#also I traced an entire background I had no idea what I was doing for this

[pastelwhile-art]

Cause

Cause he doesn't eat any dishes in the game

No text version under cut

#actual context: since he doesnt have any dishes in the game I thought i'd be really funny to headcanon during that really awkward breakfast #where orpheus is slandering the Kreiburg name right in front of Fredrick #fredrick greatest concern is that he cant eat because he's too picky and they got his food choice wrong (i imagine its rich people taste) #its a very mediocre joke but its funny to imagine #especially since alice is like hmm he seems to be upset about something #he got no food :( #also I traced an entire background I had no idea what I was doing for this #if anyone points out since ashes of memory 2 is coming out today and he's getting a dish #EHQJEJWq why do you think im uploading this rn (im late) #idv #idv art #fredrick kreiburg #idv orpheus #melly plinius #ashes of memory #sorry alice fans she didnt get in the shot #pwart #illustration #artists on tumblr #also this is my ashes of memory 2 drop artwork now

[glow-in-the-dark-death]

A Week (He Will Take You)

~

Danny moved to Gotham for school, while there he noticed that Gotham's ambient ecto was really murky for lack of a better word.

This didn't really affect him too much besides a mild headache every once in a while but that also just might be stress from all his school work so maybe not.

Anyway

This murky ecto seemed to effect the people who lived there or more importantly the ghosts,

They were visible to the human eye like most ghosts back in Amity but instead of looking very much like a ghost they still looked like humans if a bit off putting.

They all seemed to be continuing their normal lives as if still fully alive, with the people around them none the wiser.

Danny noticed this and began approaching them to figure out what was going on.

Apparently the murky ecto in the city had made it so that they were strong enough to still continue a somewhat normal life but not be able to cross over to the GZ.

In other words they were stuck in Gotham

Danny was the Ghost King so he could easily fix this problem, all he needed to do was give them a bit of pure ecto for around a week to fully stabilize them them then he would just open a portal into the GZ and they could cross over with all their things also transferring into the GZ for their new haunt.

Unfortunately this looked rather worrying to an outsider,

Imagine you're used to your neighbor being very outgoing so you and others see them a lot suddenly this man seems to appear in their life out of nowhere an at exactly one week, your neighbor and all their belongings in their home disappear no trace to be found.

You tell people and they begin saying the same story they knew someone and them a man with black hair and blue eyes appeared in their life, then they and all their things disappear in exactly one week.

Of course the police in Gotham do the bare minimum so they're no help.

But it starts to begin a trend, especially online.

"Oh careful or the blue eyed man will make you disappear in a week"

This of course after time catches the bats attention, Gordon had already given them all the information he had.

"Young adult early twenties, dark hair, blue eyes"

That was it.

The bats look into it and from their point of view Danny is a serial killer.

But they can't find the connection between all of his victims, they range from young children and the elderly from different backgrounds absolutely no connection,

Worrying enough he doesn't just make one person disappear he has taken entire families up to over a dozen, without anyone figuring out how he's doing it or why at all.

The disturbing thing also being that he seems to take everything in their home, leaving it like it has always been empty

Like no one had been living in it.

People have tried to take photos of Danny get some kind of evidence of his existence, but when they try to do it, it either comes out completely corrupted or their devise simply shuts down fully.

Danny of course has no clue what is happening he's just happy that he's able to help so many ghosts, and is trying not to fail his exams.

~

Danny leaving the house he just helped: "That went easier than I expected!"

Neighbor peeking from the window: "Shit it's that guy! "

~

Red Hood marching down into the cave: " The fucker took many from my territory without me even realizing it!"

~

Tim: "I'm pretty sure his kill count is nearing the hundreds and he just started like maybe 4 months ago, this is bad."

Barbara: " I think I got a theory, this matches up with the new school year beginning so maybe their not a Gotham native which narrows down my suspect list."

Bruce: "Hn."

Tim: "Yes thank you B for the insightful commentary"

~

Danny trying not to fall asleep while on his way to class: "Strange I keep seeing shadows following me, oh well must be the stress!"

Bats who are pretty sure Danny is the killer: "Has he done anything suspicious yet?"

~

Just an Idea

#dp x dc #danny phantom #dc x dp #dpxdc #batman #danny fenton #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp crossover #prompt fill #story prompt #prompts #writing prompt #dp #ghost #ghosts

[catherinetheprincessofwales]

Kate is not your drama queen Her self-possession drives people wild - Jenny McCartney UnHerd.

Just over a decade ago, the late novelist Hilary Mantel delivered a lecture to an event at the London Review of Books and triggered national outrage. In the course of a talk on “Royal Bodies”, which ranged widely across royal women from Anne Boleyn to Marie Antoinette and Princess Diana, she had made what many perceived as disparaging remarks about Kate Middleton, then the Duchess of Cambridge. The Duchess, she said, appeared to have been “designed by a committee and built by craftsmen, with a perfect plastic smile and the spindles of her limbs hand-turned and gloss-varnished”. Indeed, Mantel said, Kate “seems to have been selected for her role of princess because she was irreproachable: as painfully thin as anyone could wish, without quirks, without oddities, without the risk of the emergence of character”.

At this, the newspapers were soon in uproar. The prime minister David Cameron called the comments “completely misguided and completely wrong” and the Labour leader Ed Miliband agreed they were “pretty offensive”. Mantel doggedly refused to back down, saying that her remarks had been twisted out of context, and that she was in fact writing with sympathy about the perceptions that are forcefully projected on to royal women, the cage in which they are held to be goggled at. That was true, but also perhaps not the entire truth, for there was still a perceptible trace of authorial vinegar in the portrait: which of us would be happy to learn, even in sympathy, that we were held at low risk for “the emergence of character”?

Royals are public as well as private figures, of course, and authors are free to hang intellectual ideas on them to try out, as designers do with clothes. Yet while much of the lecture was sharply perceptive, I didn’t agree with the portrait of Kate. That word “selected” had rendered her passive, when in fact her behaviour thus far had suggested both an active intelligence and an unusual degree of self-discipline. The context of her entry into “The Firm” was different from that of other royal brides. Unlike Diana, who had barely emerged from the fractured chrysalis of her troubled aristocratic family when she first met the much older, more worldly Prince Charles, Kate was a contemporary of Prince William’s at the University of St Andrews. Her family background, which appeared warm and supportive, was comfortably middle-class. She seemed generally cheerful and unruffled, even when the press was at the barbed peak of its “Waity Katie” hysteria, trying to goad Prince William into a proposal or abandonment.

After the wedding, in her approach to royal duties, she clearly took the role she had inherited with marriage seriously. The royal whose attitude her own most resembled was the late Queen Elizabeth II, who had long understood the essential nature of the job: to turn up to public events looking the part, intuit precisely what was needed — gravitas, fun, consolation or reassurance — and deliver it while keeping one’s personal emotions on the back burner. This is what a monarchy demands, and the ability to act as an impeccable interpreter of the public mood, year after year, is a particular and testing art. A few have a natural aptitude for it, but most of us do not, and would quickly find its scrutiny and restrictions intolerable.

Grace under consistent pressure is an admirable quality. Were a ballet dancer to execute a string of flawless performances, or a pilot to conduct numerous flights without incident, it would not be deemed evidence of an absence of character: quite the opposite. Yet in Kate — especially for those who increasingly conduct their lives online — serene self-possession seems to drive a proportion of onlookers insane: what lurks behind it, what dark secret is waiting to destroy it, how best might it be disrupted? The uncomfortable truth is that what many people deeply crave in a young and beautiful royal wife and mother is not competence, but crack-up

The increasingly bizarre treatment of Kate, or the idea of Kate, is connected to the most dominant phenomenon of our age: a cultural prioritising of drama over duty. The supply of drama has spilled beyond the confines of the novel, theatre, cinema or television to become a commodity on which our public figures are judged. When Mantel spoke of Kate’s apparent absence of emerging “character” she was assessing her primarily through the hungry eyes of a novelist. In books, central female characters often generate dramatic tension by chafing against their circumstances, by the intensifying dazzle of their discontents, something that Kate refused to transmit. In contrast, Mantel described Diana as a “carrier of myth”: Diana, publicly trapped in the disappointments of her marriage, certainly carried more plot twists than any author had a right to expect. Unfortunately for her, the final one was her shockingly premature death.

Set against this artistic conception of “character” — distinctive qualities or flaws that, one way or another, deliver drama — is the societal judgement “of good character”, meaning someone who is broadly reliable and respected in relation to their behaviour to others. In recent years the electorate, in line with Neil Postman’s warning in his 1985 book, Amusing Ourselves To Death, has proved increasingly ready to select the former over the latter, even to the marked detriment of our civic health. The former prime minister Boris Johnson instinctively understood it as his job not to deliver the detail of workable policy, but to satisfy the public’s appetite for story: “People live by narrative,” he once told UnHerd’sTom McTague. In the US, Donald Trump — that relentless generator of low mockery and high fury — is now running for a second term as president, after his first one ended in his supporters storming the Capitol building.

Men are often permitted to survive the frantic generation of drama: it is everyone around them who suffers. Yet women — in art and life — have a greater tendency to be destroyed by it. There is no strutting female equivalent of the male “hellraiser”, but rather a woman who, soaked in the crocodile tears of the tabloids, is tragically “causing concern” among friends. Art and its audiences have always relished the restless struggle and disintegration of female characters who are, or become, unmoored from the harbour of marriage and children. Flaubert’s Emma Bovary — her imagination inflamed by reading novels — is bored with her marriage and disenchanted with motherhood; she seeks solace in affairs and excessive spending, the consequences of which hasten her suicide. Zola’s Nana, a courtesan who ruthlessly captivates Parisian society, has her beguiling face eaten away by smallpox. Janis Joplin and Amy Winehouse, immolated on their blazing talent, are hung posthumously high in the musical hall of fame, next to Sylvia Plath in the poetry section and Marilyn Monroe in cinema.

In Jean Rhys’s Good Morning, Midnight,a middle-aged English woman called Sasha Jansen, mourning an unhappy marriage and a dead child, finds herself in Paris, a vulnerable drifter seeking solace from stray men. Rhys herself, who died at 88 after a precarious but surprisingly long life, had much in common with her literary creations. As the writer and editor Diana Athill crisply put it: “Jean was absolutely incapable of living, life was just hopelessly beyond her. When she was young, she floated from man to man in a hopeless way… by the time she was old, she floated from kind woman to kind woman.”

In Rhys’s latter years — hard-drinking, irascible and impoverished — Athill and a small group of female friends formed what they called “The Jean Rhys Committee” which met regularly to ask “what should we do next?”. Rhys’s claim to such loyalty, I suppose, was the weight of her literary talent, her ability to exert an odd kind of fascination, and the fortunate soft-heartedness of her friends. The dramatic collided with the dutiful, and was kept alive by it.

From what I can see, the Princess of Wales exists at the opposite end of the feminine spectrum from Jean Rhys. Pinned firmly in place by her royal obligations, her wealth, her marriage and three children, she belongs to the realm of the respectable and dutiful rather than the erratic and dramatic. She is not a “character” in the artistic sense, nor does she desire to be, but both a survivor and upholder of an institution: hers is the territory of the prompt thank-you note, the kept promise, the commitment to public service, the uncomplicated pleasure in children, the stoic endurance of difficult times in the hope that better ones will come along soon. The public senses an emotional solidity in her, and it is partly why she is held in broad esteem. In this age of insistent self-definition, duty to others might be an unfashionable concept, but it is nonetheless one that keeps families and institutions from chaos and collapse.

With the advent of the internet, however, anyone with a keyboard can become a form of author, with the freedom to insert a toxic form of drama into real-life situations. What was extraordinary, during the Princess of Wales’s recent health problems, is how speedily and carelessly such speculations overrode the bounds of decency. It was already known that she had undergone major abdominal surgery, and was taking time to recover. And yet — egged on by the participation of silly celebrities and malicious US comedians — conspiracy theories about cosmetic surgery and affairs and nervous breakdowns spread like knotweed. According to social-media researchers, these were also vigorously introduced and amplified by fake accounts set up on Twitter and TikTok, some associated with Russia-linked disinformation eager to spread the termites of mistrust and doubt in Western institutions. Only the Princess of Wales’s revelation of cancer, which carries a testing drama all its own, served to shut up the majority of them.

Unlike these callous gossips, Mantel recognised her own complicity in dehumanising royalty. Upon encountering the late Queen, the novelist said: “I passed my eyes over her as a cannibal views his dinner, my gaze sharp enough to pick the meat off her bones.” The Queen looked back at her, she said, briefly hurt. Mantel warned of the way in which “cheerful curiosity can easily become cruelty” precisely as it has done in recent weeks. Her talk concluded with a prescient instruction for those who comprehend monarchy mainly as a source of entertainment: “I’m asking us to back off and not be brutes.”

In the midst of treatment and recovery, the most hitherto stable of royal women could be forgiven a keen sense of injustice: her job description, it seems, must now include the ability to weather the online public’s fits of brutish mania for drama. With its contempt for duty, and its savage appetite for story, it is hungry to chew up far more than just the Princess of Wales.

#ktd #kate middleton #british royal family #brf #princess of wales

[thepastisalreadywritten]

Just over a decade ago, the late novelist Hilary Mantel (6 July 1952 – 22 September 2022) delivered a lecture to an event at the London Review of Books and triggered national outrage.

In the course of a talk on “Royal Bodies,” which ranged widely across royal women from Anne Boleyn to Marie Antoinette and Princess Diana, she had made what many perceived as disparaging remarks about Kate Middleton, then the Duchess of Cambridge.

The Duchess, she said, appeared to have been “designed by a committee and built by craftsmen, with a perfect plastic smile and the spindles of her limbs hand-turned and gloss-varnished."

Indeed, Mantel said, Kate “seems to have been selected for her role of princess because she was irreproachable: as painfully thin as anyone could wish, without quirks, without oddities, without the risk of the emergence of character.”

At this, the newspapers were soon in uproar.

The prime minister David Cameron called the comments “completely misguided and completely wrong” and the Labour leader Ed Miliband agreed they were “pretty offensive.”

Mantel doggedly refused to back down, saying that her remarks had been twisted out of context, and that she was in fact writing with sympathy about the perceptions that are forcefully projected on to royal women, the cage in which they are held to be goggled at.

That was true but also perhaps not the entire truth, for there was still a perceptible trace of authorial vinegar in the portrait:

Which of us would be happy to learn, even in sympathy, that we were held at low risk for “the emergence of character”?

Royals are public as well as private figures, of course, and authors are free to hang intellectual ideas on them to try out, as designers do with clothes.

Yet while much of the lecture was sharply perceptive, I didn’t agree with the portrait of Kate.

That word “selected” had rendered her passive, when in fact her behaviour thus far had suggested both an active intelligence and an unusual degree of self-discipline.

The context of her entry into “The Firm” was different from that of other royal brides.

Unlike Diana, who had barely emerged from the fractured chrysalis of her troubled aristocratic family when she first met the much older, more worldly Prince Charles, Kate was a contemporary of Prince William’s at the University of St Andrews.

Her family background, which appeared warm and supportive, was comfortably middle-class.

She seemed generally cheerful and unruffled, even when the press was at the barbed peak of its “Waity Katie” hysteria, trying to goad Prince William into a proposal or abandonment.

After the wedding, in her approach to royal duties, she clearly took the role she had inherited with marriage seriously.

The royal whose attitude her own most resembled was the late Queen Elizabeth II, who had long understood the essential nature of the job:

To turn up to public events looking the part, intuit precisely what was needed — gravitas, fun, consolation or reassurance — and deliver it while keeping one’s personal emotions on the back burner.

This is what a monarchy demands, and the ability to act as an impeccable interpreter of the public mood, year after year, is a particular and testing art.

A few have a natural aptitude for it, but most of us do not, and would quickly find its scrutiny and restrictions intolerable.

Grace under consistent pressure is an admirable quality.

Were a ballet dancer to execute a string of flawless performances, or a pilot to conduct numerous flights without incident, it would not be deemed evidence of an absence of character: quite the opposite.

Yet in Kate — especially for those who increasingly conduct their lives online — serene self-possession seems to drive a proportion of onlookers insane: what lurks behind it, what dark secret is waiting to destroy it, how best might it be disrupted?

The uncomfortable truth is that what many people deeply crave in a young and beautiful royal wife and mother is not competence, but crack-up.

The increasingly bizarre treatment of Kate, or the idea of Kate, is connected to the most dominant phenomenon of our age: a cultural prioritising of drama over duty.

The supply of drama has spilled beyond the confines of the novel, theatre, cinema, or television to become a commodity on which our public figures are judged.

When Mantel spoke of Kate’s apparent absence of emerging “character,” she was assessing her primarily through the hungry eyes of a novelist.

In books, central female characters often generate dramatic tension by chafing against their circumstances, by the intensifying dazzle of their discontents, something that Kate refused to transmit.

In contrast, Mantel described Diana as a “carrier of myth”: Diana, publicly trapped in the disappointments of her marriage, certainly carried more plot twists than any author had a right to expect.

Unfortunately for her, the final one was her shockingly premature death.

Set against this artistic conception of “character” — distinctive qualities or flaws that, one way or another, deliver drama — is the societal judgement “of good character,” meaning someone who is broadly reliable and respected in relation to their behaviour to others.

In recent years, the electorate, in line with Neil Postman’s warning in his 1985 book, Amusing Ourselves To Death, has proved increasingly ready to select the former over the latter, even to the marked detriment of our civic health.

The former prime minister Boris Johnson instinctively understood it as his job not to deliver the detail of workable policy but to satisfy the public’s appetite for story:

“People live by narrative,” he once told UnHerd’s Tom McTague.

In the US, Donald Trump — that relentless generator of low mockery and high fury — is now running for a second term as president, after his first one ended in his supporters storming the Capitol building.

Men are often permitted to survive the frantic generation of drama: it is everyone around them who suffers.

Yet women — in art and life — have a greater tendency to be destroyed by it.

There is no strutting female equivalent of the male “hellraiser,” but rather a woman who, soaked in the crocodile tears of the tabloids, is tragically “causing concern” among friends.

Art and its audiences have always relished the restless struggle and disintegration of female characters who are, or become, unmoored from the harbour of marriage and children.

Flaubert’s Emma Bovary — her imagination inflamed by reading novels — is bored with her marriage and disenchanted with motherhood.

She seeks solace in affairs and excessive spending, the consequences of which hasten her suicide.

Zola’s Nana, a courtesan who ruthlessly captivates Parisian society, has her beguiling face eaten away by smallpox.

Janis Joplin and Amy Winehouse, immolated on their blazing talent, are hung posthumously high in the musical hall of fame, next to Sylvia Plath in the poetry section and Marilyn Monroe in cinema.

In Jean Rhys’s Good Morning, Midnight, a middle-aged English woman called Sasha Jansen, mourning an unhappy marriage and a dead child, finds herself in Paris, a vulnerable drifter seeking solace from stray men.

Rhys herself, who died at 88 after a precarious but surprisingly long life, had much in common with her literary creations.

As the writer and editor Diana Athill crisply put it:

“Jean was absolutely incapable of living, life was just hopelessly beyond her.

When she was young, she floated from man to man in a hopeless way… by the time she was old, she floated from kind woman to kind woman.”

In Rhys’s latter years — hard-drinking, irascible and impoverished — Athill and a small group of female friends formed what they called “The Jean Rhys Committee,” which met regularly to ask “what should we do next?”

Rhys’s claim to such loyalty, I suppose, was the weight of her literary talent, her ability to exert an odd kind of fascination, and the fortunate soft-heartedness of her friends.

The dramatic collided with the dutiful and was kept alive by it.

From what I can see, the Princess of Wales exists at the opposite end of the feminine spectrum from Jean Rhys.

Pinned firmly in place by her royal obligations, her wealth, her marriage, and three children, she belongs to the realm of the respectable and dutiful rather than the erratic and dramatic.

She is not a “character” in the artistic sense, nor does she desire to be, but both a survivor and upholder of an institution:

Hers is the territory of the prompt thank-you note, the kept promise, the commitment to public service, the uncomplicated pleasure in children, the stoic endurance of difficult times in the hope that better ones will come along soon.

The public senses an emotional solidity in her, and it is partly why she is held in broad esteem.

In this age of insistent self-definition, duty to others might be an unfashionable concept, but it is nonetheless one that keeps families and institutions from chaos and collapse.

With the advent of the internet, however, anyone with a keyboard can become a form of author, with the freedom to insert a toxic form of drama into real-life situations.

What was extraordinary, during the Princess of Wales’s recent health problems, is how speedily and carelessly such speculations overrode the bounds of decency.

It was already known that she had undergone major abdominal surgery and was taking time to recover.

And yet — egged on by the participation of silly celebrities and malicious US comedians — conspiracy theories about cosmetic surgery and affairs and nervous breakdowns spread like knotweed.

According to social-media researchers, these were also vigorously introduced and amplified by fake accounts set up on Twitter and TikTok, some associated with Russia-linked disinformation eager to spread the termites of mistrust and doubt in Western institutions.

Only the Princess of Wales’s revelation of cancer, which carries a testing drama all its own, served to shut up the majority of them.

Unlike these callous gossips, Mantel recognised her own complicity in dehumanising royalty.

Upon encountering the late Queen, the novelist said: “I passed my eyes over her as a cannibal views his dinner, my gaze sharp enough to pick the meat off her bones.”

The Queen looked back at her, she said, briefly hurt. Mantel warned of the way in which “cheerful curiosity can easily become cruelty” precisely as it has done in recent weeks.

Her talk concluded with a prescient instruction for those who comprehend monarchy mainly as a source of entertainment: “I’m asking us to back off and not be brutes.”

In the midst of treatment and recovery, the most hitherto stable of royal women could be forgiven a keen sense of injustice:

Her job description, it seems, must now include the ability to weather the online public’s fits of brutish mania for drama.

With its contempt for duty, and its savage appetite for story, it is hungry to chew up far more than just the Princess of Wales.

NOTE: Additional photos have been included in this article.

#Princess of Wales #Catherine Princess of Wales #Catherine Middleton #Kate Middleton #British Royal Family #cancer #chemotherapy #preventative chemotherapy #disinformation #misinformation #fake news #trolls #bots #click farms #targeted attack #malicious gossips

[miracles-and-butterflies]

Is there a logical, non-asshole reason absolutely no in the family knows or cares that Mirabel is gone without a trace in the Cyclone AU? Are your bitch villain versions of Dolores and Isabela in Cyclone just that much worse in the AU? So much so that they forgot they had a younger sis/cousin? The other family so idiotic that they forget Julieta has three daughters? Is Bruno a moron in this AU? I don't understand the Ride the Cyclone AU. Loved the musical. Yours looks like it's going to be great, but I'm utterly confused. Why leave Mirabel out completely? Do you hate her that much?

To answer this simply: same reason in the musical why they don’t remember Jane/Penny. It’s not rocket science. 🤷‍♀️

For the last time: I don’t hate Mirabel. I think that’s pretty obvious. Why the hell would I use her so much if I didn’t? Why would she be my profile picture?

Nobody in the family hates her either, so I’m very confused as to what implied that for you and honestly suggest you read things over again.

Also what is this “bitch villain versions” thing about? There is no villain in this. I’ll admit Dolores has a spike in ambition and is somewhat more callous to the group (she had to fit Ocean’s arc), but given the fact they just experienced a lot of trauma, you can’t expect them to all know exactly what the right thing to do in the situation is. They are all trying, but the truth of the matter is that they are scared, hurt and confused.

I digress, let’s get into the ambiguous mystery of Mirabel in Ride the Cyclone AU.

When the theme park came to town, Mirabel was asked if she wanted to go - of which, she said no, due to not liking heights, speed, etc. Subsequently, only the other four kids went with Bruno acting as a chaperone (in the background - the kids only met up with him for lunch, pre-Mirabel’s arrival).

While they were doing that, Mirabel went to visit her paternal grandparents, delivering some of her mother’s cooking to them. She did visit them, they took what they wanted and she left; quicker than usual. On her way back, she ran into Dolores, who having gotten whiplash from Isabela on the bumper-carts, was more than happy to see her with healing food. Eventually, Mirabel was convinced to wonder around the fairground - to also provide healing food, if/when Dolores needed it later.

She chickened out of all the rides but did nosy around the stalls and things. Luisa won her a doll on the classic “test your strength” game, which she also broke in the process. There had been some light, typical sibling teasing from the others about her not going on any rides that built through the course of the afternoon. So by the time they decided to ride the Cyclone, she was starting to feel peer pressure. At last minute, she ran after them and joined the queue - having nowhere to put her doll, she took it with her.

Luisa, Isabela and Camilo were too distracted in their own nonsense, they didn’t initially hear or notice Mirabel board with them. Dolores did, obviously because of her gift and well, she was sat next to the girl… cut to the axle breaking and the kids die.

In limbo, the group have no memory of a fifth rider. (As in the musical, the kids have no idea who Jane Doe, so they similarly had their memories wiped). Jane, or in this case, Desconcida don’t have any memories or knowledge of before either.

Back in reality, the family do care about Mirabel. However, as Mirabel was so against the idea of going to the theme park, they don’t really consider the fifth body was hers. (Though, they did all go and try identify the body - the entire thing was pretty mangled and the clothes were indistinguishable, so there was no way of knowing in their defence). Their belief is that on the way back home, Mirabel saw the crash and panicked, running away.

They do spend weeks looking for her, leading search parties. But they never find her or any trace of the girl, so nobody knows what happened.

And Bruno’s vision only shows the four kids, with the slight view of a headless body in the back. There was not enough to indicate anything about the fifth rider’s identity.

#encanto #ask me anything #encanto ride the cyclone au

[deathofpeaceofmiiind]

illicit affairs | eleven

*Ellie's POV* When I woke up, Matt's side of the bed felt cold and empty. Maybe he was already awake, but it was so quiet you could've heard a pin drop. I shot out of bed and looked around my apartment but he was actually gone. He didn’t leave a single trace of himself here. My body fell onto my couch as the silence drowned me, this hurt more than I expected. I fought tears as I went back into my room to grab my phone and saw I had a text from him.

I’m sorry I left this morning and didn’t wake you. I don’t think I could handle saying goodbye to you again. I still want to be your friend, but I need some time. Take care of yourself, Matthews.

I sadly smiled as I re-read his text. He probably wanted to be left alone so I deleted the paragraph I wrote. I checked my other texts and saw I had one from Noah. Seeing his name on my phone again was giving me some serious deja vu.

I’ll be landing around 6 tonight if that’s okay? Of course…do you want me to pick you up?

No I’ll get an Uber… I saw the 1975 are in town tonight so I got us tickets. Show starts at 8 so be ready when I get there :) Trying to schmooze me already? … is it working? I’m not admitting anything, Sebastian. I’ll take that as a yes ;)

I rolled my eyes, he hasn’t changed a bit when it came to pursing me. I looked at the clock and it was 10:30…did I really sleep in that late? While I waited for Noah to get here I decided to deep clean my house and change my bedding since it hadn’t been done in a couple weeks. I threw my headphones on and put Bad Omens entire discography on shuffle while I cleaned. The entire time I hummed along to the lyrics…I had to smile, I missed their music so much. Depriving myself of their music was torture.

The clock read 3:30 by the time I was done so I headed into my bathroom to shower and get ready. My head still couldn’t wrap around the idea of Noah being here in a matter of hours, it felt surreal. I was worried it would be awkward since we haven’t spent more than five minutes alone together in a year. At least we were doing something tonight that would take the tension off of us for a while.

I got out of the shower and did my usual going out make up: a classic black wing and red lipstick. After I blow dried my hair I threw it into some rollers to give it volume. The carpet in my closet almost had a hole in it as I paced around deciding what to wear. The 1975 always reminded me of my early twenties where tumblr was all the rage so I grabbed a simple little black dress and paired it with an oversized denim jacket and black high top converse. 

How as it only 5:30? Shit this was dragging. I poured myself a glass of wine while I waited for Noah to get here to help ease my nerves. I blasted The 1975 to pump myself up, getting me really excited for the concert. I had been so wrapped up in work and my life that I forgot they were coming to town.  

Just getting out of the Uber, how do I get up? 

Buzz 1634, it’s also my apartment number :) 

My heart started to thunder in my chest as I waited for him to get here. My hands were also shaking and becoming clammy as I polished off my glass of wine. I ran to my deck and opened the door to get some fresh air, taking deep breaths until I heard a knock on the door. 

He’s here. 

My footsteps felt heavy and slow as I walked to the door. Fallingforyou started to play in the background, how fitting. My breath hitched as I unlocked the door and was met with Noah’s beautiful face. Fuck I missed this and him.

“Wow...” he stopped and looked me up and down. I watched his every move until our eyes met, causing a pulse between my hips. 

“Thanks for the compliment.” I joked to lighten the tension. I moved out of the way and he walked past me with his luggage. “How was your flight?”

“Quick.” He replied, his eyes scanning my apartment this time. I guess this was his first time here. “Folio was right, your apartment is fucking sick.”

“Thank you.” I swallowed. “Make yourself at home.”

“Do you mind if I shower and get ready?” 

“Not at all. You can use the bathroom in my room or if you’re okay with bath toys you can use the guest bathroom.” I suggested as I pointed down the hall. I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate for me to suggest mine but he was so tall I thought it would be a better option. 

“I’ll use yours.” He says, licking his lips. I shifted my weight to my other foot as I watched him walk towards my bedroom. Fuck he was making me so nervous. He turned around and gave me a final look before closing the door.

Tonight was gonna be interesting. 

#noah sebastian #bad omens #fanfic

[cloverthecuddlycactus]

How They Like To Cuddle and Spend

Time With You

Characters Included: Tobio Kageyama, Rinko Sudō, Moe Kikuchi, Chizuru Sasaki, Kentarō Kyōtani, Reon Ōhira, Kazuma Bobata, Hana Misaki, Rintarō Suna, and Shugo Meian

Warnings: None, just fluff

Tobio Kageyama

He's gone a lot due to being a professional sports player. So when he gets home all he wants to do is cuddle as you both watch something and bask in each other presence.

Usually when he gets home he's so cranky and tired so he usually will just hold out his arms as he slowly embraces you. He puts all of his weight on you as he let's out a long sigh, relaxing.

Though, when he is home for awhile and is able to be well rested he tends to get shy. You two could have had an established cuddling dynamic for awhile now, but he is still always a little hesitant to ask.

Usually He's very gruff and blunt about it.

You'll be sitting on the couch, in the bed, or up and doing something when Tobio will very stifly stand beside or behind you until you address him.

Once you do he'll very awkwardly ask if you'd want to cuddle. If you chuckle he'll get annoyed and a little irritated.

"What is it, Tobio?"

"I was just wondering......if you might....want to, ya know......cuddle? What are you laughing at?! It's not funny!"

You'll have to reassure him you're not laughing at him and he'll calm down, probably pouting a lil till you both go and cuddle. He could never genuinely be mad at you. Though he does worry and get in his head too much. He's so awkward socially and can be short tempered sometimes, though he has come a long way with both.

You've helped him so much, he can never show how grateful he his for you, your care, and your support. You've both talked through how he needs to communicate his emotions more so when he gets down on himself you can help.

So whenever he's feeling down and unsure of himself, he looks to you for comfort and will outright ask for your attention.

When Tobio is feeling like this, he loves laying on top of you and let you fork your fingers through his hair or trace around on his upper back.

He not a very outspoken person with soft intimate moments like these. So just you cuddling and playing with his hair as you both cuddle either in complete silence or with something playing in the background. These simple touches are more than enough for him to know you care and love him, even the things about himself that Tobio doesn't really care for.

Rinko Sudō

Rinko is very busy. She is also a very goal oriented and can seem very stubborn. But is very warm and kind so she really has no trouble in asking you to cuddle her.

The only thing is, as I said, she is very busy. She'll need someone to stop her from pushing herself too far. She tends to neglect her own health, but that's nothing a good cuddling session can fix. You will probably have to initiate it most of the time to pull her away from work.

She is rather tall, so when she cuddles you you almost disappear. She wraps her entire self around you and will snuggle her face into you.

You are her recharge station, she needs you to feel batter. So when she isn't being stretched by her work, she will be wrapped around you and not wanting to let go.

Rinko loves cuddling and talking about anything and everything. She wants to know you as emotionally and mentally intimately as possible. You amaze her.

So chatting your time away is a must. Sharing ideas, silly and serious alike, she eats this up.

Wrapped together in each and every way possible.

Moe Kikuchi

Moe is a very quiet yet cheerful person. She can be rather shy but really loves to cuddle you. Not just cuddling, she just loves touch. Always holding your hand, wrapping her arms around you as she rests her chin on your shoulder. Her height adds to her shyness as well. She already blushes enough as it is when you're holding hands in public, but with how tall she is makes her think too much as well.

Any outings you two have will cause her to ask for attention of cuddles and soft touches. Sitting together in front of the TV as you watch comedy movies covered in a big blanket on the couch. Moe loves for you to to sit in her lap if you are a lot smaller than her. If not, she loves interwining your legs together under the blanket as you giggle and laugh at the movie.

She's insecure sometimes and just needs to know how much you love her, all of her. So compliments when she is brave enough to ask you to cuddle is a must.

Tell her how powerful she looks, or how sweet she is. A good one that makes Moe melt is telling her how loved you feel being with her.

Usually she'll grab you by the waist and slowly and carefully pull you down, giving little kisses to your shoulders and temples and she guides you to her lap or a spot on the couch or bed next to her.

Chizuru Sasaki

Chizuru is very insecure about herself. She tends to make a lot of mistakes because she's so nervous about making mistakes all the time. She tends to go running to you after work if she's had a rough day and will often run into your arms as soon as she sees you.

She so small that she loves it if you'd ever hold her in a Koala hug.

She'll barely have taken her shoes off, probably not even putting on her house slippers before she's running to you and snuggling into your embrace. She'll immediately try and wrap her legs around your waist and want to be held.

Bad days and good days alike though, she just loves to hug you. Good days She'll want to hang out and watch movies and eat snacks and chatter the night away.

Bad days she only wants to be cuddled in bed as you reassure her. And she'll outright ask for it.

"Am I really just a klutz?"

"Am I worth the trouble?"

"Why do I even try?"

She tends to take on others burdens as her own as well and just needs to be told she's loved and worthy.

You are her lighthouse in the storm of life. You bring stability, safety, and warmth. Chizu just loves snuggling close into your chest and hearing your heartbeat. She can't sleep without it now.

Kentarō Kyōtani

Kentarō loves to cuddle but hardly ever asks. He has a hard time asking for things like this, usually he'll pat his chest if he laying or sitting.

Though, after playing or practice with the Sendai Frogs, he tends to be more tired and less patient. So he'll usually just pick you up with a kiss to the forehead or temple and carry you to the bed.

Kentarō loves to have you held to his chest, his chin resting on the crown of your head.

He gets very heated during games and has a short temper with people so he often looks to you to for comfort and relaxation.

He very heavily relies on both physical touch and words of affirmation. So when you cuddle him he really needs you to tell him how everything is going to be alright. He needs to know you're not afraid of him or think he's mean or scary.

Kentarō isn't one much to talk but loves to hear you talk. It helps him forget his worries to attend to your thoughts and ideas.

You two will often find yourselves cuddling as you talk for hours, Kentarō asking and intersecting very little at just the right moments to keep you going.

He jokes a lot to make you laugh, it's his favourite sound.

The night slowly closes in as you two lay under the blankets, your talk lulling you both to sleep.

Reon Ōhira

This man is super busy. Not only does he play on a sports team but is a sporting goods employee as well.

So when he gets home in a timely manner, he loves to gather up your daughter and you and take you both to the couch and cuddle as you watch whatever your daughter's heart desires.

Cuddling us a big thing in your house. Reon did a lot of research without you before you adopted a child of your own. It became a form of quality time for the both of you. Learning about how to rear and Rais a child properly into adulthood.

Reon is always picking her up and throwing you over his shoulder, chuckling all the way.

He may be busy but he is very calm and very laid back, so he makes sure he has as much time as he can with you two because loves the both of you so much.

He tends to like doing small, easy things with you two when ge gets home. He's tired alot, so watching movies, reading, family picnics, the whole shebang.

If you're doing your own thing in another room you'll hear raucous laughter from another as Reon tickles your daughter and screams for you to save her from the mighty tickle monster.

Though this is always just a ploy to get you to come into he room so Reon can pick you up and hold you both down on the bed and cuddle pile.

Cuddling usually ends up with you partially asleep on his chest with your daughter splayed out on top of the both of you, and he wouldn't want it any other way.

Kazuma Bobata

Kazuma is very energetic and confident, but when it comes to you he is very insecure. He gets nervous and shy and will try to fake confidence; failing to by the way.

He gets so red in the face and can't look at you. He just thinks you're so amazing. How did he get you? How'd he get so damn lucky?

He'll usually hang around you dropping hints. He loves it when you act like you have no idea what he wants and tease him.

Kazuma will just explode in embarrassment and just ask you to finally cuddle him.

He loves to be babied and to be face planted into your chest. If you have big boobs he would happily be smothered of not he is dying (affectionately) from your heartbeat.

He loves listening to your heartbeat as you tell him how good of a boy he is and how much he makes you laugh as you play with his hair.

Since Kazuma is so energetic he has a very busy work life and will overestimate himself and get in trouble and stressed out.

So you telling him he does a good job and is actually helpful is so good for it. He clings to you like he can't get close enough and wants to merge with you.

Hana Misaki

Hana is very outspoken and gets what she wants. In highschool you remember her being very quiet and timid until she finally learned to speak out.

Now she comes off as brash, but she never means too. This includes when she wants attention from you. She'll walk right past you as she says "I wanna hang out. Meet me in the living to watch movies," or something along those lines. Of course if you're really not feeling it she is more than willing to postpone the cuddle and hangout session.

More often than not though you guys are hanging out together outside. Hana is very social and she likes to be out and about checking this or that.

She also likes to just hang out with you at home being cozy but not too much so beware. You will be dragged along.

As I said though, she will be very blunt and will tell you what she wants.

Hana's favourite thing is to come home to you with dinner made and you two can chow down as you talk about your days or when you get home from work as she's just getting done making dinner.

She loves to drag you here and there and your guys free time is mostly spent visiting this or that place learning something new and exploring Japan.

Rintarō Suna

Rin, as we all know, can be an absolute little shit. So when he wants attention and cuddles from you, he'll make it seem like that's the last thing he wants and he'll tease you incessantly.

Rin will poke fun at whatever you're doing, never pushing too far because he does love you and doesn't want to hurt you or actually make you mad, but he loves getting a rise out of you.

Sometimes you can't even tell when he's doing it because he'll do it in that deadpan way of his. But it all has a purpose. He knows exactly how to push and pull on your emotions to get what he wants without outright asking for it.

The only time Rin will outright ask for all of your attention to be on him is when he gets home after being gone for awhile.

He is a professional volleyball player, so this is unfortunately more common that you'd both like. But it's his dream and he loves it, and you can live out your own dream without him there all the time.

Either way, as soon as he gets home from being gone for training or playing, he'll drop his bags by the door and barely slip on his house shoes before he has his arms wrapped around you, his face buried in your neck as he's begging you to join him in the bed and to just cuddle, wordlessly all night.

He has missed you so much, the way your hands trace the Kanji of I love you on his back and the way you fit so perfectly in his arms. Even down to how your bed smells of the two of you always with the mix of your detergent. Rin misses the way you heave a big sigh just before your eyes flutter shut. How before you close them they are so eager to drink in his appearance.

Rintarō would never say it but he feels the same. Not having you there next to him as he falls asleep and feeling your arms secure him to this plain of existence was dreadful.

But it's always that much better to experience the longer he has to wait.

Shugo Meian

Shugo is another who is a professional volleyball player. He is exhausted when he gets home, and nothing cures that better than him climbing into bed with you and wrapping his big arms around you and spooning you.

Shugo is always looking to cuddle with you. He is so hardworking he deserves it. Not only does he play volleyball professional but he is such a good househusband. When he's home you're not allowed to lift a finger. He'll be damned if his lover cooks or cleans when he's home. You do so much for him by keeping the house clean when he's gone and making him feel so loved and cared for.

Shugo is always picking you up in his big strong arms or pulling you down on his lap for cuddles. No words necessary. He's home now and he missed his baby and needs to soak up all the love he can before he has to go back.

He calls you every night before he goes to sleep or before he k ows you go to sleep and whines about how much he just needs you in his arms, your face in his hands to plant kisses all over it.

#Haikyuu #haikyuu headcanons #tobio kageyama #rinko sudo #moe kikuchi #chizuru saski #kentaro kyotani #reon ohira #kazuma bobata #hana misaki #suna rintarō #meian shugo #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyu x reader #haikyū!! #gn!reader #x gender neutral reader #colour neutral reader

[skyberia]

some "behind the scenes" stuff from this comic (read as: wips and assorted thoughts)

SOME BACKSTORY: i was halfheartedly playing through strikers after finishing p5r. the fact that akechi's not even mentioned in that whole game made me sad. the fact that akechi stops being mentioned basically the moment he dies in p5 vanilla makes me sad. i had thoughts. so i decided to make a comic about it

i wrote down the entirety of the script for this while in a complete haze listening to third eye by florence + the machine on repeat for an hour straight. that song has nothing to do with anything the comic is about. or with either of the characters involved. i can't explain my thought process there.

(the 'official' title of the comic is "a ghost amongst the living (consequences of a cognitive death.)" as a sort of tribute to that song, even though it has, again, nothing to do with what the comic is about)

THE SCRIPT: the numbers correlate to text bubbles on my thumbnails (see next). i also put it on discord so i could more easily see it/edit from either my phone or computer, which i don't think is the MOST efficient or professional way to go about doing this, but

you may notice this is a little bit different from the text on the final product. this is because. i changed some things while typing it out for the final thing. i don't know what else to tell you.

i did reach a point where i had read these same words over and over so much that i started questioning if anything i wrote made sense and if i even knew how to speak english correctly. i'd like to thank my friends for reassuring me that some of my wording was ok, and also google because every time i asked "is that even a thing people say" i would just plug it on there to try to figure it out (because i was too embarrassed to ask anyone to read over it)

THE THUMBNAILS: just a rough idea of panelling and where to put text bubbles and such. this took fucking forever. comics are hard. nobody ever tells you this (<- something i said about like 10 times to the same people while making this)

THE SKETCHES: basically grabbing the thumbnails and making them into an actual thing i can draw onto. also getting all the text laid out-- i don't think that's entirely necessary at this point but i was just excited to see it all laid out and being able to read it

(shoutout to my friend sophie for making the font i used for this/use for all my longer comics. she's an icon and a legend and has really nice handwriting)

you may notice that page 9 is completely different from the thumbnails. this is because i was tired by the time i got to that part in planning and i paid for it. brainstorming & reworking that page took me an entire day. comics are HARD. I AM TELLING YOU THIS

page 6 also changed by the time i got around to lining it because i decided that it sucked and i hated it. reworking that into something more acceptable also took me about half a day. i'm happy with how it turned out though, and glad that i no longer have the issue of having a flop ass page in the middle of this

THE PROCESS: was actually quite straightforward after that, just doing the lines and the like. but i wanted to share how i did the backgrounds. i grabbed a bunch of in-game screenshots i took for reference and just plugged them through csp's "artistic > lines only" filter and just traced over that

i love you art shortcuts that make my life & ability to make yaoi comics easier

(if you're curious too here's all the screenshots i took & was keeping on the side for reference)

ETC: some miscellaneous thoughts, because if you've made it all the way through this then you probably don't have anything better to do anyway:

all in all this took two weeks. script was written on the 11th, thumbnails were done on the 14th, sketches were done on the 17th, lining on the 24th, aaand colouring took me just one day. comics are HARD and TAKE TIME. NOBODY TELLS YOU THIS!!!!!

i actually started getting wrist pain somewhere along the 2nd day of lining/3rd page. that step of the process probably took longer than it otherwise would because i had to keep taking breaks 2 ensure i wouldn't break my hand completely -_-

my sanity throughout the lining process was only ensured by listening to a frankly stupid amount of jpop. thank you wednesday campanella and mrs. green apple

i think my favourite page is page 3. i like how the panels get crooked when akechi puts the detective prince persona on, i like how akira deadpans (in a straightened panel) to cut him off. also in order to get the hand right in the first panel i did the hair twirling motion myself and ended up hitting myself in the eye with my own hair. it was worth it though

IN CONCLUSION: i think they went a bit too hard with the yaoi fanservice in persona 5 royal

#misc #this is so long lmfao sorry i'm proud of what i made & i have a lot 2 say #i hope at least someone finds it interesting. if not. well this was entirely self indulgent so it's no biggie

[fastlikealambo]

link to chapter one.

link to chapter two.

link to chapter three.

link to chapter four.

link to chapter five.

Fall of 94′: Eddie Munson x Black Reader Chapter 6 

who’s ready for a tragic backstory? see if you can spot the  not obvious at all cameo and as always, thank you for reading! 

summary:

it’s been nearly 8 years since the events of hawkins and out of the entire party, the only one to stay behind is the one and only eddie munson. with a five year old daughter in tow, his life is a simple one, still trying to escape the dark cloud over him that never went away.

but when all too familiar hellish events start happening again eddie must team up with his daughter’s favorite and mysterious new teacher to protect his little girl and the town he owes nothing to.

warnings: violence,  gore, religious trauma, soft dom! eddie, discussions of mental health and ptsd, praise kink,  childhood trauma,  smut to end all smut,  hawkins indiana is a warning to me.  

minors dni, I check.

Somehow in the middle of his explanation of another dimension, you fell asleep, a good thankfully dreamless sleep, the kind that leaves marks on your face and drool on your pillow.  Any idea you had of sneaking out and leaving a thank you note for Eddie evaporated with the smell of breakfast and the sounds of Headbanger’s Ball on low in the background. 

You’re definitely feeling the effects of yesterday’s escapades, everything aches before you even open your eyes but politeness has you sitting up with a groan, folding up the blankets and collecting pillows.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Eddie’s head pokes from out of the kitchen.

“Eddie thank you for everything you’ve done for me but-

“How about you finish that sentence after you’ve eaten and not pant less in the back of a Hawkins cab?” 

You had forgotten about that part of the equation.

“Your clothes had blood and bat guts on them and are in the dryer. It’ll be another fifteen minutes which gives you plenty of time to think of another excuse to leave that I'm going to pretend not to hear so why don’t we do that over eggs?” He asks, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, spatula in one hand, cigarette in the other.

You give in, yet again.

Why the hell is it so hard to say no to this man?

“Can I help at all?”

“Yes, by sitting back down.”

And you’re back down again as he brings in two plates of eggs and bacon, sitting one down in front of you.  You devour it, listening to him finish his explanation of the upside down, and a strange feeling washes over you, it’s a solid and warm feeling throughout your whole body, and you don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Comfort.

A feeling you should definitely not be having while not wearing pants in the presence of one of your students’ parents.

“So what happened to the openings, these gates to the upside down?”

“They were closed by Eleven and any trace of them disappeared after Vecna died. If someone’s in there now it’s because they reopened the gates themselves which is bad or Vecna has come back and taken them which is also very bad.”

“And the people who cleared your name? Can they help?”

“I wouldn’t know where to find them or if they’re still around.”

“ Well that settles it, you and Rosie pack up and leave town. I’ll need a map of where those murders took place and if these gates are open, I will get whoever’s in there out and close them.” You said quite simply. Eddie drops his fork and stares at you in that way you’re not supposed to like again.

“What?”

“You just learned of another dimension, the monster that runs it and the monsters that guard it two minutes ago and you want to head into battle, alone, right now?  Rosie was right, you are brave.”

“I’m a teacher, there’s nothing I can’t handle. So I’m going to need my pants and a map Mr. Munson, preferably in that order. I’ll help you pack, it’s the least I can do.” You say, standing to your feet, only to groan and crumble back on the couch.

“While I don’t doubt you could make Vecna your bitch, maybe you should rest up first. And if you think I’m going to let you go up against this by yourself, then you don’t know me very well.”

“I um, don’t you know very well.”

“I’m not running away this time. If Vecna is back, nowhere is safe for my daughter.  This needs to end once and for all so whatever it takes, how ever long it takes, I’m will destroy him, I will make him-

A ding interrupts his epic speech.

“Laundry’s done!”

He runs out of the room,returning with your clothes, clean, folded, and lightly stained pink.

“Sorry, I was washing some of Rosie’s things with yours. I’ll just turn around here.” He mumbles, turning around, hands over his eyes as you achingly slip into your pants.  Your shirt is half way on before you stop.

“I can feel you staring at me, Eddie.”

“I’m sorry, I just-

He’s behind you now, breath hitching, hands hover your scars on your back.

“Who did this to you?”

You slowly back into him and he hugs you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder.

“If I tell you the truth about me, will you keep it a secret? If I tell you everything, will you keep it safe? Is my truth safe with you?” You whisper.  

He gently turns you around to face him.

“ You’re safe with me.”

“Ok, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You’re wrapped back up in a blanket on the couch, nervously picking at the threads but an encouraging look from Eddie makes you take a deep breath and begin.

“ I guess I should start by saying that the name you know me by isn’t my real name. I don’t know my real name, where I was born, anything like that. All of that was taken from me by a woman, a scientist I’ve only known as Mama.  She was a part of a research group that sought to develop mind control techniques but when that experiment went south, she stole several children from her research partner to begin her own trials into creating the perfect weapon.”

“Do you know who her research partner was?”

“No, she never said it.  Within a year of leaving her research partner, most of the children died as a result of her experimentation methods or were killed when her research partner finally caught up with her.  She needed new subjects that she could mold in her image, that were untainted by her research partner, that would be completely dependent on her.”

“ You.”

“I don’t know how she got me, all of my earliest memories are with her. There were ten of us in total, raised in isolation in the mountains. She told us that our powers were a gift from God and that only with her guidance, her love, could we fulfill our purpose. And I believed her every word.”

“You were just a kid.”

“But I didn’t question it.  She did horrible things to us, broke our bodies to find the limits of our powers and push past them, and I thought she did this out of love.  By the time I was sixteen, she no longer had the money to keep the place she held us in as secure as it once was and those of us who couldn’t stand the physical effects of her work got sick and died. She was growing desperate, her hold over all of us started to break, and then one night, the outside world finally caught up with us.’

“How?”

“ A hiker had gotten lost and somehow ended up near us, all he needed was directions and he would have left us alone. When she asked me to kill him, I refused, so she killed him and made me watch.  She was so angry, distracted by the hiker, she had forgotten to put the security system in place. While Mama buried the body, we escaped. Or rather they escaped, Mama caught me and- “ You don’t finish the sentence, hands shaking and it’s Eddie’s turn to hold them.

“Is that how you got those scars?”

You nod.

“She must have pushed my body too far because all I remember is waking up to our home on fire, her on fire. I couldn’t stop it, I just ran.  Started over, went to school, never stayed in one place for too long. Somewhere I  found out a certain off brand pain med could suppress my powers and I could live something close to a normal life. Hawkins Elementary School was down a kindergarten teacher and that’s how I got here.  This is the part where you sneak into the other room and call the FBI.” You finally finished.

 This is it, you’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop since you ran.  You don’t blame him, he has Rosie to think of and a town that already hates him for no reason, he doesn’t need your mess.  Maybe you can find a way to close the gates before the government or Mama gets here.

“Is it okay if I hold you?” Eddie asked, arms open, nervous.

You’re not sure how to do this, you knew how to comfort your students when they were sad or mad or confused, you knew how to resolve conflict in classrooms, but this kind of wanting, this outpouring of kindness, solace in the aftermath of suffering is foreign to you.   You used to wonder when it would be your turn for a sliver of true peace and here it is right in front of you, ready and waiting.

All you have to do is surrender.

And you do, turning yourself over to Eddie, letting him settle you in his embrace, his voice low and soothing in your ears. Nearly three decades worth of tears are shed right then and there on this poor man but he doesn’t falter, just cradles you that much closer, rubbing circles in your back. 

“ You’re okay, you’re okay, whatever you need, I’m right here. Nothing’s going to hurt you while I’m-

A banging on Eddie’s apartment door makes you both jump apart.

“Open the door you fucking freak! I know you have something to do with this!”  The voice screams, rattling the door handle for good measure. 

Wait a minute, you know that voice.

Principal Carver.

Tag List:

gardenof-venus

@trvlllx

ccoreo

icqueeniebeenie

richonne4life​

@thotyana-in-this-hoe

lolzskye

ziasbl0g

randomwerido

killer-joy3

danielle-19

asagesworld

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x black!reader #eddie munson x yn #eddie munson fanfic

[inquartata30]

Tessellation: Chapter 37

tessellated art by @rackofages

Fandom: Mass Effect

Relationship(s): Original Asari Character | Thaia Kallistrate/Lexi T’Perro; Cora Harper/Janae (background)

Rating: M

Characters: Lexi T’Perro, Thaia Kallistrate, The Entire Tempest Crew, Lots of People from the Nexus, Also the Initiative People in General, And Some Outcasts, Everyone, Basically.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, Not So Secret Crush, Best Friends, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Angst, Angst and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Longfic

Summary: After becoming fast best friends—if she’s sharing the jail cell with you, she’s your best friend—in the weeks before the Initiative’s departure from the Milky Way, Lexi and Thaia agree to resume their friendship in Andromeda. With Lexi assigned to the Hyperion and Thaia to the Nexus, they know it might be difficult to find each other again. Then everything goes to shit in the Heleus Cluster. In the mess the Initiative’s become and the mission to salvage it, they both have to recover who they were as they discover what they are.

The Tempest, 2820.

“Rotate it in the opposite direction. Now there should be a square notch on the edge,” Skaelv said over the vidcon.

“Yes, I think I see it,” Jaal said.

The constant chatter from Ryder, SAM, Jaal, and Gil had extended from the afternoon through most of the evening, floating down to the research table a half-deck below for the entire time. The group in the meeting room were still tinkering with the kett transponder they’d dug up on Kadara in an attempt to back-trace its signal to the Archon’s flagship, the Verakan. Without success, from what Thaia could tell. They’d even called in help from Aya in the form of the Resistance’s top kett hacker, Skaelv, along with the Moshae, uniquely knowledgeable in kett technology. Evfra was also in the Moshae’s office, offering the occasional idea given in grumbles.

“You think?” Evfra asked, snapping yet again. “Jaal, do you or do you not see it?”

Jaal growled and then said, “I have it.”

“I am ready to initiate the signal trace,” SAM said, as he’d pointed out eleven times over the past few hours. Thaia had kept count.

Read the rest of Chapter 37 on AO3

#mass effect #fanfic #lexi t'perro #thaia kallistrate #tessellation #tessera #kallipyro

[erabundus]

❝  ...  you  wouldn't  know  it's such  an  ISSUE from the outside looking in,  but  people actually  get  topographic  and  topological  confused  more  often  than  you  think.  ❞

❝ i see.  ❞

❝  you  get  it!  you're  sooo  smart,  ren  —  of  course  you  do!  but  this  government  lady  who  hired  us  had  no  idea  what  she  was  talking  about.  there  was  this  one  time ...  ❞

the  streamer  drowns  out  the  rest  of  his  words  until  they  become  little  more  than  an  indistinct  blur.  (  white  noise,  humming  along  in  the  background.  )  he  traces  the  edge  of  his  glass  with  one  painted  nail.  the  drink  inside  is  a  dark  shade  of  red  like  pooled  blood  —  it  tastes  like  SOUR  CHERRIES  and  makes  his  mouth  go  a  bit  numb.  not  bad,  but  not  nearly  enough  to  give  him  the  buzz  he's  looking  for,  even  after  two  of  them.  it's  been  ages  since  ren  last  went  to  THE ABYSS;  long  enough  that  the  cocktail menu  is  entirely  different.  he  wishes  he  could  remember  what  his  usual  order  was  called,  but  he's  fairly  certain  the  name  has  been  changed  to  something  unrecognizably  pretentious ... assuming it hasn't been scrapped entirely.

ren  raises  the  glass  to  his  lips  and  takes  a  shallow  sip.  this  was  a  bad  idea;  he  wants  to  go  HOME.

it's  a  bit  funny  how  difficult  that  word  is  to  define  these  days.  is  home  niwa's  house  —  and  the  guest  room  he's  so  selfishly  set  his  roots  in?  is  home  the  apartment,  hollow  and  lonely  like  the  tomb  he  spent  his  childhood  languishing  about?  if  home  is  some  fantastical  thing  that  could  be  found  within  ANOTHER  PERSON,  he  thinks  he's  probably  been  evicted.  it  was  only  a  matter  of  time  —  and  that  house  turned  out  to  be  a  great  deal  colder  than  its  inviting  exterior  made  it  out  to  be.  the  ceiling  leaked  when  it  rained  and  the  hot  water  ran  out  too  quickly,  but  it's  hard  to  say  whether  it's  worse  than  being  stuck  out  on  the  streets.  (  alone  and  shivering.  )  perhaps  he  was  simply  so  enamored  with  the  idea  of  having  a  roof  over  his  head  that  he  was  willing  to  take  ANYTHING.  he  isn't  sure.  he  isn't  going  to  try  to  pretend  he's  been  close  to  perfect  —  but  he  doesn't  think  the  lion's  share  of  the  blame  rests  on  his  shoulders ...  for  once.

it's  around  that  time  the  streamer  realizes  the  background  chatter  has  come  to  an  abrupt  stop.  cartographer  guy  (  because  he  still  REFUSES  to  learn  his  name  )  is  looking  at  him  expectantly,  and  ren  slowly lowers  his  glass  in  response.  ❝  um.  what?  ❞

❝  oh!  i'm  sorry,  did  you  not  hear  me?  ❞  ugh.  why  is  he  so  fucking  nice.  it's  nauseating.   ❝  so  far,  i've  been  the one doing  all  the  chatting ...  but  i  invited  you  out  to  catch  up!  ❞   he  flashes  an  awkward  little  smile  that  the streamer  does  not  reciprocate.  ❝  how  have  you  been?  ❞

... oh.  perfect.  talking  about  himself.  as  if  this  entire  conversation  wasn't  miserable  enough  already.   ❝  great.  ❞  he  replies  tersely.  ❝  just  great. doing fine.  ❞

❝  yikes ...  that  badly,  huh?  ❞  the  glare  ren  shoots  his  way  has  him  holding  up  both  hands  in  faux-surrender.  ❝  sorry,  sorry!  geez,  if  looks  could  kill ...  ❞   words  trail  off  with  a  faint  laugh.   ❝  um ...  listen,  i  know  we  barely  know  each  other,  but  even  i  could  tell  there  was  something  STRANGE  about  how  quickly  you  agreed  to  this.  don't  get  me  wrong  —  i'm  thrilled  to  be  here!  ❞  the  streamer  arches  a  skeptical  brow.  ❝  really.  and  i'm also  sorry  if  i'm  crossing  a  line  by  saying  this,  but  —  !  ❞

❝ you are.  ❞

❝  but!  ❞  he  raises  a  finger.  ❝  it  seems  to  me  like  maybe  you're  just  looking  for  a  DISTRACTION.  ❞   and  something  about  the  look  on  ren's  (  traitorously  expressive  )  face  must  CONFIRM  that  theory,  because  it  gives  the  cartographer  the  confidence  to  continue.  ❝  if  something  is  bothering  you,  i'm  willing  to  shut  up  and  listen.  i've  heard  it  can  be  pretty  cathartic  —  you  know,  venting?  ❞

venting.  the  streamer's  gaze  flicks  down  to  his  drink.  he  tilts  it  to  and  fro,  watching  the  single  cherry  swimming  around  its  crimson  contents  sway  from  the  movement.   ❝  you  really  don't  want  to.  ❞  he  says  flatly.  ❝  i'm  a little above  your  pay  grade.  ❞

❝  aw,  c'mon!  i  might  surprise  you!  ❞  a  disbelieving  sigh.  ❝  okay,  well.  how  often  do  we  actually  meet  face  to  face  like  this?  or  talk  —  at  all?  ❞   that  much  is  at  least  enough  to  have  ren  look  back  up  again.  ❝  see?  this  is  basically  as  close  as  completely  anonymous  as  you're  going  to  get.  nooo  strings  attached.  ❞   he  wiggles  his  fingers  as  if  to  EMPHASIZE  the  absence  of  these  imaginary  strings. ❝ i can't promise i'll be able to dispense some sagely advice in return, but it has to be better than keeping everything BOTTLED UP inside! right? ... no pun intended.  ❞ 

he  swallows  back  the  compulsion  to  ask  what  the  aforementioned  pun  actually  is.  ❝  if  you  tell  anyone,  i'll  kill  you.  ❞

❝ sure!  ❞ ... disgustingly chipper.

❝  ...  ❞  ren  stares  into  his  drink  for  a  moment,  expression  wrought  with  indecision.  he's  reluctant  to  open  up  to  anyone  —  even  the  few  he  finds  himself  feeling  particularly  CLOSE  with.  much  less  a  stranger  with  an  apparent  propensity  for  meddling  in  matters  far  beyond  what  he  has  any  right  to.  nosy  bastard,  the  streamer  thinks,  brow  furrowing  in  wordless  disdain.  at  the  same  time,  he  would  have  SHOT  DOWN  the  offer  long  ago  if  it  wasn't  tempting.  at  least,  tempting  enough  to  warrant  serious  consideration.  his  thoughts  are  a  tangled  mess  and  his  emotions  ugly  and  obscure  enough  to  confuse  even  ren  himself.  he  doesn't  want  to  subject  anyone  in  their  ragtag  social  circle  to  what  poison  steeps  in  the  depths  of  his  consciousness.  frankly,  if  the streamer  could  exit  his  own  head  as  easily  as  he  could  a  car,  he knows he  would  do  so  in  an  INSTANT.  ❝  ... fine.  ❞  fine.  against  his  better  judgement.  he  downs  the  rest  of  his  drink  in  one  go  to  the  sound  of  an  impressed  hum.

❝ ... but buy me something STRONGER than this — i'm going to need it.  ❞

#𝟎𝟎𝟓 : 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘴. ◟ status .◝ #𝟎𝟏𝟕 : 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘳𝘺. ◟ v. modern .◝ #alcohol tw #( i am just out here writing whole fanfictions of ren being terribly awkward in social situations and honestly me too buddy )

[qqueenofhades]

Speaking linguistically, when looking at the development of the word, "cabal" isn't actively meant to degrade Jewish people.

What I am saying is that it is more complex than simply saying "it is used because of overt opinions on Judaism". It evolved at a time when antisemitism was rife in Europe. At the same time, it underwent a process called semantic change (or semantic drift) which is extremely common to many words. Specifically, its meaning has widened: initially in English it had two concurrent meanings, one of which derived from the other. There was "the Jewish tradition as to the interpretation of the Old Testament." Its original association with concealed practice because of persecutions created an extension that meant "any tradition or special private interpretation" (source: OED).

Semantic widening happens all the time, because it's an inherent part of how language works (the converse, semantic narrowing, does too). The same is true for more innocuous words: "guy" derives from "Guy Fawkes" (yes the name precedes the common expression). The manikins that were burned in commemoration of the Gunpowder Plot were called guys, which led to people calling "grotesque" looking men "guys", which then became "any man."

Because of these processes, it is also virtually impossible to "banish" an established word from a language. People have wildly different contexts, and nowadays, the more general meaning of cabal has taken over entirely from its meaning originally associated with Kabballah. This is similar to how pretty much no one will think of Guy Fawkes when they use the word 'guy.'

It is good to be aware of linguistic etymology, but it is equally important to realize why it is so hard to change language based on its history, why not all terms like this are (still) actively meant to hurt minorities, and why you cannot hold people directly accountable for using a term like cabal. The best you can do is attend people to its history, and suggest a different option.

Language is fluent. Yes, English borrowed a lot from other languages, but so have other European languages. The reason English is such a "joke" in a way is, more than anything, because 1. The borrowing into English happened rapidly during a few periods in history that can be traced because of an extant written culture in all these languages (Latin, French, and English--more or less named in order of importance), and 2. English is massively overrepresented in the field of linguistics. We simply know a lot more about English than about most other languages.

Now, the reason I'm explaining all this is not to tell people using the word cabal is fine. I certainly won't be using it anymore!

It is because linguistic attitudes are actually super important in terms of politics, and the idea that the use of cabal is always and inherently problematic/antisemitic, even when people don't know its background, is--well. Problematic!

Why? There is a trend among the left to focus on people's use of language, and call them out on their grammar/spelling/vocabulary. This directly derives from the left's appreciation of knowledge. Unfortunately, this knowledge is largely prescriptive and takes an extremely limited view on how language works. I.e. people are very quick to undermine politicians and fellow voters based on arbitrary linguistic features that do not fit what they think is "good language" i.e. the standard established language used in school and academia (I say "language" because this is not specific to English). This alienates large groups of people who do not speak that language. The right, on the other hand, is a lot better at adjusting their language depending on the crowd they're speaking to, which is part of why people with lower educations are more inclined to listen to them (because they understand them better). (See: The Languages of Nation: Attitudes and Norms, eds. Carol Percy and Mary Catherine Davidson (2012), in particular "You Say Nucular; I Sa Yourstupid: Popular Prescriptivism in the Politics of the United States" by Don Chapman).

Absolutely yes, all of this, and I'm very impressed with you typing out this whole long and thoughtful essay in my inbox (complete with references!) There is a strong tendency on both the left and right to act as if "just never say this word!" and "just never read this book!" somehow suffices for fixing the problems of society, and in both cases, it never works. Obviously, I was not using the word "cabal" in any kind of intended anti-Semitic context, whether explicitly or implicitly, despite the fact that it originally derived from a derogatory usage of "kabbalah." But when someone (politely!) told me that they felt uncomfortable with that usage in that particular context, I (politely!) agreed that they were right and to edit the original post to change the word. It has already been reblogged several thousand times, so that's not going to have a ton of impact, but still.

As you say, and as I have also said, language is a flawed human tool used to represent a flawed human culture, and as such, it will incorporate those biases and shortcomings, whether or not it means to. It's also not the solution to attack people indiscriminately, in an attempt to get Internet Call-Out Brownie Points, for simply not knowing the extensive etymology of every single common English word that they may encounter (discussing English in this case as it is usually the lingua franca of the Internet). We are never going to have a Morally Pure version of any language or any other system of cultural representation and communication, because too much other stuff has built up in the wheels throughout the centuries, it changes in weird and arbitrary and often pointless ways, and that's because it's not designed in a lab. It's a messy system of semantics used and altered by billions of people every day, and that is always impossible to anticipate, police, or force into one perfect shape.

Anyway, yes; I too will be much more careful with my usage of "cabal" in the future, because we've all had this discussion and we know that there are people who are made uncomfortable by it. Most ordinary well-meaning people don't WANT to be purposefully or deliberately offensive, so if they know the reasons why a certain word is troublesome, they'll make an effort to remove it from their vocabulary or find alternatives. But as you say, the deliberate bad-faith internet culture of always assuming the worst of everyone, leaping to the conclusion that they must be knowingly using any word/term/general concept in the worst possible way, and attacking them for it, is not at all helpful, and doesn't really drive important conversations about these subjects. It just makes everyone mad and defensive and hurt, and that's never a good way to actually make change.

#anonymous #ask

[dragonmuse]

”He doesn’t live in the city, but has a house in a quiet neighborhood (I would say ironically probably in a similar neighborhood to Izzy and Eddy in You’re Awful, I Love You) with his husband Thomas.” So... neighbors AU? :)

(why start a new AU when it's all there already! You’re Awful, I Love You tickles me so. I've got two asks in it, but this one grabbed me by the neck for some reason. As a refresher YA,ILU is the one where Eddy and Izzy get married and live in the burbs. Also because I got this as a comment, yes! The au title is a lyric from the amazing Ludo song ‘Love Me Dead’ which I highly recommend and is a very Eddy/Izzy song.)

Izzy has no idea why Eddy hates the neighbors. They barely share the property line, an easement between their two parcels owned by the town so they could reach the powerlines meant that they technically had no border. And the neighbors had lined their side with tall trees anyway. 

“He’s out there again,” Eddy would say ominous. 

“It’s his fucking yard,” Izzy would roll his eyes. 

It was a nice change, he supposed, to have Eddy being the one carrying a bitter pointless grudge. Usually that was Izzy’s job. Eddy tended to forgive and forget, especially if she’d already taken her pound of flesh. 

“How many times can someone trim the same three rose bushes?” 

“I don’t know, but I’m starting to think I should be worried that you’re keeping count.” 

He set down breakfast in front of her. Her feet were bare, traces of early morning dew soaked dirt around her toes.  She had on tiny shorts, almost entirely hidden by the oversized purple sweater that she wore most mornings, ratty as anything. 

Fucking gorgeous, of course. Izzy considered if it would distract her if he got on his knees right now. 

“It’s obsessive,” she muttered into her bacon. 

“Yeah, okay,” he settled on instead, not liking his odds and not needing that ego bruise. 

Izzy had met the next door neighbors all of once because meeting people was not his job. Eddy met people. Izzy remembered their names, preferences, and criminal backgrounds.  Everyone had a role. 

They were two guys, probably together, both tallish and good looking. One was blond and one was a redhead with a ponytail.  Occasionally,  he saw them headed to their cars in the driveway.  Thomas and Flint. 

The only time they’d met it was because Izzy was taking a box off the truck they'd rented to move in and Thomas had swung by with a half-smile and said, 

“Hello! You must be the new neighbor.” 

“Yeah,” Izzy watched him warily. It was early days of their retirement and Izzy had not even begun to unwind (it could be argued he’d never gotten around to it, but hey it was on the ‘to do’ list these days. Mostly on Lucius’ ‘to do’ list, but that counted for something). 

“Just you?” 

“No, me and my...” There hadn't yet been a word for what he and Eddy were to each other. He hadn’t dared something with any romantic weight, but he certainly wasn’t calling her boss anymore. “Eddy.” 

“Ah,”  Thomas said gently as if he entirely understood, which was fucking annoying. “My husband and I have lived here for a few years. It’s a good neighborhood.” 

“Just need it to be quiet,” Izzy shrugged. 

“It is that. Do you need a hand with that?” 

“No,” Izzy got the box up on one shoulder.  

“Ah,” Thomas watched the move with a twitch of the lips. “I don’t think I caught your name.” 

“Izzy,” he said reluctantly. They weren’t hiding here. 

“Hey, Flint!” Thomas called out and Izzy did his best not to flinch. Even in the short weeks since they’d retired, Izzy had gotten used to the silences. Come to enjoy them.  

The other man, the one Izzy had clocked as soon as he’d stepped out of the car, stood up from the rose bushes. The tiny ponytail which had seemed ridiculous melted from his perception immediately. Even from a hundred feet away, Izzy could feel his gaze like a two-handed shove. 

“Yes?” The man who must be Flint called back with a voice like velvet. 

“This is Izzy! He’s our new neighbor!” 

Eddy pulled up right then, her bike roaring, then silenced with a turn of the key. She dismounted, still in her leathers then, beard thick. Izzy knew from long experience that if one of them showed up like that, then it was a fun eccentricity to people like Thomas and maybe the husband. Two of them though, that was a threat. 

Thomas just smiled even more broadly. “Hello!” 

“Hello,” Eddy set her helmet on the seat, walking up the driveway. 

“I was just introducing me and my husband to Izzy here,” Thomas said genially. “I’m Thomas and he’s...Flint!” 

“What?” Flint looked away from Izzy at last and he sucked in a desperate breath. Fucking hell. 

“Come over here and be a person!” 

“I am a person all the time,” Flint said with a grimace, but he came over. His stride was ground-eating and his hand came up protectively to Thomas' back the second he was close enough. 

“A rude one,” Thomas scolded, then looked back to Eddy and Izzy like they might want to take part in this domestic bickering.  

“Can’t be ruder than Iz,” Eddy offered, always willing to play. She extended her hand, “Eddy. You’ve met Izzy apparently.” 

“Apparently,” Flint said quietly, a thrum underneath that gave Izzy a chill all down his spine. Made him aware he’d been standing there with a box on his shoulder for too long. 

“Going inside,” Izzy said to his feet, not even loud enough for himself to hear and vanished into the house. 

He didn’t know where the box actually went, but he could figure that out later and just set it down by the door. He should go get another one, but instead he lingered by the door and it was with great relief that Eddy came back in not a minute later. 

“Weird guys,” she determined. “You good?” 

“Yuh huh,” he frowned. Had they been weird? 

“C’mon,” she grabbed his forearm. “Let’s make a good first memory here, huh?” 

Who was he to argue? Even if they had already fucked by the front door last week when they got the keys. 

After that, Izzy had mostly just waved at the two vaguely if they waved at him and aside from that, kept to himself. Eddy, who in this new place was bubbling over with meeting people and ferreting out their interesting secrets to share with Izzy like prizes she’d dug up in the yard, didn’t talk to them either. 

That held for years. They weren’t the kind that invited the neighbors over for a meal anyway. And then there were bigger fish to fry. Motherfucking Stede Bonnet. And who knew what the neighbors made of that, all these new people suddenly coming and going from the formerly quiet house?

Then a couple of months ago, Izzy had waved vaguely at Flint, keeping his eyes down, Eddy at his side. 

“I fucking hate that guy,” Eddy said vehemently. 

Izzy’s head whipped up. “What? Why?” 

“He’s just-” she waved emphatically. “Always out there with the fucking roses.” 

“Yeah,” Izzy frowned at her, “you’re out here more than anyone else, so what?” 

“He’s an asshole,” she announced. “Anyway, you sure you want to come in tonight?” 

“Said I would,” he sighed. “We’re almost in the car. What do you think I’m going to do? Do a runner?” 

“Maybe,” she poked him in the ribs and he swatted at her hand. It was distracting. 

It had taken a lot of time to get Izzy into the Revenge and in the end it was Lucius who managed to draw him inside, not Eddy. Something Eddy didn’t know and never would if Izzy had any say in it. Because Lucius had just straight up bribed him rather than bothering with convincing. 

“I’ll get us a hotel room,” he’d licked his lips. “And we can ruin it.”  

They’d done that and Izzy would think about that night whenever Eddy asked if he’d come watch her perform. He loved watching her, as it happened, even if the rest of it was a trial.  

Tonight as he slid into his seat at the bar, Lucius was on him in an instant, 

“Hello, lover,” he purred, so that Izzy would laugh. 

“Hello,” Izzy obliged him. “What am I drinking tonight?”

“I’m feeling kind, so I won’t foist the Swede’s latest disaster on you,” Lucius touched his hand, alighting light as a butterfly. “How about one of my little inventions?” 

“Yeah, all right.” 

The drink was a wicked shade of green and tasted like sour apples with what was probably champagne bubbling through it. 

“This one got a name?” 

“How about the Happy Tart?” Lucius suggested. 

“Naming it after yourself then?” 

“Mean,” Lucius stuck out his tongue at him. “You’ve got your lines going.” 

“What lines?” 

Leaning forward, Lucius poked him in the forehead, “Those lines. Your worry lines.” 

“Not worried,” he denied, then crumbled under Lucius’ disbelieving stare. “It’s an Eddy thing, you don’t want to-” 

“I can deal,” Lucius cut him off. “Come on, you get tense when you’re worried for her, and I like you relaxed. Spill.” 

“She’s gotten into this grudge with the neighbors and I can’t fucking figure it,” he exhaled. “It’s not like her. To just...dislike someone for no reason. Every time, she just carries on about the roses, but you can’t even see them from our property really.” 

“That hot couple next door?” Lucius asked. 

“The-” Izzy paused, recalled and then nodded, “Yeah, okay. Them. Or at least one of them.” 

“Huh. Let me think about it.” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

What was the worst that could come of it?  

Belladonna ruled the stage that night and Izzy gave her his full attention. She seemed normal...as normal as any six foot tall siren with ivy trailed through her hair and leaves painted on her skin could look anyway. 

Too bad she was staying with Stede that night. Though Izzy did get one hell of a midnight kiss that left him with green paint smeared over his mouth and down his neck. He took the mess of it home and climbed into bed alone. 

Lucius arrived the next day, said nothing about the whole thing and got to make good use of Izzy’s pent up energy. It wasn’t until the next morning while Izzy made breakfast that Lucius apparently decided to move into action. 

Which for him was putting on cut-off jeans, a t-shirt with a v so low it was probably a crime and a pair of sunglasses, stalking across the lawn and greeting the neighbors like he fucking lived there. Izzy watched from the kitchen window. He hadn’t known Lucius owned shorts like that and it was doing some things to his brain. 

Flint stood up beside the roses to greet him. And for a flickering second, Izzy watched Lucius take a step back. 

Oh, I’ll fucking kill him, the beast inside Izzy hissed. But then subsided. Because dear Lucius wasn’t cowed for any longer than that, taking back that step and more besides. Coming in close enough to reach out a hand which Flint shook. 

They spoke for only a minute or so, before Lucius waved a little and went down to the end of the driveway to check the mailbox. Which was...weird because he definitely did not get mail here. Then back up the drive with a shit-eating grin on. 

“What was that about?” Izzy asked as Lucius came into the kitchen. 

“I have done my research,” Lucius announced, pushing his sunglasses upwards. “And I have an answer for you.” 

“In a one minute conversation.” Izzy’s eyes dropped to long milky thighs. “Were you baiting a trap?” 

“A little,” Lucius leaned in and gave him a long filthy kiss. “And you can eat the bait later.” 

“So what’d you trap then?” 

“That man,” and...huh...Lucius didn’t sound thrilled with him either. “Radiates dom energy.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Izzy frowned. “I can’t even fucking look at him.” 

“You knew?” 

“I mean you gave me the words for it, but it’s hard to spend all these years doing what Eddy and I do and not notice when someone’s like that,” he shrugged. “But he’s not doing it on purpose. I think it’s just how he is.” 

“Oookay, well then obviously Eddy doesn’t like him.” 

Izzy knit his eyebrows together, “Obvious how?” 

“Do you not look at him every time?” 

“Yeah? It’s not my proudest moment of the day, but it’s that or I get kind of...” he sighed. “You know. It’s embarrassing.” 

“Eddy knows you space out when you’re hot,” Lucius said like it explained everything. 

“Yeah and?” Izzy paused. “Wait.” 

“Uh huh,” Lucius kissed his cheek. “Ding ding, the train has pulled into the station.” 

“Really?” 

“Really,” “Lucius’ arms slid around his waist. 

“Huh.” 

There was a nip at his neck and Izzy was no longer thinking about Flint even a little. “You too?” 

“Mhm,” Lucius pulled him in close. “Only human. Even if I know you’re about as likely to do something about it as I am to get on the roof and pull a superman.” 

It was a really good day after that, but after Lucius left, Izzy found himself stymied. He went into the workshop, but couldn’t start a project. He went to the kitchen, but the idea of making dinner didn’t appeal either. 

In the end, he sat down on the couch and picked listlessly through a book until he heard Eddy’s motorcycle coming. Even then, he didn’t really move, just set the book aside so he could watch her come in the front door. 

He couldn’t help, but admire her. There was probably never going to be a day when he didn’t. She had her hair half up, the rest cascading around her shoulders, messily wind blown. Stede must’ve bought her this outfit. It looked expensive, a shimmer instead of sheen to the lavender top with it’s knot in the front, showing off a tantalizing line of skin above tight black pants.  

“Thought you’d be in the workshop,” Eddy said when she’d hung up her jacket. “Nothing on the lathe today?” 

“Not in the mood,” Izzy said quietly. 

“Yeah?” She glanced up, caught his expression. “You alright there?” 

“Thinking.” 

“Dangerous,” Eddy surmised and walked over to him, dipping down for a kiss. He kissed back, cupping her jaw. It was so smooth to the touch these days and he often found himself running his thumb along the bone of it. “What’s got your gears grinding?” 

“I was thinking...” he sighed. “Fuck this sounds stupid, even in my head.” 

“That’s gonna be good then,” she sat down beside him, resting elbow on the back of the couch, chin in her palm. “Tell me.” 

“I was thinking that I wish it didn’t make me happy that you get jealous,” he admitted, sinking his head back beside her elbow, looking up at her. “Don’t think it says anything good about me.” 

“I’ve been good about it for weeks,” she protested. “Lucius and I even did a whole event together and kept civil tongues in our head. Didn’t he say?” 

“Not Lucius, though, yeah good job on not killing each other, I appreciate it,” he sighed. “I meant the neighbor.” 

“What about him?” Eddy looked away. 

“I didn’t notice. That it was messing with you,” Izzy watched her carefully. “I don’t even know the guy. Don’t really care to.”

“Yeah, you don’t care to know anyone,” she mumbled.

“I care to know you,” he turned his head enough to press his lips to her arm. “Eddy. You know no one else is allowed to touch me the way you do, right?” 

Her hand flexed above him. A knuckle cracked. He stayed as he was. Waited. 

“I hate how jealous you get,” Eddy said at last. “It's impossible sometimes, the way you want me. And so when I...when I get like that, I hate it even more. I’m such a fucking hypocrite. How can you like it?” 

“Cause I want you to own me,” Izzy pointed out. Maybe instead of being distracted that afternoon, he’d been thinking. Turning old rocks around and around in his mind until they tumbled out polished and ready. “And you don’t want anyone to possess you. Not me. Not Bonnet. Not the world. And they don’t, Eddy. They can’t. I can’t. Tried. Didn’t work. Gave up.” 

“Yeah, I know,” her hand dropped at last. Open, not a fist. It ended up on his chest, right over his heart. Her emerald glittered in the light. “Watching you react to someone else like that makes me want to spit acid anyway.” 

“I don’t even look him in the eye.” 

“That’s on purpose?” She frowned. “I thought that was kind of your whole...you don’t make eye contact with me either when you get like that.” 

“Different reasons. If I look at you while I’m like that, it’s too intense too quickly and it’d all end in a second and a half,” he snorted. “I don’t look at him cause I don’t like a stranger rifling through my head. Felt like he knew what I was like the second he saw me. I don’t need more of that in my life. You are more than enough for one man to survive.” 

“Really?” She turned the full force of that gaze on him and met it.

“Yeah, really. What? You think I’m out here trolling for more people to put me in my place?” He set his hand over hers. “I’ve got a demanding job, a house to keep up with, a spouse and a boyfriend to keep happy and satisfied, all with a fifty year old body. I’m spinning enough fucking plates.” 

Her lips curved ever so slightly upward, “Getting tired, Iz? Too old to keep up?” 

“With you?” He shook his head slowly, maintaining eye contact. “There’s no pace you could set that I wouldn’t keep up with.” 

“Sure, I get a boyfriend, you gotta find one, half our age and twice as lively, huh?” 

“It’s not a competition,” Izzy smiled lazily, stretching a little. The hand on his chest exerted pressure, kept him down. “But I think we know who’s winning.” 

“Big words to someone who just admitted he’d come if I gave him too much eye contact.” 

“Well,” Izzy tilted his chest up, “got to put a new tool in your kit for you sometimes.” 

“I don’t need help,” her hand slid up to his shoulder, gripping hard. The nerves there had never healed right and pain rose up to meet her touch. “But I think tonight, I’ll take it.” 

It took Izzy a full three days to recover from that night, and he enjoyed every last second of it. On the fourth morning, he was still riding the high a little as he went out to the workshop. There was a stool he was working on, an improvement over the last one Eddy had claimed for the garden. He was sanding it by hand, enjoying the process. 

She stepped into the room and her usual basket had the shears sticking out and three roses, blood red, were nestled beside them. 

“We have rose bushes now?” He asked distractedly. There was always something new out there and he could have easily missed her planting them. 

“No. Flint offered up a few. They came with the property and he says there a bitch and a half, impossible to keep off the sidewalk. Has to trim them constantly.” 

“Does he now?” Izzy paused in his work. “And when did he say that?” 

“Just now. He was out while I was looking for fallen branches for the fire pit,” she said casually. “Asked him about them. He’s a lawyer apparently. Pfft. You know I feel about lawyers.” 

“I do,” Izzy said solemnly.  

“Anyway, they’re going away next week, so I said we’d keep an eye on the place. Could be good for when we’re not home too, huh?” 

“Yeah.” And it was such a good thing he had long practice with not laughing at all because it was taking a lot of energy not to do it now. 

“I know how you like red,” Eddy swept the flowers up and held them out to him. “Mind the thorns, huh?” 

And she was in the ragged purple sweater, sweating a little and smiling herself. Maybe, maybe, on the cusp of laughing at herself a little. Holding out flowers to him as if this was how they always did things. 

“Like the thorns,” he said, no longer anywhere near laughter as he took them from her. They were pretty things, probably last a few days in water. 

She kissed him, soft and sweet. “Gonna go wash up. Coming with?” 

He’d put them in water later. And then when they started to wither, he might just get a bit of twine, hang them in the corner of the garage to dry out. Maybe keep them there as if he’d forgotten about them, just another thing collecting dust in a garage. Even if they did hang just inside his peripheral vision as he sanded down the rough edges of his small domain.

#leda house and the kraken verse #ficlet #you're awful i love you

[toxic-potions-productions]

Trying to talk gone wrong (Helluva boss) (Impsonas)

Wow, going all the way back to season one for this one, huh?

I can’t believe this is the first time I’m showing Alex’s slightly new design, I’m sorry

So, since I had so much fun drawing me & O’s Impsonas into Helluva boss backgrounds, I decided to do it again!

This time, I decided to do season 1 episode 3. AKA, Spring broken

For the entire episode, no one at IMP, not even Crystal, is aware that Alex is with Verosika. So, she tries to play it cool as so they don’t get any ideas. However, she’s a nervous, flustered wreck anytime they talk about her & even reacts the same way Moxxie did when Millie asks what sex with her was like

Anyways, when Moxxie tries to confront her, Alex goes in with him to both help him & also have an excuse to do stuff with Verosika while also keeping her cover. & well, you can imagine how that turned out

Crystal heard Alex in there, getting torn to shreds by Verosika & her crew, mostly Verosika, & she was a little more vocal than Moxxie was. By that, I mean she was moaning & screaming alot more (Cuz I mean, it’s Verosika. Come on, now) Crystal thought she was in pain, when in reality, she was having the time of her life. & it looks like she did, too

Moments like these are when Alex LOVES being poly

When Alex finally got out (Moxxie was still in there getting the soul sucked out of him, she just said fuck it & left him in there), Crystal was both worried & envious of her that Verosika Mayday herself had such a blast with her since she was a fangirl of her herself. I say that cuz she used to sneak listening to her songs & reading her magazines so her parents wouldn’t find out

Only makes you wonder what would happen when she finds out they’re dating. I know Blitz would not be happy about it, that’s for sure, since there’s a reason she didn’t tell him about it

I really do hope I didn’t go too overbard on the carnage on Alex, but then again, it IS Verosika ----------------------------------------------------------

Alexandra by: Me

Crystal by: @dorkygurl-89

Helluva boss by: @/vivziepop

Do not steal, trace or copy.

#Strawberry's art #Tumblr buddies #Gifts for valid fruit fam members #Helluva Boss #Spring broken #Impsona #Take a shot every time I mention Verosika in this description LMFAO

[insecateur]

here's a first little trivia post about slawcs. this one will cover origins, inspiration, and background from the pre-rewrite era. (consequently it will be entirely about og slawcs and won't speak of the spin-offs either)

this is mostly for myself and probably like 3 people but i think it'll be therapeutic to write and i like reading about other people's writing and ideas so maybe you do, too! if so, enjoy!

origins

a young man sits at his computer. it just so happens that today, the 30th of october, 2013, is the day he set out to write some angst apparently:

i am so very sad that i don't have any archives of the conversations i was absolutely having back then on skype (ough) about writing this. i did find some old info on my old pokémon blog, so here's what i can recall to the best of my abilities:

i wanted to write angst, apparently because the angst i wanted wasn't being written by others. which is hilarious considering i'm told that as it stands A LOT of prfr fics involve either party dying, but you do have to consider that this was very early on. also it seems people kill lysandre usually? truly the special flavor here is that lysandre doesn't die.

back then, i hadn't published any fic in 3-4 years, hadn't written in 2 years, and had never published anything written in english ever. i had one incomplete english fic wip that only one person other than me had ever seen and that was it. og slawcs was my first foray in publishing in english (fic-wise and, really, story-wise, unless you count my webcomic i suppose.) i had an ao3 account since early 2013; i have No clue why, but it worked out, i guess!

og slawcs was originally a one-shot. i was unsure about this for a while but i found the original post from my old blog that confirms it:

(please forgive my cringiness i was almost a decade younger, extremely socially anxious, and also it was my first time publishing in english)

i have been told that the first chapter reads like it can stand on its own, well there's why!

the original title was Perfect World. i have always disliked it. the long and short of it is that i got to the new work ao3 page, realized i needed a title, and improvised. i have NO idea why "improvising" meant "using a title inspired by a shipname i already didn't like at the time" but it did. i actually never used the actual title to refer to the fic back then; i always called it "sad fic" or "the sad fic." a silly little codename was better than the actual name i gave my fic apparently. nobody calls it that anymore, me included, and the only trace i have left of it is that my slawcs playlist is still called "sad fic" to this day...

the fic was relatively popular in prfr circles at the time. i was actually surprised looking through my old tag for it to find so many people sending me asks about it... this was so long ago and ended so sourly for me (the pokémon blog, not the fic specifically) that i sometimes tend to think i exaggerate how much feedback i got back then but i didn't apparently. (noah even found someone on twitter like one or two weeks ago who mentioned the fic indirectly so it's also memorable i guess ?_?) which does make me feel kinda bad for disappearing for so long also orz

i almost forgot to discuss this since this isn't an aspect that really exists in the fic anymore, but very early on the fic was supposed to have two endings. (slawcs spoilers follow if you care) the actual ending i ended up writing, where lysandre accepts dialga's offer and goes back in time to sabotage his own plans, and a "status quo" ending where lysandre stays and tries to make the world he's destroyed better as best as he can pull off.

the reason why i ended up scraping the alternate ending is actually pretty straightforward: the entire point behind having two endings was that i was embarrassed by the time travel/multiverse idea. this seems so stupid to me now but back then i genuinely was like "oh no i can't have my POKÉMON FANFICTION end with the power of love and time travel fixing everything it's too cringe (cringe wasn't as much of a thing back then but it was the spirit of it) so i need to come up with a Serious, Realistic ending to compensate"

then the multiverse was made canon and THEN years later rainbow rocket happened and i was like "who cares actually. if canon can do this why can't i."

i might elaborate on the other ending in another part, we'll see.

inspiration

i have touched on this very briefly in the fic's notes (i think at the end of eclipse?) but i think it would be fun to talk about this some more, so i will!

the premise of the fic (not really a spoiler because it happens mid-chapter 1, but still,) that lysandre is "hallucinating" a dead augustine sycamore, was inspired by an old nbc heroes fic i read when i was a teen. the fic (Imaginary Friend by Fantastic Pants on FFnet) was about, you guessed it, a character hallucinating another dead character.

well, actually, it was a bit more complicated than that. for context, character A (noah bennet aka HRG, for those in the know™) thought he'd killed character B (claude rains) who was a mutant capable of becoming invisible. in the fic, fake B was very much self-aware about being imaginary, and also very much supposed to be a representation of guilt, anxiety and depression. the "twist" of the fic, of course, is that B turns out to have been alive the whole time, and fake B disappears for good when A learns this.

i haven't reread the fic in years, but it is one of the two heroes fic that have stayed with me since then even though i stopped caring about heroes midway through season 2. as you can see, the core of it is similar, though the end result and the context is very different.

in slawcs, i kept the line between haunting, hallucination, and manifestation ambiguous, because i thought it worked better that way, but for me the most important aspect was the expression of negative feelings. i'm very humbled when people tell me it resonated with them: i wrote it based on my own experience with anxiety so I've Been Through The Symptoms and i'm always glad to know it works and feels meaningful!

tl;dr if i hadn't read this angsty heroes fanfiction i might not even have gotten back into writing ever

falling out

as i said in the first section, the fic was very well-received. it was one of the first fic for the ship on ao3 (i want to say it was among the first ten? it was definitely there before the tag was even canonized) so that probably helped, to be fair. people were eager for more! the second chapter was well-received as well, posted the next month. in mid-december, i posted another fic that i've since deleted because i just didn't like it that much (it was the ball dancing one, for those who might remember.) the last post in my old tag for og slawcs was from january 2014, assuring someone i was still working on the fic.

i was! but i was also Going Through It, both in my personal life but also when it came to the fandom. i don't blame anyone for it, really; i had gotten too emotionally involved imo, and also i was starting to grow tired of tumblr and the vibes there in general. so i ended up detaching myself from everything more and more, progressively. i stopped looking at my main dashboard and stopped looking at anything related to the fandom on tumblr. i moved largely to twitter but kept posting fanart for a while. then i just left.

in 2015, i began working on a new fic unrelated to og slawcs. this fic is still on my ao3; it's the one where lysandre gets guillotined. it was partially inspired by an old fanart of mine and my then all-consuming passion for french musicals. when i decided i was going to post it, i first thought i'd also make sure i could update og slawcs as well, because i felt so bad about abandoning it even though i was still very much in the fandom. and so, in december 2015, i both posted a brand new one-shot and the 3rd chapter of og slawcs.

and then i never updated it again for 6 years.

but i did work on it! at the time i posted the original third chapter, i had actually already written the original fourth. i think i might even have had half of the fifth back then. i was sure the fifth would be the last one; then it got too long, so i cut it in half, thinking the sixth would be the last one for sure. then i kind of... gave up.

i don't remember the timeline very well because it was a few years ago and also late 2016 to mid 2017 kind of all blurs together in my mind because it was when i was first getting knee surgery and i was basically at one of the lowest points in my life, but i did keep working on the fic (on top of writing other fic) back then. i fully stopped when i reached the point where i'd have to do the game rewrite, so midway through chapter 6 (sun.) i'm not entirely sure why (apart from bad mental health obviously) i think i was just... worried i couldn't pull it off. i'd watch reference material and then be like, no this sucks actually, this is bad, i can't do this well, and it’s been so long, and nobody will care anymore, and...

then in late 2017 i entered my Yakuza Phase and took a break from pokémon xy. it was still there at the back of my mind (where it always will be at this point i think) but i was taking a vacation from it, i guess.

...until february 2021 happened, of course.

SEE YOU NEXT TIME (yes i'm ending my post on a cliffhanger)

#slawcs

[minominq]

Love your coloring and art style 💖 can I ask you a question how you get better at drawing? I'm new (year 2) and struggling with digital art off and on. It's only been two years I'm drawing digitally but I just want to draw better. Like even better. If you have advice or tips, that's awesome. Hopefully it doesn't come off the wrong way. But thanks in advance.

not me forgetting that I had asks on 😭 if you're still interested, here's the (extremely) late response (again, super sorry 😭)

In terms of coloring, there isn't a lot I can say (being a learner as well), but I think seeing how others color can be really interesting! Do they use reddish hues or blueish hues for shades? Or do they use both? I personally use a slightly desaturated salmon pink-ish color with a low opacity (also desaturated) sky-blue. It can help to try out a variety and finding what works for you!

example: (this is an old piece of mine and I used red and blue as my tools for shading)

The same can be said for base colors. For those, I recommend color-studies and seeing how relative colors can influence how you perceive the entire piece. Rather than focus on the colors as separate entities (blue as blue, yellow as yellow), it's really helpful to instead look at it instead as something meant to intermingle with (if that makes any sense 🥲).

In a blue-prevalent piece, straight-up grey might look reddish or even pink. In a purple piece, the skin-tone might look like light-magenta than a peachy color. Yet, when you look at the piece as a whole, it definitely looks like a skin-tone.

example: you can tell that the skin looks like a skin tone, but when you actually pull it out and look at it in comparison to a peachy tone, it's purple! And this is because of the idea of relative colors. Against a white background, a color might seem saturated and dark, but against a dark background, the same color might seem super light.

For lineart (if you do them at all), it might help to experiment with brushes and thickness of lines! Do you prefer boxy lines? Smooth lines? Thick or thin lines? It might seem redundant, but you'll eventually find yourself a style that fits you the best, even if it doesn't seem that way ^^

Another tip I have is that if you have a bunch of artists you really like (whether that be their composition, style, coloring, etc), examine what exactly you like about them and try to imitate it and see how well it works for you! If it doesn't, then that's fine, but if it does, then thats even better!

If you have artist mutuals, do the 'friends' artstyle challenge'! You might learn something interesting that might take your fancy and at the worst, you'll just have more experience under your belt when it comes to style :D

Though it may seem like everyone's saying this and it feels of little use, studies (whether that be pose or coloring) will help a lot! Also, try tracing over those free dynamic pose photos if you want to improve in the aspect of anatomy! Try see where limbs are placed and how they work. It's sort of like seeing the answers to a math question: once you know the answer, you can work backwards to see how to get it :D

Sorry for the delay and super sorry if this isn't of any help at all 😭 Honestly, I don't really know how to do the stuff I do at all, either. Half of the time, I'm just winging it and tweaking stuff until it looks decent, but I hope this helped!

(Also, really really sorry for not replying 😭)

#art ask? #idk how to tag this #anon i'm so sorry #art tips #i think?