#On the mismatch thing they’re all different types

[studioghibelli]

masterpiece - a joel miller x reader

summary: joel moseys on in to your art store, despite seeming distant and cold towards you. an annoyed artist and an aggressive man, now that seems like quite the match.

warnings: artist!reader, grumpy!joel (no shit lol), post-outbreak, jackson era, age gap (early 20s reader/ 56 year old peepaw joel), sort of enemies to lovers but the “they’re annoying to me” kind, no use of y/n, female reader, short but sweet smut (semi-public, f receiving oral, unprotected sex)

notes: this is for @iamasaddie’s moodboard writing challenge! thank you for the wonderful inspiration <3 also i know the photo is not joel, but i only write for him at the moment so everybody let’s just PRETEND OKAY!!!! enjoy my lovelies Xx

Memories from before the world collapsed were hazy for you.

Bucket hats sewn for toddlers, bright colored toy dinosaurs made from plastic, a red wagon your grandparents used to pull you around in through the neighborhood sidewalks- vaguely, their pictures sat within the confines of your mind. Vaguely you could remember the sound of your aunties laughing whilst cooking, the way your father would roar at the television during football season.

You could remember them, and yet they felt more like ideas than memories. As if they were something you read about in a book, not an experience you had once lived through.

When you were thirteen and your family had found their way to Jackson, you fell in love with all the art encyclopedias Maria had given you. On missions, your father would bring you every single book he could find that talked about art. All different types. From Giotto to Fragonard, Vélasquez to Monet, Van Gogh to Millais- all of them had enraptured you, they had taken you over, body and soul, and in a world that was chipping away around you, you found solace in their creations.

After you turned eighteen, you had enough courage to try your hand at portrait art. The first one you made of Tommy was unnerving. You made him look more like a neanderthal than a man, with mismatched ears and crossed eyes, thick and uneven facial hair and wild curls. Still, Tommy had it framed and hung above the mantle of his fire place.

It was a reminder of growth. Of where you once were.

Now you did portraits around town, traded them for some dried out herbs or freshly pressed paper. People liked having art around. It reminded them of what once was. They flocked to you happily, wanting to feel the same contentment they once fell, before the world had sunk to its knees and submitted.

You were a reminder to the townspeople that life didn’t have to be so gray, nor dreary. Everyone seemed to love you and your quirky, distant, eclectic personality. A true artist. A Van Gogh, as Maria had described you once. You saw the world in whatever color you so pleased, you saw things others didn’t, you picked up on pockets of beauty that many looked over. People admired you for that, they wanted to talk to you, wanted to pick at your brain.

Everyone except him.

The moment you watched Joel Miller trot in through those gates, you knew you had to have him. To paint him, that is. His thighs stretched taut across the saddle, his broad shoulders budging at the seams of his flannel, chocolate eyes distant and full of worry, anger, hunger- he was.... incredible. Your dream man. For painting purposes only, of course.

Well, that's what you continuously tried to remind yourself. You would reprimand your own mind, stating what you felt was the obvious: You were attracted to him the way an artist was attracted to the rising sun or the waves of the ocean. You wanted to paint him, study his features, color in his skin. There was no physical, emotional, or romantic attraction there.

No. No way. Not you. Not for a man as old as your own father, if not older. Not for a man who had only ever given you grunts and one worded answers in response to your questions. Not for a man who couldn't give you the time of day.

It was a normal Wednesday when it finally happened. Sitting in the little studio in the town's strip that Maria and Tommy had created for you, doodling away and sketching. You were working on a watercolor of the tree line in the distance, now focusing on the rise of the mountains behind them. Snowy, navy, serene. You weren't that good with scenic paintings, but Maria wanted a big canvas of your work to hang in the Tipsy Bison, for everyone to see.

And, as you so often did, you decided to indulge her.

The record player was scratching in the corner, some melodic crooning of Sinatra filling the room.

A deep huff escaped you. Things were not going your way today. "Not right. No, no." You muttered, looking at the wonky, twisted tree trunk you had just messed up on. "Not right at all." Amidst your personal berating, you hadn't heard the bell of the front door swing open and chime its familiar song.

"How hard is it to draw a fucking tree?" You grumbled, hissing in annoyance as you wiped away the dripping paint. Somehow, it only looked worse. You wiped your stained hands across your pants, groaning out in defeat.

"Am I interruptin' somethin'?"

The voice startled you. As your nerves dissipated, you recognized who that voice belonged too. Deep and baritone, the kind of voice that sunk through your chest like honey dripping from a spoon, swirling in to a cup of steaming tea.

He was honey, wasn't he? If honey was old and bitter, you thought to yourself.

You turned, finally meeting the face of Joel Miller.

"Hello." You stood up from your stool, wringing your messy hands out on your apron once again. "Why... are you in here?" You spoke slowly, as if you couldn't believe he were actually in front of you. Was it him? Or an apparition? Your eyes could be deceiving you. Perhaps you were Van Gogh after all.... slowly descending in to madness. You shook the thought away.

"You give that warm a' welcome to all your guests?" Joel narrowed his eyes at you, looking around the slightly messy studio. Hanged paintings for sale on the walls, splatters of paint dripping down wooden easels, tubes of oil and acrylics strewn around. Not many people visited you in here, lest to pick up their orders.

"I..." You trailed off in search of what to say next, narrowing your eyes at him in return. "No."

Joel hummed out between his teeth in response, fingers gently trailing down the sides of a few handmade journals you had for sale. "What do you want for one of these?" He asked, picking up the leather bound pages.

"I usually do a trade. Some vegetables, um... pretty much anything, really."

"You drive a hard bargain." His words dripped with sarcasm.

"Did you come in here to annoy me, or do you actually want something?" You snapped, sitting back down in your chair with a huff. The current painting you were working on was doing your head in, and your artistic talent was definitely being challenged.

You felt shit at your craft today, to be honest.

"I don't really got none of that." He responded sheepishly. "I could do somethin' for you? Got a leaking sink? Broken cabinet?" He sat down on a stool adjacent from you, flipping through the blank pages. "I wanna get this, for my daughter. She's, uh... she's a bit like you. Real in to art and stuff."

You rolled his offer through your head, thinking on it.

Portraits! There was your answer.

"I know what you could do for me."

Joel looked up at you and shrugged. "Sure, what is it?"

"Let me paint you. I-I need to work on my portraits, need to.... find my style." You explained softly. You watched his face spread over with confusion.

"That's just extra work for you, you ain't gettin' anything in return for painting me."

"Yes, I am! I'm honing in my skills."

Joel looked around at the art all around him. Paintings of the dogs he had seen wagging their tales through town, a portrait of Maria in the corner, a field of blooming flowers- he didn't think your skills needed any honing. You were remarkable, but Joel didn't really know that much about art, anyways.

"Fine."

"Free tonight? After dinner?"

Grudgingly, Joel agreed.

• • •

His ass was hurting. The cold, metal stool beneath his thighs was uncomfortable, digging in to his skin. He wondered how you could do this all day, how you could sit and stare and paint and move without complaining.

Because, god damn, was this seat uncomfortable.

When he had walked in for his portrait, you were changing the track on the old record player. The Goo Goo Dolls. He had rolled his eyes, unable to count all the times he had heard Iris on the radio.

Still, it brought a sense of nostalgia he had thought died out a long ago. It made him feel…. normal. And normalcy was the most beautiful thing in the world now.

“How d’you sit on this all day?” He snapped half way through your session. Your body was hidden behind the canvas, and every so often he saw splatters and drops of paints exploding. He was curious what you were doing back there.

“Just do.”

Joel snorted. “That ain’t a real answer.”

He heard your annoyed sigh. “It is. Once I get in the zone, I just go for it.”

That answer satisfied him enough.

“Why do you like art so much anyways?”

You peeked out from behind the canvas, eyebrows furrowing. “Because it makes me feel alive. Do you know that feeling? Inhibition? Freedom?” Your words dripped with sarcasm, hissing out with impatience. Why did he care, anyways?

Joel rolled his eyes, holding on to the edge of his seat as he winced. His back was strained, and he knew he was getting too old for this.

“I do, actually.”

“I’m sure.”

“You’re really damn annoyin’, you know that?”

You grumbled beneath your breath, tweaking a few strays of eyebrow hair on his portrait. “Been told.”

“Sure you have.”

A long bout of silence eased over the room, and for a long while, the only sound was the scratching of the vinyl and the thick breeze outside.

“What’s your deal, anyways?” You finally asked, working on the thick vein of his neck.

You stared at him for a long while, tracing over his face. He was undoubtedly handsome. The curve of his Aquiline nose reminded you of the Roman sculptures you had seen in your books, the softness of his perfectly curved lips, the shape of his moustache. He really was a true masterpiece.

The length of his neck bled into two sturdy collarbones and thick shoulders, biceps strong and deep beneath the sleeves of his dark green flannel. The color of his skin, tanned and slightly golden and perfect, had been your favorite to paint thus far, the depths of his cheeks and cheekbones perfect beneath the swinging light of the studio.

Joel stared at you, your question racketing through his brain like a pinball machine. “What do you mean?”

“Why’re you so angry? Why don’t you like me?” You finally asked, disappearing behind the easel once again.

“Never said I didn’t like you.”

You laughed softly, the tip of your brush swiping down the side of his jaw. “It’s implied.”

“By you, maybe.”

“By me? You’re the one who avoids me. I don’t have the plague, y’know.”

Joel snorted. “Worse than that.” Hu grumbled beneath his breath.

“Heard that.”

He took in a deep breath, and although you couldn’t see his face at the moment, you knew without a doubt his brows were furrowed, jaw clenched. The typical mask Joel Miller wore with such pride.

“Look.” Joel began speaking, but he wasn’t sure where he was going. “You….. I….. look.”

“I’m looking!” You exclaimed in annoyance. “Just spit it out already, man.”

In one swift move he had gotten up from his stool and had grabbed your wrist. His grasp wasn’t hard, it wasn’t mean. In fact it was gentle, sturdy with an unfamiliar sort of warmth. His brown eyes bore down in to yours earnestly, and you saw them flickering with something you couldn’t quite pin point, an emotion you had never seen him show you.

A thick lump was forming in your throat, and you felt your stomach churning with butterflies, aflame by the feeling of his calloused palm on your skin. He was warm, rough, masculine.

He was perfect. A masterpiece.

You sucked in a sharp breath of air as Joel crouched down, now level with your eye sight.

“Look.” He began once again with his new favorite word. “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous. Okay?”

“What?!” That’s what he was trying to say?

“Yes. It’s embarrassing, I know.” He was seething through gritted teeth, jaw clenching with annoyance. His cheeks had grown a soft pink, no doubt out of embarrassment for the admittance of his secret.

“I-”

Joel wasted no time cutting you off. “I ain’t the poet type, alright? Lord knows I’m not. And when I see you…. fuck. This is so fucking stupid. When I see you, I feel shit. Okay?”

A laugh of amusement escaped you. “You feel shit?” You asked incredulously, and his grip on your wrist loosened.

Joel took a step back, sitting down on the floor. “It’s stupid. A fuckin’ crush, in the middle of the world ending.”

“It hasn’t ended yet.” You purred, setting down your brush as you sat in front of him. “So, maybe take the time to kiss me? Just in case it doesn’t end, tomorrow or something.”

Joel stared at you, a long moment blanketing your bodies. He was weighing his options in his mind, calculating what could happen if he did, if he didn’t. Damn the risks.

He had spent so long wondering what you tasted like, what you felt like. He said a silent prayer to whatever god may still be alive, and leaned in towards you.

His lips were softer than you thought, and his facial hair tickled and bristled against your cheeks. Joel was a good kisser, a passionate kisser. Your mouths melded together like two pieces of iron being hammered into a ring, thick and sweet and harmonious in their shared movements.

Joel couldn’t help his wandering hands. The rough tips of his fingers made you shiver, calloused thumbs drawing circles in the dips of your hips as he pulled you closer. You were straddling him now, arms thrown around his neck as you kissed him fervently, as though his spit was the last thing you would ever taste.

“You could’ve done this months ago, y’know.” You mumbled against his skin.

“Probably could’ve.”

Your fingers moved down to the buttons of his shirt, Joel’s mouth attaching to your neck.

“Probably would’ve saved you a lot of annoyance, you know.” You grinned down against him, a soft gasp escaping you as your hands instinctively moved to his hair, fingers tangling into his curls. You grinded your hips down, feeling that bulge pressing into the crotch of your leggings. “If you woulda told me, I could’ve helped with all that pent up aggression.”

Joel rolled his eyes at the playfulness of your words, pulling you closer to him. “You’re trouble.” He muttered, lips attaching back to yours. A smile broke out across your face as you pushed his flannel off his shoulders. Joel pulled away, throwing off his shirt, before tugging yours off in turn. Your chests, bare and warm, pressed in to the other, and in one swift flick of his wrist your bra came off with ease.

He pushed you back on to the ground, grinding himself against you. You tugged your pants off, left with a pair of panties that were now soaked through. Your clit, swollen and throbbing beneath the cotton material, was ignited with each movement of his hips, his covered bulge tracing circles into your sensitive nub.

Joel moved downwards, until he was face to face with your covered pussy. He leaned forward, dragging his nose across your clit as he pressed his tongue flat into your folds, tasting your arousal that had settled into your underwear.

“Off.” He commanded, undoing his own belt. You flicked your panties away, and he was face to face with your cunt once more. “Pretty little thing.” He mumbled, leaning forward to taste you. When his lips wrapped around your clit, your back arched off the cold tiles of the floor, pleasure coursing through you in electric droves.

“Taste pretty, too.” Joel smirked against your pussy, his tongue pressing in to your hole, dragging out that sweet wetness that dripped from you like syrup.

He tasted you, breathed you in, swallowed you. You were the only thing that filled his senses at the moment, the only thing that he had his mind on. In that moment your pussy was the only thing he worshipped, the only thing he wanted to spend any time tending to.

Your hips were grinding against his face now, his tongue swirling and lapping at your swelling clit. You couldn’t even talk, couldn’t even think. He was all you could pay any attention to. Damn your art, damn your painting- right now his mouth was the only thing you could wrap your head around.

Your pussy was clenching around nothing, your orgasms on brewing in the pit of your belly. Joel’s rough palms carved up and down your sides, his well worked hands scratching your skin in a delicious sort of way. He was moaning against your folds, nose brushing up and down your pussy as he lapped at the pink of your cunt.

“Joel, Joel-” You were drunk on him, on his movements, clit tingling against the tip of his tongue. He chuckled against you, knowing just what he was doing to you.

Joel knew how to make a woman feel good, and you were no exception.

“Gonna cum.” You breathed out excitedly, hips bucking one last time as your orgasm washed over you. Your moans and cries echoed across the wall, and you tugged him by his curls farther between your thighs. Joel licked you through the height of your orgasm, until you had no choice but to push him away.

You lay on the floor, breaths hard and shaky, blinking as you came back down to earth. Joel crawled over you, his thumb gently trailing down your cheek. He kissed you, and you tasted yourself on his tongue, which was now pushing past your lips and exploring the softness of your mouth. You moaned, legs opening to grant his throbbing cock access.

With your small hand, you guided the tip of his leaking cock to the folds of your pussy, pressing it gently against your sensitive cunt.

“Fuck me.” You begged against his mouth.

Joel happily obliged you.

To say you had never been fucked quite like that was the understatement of the year.

Joel’s cock was thick and perfect, curved ever so slightly to the left. He hit every spot deep within you that made you shiver and moan, he knew just how to roll your hips to drag you towards your second orgasm.

And god, did he know how to last.

By the time your third orgasm had rushed over you, his fingers had tangled themselves in your hair and your teeth had sunk into the thickness of his pretty neck, his cock still hard and stern inside of you. He was panting like a dog, grinding and humping in to you as his twitching cock filled you to the brim.

Your thighs were shaking, wrapped around his waist as his fingers tweaked your nipples. He was breathing hard and heavy in to your hair, eyes shut tight as he took you all in.

“Feels so good.” You whimpered, eyes pricking with tears of pleasure.

“Fuckin’ love your cunt.” He grumbled, teeth nipping at your ear. “Gonna paint these fuckin’ walls. Gonna fill you up, make you mine.” It wasn’t just dirty talk, it was a promise. His hips stuttered into you, your aching clit pressing into his pelvis with every deep thrust he gave you.

“Cum inside me then. Make me yours.” You whispered, nails digging into his shoulders, dragging down his back. You had etched your sketches into the skin of his back, drawing lines of ravenous pleasure that only he would be able to see, when all was said and done.

Joel groaned at the sound of your sweet voice, and with a final grunt, you felt ropes of his cum filling you up, dripping and sliding out of you as he lazily thrust, riding out his own high.

By the time he had fallen beside you, your hand had grabbed his, and you both knew you were done for.

Months of built up pressure, stolen glances, curt conversations- you both knew what was there, beneath the surface. Two people who didn’t quite know how to approach the other, and yet still, two people who knew what was lurking beneath the surface.

God, you were so happy Joel had walked into your shop.

He had helped you get dressed, and you both walked outside to the street, sharing a cigarette you had bartered for a couple weeks ago. You took in a deep drag, gently holding it to his lips. As you exhaled, he inhaled the tobacco, and both of your eyes settled on to the bare street, the winter moon beating her sweet, silver light on to the pavement.

“If you keep doing that, I don’t think I’ll ever finish your panting.” You finally spoke, filling the comfortable silence with the sweet cadence of your words.

“I like it how it is.” He whispered.

You turned, looking at the canvas that was drying ever so slowly beneath the store light. It was a bit whacky, a bit unfinished, as though a part of its story had yet to be told. But Joel’s eyes though…. well, his eyes were what struck you the hardest out of it all, and for a moment you allowed yourself to take in the beauty and skill of your craftsmanship.

Those umber orbs, painted with that familiar distance his eyes so often held, swirling with mystery, regret, wonder, and a little bit of admiration that you hadn’t quite picked up on while painting. They were full of emotion that Joel so often showed, in his own quiet way.

You turned to him, taking another puff from the cigarette. A smile stretched across your face, and his arm gently hooked itself around you.

“Yeah, me too.” You admitted quietly.

After that night, the townspeople wondered why Joel was a little bit more approachable. They wondered what made him a little bit more softer, kinder, a bit more poetic.

And each time you would sneak away into his house underneath the cover of darkness, the reminder of that fateful night hung just above his sofa, Joel’s unfinished portrait staring at you with that familiar beauty of his.

#joel miller x reader #studioghibelli #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fic #joel miller smut #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller au #joel the last of us #joel tlou #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction

[simplydannie]

Floyd finds himself in a completely new world. A world different than that of the Troll Kingdom.

But he soon finds out this world is no friend to Trolls, and now he finds himself at the mercy of two teen giants, or as they’re known, Rageouns.

@jules0511

“What in the world?” Floyd stated as he walked into a dark, cybernetic type world. No light except that which was illuminated by artificial lights this city had.

Floyd had traveled far. He was tired and he was hungry, he’d only hope this city would have something good he could eat. He passed the gates with ease being so small that he was.

For the time he traveled, he had yet to encounter anyone. The city was dark and gloomy….. he must be within the outer districts, nothing much going on. On street level everything seemed big, if Floyd wanted to see where he was headed, he needed to go higher. Securing his small backpack behind him, whipping his hair around a lamppost, Floyd slingshot himself up upon the building. Coming toward the edge, he was able to see the city in a new light.

“Whoa…” As he anticipated, he WAS within the outter districts. The more to the center you got, the more illuminated and lively the city became. Floyd grew curious, and this curiosity is what would get him captured.

Using his hair, he maneuvered himself on top of building by building, moving closer and closer towards the cities center. Floyd couldn’t but look above. High above were clouds, above those clouds he saw light. Another city, he thought. What did occur to him was that his world had grown far beyond the Troll kingdom.

Closer and closer he got to the center. The sounds began to get louder, voices and music could be heard. The streets got busier, he finally saw the beings that lived in this city:

Most had doll-like features, their skin almost porcelain like. Their skin tones were pale, some mismatched with blotches all over them, some had mis-colored eyes, sharpened teeth, some had a glow to their eyes and mouths, like neon colors coming from them, others he noticed technological type of augmentations around their eyes, their ears. Was that a cybernetic arm? This was nothing Floyd was used to, nothing he had ever seen. He didn’t notice any children about.

“Who are they?” Floyd marveled. They were frightening yet intriguing. It was as he was marveling at the beings that he noticed a very small movement. It looked like…

“A Troll!” He exclaimed. But the Troll looked frightened. He ran from something, rather someone. That’s when he noticed two of those giant being chasing after him. Great, they’re no friends to Trolls, he thought. He sling shifted himself down to the running terrified Troll. As he got closer he could hear the voices.

“Get the Troll!” The tall being yelled. The only thing that helped the little was whipping his hair around objects to continue giving him a head start. Their hands grew closer around the little Troll until…

THUD!

Floyd came in. He slingshotted himself right into the chest of the tall being knocking him against his comrade. This gave the Trolls a smaller chance to run ahead.

“Keep going!” Floyd yelled. He noticed the Troll he belled was colorless and grey… he’d never seen a colorless grey Troll before. Together they ran.

“Follow me!” The Troll told him as they ran into an alley. They were near the end when they came across more of the tall beings. They hoped they would go unnoticed until one turned around.

“Troll!” She yelled. Again they were being chased. Floyd and the other Troll took off again. Whipoing their hair around a lamppost to slingshot away.

“We’re almost there! Stay close!” The Troll turned right…. But Floyd’s attention was to the giants pursuing him…. He went left.

“Hello?” Hector turned to notice that the Troll he saved was no longer in front of him. He stopped in the middle of an alley. “Hey?” He called out. Where did they go? Did they abandon him? The ground shook underneath him… the giants were closing in. He ran and turned into the next dark alley….

PING. CLAP!

He collided with some metal bars. His tiny hands wrapped around them…. Floyd had ran straight into a trap. He shook the small prison fearless hoping something would break or open.

“Hello! Help!” Hector began to cry… but he grew silent as the giant voices neared.

“Why do they have to be so darn small! And so darn fast!” He heard the giant voice say… they hadn’t seen him? They didn’t see the trap? It had to be camouflaged. “Let’s keep going. They said they a group by the third district.”… The voices were gone. Floyd was afraid to call out again. He sunk back within the trap hugging his knees… hoping a troll would pass by soon.

He must have drifted off to sleep. The trap he was in began to move and shake as if something picked it up.

“I got one! I got one!” Said a voice. Floyd began shaking out of fear… he was now at the mercy of his new captor. The sheet that covered the trap was lifted. It took moments for Floyd eyes to adjust. When they did, he came face to face with two teen giants: pale skin, green hair, blue eyes. They sported similar attire, except one was a girl, the other a boy…. twins. The girl wore a red over sized hoodie and black combat boots with a tight,black, mini skirt. The boy sported the same thing, only he wore black skinny pants and a purple beanie.

“Velvet look! Hey little guy!” The boy chimed.

“Don’t get attached Veneer, he’s going to the black market.” The girl said. A lump formed in Floyd’s throat…..

Black Market?

#trolls band together #dreamworks trolls #trolls 3 #velvet and veneer #trolls veneer #velvet trolls #veneer #fandom #velvet #velvet and veneer trolls #trolls fandom #trolls au #trolls #trolls 3 veneer #trolls 3 velvet #veneer trolls #trolls velvet #trolls fanfic #fanfics #fanfiction #fanfic writing

[pinkrasberryfish]

I feel like a major part of Elriel is just like… the matching vibe. This is something we see in our other ACOTAR couples, and it’s partly why Elriel makes so much damn sense as endgame.

Let’s draw some comaprisons.

So baby Feysand. Feyre and Rhys have obvious compatibilities in their motivations, desires, and beliefs. They both give major Saviour Main Character energy by being self-sacrificing, fearless, and driven by morality and goodness above all else. Their love is centered around the themes of fate and destiny while their personalities share the same competitive spirit that binds them as friends AND lovers. They also both struggle with feeling “other,” and have overcome major trials to become stronger. In short, they carry the same compatible energy.

Then Nessian. Nesta and Cassian also share a similar energy even though they seem extremely different at first glance. When dissected, this pairing has similar drives, vibes, and goals. Firstly, they both have STRONG personalities. Nesta is outwardly chilly and confident, matching Cassian’s bold and gregarious energy. He is intense enough to match his mate, and the pair of them both share an extremely protective edge. Both tend to be overconfident and willing to charge into a fight they might not win, physically OR verbally. These two like to be opponents—to each other, to life, and to obstacles. They’re both always on the hunt for a fight, and share the same themes and desires.

Finally, we have Elriel. Elain and Azriel share similar themes, personality traits, and goals, just like Nessian and Feysand. They are both are observant, reserved, and easily contented. They have a quiet type of humor and seem to enjoy the small and simple things that others take for granted, like the freedom to fly or a quiet afternoon putzing around a garden. They’re never jostling for power amongst their siblings or trying to get prestige for their names. They both seem motivated by a strong inner desire to remain true to who they are, though they never hesitate to help or serve others. They seem motivated by love and the pursuit of a peaceful life, but are very quick to sacrifice their own desires for the greater good. They match!

This is why it feels so absurd to imagine Nesta with Rhysand or Feyre with Azriel or Elain with Cassian. Cassian needs a verbal sparring partner: Elain couldn’t be that for him. Azriel needs someone to listen without trying to problem-solve: Feyre couldn’t be that. And Nesta and Rhys would just kill each other. I know it’s pointless to say all this, but I’m just showing that we can see a romantic mismatch way quicker than a romantic MATCH.

Love stories that make SENSE and tickle the soul are the ones where the pair desire similar things while ALSO desiring each other. It’s not enough to have a sexy enemies-to-lovers or teacher-student premise. You need a couple that WORKS. Compatibilities are what makes characters drawn to one another even more than being beautiful or sexy or rich or whatever. Because all these characters are sexy and eternally gorgeous. That’s not enough to fuel the tension and draw and chemistry in an entire story. You need them to be chasing the same things and viewing the world in a way where they can understand how the other views it.

So anyways… Elriel is coming.

#elriel #elriel forever #pro elriel #elain archeron #elriel supremacy #pro elain #elain x azriel #elain #elriel trash #elriel is perfection #pro elain archeron #elain archeron is perfect

[frracturedjaw]

Hi! saw you’re requests are open and if you’re up to it I was wondering if you would do HCs for Thomas and Bubba on the readers birthday?

happy birthday! (thomas hewitt + reader, bubba sawyer + reader)

an: of course! thank you for the request! i can only assume it’s your birthday, so congrats on making it this far anon!

Bubba Sawyer

* birthdays are serious business in the Sawyer household. you survived another year out here? hot damn!!

* Bubba is especially thrilled about celebrations, but a celebration for his favorite person?? he’s over the moon!

* takes it upon himself to prepare a whole birthday bash. might even employ Nubbins & Chop top’s assistance. (shenanigans ensue but it turns out alright in the end)

* you wake up on the morning of your birthday to (slightly burnt) breakfast pancakes in bed, covered in sprinkles to the point of being near-inedible. they’re still surprisingly tasty, even though they might take a year or two off your lifespan.

* next thing you know, Bubba’s rushing you out of bed to get you prettied up for the party. he’d already set out your favorite clothes (or at least, the clothes he thinks you look best in) the night before. he’s got his Sunday best on, too, and has lots of fun doing both of your guys’ makeup.

* he’s a little frantic about getting everything just right. every time you smile or comment on something he did, he’s thrilled, picking you up and spinning you around, barely containing himself.

* he’d set the twins on decorating duty, so you know it’s a hot mess in the rest of the house. they went ham with the streamers and balloons, you can hardly take a step without having to shake off the party decorum. some of it’s human entrails, but hey, what else can you expect? (Bubba shoos them off if they put up anything too gory. might chase Nubbins off with a noisemaker.)

* Drayton, as you may have guessed, isn’t much the partying type. he did, however, after much whining and begging from Bubba, agree to help out by baking the cake. he even asked you what flavor you preferred. Bubba insisted on decorating it, so it’s sort of a mess of frosting and colorful sprinkles and syrup, but it’s all in your favorite colors. if you squint and tilt your head a bit, you can make out your name and some lopsided hearts.

* sings his heart out when the time comes to sing you happy birthday. has you stand up on a chair, dances you around the room, and nearly has a heart attack when Chop Top blows out the candles before you can get to them.

* he’s positively heartbroken. you’d say he’s more upset about it than you are. you break out into giggles upon hearing Drayton tearing Chop Top a new one out back, and it reassures him a little. Bubba’s still a little worried about your day getting ruined.

* once it comes time for presents, though, he’s back with a vengeance. he’s just about vibrating out of his seat while you tear back the wrapping paper.

* nestled in the box is a delicate, handmade tiara. bits of jewelry and precious material he’d plucked off victims over time. the stones are all mismatched, different shapes and sizes. some are just little pebbles with interesting patterns. all wound delicately with wire in a pattern that almost reminds you of a dragonfly’s wing.

* Bubba places it atop your head, gazing at you like you’re the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen (you are!) and swoons. he’s overcome with how much he loves you. he’s so proud of you for making it this far, for sticking by his side, for all of it. all of you.

* it might not have gone quite as he’d planned, but it’s certainly a success in your books.

Thomas Hewitt

* the Hewitts aren’t particularly party animals, but hospitality is their middle name. and by god, they’ll make you feel at home.

* when you’re pulling on your clothes in the morning, Tommy rushes over to stop you before pushing a box into your hands. it’s wrapped in butcher paper and tied with a little twine bow, and he seems uncharacteristically excited about watching you open it.

* inside is the most gorgeous piece of clothing you can imagine. maybe it’s a long, flowy sundress, or a comfy loose button-up, but either way it’s something he made with his own two hands. you can tell because the knots where he tied off the thread in each seam are clearly unpracticed and there’s already a dark stain or two on it, but despite it all it’s a gorgeous little garment.

* Tommy’s almost in tears when you put it on. you’re just so perfect, and he’s so grateful to have you, and frankly he has to reprocess all that every time he looks at you lately.

* Luda Mae boots you & Tommy out of the house for the day so she can bake. she won’t tell you how long she’ll be, or even what she’s making. but the knowing little smile she gives you lets you know it’ll be worth it.

* Tommy had packed a little basket with all your favorite snacks. fresh fruit, bakery treats, a handful of goodies from the candy shop a few miles out.

* he looks so out of place, in an open field on a blanket with a little jug of sweet tea, but it couldn’t be more perfect. after a bit of snacking, he pulls you against his chest to lean back and watch the clouds.

* while you lament having to leave the simple bliss of the picnic, coming home to the cake quickly fixed that.

* it’s simple. neatly iced in a solid color she’d seen you wearing most often. the age you’re turning in thin script handwriting. little candles arranged in perfect order. simple, but intentional. a little monument to the things she knows about you.

* you blow out the candles without much fanfare, but you eat the cake with only one hand. Tommy refuses to let go of your other. even as he sits at the table beside you, chowing down, your hand is held tight in his. might even feed you a bite or two, but gets embarrassed when Luda Mae catches him being sweet.

* the day ends with a nice long bath where you sit back and relax while Tommy helps you clean off, scrubbing your hair, etc. might let you rope him into a bit of self care if you play the birthday card.

* oh and don’t forget the Tommy cuddles. this guy cuddles like a grizzly bear made of down pillows. you’re out like a light, but not before he gives you a goodnight kiss :)

#slasher x reader #slasher fanfiction #slashers x reader #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt #bubba sawyer #bubba saywer x reader #bubba x reader

[ciaossu-imagines]

For day 16 of the event, I used number 5 from prompt 18 for Ururu from Bleach! She’s so cute and such a sweetie, so it was nice to take the chance to write for her! Though there’s not many of them and they’re rather mundane, I hope any fans of the series will enjoy 😊

What does the character normally wear?

Ururu just naturally feels most comfortable in skirts or dresses. She doesn’t find pants overly comfortable. To be honest, she’s one of the very few people in the world who honestly hate wearing jeans for any length of time. She’ll wear them if she absolutely has to, but she’s counting the minutes until she can take them off.

She’s pretty much the epitome of soft girl aesthetics meets preppy shy girl. She mixes and matches in between the trends, though she wouldn’t know it. She’s not someone who keeps up on fashion or really understands much about it. She wears what she likes, shops wherever is cheapest, and doesn’t give her clothing much attention beyond that. Fashion terms would just go over her head every time.

She prefers soft pastel colours. Light blues, greens, lilacs, and pinks are all colours that just naturally attract her. She’s not a fan of bright, bold, in-your-face colours that draw attention to her but prefers softer colours that don’t stand out and neutral tones like white and tans that are appropriate for any situation.

Ururu isn’t someone who will have a lot of sensitivities in terms of fabrics or clothing types. She doesn’t notice huge differences between a lot of the fabrics, especially if they’re washed and treated with good fabric softener. She’ll know the obvious – wool feels different from cotton, which feels different from silk, but other than that, she’s not exceptionally worried or even observant about things like that.

She does prefer her clothing to fit but be slightly loose. A very modest person, Ururu hates anything that clearly shows her body, as well as anything low-cut or very short. She wants to be proper, not flirty, or seductive in appearance.

When she’s cold, it’s cardigans or pull-over sweaters she reaches for rather than hoodies. She doesn’t think she’s often seen a pretty hoodie.

For pyjamas, Ururu definitely is the type who likes matching pyjamas sets. Something about wearing anything mismatching (socks, pyjamas, etc.) really bothers her, actually.

She wears her hair quite plainly and doesn’t have a lot of hair accessories. However, she does like pastel or femininely decorated elastics and scrunchies, along with plain but pretty coloured clips and bobby pins.

She wouldn’t be able to walk in heels and has no idea why she should ever wear a pair.

When she does start to wear make-up, it’s very natural looking. She’ll fill in her brows, wear brown eyeliner lightly, clear mascara, and maybe a slightly tinted lip gloss. She’s not too comfortable with anything more than that, though she wishes she was better at make-up so that she could experiment with things like contouring.

#unrequested prompts #bleach #bleach headcanons #headcanons #ururu tsumugiya #tsumugiya ururu

[flowersandskeletons526]

“How to Rest” - Sashannarcy canon rewrite fanfic epilogue

It’s 5 AM as I’m typing this because I could not wait to get this all out of my head. Now that it’s done, I can finally move on with my life. This is set 2-3 years after the timeskip shown in the series finale, the girls live together, they’re in love, and they’re all helping each other move past these trauma headcanons. Hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading!

Here’s a link to the first part

--------

Even after ten years apart, they always came back to each other. 

It was a slow start building a new relationship after everything that happened in their past, but once those bridges were mended, all the old wounds finally healed, it was a quick snowball into creating a life together. Marcy could do their webcomic anywhere once their lease was up, and with Anne and Sasha under the crushing debt of student loans, it just made sense to find an apartment together instead of living on their own. Especially after all their desperate, admittedly long overdue confessions finally came to light. It took a lot of long, convoluted conversations before everything was ironed out, but everything just felt right afterwards. 

It felt right to have dinner together, teasing Marcy about being banned from the kitchen after they somehow lit cereal on fire. It felt right to laugh as Sasha yelled at horror movie characters for stupid decisions. It felt right to tell Anne to leave her muddy boots outside after she spent a day in the field. 

Still, no matter how perfect things sometimes seemed, those feelings didn’t mean their past never caught up to them. 

“Hey Marbles, can you get me a mixing bowl from the cabinet, please?” Anne called. 

“Yeah, I got it!” Marcy replied. They quickly saved their progress on their comic update, adjusted the messy bun they had tied their hair into, and went to the kitchen. Anne stood at the counter, chopping up vegetables for dinner, her long curls held back by a blue bandana. She flashed a smile, mismatched eyes glinting. Marcy leaned down to kiss her cheek and steal a piece of a carrot. “How does it feel to be the short one now, Anna-Banana?” 

“You are barely two inches taller.”

“That’s still taller.”

“Mars,” she said in warning. 

“I’m just teasing.” They opened the cabinet, having to stand on their tiptoes because Sasha was still the tallest and for some reason they let him put away the dishes. “Which one do you need?”

“The little glass one.”

“Gotcha.” They tilted a set of bowls to grab the smallest one from the middle and pushed the rest back onto the shelf. “Here.”

Anne turned to take the bowl as Marcy passed it to her. Right before she grabbed it, Marcy’s entire body froze. 

The room fractured. Every facet held a conglomerate of strange overlapping colors and distorted shapes, snapping around to different points and never focusing on one thing for more than a few moments, except the three main ones in the center. They separated just enough to cut Anne into several pieces. 

The bowl shattered on the floor as Marcy collapsed with a scream. Phantom whispers and shrieks and insults and lullabies collided in a hellish song in their ears, until they could barely hear Anne frantically calling for Sasha. They pressed themself back into the corner of the lower cabinets, slamming their head off a handle in the process as they screwed their eyes shut and clutched at the sides of their head. They couldn’t understand the words tumbling from their own lips. They pressed the heels of their hands into their eyes like they were trying to force them back into their skull. 

Blinding pain surged through their chest, following the path between their scars. They felt a presence over them and shrank back. The voices dampened just enough for them to finally hear their own words, nothing but a desperate broken record of “stop it” over and over and over again. 

They heard the light tinkling of glass shards being swept aside. Sasha’s voice broke through, muffled and wavering. “Marcy? Marcy, look at us.”

They shook their head. They grabbed the lip of the counter and dragged themself up, trying in vain to stand on legs that didn’t work. A hand landed on their arm. They ripped away from the touch.

Just go away! they wanted to cry. This is what I get.

The voices grew louder.

They curled in on themselves, tremors wracking their body as they clutched at their chest, gasping for breath. They didn’t know what was worse: eyes open or closed. Keep them open and their vision was torn to pieces, split between thousands of minds looking through one pair of eyes that would never fully belong to Marcy again. Keep them closed, and they saw destruction and blood and Anne looking horrified and furious and Sasha on the ground and they heard him screaming and-

This was their punishment for all of that. The lies. The betrayal. Trying to get the three of them stranded in another world just so they didn’t have to face anything less than a perfect reality. They didn’t do it for their girls, they did it for themself, and this was the life sentence they deserved for a crime like that. 

Leave me alone. Let it drag me back like I deserve. Stop trying to make me forget what I’ll spend the rest of my life paying for.

“Mars, please. Baby, you’ve got to look at us.”

There was Sasha’s voice cutting through the static again. He touched their arm, and his voice had redirected their focus enough for this attempt to be successful. They didn’t lean in, but they didn’t pull away, either. When he nudged at their hand, they refused to take his, but they stopped clawing at their chest and simply pressed their hand over their scar instead. It was something, at least.

“That’s it, Mars, that’s it,” he cooed. His touch moved from their arm to the side of their face. His thumb smoothed across their eyebrow. It had become a calming technique since they moved in together whenever these episodes reared their ugly heads. None of them knew quite why it worked, only that it did. Marcy opened their eyes, flitting back and forth on their own accord, and took a moment to blink the twitch away. It left their vision blurry and dull, but they were able to make out Anne and Sasha kneeling before them. The pair smiled as Marcy fully uncovered their face. “There’s our girl. Are the lights too bright?”

“No,” Marcy said, barely able to force out any sound. 

“How does your head feel?”

They paused to focus on it. “I-I think I hit my head on the cabinet.” 

“Let me see.” Sasha tilted their head to the side and touched a spot on the back. “You might have a little bump. It’s not bad.”

“M’kay.” They hid their head in their arms. “I’m sorry. I don’t… I don’t know what happened. I-I-I didn’t mean to break it, something just-”

“Marbles, hey, it’s just a bowl. We can buy another one. It’s okay,” Anne assured them. She took their hand and carefully disentangled their arms, tilting their chin up to meet her eyes. “Don’t blame yourself for those episodes. They’re not your fault.” 

Marcy sniffed, wiped the gathering tears from their eyes, and nodded. “Okay.”

“Here, give us your arms,” said Sasha. 

Marcy let them hold onto their elbows and help them to their feet, guiding them over the broken glass with a gentle “careful, careful.” Once they were away from the glass, Anne and Sasha held Marcy close between them, letting them stand but providing the support they needed if their legs gave out again. The trio stayed like that even after Marcy was confident in standing on their own. Sasha took their hand and kissed their palm. One of Anne’s arms came up under theirs and gripped their shoulder. She pressed her lips to the top of the scar on their back, mumbling against their skin.

“We’ve got you, Marcy,” she promised. “Always.”

“I love you guys.”

“We love you, too.” 

----

Anne stumbled out of her car and trudged to the front door, fumbling with her keys. Frog, she could hardly see straight. More tours every week, more deadlines from the scientific journal she was newly contracted with, more studies on the animals to be added to the exhibits. It was becoming a superhuman effort just to claw her way through it all each day. 

She just had that last paper to finish for this edition. After that, the journal would be on the back burner for a while. Summer was almost over and the tours would start to thin out. This was just a weirdly big edition of new specimens. It was all going to lighten soon. She just had to make it through these next few weeks and everything would be fine. Two, maybe three, maybe four weeks wasn’t so bad. If she just broke it up into individual days then it was easier. Only four Fridays, right? Just like how an hour was only fifteen minutes four times over. She could get past Friday four times over just fine!

She rubbed a sore spot on her side as she kicked off her boots. That ache in her chest was coming back, an intermittently chronic stitch that would ease up if she held her breath for a minute just to stretch the muscles around her ribs. It’s just the stress, she told herself. What was the word Sasha used? Psychosomatic. Right. That’s what it was, just a physiological reaction, like when her heart raced before she had to give a presentation to the board of directors at the aquarium. It would go away when her workload eased up. 

Sasha was lying on the couch when she walked in, feet tossed up over the arm. “Hey,” he said with a wave. “How was work?”

“Hey, Sash.” She blatantly ignored his question as she tossed her bag on the kitchen table. Sasha looked up from his phone at that. She knew what he was going to ask. Yes, normally she hated when any of them did that, but she was too exhausted to care at the moment. She just didn’t want to be carrying it anymore. “Where’s Marcy?” 

“On the balcony.”

“Are they seriously smoking again? I thought they were quitting. They already have enough problems with their lungs from…”

She let her voice trail. After close to thirteen years now, she still didn’t like to hear what she was about to say spoken aloud. Marcy did have trouble breathing sometimes from the trauma to their chest, not enough to warrant any serious medical treatment, but smoking still didn’t really help that. 

“They are in the process of quitting,” Sasha corrected. “They’re down to two a day, that’s a major cutback from where they were. It’s not a good idea in their case to go cold turkey. That would cause more problems than it would fix.” 

Anne scoffed. “You sound like you’re talking about a patient.” 

“No, I’m talking about Marcy, and you know I’m right because it’s Marcy and we know Marcy.” 

“Still psychoanalyzing, Sasha.” 

“What’s your damage today, Boonchuy?”

Anne shook her head, going to grab a drink from the fridge. She didn’t have the energy to argue with him over some smartass remark. It was just work talking, that’s all it was. It was just the stress bubbling up. 

She stared out the window as he stood in the doorway to the kitchen. “Anne,” he said. He waited for a response and sighed when he didn’t get one. “What’s going on?”

“I’m just tired.”

Frog, that headache that started when she woke up was blossoming into a full blown migraine. She grabbed at her ribs as the spiking pain came back. Her heartbeat did the weird clenching stutter thing it sometimes did, usually when she was pulling extended all-nighters or ingesting too much caffeine. She leaned on the counter and lifted a hand to her head. 

“Anne.” Panic crept into Sasha’s voice. “Anne, hey, what’s going on? You have to talk to me.” 

Anne knew that tone. It was the same one he got after Marcy had one of their episodes or woke up screaming and thrashing in the middle of the night. He let it slip when it was just the two of them, when he didn’t have to keep up a calm demeanor lest Marcy get riled up apologizing thinking they had done something wrong. They were getting outside help for that habit, at least, and it was helping, but it was still slow progress. It didn’t stop Sasha from panicking once Marcy wasn’t in the room or awake to see it. 

She took a deep breath. She didn’t want to freak him out by being a little extra irritable after a long day. That would only cause problems and it wasn’t fair to him. She turned back to face him, ready to apologize, tell him she was just tired and needed a nap. 

The moment her hand left the counter, her eyes rolled back in her head, and she promptly collapsed. 

“Anne!”

It seemed only a minute later than she came around, lying in Sasha’s arms as Marcy came bolting across the apartment to her side. The room spun behind the pair, but they held steady as they leaned over her, their faces masks of fear and concern. Marcy brushed her hair out of her face and held her hand. Sasha helped her sit up. Focusing on Marcy’s thumb swiping along her jaw and Sasha rubbing small circles on her back, she dragged a hand down her face and sighed. 

Marcy pursed their lips. “It’s been a long time since that happened,” they ventured. “How much do you have on your plate right now?”

Sasha may have been the therapist, but if anyone really knew burnout, it was Marcy. Webcomics didn’t draw themselves and when Marcy got on a kick, especially approaching an update deadline, they would go days without sleeping until Anne and Sasha found them slumped over their desk and carried them to bed. Those pits of exhaustion were where everything got worse; more nightmares, more attacks, more random furious outbursts. It wasn’t quite the same, but they both knew it was similar enough to be significant, and Anne knew Marcy saw everything written all across her face. 

“Anna-Banana, come on,” they prodded. 

“A lot,” she admitted with a groan. Her eyes burned with tears of frustration as the floodgates broke. “I have to finish that paper and we just got like five new tree frog species that we’re making displays for and I’ve gotta stay late to do all of it because I have to do presentations and tours nonstop every single day I’m at work and I-”

“Okay, you’re going to bed. Sash?” 

Anne yelped as Sasha picked her up and carried her towards their bedroom. “Wha- Sasha! Marcy!” 

“Nope, no arguing on this one.”

“Mars, you hypocrite!” 

Marcy smirked. “I’m gonna remember that the next time you get on me for working too much on my comic.” 

“You both need to stop overworking yourselves,” Sasha deadpanned. 

Marcy laughed, and Anne found it within herself to smile and relax into Sasha’s embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck. The moment he set her down on their bed, Marcy tackled her and trapped her in their arms. She surrendered and curled up against them as Sasha stretched out on her other side, kissing her shoulder and wrapping his arms around her waist. Marcy adjusted to get their arms around both of them.

Anne squirmed a little as she laughed. “Since when am I in the middle?”

“Since you’re the one who needs to chill. Marcy’s the one that usually never takes a break, that’s why Marcy’s always in the middle.”

“That’s not fair reasoning, Marcy’s been in the middle since we were like seven.”

“She does have a point,” Marcy giggled. They pulled back, tilting her chin up as their expression turned serious. “Anne, you know you can’t keep doing this. And yeah, I know, I do it a lot, but when you overwork yourself…” They tapped her cheek beneath her blue eye. “You can’t keep pretending that your powers didn’t have any lasting effects on you. You need to rest when your body tells you, sweetheart.”

Anne sighed and tucked her head beneath their chin. “I know.” 

Sasha planted more kisses along the back of her neck. “We don’t want you hurting yourself, that’s all.” 

“I know…” 

“You have tomorrow off, right?” 

“Yeah.”

“Perfect,” said Marcy. “We’re having a day in, just the three of us. No work.” 

“You’re telling me that you, Marcy Wu, are going to take a day off from your webcomic?”

Marcy kissed her forehead. “Yes, if it means you’ll take the day off with me. I actually need to give my hand a rest, anyway.”

“Wait, Sasha, don’t you-”

“Nope,” Sasha quipped, cutting her off. “All my paperwork is finished. You’re not getting out of it that easy.” 

Anne grumbled and buried her face against Marcy’s chest. Letting her eyes slip shut, she yawned and kissed the little dip between Marcy’s collarbones. “Maybe I do need a break.” 

“Told you.” 

Sasha took her hand and intertwined their fingers. “We’re just looking out for you. You’re always looking out for us - you’ve got to let us return the favor sometimes. We’re always here for you.” 

“I know you are,” she whispered. The tension drained away as she relaxed into their embrace, warm and safe and secure between them. “Thanks.” 

“Always.”

----

Sasha woke up in the middle of the night with his back screaming. Fire burned up the length of his spine, scorching knives driving between each vertebrae as every muscle in his torso went rock hard. His fingers twisted in the sheets, but all he was able to do was turn his face into the pillow as a choked groan escaped him. Tears sprang up in his eyes. He managed to marginally shift the arm he had draped over Marcy.

They mumbled something unintelligible and rolled over out of his grip. Tangled hair falling over their face, one eye still shut, they propped themself up on their elbows and looked over at him. “Sash?” they asked. He shook his head. Marcy squeezed his arm. “Are you okay?”

He turned away from them. He was fine, it was fine, everything was fine. He just had to ride it out. It always went away after awhile if he gritted his teeth and struggled through it. He didn’t need either of them fussing over him when it was something that was just going to pass within an hour. Well, usually within an hour. No big deal.

It wasn’t like Anne collapsing without warning, her body giving out and rendering her legs useless, barely able to move at all without pain. It wasn’t like Marcy’s attacks or their nightmares where they heard the voices of the Core still haunting them, their vision splitting apart like they described, the feeling of a sword through their chest coming back in full force. His ailments weren’t like theirs at all. It was a cramp, for Frog’s sake. Why stress them out worrying over him when it could be solved by lying still for a while? And he knew that if it was one of his patients saying this he would tell them it wasn’t fair to them to shut themselves off and refuse to accept help but this was different.

“Sashy, honey, tell me what’s wrong,” Marcy cooed. 

He didn’t want to worry them, but as Marcy stroked his arm and ran their fingers through his hair, he couldn’t help giving in. 

“Back,” he choked out. 

Without a word, Marcy reached over Anne to turn on the lamp and shook her awake. Anne shot upright. “M’up, I’m up,” she said. “What’s up, what happened?”

“Sasha’s back is hurting again,” Marcy said. 

Fucking understatement, Sasha thought. 

“I’ll go get the Tiger Balm.” 

The bed shifted as Anne got up. Sasha whimpered as a muscle in his lower back spasmed. He hated this. Even when he got the scar, he wasn’t completely incapacitated like this. It was over a decade ago; why were the phantom pains still so bad?

Marcy drew small circles on his trapezius just above his shoulder blade, slowly increasing the pressure to massage away the knots when he didn’t flinch. He took deep breaths and focused on the warmth of their hand. Once they finished with that spot, they pressed a kiss to it and moved to the same position on the opposite side of his back. 

Anne returned with a quiet “here” as she handed the Tiger Balm to Marcy. They gathered a glob of the stuff on their fingers and slipped their hands under his loose muscle tank, rubbing it into his tense muscles, watching for any signs of discomfort in reaction. Anne knelt by the side of the bed, resting her chin on the edge as he turned to face her. She combed her fingers through his hair. His eyes slipped shut as the warmth from the salve seeped into his skin. 

“How bad?” she asked after a moment. 

“Like a seven,” he replied.

“Sasha.”

“Okay, fine, ten, it’s awful.” 

“Did you have a nightmare or did you just wake up to it?” Marcy asked. They pressed their knuckles into a spot beneath his shoulder blade. He groaned, and they took their hands away. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay, that felt good.” He sighed as Marcy returned to that spot. “I woke up and it was like this. I’m sorry I woke you guys up, too.” 

Anne tapped his cheek to get him to open his eyes. “Sasha, we want you to wake us up when this happens. You shouldn’t be making yourself suffer through it on your own.” 

“It’s just phantom pains.” 

Anne’s brow furrowed as she watched him with sad eyes. Marcy’s hands stopped on his lower back on either side of the scar. They always avoided touching the scar directly until his muscles unlocked and the pain had mostly faded away. It was a thin line they walked between adding a final comfort or aggravating that old trauma and bringing all the pain back. 

“Sasha,” they said gently, “phantom pain is still pain. What would you tell us if we just said the same thing to you?” 

Sasha turned his face into the pillow again. A response wasn’t really expected and he knew that; Marcy was just driving home a point. Anne took his hand and kissed his knuckles, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. 

“Hey, handsome, will you look at me?” she purred. 

A smile finally lit his face. “That is so not fair.” 

“It worked, though.” She intertwined their fingers. “You don’t have to keep this to yourself. We know you don’t like to worry us, but we would rather know when these things happen so we can keep track of it, just in case it ends up being something else one of these days. Okay?”

He squeezed her hand in reply. Sharing a smile with her as she pressed their foreheads together, he finally let himself relax under Marcy’s hands. They moved to straddle his hips and pushed his tank top up, switching between working the stress out of his muscles and rubbing slow circles over his skin. Just when the pain was almost gone, they swiped their hand across the bottom of his scar. 

He bristled. They withdrew immediately, putting their hands up. Anne kissed his forehead as he took a deep breath. 

“I’m okay,” he promised. 

“You’re sure?” Marcy asked.

“Yeah, Mars, I’m good. Will you keep going, please?”

Marcy’s hands returned to his back. Placing one hand beneath his shoulder blade to ground him, they ran the other in one slow, smooth, unbroken line all the way up the scar, pausing at the top, and then coming back down again. He closed his eyes as their touch chased all the pain from him, knowing that he was safe and loved and cared for just having Anne gripping his hand and Marcy tracing the length of his spine. For a moment, part of him felt as though the scar were being washed away under their touch, and all the hurt and bad memories with it. 

After a few passes, he shifted his arm back, and Marcy knew that was their cue to stop. Fixing his shirt, they leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the top of his spine. They reared back the next second. They made a face as they scrubbed their mouth on the back of their arm. 

“Ah, okay, bad idea,” they spat. “I just got Tiger Balm in my mouth.”

Anne and Sasha burst out laughing. Pushing himself up, Sasha flipped Marcy with a yelp and flopped on top of them. He grinned as they giggled uncontrollably, wrapping their arms around him as he buried his face in the crook of their neck. 

“Sash, let me go wash my hands!” 

“Aw, I don’t want to get up, though.” 

“I’m gonna put it in your hair.”

“Ugh, fine.” 

He rolled off to let them up. They kissed his cheek before grabbing the jar of Tiger Balm and heading for the bathroom. Anne took their place, and he curled up on her chest, arms settled around her. She scratched lightly behind his ear as he melted into her embrace, tracing the scar on his cheek, drawing little hearts on his shoulder. 

“Feel better?” she asked.

“Yeah. A lot better,” he sighed. “I’m sorry I woke you guys up. I know we’ve all got work early-”

Marcy flicked water on him and Anne. “None of that.” 

He laughed as Anne wiped the droplets off her face. “Marbles, you got that more on me than on him.” 

“Okay, I’ll get a cup of water and throw it on him.”

“Get in here already, you nerd.”

Anne and Sasha caught Marcy’s wrists and pulled them into bed. Anne leaned back with Sasha laying on her chest, and Marcy cuddled up to her side, bumping their nose against her cheek. They smiled down at Sasha as they traced his lower lip with their thumb. 

“You’re going to tell us when this happens, right?” they asked.

“I will.”

“And you’ll wake us up if it happens in the middle of the night like this again?”

“I will. Promise.” 

“Good. We love you, Sasha.” 

“You guys are the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Neither of them responded. He tensed, wondering if he had said something out of line somehow or maybe a little weird, but when he lifted his head, he found himself looking into two grinning faces overflowing with unconditional love and warmth. Both had tears in their eyes as they cupped his cheeks. His face grew hot. 

“What?” he demanded. Anne and Marcy shared a look and broke out laughing. “What!” 

Marcy leaned down to kiss his cheek as Anne went on giggling. “Feeling’s mutual, Sashy. We love you.”

“I love you, too.” 

“Get some sleep, okay?” said Anne. “And wake us up if you need us.” 

Sasha nodded. He settled comfortably in their arms as Anne turned off the light, leaning into Marcy’s hand as they played idly with his hair. He drifted off knowing that, in that little scene, all of them tangled up in each other, safe and connected in a warm embrace, he had spoken the most honest sentence of his life. 

Their love was the best thing to ever happen to him. 

----

#amphibia #amphibia spoilers #sashannarcy #sashanne #sasharcy #marcanne #marcy wu #anne boonchuy #sasha waybright #tw panic attack #tw hallucinations #phantom pain #smoking mention

[sophinher30s]

Make sure to make it to the end

I’ve always had an affinity for broken things.

Mismatched.

Intentionally let things get scratched.

My favorite watch was too big so the glass face is all scratched up.

My favorite shoes are stained beyond repair.

My favorite dress has a hole in the seam.

Belt loops don’t last long in my hands.

My jeans wear at the thighs.

My thighs, like my love, are all smushed together and worn.

Beat up tshirts and soft cotton from being washed too many times.

And I don’t separate my clothes like I should, it all gets piled in there.

I don’t actually own a mattress.

I found the cheapest bed on ikea because I needed a place to land after the divorce.

It’s technically too low to the ground, but it’s perfect for my dog and cat to jump up.

My favorite shoes to wear when I’m deep cleaning or renovating are white sneakers from target, the ones that don’t even come in a box, they hang on little hangers.

My favorite purse is from Payless, I got it on clearance and now they’re bankrupt.

I don’t think I own a single thing that matches.

My bookcases are black and my wall shelves are white.

My coffee table is green and I have a pink chair that got terrible reviews online.

I have paintings from a guy in Guatemala who had a whole booth full of them,

One is in red tones,

One’s an array of colors,

And the other is muted and tan,

They don’t match.

I have black side tables,

One’s in the living room and one’s in the bedroom.

They have coasters that have different types of flowers on them,

I only have three out of the set of four.

My succulents (if they’re alive) are in different containers,

A little pail, those temporary plastic plant containers, and jars.

None of my mugs match,

I have at least 20.

I have notebooks half written in half torn out because I don’t want the memories.

I burned a lot of paper in the summer of 2021.

My college books are underlined with pen and highlighted and earmarked and have post it notes worn from being my place holders for a decade.

My dog hates people.

My cat’s allergic to the air conditioning.

I had to throw out every bit of make up and lotion and all the fucking creams and shit we keep because of a goddamn bug problem.

I’m living out of ziploc baggies until it’s taken care of and my throat hurts so bad from all the bleach I’m losing my voice.

My tv sometimes forgets how to turn on.

My file cabinet is bent and you have to mean it when you turn the key.

My washer has clothes I forgot to switch to the dryer yesterday.

I have dishes in the sink.

And I haven’t taken off my makeup from the day.

And I love broken messy mismatched things because I hope one day to meet someone who also loves broken messy mismatched things and maybe that will mean that they will love me.

#amwriting #drafting #writing #poetry #sad poetry #love poetry #love notes to no one #poems on tumblr #poems and poetry

[whatstrangeloops]

The Hades II prediction post

Wow! Hades II! That was a swerve from a studio that’s pointedly never done a sequel to any of their other games. In a way, surprising with their first sequel is entirely in character for Supergiant, who if you’ve seen interviews with the team, have always approached development from an innovation-first perspective. After Bastion, Transistor was developed around incorporating narrative elements into the mechanics more strongly, then Pyre was about writing for a large cast, and Hades, finally, was about synthesizing all their previous work into the rogue-like formula, distilling the gameplay and storytelling elements they’d kept consistently and those that they’d innovated upon previously into one release.

So what will Hades II be about, what will be it’s driving innovation? First though, let me write about the fluff. I think Hades II will have dual-wielding. The trailer really seems to emphasize both Melinoe and Hecate dual-wielding weapons. And close watchers will have noticed that Melinoe uses mismatched weapons, a sickle and a dagger. Could this mean we might get to choose a dual wielding loadout? I think it could be likely, such a system existed in Bastion and I expect that Transistor’s “weapons equipped in different primary or utility slots create build wide modifiers” system could be on the table as well.

I am also entirely certain that we will see more areas. Hades five (5) zones (I count The House of Hades as a zone) were fully fleshed but not very numerous especially comparing to SGs previous releases. I will go ahead an claim that Hades II will have closer to 8 or maybe 10 zones though I’m not sure if these will be linearly arranged, arranged on branching paths, or if instead they will crib some notes from the Spelunky games and implement secret side zones only accessible by player investment. The prospect excites me though. There are two new zones featured in the trailer, a sort of haunted forest, probably the first zone and a blink and you’d miss it shot of a mechanical “submarine” type area with fish and aquatic based enemies. Interesting. Passingly, I know that in the Greek mythos Poseidon and Hades were actually once possibly the same god only later split into different domains. To be clear I’m speaking about the historical evolution of the Greek mythology and not an explicit narrative element in any story. This detail could have interesting thematic or story implications but I’ll get to that in a bit. Anyway, it would also be cool if they remade some of the areas from the first game but you had to go through them the other way. People go crazy for that kind of thing.

What about Magick? That’s intriguing. At first, I thought that maybe this was going to replace the cast but rewatching the trailer I see that the cast is seemingly still it’s own thing. The UI in the trailer is clearly not fully fleshed out so I think it’s wise not to draw speculation from every single thing present in the trailer. It seems Magick is similar to the abilities that the exiles had in Pyre though. More movement based abilities would be an appropriate addition of complexity for a sequel...

And actually that brings me to what I teased at the start of this post. What is the principle driving Hades II’s development? I think that the innovation the Supergiant wants to explore, the new challenge they’re trying to face with this game is “How do you make a sequel?”. You might think, duh, it’s Hades 2 but you have to remember that this is Supergiant’s 5th game but only their first sequel and how do you do a sequel? I think the modern game enjoyer takes sequels for granted. We just sort of expect eventually any popular game will have a follow up but at the same time a game franchise that just pumps out sequels is seen as being commercialized or creatively bankrupt. Think about like the Madden or FIFA or Call of Duty or Assassins' Creed games. Gamers talk a lot about what sequels or entries are good or bad relative to other members of that game’s lineage. Do you just give the fans what they think they want, more of the game they already liked? Do you simplify or do you expand? How do you bring back old favorite characters whose stories you supposedly wrapped up in the last game and/or how do introduce new characters to exist alongside those old ones? These may seem like silly, basic questions but they are also fundamental to the creative structure of any sequel.

Based on this prediction I am going to speculate on the choice of Chronos as the new villain. I think it fits in my framework. We are all expecting, on some level, that Hades II will take us back to what it was like to first be playing Hades (the first) so the antagonist being Father Time himself usurping and re-establishing an older order is something that I don’t think will be left unaddressed. After the trailer posts were immediately speculating that at the end of a rogue-like cycle Chronos will simply send you back in time to the beginning again. And that Hades and Poseidon connection I mentioned before? What if Hades and Poseidon hadn’t been split historically? What if Chronos can see a different timeline? Multiverse stories have just been in the water lately and time travel and multiverses have been arm-in-arm since, ohhh that Flash comic from the Silver Age? I’m think I’m saying that at least we’ll be seeing some of the older and stranger elements of the Greek mythology being mined in this sequel. Hopefully maybe.

I could write a more, about Hecate I think, but I don’t feel like drinking anymore tonight so I think I’ll leave it at this.

#hades #hades supergiant #hades 2 #hades ii #drunkposting #actually i've been thinking about this a lot #death to chronos

[findswoman]

4, 11, 20, 40, 71, 74

Thanks for asking! (From this list.)

4. Where do you find inspiration for new ideas?

All sorts of places. It can be just in conversations with other author friends, or in challenge prompts, or from related ideas that arise in the course of writing one story (the “I used to have three fic ideas, I wrote one, and I still have three fic ideas” effect).

11. Link your three favorite fics right now.

Favorite fics and authors are always extremely difficult for me to choose, because for one thing I don’t want to offend anyone. So I’ll limit it to three in-progress long stories I’ve been following and especially enjoying recently: your Stars in Their Multitudes series, The Liberator’s Path by @para-cera-therium , and one being worked on by my good friend @spacemomcreations , her Spectre Six series (part of her Infinite Ezras project).

20. Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

Oh man, there are a lot of these, and I know I’ll leave some out. Let’s see: “mismatched friendships” of characters from very different backgrounds, high proportion of alien characters, high proportion of female characters, much description of scenery, clothing, rituals, etc.; much ritual, period; being bogged down in choosing the right “said” synonym when I could probably dispense with them altogether; lots of paired modifiers (even my doctoral advisor got on me about that); long sentences, lots of em dashes (I blame reading too much Emily Dickinson in high school).

40. If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

Really, I’d be grateful for any story or scene at all, because that would be such a wonderful gesture of appreciation that I wouldn’t want to nitpick it! But in my own mind one scene I’ve been picturing a lot is the very last scene of The Book of Gand, Part the Third (you know the one, and I won’t give details here so as not to spoil things), so I definitely would not say no if someone with better art talent than me gave that one a try.

71. When it comes to more complicated narratives, how do you keep track of outlines, characters, development, timeline, etc.?

This one is still new territory for me, since I only have ever written (and am writing) one story of this type. Even though I’m generally more of a “gardener” than an “architect” when it comes to writing (and that definitely makes longer works an uphill battle, which is probably why they’re few and far between for me), I’ve been finding it helpful to write up a rough bullet-point-type outline (and I mean rough) of each chapter of BOG before actually writing it. That way I’m not going in totally cold, but there’s still room for things to evolve and change. That approach seems to be working for the time being, but who knows—if I embark on other epic-sized projects in the future, I might end up taking different approaches for them.

74. You’ve posted a fic anonymously. How would someone be able to guess that you’d written it?

Probably from the things listed in no. 20 above! 😁

#fan fiction writing #fan fiction #finds writes #ask game

[jujumin-translates]

Event | Literary Impasse | Chapter 2

*Contains spoilers for Act 12 - eternal moment*

Director: (Umm, I’ve swept the floor, and now… Ah, I should wipe down the cabinets too.)

Director: (Syu should be coming here soon, so I’ve gotta be a bit more attentive…)

Sakuya: I’m back.

Director: Welcome home, Sakuya-kun.

Sakuya: Sigh…

Director: Did you work again today?

Sakuya: Ah, yeah. At the daycare.

Director: You seem down.

Sakuya: …Well, one of the boys who always came is moving away next month, so I thought we should have a simple farewell party for him, but…

Sakuya: Recently, he got into a fight with his best friend… They were such good friends and now they don’t even talk to each other anymore.

Sakuya: The other teachers and I are trying to figure out how we can help them make up before the farewell party, but we haven’t come up with any ideas…

Director: So that’s it. I hope you can manage to help them make up before he moves away.

Sakuya: The two of them used to have little disagreements. But the more they argued, the better they got along.

Sakuya: It was almost cute watching them bicker. They were like Masumi-kun and Tsuzuru-kun during Spring Troupe’s debut performance.

Sakuya: But this time, things were a little different.

Director: I see… But Masumi-kun and Tsuzuru-kun eventually became friends, so I’m sure it’ll turn out okay.

Sakuya: I hope so.

*Notification sound*

Director: Ah, it’s Syu-san.

Sakuya: Syu-san?

Director: He’s going to be coming to the dorms today. He’s bringing a lot of things over, it’s going to be hard to carry them all.

Sakuya: I’ll help.

Director: Thanks!

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Syu: Alright, that’s all of it. Thanks for your help.

Sakuya: What’s with all these huge styrofoam boxes?

Director: It… Kinda smells like the sea.

Syu: That box is full of some kind of shrimp or snapper.

Director: Eh!? Is this all seafood!?

Syu: There’s a lot of young people here, so I’m sure they can at least eat this much.

Director: Guess we’re having a seafood festival today.

Sakuya: I’ll look forward to it!

Director: What’s in the bag over here?

Syu: Ah, that over there has chimaki, thick fried tofu, chocolate, and lots of other things. (1)

Director: (It’s all sort of mismatched, but it all looks high quality, and it’s a triangle-shaped… Probably for Misumi-kun.)

Director: (As expected from a Hakkaku-san maniac, he’s really generous to the whole Ikaruga family.)

Syu: Has preparation for the next plays begun?

Director: Yes. Next is Spring Troupe’s ninth performance. Is it almost time for your troupe too, Syu-san?

Syu: Ah, we’re going to be behind schedule this time. Our in-house writer has been out sick.

Director: Eh!? Are they okay?

Syu: Well, they’re pretty old. These kinds of things are bound to happen from time to time.

Syu: But this time they’re taking longer to recover, so I’m trying to find a replacement writer.

Syu: I’ve got some help, but I’m having a hard time choosing the right person.

Syu: I guess it’s hard to get a new writer when you’ve been working with the same one for so long.

Director: --I’ve got it! Actually, I have a writer I’d like to recommend.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Syu: The Great Minagi?

Director: Of course, it depends on if he wants to do it, but right now Tsuzuru-kun is back at his parents’ house, so I’ll talk to him when he gets back.

Syu: The theater I’m working in is a lot different from MANKAI’s usual performances. Can he really handle it?

Director: He’s a skillful type, and I’m sure he can be flexible. Would you still be willing to consider him as a candidate for the time being?

Director: Besides, I think your theater company is a perfect challenge for Tsuzuru-kun to be able to write and grow outside our company.

Director: If you find him unusable, you can mercilessly cut him from the lineup, no problem.

Director: Tsuzuru-kun would probably like to be challenged by an environment like that.

Syu: You’re really gonna dive in headfirst like that?

Director: Yes! But if you think you can utilize him… Please compensate him as you see fit!

Syu: …Well done, Director-san. Alright, it’s a deal.

Syu: Get back to me when you confirm what his intentions are.

Director: You’ve got it!

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Takeru: As always, Tsuzuru-nii-chan’s fried food is the yummiest!

Kaoru: But the recipe we use is the same.

Takeru: Eeh, is it reeeally?

Tsuzuru’s Mother: Oh, by the way, Tooru won the gold medal in an essay contest the other day.

Tsuzuru: Eh!? That’s amazing!

Tooru: It’s not that big of a deal.

Yuzuru: You say that, but you slept with the certificate you got under your pillow!

Suberu: You were so happy, weren’t you?

Tooru: I think it’s because I was able to learn to write thanks to the “Easy Writing Class” I took.

Tsuzuru: I see… I’m glad.

Tsuzuru: (That reminds me of the first time I wrote the kappa script. I was so happy that I kept it by my bedside and read it over and over again.)

Tsuzuru: (But, I don’t even remember that many details about it, like how I even came up with the idea.)

Tsuzuru: (I’m sure it was good, but it was I script I wrote just with my mind, and my memory of it is a little hazy.)

Tsuzuru: Let me read that essay later.

Tooru: Okay.

Tsuzuru: I’ll look forward to it.

• • •

T/N:

(1) Chimaki is a glutinous rice flour dumpling wrapped in leaves, often bamboo leaves.

[ ⇠ Previous Part ] • [ Next Part ⇢ ]

#a3! #a3! translation #〚 event #sakuya sakuma #tsuzuru minagi #syu otomiya

[icecreambeach]

You say people can write whatever they want no matter how problematic, why is racism any different? If someone has a thing for n*zi uniforms, and it stays in fiction then why's it wrong?

Hey there! This post should help explain. Sample below:

"Well, let’s see. Socially, incest and pedophilia (to take the two most commonly cited examples) are already taboo concepts. There is no existent social culture that lionizes or excuses either one, which means that there’s no prevailing bias or imperative towards either action that fanfiction could amplify on a collective level. It’s also relevant that fanfiction itself – though globally popular – exists as a series of overlapping niches: in order to locate a particular type of fanfic, a reader must first choose a fandom, find a website that hosts or links to it, and then search within the existing content there to find what they’re looking for. As such, even if you take darkfics as a collective entity and ignore the disparate fandoms, types and quantities in which they’re written, such works are still not being popularized in the public mainstream, which means that nobody is being exposed to them in an ambient, casual, ongoing way, the way we experience, for instance, constant depictions of thin, conventionally attractive, predominantly white people in countless ads, films and TV shows. So while an individual reader might be upset by a particular fanfic, it’s equivalent to an individual child being scared of dinosaurs after watching Jurassic Park – the problem is a mismatch of audience and content, not a sign that the content should never have existed.

All this being so, it makes no sense to claim that the existence of a comparatively small number of darkfics have the power to create a culture of acceptance or normalization around things like incest or pedophilia. It simply doesn’t track with what we know of how narrative influences realty."

Also, why tf are you censoring the word Nazi? This isn't TikTok, the post isn't going to be taken down if you use certain words.

I swear to Christ, if you people can't even do your basic due diligence as activists by, idk, reading about the issue you claim to care so much about, let alone the reason you should censor words on TT but not on Tumblr, you're not only going to fail to make the world a better place, you're contributing to the impression that the whole movement is little more than consumptive, performative faux-activism, whose main purpose is to ensure young people stay cooped up in their homes ranting to strangers on the internet instead of organizing to bring about real change.

Anyway, follow Stitch.

#fandom wank #fandom #Fandom Against Racism #racism

[pathfuckery]

Fire Emblem Engage: Initial Impressions

So I’ve started playing Fire Emblem: Engage, and overall my initial impressions are really positive! I’m having an absolute blast, and this might be my favorite FE since Awakening, at least on first impression. It’s still not GBA FE, which will forever be the pinnacle of the series for me, but it’s damn fun. Here’s my good and bad:

The Good

The Rings and Engage Mechanics

I really enjoy Emblem Rings and Engaging. While I wouldn’t want this to be a reoccurring mechanic, that is due to not wanting every FE to have to shoehorn in connections to heroes of previous games. We saw how stupid the Babyrealms were after the popularity of Time Travel Children. 

They could bring back the gameplay of the mechanic though, which is a temporary buff and attack, plus significant changes to class abilities on equip. My worry is that I might feel I’ve misbuilt my party if once I collect all 12 rings I’ve got an odd mismatch between unit type and emblem ability, but I haven’t felt that way yet. Plus, I’m not certain that it’s any worse than legendary weapons.

The Characters

So I really am enjoying the cast of characters so far. While Alear is only mid-tier, and there are no standouts for all-time favs for me yet like previous games have had (looking at you Baedelgard, Hubert, Lyn, Severa, etc...), overall I’m enjoying the cast. Some current favs are Jean, Chloe, Louis, Anna, and the Brodia Brothers. 

RETURN OF THE WEAPON TRIANGLE

The weapon triangle might be the best it’s every been. I’m really glad to see it return, possibly in its best form yet. Breaking is awesome. It really makes the WT important, and it encourages good planning as well as offense. I really hope this mechanic stays!

The Gameplay and Enemies

The maps so far have been really fun, and some of the boss enemies have been great little puzzles. I really enjoy the resurrection system for boss units more than I did the mechanics for the large beast enemies in 3 Houses. I’m not a huge fan that most maps so far have been “Defeat Boss” for the objective, but I just hit my first alternate objective and I’m really hoping for more of these. 

The Bad

Character Designs

While some of the characters are still really solid, this entry has some of my least favorite character designs from the entire series. They’re just too out-there and over-the-top for my tastes, and wish the designs were a little more grounded and slightly less silly. This isn’t much against personalities of any of the characters, just against the actual designs. Some of my least favorite designs so far have been Hortensia, Yunaka, and Alear.

Bond Rings

Bond Rings are a Gacha-style mechanic you can spend bond points on. They are less powerful than emblem rings, and likely will eventually be replaced by emblem rings. I’m not a fan of randomly rolling things, and feel they are just a lot of effort for very little reward.

Somniel

This is luckily better than 3Houses School, but overall still a net-negative for the game. Needing to go back to Somniel and through extra loading screens to do vital things like skill inheritance and arena battles is an annoyance that slows down the momentum of the game. What’s made worse is the need to also run around collecting items if you want to keep up with gear upgrades and such. Just make these things battle rewards and leave out the “running around the map to collect” mechanics. They add very little. I will admit that I enjoyed the first few times of seeing the battlefield from a different angle, though. Maybe that could be kept in without the need for collection, and use that to talk to characters after battle while cutting Somniel entirely.

#fe #fe engage

[stillness-in-green]

Chapter 355 Thoughts

Herein: Endeavor, Jirou's big moment, and me lamenting the long-lost AFO With Nuance.

On Endeavor

 •   The discrepancy in Enji’s recollections of his sons is, in fact, completely great.  Shouto with the glare but the small sweatdrop of awkwardness, and Touya with the big happy deranged grin.  One of your sons is so happy to see you, Enji!  It’s also notable—as others have talked about at more length than I will—that Endeavor’s thinking directly about Touya for the first time since the reveal.  He’s previously shied away from it somewhat, using kanji/furigana mismatches to conflate "my son" with “a villain,” and being extremely vague every time Shouto tried to pin him down on the matter of going and doing something about Touya, but here his thoughts are aimed directly at both of them, "facing" them even if only in his mind.  A positive sign, I feel.

 •   I think it’s interesting that he lists “this fight” among the things he brought on himself.  The wound, sure; he slipped up and let AFO get that attack in.  But the fight itself?  Hawks and All Might planned those match-ups; the most Endeavor did was go along with it against his own misgivings and guilty conscience.  Should we take this to mean he’s now thinking he should have put his foot down and gone to face Touya instead?

 •   People (both in the fandom and in the chapter itself) seem very confident that Endeavor will be right back up, and they’re probably right?  But I wonder.  Endeavor tries to get back up, but he falls, and then there’s that close-up of all the blood in the grass, spreading ever farther.  It feels ominous. I don’t think Endeavor’s going to die, and frankly after all the hurt he’s taken in previous fights, it would feel a bit odd for one wound in his side to take him down.  The manga has ever been inconsistent when it comes to how much lasting effect any given injury is going to have, but since that inconsistency typically resolves in favor of “whatever’s going to make things more convenient for heroes,” Enji staying down because of this would be a swerve, and a welcome one.  I guess we’ll see.    

On AFO and “Extras”

I kind of hate this.  I’ve complained about it periodically before, and maybe it’s just sour grapes from having read him wrong, but late series AFO really is such a disappointment  This is a man who built an empire out of little people, one power exchange, one favor at a time.  At Kamino, he said he hated All Might for taking out his support network, for standing atop a pile of bodies of AFO’s allies.  He always recognized Tomura’s choices in allies.  His nemesis is One For All, a power built up through the lives of “small” people.  Hell, if you take Vigilantes as canon, it’s only been a few years since Koichi’s big finale, in which AFO explicitly recognizes the power of ordinary people to rise to the occasion in extraordinary circumstances and calls that a specific danger to him in modern times.  So why on earth is he so dismissive of “extras” now?

From a Watsonian perspective, I favor the explanation that he went kind of crazy in Tartarus; it’s also about the only explanation I don’t find exceptionally tiresome, but sadly one that is almost certainly not the intended read.  It’s just so easy, so unchallenging, so plodding.  And frankly, it makes AFO act stupid.  If he can’t imagine that little people could pose a threat to him, it leaves him completely flat-footed when they do, and that’s just the deadliest fuckin’ thing for his believability as a “mastermind”-type villain who can’t shut up about all the different paths and plans he has available to reach his ultimate goals.

He and his vestige have been trending this way for some time now—certainly since Jakku!—but it’s reaching new heights since the beginning of this arc.  It’s like I’m watching Horikoshi flanderize this man in real-time.     

Jirou and Friends (and AFO and Bakugou)

Man, I wish BNHA actually had the ensemble chops to land this moment.  But like, if we were really supposed to buy Jirou getting angry about her friends crying, maybe we could have had a) any more significant relationship between Jirou and Midoriya than him helping her organize her notes that one time and b) any relationship between Jirou and Aoyama at all.  

The most generous read I’ve got is that Midoriya and Aoyama were on Jirou’s mind because she’d been thinking mere seconds prior about how those two have been living with the terror of AFO’s looming threat,(1) but it would have hit so much harder if Jirou had had any significant presence in Deku or Aoyama’s arcs before, or had been shown as the type of character who’s overtly friendly with everyone.  Hell, what would be so wrong with letting her get up in arms for her own sake, wanting to prove she’s no extra, or that AFO is wrong to spit on the efforts of people like her just because he doesn’t think her quirk is duly impressive?

When you put it together with the A Band reunion back in Chapter 327 and the total lack of pay-off on that thread, it’s enough to make a blogger wonder if there was something else originally planned for Jirou and this is a hurried sub-in moment after that idea was scrapped.

You know who feels like he ought to be having this plot?  Mr. “Extras Should Just Get Out of the Way” himself, Bakugou Katsuki.  Honestly, with as over-the-top as AFO is getting with the extras talk, I very much wonder if Bakugou will end up having to fight him after all—maybe if Kurogiri gets sprung and shuffles the fights again?  AFO having nothing but derision for weak quirks and thinking that extras serve no purpose but to make him look cooler in their defeat feels so precisely calibrated to mirror early Bakugou that’s it’s hard to imagine it’s a coincidence.

This is not to say that I don't enjoy AFO getting ganged up on by relative randos! And that, too, is thematic in its way. Jirou (and maybe Tokoyami next chapter?) getting something like this is very cool. But I wish it could come in a context where I was more convinced by BNHA as an ensemble piece. With any luck, this will be a first step of the series finally properly turning away from the mentality the heroes still have, of using big "important" people to fight important fights.     

AFO and Vestiges (What’s New, Pussycat?)

Once again, AFO gets all the good vestige drama.  I ask you, gentle readers, why didn’t we ever get to see Deku have to struggle with vestige interference?  Why can’t Shigaraki get some assists from vestiges who hate AFO more than they have any opinion about this new kid?  When will we get to see Vestige!Ujiko?

This is another case, though, where it’s difficult to credit that this should be such a surprise to AFO.  Has he really never had a (non-New Order) vestige try to fight him before?  Would they not have contributed their efforts when All Might drove him into a corner in their backstory fight?  I largely like the idea of them banding together only when it seems that their efforts could make a crucial difference, but it would carry more weight if we had ever gotten to see their perspective before.

And there’s even an easy prospect for that!  AFO has Search, Ragdoll’s quirk, so why haven’t we ever once seen her in any of these vestige scenes?  Hell, she could even have gotten a line or two explaining why this is only happening now, maybe a flashback to what it's actually like to be a psuedo-sentient quirk ghost trapped inside AFO. She could be the one leading (or maybe coordinating, given the nature of Search) the charge, because that's one of the things heroes do: inspire others to take up the mantle themselves.     

Jirou’s Injury: Is It Sexist?

Here’s my opinion: The talk getting around about Horikoshi being a big gross sexist, possibly one with a fetish for brutalizing women, because of Jirou getting one ear jack blown off is not entirely without merit, but it is pretty oversimplified.(2)  Only two women have been irreversably maimed beyond simple scarring thus far: Mirko losing two limbs, and Jirou losing half her quirk.  Compare Aizawa losing an eye and the lower part of one leg, Mr. Compress an arm, Re-Destro both his legs, and Overhaul both his arms and his access to his quirk, and you’ve actually got twice as many men as women taking those lifelong, irrecoverable injuries!

Also too, that’s only talking about people who were significantly and, thus far, permanently impacted by their wounds.  If you expand the scope somewhat to people who were maimed with less severe impact on their combat effectiveness, you get people like Jeanist and his lost lung, and Hawks and all his lost feathers.  You also have to talk about people like Mirio or Shigaraki, whose maimings were severe but temporary, or Gran Torino, who didn’t lose an obvious limb, but who still doesn’t seem to be back in fighting shape, given that we still haven’t seen him out of a hospital bed.  

Virtually all the characters in these latter categories are men; the only female character I can think of that fits any of those particular bills is Lady Nagant, who at present seems to be in the Gran Torino tier.  Two women compared to four men, or three women compared to nine men: it’s not exactly the clear-cut damnation a lot of people talk like it is!  And Mirko bounced back like a damn jai alai ball, while Jirou still has enough oomph for supermoves, whereas Aizawa’s big contribution at the moment is holding hands with Monoma, and Overhaul can’t access his quirk at all!

That said, the numbers absolutely do get much worse when you start folding in deaths.  I would say that twice as many prominent/significant women have died in this series than similarly placed men—Nighteye and Twice compared to Magne, Curious, Star & Stripe, and Midnight.(3)  It looks even worse when you consider the percentages of women overall in the groups that lose them: three women versus eleven men in the UA staff; one woman and four men in the MLA; two women and six men in the League circa meeting Overhaul.  And so on; in all cases, men drastically outnumber women, but women die at exorbitantly outsized rates.

That ties into a further disparity, which is the gender balance on which characters are allowed to keep contributing to the plot after their injuries, versus which ones die or get booted off-camera.  

For the men, you once again have Twice and Nighteye, and I would add Overhaul as well—his brief return doesn’t see him doing anything remotely significant save giving Deku a quick moral trial.  You could possibly count Gran Torino as well, though he at least got to give Deku some words of advice for the road, and it remains to be seen whether he might make an appearance at e.g. the hospital Spinner’s currently attacking.  That’s four men significantly removed from prominence out of a list that I would probably say constitutes eleven men overall—add on Aizawa, Mr. Compress, Re-Destro, Best Jeanist, Hawks, Mirio and Shigaraki.

For the women, conversely, Jirou and Mirko are the only two who have bounced back, from a list that would in full include Lady Nagant, Curious, Star & Stripe, Magne and Midnight.  Fewer women on the overall list than men, but the men have much better rates of recovery.  There’s no getting around the fact that Aizawa wakes up in a hospital after chopping off his own leg like a badass while Midnight dies on her hands and knees.

Which also brings up the topic of how sexualized women’s injuries are compared to men’s.  Off the cuff, and without going back over all the relevant scenes in detail, I feel like there’s at least some measure of reflexive sexualization of women’s bodies going on there, stuff that is being read in a worse light than Horikoshi intended it.  I would call it a factor with Midnight and Mirko for sure, though, and I might think more with some research.  The only male counter-examples I’d even consider broaching would be Mr. Compress (shirtless, posing, dramatic reveal of his hair and unmasked face; it’s all very intentional and agency-having compared to the women) and Shigaraki, who we really do have to watch get brutalized, shirtless, at profoundly uncomfortable lengths and extremes; he does far more agonized floorbound writhing, for example, than Mirko, though their respective outfits mean you see a lot less of his thighs when he's doing it.

So, yeah.  The trouble isn’t the simple number of women taking bad injuries, nor even the extent of those injuries.  The trouble is how impactful those injuries are on the whole, and what percentage of women are taking them compared to the men.

That said, Jirou’s not out of the fight yet—again, she still had the oomph for that big supermove—and as a 1-A student, I don’t expect her to be bowed out of what remains of the plot entirely, at least not more gallingly than any number of the second string 1-A kids.  Her injury was not sexualized at all, and while it was somewhat graphic—that panel of her severed jack!—I wouldn’t say it was more graphic than, say, Shigaraki getting his fingers pinched off by RD, or pretty much anything going on with the remnants of Dabi’s face.  We’re also very early in this fight still; there’s lots of time for more students to take more injuries, so the full scope of how 1-A’s girls fare in this fight compared to the boys will not be apparent for some time yet.  

That all said, while I would call Jirou’s injury part of a larger pattern, I’m not prepared to jump to “Horikoshi was just sitting at his desk slavering at the chance to brutalize this teenage girl.”  Frankly, I’d far rather see girls out there taking an active role in fights against major threats like AFO and Near High Ends and taking their licks for it, like Mirko and Jirou, than girls sequestered in support roles on the sidelines and never getting anything interesting to do, like poor Momo.  And I will feel even happier about it if some boys—any boys—take some comparable licks too.

Stray Thoughts

 •   “I could tell from the sound of his breathing, which my feathers picked up on.”  Lawd, this is stilted.  Why would Hawks need to tell himself the bit about his feathers?  Surely he himself knows the method by which he detects Endeavor’s breathing?  Some of his lines here I could chalk up to him being a very methodical thinker in combat—as is the case with, “We go forward with that assumption!”—but some of it just feels like a combination of Horikoshi holding the audience’s hand(4) and C.Cook’s translation being awkwardly phrased.

 •   Dark Shadow asking after Jirou: what a cutie.  I like it when he interacts with other people—Tokoyami, of course, but the rest of the class as well.

 •   I’ve really enjoyed the dynamism of this fight.  I’m deeply tired of the BNHA fight scenes all boiling down to Deku punching and/or kicking something really hard, or people like Bakugou, Shouto and Endeavor all having these huge elemental-based attacks that might be distinguishable in color, but just aren’t very interesting in black and white.  Also, like, none of those people can truly fly; they can only propel themselves violently in a certain direction.  So the high maneuverability of a true aerial combat between AFO, Hawks, and Tokoyami-carrying-Jirou, with Hawks in particular zipping around with a pair of swords, and Jirou and AFO’s attacks tending towards more serpentine visuals, has been a welcome corrective.

-----

1:  Which is a fair cop for Aoyama, but is on thinner ice where Deku is concerned, seeing as he and AFO never had a direct encounter at Kamino, the Jakku encounter was AFO’s vestige rather than the man himself, and the post-Nagant material was spurred on entirely by a prerecorded video.  Deku had never met AFO face to face until literally the beginning of this combat.

2:  And, tumblr being tumblr, wildly over-accusatory.

3:  Counting all named deaths evens the raw numbers somewhat, but I categorically refuse to grant side characters and one-offs like Native, Majestic and Snatch the same prominence as arc-starring characters like Star & Stripe and prominent arc villains like Curious.  Crust comes the closest to making my cut, but he’s just such a one-joke character, completely lacking the slightest hint of interiority, that even though he’s in twice as many chapters as, say, Curious, he doesn’t have half of Curious’s motivation, personality and clear sense of history with her compatriots.

4: 1:  I wonder, sometimes, if Horikoshi was a little traumatized by that whole thing where he had everyone writing in to ask him about Deku using OFA One Million Percent against Muscular and having to explain that that was just Deku thinking 1,000,000% to get himself hyped up, not a literal representation of his power output.  The BNHA fandom is full of pedants, East and West alike, it seems.  (I say this as an unbelievable pedant myself, of course.)

#bnha #bnha 355 #chapter thoughts #todotalk #bnha afo #jirou kyouka #vestige drama

[castletireshopsblog]

Tire Repairs – How To Fix A Flat Tire

If you’ve ever had a flat tire, you know how inconvenient it can be to have to find somewhere to repair the rubber. Well, the good news is that with proper knowledge and the use of modern tools and materials, flat tire repair is no longer an impossible task. In this article, we’ll show you how to fix a flat tire.

What are the symptoms of a flat tire?

A flat tire is usually characterized by a sudden loss of air pressure. You may also notice that the tire is sitting lower to the ground than usual, or that the tread appears to be worn down. If you suspect you have a flat tire, it’s important to take action quickly. Ignoring a flat tire can lead to further damage, and may even cause an accident.

What is the best way to mend a flat tire?

There are a few different ways that you can fix a flat tire, but the best way is to take it to a professional. They will be able to patch it up for you and make sure that it is safe to drive on.

How do I change my tire?

If you’re like most people, you probably don’t know how to change a tire. Don’t worry, it’s not as difficult as it looks. With a little bit of know-how, you can be changing your own tires in no time.

The first thing you’ll need to do is take a look at your car’s owner’s manual. It will have all of the information you need about where your car’s jack and spare tire are located. Once you’ve found them, go ahead and remove the spare tire from its location.

Next, you’ll need to loosen the lug nuts that hold the flat tire in place. You can do this with a wrench or a socket set. Once they’re loose, go ahead and jack up the car so that the flat tire is off of the ground.

Now it’s time to remove the flat tire. Just pull it off of the wheel and set it aside. Take your spare tire and line it up with the wheel. Make sure that the lug nuts are tight before lowering your car back down to the ground.

That’s it! You’ve now successfully changed your own tire.

Tools and Parts You’ll Need

If you’re stranded on the side of the road with a flat tire, don’t despair. With a little know-how and the right tools, you can easily fix the problem and be on your way. In this blog post, we’ll walk you through everything you need to know about tire repair, from identifying the cause of the flat to fixing it and getting back on the road.

We’ll start by discussing the different types of flats, as well as the tools and parts you’ll need to fix them. Then, we’ll give you step-by-step instructions for repairing a flat tire. Finally, we’ll offer some tips on how to prevent flats in the future.

So what are you waiting for? Let’s get started!

How to know if it’s time to replace your tires?

It’s important to know when it’s time to replace your tires. Here are some signs that it’s time for new tires:

Your tires are bald: If your tread is worn down and you can see the tire’s steel belt, it’s time for new tires. This is not only unsafe, but it can also lead to a blowout.

Your tires are cracked: Cracks in the sidewall of your tire can weaken the structure of the tire and cause a blowout.

Your tires are mismatched: If you have different types of tires on your car, it can cause instability and uneven wear. It’s best to replace all four tires at the same time.

If you’re unsure about whether or not it’s time to replace your tires, consult a professional. They will be able to inspect your tires and give you an expert opinion.

Last Words

Flat tires are never fun, but luckily they’re usually easy to fix. With a little bit of know-how, you can have your tire repaired in no time. We hope our guide has helped you understand the basics of tire repair so that you can get back on the road as soon as possible. Do you have any tips for fixing flat tires? Share them with us in the comments below!

[talenlee]

MTG: Soundwave Superior

MTG: Soundwave Superior

It’s weird given that I write about Magic: The Gathering and Transformers that I let the official printing of Magic: The Gathering Transformers cards. Oh and they’re all legendary and weird and Commander cares about legendary cards that shape the deck they belong in and are also weird. Oh and they’re all illustrated to look like screenshots from G1 Transformers, except they’re not, because of subtle hints like how Flamewar didn’t exist and Megatron is a tank and also they’re illustrated to look really good, and G1? Did you get this? It looks like ass.

There are fifteen of these cards. I’m not going to run through all of them, because there are fifteen of them and I need to think about how much time I spend talking about a card game full of elves (and now hobbits and cyber squid) especially when it crosses over with broken toys I got from the Salvos up the street from Woolies except I didn’t really, I’m pretty sure a bunch of those were Go-Bots, anyway.

Each of these cards creates an example of a play pattern. For some, you want to cast them early, letting their value accumulate over time. For some, you don’t want to cast them until you’ve developed a board that can benefit from them. Soundwave, Sonic Spy, for example, wants you to have tokens on the battlefield that can evade opponents’ attacks, and also stocked graveyards to eat up. Once you have that set up, you can use his hard-to-block tokens to feed further graveyard plunging.

That’s a bunch of different competing wants: He’s going to want mill cards, cards that create tokens that can get through (or can go so wide it doesn’t matter), he wants spells with modal mana values so you can get Ravage or Laserbeak out of him. Oh, and he looks at all the damage dealt by your tokens, so if you have three 1/1s that all hit, you can exile a 3 mana card. Going wide’s not worthless.

Now, that said, what I’d look for to build a Soundwave deck is cards that meet two or more of those competing wants. Something that makes tokens that are hard to block, something that mills people, something that lets you cast spells with different mana values. I think that because Laserbeak has flying and hexproof, he’s the more desireable thing to get, meaning that you want the cheaper sides of cards to be the even ones.

Mana value trickery comes in a couple of forms; sure, there are X-spells, and there are some great ones there. Split cards have two mana values (potentially) too, though. Consider that while Depose/Deploy, a beloved card of mine, has two even card values, Discovery/Dispersal doesn’t, and that card’s a banger. Same with Far/Away and Profit/Loss. Hell, Profit/Loss is probably a really good card for a go-wide token strategy in Esper. And hey, Warrant/Warden is another example, where it can be even or odd and it provides a big fat token.

Buyback spells and kicker spells also change their mana value depending on how they’re cast. Consider Recruit The Worthy – mana value of 1 or 4. This gives you a cheap Ravage in a pinch and a reliable Laserbeaking if you want it. In Modal Double-Faced cards land, there are five that mismatch front and back that are also spells – Cosima, Alrund, Selfless Glyphweaver, Tergrid, and Wandering Archaic (don’t put Tergrid in a deck, she’s definitely something you should talk to people about ahead of time).

For cards that have variable costs and make tokens, I’m particularly tickled that Clown Car hits your needs (hypothetically). Multiple Choice is a very useful utility card that can have a variable mana value and make a token, and more. Occult Epiphany looks like it might be good, since a deck like this might run a lot of mixed types of cards. Blot Out The Sky is also a big spell for converting Soundwave that also can do duty as a board wipe if you need it.

That opens another point – because he convers into a noncreature artifact, you might imagine you can run Soundwave with Wraths, but nope! He doesn’t spend much time in converted form unless that’s something you’re actively trying to do. That looks like a build that cares about stax and channel effects, but also crucially, not going to have access to a lot of wraths that avoid triggering his conversion.

Finally, there are some permanents that work with the token theme and the milling one. Zellix, Sanity Flayer for example, presents a way to mill and make tokens while also holding the ground, and the Necromaster Dragon can mill and create more bodies for you. Lillia, Death's Majesty is kind of obvious, since she creates tokens and mills. Then there are recurrent token generators like Pride of the Clouds, Piper of the Swarm and Skycat Sovereign. Reservoir Kraken generates tokens that are really hard to block if people don’t let you have the great big beater, and Combat Calligrapher lets you build up tokens while discouraging attacks on you. Special mention goes to Obscura Ascendancy which also cares about variable mana values – you can probably power this one up pretty fast with all these X-spells.

But you’ll notice I’m listing spell after spell after spell – I don’t know what the creature base is like. If there are a lot of creatures that create tokens on entering the battlefield in this deck, you might find something like Altar of Bhaal works out really well – with a card like Marsh Flitter, Sengir Autocrat, Cloudgoat Ranger, or Whirler Rogue, you can generate more creatures than you started with in a loop. See also the Staff of the Storyteller, which gives you a token and rewards you for other tokens. Then there’s Tasha, the Witch Queen, who gives you a token when you cast other people’s spells, and let you do that while also drawing you cards over time.

And that’s… just brainstorming.

What I’d do for this kind of deck is make a list of my eight things I want in the deck, for an 8×8 plan.

Mana support

Card draw

Removal

Board sweepers

Token Creators (momentary)

Token Creators (permanents)

Token Support

Mill

Then, the task is to look at these eight categories, and see what cards belong where. When I’ve done that, I can start picking through them, and this is all fine tuning and nitty gritty. Do I put Tasha in as a card draw card, or is she a permanent token creator? I know where I’d rather her, but maybe you find she fits better on the other side.

A good sign of a commander card, in my opinion, is if it’s easy to describe what they should do or not. Some cards are boring to think about because oh yeah, you just do that, and then the deck builds itself. Not a complaint if you want simple cards, and I want more of those robust, basic, ‘do the thing your colours want to do’ cards, but for writing articles, what I want to do is look at cards that ask you questions in conflict with one another.

Weird that I started with a sycophant who asks no questions. He wasn’t even my first choice, it’s just how I got sunk into this project. I wanted to talk about Starscream, but we’ll get to that another time.

One final note about these cards: I am deeply fascinated by the idea that we might one day, somehow, get a Universes Within version of these cards, especially since those cards will probably not use ‘convert’ but will use ‘transform’ instead, and they’d have to re-keyword ‘more than meets the eye’ too and I’m just … just overwhelmed imagining the idea of what these mechanics could be used to represent when you don’t have the pre-existing theme of ‘they are robots that turn into machines and vehicles.’

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

#Games #Magic:TheGathering #Transformers

#Transformers

[glamstory]

The Best Handmade Punjabi Jutti To Buy For A Wedding

Punjabi juttis are one of the most popular Indian clothes, and they’re perfect for any wedding. Whether you’re looking for a fashionable option or something to keep you warm, a Punjabi jutti is the perfect choice. If you're looking for a handmade Bridal Punjabi Jutti to wear at your wedding, you've come to the right place! Our collection of Punjabi juttis features the best designs and materials available, so you can find the perfect one for your special day.

What is a Punjabi Jutti?

Traditional Punjabi juttis are a type of dress that originate from the state of Punjab in India. They are often worn at traditional ceremonies or weddings, and are a popular choice for cooler weather. Juttis are made from a variety of materials, including cotton and wool, and can be decorated with sequins or lace. They are typically knee-length skirts that have a gathered waistline. There are many different types of Punjabi juttis to choose from, so it is important to find one that is the right fit for your wedding ceremony. Some of the most popular designs include Daily Use Jutti.

What to Expect When Buying Punjabi Jutis

When it comes to Punjabi juttis, there are a few things to keep in mind. First, the juti should be made from high-quality wool. Second, the stitching should be tight and consistent. Third, make sure the juti is of the right size for your body - it should fit snugly but not too tightly. Fourth, choose a color that coordinates with your wedding theme. Fifth, be sure to purchase a juti tailor-made for you - there are many mismatches and inaccuracies out there in the market made by machine. Finally, be sure to take care of your juti - it will last long if treated with respect!

How to Properly Wear a Punjabi Jutti

If you are looking for the perfect Punjabi jutti to wear at your wedding and if you looking for Celebration Punjabi Juttis, look no further than the handcrafted options available here at Glam Story. To get the perfect fit, follow these simple tips:

1) Choose a style that suits your body type and height. There is a range of styles to choose from, including straight leg and flared leg versions.

2) Make sure the jutti is made from high quality fabric. Look for cotton or wool blends that will be comfortable to wear all day long.

3) Double check the fit before ordering. Try it on as soon as you receive it so you can make sure it fits perfectly. If not, contact us and we'll be happy to help you find a size that works best for you!

Conclusion

If you are looking for a unique and special piece of Indian clothing to wear at your wedding, then a Punjabi Jutti for Bridal is definitely the choice for you! Made from finely woven cotton fabrics, these juttis are both stylish and comfortable. They come in a variety of bright colors and patterns, making them perfect for any wedding party. Do not hesitate to buy one today – you will be glad you did!

#Daily Use Jutti #Celebration Punjabi Juttis #Punjabi Jutti for Bridal