#voice and characterisation

[lunarharp]

..polly pocket au.. (<- a type of doll.)

[codgod]

i feel like i see ppl mischaracterise mariana a lot too but then i also don’t feel like i know his character well enough to articulate in what way lol

like i read. a lot of slimeriana fics. and in some of them his behaviour just feels ? off ? from what i expect it to be but idk how LOL

[soleilenchaine]

i think the best part about meursault's food diss critique is that for yi sang's turn, he actually dropped so many puns with yi sang's name in his rant yet he is still absolutely brutal and straight to the point, without losing his monotonous delivery

and yi sang kinda just,,, has to take it bc he must have been both impressed that meur managed to use so many homophones of his name in his rant yet those words must have definitely stung

[kkoct-ik]

some odd doodles for a fanfic ive really been enjoying (@thegrimreaperisanerd)

[stupidlittlespirit]

OH OH loser, loner, insecure Ford confirmed everybody, we are going to have SO much fun writing new fics

(type in 'even his lies are lies' for this one. It's a transcript of Bill's therapy sesh)

[letsplaythermalnuclearwar]

okay gang I'm going to be so real with you: I don't really like God Games.

idk. the characterisation for some of the gods (is Apollo and Hephaestus having absolutely no stake in the game hilarious? yes. am I interested in it? no). Zeus going back on his word despite being the god of vows. how easily all the gods were swayed (Hera is an exception to that. "he isnt a cheat" would absolutely work there she doesnt need to know anything else)

its just. my least favourite of the saga

[slashmagpie]

“Here’s what happened, okay. We were on a date with Clebert—”

“It’s not a date.”

“—and, and Etho walks by and she, she looks at him, she’s like whoa.”

“She just catcalls him, like woohoo!”

“Woo!”

“I’m out, yeah!”

“You got it wrong, me and Etho are besties! We’re not—we’re not—it’s not romantic.”

They’re not sure why it feels so important. 

It’s not that Cleo has ever really—well, that’s not quite—they’ve never argued about it before, is the thing. Like—with Bdubs. With Bdubs, right, people had—they’d assumed. It’s what people do. Even Scott, and Scott is—Scott is Scott. He knows about these sorts of things. And even he…

“Bdubs is your ride or die, Jimmy’s mine, he’s my husband, and he’s with them, so I’m kind of—but I don’t ever want to fight you.”

“If Bdubs betrays me—if our husbands die, yeah?”

Husband. Because that was the word Scott had been using, for Jimmy, and Bdubs had been Cleo’s Jimmy, in a way, so it had—it had made sense. Use the same words for the same thing. And then—being married is kind of a funny bit, isn’t it? So later, when Bdubs and Impulse had been lying to them—

“Bdubs, I know we’re divorced and you’re with Impulse now, but did you really think you could lie to me?”

And whilst Cleo’s not sure they put too much stock in Ren’s claims as to what he’d caught Bdubs and Impulse doing in the woods, they know that whatever those two had going on wasn’t quite the same. They’d said it was, but they hadn’t really meant it. Not really. Marriage—marriage is a funny bit, really, is all it is. 

After all, last season, with Etho—being divorced is also a funny bit. 

“I’m not calling you wife.”

“You can call me Cleo!”

He still doesn’t call them wife. Still calls them Cleo. Calls them bestie, now, too, ironic grin beneath his mask. Etho’s not too big on PDA, either, which is—nice. Not that Cleo doesn’t like it, it’s just—

“It’s platonic,” they insist to Tango, to Skizz, and see their eyes sparkle. They don’t get it. They don’t get it, and it makes Cleo’s skin crawl, because—

Cleo’s loyal, is the thing. When they say ride or die, when they say allies, when they say husband or soulmate or my boys—they mean it. If you’re theirs, you’re theirs, and that means everything. 

But it doesn’t mean—

Romance is a funny bit. It’s a like a costume, really. Pull it on, pull it off, kiss and hold hands and sleep in the same bed and say your vows for the fun of it. Then shrug it off at the end of the day and go back to being friends. There’s no—they don’t feel any of those sappy things, really. It’s not them. Sure, Cleo loves people, loves their friends, but not—like that. They don’t want anything to do with any of that. The aesthetic of it, the performance of it, the drama of it? They’ll take it. But they’ll leave the rest. The mushy, goopy, complicated feelings soup part of it—that’s not theirs. Other people can deal with that. Cleo will be off dealing with better things.

It’s—it’s like being a woman, really, in that Cleo doesn’t really mind that people see them that way—plays into it, really, loves the aesthetic, has fun with the performance—but they don’t really feel it. And they don’t mind that other people don’t exactly understand—

Until they step too close, say something Cleo really doesn’t like the sound of, and then they’re snapping, “I’m not a woman,” with such force it makes the perpetrator flinch.

It’s the same thing, this, Tango and Skizz stepping too close to their toes, getting in their personal space, and it bubbles up out of them before they can stop it. It’s platonic. We’re platonic. And the fact that other people aren’t seeing that—

It itches. Prickles. Stifles. Hugs their bones like an ill-fitting coat.

It’s one thing to wear a costume, to put on a show—but Cleo will not be stuffed into a suit without their permission and put up on a stage to read a script they never had any intention of performing. 

“We’re just besties, we’re not in a romantic relationship,” they tell Tango. He blinks at them, and they can see that the words don’t quite go in—

It itches.

Maybe if Cleo makes being besties the new bit, the itch will stop bothering them quite so much.

[lythinksabittoomuch]

I truly don’t think any media has been able to portray Percy Jackson quite right…

except the musical, they get it, they get who the characters are and it has the best, most accurate to the books characterisation of all the characters ESPECIALLY Percy. They manage to capture his humour, and his simmering anger underneath.

[reactionimagesdaily]

[lavb-b]

It's You.

Haha had this sitting in my ipad for awhile. I thought i'd do some more finishing touches but it looks fine as it is. Can you guess which one is which voice? Please tell, because I can't either...

[dungeons-and-dragon-age]

the notes you find throughout quentin's lair are so sickening.....

[itsalwaysforyou]

i’ve been in absolute anguish over these seven seconds all day btw

[lord-emerson]

Evoking the ancient power of kisspocalypse by asking for a 🎲 between Cavendish and Oswald! -gmalaart

40. An impulsive kiss

"I didn't take you for a gambler, Doctor," Oswald said, leaning against the craps table. His arms crossed in front of him, he was the very picture of nonchalance mixed with only the slightest hint of annoyance.

"How wonderful it is then, that two close acquaintances such as us can still surprise each other," Cavendish replied, keeping their gaze fixed to the table.

Oswald rolled his eyes. "Perhaps you can surprise me by ending the game early?"

"Patience is a virtue, my dear." They must have been avoiding locking eyes with him on purpose at this point. Cavendish lifted a pair of dice in the air, close to Oswald's lips. "A kiss for good luck?"

Oswald raised an eyebrow.

Then quick as flash, he grabbed Cavendish by the lovely ribbon around their neck and leaned down to capture their lips in a kiss. His other hand brushed past the side seam of their waistcoat, dipping into a pocket. He rooted around until he found what he'd been searching for.

Oswald grabbed his companion's keyring and twirled it around a finger as he retreated.

"Come upstairs when you're done, Emon."

[icebrooding]

What I'm kind of hoping will happen with Canach going onwards is that they do a kind of 'soft reset' of his character to pre-EoD. They can do this by making him a fugitive from Cantha because they smacked him for tax evasion--

[eye-of-yelough]

Here’s a fragment of an old Gortash/Aeryn wip i abandoned because i didn’t like how i was characterising Gort (too soft) so here’s the best part. which is coincidentally his meanest part >:3

it’s not overtly sexual but it is mature. they’re both very horny.

dubcon/intox warning (both very mild)

Finally meeting Gortash’s eyes makes him feel like a mallet’s been taken to his head, seeing the expression he imagines is on his own face reflected back to him. Wide, already dark eyes consumed by the blackest black of his pupils, taking shallow breaths through his ever so slightly slackjawed lips. He isn’t unaffected by this. Enver Gortash, professional liar, so affected he doesn’t even pretend not to be.

And then the bastard grins.

He watches as he reaches back for the champagne, unwilling to break eye contact. There’s a glint of manic excitement in his eye, and the faintest of wavers in voice as he holds the bottle up to Aeryn’s mouth.

“My friend, you look like you could use a drink.”

The tingle between his thighs turns to a pounding throb as Gortash’s expression turns downright sadistic. He doesn’t have time to react before his head is being tugged back by Gortash’s fist in his hair and the disgusting liquid is forced into his open mouth. He knows it’s not poisoned, it was opened fresh and he’s already had a glass of it, so what’s this fucker’s game?! The bottle is put down, or it must be, because the hand it was in covers his mouth, barring exit.

“Be a dear and swallow it, darling, or do you want to choke?”

He reaches both hands up to seize Gortash’s wrist, but not before his hair is painfully yanked again, bringing a pitiful, muffled cry from him. That, along with the jostling nearly does make him choke.

“Breathe, and obey.” The way he can manipulate his voice to sound simultaneously so comforting and leave no room for disobedience should be studied by aspiring Banites everywhere. He realises the wretched throb between his thighs has only intensified, as well as the pounding of his heart, and the haziness in his skull. He closes his eyes - Father, forgive me, he’s ruined my life - and swallows.

Emotion overwhelms him, arousal, animalistic rage, dizziness, butterflies. He can only stare and shake violently as they war within him, unsure wether he wants to bury into Gortash’s chest cavity out of hatred or to crawl in and let himself be consumed. Hands slide away, taking their warmth with them, as Gortash leans back, shifting his weight, laughing faintly in disbelief and still wearing that shit eating grin, a mischievous look in his eye like he’s just been given the keys to Aeryn’s soul, and has no intention of using it with even the loosest definition of kindness.

“I can’t believe you let me do that. I just wanted to see what would happen but- Ha! My, my, you’ve lost your edge, little Bhaalist.”