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dresspheres · 3 months

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COMMISSION. 88 for Sucrose from Genshin Impact. These icons are free to use, but please credit me if you use them.preview && download link under the cut.

download link.

#Sucrose Icons #Sucrose #Genshin Impact Icons #Genshin Impact #* commission #hc: green #hl: short #female #light skin #ec: orange #glasses #age: unknown

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fractalflare · 2 months

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594 CHUUYA NAKAHARA ICONS / BSD

[ content warning: blood, injuries, weapons ] TOU – Icons are free to use, free to edit, with or without credit, likes and reblogs are encouraged. Please don’t re-upload or claim as your own. Please let me know about any broken links — DOWNLOAD

#chuuya nakahara #bsd chuuya #chuuya bsd #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd icons #bungo stray dogs icons #roleplay icons #rp icons #anime icons #roleplay resources #base icons #h. orange #ec. grey #g. male

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spotaus · 18 days

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Rust!!! Rust my beloved!! (Swap!Papyrus from Ec-4o.verse)

He's still got that aloof energy of original Swap!Pap, mixed in with a bit of silly because I can't *not* give him a fun sword :)

Bonus, old designs!

These (from left to right) are: His first ever design in 2019(ish), a redesign from my first big design overhaul 2020(?), and then another attempt from what I believe is 2022(?).

Rust was always kinda the second thought back when I first came up with his design, but it's a lot more intentional now! He and Blue never really had a chance at nabbing high-quality outfits so his is a lot simpler than most of the cast (especially in a cyberpunk setting). He's intentionally got that young-ish whimsy to him still since he's Blue's younger brother, I don't want him to be another depressed middle-aged guy in the story. He does the skeleton-equivalent of vaping and would absolutely love a good episode of Voltron or Demon Slayer. That electric sword of his was a gift from Blue for his birthday one year. It serves him well.

("While you were having trauma, I was busy studying the blade" -Rust to Geno, probably.)

#utmv #utmv art #my art #spot!drawn #utmv au #utmv papyrus #swap!papyrus #ec-4o!rust #I love him so much #basing him off the kinda guys I hung around in highschool ngl #makes him feel more grounded and relatable in a way I don't normally design characters to be #also his goggles *do* work as welding goggles too. they're modified so he doesn't blind hinself with his sword or while checking in on Blue #when he's wirking on projects. he only wears them when he's serious (which is almost never)#also I'm so glad that I finally (mostly) have a Paps shape figured out omg #Rust was actually the 4th character I ever designed for ec-4o.verse! right behind Nightmare Dream and Blue!#extra fun fact: This version of his design didn't use any reference to my previous doodles so I clearly decided my core pieces were:#ski-goggles. two-tone orange sweatshirt. sweatshirt has two pockets. smokes.

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pawsitivevibe · 4 months

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Every time I actually find English Cocker Spaniel merch there is no tri-colour option. Boo. Hiss.

The only thing I have is a hoodie that says "Spaniel Squad" that has a tri, but I think the dog is technically supposed to be a Springer not a Cocker.

#lemon roan like Holly is also hard to find #ECS only come in like solid black or gold or blue roan or black/tan apparently. That's like all that's ever available for merch #I just gotta find an artist I can commission for some art that could be stickers/prints/shirts or something ...#Need a tri and an orange/white and a lemon roan. That's all the family Cockers

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opelman · 16 days

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115-YL / 82 - Dassault Mirage 2000 C by Laurent Quérité Via Flickr: French Air Force EC 2/5 Ile de France BA 115 Orange Caritat LFMO France IMG_4224

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valkariel · 1 year

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Solaria

Head: Asuran Hachigane of Casting - gobiebag brown Body: Paglth'an Chestwrap of Casting - default Hands: Heavensturn Kote - dark red Legs: Troian Longkilt of Casting - default Feet: Warg Shoes of Casting - default

Alt Head: Rakshasa Kanmuri of Casting | Mheg Deaca Circlet Alt Hands: Darklight Gloves of Casting

Earring: Immaculate Ear Cuffs of Casting Neck: The Emperor's New Necklace Wrists: The Emperor's New Bracelet Right Ring: The Emperor's New Ring Left Ring: The Emperor's New Ring

Main Hand: Ironwood Staff Off Hand: --

Fashion Accessory: -- Minion: -- Location: #RavenArtStudio - Dynamis/Halicarnassus Shirogane W20 Kobai Goten Subdivision Apt 1

Shader: Faeberry Glow

#ffxiv #ffxiv glamour #ffxiv miqo'te #ffxiv black mage #eorzea collection #RavenArtStudio #miqo'te #seekers of the sun #black mage #casters #reds/oranges/browns #golds/yellows #no mogstation items #uses seasonal items #fantasy glamour #tribal glamour #royalty glamour #EC Featured Glamour #valkariel ilmarë

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wammbam · 3 months

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unrelated to anything happening in the ring but i thoroughly enjoy the fading sunset we have going on at the edges of the screen throughout the match/entrances

#the little pinks and oranges with the blue of the ec theme and the purple of tjd #muah #thank you world for being so pretty

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matttgirlies · 25 days

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Matt & Me 🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - age gap,, i think thats all

all of the songs and celebrities mentioned in here are from the time periods this was written if you are confused🩷

Chapter 1

It was 1956. I was living with my family at the Bergstrom Air Force Base in Austin, Texas, where my father, then Captain, Joseph Paul y/ln, a career officer, was stationed. He came home late for dinner one evening and handed me a record album.

“I don’t know what this Matt guy is all about,” he said, “but he must be something special. I stood in line with half the Air Force at the PX to get this for you; everybody wants it.”

I put the record on the hi-fi and heard the rocking music of “Blue Suede Shoes.” The album was titled Matt Sturniolo. It was his first.

Like almost every other kid in America, I liked Matt but not as fanatically as many of my girl friends at Del Valley Junior High. They all had Matt T-shirts and Matt hats and Matt socks and even lipstick in colors with names like Hound Dog Orange and Heartbreak Pink referencing names of his songs. Matt was everywhere, on bubblegum cards and Bermuda shorts, on diaries and wallets and pictures that glowed in the dark. The boys at school began trying to look like him, with their fluffy hair and turned up collars.

One girl was so crazy about him that she was running his local fan club. She said I could join for twenty-five cents, the price of a book she’d ordered for me by mail. When I received it, I was shocked to see a picture of Matt signing the bare chests of a couple of girls, at that time an unheard-of act.

Then I saw him on television on Jimmy and Tommy Dorsey’s Stage Show. He was sexy and handsome, with his deep brooding eyes, pouty lips, and crooked smile. He strutted out to the microphone, spread his legs, leaned back, and strummed his guitar. Then he began singing with such confidence, moving his body with unbridled sexuality. Despite myself, I was attracted.

Some members of his adult audience were less enthusiastic. Soon his performances were labeled obscene. My mother stated emphatically that he was “a bad influence for teenage girls. He arouses things in them that shouldn’t be aroused. If there’s ever a mothers’ march against Matt Sturniolo, I’ll be the first in line.”

But I’d heard that despite all of his stage antics and lustful, tough-guy looks, Matt came from a strict Southern Christian background. He was a country boy who didn’t smoke or drink, who loved and honored his parents, and who addressed all adults as “sir” or “ma’am.”

I was an Air Force child, a shy, pretty little girl, unhappily accustomed to moving from base to base every two or three years. By the time I was eleven, I had lived in six different cities and, fearful of not being accepted, I either kept to myself or waited for someone to befriend me. I found it especially difficult entering a new school in the middle of the year, when cliques had already been established and newcomers were considered outsiders.

Small and petite, with long y/hc hair, y/ec eyes, and an upturned nose, I was always stared at by the other students. At first girls would see me as a rival, afraid I’d take their boyfriends away. I seemed to feel more comfortable with boys—and they were usually friendlier.

People always said I was the prettiest girl in school, but I never felt that way. I was skinny, practically scrawny, and even if I was as cute, as people said, I wanted to have more than just good looks. Only with my family did I really feel totally protected and loved. Close and supportive, they provided my stability.

A photographer’s model before her marriage, my mother was totally devoted to her family. As the oldest, it was my responsibility to help her with the kids. After me, there were Don, four years younger, and Michelle, my only sister, who was five years younger than Don. Jeff and the twins, Tim and Tom, hadn’t yet been born.

My mother was too shy to talk about the facts of life, so my sex education came in school, when I was in the sixth grade. Some kids were passing around a book that looked like the Bible from the outside, but when you opened it, there were pictures of men making love to women, and women making love to each other.

My body was changing and stirring with new feelings. I’d gotten looks from boys at school, and once a picture of me in a tight turtleneck sweater was stolen from the school bulletin board. Yet I was still a child, embarrassed about my own sexuality. I fantasized endlessly about French-kissing, but when my friends who hung around our house played spin the bottle, it would take me half an hour to let a boy kiss my pursed lips.

My strong, handsome father was the center of our world. He was a hard worker who had earned his degree in Business Administration at University of Texas. At home he ran a tight ship. He was a firm believer in discipline and responsibility, and he and I frequently knocked heads. When I became a cheerleader at thirteen, it was all I could do to convince him to let me go to out-of-town games. Other times no amount of crying, pleading, or appealing to my mother would change his mind. When he laid down the law, that was that.

I managed to get around him occasionally. When he refused to let me wear a tight skirt, I joined the Girl Scouts specifically so I could wear their tight uniform.

My parents were survivors. Although they often had to struggle financially, we children were the last to feel it. When I was a little girl my mother sewed pretty tablecloths to cover the orange crates that we used as end tables. Rather than do without, we made the best of what we had.

Dinner was strictly group participation: Mother cooked, one of us set the table, and the rest cleaned up. Nobody got away with anything, but we were very supportive of one another. I felt fortunate to have a close-knit family.

Going through old albums of family photographs showing my parents when they were young fascinated me. I was curious about the past. World War II intrigued me, especially since my father had fought with the Marines on Okinawa. He looked handsome in his uniform—you could tell he was posing for my mother—but somehow his smile looked out of place, especially when you realized where he was. When I read the note on the back of the picture about how much he missed my mother, my eyes filled with tears.

While rummaging through the family keepsakes I came upon a small wooden box. Inside was a carefully folded American flag, the kind that I knew was given to servicemen’s widows. Also inside the box was a picture of my mother with her arm around a strange man and, sitting on her lap, an infant. On the back of the photo was inscribed “Mommy, Daddy, y/n.” I had discovered a family secret.

Feeling betrayed, I ran to phone my mother, who was at a party nearby. Within minutes I was in her arms, crying as she calmed me and explained that when I was six months old, my real father, Lieutenant James Wagner, a handsome Navy pilot, had been killed in a plane crash while returning home on leave. Two and a half years later, she married Paul y/ln, who adopted me and had always loved me as his own.

Mother suggested I keep my discovery from the other children. She felt it would endanger our family closeness, though when it did become known, it had no effect on our feelings for one another. She gave me a gold locket that my father had given her. I cherished that locket and wore it for years and fantasized that my father died a great hero. In times of emotional pain and loneliness he would become my guardian angel.

By the end of the year, I’d been nominated to run for Queen of Del Valley Junior High. This was my first taste of politics and competition and it was especially trying because I was running against Millie Collins, my best friend.

We each had a campaign manager introducing us as we went from house to house knocking on doors. My manager tried to talk each person into voting for me and donating a penny or more per vote to a school fund. The nominee who collected the most money won. I was sure that this competition would jeopardize my friendship with Millie, which was more important to me than winning. I considered quitting but felt I couldn’t let my parents or my supporters down. While my mother was out looking for a dress for me to wear to the coronation, my dad kept reminding me to memorize an acceptance speech. I kept putting it off, certain I was going to lose.

It was the last day of the campaign, and a rumor began circulating that Millie’s grandparents had put in a hundred-dollar bill for their vote. My parents were disappointed; there was no way that they could afford to match that much money and even if they could, they objected on principle.

The night they announced the winner, I was all dressed up in a new turquoise blue, strapless tulle net formal that itched so badly I couldn’t wait to take it off. I sat beside Millie on the dais in the large school auditorium. I could see my parents with happy, confident looks on their faces though I was sure they were going to be disheartened. Then the principal walked up to the podium.

“And now,” she said, hesitating to heighten the suspense, “is the moment you’ve all been waiting for . . . the culmination of a month of campaigning by our two lovely contestants: y/n y/ln . . .” All eyes turned toward me. I blushed and glanced at Millie. “ . . . and Millie Collins.” Our eyes locked for a brief, tense moment.

“The new Queen of Del Valley Junior High is . . .” A drum roll sounded. “ . . . y/n y/ln.”

The audience applauded wildly. I was in shock. Called up to the stage to give my speech, I had none. Sure that I was going to lose, I’d never even bothered to write one. I walked, trembling, to the podium, then looked out at the crowded auditorium. All I could see was my father’s face, growing more disappointed as he realized I had nothing to say. When I finally spoke, it was to apologize.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m not prepared to give a speech, as I did not expect to win. But thank you very much for voting for me. I’ll do my very best.” And then, looking at my father, I added, “I’m sorry, Dad.”

I was surprised as the audience graciously applauded, but I still had to face my father and hear him say, “I told you so.”

Being elected Queen was a bittersweet victory, because the closeness that Millie and I once shared was restrained. Still, to me that crown symbolized a wonderful, unfamiliar feeling: acceptance.

My newfound tranquility ended abruptly when my father announced that he was being transferred to Wiesbaden, West Germany.

I was crushed. Germany was the other side of the world. All my fears returned. My first thought was, What am I going to do about my friends? I turned to my mother, who was sympathetic and reminded me that we were in the Air Force and moving was an unavoidable part of our lives.

I finished junior high school, my mother gave birth to baby Jeff, and we said our goodbyes to neighbors and good friends. Everyone promised to write or call, but remembering past promises I knew better. My friend Stephanie jokingly told me that Matt Sturniolo was stationed in Bad Neuheim, West Germany. “Do you believe it? You’re going to be in the same country as Matt Sturniolo,” she said. We looked at a map and found that Bad Neuheim was close to Wiesbaden. I said back, “I’m going over there to meet Matt.” We both laughed, hugged each other, and said goodbye.

West Germany

The fifteen-hour flight to West Germany seemed interminable, but finally we arrived in the beautiful old city of Wiesbaden, headquarters of the U.S. Air Force in Europe. There we checked into the Helene Hotel, a massive and venerable building on the main thoroughfare. After three months, hotel living became too expensive and we began looking for a place to rent.

We felt lucky to find a large apartment in a vintage building constructed long before World War I. Soon after we moved in, we noticed that all the other apartments were rented to single girls. These Fräuleins walked around all day long in robes and negligees, and at night they were dressed to kill. Once we learned a little German, we realized that, although the pension was very discreet, we were living in a brothel.

Moving was out of the question—housing was too scarce—but the location did little to help me to adjust. Not only was I isolated from other American families, but there was the language barrier. I was accustomed to changing schools frequently, but a foreign country posed altogether new problems, principally that I couldn’t share my thoughts. I began to feel that my life had stopped dead in its tracks.

September came and with it, school. Once again I was the new girl. I was no longer popular and secure as I’d been at Del.

There was a place called the Eagles Club, where American service families went for dinner and entertainment. It was within walking distance of the pension and soon proved an important discovery for me. Every day after school, I’d go to the snack bar there and listen to the jukebox and write letters to my friends back home in Austin, telling them how much I missed them. Drowning in tears, I’d spend my weekly allowance playing the songs that were very popular back in the States—Frankie Avalon’s “Venus” and the Everly Brothers’ “All I Have to Do Is Dream.”

One warm summer afternoon, I was sitting with my brother Don when I noticed a handsome man in his twenties staring at me. I’d seen him watching me before, but I’d never paid any attention to him. This time, he stood up and walked toward me. He introduced himself as Steven Wright and asked my name.

“y/n y/ln,” I said, immediately suspicious; he was much older than me.

He asked where in the States I came from, how I liked Germany, and if I liked Matt Sturniolo.

“Of course,” I said, laughing. “Who doesn’t?”

“I’m a good friend of his. My wife and I go to his house quite often. How would you like to join us one evening?”

Unprepared for such an extraordinary invitation, I grew even more skeptical and guarded. I told him I’d have to ask my parents. Over the course of the next two weeks, Steven met my parents and my father checked out his credentials. Steven was also in the Air Force and it turned out that my father knew his commanding officer. That seemed to break the ice between them. Steven assured Dad that I’d be well chaperoned when we visited Matt, who lived off base in a house in Bad Nauheim.

On the appointed night I tore through my closet, trying to find an appropriate outfit. Nothing seemed dressy enough for meeting Matt Sturniolo. I settled on a navy and white sailor dress and white socks and shoes. Surveying myself in the mirror, I thought I looked cute, but being only fourteen, I didn’t think I’d make any kind of impression on Matt.

Eight o’clock finally arrived, and so did Steven Wright and his attractive wife, Carole. Anxious, I hardly spoke to either of them during the forty-five-minute drive. We entered the small town of Bad Nauheim, with its narrow cobblestone streets and plain, old-fashioned houses, and I kept looking around for what I assumed would be Matt’s huge mansion. Instead Steven pulled up to an ordinary-looking three-story house surrounded by a white picket fence.

There was a sign on the gate in German, which translated as: autographs between 7:00 and 8:00 p.m. only. Even though it was after eight o’clock, a large group of friendly German girls waited around expectantly. When I asked Steven about them, he explained that there were always large groups of fans outside the house, hoping to catch a glimpse of Matt.

I followed Steven through the gate and up the short pathway to the door. We were welcomed by James Sturniolo, Matt’s father, a tall, gray-haired, attractive man, who led us down a long hallway to the living room, from which I could hear Brenda Lee on the record player, singing “Sweet Nothin’s.”

The plain, almost drab living room was filled with people, but I spotted Matt immediately. He was handsomer than he appeared in films, younger and more vulnerable-looking with his haircut. He was in civilian clothes, a bright red sweater and tan slacks, and he was sitting with one leg swung over the arm of a large overstuffed chair, with a cigar dangling from his lips.

As Steven led me over to him, Matt stood up and smiled. “Well,” he said. “What have we here?”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I just kept staring at him.

“Matt,” Steven said, “this is y/n y/ln. The girl I told you about.”

We shook hands and he said, “Hi, I’m Matt Sturniolo,” but then there was a silence between us until Matt asked me to sit down beside him, and Steven drifted off.

“So,” Matt said. “Do you go to school?”

“Yes.”

“What are you, about a junior or senior in high school?”

I blushed and said nothing, not willing to reveal that I was only in the ninth grade.

“Well,” he persisted.

“Ninth.”

Matt looked confused. “Ninth what?”

“Grade,” I whispered.

“Ninth grade,” he said and started laughing. “Why, you’re just a baby.”

“Thanks,” I said curtly. Not even Matt Sturniolo had the right to say that to me.

“Well. Seems the little girl has spunk,” he said, laughing again, amused by my response. He gave me that charming smile of his, and all my resentment just melted away.

We made small talk for a while longer. Then Matt got up and walked over to the piano and sat down. The room suddenly grew silent. Everyone’s eyes were focused on him as he began to entertain us.

He sang “Rags to Riches” and “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” and then with his friends singing harmony, “End of the Rainbow.” He also did a Jerry Lee Lewis impersonation, pounding the keys so hard that a glass of water he’d set on the piano began sliding off. When Matt caught it without missing a beat of the song, everyone laughed and applauded except me. I was nervous. I glanced around the room and saw an intimidating life-size poster of a half-nude model on the wall. She was the last person I wanted to see, with her fulsome body, pouting lips, and wild mane of tousled hair. Imagining Matt’s taste in women, I felt very young and out of place.

I glanced up and saw Matt trying to get my attention. I noticed that the less response I showed, the more he began singing just for me. I couldn’t believe that Matt Sturniolo was trying to impress me.

Later, he asked me to come into the kitchen, where he introduced me to his grandmother, Minnie Mae Sturniolo, who stood by the stove, frying a huge pan of bacon. As we sat down at the table, I told Matt I wasn’t hungry. Actually I was too nervous to eat.

“You’re the first girl I’ve met from the States in a long time,” Matt said, as he began devouring the first of five gigantic bacon sandwiches, each one smothered with mustard. “Who are the kids listening to?”

I laughed. “Are you kidding?” I said. “Everyone listens to you.”

Matt seemed unconvinced. He asked me a lot of questions about Fabian and Ricky Nelson. He told me he was worried about how his fans would accept him when he returned to the States. Since he’d been away, he hadn’t made any public appearances or movies, although he’d had five hit singles, all recorded before he’d left.

It felt like we’d just begun talking when Steven came in and pointed to his watch. I had dreaded that moment; the evening had gone so fast. It seemed I had just arrived and now I was being hurried away. Matt and I had just started to get to know each other. I felt like Cinderella, knowing that when my curfew came, all this magic would end. I was surprised when Matt asked Steven if I could possibly stay longer. When Steven explained the agreement with my father, Matt casually suggested that maybe I could come by again. Though I wanted to more than anything in the world, I didn’t really believe it would happen.

a/n - thoughts on this story so far? all the fashion and technology and things is still based in the time period its set in but i promise it gets better as the story goes on! i know the age gap is crazy but back in the day it was normal and its the age gap in Priscilla’s book so i just stuck with it. I in no way support this at all🎀

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd.

This material may be protected by copyright.

#matt stuniolo fanfic #matthew sturn #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #nick sturniolo #Spotify

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laboratoryrats · 11 months

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“It can't be a Black man'. But ... but that's the whole point of the story!" Feldstein sputtered.”

Judgement Day (1953)

The story, by writer Al Feldstein and artist Joe Orlando, was a reprint from the pre-Code Weird Fantasy #18 (April 1953), inserted when the Code Authority had rejected an initial, original story, "An Eye For an Eye", drawn by Angelo Torres, but was itself also "objected to" because of "the central character being Black".

The story depicted a human astronaut, a representative of the Galactic Republic, visiting the planet Cybrinia, inhabited by robots. He finds the robots divided into functionally identical orange and blue races, one of which has fewer rights and privileges than the other. The astronaut determines that due to the robots' bigotry, the Galactic Republic should not admit the planet until these problems are resolved. In the final panel, he removes his helmet, revealing himself to be a Black man.

As Diehl recounted in Tales from the Crypt: The Official Archives: This really made 'em go bananas in the Code czar's office. "Judge Murphy was off his nut. He was really out to get us", recalls [EC editor] Feldstein. "I went in there with this story and Murphy says, 'It can't be a Black man'. But ... but that's the whole point of the story!" Feldstein sputtered. When Murphy continued to insist that the Black man had to go, Feldstein put it on the line. "Listen", he told Murphy, "you've been riding us and making it impossible to put out anything at all because you guys just want us out of business". [Feldstein] reported the results of his audience with the czar to Gaines, who was furious [and] immediately picked up the phone and called Murphy. "This is ridiculous!" he bellowed. "I'm going to call a press conference on this. You have no grounds, no basis, to do this. I'll sue you". Murphy made what he surely thought was a gracious concession. "All right. Just take off the beads of sweat". At that, Gaines and Feldstein both went ballistic. "Fuck you!" they shouted into the telephone in unison. Murphy hung up on them, but the story ran in its original form

#comics #comic history #Sci fi #ec comics #judgement day #civil rights #civil rights history #civil rights movement

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dresspheres · 2 years

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490 Icons | Yoimiya | Genshin Impact

490 Icons for Yoimiya from Genshin Impact

Please like or reblog this post if you plan on using them

Credit me if you edit them! Otherwise, credit’s very much appreciated.

Download here

#Genshin Impact #Genshin Impact Icons #Yoimiya #Yoimiya Icons #Roleplay Icons #hc: blonde #hl: tied up #female #ec: orange #light skin #age: adult #* request

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revenant-coining · 2 months

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Devodeusec

[pt: Devodeusec /end pt]

[ids: 2 rectangular flags with 7 equally-sized horizontal lines. colors in this order from top to bottom: black, red, yellow, dull orange, yellow, red, black. in the center of the first flag is a off-white circle. in the center of the circle is a red symbol. the symbol is a diamond with a small circle centered vertically, and above where it would be if it was centered horizontally. below the circle is a vertical line. there is a horizontal line below where it would be if it was centered inside the diamond. from the horizontal line is half of a pill-shaped oval, the other side connected to the diamond. /end ids]

Devodeusec; a form of nonhuman tertiary attraction (Alteraffectis) that describes how a follower/worshipper feels towards the deity/god they worship.

etymology; ”devo(tionis)” latin for devotion, “deus” latin for god, “ec” meaning from/deriving from

for anon!

tagging; @radiomogai, @thecoffeecrew404, @alteraffectis

[id: a blue-to-light blue-to blue rounded line divider with a break in the center, with a "blue raindrop" magikarp from magikarp jump in said break. /end id]

#🪼 creations #devodeusec #devodeusec attraction #alteraffectis #attraction types #liom #mogai #category: attractions #requested

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neopronouns · 3 months

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flag id: two flags with 7 stripes. the left flag's stripes are faded turquoise, pale green, cream, white, pale pink, light purple, and faded indigo. the right flag's stripes are soft red-orange, light orange, cream, white, pale sky blue, teal, and faded blue. end id.

banner id: a 1600x200 teal banner with the words ‘please read my dni before interacting. those on my / dni may still use my terms, so do not recoin them.’ in large white text in the center. the text takes up two lines, split at the slash. end id.

genderfaerec | genderfaunec

genderfaerec: a form of genderfluidity in which one is fluid between genders that are not fully male and is rarely any feminine genders

genderfaunec: a form of genderfluidity in which one is fluid between genders that are not fully female and is rarely any masculine genders

[pt: genderfaerec: a form of genderfluidity in which one is fluid between genders that are not fully male and is rarely any feminine genders

genderfaunec: a form of genderfluidity in which one is fluid between genders that are not fully female and is rarely any masculine genders. end pt]

anon asked for the first term and i figured i'd coin the second!

the flags are based on the genderfaer and genderfaunet flags with the colors i associate with femininity/masculinity desaturated or removed. the terms just add an 'ec' at the end — that addition has no meaning, it just sounded kind of nice when added to each original term.

tags: @radiomogai, @liom-archive, @fem-mogai, @narcette, @genderstarbucks, @sugar-and-vice-mogai | dni link

#genderfaerec #genderfaunec #genderfluid fragment system #genderfluid #idingender #idin #my flags #my terms #new flag #new term #mogai flag #mogai term #mogai

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fractalflare · 7 months

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714 LOTTE JANSSON ICONS / LITTLE WITCH ACADEMIA

TOU – Icons are free to use, free to edit, with or without credit, likes and reblogs are encouraged. Please don’t re-upload or claim as your own. Please let me know about any broken links — DOWNLOAD

#lotte jansson #lotte yansson #little witch academia #lwa #little witch academia icons #lwa icons #anime icons #roleplay icons #base icons #rp icons #h. orange yellow #ec. teal #g. female #misc. glasses

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thenon-fictiondays · 9 months

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Hirano to Kagiura light novel translation 4-4

Chapter 4: Fall.

Part 4

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At long last, tomorrow is the day of the cultural festival.

He’d thought they’d definitely stay late after school to prepare on the eve of the festival, but by rule of the student council, everyone had gone home at the same time today.

It can be said that this policy, which makes no allowances for the classes that were unable to finish their preparations in the time allotted, is typical of a school that values autonomy.

Even the culture clubs’ practices are restricted, and extracurricular activities are also entirely forbidden.

Thanks to that, Kagiura has been on pins and needles. Even though he’d tried to study in his room to suppress his flighty nerves, he can’t make himself focus on English vocabulary at all. Numerical formulas are somehow even more impossible.

Such being the case, he has since been reading a basketball magazine he subscribes to.

“Hey, you like cookies?”

At the sound of Hirano’s voice, Kagiura’s head snaps up.

“Yeah, I like ‘em!”

“Cool. I’ve got some left over that we made in home ec today; you want one?”

As he passes over a cookie, he adds, “I forgot all about them.”

Kagiura would’ve thought it’d just be the round type, but it’s the type of cookie with two colors so you can break it into pieces cleanly. It’s amazing. It looks especially good.

“Sure, I’ll take it!”

Male students’ homemade sweets are even more of a rarity than their homemade cooking.

Kagiura had made drop candy in his elementary school cooking class, which was his one and only experience in the subject.

“It’s all yours. There was one that Sasaki made, that he made look like a cat’s face, kind of like a tuxedo cat? It was super fancy. Should’ve taken a picture.”

“Did you make this one?”

“Yeah. We used the same dough, though.”

“I think yours is beautiful.”

“Huh? …Oh, haha, thanks. I kinda feel like you’re saying that to make me feel better, but I wasn’t trying to fish for compliments.”

“...Can I eat it now?”

It’ll be dinnertime soon.

“Ah…well, it’ll be our little secret. I’ll eat some, too.”

To Kagiura’s surprise, he puts a finger to his lips in the universal shh gesture.

Gguhh, Kagiura chokes on the cookie he’s already put in his mouth.

“What’s wrong?!”

From hanging out together for half a year, he should know that Hirano’s a soft person by nature, but he still can’t get over it.

“Th- the cookie got into my organs…”

“The fuck?!”

He likes him…maybe.

It shouldn’t leave the realm of maybe yet.

“Th- they were so tasty I kinda ate them too fast…”

Hirano bursts out laughing at his attempt to save face.

This guy laughs so much!

“Hahaha…Gotcha, I’m glad then, ahahaha.”

“Jeez, it’s not that funny!”

He covers his face with the open magazine, protesting that he’s already embarrassed enough, but Hirano’s still laughing as he apologizes.

“Damn. You know, if I ever get married, I hope I find someone who wears their heart on their sleeve like you do.”

At that moment, it’s as if time has stopped.

“.......?!”

Kagiura freezes, the basketball magazine falling from his hands.

“Oh, it’s dinnertime. Let’s go.”

Does he not realize what he just said?

No respect for the fact that he’s just taken Kagiura out in one hit.

Still in shock, Kagiura heads out for dinner slightly behind.

*****

On the long-awaited festival day, the skies are so clear it’s almost too hot.

Inside, the school is teeming with people.

As one would expect of the one day when even current students are allowed to wear casual clothes, there’s color everywhere you look.

Kagiura is wearing the original T-shirt his class had ordered.

The orange uniform, printed with the word “yakitori” and a drawing of meat skewers, stands out quite a bit for its simplicity.

Even as he’d listened to his classmates complain that they didn’t know what kind of casual clothes to wear at school, Kagiura had just figured “it’s hot, so a t-shirt is the only way to go”. But on the day of, he sort of understands how they feel.

The school where they spend all their time in uniforms is suddenly awash with all sorts of outfits. Just this fact is enough to make the vibe a little jittery, like they’re cutting loose.

Even Kagiura, who’s used to wearing casual clothes in the dorms, feels that way, so the students who commute from home probably feel even more out of place.

This time last year, Kagiura, whose choices of cram schools hadn’t been few, had not yet decided his future plans. As a result, he didn’t come to last year’s cultural festival, although it had been a perfect day to visit the school.

Everything he’s seeing is new to him, and although he’s been watching it all come together, each new wonder just deepens his excitement.

And of course, all of the food looks delicious.

Before noon, when he goes to visit Hirano’s class, cultural festival pamphlet in hand, Hirano soon appears, dressed in his favorite white T-shirt.

He lets Kagiura decide their itinerary, since “it’s my second year at this”.

They walk past someone holding up a sign that reads “Cheesy yakisoba in the courtyard!!”

He may be a rival in the Courtyard Stall battle, but Kagiura plans to go buy from them later.

The line for the yakitori stand is quite long; it’s grown from the time Kagiura was managing the stall in the morning.

After they get through the line and are handed a cup of yakitori, Kagiura takes them here and there, tugging at Hirano’s arm.

*****

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✨ANNOUNCEMENT✨

As I've been winding down work on the novel, seeing all yalls comments and support made me super emotional, and I wanted to do something to show my thanks. So I've decided to host a lil giveaway for everyone who's been following along with these updates and sharing your thoughts and reactions with me! I'll make a separate post with more details but I wanted to talk about it on one of the updates since I figured a separate post would just get buried lmao

And as always a very heartfelt thank you to my reading list members @jeizet, @jujupanic, @massyworld, @umbreonwolfy, @acidsuzanne-blog, @neoday, @lary-the-lizard, @tsmginc much love as always ✨

#real not clickbait #:')#i rlly tl'd like 4 different scenes that ended up appearing in the short film #i coulda just waited and saved myself the trouble lmao #o well #hirano to kagiura #hirano and kagiura #hirano to kagiura ln #hirano to kagiura translation #kagihira #sasaki to miyano #harusono shou #kagiura akira #hirano taiga

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