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catcze · 6 months

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Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

“Stop moving your fucking head,” you growl. Wriothesley sits on a bench, black compression shirt drenched in sweat after his spar in the fighting ring. There’s a cut on his head, just underneath his hairline, that you dab at with some antiseptic and a cotton pad.

You still think that he should have called Sigewinne, just in case, but he was adamant that she didn’t need to bother over ‘something as small as this.’ Granted, he wasn’t hurt too bad— it was just the aftermath of a small accident between him and his opponent in the ring, after all. No broken bones or the like, just some bruises and scuffs. You were just worried over him.

“I’m fine, you know,” he tries to tell you again, trying to duck away from the cotton pad to look you in the eye. You scowl again, grabbing him with a hand on his collarbones, dangerously close to the base of his neck. Wriothesley immediately stills, and you resume.

“I know.” You keep dabbing until the last of the blood is gone, and there’s just the cut left. It’s not even that deep. You doubt it’ll even scar. “Just… just let me worry for you for a little bit, would you?”

He swallows. You can almost feel the movement of it against your hand. You know of his history— of how he’s barely had anyone give a shit about him his entire life. You wonder if he’s ever had anyone patch him up or worry about him like this.

You think of a much younger, much more baby-faced Wriothesley having to bandage his own bloodied knuckles in some dark corner of the fortress of Meropide, and your heart aches.

“Okay,” your Wriothesley finally says, voice quiet. He stares at you in a way that you cannot decipher. In a way that is softer than you’ve ever seen him look at anything before.

Your hand transfers to his shoulder, and one of his own comes to hold it in place. You press a kiss to his nose, then either of his cheeks, then end it sweetly on his lips.

The kiss doesn’t drag on very long— it’s quick and chaste, little more than a peck on the lips. But Wriothesley still smiles at you when you part.

“You sure you’re fine?” You ask, hand cupping his cheek. He leans into your touch the way a cat would lean into the sunlight.

“I’m fine,” he murmurs. Turns his head. Presses a kiss to your palm, locking eyes with you the entire time.

“Okay.” You’re breathless, never breaking eye contact with him. “Okay, that’s good.”

You feel his smile against your skin, then. Tender and sweet. His arm wraps around your waist, drawing you near. His voice is almost a whisper when he speaks again. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“For patching you up?”

“For caring, baby.”

[ #Taglist registration here !! ]

#astronetwrk #「 🐈‍⬛ 」 catcze.desserts #wriothesley x reader #genshin impact x reader #cw gn reader #wriothesley #genshin impact #fun fact i wrote this as like some shitty little drabble under one of those like character playlist video things on yt #and then i ended up going too hard on it so i was like #yk i should post this on my blog too HAHHAHA

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baenuit · 3 months

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short bios ⠀·⠀simple ver.

𝖿𝗈𝗅𝗁𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗁𝗈𝗌 ハ 𝓔. 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗃𝗈𝗌

𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖿𝗎𝗆𝖾ㅤ ㅤ ︵ ㅤ ㅤ𝖽𝖺 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗂𝖺

𝖻𝗎𝗊𝗎𝖾̂ 𝖽𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗌 ❁̸ 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗋𝗂𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗁𝖺𝗌.

𝗉𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗌 𝗋𝗎𝖺𝗌 ﹙ ✿︎✿︎ ﹚ 𝖠 𝖬 𝖮 𝖱

日食 𝗆𝖾𝗎 𝗈𝗅𝗁𝖺𝗋 .. 𝗍𝖾𝗎 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗈

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anglerflsh · 6 months

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get Apollo'd idiot @sheerunfilteredhubris

#[.art]#^ if the didascalia is unclear this is meant to be a portrait of sorts. Of my friend. Technically of the greek god too but same thing #Juno #<- goes in my tags soley in this way I don't have a clue of what else to put on here #with added closeups! This took me one afternoon and some. I think about four hours in total if I add up all the last-minute editing #it was going to have a more complex background but it ruined the constrast and the shapes got lost in it so I had to scrap that #alas I don't think this will work as a way to achieve endless youth but we can't /all/ turn art into devil deals #no I'm not going to stop making that joke. I think it's hilarious.#also my soundtrack for this was the Hozier youtube automated playlist. we are not escaping with our lives I fear /j #is it neoclassical or more baroque? The main inspiration was the first but the harsher contrast reminds me of the second #ah well. You can tell me that. I can't analyse my own art #my art #greek mythology #classical mythology #painting #apollo #<- i'm putting these tags back here so it doesn't show up in the search it's just for my blog organisation

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libertynstyle · 6 months

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nerdangels · 1 year

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Rot by dbmk. That's it, that's the post

#i love this song it makes me so insane i love it so much #i need to see them live again!!!! aahh!!!!!!!#dbmk #playlist blogging #music tag #jaime posts

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ndostairlyrium · 1 year

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I’ve been dreaming of this pose since last sunday

#dragon age #dragon age 2 #fenris #hawke #fenhawke #kerry #ndo sta l'art tag #my playlist while drawing this was like #I should be so lucky - easy lady - boys boys boys #aka those kind of super catchy energetic songs from the 80s that you can't get rid of unless you hit your head purposefully #also these two omg I never give them enough room in this blog #go! be free my little chickens #until the legit rulers of boredom come back #ur a free range fenhawke now go peck the ground or whatever

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annoyingvoidzombie · 9 months

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What Henry's sees: A very sharp jawline and it's all his for the taking

What Alex sees: he and can't help himself but adore this goof, this is also part of the NDA, the emoji

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theoldkyokodied · 2 months

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And here it is, my macdennis brainworms compressed into a playlist, for anyone who wants to ingest them <3

#should have been 12 hours of boyfriend hits you with frying pan asmr instead tbh. or car explosion sfx #would have conveyed my thoughts and feelings just as well #anyway sorry for putting this in the tag. this is for sorting on my blog purposes :::#macdennis #iasip #do you hear that noise? are the cats....?? no...they can't be. In the wall of all places?? jesus christ....#playlist #Spotify #if you saw this post like two times I'm so sorry my phone didn't wanna post so i did it on my pc and now my phone is like. i uploaded! WHAT #DO YOU MEAN YOU UPLOADED IT NOW WHAT

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fuumiku · 5 months

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They’re really interesting foils in many ways. I’ve always thought that Marcille & Mithrun have underrated dynamic potential. Give me the cringefail dungeon lords. Give me the elves with ears-centric metaphorical self-image issues. Give me the academic elites whose deepest strongest desires will always remain unreachable and the only option is to turn to the corrupt forbidden fruit of a demon pact. I am so so normal about Mithrun and Marcille

I wonder if the resemblance between captain Mithrun and general Hagreus aka Marcille’s fave in Dalclan is intentional… They definitely look very alike. It could represent idealization vs reality? Something something the romanticization of elves and their societal drama in their fiction vs a very real and imperfect product of their military system. The canaries certainly aren’t glamorous next to whatever Hagreus is the general of. I feel like she never had the opportunity to notice the resemblance herself bc within seconds of meeting him he was wrestling her on the ground but. If she had… She would so think he should have been his actor in the tallman stage play of Daltian Clan in that new extra comic hehe. I love the little details like Hagreus’ lips being drawn with extra details because they’re full and pretty while Mithrun’s lips are drawn with extra details because they’re chapped lmao.

This art is all silly and surface level but in my head mithrille is like so dramatic and I make up daltian clan level big plots with them gbdgd. I made a spotify playlist for mithrun if y’all interested, rn it’s mostly centered around cravings that consume and losing yourself and illusions inspired from his time as dungeon lord but it’s branching out. Varied vibes, levels of intensity and degrees of confusion and await you ✨ I would emotionally rant about Chainsaw Man ost lyrics and how they tie in with Mithrun and the winged lion’s relationship but this post is already a monster

I want more of these two please please please pleaseee just one or two interactions in the new canon content coming up… All they ever did was debate philosophy on desires and human self-fulfillment and try to murder each other, please… I never get to gush about them and I can’t shut up so if you want more thoughts I talk about them more below

To get a girl to peacefully accept arrest follow these simple steps: in private, ominously stand above her and forcefully interrogate her, while in public, tell her you’ve met before (untrue and also not a pickup line, you’re just face blind) and interrogate her with a thin veneer of decorum. If all else fails, threaten and follow through on said threat. My guy needs more than just physical therapy I’m afraid

Sorry if most of these were Marcille-centric with Mithrun standing there looking cool, if I were doing these more from Mithrun’s pov things would be like "She’s a bit much but I guess I don’t mind hanging around her." or "Oh you’re a half-elf? -insert elven supremacist rethoric-" or "I have to keep her from becoming demon stew." immediately followed by "Did someone say demon? Kill kill kill kill kill" since these are set prior to like really knowing another. Then things would be more like "huh she has bad tastes in novels but her magic research is pretty interesting" and "I’m lonely and don’t understand myself— Oh she loves talking about feelings? Oh shi-" That last one is an aspect of why I like Marcille and Mithrun’s potential dynamic lol. She’s very… Emotionally intelligent alongside being impulsive. You think you have no feelings because the world has beaten them out of you? Think again!! Marcille be upon ye! -In a therapy sort of way but mostly in a connecting with people and your own self through interpersonal relationships and talking kinda way. I just think a lively, upbeat, annoying friend way too interested in your personal life would do him good, the canaries are nice but like if Marcille went to prison and was a sort of extra new bunkmate I think that’d be interesting and fun to read is what I’m saying

Unlike Kabru she wants all the useless messy filler of his backstory, eating chips while listening. Like two chibi sets side by side, "me and my fellow canaries, name name and name-" "Hold on we don’t need to know that." Vs "Then we were to sleep on the third floor of the dungeon, which had the look of a mausoleum, and name and name got into a fight over the campfire placement." while Marcille is like uh-huh what next what next while kicking her feet. She thinks of pre-dungeon pompous Mithrun and is like omg you went through a character arc and become better as a person- and then he opens his mouth and she’s like nevermind let’s keep working on that. She would also go "ew ur hair is greasy" and give him a full hair care treatment. What I’m saying is I need them to be forced to spend time in a dungeon together and become besties through a life or death roadtrip

Marcille is insecure about her ears, long, like an elf’s pride should be, but rounder, inelegant. Seeing Mithrun though, the epitome of beauty, with his half-cut ears make it a sillier thought. Not sure if Mithrun is the best person to reconnect with ur elven culture with but it sure is an option Marcille would so appreciate being around someone both cool headed and kind, I genuinely think they’d get along, like not that Senshi isn’t that too most of the time but I think Mithrun would be in a way that’s more refreshing to her. I’d be so curious about them discussing Dalclan, I doubt he’d have read it but she could make him read it, maybe post-canon with the excuse that they’re trying to find him a new hobby hah. He’d tear into the writing and everything but it’d be a fun time, I like to think that it’d make him a bit less prejudiced. Marcille @ Mithrun "👉👈 Soo maybe you don’t know these books they’re pretty recent having come out 50 years ago but…"

I’ve been in a Mithrun phase I want to make and read Mithrun-centric fics and angst so baaad. I razz him a lot here but he’s literally a traumatized military man that became obsessed with revenge due to bad coping and neglects himself in the process idk not much for him going on and some of it is because he has to work on himself, but hey no one’s perfect it all comes from a place of love and relating though I prommy. He’s the one ungodly angsty squeaky toy blorbo with brain damage rep I have don’t take him from me

#Dungeon meshi #mithrun #marcille donato #I feel like i haven’t drawn in so long i’m so rusty #Mithrille #Mithrun x marcille #Marcille x mithrun #I finally did smth for these 2 yippee #Dust and dog hairs manage to get on my drawings while i take pics it drives me mad i can’t do this anymore sorry if you see any #Continuation of my Marcille: “LET ME LOVE YOU!!” saga #Sorry marcille i hate drawing your sleeves #There are a couple things I’m not satisfied with and might redraw at one point but i need to stop and get stuff done #Marcille has 5 cm of height on mithrun according to the adventurers bible neat #Spoilers #dungeon meshi manga spoilers #I’ll move those last two tags up when I get to my computer #Character playlist #I made a more formal mithrille post on another blog explaining what potential i saw in them just search in the ship tag if you’re intereste

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micamicster · 1 month

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Super Rich Kids

Close my eyes and feel the crash...

I wrote this one on post-its on a trans-continental flight after my phone (where i was re-reading the raven cycle) died. 0/10 plane experience would not recommend but I did manage to entertain myself! And now hopefully you as well!

When Ronan pulled into Monmouth Manufacturing he knew Gansey wouldn’t be there. Adam Parrish was, though, sitting on the steps in the golden afternoon light, bike dumped to the side in dying grass. He didn’t so much as flicker an eyelid when Ronan bootlegged the BMW into an approximation of parking on the far side of the lot, which was fine because that’s how he would have parked the car anyway, whether or not Adam was here.

Ronan was pretty sure that Gansey had arranged a shift system with the other boys, to prevent Ronan from being unaccompanied on the rare occasions of his own absence. The idea of a babysitter should have rankled Ronan, but Adam did not seem particularly invested in his role. Small favors.

As he got out of the car he gave Adam his customary once-over, as brief as it was habitual. You could notice a lot in a single glance, if you were Ronan, glancing at Adam.

Adam was wearing long sleeves (his father? Or just because it was October?) and his faded camo pants, the ones Ronan said made him look like a jingoistic meathead. They had recently acquired a tear in one knee. Not in the stylish, deliberate manner in which Ronan’s own jeans were shredded, but awkwardly, in an L-shape, where they had caught on some jagged edge and given way before even careful Adam had noticed and unhooked himself. The tear gaped open at times, like it was doing now, revealing Adam’s knobby left knee and, worse, a triangle of his brown thigh.

Ronan looked away.

Ronan never allowed himself, even in dreams, to trespass beyond the carefully demarcated boundaries of Adam’s clothes. And Adam was usually helpful in the maintenance of this boundary. Unlike Gansey, who could be found working on his model Henrietta in boxers at all hours of the night, or wandering to and from the shower in a towel, absent-mindedly forgetting his clothes in bathroom or bedroom. Unlike the boys Ronan played tennis with, who stripped down casually in the locker room after practice. Unlike even Ronan himself, who’d never met a shirt he couldn’t rip the sleeves off; Adam was always fully covered.

This summer, foolishly, Ronan had imagined that this might change. Now that the hideous secrets Adam protected with his long sleeves were no longer his alone. But by now he knew what kept those sleeves in place, something that Adam had already understood: that knowing and seeing are two very different things.

For example: this. Ronan knew that Adam, like most people who walked around on earth under their own power, possessed thighs. Two of them, attached in the normal way to other body parts, such as knees and hips. To know this was one thing.

Now that he’d seen it, he couldn’t stop seeing it. The way his knee bent, and the muscle above shifted as Adam made room on the steps for him. Ronan was looking away, out at the familiar, grounding, skid marks on the concrete of Monmouth’s lot, but he could picture in their place with deadly accuracy the hinge of Adam’s knee, the tanned skin of his thigh, scattered with golden-brown hair. He could dream about pressing his face against it.

He picked up a rock and hurled it. It glanced off the side of the soulless suburban and fell anticlimactically into the grass dying by the rear tire. It didn’t help.

Adam shifted next to him, subtly.

“What?” said Ronan. “Impressed?”

“Surprised, more like. I thought you were supposed to be the tennis star.”

“You think you can do better?” Ronan pried another hunk of gravel or concrete out of the dirt and tossed it in his left hand, tauntingly.

“I know I can.”

“But?”

“But,” said Adam, with some hint of exasperation coloring his voice, “I’m not going to sit here chunking rocks at Gansey’s car to prove it. My ego’s not that fragile.” His accent slipped out on chunkin’, not as if Ronan had pissed him off enough to forget to hide it, but as if it was a word he’d never used any other way.

Ronan threw his rock again. This was, if anything, a worse throw than before, and it skittered harmlessly across the suburban’s roof.

Adam made a small but contemptuous noise.

“Don’t give me that shit, man. You know he hates this fucking car.”

“That was for your shitty aim.”

“Come on then.” Ronan hefted another piece of gravel. “Ten points if you knock out his taillight.”

“It costs a hundred and five dollars to replace a taillight on that make and model. Plus tax.”

Ronan’s brief cheer was collapsing again. “I’ll pay you a hundred bucks to bust Dick’s lights.”

Adam blinked slowly, his dusty eyelashes obscuring the contempt in his eyes for a brief moment. “I’ll leave.” (He wouldn’t).

Ronan dropped the rock. Next to him Adam sighed. Abruptly, he put out his hand. “Telephone pole. Six feet from the top.”

Ronan swept back up the rock and dropped it into his hand. Their fingers did not touch. His heart thudded.

Adam tossed the rock once, testing its weight while his gaze, cool and assessing, remained on the telephone pole. It was a splintered, tilting thing, shamed by his attentions. In one smooth, economical movement, he rose to his feet and let the rock fly. His leg went forward, knee jutting out of his clothes, his back curved, and his arm swept around in an arc, fingers scraping at the blue October sky. Ronan didn’t need to turn his head to know if the rock hit—he could see it in the brief hard satisfaction on Adam’s face.

Adam turned back to him, one eyebrow cocked.

“You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to earn that hundred,”

Adam shrugged. The gesture was disinterested, but there was a quirk to his mouth that contradicted it. “I know nothing blew up, but…”

Ronan already had another rock in his hand. “West corner lightbulb. It breaks or it doesn’t count.” Adam rolled his eyes, but turned agreeably to watch Ronan miss.

“Would you like to get your tennis racket?”

“Eat me,” said Ronan. (Maybe).

They traded shots back and forth for a while, calling increasingly specific and complex plays.

“Bullshit. Bullshit.”

“Get the government to pay for some glasses, Parrish, and then come back and try to tell me that wasn’t a fucking bullseye—”

“It wasn’t even close! You—”

“You calling me a liar?” Ronan loomed, and Adam, as usual, was unimpressed.

“Just because you don’t lie doesn’t make you right all the time! Like when you said that quote on Tuesday was Seneca. It doesn’t stop being Martial just because you’ve got a child’s sense of morality—”

“See, right there.” Ronan pointed triumphantly at an invisible scuff mark on the doorsill, marking where his handful of gravel had made impact.

Adam gave it a skeptical glance. His face was faintly flushed from exertion in the cold air, but his eyes were as cool and considering as ever. “What we need,” he said, “is a knife.”

Ronan was not allowed knives.

“Are you trying to stab each other in the feet? Why are your shoes off! It’s October!”

“Equal playing field.” Ronan wiggled his toes against the cold asphalt. “Parrish’s shitty knife is no match for my boots.” Over Gansey’s head, Ronan tried to catch Adam’s eye, to share a ‘can you believe him’ sort of look. Adam’s embarrassment over being caught acting irresponsibly meant Ronan could expect the look to be rebuffed, but he couldn’t help himself from trying it anyway.

Adam was bent over, eyes hidden. He carefully dusted off his socked feet one at a time before sliding them back into his shoes, as though the socks or sneakers could look any worse. A little parking lot crud might improve their appearance, actually.

Next to him, Gansey was still fussing. Without the pressure release valve of eye contact with someone who knew Gansey was overreacting, Ronan snapped, “Come off it, man, I’m not going to slit my throat while Parrish watches. He can’t afford that caliber of snuff film.”

Gansey’s concern transformed into revulsion, but underneath it he looked hurt, which was far far worse.

Adam straightened up. “We were just using it to mark where we hit. Honestly, we could have done it tossing a sharpie, but neither of us had one.” He sounded conciliatory, which pissed Ronan off. But Gansey was letting it go, returning the knife to Adam with an apologetic smile. Sorry for the fuss. Sorry for Ronan. Ronan’s bare feet were cold against the asphalt.

“Well? Are you going to throw or not, Parrish?” he said belligerently.

Adam rolled his eyes, but obligingly stooped for gravel and let one fly at Ronan’s open bedroom window, a shot he made easily.

Gansey whistled. “You’ve got quite the arm on you. How come you’re not on the Algionby baseball team?”

Adam shifted his feet, awkwardly.

“Please,” scoffed Ronan, “he’s not a team player.”

Gansey did not let it go. “Bet you’d have a better fastball than both our pitchers.”

There was a pause, during which Adam’s face clearly showed all of the thoughts he was trying to corral into a polite response to Gansey’s unconsidered enthusiasm. Ronan got there first. “Yeah, Parrish, why not hitch your wagon to the star of organized sports, like every other rags to riches wannabe?”

“Ronan!” said Gansey, Ronan’s offensiveness registering where his own had not.

“Hitch my wagon to a star?” Adam was unruffled. “I thought quoting Transcendentalists could get you excommunicated.”

“Who said I know it’s Emerson. It’s a sourceless idiom to those of us who aren’t sad little nerds.”

Adam smirked. The smirk said, I never said Emerson. His words said, “Gansey’s damning me with faint praise. No one’s going pro out of an Algionby sport team. Even tennis.”

“Ouch,” said Ronan, cheerfully. “Hit me where it really hurts. My school pride.”

Now that Gansey had arrived, his plans for the day took precedence over noble pastimes such as flipping pocketknives at each other’s feet. His plans involved comparing readings from various instruments and then placing said various instruments in various new locations, all of which were equally arbitrary (to Ronan’s eyes) and inaccessible. Gansey’s plans involved him waiting by the car to monitor the readings while people hiked with antennae to the outermost reaches of the signal. People, in this instance, being Ronan and Adam, Noah having mysteriously and silently fucked off, as he so often did when a job required carrying anything.

Ronan put his head down and trudged. It was brambly here, and slightly damp, and he was beginning to work up the kind of counter-intuitive sweat that appears from working in the cold, the kind that makes you colder later.

As the person leading the hike, custom would dictate that he should catch and hold the long clinging arms of the brambles for the following hiker. This presented a dilemma. Ronan compromised, and set about stomping the multiflora into the ground as he walked. Scarlet hips burst under his feet, invasive and beautiful, spreading their millions of seeds across the damp earth. Noxious weeds.

“It’s too unreliable,” said Adam, into the silence. “Sports. It all depends on… your physical condition.”

“And your condition is shit.”

There was Adam’s ironic smile. “Yes. So.” He shrugged. There was the part they weren’t saying, which was that his physical condition could always get worse. Unexpectedly.

“My dad hates baseball.” Ronan heard himself make the slip—hates and not hated—and a spark of fury burned through him, brief and inconsequential.

“My dad loves it.”

They marched on in silence.

Adam swore as a bramble Ronan had beaten down sprang up again, catching him right across the tear, where his skin was exposed. He bent to unhook it from the camo with deft, deliberate hands. “What?” he said, like he could feel Ronan’s eyes.

Ronan looked away. “Why not the military?” He kicked purposelessly at the bramble and heard Adam sigh. “And don’t tell me you never thought about it. Test scores like yours out in hicksville high school, you must have had recruiters hopping all over you like fleas.”

“Would you believe I had a moral objection?” Adam’s smile was self-deprecating. Ronan studied it.

“No.”

Adam shrugged. It, too, was self-deprecating.

“I think you had a superiority objection. You think you’re too smart for that shit.”

Adam blinked at him. “Do you think I’m wrong?”

Ronan snorted. “Hell no. You can do better than getting blown up in a desert for the United States government.”

The smile, when it came, was small and stunning. “Damned by faint praise again.”

#lmao with this and the country playlists this blog has been on a real raven boys kick the last few days #anyway... enjoy?#i need to make a tag for my writing like... generally but until then #super rich kids #this really isn't about anything and had nothing else attached to it #it was just a random scene that stood alone so like...#probably the best thing for me to start out this 'posting unfinished stuff' project #i feel like gansey does not appear at his best in this fic but that's not a reflection of how much i love him!#he's trying his best to keep this family together! and the other 15 year olds are no help at all!#ronan lynch #adam parrish #the raven cycle #pynch #tw suicide mention

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