#(UNFORMED)

[ermasdoodles]

[tvlandofficiall]

was about to type the sentence "the knight instating rouxls as the boss of card kingdom 2" before i realized. kaard kingdom. oh my god what if i named my ch6 dark world concept. (well. one of many.) kaard kingdom.

[crguang]

this jane doe thing wouldn’t leave my mind so here it is

when making out with jane in a dark alley at midnight is a regular occurrence but that’s the only time you ever see her because she refuses to cross the imaginary line she’s drawn that would put the both of you in deep, deep trouble

\\

“What’s a pretty one like you doing out here at such a late hour?”

Jane presses you up against the wall with a playful smirk and effortlessly corners you to the dark, cramped space of the narrow alley near Random Play, the video store where you usually can be seen wandering around after sunset. She takes up all the room in your personal bubble with her chest flushed to yours and her nimble fingers firmly gripping your wrist, pinned to the rough brick wall like the rest of you. Her tail teasingly slithers up your torso, brushes over your collarbones then wraps around your other wrist to completely incapacitate you. You’re at her mercy, a prey caught in the palms of deft hands, and she is everywhere; caging you in, her presence is anything but as oppressive as it should be because those clear blue eyes are taking you in with obvious delight, quickly flitting over your facial features before settling on your parted lips, the remnants of your surprise.

It’s just a little over midnight, the streetlights don’t fully reach the place you both find yourselves in and so you can only see some parts of Jane’s body pressed close to you. The darkness does nothing to dim the life in her eyes, however. They glimmer with satisfaction at the compromising position you both find yourselves in and your total lack of struggle against your restraints.

“Clearing my mind with a walk,” you easily answer her previous question with a half-truth that she catches on immediately, if her widening smirk is anything to go by.

Two manicured fingers tilt your chin upward to meet her gaze. With her platform boots on, she towers slightly over you and doesn’t shy away from using her height as a weapon to corner you into submission. Jane doesn’t do things directly, never really tells you what to do, she simply takes away all of your options until the only one left is what benefits her most.

“Oh, really?” She plays along with your white lie and lightly drags a sharp nail across the underside of your chin. “There must be quite a lot in that cute head of yours to wander the streets at midnight.”

You smile. “Just you.”

The corners of Jane’s eyes crinkle with pleasure at your blatant flirting.

“Besides,” you continue, “this neighborhood’s pretty safe.”

“You sure?” Jane moves even closer to you, her warm breath just barely grazing the skin of your cheek. Some strands of dark hair caress your face as she leans in until her painted lips brush your earlobe with every spoken syllable, and her voice lowers to a sultry, confident purr. “After all… I’m right here. And I happen to have caught a helpless little bird.”

Her tail suddenly tightens around your wrist while the tip leisurely traces the life line of your palm. An air of cold danger laces her otherwise vague words, you feel the hairs on the back of your neck rise in response. Her tongue swiftly wets her upper lip. You’re brusquely reminded of all that you don’t know about her, the missing puzzle pieces that could complete your portrait of Jane Doe— this enticing mirage who disperses into the wind when approached too closely. But for all her mysteries, the woman before you is made up of little quirks and preferences unique only to her, and those are enough for your desire to know more to simmer hotly in the pits of your belly.

“You wouldn’t hurt me, would you, Jane?”

You both know that’s a question you can answer yourself. Jane’s airy laughter tickles your ear. She leans back to look at you, purposely grazing your cheek in a feather-light kiss as she does.

“And risk ruining this pretty face? C’mon, I would never.” Her forefinger runs down the column of your neck, its nail against your throat, and it stops above your hammering pulse. “Don’t believe me? Your heart’s racing… I can smell it on you, you know.”

As if to illustrate her point, her head dips to the crook of your neck and her nose presses close to your skin. Your breath hitches, your head tilting to the side almost unconsciously to give her better access to your body. Jane makes a show of inhaling long and slow, filling her lungs with the scent of you, then she releases it all in a warm exhalation over your pulse point. Your stomach clenches pleasantly at the sensation.

“Oh, maybe I’m mistaken,” the tip of her nose slowly travels to the junction between your shoulder and neck, each word spoken directly into your skin, “it’s not fear, but something much more intoxicating…”

She inhales a second time, quieter, and breathes out in a manner she means composed but that is underlined with the one trait she refuses to show you.

“And what’s that?”

In an instant too quick to compute, Jane’s lips are brushing yours with her next reply and the blazing heat of her stare fans the desire within your veins. “Something you probably shouldn’t feel for someone like me.”

“Why not?”

You think there’s a hint of something wry and cloudy in the sky of her eyes, past the playfulness and self-assurance. “Might not end well for you.”

“Already thinking about the end? I thought we were having fun.”

“Everything’s fun until you get cut.”

A warning that you readily ignore. You lean impossibly closer, sharing her breath for a suspended moment, and capture her parted lips in a gentle kiss. It’s soft and chaste, lasts only a second, and you’re pulling away before she can reciprocate.

“I don’t mind playing with knives,” you murmur into her mouth.

“…Foolish,” Jane smiles. Her tongue darts out to swipe over your bottom lip to the corner of your mouth, putting a name to the sweetness she briefly caught a taste of in your kiss. “You shouldn’t eat chocolate so late at night. It’s bad for your teeth.”

You let her change the subject, pretending to buy her deflection. “Says the one whose entire diet consists of instant noodles and energy bars.”

“Heh, touché. I never claimed to be an example to follow.”

“I’ll follow you anyway.”

The charged words leave you automatically but you stand your ground, unblinking. Jane’s reaction comes a few seconds too late for it to be fully genuine; her pupils constrict in a flash, her smile briefly wavers at the left corner, and her tail grips you tighter for just a second— then her eyelids droop flirtatiously and she’s chuckling in amusement, her free hand cupping your cheek. She strokes it using her thumb, right over the dark eye bags etched on your skin.

“Are you trying to get into my pants? Right here in this dark, cramped alleyway? How naughty~”

If she notices your dampening enthusiasm, she says nothing. It’s hidden behind your irises, a light flickering shut like something she can’t take back, and she feels some genuine part of you slipping through her fingers. It’s too bad, it’s what she likes most about you. And if that does anything to her, she doesn’t show it. Jane clings onto what is left, this game of knowing cat and willing mouse you’ve been playing for months now, and does what she’s good at: meaningless seduction.

“Careful what you wish for, pretty bird…” she mutters, “I just might give you what you want.”

She steals your next reply with a firm, insistent kiss. Her lips meld with yours and she swallows the muffled sound of surprise that escapes you, her body now completely flush to yours. You’re trapped between her soft form and rough brick, her callused fingers over your pulse, her tail absentmindedly caressing the skin of your wrist and the lines of your palm. The tip traces the short bones of your fingers, one by one, while Jane kisses your lips as if they hold answers she’s afraid to hear but long to anyway. Her fingertips tentatively slide upward, over your palm and between your own until your fingers are laced together against the wall. She exhales into your mouth and her breath is yours, it sits on your lungs like something precious before you give it back to her just as readily. Her tongue runs across the seam of your lips then eagerly pushes past them to swirl around yours. You chase the invading muscle for some time, neither of you caring for the telltale sounds of locked lips the breeze carries into the deserted alley. Heat rushes to your chest and spreads to your guts in such a pleasant, familiar way you can’t help the faint moan that tumbles from your mouth directly into hers.

“Already… mmh… making those cute sounds for me?”

Jane means to tease but can barely pull away from you long enough to utter this sentence. You can’t respond even if you wanted to, she’s unrelenting in her assault and fills each of your senses with her presence. She’s impossible to ignore and would be even more difficult to escape were you not exactly where you want to be.

“Mnh, ah,” you pant hotly between kisses, “relax… m’not going anywhere…”

“Oh, I’m not worried about that.”

You barely contain a squeak when her strong hands lift you up by the thighs and hold you pinned to the wall, her grip tight. Your legs close around her waist and you’re finally free to link your arms around her neck to bring her infinitely closer. Jane tilts her chin and parts her lips wider, capturing your lips once more. Her kisses are deep and urgent like she’s running out of time or indulging in a treat she rarely gets to taste. Her tail brushes your shoulder, your cheek, your nape; it never strays far from you. You roll your hips, seeking relief from the growing throb between your thighs, and Jane smirks against your mouth.

“Need something?” Her kisses move to your jaw and down to the crook of your neck, nipping at the skin with sharp teeth and leaving her mark near your racing pulse.

“Yes,” you reply breathily and cup both of her cheeks to pull her in another kiss. “Need you.”

“Ooh… say that again.”

Lust clouds your minds and you both forget yourselves for a moment that seems to stretch on for an hour, in a back alley of a narrow street darkened by the midnight hour. Jane kisses you and you return each one with simmering passion you’re unable to express with words in fear she scurries away somewhere you can’t follow. Your body is warm despite the cool air and greedily seeks more of her firm touch, your hips grinding into her for the sweet friction it provides. Jane squeezes the back of your thighs and lets out a low moan against you.

“Hah… Jane…”

Just like that, her name on your tongue— so tender and needy— is a harsh return to reality. Jane withdraws from your lips, mouth wet and open, chest heaving, and you’re too slow to see the flash of panic in her hazy gaze as she lets go of your thighs and forces you to stand once more. Her eyes flit to the side and back to you like a cornered animal desperate for an exit, and she takes a step back while clearing her throat. The sudden loss of contact makes you blink rapidly. You lick the corner of your mouth where some of her saliva has gathered, your mind lost in a fog of confusion and desire.

“Um, are you okay?” You ask uncertainly, not knowing what to do with your hands now that she’s rejected you so brusquely. You wipe your palms on your thighs.

Jane adjusts her jacket and runs her fingers through her hair. “Yeah, of course.”

She seems to regain her composure quicker than you, a smug smile gracing her lips as she meets your gaze. Her skin is hot, her cheeks flushed, but she stands straight and confident while you’re still blinking the confusion out of your eyes. The air between you is made awkward in record time with your silence and her refusal to explain herself truthfully. She walks towards you and casually brushes some hair out of your face, her familiar flirtatious tone back in her voice.

“You’re a mess,” she smirks, fingers trailing down the side of your face to lift your chin up, “and just after a few kisses too. I wonder how you’d look if I touched you properly…”

You’re getting whiplash from her hot-and-cold behavior, but you manage a reply, “Come over and find out.”

Jane clicks her tongue. “Sorry, I still have some stuff to take care of. But I’d feel bad if I didn’t at least walk you home, it’s pretty late. Don’t want you roaming outside on your own.”

“Oh.” You slowly push her hand away and she lets it fall to her side then stuffs them both in her front pockets. “That’s not necessary. I don’t live far from here.”

She simply regards you for a moment, and you can just glimpse the reflective sheen of the walls she puts up around herself before she shrugs lightly and it disappears into the wind.

“If you say so.”

She usually insists until you cave in and quietly walk side by side down Sixth Street, the breeze in her hair and your eyes to the distant sky. This time though, she lets you off the hook without a fuss. Your chest feels heavy and you don’t dare to look at her, focusing on a discarded candy bar wrapper lying on the ground. Jane doesn’t let the tension reach a boiling point, she sighs contentedly and turns her back on you.

“I’ll see you around, then, pretty bird.”

She makes a farewell gesture with her index and middle finger and walks in the opposite direction of where you’re heading. Your hand curls into a fist. The rejection hurts even after you’ve told yourself this is simply how Jane is, the fondness that belies her teasing words doesn’t mean a thing, and neither does the vague sense of longing you sometimes can feel in her kisses. She’s Jane Doe, the closer you get, the less she gives. Clinging onto the person you catch fleeting glimpses of behind her carefully crafted mask is both pointless and ridiculous, you know that. And yet…

You’re too engrossed in your thoughts as you make your way back to notice the sharp eyes tailing you from a safe distance the entire walk home. When you shut the front door behind you and flick open the light in the entryway, Jane crosses her arms and leans on a nearby building, eyes glued to the warm glow of your transom window.

[tilbageidanmark]

Dress for the job you want

[goodluckeddie]

something i think about a lotttt with buck and maddie is how much i love their age gap. like i’m pretty sure their actual ages are unspecified or at least hazy in the way all time-related details of 9-1-1 are hazy, but at the very least it’s obviously a medium-to-big age gap. and like i love it sm because it’s not the sort of thing i usually see on shows (i’m 20 and my sisters are 28 and 30 so i’m always on the lookout for similar dynamics and this is the only one i’ve really found and loved). it really resonates, especially in the sense of maddie raising buck. not saying you couldn’t have the same thing with a closer age gap, but i think it works better with her as a parental figure and role model that she’s a bit older than him. an older sister with more life experience, an older sister who’s more emotionally mature, an older sister who always knows what to do because she’s so grown up in his eyes, an older sister who understands where you’re coming from. and a younger brother who will always be her little brother, a younger brother who will always need protecting no matter how old he is, a younger brother who will always love her for who she is, a younger brother who looks at her like she hung the stars because she gave him all she could when nobody else would. i just think this is achieved a lot better with their bigger age gap than it would be if she was like two or three years older than him, like their mentalities would be too close or too similar. i am trying to think of a natural way to end this post but i have nothing so in conclusion i love them.

[avatarofcats]

Lots of sad fics about MC inevitably getting older and dying, but consider this; accidental immortality? I’d like to imagine everyone getting stressed and worried because they know you’ll die in less than 100 years, and we all know how demons don’t really notice the passage of time in the same way that humans do, and it cracks me up to imagine the boys celebrating your 50th birthday to only just realise you’ve not aged a day since they met? satan peering at you in a perplexed way from across the dinner table as you reach forward with a perfectly youthful hand to cut the cake for everyone,for him to just reach out and grab your hand, inspecting it for signs of aging as mammon grumbles in the back about “hey, whaddya think ya doin’, chump? Ya ain’t their number one-“ to have him wave a hand to indicate silence as he looks at you with a harrowing gaze. “You’re 50, right? Shouldn’t you.. look…different?” His punctuated confusion just sets off a bomb in everyone else’s heads as they realise that truly, their darling mc hasn’t aged a day? How could anyone have not noticed? Cackling tbh

[iamurpaladin]

I need motivation so like.

Who wants to give me ideas for a kleptomaniac keith fic?

[19seachelle19]

I have another theory that is probably not true and is out there but I wanna say it anyways. What of Cassandra’s and Ankarna’s child is actually Helio. What if Sol took over Helio as his “son” because both of Helio’s parents were erased from history. And Helio is the way he is because some of Sol’s worshippers specifically changed him to be like that so that he supports Sol. Or maybe during the Sol followers meeting the Ankarna followers, Helio was kind of given during that. I don’t know, but its just a thought I had

[cologona]

can i rant on anon for a bit? if not feel free to delete this, but my main gripe about the Disregard Canon attitude among a lot of fans is that you can’t know what you don’t know. you can’t speak authoritatively about runs you haven’t read or writers you won’t engage with so there is nothing for me to take seriously about the points they make or the opinions they hold. i don’t want to be all name three comics you liked but i also don’t want to waste any time on people taking random shots in the dark. my smaller gripe is that they brush over all the interesting little details in canon because they don’t know they are there. i love to think about what ifs and expand on background context to add depth to the larger events and that is only possible by digging into the context canon gives. the paper dolls that fanon likes to create and play with are annoying to filter but it’s whatever. but the amount of whining about how everyone needs to accept every fan even the ones who can’t be bothered to google a single issue and read it for free to form an opinion of their own, coming from a lot of the same people who want it to be illegal and punishable in real life to ship characters is too much. no one knows where to start reading comics and no one is born knowing fandom etiquette but i’d like to see more effort and less helpless idiots begging to be coddled and told their every lazy impulse is valid and above critique. i don’t like using the word lazy but i genuinely don’t know what else to call it when everyone has the issue numbers and the free website and they still won’t even try to read anything.

No anon I totally get it. “You can’t know what you don’t know” is so real. I couldn’t have phrased it better myself.

The whole “everyone’s interpretation is valid!” thing also feels completely besides the point when trying to have a discussion about the text. Any argument requires backing. If we’re going to throw our hands in the and cry everything is subjective then why are we having a conversation…

[juniperpyre]

musings on sexuality in the wizarding world

homosexuality has been treated as an action rather than an identity for most of european history (and, to my knowledge, in west asian and north african history), and in the late middle ages, just before the wizarding world separated from the muggle world, prosecution for homosexual acts between men was uncommon.

i think it would be logical for the wizarding world to be less concerned about gay sex, especially among young people, than the muggle world, in the 20th century. howeverrrr i don't think there would be a social movement that mirrored the muggle world's movements in the mid 20th c.

in part, bc we know the wizarding world doesn't always develop in tandem with the muggle world, and bc of the rise of blood supremacy in the late 19th/20th c. the sacred 28 list is created in the 1920s! in pureblood society, the society that sets the norms, that sort of identity formation would be contrary to their cause.

one, it would create solidarity between wizards and muggles. two, it would create solidarity across classes in the wizarding world. three, they are conservative and reactionary, so they wouldn't want to change their cultural attitude around homosexual acts. i imagine they adopted an imitation greco-roman system where older men got with younger men (and maybe women do to!) bc it harkens back to their Great Origins

tbh they could've done pinkwashing if they weren't so stuffy.

[beansayshi]

Everyday i cry pondering if tfone bee would lose his voicebox as tfp bee did before him.

He’s such a silly little chatterbox, how will the interim before he gets other communication be? The devastation of one of who was his first three friends doing that to him??? I’m already wondering if the voice box damage megatron gave to starscreams throat will give him his iconic rasp as a sign of lasting damage, what if they then do the same concept to Bee????!?

[strawberry-dreams789]

Here's a doodle from class. A guy that's at worst a little too full of himself meeting a guy that takes "I can fix him" a little TOO seriously.

[clowningaroundmars]

imagine if we wrongly assumed miles42 has no superpowers just bc he wasn't bitten by a radioactive spider

like can you imaaaaagine. plot twist of the century

[cosmogyros]

Still thinking about that topic I was rambling about yesterday, and I think I've put my finger on the weirdest part of the whole "making it as an artist" thing.

If you want to be able to make even a humble living in that field (music, art, writing, whatever) - to make enough money from your art alone to live comfortably - you pretty much HAVE to become extremely successful, often even straight-up famous.

This isn't the case with any other kind of job (afaik) - you can study or get training as a computer programmer, a plumber, a teacher, an administrative assistant, a carpenter, you name it - and then do that job full-time and earn a steady living from it. (Note I'm not saying a DECENT living - for instance, I've known many teachers who couldn't afford their own place and had to have roommates, and even some who went through periods of having to live in their cars, but I don't think that's the norm).

And the main point is: you don't need to be a FAMOUS programmer or whatever in order to make a living from it! You don't need to be a celebrity plumber with a million IG followers! You can live in happy obscurity and still have a steady income. But this isn't possible, as a rule, for artists of most kinds. For artists, you have to be either big-time famous, or else get some other job to pay the bills and only do your art in your free time.

From what I understand of history, this situation wasn't always as extreme as it is now. I hear that, in the first half of the 20th century, it was not uncommon to be able to scrape together a humble living as a lounge singer or a portrait painter or whatever. Even in the latter half of the 20th century, Billy Joel, for example, was able to find steady work as a bar pianist when he wasn't famous at all yet.

And that's what I want. I would love to make a living - just enough to pay the rent on my tiny apartment and eat out at a café once a week - as a musician, with a band, performing in bars or clubs as simply "the entertainment". I don't need anything more glamorous than that. I certainly don't want to live in a gated mansion in L.A. and have the paps tailing me every time I step outside and have my body and relationships scrutinized pitilessly by Internet comment sections.

I just want to be the musical equivalent of a plumber or an administrative assistant! Not the GOAT, just somebody filling a niche and satisfying my customers and bringing home a paycheck I can live on. And it makes me so sad that this world is not set up to allow that.

[kvetchinglyneurotic]

Thinking about love in season 2 of The Bear and how Carmy seems to conceptualize "love" and "fun" as opposites — because for him, they historically have been. It's something I really noticed in Fishes (2x06): how vocally and genuinely everyone in his family — including in-laws and functionally adoptive members like Richie and the Fak siblings — loves each other, but also how deeply entwined that love is with stress and chaos and criticism.

Natalie is nicknamed, by people who love her, after a mistake she made years ago and which is still held over her head when she tries to help in the kitchen. Donna loves her children and is loved by them in turn, but she's constantly on the edge of a meltdown, unable to offer or accept support. She spends hours cooking them a beautiful dinner, and then she drives a car through the wall. Michael reminds Carmy he loves him and tries to give him advice, and then he gets in a massive fight with Uncle Lee at the dinner table and starts throwing forks. Cooking is clearly so important to his family, but doing this activity they love, and especially doing it around the people they love, so rarely results in a feeling of "amusement or enjoyment."

And so it's no surprise, really, that the career Carmy loves is one that gives him panic attacks and made him throw up before work every day, or that he (and Natalie and Sydney) not only decide on such a radical transformation of the restaurant but give themselves a ridiculously sort timeline to complete it. He's stressed and miserable a lot of the time, but is it really something he loves if he doesn't feel that way?

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Something about Buck now having multiple big rugs when he had none before.