally. 

-The box may have been a few heads taller than you, so it wasn’t really your fault, but Nico still snapped at you. 

-You gathered up the little tubs of paint from the grass and apologized quickly, your chest tight with anxiety. You hurried away after that, ignoring your brother as he tried to explain he hadn’t realized it was you when he hissed curse words Drew had started teaching Harley and Lacy. 

-The class went well, the scrunchies Elsa was making her girlfriend for her birthday went along well, and a few more kids than usual showed up, taking lumps of clay from the tray and working it into figures on their tables. You were making beads that you’d string onto a bracelet for Nyssa, because she always broke the plastic ones with hammers and drills accidentally.

-You thought back to your interaction with Nico and regretted it dearly. Maybe if you’d just heard him out or even apologized and blamed yourself, he might’ve come to your class to see your works, or sat with you at dinner, or even just waved from across the infirmary when you went to get panadol for your headaches. 

-You knew you got them from straining your eyes to read and draw in the dim cabin, but whenever you opened the curtains or switched on your blue lamp with a cloudy pattern that you hadn’t got to use yet, Nico cleared out completely. 

-It wasn’t your fault, you reminded yourself, you were just… too different.

-People started filing out after putting their creations to the side, you complimented each of their idea’s even though you felt like getting some Ben and Jerry’s from the camp shop and curling up in bed to watch ‘10 Things I Hate About You’ again. 

-The beads for Nyssa were nearly done, so you went to find a container to pop them in.

-When you got back, they had been ground into the bench until the delicate tracing of different things Nyssa likes were just shapeless brown blobs. An Ares kid, Grey, was standing with their arms crossed and a smirk on their face, which was mostly obscured by a nose that had been broken too many times.

-You stared down at the squashed clay and felt your eyes prickle with tears.

-Grey jeered at you, calling you things you’d rather not hear again, because they only made the tears fall. You rubbed your nose and smoothed the front of your tye-dyed camp shirt flat. Grey called after you, something about being a ‘rainbow prissy’. You stumbled out of the center.

-Nico wasn’t in your cabin when you slammed the door behind you, thankfully, and you hopped into bed, kicking your yellow converse off and pulling the doona over your head so you didn’t have to look at the skull filled walls around you.

-It was so dark, it was so dark and shadowy and there were bones you were too scared to ask about their origins lining the mirror in the bathroom you kept seeing things behind you in. Your crocheted blanket that used to sit across the black doona cover had been folded up a while ago and placed back in your suitcase, along with a few of the more multicolored posters and the fruity scented candles that seemed to annoy your half brother. 

-You rubbed your eyes with your sleeves and held your hand over your mouth so Nico wouldn’t hear crying when he would eventually come back a few hours later, late enough that you could pretend to be asleep. 

»»————-　★　————-««

-The infirmary was busy with bleeding and laughing demigods when you wandered in looking for some panadol. Your headache was making it hard to think straight, but whenever you cried too much you got one, so you knew what to do by now. 

-Will waved from over from where he was pulling a ruler, a stapler, and a glue stick out of the stomach of an Iris kid who was giggling the entire time, coughing up glitter. He grimaced when a chunk of glue hit his face. You waved back and turned the corner, heading to the rooms at the back where Austin would be. He usually had the panadol. 

-Someone groaned in the corner, and you spotted Grey. 

-They looked like a soggy bag of a human, their mauled nose the only definable shape. You couldn’t pull your eyes away from the grotesque demigod blob.

-Austin shuffled up behind you with a grimace, passing over a few pills and a glass of water without looking away. You gulped them down quickly as Grey let out another moan and rolled a bit on their hospital bed. Austin told you that he’d been spotted on the floor of the Arts and crafts center. 

-Apparently, every few minutes one of his bones would disappear.

-It was only a few fingers at the start, then most of his ribs couldn’t be found and there was something wrong with his mouth, which Austin found out meant his jaw had decided to not be there. 

-A screechy sound came from the front of the infirmary, and you both looked to the door, which Clarrise was dragging Nico through, holding him up by the back of his jacket. He pummeled at the chunky daughter of Ares, but couldn’t get out of her grip. Clarrise glared around at the staring demigods and snarled, “why is this little shit de-boning Grey?”

-You didn’t know who yelled ‘that’s what she said’ from across the room.

-”Because they deserve it.” Nico hissed a bit like a cat, glaring up at Clarisse with narrowed brown eyes underneath his floppy hair.  

-Will ran up to the pair, brushing glitter off his gloved hands onto his scrubs instead. He folded his arms and stared Clarrise down until she finally let go of Nico, who dropped to the ground and then sprung back up, wrinkling his nose at the daughter of Ares, who just stuck her tongue back out at him. 

-Will pinched his nose, “Clarisse, more people come in here because of you then Nico, so you don’t get to talk. Nico, just fix them, they’re too annoying to be kept in here.”

-”But people deserved to be punched by me,” Clarrise argued with a scoff.

-”And Grey deserves to lose their bones!” Nico shot back, glaring up at Clarisse and balling his fists, “they stepped on my siblings clay stuff!”

»»————-　★　————-««

-You yawned and stretched your arms out above your head, then blinked up at the roof with bleary eyes. The skulls were gone, now it was just black concrete. You rolled over a moment later and stuffed your head back into your pillow, pulling your crocheted blanket back over your head.

-There was a ‘shing’ sound as curtains were yanked open, and you just sunk further into your comfy bed, ignoring the bright beams of early morning sunshine that streamed in and lit up the dark cabin. It made the rainbow rug in the center of the cabin even brighter, and you groaned loudly in protest. “Whaddaya even doing up so early? Go back to bed you vampire!”

-”It’s only six am?”

-”You’re more of a psychopath then I thought before,” you muttered, but made sure you were loud enough that your brother could hear you as he padded round the cabin getting changed and ready for his much too early start to the day. 

-Nico huffed and the bathroom door shut as he completely ignored the hairbrush you’d given him to passive aggressively deal with his scruffy black hair. “Leo forgot the code to the safe in the big house that he changed when he was hiding those icey poles from Piper.”

-”And how are you supposed to help him remember?”

-Nico’s boots were loud on the floorboards as he trotted over. He kissed you on the forehead gently, “oh I’m not, I’m gonna go watch him suffer the consequences with Jason.”

»»————-　★　————-««

[zahri-melitor]

sorry, you're probably tired of discussing this. But I feel like the draw of Cassie's yj design in comparison to her (arguably dominant) character styling since the 2000s is just that it's distinctive. Her current design is pretty, somewhat functional and makes sense for who her character is right now, but her 90s design visually distinguished her from other blonde haired blue eyed heroes. Yes, a lot of girls 'grow out' of the tomboy style, and we see Cassie doing that nearing the end of YJ98 as she takes on more responsibility, but she still had her goggles and a unique look. Maybe I just have a grudge against leggings, headbands and tiny jean jackets, but I feel like this is more a question of aesthetics than Cassie's development as a character. Hope you have a good day/night :]

You're not going to like my answer, I fear.

If you were going to ask me what factors I use to pick out Cassie in a random title, it comes down to what I see distinguishing her in a Wonder Woman title and what I see distinguishing her in a team book or event. Because when a character exists for decades, you tend to rely on some very simple basics.

If it's a Wonder Woman title, spotting Cassie is pretty easy. She has blonde hair and her outfits generally look like she pulled them together out of her own wardrobe with some fan merch added. You can tell her apart from Vanessa Kapatelis via the fact Nessie has light brown hair in tight curls or a perm.

Cassie in Wonder Woman is about her casual clothing costumes, compared to say Donna's tendency for her costumes to be unitards and Diana to use either Ancient Greek armour or her bathing suit. Yara seems to be developing "leotard with long sleeves" as her costume marker. It's not perfect, but Wonders tend to change up their costumes frequently, so you've got to look at the repeated design elements more than any one single look.

On the other side of things, what I look for to find Cassie in a team title or event is: bare midriff, her star earrings, bracers, tiara/headband details. Her goggles, incidentally, ARE a 'tiara/headband' detail. I look for detailing that says 'Wonder'. For Teen Titans titles, the thing is that Cassie is the default expected blonde girl in that title; others need to distinguish themselves from her. This is part of the reason for instance you see Mia spend quite a bit of the 2000s in a ponytail as 'her' thing, because a ponytail keeps her hair out of her bow AND visually looks different.

Todd Nauck was handed a title to draw that contained three blonde haired girls. Because he needed the three of them to be distinct in the title, he developed different aesthetics for each of them within that title, down to and including the colouring of that hair (Cissie's hair is a cool toned blonde, long, poker straight, with a deep fringe and headband. Cassie's hair is a warm toned blonde, varying lengths, and wavy. Secret/Greta's hair is a bob and very wispy, as she's a ghost).

Not all artists are going to be that careful or indeed have titles where they need to make sure 3 blonde girls who regularly appear in their pages are visually distinct. So rolling with the punches is actually easier than clinging to a single design.

It's like...tell me what length Selina Kyle's hair is 'supposed' to be. It's varied significantly over the years. Tell me what her costume is supposed to look like. Characters can have more than one aesthetic associated with them.

Tell me what length and what colour Lois Lane's hair is 'supposed' to be. You can still pick her out, can't you, even if she's not wearing her Silver Age bob?

Lois in long wavy brown hair and trousers is just as much Lois as she is in a black bob, a pillbox hat and a poodle skirt. As she is being half Asian with a shingled black crop in MAWS.

[edennill]

If Tolkien characters had Tumblr blogs part 2:

part 1

Finduilas:

url: waitingtothewind

pfp: drawing of a fictional crush in pastel colours (babygirl fulfills her royal duty to exercise patronage over artists by comissioning reams of fanart lol)

bio: ✧˖･* princess finduilas of nargothrond :) ✧˖･* 47 ✧˖･* poetry appreciator ✧˖･* romantic at heart ✧˖･* girl of many fandoms ✧˖･* favourite animal: doggos ✧˖･* favourite food: strawberry juice ✧˖･* and if I had a voice that could make mountains melt I would walk over stars just to see how it felt ✧˖･*

title: ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

has a very pink custom theme with a fancy font. runs a fandom/aesthetic blog and stays clear of discourse. writes really good meta that is quite popular and poems that get notes in the single digits. doesn't really know how to deal with anon hate. participates in every tag game she comes across.

Maeglin:

url: keeps changing it between @molelol and @twilitdark because he likes small animals, but wants to sound edgy.

pfp: keeps changing it between a baby mole and the kind of very dark photo where you can't really see what it's supposed to be.

bio: M / not a minor

title: the dark under the trees

guards his personal info incredibly closely (a good practice, but how much of it is due to his father having been so controlling that he learned secrecy early on is up for discussion). rarely posts, mostly reblogs photos and shitposts. vaguely vents about his idril/tuor/gondolin/treason problems. when he gets into discussions with people he can be uncomfortably fierce, has sent anon hate on occasion.

Celebrimbor:

url: craftingsilver

pfp: red eight pointed star (default variation, not technically fëanorian) on yellow background

bio: older/younger than you think | look I've seen the Trees that's enough | Noldorin jewelsmith | male

title: time and soul, wrought and tempered

mostly posts and reblogs crafting tiktoks and tips, sometimes adds a dash of science, philosophy or something personal. has made a resolution to filter out any posts pertaining to his family on his dashboard and keeps to it almost till the end. shows a strong sense of humour and has gathered quite a following.

Idril:

url: celebrin-does-things

pfp: blurred photo of her with her back to the camera

bio: 500s - architect, wife and mother - everyone is welcome

title: "ammë, there's winter in my boots"

started off as a miscellaneous blog, but shifted to being mostly about Eärendil's shenanigans. she vaguely vents about maeglin/gondolin/cousin's treason sometimes, but still comes off as way more laid back than irl. hardly used her tumblr before her son was born and still treats it mostly as a place to document things he has said + a way to talk with like three treasured mutuals. the architect part in bio is mostly a ruse because she has only ever completed one or two projects but can hardly reveal she's a princess, can she? (before the fall of nargothrond if she got on tumblr it was to nag Finduilas to remove her personal info from bio hah)

@eri-pl, this is in part because you asked (a while ago, sorry), though I'm afraid I don't have much to say about all your suggestions. I prefer not to get into Sauron's headspace actually, but the idea of him having access to social media is horrifying lol. And Pharazon has all the worst characteristics of Reddit atheists, non-ironic modern white supremacists and racist trolls rolled into one with the added horror of the new unsavoury state cult. Míriel is not allowed a sim card🙁😬

also I'm just now realising I tagged a compatriot in something I wrote at 3 am so if you have time stamps on you now know my messed up sleep schedule and if you don't I've just told you lol but never mind.

[chronicallyaunline]

Rating Autism Shirts

I got a targeted ad for one of these and it sent me down a rabbit hole of the weird world of autism shirts. There's a pretty huge range in quality, so I have three metrics:

Is it good autism representation?

Is it well made/ aesthetically pleasing?

Would I wear it?

This is about what I expect from autism merch. We've got puzzle pieces, we've got dabbing, we've got an image that's photoshopped onto a photo of a person wearing a different shirt. It's bad, but almost compelling because it's so so bad. Representation: 1/10, aesthetics: 4/10, would wear: 6/10

Overall: 4/10

This is a masterpiece. Really weird, not infantilizing, acknowledges autistic people can experience the full range of the human experience (including being dtf). Representation 10/10, aesthetics 10/10, would wear 10/10

Overall: 10/10

Now this is a worst-case scenario. It centres the feelings of caregivers rather than autistic people, assumes autistic people are all going to be male children, uses puzzle pieces, is super hard to read, and it's just worst kind of millenialcore design. Representation 0/10, aesthetics 1/10, would wear 0/10.

Overall: 0/10

This has a lot of the problems of the previous shirt, but look at that sweet dinosaur wearing sunglasses. I know it's bad. It's got the puzzle pieces, it's got light it up blue, it's got that unreadable colour choice for the font, but something about this is really funny to me. Representation 4/10, aesthetics 6/10, would wear 10/10.

Overall: 7/10

I'm torn on this one. Is cringe culture still dead? I think whether or not I like this shirt would depend on who's wearing it. Like, autism mom puts it on her son? 0/10 for the mom being embarrassing and pushing compulsory heterosexuality. Queer autistic woman wears it? 10/10 humour. I'm just going to call this one un-rateable.

Overall: ???/10

This joke is too on the nose to not have been made by and/or for autistic people. The drawing is cute, the font is readable, the leaning into stereotypes is whatever you make of it. Representation 8/10, aesthetics 10/10, would wear 8/10

Overall: 8/10

Holy fuck they're bad. The dad one is terrible. Your kid is disabled no matter how great of a parent you are, and buying your kid something like this is the parenting equivalent of sucking your own dick. Bad.

The mom one is also terrible in a different way. If you can't read the image it says:

They whispered to her, "you cannot withstand the storm." She whispered back, "I am the storm."

I added punctuation to help it make sense, but the "storm" you're referring to is your child. You're advertising your bravery at "withstanding" an unchangeable aspect of your child's being. How is your kid going to feel if/when they see this and realize how you feel about them? Parents are allowed to feel their feelings about raising their kids, but maybe don't show the world how much you resent the human you're supposed to love unconditionally.

So bad they broke the rating scale.

Overall: -10/10.

We gotta end on a high note. Look at how perfect this is. Something about fake-edgy autism skeleton shirts just hits so right. We've got a blurry skeleton with two guns and the word "autism" is on fire. Not a puzzle piece in sight. Just the strange joy of being. We've got ourselves another 10/10 across the board.

Overall: 10/10

[sol-st1ce]

I would love to know everything about this au

for now I want to know if you’ll allow fanarts.. if you do.. do you have refs? (Give me your favorite character.)

cough cough.

as a gift for making such a scrumptious meal of an AU

HEHAUAHHAA HI 🥹🥹

1) I’D LOVE TO SAY EVERYTHING buuutttt the evils won’t let me (I wanna have a reason to make future animations/animatics to get better) BUT. HT BYT I’ll tell you some not spoilery stuff + share some old lore art I made of it a few years back!!

Also yes ID LOVE ID LOVE ID LOVE FANART I don’t have any super current coloured references of any of the chars (except Epiales) so here’s a scuffed one of Nox 😔 he’s my favourite freak of them all

EternalNight!Verse is directly after the events of Underverse 0.6, with the diverging event being the deal between Epiales(Nightmare) and another third party I won’t disclose that ended up WRECKING the multiverse in an event called The Darkening where the sun was pretty much blipped out of EVERY universe. This caused some collateral damage where many AUs/Timelines bugged the fuck out and/or were straight up erased/mysteriously got repurposed for another thing.

So Epiales pretty much reigns supreme HOWEVER there are a few people that officially rule over their own little sections of the multiverse!! These areas can vary in aesthetics greatly and aren’t super limited. Theres no official names I’ve thought of for these sections but I just organise them by the people who rule them; the Ambassadors.

They meet up one every other full moon to discuss things regarding the multiverse.

There’s the man himself, Imperial Epiales, who represents the Empire. The Empire is the main military power, and is the most populated of the sectors. They also are in the most control of the other sections by proxy, mostly for the military reason and for the fact no one wants to fuck with the man who destroyed the sun. Sometimes, especially when Nox was younger he’d be brought to spectate the ambassador meetings >> The Empire generally pulls from Greek/Roman aspects in its architecture, culture, and fashion. The AUs within the Empire are anything that the other sectors don’t claim (I.E; Something New, Horrortale, Dust!Tale, etc) with an exception or two like Swapfell for personal reasons.

There’s (Core) Frisk who is the main ambassador for the Omega Timeline, but because they’re blind and also A CHILD they are also assisted by two others in organising the Omega Timeline. These two being; (a) Science!Sans & X!Alphys

The Omega Timeline mostly consists of people who have lost their AUs and are refugees, or are rebelling against the Empire so there’s no set theme for it.

Then there’s the Fell District which is supposed to be co-managed by both Fell!Papyrus and Fell!Undyne but more often than not, Fell!Sans has to substitute for her in the ambassador meetings. The Fell District is the main economic power, consisting of most if not all Fell/Fell-Adjacent AUs. 70-80’s New York is the main aesthetic drawn from the Fell District, mostly mirroring mafia-esque activities and attire. It’s the only district with actual working electricity, and the brightest you’ll come across. But also horrible to get into without getting popped with a few shells first if you don’t know anyone.

There’s the Swap District, which is led by Queen Toriel (from Underswap!!) It is the main provider of produce throughout the multiverse. Having been the first ones to figure out how to cultivate plants in the harsh environment, and also being gifted electricity by the Fell District (although it’s heavily privatised) for extra food for cheaper prices. AUs that reside in this sector are; Underswap Storyshift, Storyspin, and any AU relating to a shift in cast and what not. Some exceptions apply, such as Farmtale. The main aesthetic it draws from is Post-Apocalyptic Brutalist, probably being the most lively sector of the five.

And then there’s X!Tale.

No one knows what they’re doing in there, but they’ve heard it’s grown quite a bit since The Darkening came around. No one questions it, X!Gaster himself hardly comes to the meetings, in fact, he’s only been talking to Epiales since this nightmare began.

OO YEAH HEHEH 😈 there IS still a day-night cycle it’s just that when it’s day time that’s when most people sleep because it’s both the darkest and coldest part of night. Esp in places like the Empire & Swap District

I like to think instead of saying things like “Good Morning” ppl say stuff like “Early Evening” and “Merry Midnight”

Holidays like Christmas/Hanukkah and Halloween are called “Winter Solstice” and “Hallows Eve” respectively, and their traditions vary from district to district but retain most of the same attributes.

I THINK there was an event called the Lunar Eclipse Festival where the moon was eclipsed a week of the year in place of the Summer Solstice, and there would be a whole festival with moon-themed shops and stuff … it’d mostly be hosted & celebrated in the Empire ofc but still

OO YEAH THERE’S ALSO THE WCP aka the Wayward Child Program. This was enacted on the third ambassador meeting to relocate any children who may have lost their home into a healthy and nurturing environment. UNFORTUNATELY it was the Empire that would be the supervisors of the WCP so it was not a nurturing or healthy environment. The kids were often made to shadow supervisors (usually Mors & X!Frisk) on their missions and even participate in them. Most of the ones that made it to adulthood were assimilated into the Empire’s military or relocated. Nox is actually from the WCP!!

Some misc stuff too; Crash (Error) is under house arrest for fucking up the multiverse too and has to supervise Graphite (Ink) as well 💀 (Core) Frisk visits them though to tell them things that are going on in the outside world and ask for advice much to the dismay of ANYONE ELSE

Morpheus (Dream) has NO ARMS, lost an eye, and is forced to pretty much torture his friends and anyone unlucky enough to be put in Epiales’ collection room (THE FUCKING DUNGEONS) w/ his positive energy it’s bad 😞 also everyone thinks he, Swap Sans, and anyone else from their rebellion are dead because of the CRAZY PROPAGANDA + no way 🙅 Epiales would let that slide (he had other ideas)

Thanatos (Reaper) and Life are a thing, and even had a child on the way!!

UNTIL EPIALES FUCKED IT UP BECAUSE EHE GOT JEALOUS OF THANATOS AND KILLED LIFE so people can’t respawn anymore save for.. special means…

Oh and Thanatos has it out for anyone Epiales cares about whether or not they did anything wrong 💀 he just fucking hates Epiales like that

There have been ~50 iterations of Plutus, 32 of Avernus, 3 of Mors (not including the OG) and 1 of Nox (current)

The stuff I’ve shown of EN!Verse isn’t actually present day, it’s the past !! Woah!! 😦 so that’s why some characters pop up when they aren’t supposed to/have different designs

Cross has been doing fuck all and is one of the few people who escaped the massive siege on Morpheus’ rebellion

The Bad Time Trio are in the same boat but they’re being actively pursued cus Epiales needs the three OGs to complete his set 😍

OLD ART BELOW!!!

[hailqiqi]

these secrets beneath your fingertips

I'm going to (eventually) post all of my fics over here on tumblr, so here's the next one! Content warning for non-graphic L&O SVU style content in the first part. This fic was originally supposed to be crack. I'm not sorry.

Characters: Lucy, Skull, Sir Rupert Gale, Lockwood.

Words: 6,207

Read in full below or on AO3 here.

>>>>>>>>>⚔︎

Three in the morning was a good time to be out if you didn't want to be seen. It was still dark for a few hours yet, so most of the country was asleep indoors safe behind their ghost wards and lavender smoke. It being the end of the night, most agents were safe at home, too — maybe clean and in pyjamas, or maybe conked out on top of their quilts, still covered in grave dirt and magnesium ash and the other detritus of the profession (as I’d been known to do on particularly hard nights).

The only people on the roads were night cab drivers, DEPRAC workers, and the Night Watch — but few and far between, and all at the ends of their shifts. I’d only seen a single car on the short walk from Marylebone, and it hadn’t seen me. That suited me fine.

Now I crouched outside the front door of a semi-detached townhouse in St James’s. The windows were dark, as they should have been at that hour. The front garden was lovely and well-tended, with luscious fronds and rows of short palm trees celebrating the last vestiges of summer, and offering almost complete privacy from the road. My rucksack — with the ghost jar — was upon my back, my rapier hung at my hip, and my belt was well stocked, though I’d swapped most of the salt bombs for extra flares. I was after human prey tonight.

‘Since you’re picking locks like a cracksman, I assume this isn’t a social call.’

I hushed the skull quietly and turned my wrist a fraction, intent on hearing the tiny ‘click’ as the bolt slid into place. Two more seconds and the lock came free. I caught the door before it could open all the way, but paused.

‘There’s still time to turn back, you know. You haven’t told me what you’re up to but I know it’s a terrible idea.’

He had a point. I thought of the fight on the bridge, when swords had been drawn so quickly I hadn’t seen it happen. Twice Sir Rupert had challenged Lockwood, and twice Lockwood had been hard-pressed to fight him off. And I’d never beaten Lockwood in a proper spar yet, despite my suspicion that he was still going easy on me. I was definitely outmatched here.

But then I thought of George lying in Lockwood’s bed, so small and weak and broken and everything George wasn’t. I slipped inside the house.

The door closed silently behind me, and I took a moment to let my eyes adjust to the darkness. To my left and right were doors; presumably leading to the sitting and dining rooms. Ahead of me was a dark flight of stairs leading to the first floor, and a dim hall that probably led to a kitchen at the back of the house. The decor was surprisingly tasteful, given Sir Rupert’s garish fashion choices, though I couldn’t make out the colours in the dark. The walls were mostly bare save for some classical artwork, and the carpeting and furnishings in the hall both had a luxurious, moneyed look about them. At a glance, it all looked like the type of aesthetic Lockwood would pretend to like.

Out of habit, I closed my eyes and opened my inner ears to Listen. The streets outside were quiet, the area was well-defended, and the house itself had the usual iron and silver ghost charms (along with a costly runnel outside) so I expected it to be quiet. It was. I moved on.

The skull was quiet as I did a quick sweep of the ground floor — the kitchen was a modern, airy room that ran along the back width of the house, with floor to ceiling windows and doors leading straight out into the back garden that made it feel more like a conservatory. An open doorway led back towards a room of thick carpets and white chesterfields, and a matching doorway at the opposite end of the wall led to what appeared to be a library. Another door was set in the side wall close to the library which presumably led to a cellar of some sort.

I’d already decided not to open any unnecessary doors — silence was the name of the game here — but the cellar door gave me pause. The door was wooden, painted white to match the wall, but decorated with silver tracework that ran in thin curves to cover the entire length and width of the door. The handle was small and unobtrusive, but undeniably silver. 

‘Do you feel that, Lucy?’

I stood before it and Listened, one hand on the wood; the only sounds I couldhear were the ticking of the clock on the wall, almost echoing in the quiet, and my own soft, even breathing. Still, the skull was right — there, underneath the darkness, hushed by the expensive carpets, was some sort of disturbance. It was muffled and restrained to the point where I couldn’t tell you anything about it. It didn’t have a discernible sound, there wasn’t an underlying current of distress or fear or anger like many psychic disturbances emanated. All I could recognise was a feeling of wrongness, and it wasn’t malaise.

Two nights ago — or was it three nights ago? I couldn’t remember at this point — Sir Rupert had quite clearly Seen the Clapham Butcher Boy in the pillar at Fittes House. Something told me that, despite the defences, he didn’t fear Visitors as much as most adults. Anything could be behind that door.

Carefully, I re-checked all the pockets on my work belt. Then I stepped away and padded back towards the stairs, keeping my footsteps as silent as I could.

‘Not going to check, Lucy? How very sensible…and un-like you.’

I couldn’t answer, but it didn’t matter. The skull was still acting much more subdued than its usual abrasive self; likely it had realised how tenuous the grip on my sanity was these few days and had wisely opted to cut the snark out of self-preservation. It certainly hadn’t offered any sympathy for George’s condition — but it had made an effort not to twist the knife, and for that I was somewhat grateful. Still, I couldn’t really tell you why I’d brought it with me tonight. Perhaps I just wanted the company.

Boots weren’t the best choice of footwear for this kind of job, but thankfully rich people loved their peace and quiet. The carpet absorbed most of the sound as I crept up the stairs towards the first floor.

The same hushed stillness permeated the first floor landing. Artwork hung on the walls, dimly lit by the moonlight filtering in from the window at one end. To my right, a staircase led to an upper level — likely guest rooms, or rooms that used to serve as servants’ quarters. Only three doors led off this landing, and it was anybody’s guess as to which one I wanted.

Maybe the skull could help. I jostled my rucksack quietly, hoping it would offer some insight. Luckily, it caught on quickly.

‘You’re not alone up here,’ it said, its voice pressing against my mind. ‘I don’t think I want to know what you’re actually planning, but stay quiet.’

I risked a whisper. ‘Is anyone awake?’

A pause, and then: ‘I don’t know. Tread carefully.’

Not very helpful, then.

One out of three, pick a door. It was a game agents often played in the dead of night, one we dreaded. It was a game that was always worse to play alone, of course, but at least I’d grown used to that the year before. I crept towards the door closest to the window and eased it open.

For a moment, I thought I’d found another library, this one more modern in décor and lit by coloured string lights, like my attic was now (George had once called it ‘basic teenage girl lighting’ and I’d immediately stormed out to buy another string). But then my eyes adjusted to the strange light in the room and I began to make out the details.

Thick, dark curtains covered two large windows, blocking out the light from the street and the ghost-lamp outside; the room itself was mostly open space, furnished with a few trophy cabinets and display cases, and the walls were covered in frames clustered around individual wall-mounted boxes. It was a trophy room, like we had back in the basement at home. I turned to leave, then paused.

It was a little too like the trophy room at home, actually. The pale blues, yellows, and lilacs were eerily familiar, as were the shifting glows cast as they shimmered across the floor in swirling ripples. Too familiar.

I walked softly towards the nearest light source, my mission momentarily forgotten. The pale blue light was contained within a small wall-mounted display case, a silver-glass box stuck to the wall at around waist-height. Inside the case was a severed finger, still wearing a ring — and, of course, a ghost.

As an experienced agent, these things shouldn’t affect me anymore. I’d seen worse — just five months prior I’d walked in another world of glittering frost and starless skies, a place where the only living beings were myself and Lockwood beside me. But sometimes the shock still gets to you, even when you were expecting it.

This one wall held at least five similar display cases interspersed between ordinary picture frames, all containing Sources glowing various colours. I counted seven on the long wall — the one with no windows or doors. The other two walls, with their large windows, held only one or two each, and each display cabinet held at least three Sources, scattered amidst dark frames and boxes. Gaping at the sheer scale of it, I shrugged my rucksack onto one shoulder and loosened the top so that the ghost in the jar could see out. 

‘Oh, so now you want my— that’s…unexpected.’ The ghost inside swirled with a green light as the face spun, taking in the vast array of Sources on display. ‘Lucy… Where are we?’

‘Sir Rupert Gale’s house,’ I muttered, transfixed.

‘Marissa’s bodyguard? The bully with the bum-fluff moustache and terrible fashion sense?’

I nodded. Maybe he’d been an agent before, back in the day. Maybe, like Lockwood, he collected trophies from successful cases. He was admittedly an excellent swordsman; likely he’d had a great deal of those. And, I supposed, like many adults past their prime he longed for his glory days — the days before his Talent deserted him, the days when he was still useful in the fight against the Problem — and with all the money at his disposal, he’d decided to create a display room to help him remember.

But Sir Rupert’s glory days weren’t behind him yet — he still had excellent Sight, if the other evening was anything to go by, and it was hard for me to think he might be trying to fight against the Problem, when he seemed so devoted to the person we suspected of causing it. No, whatever this was, it was something else.

With a glance at the open door, I took my torch from my belt, set the light to low and flicked it on.

I expected the frame directly next to the box containing the finger to contain a newspaper cutting or perhaps some information on the Source itself. Instead, it contained a photograph: a simple picture of a slim boy about my age, dressed in an old-fashioned agency uniform and holding a rapier. He was smiling at the camera, all confidence and easy charm.

The next frame contained a newspaper cutting featuring an article about a successful case from the 80s, the sealing of a Dark Spectre that had caused several deaths by a team from the newly-established Sebright Agency. The boy in the first photograph was part of the team, again pictured holding his rapier. His name was James Hynes and he was 16 years old.

Above the article was another photograph of the same James, this time crossing the road with a smaller boy. He seemed unaware of the camera in that one. Next to that one, closer to the case, yet another photograph, this one taken in a shop. Then another of him on a street I didn’t recognise, leaving a building with the DEPRAC logo hanging above the door. There were a few more shots, all clustered to the right of the Source in a haphazard semi-circle — all candid shots where he was seemingly unaware of the camera.

I followed the images round, slowly moving my light up and around, to the frame hanging above the case. This time James was looking at the camera, but that charming smile was nowhere to be seen. His hands were bound behind his back, a gag was around his mouth, and his naked body was bruised and bleeding. He looked terrified.

Heart in my throat, my eyes roved frantically roving over the next few photographs. Clustered around the other half of the case were similar pictures of James naked, beaten, and terrified, his body growing more and more broken as the photographs went on. I didn’t get very far along that terrible journey — three or four more photographs, and then I looked away. I didn’t need to see how it had ended.

Perhaps in response to my turbulent emotions, the blue glow from the Source in front of me brightened, James’ ghost shifting restlessly, swirling and ebbing with new urgency as it tried to escape the confines of the silver-glass. Taking a calming breath, I reached out with my senses, trying to establish some kind of connection, but could only pick up the barest whispers of anger and frustration through the glass. Opening my mind further, I concentrated, trying to pick up a sense of the other Visitors in the room.

The feelings were muffled, but they were there: anger, sadness, and an almost overwhelming sense of frustrated helplessness. And so many of them. The sheer scale of it made my breath catch; for a moment, I was back under Aickmere’s, with the ghosts of those who’d been left to die, forgotten and abandoned until I’d found them — and then they’d been unceremoniously dumped in the fires at Clerkenwell, removed from this world without a shred of justice. Maybe I could do better here.

Determined, I stepped away from James’ display and moved further into the room, towards the next. Before I could take a proper look, however, the skull spoke.

‘Lucy…I think you should leave.’  

I paused, my hand on the hilt of my rapier. ‘Why? Is he coming?’

‘No,’ it replied slowly, as though carefully weighing each word. ‘But I’ve…known people like this before. You don’t want to be at their mercy. They don’t have any.’

I checked my watch; it was half past three. I still had at least two hours before dawn, and likely more than that before Sir Rupert would wake up. I could afford to spend a few moments learning their stories, and I told the skull as much. It grumbled, clearly displeased, but by now it knew me well enough to know when I wouldn’t be dissuaded.

The next case held a human ear and a swirl of lilac plasm. The photographs to the right — all seemingly candid — showed a tall slim boy; the ones to the left showed the same boy, bound and gagged in what appeared to be the same windowless room that James had been in. I didn’t look too hard at those ones. A newspaper article on his disappearance named him Harry Newman, a 15-year-old agent who had worked at Grimble’s in the 90s.

I moved on. The next set of photographs showed an unnamed smiling boy with dark hair and a slender build, dressed in a Rotwell’s uniform. His Source was a rumpled and bloody prayer booklet. Another case contained a ring, like the one Lockwood wore, belonging to a dark-haired 17-year-old called Denis Butler who’d worked for Tendy’s just before I was born. Next to Denis rested Reginald Spencer, a tall 16-year-old Fittes agent in the 70s who was now a Dark Spectre tied to a mummified hand. I kept going.

Josh Murphy, 18, tall, dark-haired, cocky smile. Went missing ten years ago and now resided in what looked like his kneecap. Noel Hart, fifteen with a floof of curly dark hair, was an agent at Sinclair and Soanes eight years prior, now tied to a broken rapier hilt. Smiling Louis Burton, 17, a team leader at Mellingcamp in the 80s before being reduced to yellow light and a couple of teeth.

On and on it went, boy after boy after boy. My head was spinning, but somehow I managed to keep it together as I swiftly worked my way through the room. The last one made the bile rise in my throat: Lachlan Thomson, a tall, friendly Scottish Listener from Staines that I’d worked with over the Black Winter. One of the astonishingly few agents I’d enjoyed working with during those cold, dark nights, I’d been upset to hear of his disappearance five months back. I stared at the shifting maroon hues of his ghost with sorrow, remembering how he’d put himself between me and the Spitalfields Horror with zero hesitation, holding the Changer back while I broke free of the ghost-lock and gathered my wits. He’d been brave, and kind, and competent (which was shockingly rare), and he’d talked me into meeting him for coffee as thanks for a job well done. I’d had hopes that I’d made my first new friend as a freelance agent, but we’d never found the time to meet up.

‘Lucy! Lucy, look at this!’

The urgency in the skull’s voice pulled me from my reverie, and I glanced quickly at the door, hand on my rapier. The landing was quiet.

The case next to Lachlan’s was dark — I’d initially suspected another Dark Spectre, but a brief inspection showed it to be empty. There were, however, photographs, and the first one stole my breath in an instant.

It was Lockwood. I knew the photograph well, as it was one of my favourite images of him in our album back home: a mid-air shot of him leaping between two floats at the doomed ‘Take Back the Night’ Carnival last year, sword in hand, coat billowing behind him, the thrill of the chase clear on his face. George had cut it out of the Times and pasted it on the inside cover of our album.

But this wasn’t our album, and it wasn’t our cut-out. And it shouldn’t be here. In a panic, I checked the case, but of course it was empty; Lockwood was safe at home, hopefully still asleep on the library sofa. The frame hanging above the case — the one that would show the initial stages of the torture — was empty too. I stared at it, breathing hard. It seemed to me as though it were waiting.

‘Lucy, isn’t that you?’

Wrenching myself away from the empty frame, I shone my torch on the other frames to the right. It was a collection of candid photographs — Lockwood at Arif’s, Lockwood and Holly outside The Times offices in town, Lockwood sweeping the steps at home, Lockwood at Satchell’s. And there, as the skull had said, a picture of Lockwood and myself, though my back was to the camera. We were standing by the penguin enclosure at London Zoo, on a day last summer after the business with the Bone Glass — I’d mentioned that I’d never been to a zoo before, and Lockwood had managed to scrounge up a pair of tickets a week or so later, so we’d gone. It had been odd, walking around with Lockwood in the daylight without the excuse of work to distract us, but pleasant, too, in ways I wouldn’t have wanted to admit to anybody else.

He’d bought a flower from a passing vendor and presented it to me, and the photographer had captured the moment he’d tucked it behind my ear. It had been a sweet, unexpected gesture, a private moment between friends that cemented our closeness…but now it was here, hanging on the wall in a serial killer’s house.

I was horrified. ‘He’s been following him for over a year…’

‘Yes, well, he has proven rather difficult to pin down.’

The skull at my back let out a litany of profanity and I whirled around, drawing my sword in one fluid motion and dropping into a defensive stance. Sir Rupert Gale leant against the doorframe, sword held casually at his side, dressed in garish purple silk pyjamas that reflected the shimmering lights of the Sources in the room. For once, his arrival wasn’t heralded by a cloud of aftershave — I suppose that was his one concession to the late hour — and the smile he bestowed upon me was polite and genial, his eyes glittering with a benign amusement like a jolly old grandfather at a family dinner who had caught the children hiding their vegetables. He terrified me.

‘I rarely have guests, Miss Carlyle,’ he said, pushing away from the doorway and slowly moving into the room. I took a step back and strengthened my stance. ‘And when I do receive visitors, they tend to stay downstairs.’ His smile grew. ‘Only very special visitors get to lay eyes on this room, and unfortunately you don’t meet the qualifications yet.’

‘You mean I’m not dead,’ I spat, my heart pounding. I kept my eyes on his hips — after the chase at the carnival he’d attacked so fast I hadn’t even seen him move.

‘Lucy!’

He paused by one of the display cases in the middle of the room and raised a hand, as though to greet the Visitors on the shelves within. For a moment, his face took on a curious expression, something blank and almost gentle. An instant and then it was gone, his posture taking on a predatory air as he turned to me again. ‘I rather think, Miss Carlyle, that they failed to teach you proper manners in that hovel you hail from. I can fix that, if you accompany me to the cellar.’

I’d seen enough photographs of the cellar to know what that meant. My lip curled. ‘Fuck you.’

‘Are you sure? I’m a rather good teacher.’ He tapped lightly on one of the wall-mounted display cases as he prowled closer. ‘This young man was rather polite by the time I was finished with him. Used all his P’s and Q’s perfectly.’

‘And look at where that got him,’ the skull interjected. ‘Lucy, you have to get out of here.’

‘I know,’ I answered, gritting my teeth.

The problem was, there was nowhere to go. We were trapped in this strange dance, him slowly prowling closer, me slowly edging backwards, trying to keep up the niceties when in reality we were circling each other like two tigers waiting to strike. Only I didn’t feel like a tiger. I felt like the prey.

I’d never been foolish enough to believe I could beat him in a fair fight; the plan had been to slit his throat while he slept. But it seemed that, in all my hurt and fury, I’d forgotten something: I was an agent, not a killer. God, why hadn’t I listened to Lockwood? He’d said he had a plan. For once, couldn’t I have just listened? 

Sir Rupert moved closer, regarding me appraisingly. ‘While it’s unfortunate that you’re nothing like my usual preference, I suspect I’m going to rather enjoy your extended stay.’ His smile was all teeth, like a shark. ‘At the very least, you’ll make excellent bait.’

A wave of fury rushed through me. ‘Never!’

‘I think you’ll find you don’t have much say in the matter,’ he said calmly, and in the same breath he lunged.

I parried the blow, barely dancing away from his follow-up in time to avoid having my thighs sliced open. He pressed the attack, and even as I tried to counter he caught my rapier with his own and tried to push it to one side. I only just managed to disengage before he twisted his wrist, scarcely avoiding the attempted disarm.

‘Lucy, let me out!’

‘How?!’ I cried, whirling out of the way of another swipe and letting the momentum carry me, futilely trying to put more distance between us. Even if I’d wanted to, I didn’t have the hands to do it; Sir Rupert was relentless.

Yellow light flared at my elbow and on impulse I feinted high, then used the split second of time that bought me to fling myself to the side and smash the hilt of my sword down hard on the display case. At once I was engulfed by a wave of fury, a desperate need for freedom and revenge that was abruptly cut off as Sir Rupert dispatched the Visitor with a swipe of his sword.

But the distraction had already served its purpose and before he could turn on me again I threw a flare at the display cabinet behind him. In an instant, it all changed: glass shattered, bright light burst against my tightly-closed eyelids, and a freezing cold wave of psychic energy slammed me back against the wall. My inner senses were immediately bombarded with a cacophony of sound and I winced, blinking away the last of the flare-light to see three or four Visitors converge on Sir Rupert.

He burst into movement with a roar of fury, his blade flashing as he whirled to defend against the advancing ghosts. Two were already rematerializing as I scrambled upright.

‘Oh, you’ll let them out, but not me,’ the skull groused.

‘Shut up,’ I answered, ripping another flare from my belt and lobbing it at where two cabinets stood close together. ‘You’re not as accessible.’

‘I’m also less likely to turn on you.’

‘Or more likely, depending on your mood.’

I braced myself and covered my face as the second flare exploded and more glass flew. Sir Rupert was — in a feat of particularly impressive rapier work — somehow holding his own, though I doubted it would last as the numbers grew. The most important thing was that he was no longer after me.

The ghosts weren’t after me, either. The first ghost I’d freed had rematerialised less than a foot away and completely ignored me, instead moving towards where a wild-eyed Sir Rupert fought for his life with a single-mindedness reminiscent of George with a new book. I moved along the wall towards the door, smashing cases as I went for good measure.

‘Are you going to let them all out? What’s the plan for when they’re done with their revenge?’

‘No idea,’ I huffed, ducking as the Dark Spectre floated to hang overhead. ‘He’s making a good go of it, hopefully I'll be out by then.’

The skull grumbled a response, something about a lack of planning. Part of me wanted to point out that I had no other choice, but as usual: it had a point. Annie Ward had moved on once she’d exacted her revenge on her killer, but there was no guarantee these spirits would. And there were so many of them — Spectres, Wraiths, a Raw-Bones, plus a few Type Ones. Leaving would be the smart option.

But I had one thing I wanted to do first. I spun around, carefully avoiding a Shade hanging at the edges of the fray as I cut the corner and flung myself at Lachlan’s display case, driving the hilt of my sword into it with my full body weight. The maroon glow flared brightly then disappeared, reforming right where I’d stood a moment before into the shape of a boy. His naked torso was covered in bloody gashes and bruises, the skin hanging off in places, the bones twisted and broken. I blinked back a tear.

The Wraith regarded me silently, and I held its gaze, my breath fogging in the frigid air.  There was no trace of Lachlan’s confident smile on its visage, only a deep, hollow exhaustion. Then Sir Rupert screamed, and it turned and glided away towards the centre of the room.

I didn’t see him hit the ground but I felt it all the same when he lost the fight; the energy in the room suddenly shifted, expanding as the frenzied, focused rage lost some of its strength. Whether he was dead yet or not didn’t really matter; he would be soon.

‘Time to go, Lucy.’

‘I know.’ I stopped in front of the empty case beside Lachlan’s and snatched the photo from the zoo off the wall.  Then I got the hell out.

⚔⚔⚔

The dawn chorus was in full swing when I slipped into the front hall at home. Quietly, very quietly, I placed my rapier in the umbrella stand, removed my boots, then tiptoed towards the library where Lockwood slept.

He’d shut the door.

‘You’d think he’d at least leave it open so you could watch him sleep.’ The skull sighed dramatically. ‘How short-sighted of him to deny you one of the few simple pleasures in your miserable existence.’

I scoffed and turned for the stairs. It was past four-thirty in the morning; I didn’t need to see him to know that Lockwood was fast asleep on the sofa, long legs slung over one end. George’s harsh breathing was audible on the landing, so I knew he was safe too. All was well.

Still, twenty minutes later I stood outside the library door, my hair damp from the shower. The skull’s derisive laughter echoed in my ears. It was irrational, and it was stupid, but…I just needed to be sure. I couldn’t rest until I’d checked.

The door opened with a soft creak and my entire being sagged with relief: there lay Lockwood, one arm thrown up above his head, his too-long legs hanging off the opposite end of the sofa, the spare blanket he’d taken from my room cutting out at his shins. I drank him in for a moment, studying the way his fringe flopped over his brow and the way his expression was relaxed and serene. Tomorrow he’d be a force of nature, a tornado of sharp focus and purpose as he rallied the troops for the next great challenge. Right now, he was just a boy.

The clock in the hallway chimed five, and he stirred.

‘Luce?’

‘Go back to sleep, Lockwood,’ I said gently. ‘I’m sorry for waking you up.’

‘S’okay,’ he mumbled, blearily rubbing his eyes. ‘Did you have a nightmare?’

I thought of the photographs covering the walls, of breaking glass and the smell of magnesium smoke. I thought of Sir Rupert’s shark-like smile as he moved towards me and found I couldn’t quite dismiss it. ‘Something like that.’

‘C’mere then,’ he said, shifting and lifting the blanket with a yawn. ‘There’s room for two if we squish.’

On any other night, I would have declined. I’m sure my face would have turned scarlet at the offer alone — surely only made because he was half-asleep — and I would have insisted that I was fine, that all I needed was a bit of warm milk and a book and then I’d be out like a light, all by myself. But tonight? Tonight I was haunted by images of an unaware Lockwood on the street, by wide, terrified eyes and horror and gore and cruelty too great to name. Tonight I had no strength to resist.

I crawled under the cover and he shifted to accommodate me, arms coming around to press me to his bare chest and keep me from falling off. Our legs tangled together, and I pulled the blanket up to my shoulders before wrapping my free arm around his back. Somewhere, at the back of my mind, time dipped and whirred; the clock on the bookshelf ticked softly, but my world was spinning with the way my face fit perfectly in the hollow of his throat, the way his breath tickled my ear, the way his hand felt so warm on the skin of my back where he’d slipped it underneath my top. We’d never been so close before, not even when we’d sheltered under the same spirit cape. And the circumstances had been quite different.

Eventually, though, I relaxed, the tension gradually drawn out of me like a slow sigh by the warmth of his body, his steady heartbeat, and the rise and fall of his chest. This was new, but this was Lockwood. I’d wanted to reassure myself he was alive, and really: how much more alive could he get? Neither of us had spoken since I’d lain down with him, but I could feel the lines of his muscles relaxing as I melted into his embrace.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ The question was soft, murmured into my hair. I shook my head. ‘Okay then,’ he whispered. ‘Go to sleep, Lucy.’ His hand brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, and the gesture sparked a memory.

‘Lockwood?’

‘Mm?’

‘Do you remember that day we went to the zoo?’

‘Yes?’

If I hadn’t been safely ensconced in his warmth, my face hidden in his neck, I would never have asked. But it turns out certain things are easier to voice when you’re snuggled up in the dark, and the way he’d looked at me in that photo…it was making me connect all kinds of dots. I needed to know, so I asked.

‘Was that a date?’

‘...Yes?’ His voice was laced with sleepy confusion, but the answer still made my heart skip a beat. ‘Wait, Lucy, did you not know that was a date?’

He tried to shift away, probably to get a look at my face, but I stubbornly pressed closer and shook my head.

‘Lucy, I gave you a flower!’

‘I thought it was just…you know, a flower,’ I said, my voice a strangled whisper. ‘You never said—’

‘I’m quite sure I did,’ he replied, his tone incredulous. ‘Even George knew.’

‘Oh.’ That explained why George had given me such an odd look when I’d invited him to join.

‘Did you really not know?’

‘I really didn’t know,’ I said, shaking my head again. My cheeks were burning, and I was very glad for the darkness. ‘Um…Do you think, maybe, when all this is over, we can go on a second date?’

Lockwood was silent for a moment, then his chest began to rumble with laughter. ‘Lucy,’ he began, ‘what did you think that day at the fair was?’

‘Oh!’

‘Oh,’ he agreed, burying his face in my hair as he laughed softly. ‘Oh my god, Luce. This explains so much.’

I was starting to laugh now, too, embarrassed though I was. ‘Like what?’

‘Like why you were always so hot and cold. One day I’d feel like we were doing great, and the next day I’d be wondering where I stood with you.’

‘Oh my god. Wait, so how long were we dating for?’

His arm around me tightened. ‘Well, you broke up with me when you left—’

‘I wouldn’t have if I’d known!’

 ‘—but if we ignore that, about a year?’

‘Wait, really?’ I finally pulled back so I could look at him. He looked as exhausted as I remembered from earlier — his smooth face lined and weary, the bags under his eyes prominent even in the dim dawn — but his eyes glittered with amusement. ‘Did you think we were dating now, too?’

‘Didn’t we just go out for lunch last month?’

‘That was a date?’

‘Lucy.’ He threaded a hand through my hair, drawing me closer. ‘It was a fancy restaurant. You wore a dress. Remember?’

His breath ghosted across my lips, and my laughter died away as we gazed at each other. Dark hair fell across his eyes, that floof I always wanted to reach out and push back, and I suddenly realised that he definitely wouldn’t mind if I did.

His hair was soft and silky beneath my fingertips. ‘Have there been others?’ I whispered, searching his gaze. ‘Since I came back, I mean.’

‘A few,’ he breathed, gently touching his nose to mine. ‘How did you not know?’

‘You never kissed me.’

His eyes darkened. ‘I could fix that.’

‘Please do,’ I replied.

His lips met mine — soft, gentle, tentative — just for a moment, and then he pulled back. I closed the distance for a second one, laughing as our noses bumped, pulling back just as quickly. But we were fast learners, Lockwood and I, and years of living and working together had us pretty in sync; it didn’t take long to find our bearings, to figure out how to melt against each other as what had always been between us deepened into something slow and warm and perfect.

Outside the window the first rays of sunlight spilled across the street, chasing away the last remnants of the night; here, inside, I held my own piece of sunlight safe in my arms, and let his warmth melt away the remnants of mine. Later, I’d have to tell him what I’d done, but for now? I’d let him help me forget it.

Thanks for reading! If you got this far, please reblog.

[withered-rose-unbreakable-lotus]

About Sophia's origin

Ok so I'd like to clear this up cause when I make mistakes I admit them most times. Some time ago I made a post about Sophia and my being pissed that even though she appeared Greek, Reverse's team didn't seem to have tried as hard to find a native or sb with an at least understandable accent for her Greek spell but it appears this wasn't necessary because Sophia is most likely not Greek (or she's half).

For context, when the current patch came out I could guess from the aesthetic the inspiration would be either Greek or Roman and then by the focus on Pythagorians I could tell it was indeed Greek inspiration, but I didn't expect there would be a single character that'd actually use the language, like for example French characters do. So when it did I was excited but also disappointed cause unless you read the subs, you couldn't tell what Sophia was saying.

Anyway long story short, from Sophia's mentions in 6's story, she appears to be Anatolian. And while the inspiration could be mixed, time-wise, cause anyway we're in 2007 in the game but everything else is based off ancient Greece, I think she too is supposed to be from the ancient version of Anatolia, therefore neither Greek nor Turkish but either Hattian or some other Anatolian ethnicity of that time. It is said that people at the shores of Asia Minor back then did speak Greek, probably cause of the trade situation with Greece and all, therefore it now makes sense to me that they went with the broken Greek option since she is not supposed to be native.

There. These are my "findings", or rather realizations. So yeah I apologize, I didn't know and I hope she is Anatolian and neither Greek nor Turkish cause that brings in the forefront ethnicities that went extinct and adds even more diversity in the game. However I have to admit I'm a bit sceptical about the choice of hair colour as well. 37 has light blue hair and Sophia firey red so this couuuuuld be addressing one is Greek and the other Turkish, or maybe's it's me overthinking xD. Cause some of you might say oh then why 6 and 210's hair aren't significant. Well, the men's duo doesn't seem to bring a cultural contrast in the forefront but one of authority and social roles and standards. It's the common sense of the island vs the one that wishes to not follow stuff blindly. 37 and Sophia's focus though has to do with cultural contrast and differences and Sophia's adjusting to the mindset of the island through observation of the common ways (island people) and 37 (sb's different and independent approach to the common ways), while also stressing the significance of learning from each other and finding a middle ground like when 37 also tried to play, in her own way, and try to understand more about Sophia through her father's notebook.

That's all. At the end of the day, games and storytelling are artforms, so unless we have specific mentions of things, everything is up to the viewer's interpretation. That was mine.

[samael-your-guardian-angel]

((Information about Samael!))

Name: Samael

Nicknames/Aliases: Planter of the Tree of Knowledge, Guardian Angel, Sam, Sammy J Gardener

Age/Date of Birth/Place of Birth: Older than time/Before time began/Heaven

Species: Angel

Gender/Pronouns: Technically agender, fine with corporation being seen as “male”, he/him

Sexuality: Technically asexual, sex-positive (in a demisexual sort of way) (Momo only!)

Appearance: Samael looks much like Crowley does; tall, lean, with red hair. He’s had just as many weird (meaning period-accurate) hairstyles as Crowley, but he prefers it long. In modern times, he often wears it up in a bun. Has normal, brown eyes, but enjoys novelty sunglasses that would make Crowley cringe. Loves wearing graphic tees with puns on them (example: a cartoon haloed avocado with the caption “Holy guacamole!”). Usually in street fashion in angelic colours of whites, creams, and tans. Just as concerned with coming off as “cool” as Crowley, but has a wildly different aesthetic.

Personality/History: A fast-living angel. A ray of sunshine, usually cheerful. Loves to people-watch. Great with kids. Easily distracted. Occasionally plagued with frustration (“why can’t people just be nice to each other?!”) Collects plants to the point where his flat is overrun with flowers, herbs and houseplants in pots, and he barely has room to sit down. (Refuses to sit in a chair properly anyway.) Has a bleeding heart for plants that need extra care, and is well known at all the local plant nurseries. All his ceilings are covered with stick-on stars, model solar systems, sky charts, and the like; some of which are hand-made. Drives a white Rolls Royce that refuses to play anything but ABBA, of its own free will. His timeline diverged from Crowley’s (EEAAO-style) because he did not suggest making a suggestion box, and thus did not end up at the Bad Kids table with Lucifer and the guys, and thus did not Fall.

His first assignment on Earth was helping put together the Garden of Eden (not as fun as making nebulae). There was supposed to be a DO NOT TOUCH sign on the tree, but he forgot about it. Got written up for that one. Hung around to watch the humans, was very dismayed to hear about the humans getting kicked out and felt a bit guilty for that. The Serpent, Asmodeus (wait, was he that one angel? THAT GUY FELL???), assured Samael that it wasn’t his fault and he was sure Samael was only doing his best. To hear such compassionate words from a demon (and he’s a demon- how- why- what-?) was fascinating to Samael, and he kind of, sort of, maybe, developed a bit of a crush- okay, he fell in love instantly whatever it’s not a big deal-

Got bored early on Earth, did some weird edgy LARPing to entertain himself, now has an Unfortunate Reputation in religious texts. Asmodeus teases him about it so much, which he finds so embarrassing (“Why does everyone think I’m literally Satan, I’m not, I’m not evil, I don’t go around seducing humans, stop laughing at me it’s not funny-”)

Kept showing up around Asmodeus like a very determined, lost puppy, until Asmodeus admitted that, alright, they were friends, maybe, don’t go spreading it around.

~

[officialdaydreamer00]

Unused ideas: Irene Lovejoy's siblings

So originally, Irene was supposed to have 4 younger sisters. That idea was first started when I drafted the Engelika's original family tree.

It was just a simple idea, appeared on a whim, I gave them names and appearances, but it's been a while since then, I don't remember much about them. So now they will have their own spotlight, as I will be redesigning them :D

No promises they will show up any time in the near future, but in an AU, perhaps.

Concept: 4/9 Muses of Greek Mythology

Picrew

General info:

Full name: Melpomene Lovejoy (named after the muse of tragedy)

Age: 16

Birthday: 31st October (Before midnight)

Gender: Male (AFAB)

Pronouns: He/They

Sexuality: Transgender, Demisexual

Fun facts:

The second oldest child and the older twin

He prefers to be called Melli or Mel, his legal name is a mouthful and he doesn't like it really much

Mel is somewhat okay with his body the way it is, but dysphoria sometimes gets the best of him, and a lot of those times leaves many scars

Mel got top surgery on his 15th birthday

Mel has ADHD and mild insomnia

Mel dyes his hair white and left a couple strands of black hair to match with his older sister Irene, who has black hair with strands of white

Mel looks up to the oldest a lot and apsires to be as cool as her

Mel enjoys rock and classical music

Mel fears being left alone and forgotten, but his sisters are always there to support him

Mel dreams to become a well-known guitarist in the future

Picrew

General info:

Full name: Thalia Lovejoy (named after the muse of comedy)

Age: 16

Birthday: 1st November (After midnight)

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Cisgender, Bisexual

Fun facts:

The middle child and younger twin

Like Mel, she dyed her hair pink but it's to match her love of pastel colours, her original hair colour is brown

Her clothes and room aesthetics is pastel kidcore

She adores the Hello Kitty franchise, plushies, dolls, and pastel fashion

You sometimes can't pry her out of mind when she's hyperfixated on an artistic concept, this results in many times she forgot to eat

She gets better over time, but there are still times she slips into old habits

She wants to be a fashion designer growing up

Picrew

General info:

Full names: Erato and Calliope Lovejoy (named after the muse of lyrics and love poetry, and the muse of epic poetry respectively)

Age: 12

Birthday: 21st March

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/Her

Fun facts:

The youngest twins

Calliope is the older twin

Both are nicknamed Eri and Calli respectively by their older siblings

They're both usually secretive about their mischief, but it's fortunately always end up some harmless pranks

Erato likes technical subjects like Chemistry and Biology, while Calliope enjoys history and music

Both are shy around strangers and prefer to stay close to their siblings

tags🏷️ @cloudcountry @identity-theft-101 @aqua-beam @siren-serenity @xen-blank @moonlit-midnight @ferris-the-wheel @cookiesandbiscuits @dove-da-birb @krenenbaker @axvwriter @escha-evenstar @leichor @loser-jpg @taruruchi @shinysparklesapphires @vioisgoinginsane @mermaidfanficlibrary @thehollowwriter @cyanide-latte @edith-is-a-cat

[pandorasboxoftreasures]

Real Talk For A Sec...

Don't get me wrong, I love seeing all the high quality artwork people make (that doesn't involve certain actions with certain characters and also particularly disturbing shippy stuff), but there's something I keep seeing in OC art that bugs me quite a bit. Because of the likely not intentional, yet if you think about it it's sort of awkward, aspects of it.

That being making Na'vi non-Avatar or Recom OC's look like Instagram models in terms of body proportions and makeup. Even when they're not supposed to be wearing makeup and clearly do not have the access to cosmetic procedures.

It gives the impression of applying Westernised Human beauty and body standards on them and it's really uncomfortable for me how common it is to see in fanart.

These characters don't look like Na'vi in their designs even through the filter of an individual artist's style. They have the skin colour and the stripes and the big eyes and the tails and the number of fingers but what else?

It's got the same feel under my skin as when I see somebody dressing up as a "Native American" on Halloween yet still dressed and wearing makeup to fit to Colonial American early 21st century standards of "sexy" with feather stuff on.

Depicting Native Na'vi like that is like making them into a costume in a similar way but obviously lessened because they're fictional peoples.

Na'vi are aesthetically interesting just as they are if you make them anatomically and culturally accurate. They don't need to be Westernised to hell to make them "pretty".

Not to say I'll rage at you for doing it or that it makes you a bad artist or a bad person for doing that, but it's disappointing not seeing enough Native Na'vi OCs that look like they grew up on Pandora as part of a clan there.

You can still get away with this (to a degree but still not that much) for Avatars and Recoms since they're culturally and physically more human (although why would the RDA bother), but why do it with Pandora-born Na'vi?

Your art is your art, but do you not see the problem here?

Maybe if you're dealing with a modern day or set in the future AU where the Na'vi have been culturally assimilated with humanity and so end up doing the same crap to themselves to the same standards we do, but if it's set during the time or world of the movies and games and comics? Why?

[mysteriawrites]

Your idol matchups look like fun. I'm gonna ask for one and see what you cook up, if that's ok.

Appearance-wise I am a 165 cm tall, average build, Bangladeshi woman (She/her but also cool with they/them). I have wavy black hair that just reaches below my shoulders and I usually dress in South Asian attire, usually salwar-kameez plus a hijab. I also wear glasses. I don't really feel comfortable going out without them 😅

My MBTI and enneagram: INTJ 5w4

Star sign: Sagittarius sun, Virgo moon and rising (I act more like a Virgo, allegedly)

Sexuality: demiromantic asexual (demisexual?)

Personality traits: Calm, collected, polite, quiet, shy (but that can easily be mistaken for being aloof or done with everyone's shit (they aren't entirely wrong about the latter)) (someone told me I radiate black cat energy), not very facially expressive (I'm the most emotional emotionless person I know. I do feel things more deeply than people give me credit for), a good listener, hardworking (I often bite off more than I can chew and end up burnt out), intelligent (especially with numbers. RIP impostor syndrome + gifted kid burnout syndrome. As much as I love my major, electrical engineering is kicking my ass). I am also the oldest of three sisters, so I'm good at handling kids (I'm also expected to be the perfect daughter, so... yea). Someone also told me I'm wise, but all that wisdom came from all the books I read + watching Avatar: The Last Airbender lmao. The same person also said my presence was therapeutic (paraphrasing, of course. Also, this is alleged). Cats and dogs seem to love me also. Dogs like to come up to me and say hello, and cats just seem to feel at ease around me.

Hobbies: Making art, making jewelry, reading, writing, animating (I'm relatively new to animation. I don't know what I'm doing most of the time, but I'm still having fun), basically anything creative. I especially like to draw and paint things that radiate a sense of comfort, nostalgia, and serenity. Someone also told me that my artworks also hold a sort of innocence in the composition of the shapes, colours, and overall vibe of what I draw/paint. I also make jewelry from time to time

Likes: Classical music, lofi hip-hop, indie rpgs (Yume Nikki and Off have me in a chokehold), visual novel games (coughs in Obey Me, Court of Darkness, Twisted Wonderland, Arcana Twilight, Ikemen Prince, and ofc, Tokyo Debunker), tea, books, creative outlets. I also like to learn psychology

Dislikes: Cruelty, anyone who would dare to threaten my family or friends, loud noises, red meat (The texture is too much for me to handle), bright lights. I also dislike strong smelling things and being in crowded, noisy and bright environments for prolonged periods of time

Favourite colours: Purple, blue, black

Favourite Aesthetic: academia

Favourite animal: Cat

One random fact about me: I made a Hetalia comic that was originally supposed to be a silly little volunteer project for my library, but it was showed on a display on flag day (It was about how Canada's flag came to be)

Hello thx for the request srry i didnt get to it as quickly as the first 3 hope you enjoy

Idol Name: Ithseem

Idol franchise: Aikatsu

Idol Type: Sexy (note: in idol anime sexy doesn’t necessarily mean sexual or revealing or explicit but just generally means mature and elegant)

How you became an idol: youve always been a creative person and into multiple art forms. The only one you had yet to really try was preforming arts. You were told it was frivolous and a waste of time. However when you saw your first aikatsu performance you know that the stage was you wanted to be. Using your skills you wrote your own songs and designed your own outfits. You applied to preform in the local square and blew away the crowd. You got offended a spot at a prestigious idol academy abroad. Everyone who had ever doubted you couldn’t help but be proud. Your friends, family, and rapidly growing fanbase sent you off on your new adventure with a heartfelt farewell.

Your brand: Bejeweled Heart (self made)

Your Choords:

Your songs:

An: im a hijabi wearer as well so this was so much fun choosing beautiful dresses for you.

P.s. im p sure u did a matchup for me before so u get some extra songs :)

[not---meat]

Paradise: Chapter 5: Ever Tear, A WaterFall

Pairing: Javier Peña x McKenzie Martel

Rating: A - Adult

Warnings: Angst, Illegal drug use

Summary: McKenzie makes a grave mistake

Note: This is an AU set in between season 2 and season 3 of Narcos sometime in the 90's. I apologize in advance for any historical inaccuracies!

MASTERLIST --- PARADISE MASTERLIST

There were very few things that McKenzie appreciated about Rob. He was a terrible roommate at the end of the day. He never cleaned, always left a mess wherever he went, was typically late on his rent, and could be quite rude to new people. The positives though? He did pay his rent even if it was late, he didn't care about Kenzi painting every surface she could, and when it came to them getting high Rob was always prepared.

By the time Kenzi was ready to go, Rob had already gotten them all set up. There was snacks and drinks if they needed them or wanted them, and the lines were already cut. He even had the straws ready. Kenzi could appreciate that at least in this aspect, Rob was good.

Kenz flopped down on the couch, looking up at Rob as he handed her a straw. She took it gratefully and leaned forward over the coffee table, plugging one nostril and inhaling the fine white powder through the other. She leaned back on the couch and let out a soft breath.

"You good?" Rob asked, taking his line before flopping down next to her, he tossed his straw onto the coffee table in front of them. "Who was that guy on the phone at the ranch the other day?"

"Javier." Kenzi replied, leaning forward so she could set her own straw down. She run her fingers through her hair and blew out a puff of air as she sat back again, pulling her hair away from her face. "Don't worry about it. He's just an old friend."

"Wasn't he your best friend?" Rob questioned. In response, Kenzi only nodded, staring up at the ceiling. "Shit. You okay?"

"Yeah, Rob, I'm fine." Kenzi spoke. She rested her head on the back of the couch and stared up at the painted ceilings, watching the dark black swirls above her move and change. For the first time since Javier had come back she started to slip into a peaceful feeling. She felt happy. A grin slowly crept along her lips as she watched the swirls above her morph and change, the pops of colours that she had painted seeming almost more vibrant now.

The pair were silent, experiencing their own highs in their own ways. Kenzi watched at one point as Rob moved to the kitchen and started clanking pots around. She didn't let it bug her, instead just going back to her own little happy world.

"You want some macaroni?" Rob called out from the kitchen, peeking his head around the wall with a goofy smile on his lips.

"Sure." Kenzi replied, sitting up again. How long had she been staring at the ceiling? She didn't know. She leaned forward and took another line, wiping at her nose after she was done. She leaned back again and started fiddling with her hair, grabbing a few random strands of the red curls and braiding them.

When she was done braiding she moved to fiddle with her pendant, fingers tracing the little peace sign sigil that she wore almost every single day. It was rather large and made of metal. Truthfully Kenzi couldn't remember for the life of her where she got it. Some sort of music festival? It had come in handy quite a few times. It was supposed to be a bottle opener but she decided to thread it onto a piece of twine and just wear it. That way she would be prepared for anything, really. That and it matched her aesthetic.

Another change. Something that had happened within the past few years. Kenzi wasn't certain what had brought on the sudden change, her aesthetic before being so laid back and whatever. She hadn't really cared too much what she looked like before but in her college days she had made a change, deciding to embrace the trippy, flower child aesthetic that worked well with the style of her art. Typically that just meant some oversized jeans and a tight tank top that showed off her mid drift and the piercing she had gotten on a whim, normally decorated with some fort of hanging jewel. At the moment it was just a little silver alien with green gems for eyes.

It was a vibe. Her vibe. One that she knew had thrown off Javier at first.

Not that it mattered at the end of the day. McKenzie was happy with who she had become. She was confident in the way she appeared to the world now and at times she felt almost as if she was actually beautiful. Not Javiers type, of course, but it didn't matter anymore. Kenzi had moved on. That ridiculous crush that at one time she had allowed to control her every though had slipped away in his absence.

In some cases, absence made the heart grow colder.

Kenzi looked up from her fiddling with a gracious smile when Rob walked into the room, a bowl of macaroni in each hand, he handed Kenzi hers. She sat up and started eating, doing a little happy wiggle on the couch as she took in forkfuls of food.

Kenzi was so lost in her own little world that she didn't hear the doorbell. Another good thing about Rob. He was much more attentive when he was high than she was.

"Kenz!!" Rob called out as he walked from the front door to the livingroom where Kenzi was peacefully jiving to the music in her head while she practically inhaled her macaroni.

She hummed in response, looking up toward Rob and their visitor. Her heart dropped. It was Javier. Shit.

"You have a visitor." Rob stated as he plopped back down onto the couch beside her. He picked his bowl of food back up just as McKenzie set hers down onto the coffee table, her heart absolutely pounding.

It only took one look. One look at the coffee table, one look at her eyes and the half dazed expression on her face. One look and McKenzie knew that Javier knew. The way his eyebrows furrowed ever slightly as he stared at the duo, his eyes flittering from the coffee table and back to Kenzi, there was so much anger. Anger in his eyes. Anger in his expression. The world seemed to go in slow motion as Javier pursed his lips, hands going to his hips as he shook his head slowly, a breath leaving his mouth.

"Jesus christ McKenzie." He spoke under his breath, his voice barely a whisper. All she could do was watch as he pulled off his yellow tinted aviators, folding them and tucking them into the collar of his shirt.

The aboslute horror in McKenzies eyes as she stared up at Javier spoke a million words. She wanted to apologize but she didn't truthfully feel remorseful for what she did. She was just sad that he had found out.

"So that's it then, huh?" Javier hissed, "I leave to fight against this shit and you become one of them?"

At his anger filled words, Rob looked up from his food, his gaze moving from Javier to Kenzie then to the lines of coke still sitting on the coffee table. "What?" Rob asked, looking over at Javier, "You didn't come for the sesh?"

McKenzie opened her mouth to speak but no words came out, just a muffled squeak as she watched Javier move toward the coffee table. She watched in horror as Javier picked up the edge of the coffee table and flipped it up ever gently so he didn't actually wreck the table. She watched as all of Robs stash slid off the edge of the table and onto the rug underneath, effectively ruining it.

Rob stood at once, his bowl of macaroni still in his hand. "What the hell is your problem?!" Rob yelled, glaring at Javier.

"Don't." Javier warned, returning Robs hateful gaze, he looked over at McKenzie before crossing over to her and grabbing her by the chin, looking into her eyes so he could truly see just how dilated her pupils were. "Jesus Christ." He hissed, pushing her away and stepping back.

Rob was immediately at Javiers side, pushing him away. "Hey get the fuck away from her you creep." Rob spat.

Silently brooding, Javier pulled away from Rob, glaring over at him once again. "Sesh is over." He hissed, grabbing Kenzis arm. He pulled her to her feet and looked her over, making sure she was okay.

Wordlessly, McKenzie led Javier to her bedroom. She knew all too well that a fight between Rob and Javier would not end in her roommates favour and if she wanted to keep her friendships with both of the men she would have to play this smart.

Once the door to her bedroom was shut, McKenzie turned to look at Javier who was still obviously fuming.

"So that's it, huh? You realize what you're doing McKenzie? You're throwing your life away is what you're doing." Javier spat.

"Stop, Javs. There's nothing wrong with having a little fun from time to time." Kenzi spoke, crossing the room so she could sit down on her bed.

In any normal circumstance it would have been surreal to have Javier there. To have him surrounded by the colourful swirls and harsh black lines of her art. To see him in the dimly lit room, his features glowing with all the colours of the rainbow as the light hit him. Instead this was just… hard. It was terrible. Shameful. McKenzie felt a deep sadness in the pit of her stomach.

He was never supposed to see this.

"Don't pull that shit with me McKenzie." Javier argued back, crossing his arms as he stood in the middle of her bedroom. He hadn't moved an inch, almost seeming as if he was ready to walk out at any moment.

His anger was sobering for her. Dread settling into her as she came down from her high.

"Javier…" She started, getting promptly cut off by a glare thrown her way.

"Do you even realize how many people had to die for that one little sniff? I hope those fifteen minutes were worth it to you, McKenzie, because you effectively killed six people just there." Javiers words were so full of anger, so full of hate.

The worst part about it all was that McKenzie knew. She knew that she was fucking up. She knew the horrors of the cartel and yet she still indulged. Selfishly, she indulged.

"You weren't supposed to see this…" She whispered.

Javier just scoffed, looking away from her, "You…" He started, shaking his head. A sadness passed his eyes as he looked over at McKenzie. "You realize that I could easily get you arrested just for being in the possession of that? You relaize that you could get in a lot of trouble?"

"I know."

"Then tell me why, McKenzie. Tell me why you're…" Javier let out a breath, trying to calm himself down. "Fuck, McKenzie…. What the fuck happened to you? This is not you."

It was McKenzie's turn to furrow her eyebrows. It was her turn for anger to bubble into her. Perhaps it was the cocaine still in her system or perhaps it was the hurt and pain that she had endured in the past ten years finally raising up to the surface. Regardless of the reason, McKenzie opened her mouth and she yelled.

NEXT CHAPTER

[frayed-symphony]

Since Twitter might not be a thing for much longer I wanted to move the trivia threads for my picture books to tumblr.

OC lore dump and sketches for my first self-published picture book Hurricane Lane under the cut;

The number one thing I'm worried about is people thinking my book is related to the hurricane of the same name. I wrote this in 2010-2011 which predates it and the title is meant to convey Amelia's life in her suburban town and how she views it more dramatically then it is.

The name was also inspired by this beautiful song by The Hush Sound which I was listening to a lot whilst concepting and really influenced aesthetics (more subdued colour, the inclusion of the piano being an important story point etc).

I started getting interested in children's illustration when I saw the Penguin Design Competition advertised at my uni in 2010. I didn't make the cut but figured I'd go ahead and finish my book anyway because at that point I was invested in my story and wanted to complete it.

The contest called for an ebook with interactive pages so I made Hurricane Lane have seven special pages of  'wonders' Amelia finds throughout her story. Unfortunately with flash player gone the interactions don't play but they're still found online here;

I based Amelia's design on a Mii I had made which was supposed to represent a human Pikachu. You can see the Mii on the bottom left here. I really liked how it looked and she gradually evolved into what she is today.

Initially the dinosaur suit that her brother has was going to be worn by Amelia but I preferred her without it and thus Bailey was born. The dinosaur itself was based on a purple stegosaurus keyring I had when I was younger and loved even though I had no keys at the time.

Here are some more initial outfit designs for Amelia but in the end I went with the one on the right, inspired by Miku Hatsune's 'Out and About' module from Project Diva.

The family's father Rupert was partly based on my own dad (definitely the dress sense) but in 2010 I was also really obsessed with the BBC show Merlin and may have tried to age up Colin Morgan a bit to make this character.

The mother's design was a little based on my own Mother's and a little the title character of the film Amelié (she evolved beyond this quite early so there's not too striking a resemblence). I was also obsessed with the music in that film which inspired this book a lot.

I kept it vague whether she worked at the hospital or was staying there as a patient because at the time I had an idea for an overarching narrative where the families of Hurricane Lane and 256 Postcards Ago meet. This didn't pan out so feel free to have your own interpretation.

Here's some initial concepts of the logo which I was mostly scribbling during my Uni classes.

One more random tidbit is that I based the background of their journey home from the Toad's Turnpike track in Mario Kart 64. I really loved that game and it holds a lot of childhood memories for me so the nostalgia felt fitting. Maybe that's too weird to mention!

Towards the end I was concepting the protagonists of Hurricane Lane and 256 Postcards Ago meeting in a connecting rpgmaker game but sadly that never came to be. I'll talk about it more in my thread for the next book though!

I also made a little soundtrack for my book here

1) Kiara 2) Cornflake Girl 3) Indaco 4) La Valse D'Amelie 5) 春よ、来い (kites) 6) The Heart Asks Pleasure First 7) Lotus (dragon hunters) 8) Nightbook 9) Reverie 10) Hurricane

I listened to these songs a lot while reading and the final track inspired the title.

And final last tidbit- Hurricane Lane takes place in my childhood hometown. It doesn't have too many standout locations but I took photos for background references and anyone who lives there may recognize the small nods to it.

(Almost forgot links to where you can read my book) Amazon paperback; https://amazon.com/dp/1475009097 eBook; https://frayedsymphony.gumroad.com/l/LuNug

Thanks for reading!