#archived

[netherworldpost]

"does it have to be queer"

yes, next question, unless the next question is "why", in which case I am pulling the lever

[archivedinc]

「Editorial」 ARC-20-18-08

[miebell]

1K FOLLOWERS GIFT PART TWO!

it's finally here!! i made a few conversions and a new mesh!! i hope u guys like it :D

my melody plate plate only . w/ pudding

xbox mesh by toddfx dl<3

ipod mesh by toddfx dl<3

korilakkuma plush mesh by peggy dl<3

monster cans mesh by dark-minaz dl<3

[charcoyours]

September

terumob comic - Sept. 27, 2022 : handholding

terumob comic (unfinished) - Sept. 27th, 2022: discussing high school entrance exams

[belligerentnonsense]

Christian Dior Spr/Sun 2006

[jahayla-parker]

you could do one where dylan responds to 75 questions from vogue in his house while he holds one of his twins who fell asleep in his arm ( i just saw cardi b one when she’s holding kulture and it was hella cute that’s why i was inspired ) and his house with reader is just so bohemian and colourful and there are so many toys ! we love a messy organized/clean house not like those celebrity museum 😭

The Vogue 75: Dylan O’Brien x Reader

Summary: 3.5k wc, Dylan allows the crew at Vogue enter his home and meet the reader, his amazing wife y/n, and their precious kids, proud to show off this side of his life as he silently admired how blessed his life was.

Warnings: family dynamics I guess? That’s about it!

“Babe, what are you doing?” Dylan asked, amusement clear in his tone.

“Cleaning Dyl” y/n groaned, “they’re going to be here soon”.

Dylan laughed and wrapped his arms around his wife’s waist, resting his head on her shoulder.

“You act like we’re some kind of chaotic household” he teases, kissing her cheek.

She smirks, “us? Chaos? Never!”

Dylan laughs, “see, there’s the spirit!”

She rolls her eyes, “Nate threw his peas everywhere though”.

Dylan suppresses a laugh but it doesn’t go unnoticed by y/n.

She steps out of his arms, turning to face him with her arms crossed over his chest.

He holds his hands up in defense, “I don’t know why he does that with you”.

“Mmhmm” she squints, “well since it’s so funny, you can clean them up while I get Avery dressed”.

Dylan laughs and nods, “fine, but then we’re done. The house is more clean than normal, we don’t need to make it look like we don’t actually live here”.

“Deal” she says, grabbing the fresh basket of laundry he finished moments ago.

“Aves hun, we need to change into regular clothes for daddy’s interview” y/n says, knocking on Avery’s doorframe to alert her of her presence.

The four year old grins at her mom and nods, “dress?”

Y/n smiles and kisses Avery’s head, “sure thing Aves. Which one?”

———

After getting Avery dressed and styling her hair in the way she wanted, y/n allowed Avery to return to playing with her toys.

“Dylan, have you seen Nate’s white socks? I only see his red ones here. I was planning on having him wear-“ y/n begins but stops when she sees Dylan had finished cleaning up the mess of peas on the floor from Nate’s lunch and dressed their two and a half year old.

Dylan smiles proudly up at y/n, “this is what you had planned right?”

She smiles back, walking over to her husband and son, giving them both a quick kiss, “yes, now both my boys are ready”.

Dylan blushes and picks Nate up to hold him, “seems the girls are too hmm?”

Y/n blushes as well but shakes her head as she laughs, “I’m still in my yoga pants and crop top Dylan”.

Dylan shrugs, looking at his son, “doesn’t momma look gorgeous?”

Nate coos and giggles, squirming in Dylan’s arm.

Y/n laughs and gives Dylan a kiss, “thanks handsome but I’m still changing into actual clothing and fixing my hair”.

Turning to Nate who is watching her intently, she smirks, “besides I think I have some peas in the bun”.

Nate turns his head to the side and babbles, making the couple laugh.

———

“That’s so exciting” the interviewer gushes, adjusting her seat on their couch in the living room, “what was the best part of that filming experience?”

As y/n quietly grabs a bowl of cheerios from the kitchen for Avery with Nate on her hip, Dylan’s face instantly breaks into a huge smile.

“I can truthfully say, as cheesy at it sounds, being able to be near my family and staying in our home was the best” he says, releasing a blissful sigh.

Y/n pauses her actions and smiles across the room, the kitchen island being the only barrier between the rooms.

Dylan winks and blows her a kiss, causing the cameraman to turn his camera towards y/n.

Y/n bites her lip and waves nervously with her free hand causing Dylan to smirk at the fact his wife still is just as awkward in these situations, happy fame hasn’t changed her in the slightest.

“This is your wife, yes?” The interviewer asks, causing Dylan to get up and walk over to y/n.

He helps y/n by taking Nate from her so she can get the cheerios poured into the bowl easier.

“Yes, this is the stunningly beautiful and insanely smart y/n y/l/n O’Brien. My wife and mother of our children” he gushes, blushing when he sees how everyone is looking at him.

Y/n smirks and giggles as he composes himself, kissing his cheek, “the charming Dylan O’Brien folks”.

She smiles and excuses herself to go to Avery.

———

The couple had decided not to force the kids to be in the interview unless they wanted to or happened to pass by or entered the room they were in.

They wanted it to be a normal day for them.

Therefore, most of the interview had passed before Avery showed herself to their guests.

She’d been content continuing her playing in her bedroom until y/n brought her a snack.

After finishing it, she wanted to put the dish away herself.

Well, mostly herself as y/n still needed to help her reach the sink and faucet.

Dylan was trying to get Nate to stop crying as he held him and tried to still answer the interviewer’s questions.

Y/n raised an eyebrow in his direction to silently ask what happened and if he needed help.

Dylan had a look in his eyes that told her he wanted to handle this.

Not just because the crew was there and cameras were on him.

Dylan always wanted to be the best father to both of their children and to him that meant being able to fix their fussy moods without his wife’s intervention.

While Nate behaved better for Dylan when it came to eating and bathing, he was more cooperative with y/n when it came to getting dressed and his play time.

It wasn’t as if he wasn’t wanting the other parent to do those things, but for some reason he just had these preferences.

Dylan respected them but wanted to ensure Nate saw he could help him with those things too.

Y/n had seen the look in Dylan’s eyes when he showed her how Nate let him dress him without much of a fight earlier.

That look was gone now as Dylan clearly struggled to keep his fussy son on his lap and calm.

———

As y/n lifted Avery to let her rinse her dish, she watched Dylan closely to see when she could intervene without Dylan getting the wrong idea.

She knew eventually he’d likely get it handled but he was in the middle of an interview, that’s where his focus should be.

But Dylan thought otherwise.

He didn’t care if he was working or not, his son was upset and he wanted to fix it.

He’d already ensured he didn’t need to be changed, tried to feed him or get him water, play with him, nothing.

Dylan tried to simply rock him in his arms to see if he was just really tired.

As y/n opened the dishwasher for Avery and bent lower so she could place her bowl, she heard Dylan sigh.

“Babe, I think he wants you. I can't get him to stop crying “ Dylan said, trying to hide his disappointment with a soft laugh.

"Did you try his flamingo?" Y/n asked kindly, setting Avery on her feet and letting her run off to the toy shelf in the living room.

“Yes, his favorite one too, the one with the hat, he just pouted and dropped it before crying again” Dylan said, wiping the tears off his sons face before moving to hand him to y/n.

She shook her head so softly only Dylan could see it and tickled Nate, "Ahh, that's right little one... you can’t expect your daddy to know you don’t want the flamingo with the hat anymore”.

Dylan frowned and scrunched his eyes in surprise and guilt; how did he not know that it had changed?

When did it change?

Had he been giving Nate the wrong one for days and not knowing?

Y/n noticed Dylan’s silence and smiled at her boys, kissing both of their cheeks before walking to where the correct one was.

“ ‘member Nate? Daddy was showering when you decided just this morning that your new favorite was the flamingo with the glasses" she added, grabbing the appropriate stuffed flamingo from the floor.

Dylan let out a sigh of relief, it hadn’t been long.

He had no way of knowing of this change yet.

Y/n smiled and walked back to her boys, Avery on her heels.

“Here ya go Dyl, that should fix this one’s fussy state” she said, tapping Nate’s nose softly.

“Ahh, thank you love. Is this the one you want now? Hmm? Secretly changed your favorite flamingo on me?” He asked, a genuine laugh following.

Y/n smiled and lifted Avery as the little girl raised her arms up towards her.

Dylan scooted over on the couch, signaling for his wife and daughter to join him and Nate.

Y/n obliged and snuggled into his side.

Dylan wrapped one arm around y/N’s waist, the other supporting Nate as he snuggled his latest favorite stuffed flamingo toy.

Avery smiled at her dad before moving from her mom’s lap to join her brother on Dylan’s.

Dylan kissed Avery’s forehead and smiled, tugging y/n closer to him.

After letting the family have a moment, the interviewer kindly turned them back to the interview.

“How many flamingo stuffed animals do you have?!” She laughed lightly.

———

Y/n laughs and bites her lip as Dylan blushes, looking around the room.

She’d planned on picking the toys up last night but forgot and if Dylan was already trying to keep her from even cleaning up the mess from lunch, she wasn’t going to push it and put the toys away.

Plus, she hoped they’d keep the kids busy and out of Dylan’s hair for the interview.

Dylan rubbed his neck as he laughed, counting the various stuffed flamingos he could currently see, "at least eight?"

“Eight? Is there a reason they’re all flamingos?” She asked, making Dylan’s face brighter.

Dylan hid his face in his wife’s neck as if he was a child himself, his facial hair tickling her skin.

“We were in Florida when Nate got to watch his dad work on set for the first time” y/n explained, smiling at her family.

Avery’s eyes lit up as she watched her mom retell the story.

“Avery had seen his previous set but both kids fell in love with the beach set in Florida. They had Dyl actually on the beach one day and it was really nice, the kids got to play in the sand with him between takes” y/n recalled.

“These two take after their mom in how much they love the beach” Dylan whispered, his head resting on y/N’s shoulder but his face no longer hidden.

Y/n blushed, “Avery fell in love with the seagulls, hence-“ she said, pointing towards the fake nest resting next to the toy boy, a family of stuffed seagulls in it.

Avery giggled and nodded her head making Dylan smile and tickle her so she kept laughing.

“Whereas Nate adored the flamingos” y/n finished, shrugging.

———

“And they clearly have very supportive parents who let them enjoy these things and care about their interests” the interviewer complimented.

“Y/n may keep a list on her phone of their latest likes and dislikes to help us keep up” Dylan admits, kissing y/N’s cheek in appreciation.

Y/n blushed but turned the conversation back to Dylan, after all, the interview was on him.

“Speaking of the flamingos though, both the one with a hat that used to be his favorite, and the one with glasses that is his newest favorite, were gifts from Dylan” she smirked.

“The same goes for Avery’s favorite doll” she added as Dylan watched her in surprise.

He hadn’t even realized that.

It meant a lot to him that his kids chose his gifts as their favorites.

Especially Avery’s, as she was very independent like her mother and would often pick her own toys.

So the idea that one her dad picked for her instead, made his heart soar.

———

“They certainly seem to adore you Dylan” the interviewer agrees, making Dylan look at the kids in his lap who were now both content in his arms.

“They always have, which is why I can now go make dinner” y/n jokes, excusing herself now that the kids were occupied and safe.

“Now that they’re older, do your wife and kids travel with you when you need to film in another location?” The interviewer asks.

Dylan smiles over at his wife as she starts quietly setting up her cook station.

“They do yes. I’m beyond blessed in that y/n’s scheduled allows her to travel so freely and that she’s willing to help wrangle these two on the plane rides” Dylan says, admiring the two tiny humans on his lap.

“They’re not that bad on the plane Dylan” y/n teasingly scolds, shaking her head.

“But yeah, I get to have my perfect little family with me. I wouldn’t do it otherwise” he admits, blushing again.

“However, I do prefer us working local as we can be in our own home and relax more, it’s our space that’s tailored to just our family” he explains, eyes glancing around at the random assembly of plants, photos, toys, and blankets everywhere.

“Do you mind if we get some shots of the house itself before we go?” The interviewer asks, signaling to the cameraman.

Although they’d discussed it already, Dylan makes eye contact with y/n to double check, only for her to nod and smile.

———

“Ooh I can show our bell!” Avery gasps, slipping off Dylan’s lap and running to the front door.

“Wait up Ave!” Dylan calls, laughing.

“The bell?” The interviewer asks quietly.

“The doorbell, she loves the sound it makes” Dylan smirks, following his four year old.

“Nay-nay want to help them see?” Avery asks, looking at the boy in Dylan’s arms.

Although undoubtedly having little to no idea what she was saying, Nate claps his hands loudly.

Dylan sets Nate down so he can walk next to his sister and he smiles over at you, hoping you saw the sweet sibling interaction; which you did.

He leads his children into the front yard, the vogue crew following and closing the door behind them.

Dylan gets out his phone to record the scene himself so you can watch it after dinner.

———

“Ready?” Avery encourages Nate, carefully lifting him so he can push the button himself.

Dylan smiles to himself as he records his daughter being so supportive to his son and helping him press the “magical” doorbell.

It was simply a regular doorbell that they’d connected to their Ring camera higher up on the wall.

It was y/N’s idea as last year for months, little three year old Avery had pouted about not being able to ring it herself without being held.

It occurred then to Dylan his daughter knew Nate was too short to do that alone yet so she was helping him get to experience the thrill she seemed to feel when pushing it.

The chimes for that lower doorbell were specifically programmed to make the instrumental sound of her favorite Princess film theme song and always made her smile.

Dylan bit his lip as he thought about how they might need to now figure out a song that worked for both kids or somehow add a third button to their door.

However, when Nate was set back down, he noticed Avery grinning as Nate just stood waiting for someone to open the door.

Dylan chuckled and let out a sigh of relief before complimenting Avery on how she handled the situation and scooping Nate back up.

“You did that so well angel, do you want to show our guests the tour of the house?” He suggested, pleased with the glowing eyes that reminded him of y/N’s staring back at him.

———

Dylan watched peacefully as his oldest lead the crew around their home.

He laughed when he noticed she was explaining the rooms by saying what the family did in them.

For example, the family room was now called the “watching tv and playing games” room.

As they entered the kitchen, seeing the camera on Avery, he snuck the chance to kiss his wife as she cooked.

“Is it going okay?” Y/n whispered as Avery described the kitchen as their “food and dish room”.

“Absolutely. I know I say it often, but thank you for our perfect little family and letting me share them with the world “ Dylan whispered, holding Nate closer to him.

Y/n blushed, “as long as the public doesn’t say anything about the kids, I have no problem showing off our life”.

“I won’t allow that y/n/n, you and the kids have my word” he assures her, squeezing her waist with his hand that wasn’t on Nate.

She nods, “I know Dylan, now go finish so we can eat”.

“We actually are finished now” the backup cameraman spoke, turning the second camera towards the family and off of their photo on the wall.

“We just have to do your outro” the interviewer agreed.

“Come here Avey dear” Dylan encourages, bending down to pick her up.

“Here, let me hold Nate” y/n offers, wiping her hands on the cloth rag on the counter.

Nate babbles as he snuggles into his mom’s side and Dylan wraps one arm behind her, the other holding Avery to his other side.

“Ave, Nate, can I have some help?” He asked, having trained them on it so he could include them.

Avery nods and smiles up at her Dylan and Nate sucks on his thumb quietly, making y/n shrug.

Dylan grins and nods once, “alright”.

“I am Dylan O’Brien” he says, grinning so wide y/n is sure his lips will split, “and this was…”

“The voooogggg seveny fwive “ Avery says, nervously.

Nate babbles and claps his hands, making both parents smile at each other and their kids.

“Annnd cuuutt! That was so adorable, thank you all for letting us invade your space today” the interviewer thanks.

“Of course, and please don’t feel you need to rush out, you are welcome to stay for dinner if you’d like” y/n says, Dylan admiring how sweet and accommodating she is even though she has been working so much this week.

“That’s very kind, thank you. But, we have a long drive back to town, so we should head out now. Thank you again” the interviewer responds.

Dylan smiles and happily guides them to the door, pleased he will now get time with just his family and no more cameras.

———

As he turns back around, he pauses to watch the love of his life, his wife y/n, and her only competitions, his children Avery and Nate, as she holds one kid on each hip.

He smiles to himself as he snaps a photo on his phone, needing to use it for a new Lock Screen.

Alright, now, no more cameras.

“Want me to get them sat up to the table or want me to dish us all up?” Dylan asks faintly, not wanting to break the calm.

Before y/n can respond, he shakes his head and laughs.

“What am I thinking?” He scolds himself softly, “you cooked, I’ve got both tasks”.

“Dyl-“ she argues as he gently takes the kids into his arms.

“Ah, ah, shhh” he smiles, “I’m doing this small thing for my lovely family”.

Y/n blushes and accepts his token of appreciation and love as she follows him to their dining room.

Dylan sets both kids in their respective seats, ensuring they’re secure.

He winks at y/n, “you know, there’s an extra seat still”.

Y/n hummed and smirked, “not for long”.

Dylan sputtered and nearly fell over in his attempt to face her again when she interrupted his departure.

———

Dylan slowly, as if moving too fast would somehow make it turn out to be a joke, walked to y/n and knelt beside her.

“Really?“ he whispered softly, his soft eyes dotted with tears.

“Oh Dyl” she coos, cupping his face, “yes, really”.

Dylan smiles and shakes his head in disbelief, his watery eyes now fully crying.

“Daddy?” Avery asks worriedly.

Dylan sniffles and raises to a squatting position to she can kiss y/N’s lips, cheeks, and nose.

“I’m okay Aves” he promises, the loving tone shining through in his voice, “I’m more than okay”.

Y/n goes to give Dylan another kiss as he rests his hand on her barely existent latest baby bump but Nate babbles loudly.

Dylan and y/n laugh and smile at each other.

“Even more of a reason you should be resting!” He reprimands suddenly, a smile still present on his lips as he turns to get their dinners.

Dylan couldn’t be happier or imagine his life with anyone else, anywhere else.

He was honest when he said he’d give up his career for his family.

He was just fortunate that his wife didn’t seem to mind the chaos it brought them.

He didn’t stop smiling as he dished each plate and cut up the food into smaller pieces for the kids.

Soon there will be three dishes to do that with he thought, his smile growing until it physically hurt; not that he minded.

Dylan O’Brien Taglist: (last round) @fishingirl12 @raajali3 @directioner5life

Dylan is being added to the archived list so you can still see these works but I won’t be accepting requests for him anymore.

[juliaknz]

RICHARD SERRA

[nonolithic]

[tyforthevnm]

Interview: frnkiero andthe cellabration

By: Kelly Gonsalves for Pop Break

Posted on September 3, 2014 

When he was just a teenager, Frank Iero began having pangs of pain in his stomach after eating. Soon after he learned from his doctors that he has a “bacterial overgrowth of the lower intestine,” which, among many other symptoms, causes the stomach to send signals to the body that it’s in pain while it’s digesting food. The end result: a lifetime of nausea, medication, steroid treatment and stomachaches.

“I think anytime you’re dealing with pain management […], it makes everything difficult,” Iero tells me. “If you’re constantly nauseous and just not well, it kind of zaps your – especially your creative side – but it kind of zaps your whole personality. If you don’t feel well, you don’t want to do anything.”

But while the reaction of most might be to crawl under the covers, sulk and never get out of bed for the rest of eternity – and the former My Chemical Romance guitarist admits he used to fall into this spell of despair all the time as well – Iero soon found a way to channel that pain into something else.

“I found for me, being creative and writing songs or writing short stories or creating something or poetry or something like that – if it came out good, if I enjoyed it, I could kind of ride that creative high for at least a day or two. And I felt normal again,” he says. “I would have to force myself to do something productive, and then it made me forget about myself.”

Last week, Iero released his first solo album, stomachaches., a compilation of 12 songs written almost two years ago during one of his worst bouts with his digestive condition. Toward the end of 2012, the multi-instrumentalist began creating music in a makeshift studio in his basement as a means of diverting his attention away from his physical ailments. He recorded most of them in early 2013, just as My Chemical Romance was winding down. The songs, he says, were never meant to be heard by another soul other than himself, let alone to be actually released for public consumption.

After MCR finally called it quits in March 2013, Iero’s focus turned to Death Spells, a two-man project with former MCR touring keyboardist James Dewees that had been brewing for almost a year. Death Spells did some touring, and those solo songs written in the basement saw the stage every now and then just for kicks. It was around this time people started telling Iero he should think about talking to labels.

It all came together this June, when he announced his signing to Staple Records. His new solo project, frnkiero andthe cellabration, was born.

“Everything’s different,” he says. “It’s strange. With this, it was written because over the time as I felt terrible, I would go downstairs, and I would just write, you know? There wasn’t a deadline. There wasn’t a record. There wasn’t a label. No one knew I was doing anything.”

And he has every reason to “cellabrate” – it’s a real success story when you think about it. After all the push and pull, Iero has a tangible product to show for it all. The experience has definitely been “rewarding,” he tells me, despite all the physical turmoil that inspired the album.

“I think now my life has changed enough, you know, having kids and all,” he says. “I kind of wanted to show them that you can take a bad thing and turn it into something positive if you put your mind to it. And that was, for me, taking a defiant stand against it. If you’re not going to go away, then I’m at least going to get something out of you.”

The bold spirit is very characteristic of the punk rocker – one look at the music video for thecellabration’s single “.weighted.” tells you the man is not faint of heart in the least. (Spoiler alert: It gets real ugly real fast.)

But what does catch me a little off guard is the softness found in the underbelly of everything he says. He is gentler than expected, both in his tone and in his perspective toward the world. His children, for instance, repeatedly come up in our conversation. When I ask about his upcoming tour with Taking Back Sunday and The Used, his excitement to show off his new work is mixed in with some nervousness about leaving his family behind.

“I think the hardest part to come to grips with is that when you’re away for so long, it’s hard – it sounds stupid – but it’s hard to remember that life doesn’t stop at home,” he says. “Like you go away and two years later you come back, and your loved ones are older, and things have changed. They’re like strangers. It fucks with your head, you know?”

His three kids are now old enough to miss him, to say “come home.” It scares him, he says with a half-hearted chuckle.

Still, it’s something he almost needs to do, he says. His creative outlets – browsing through his personal website reveals the man’s talents rest not only in music but in poetry, photography, short stories, to name a few – are what keeps him sane. These artistic expressions are what keep him in the state of mind he needs to be in to do the things he needs to do.

“I’ve started to realize that in order for me to be the person I wanna be, the dad I wanna be, the husband I wanna be, I need to satisfy this creative side because that keeps me level. And then I can ride that level and be happy,” he says. “So that’s where I’m at. The only thing now is trying to find that happy medium.”

—

frnkiero andthe cellabration will perform at the Gamechanger World in Howell, NJ, on September 6. Click here for tickets.

[oshiawaseni]

Horikoshi’s Jump Festa 2023 Message

Time flies and 2022 is almost over. I hope you are all doing well. 

A whole year has passed since my letter at last year’s Jump Festa announcing the series would be completed in one more year. Well that didn’t happen. This wasn’t because I stalled but as people say, my estimation was too optimistic and sweet (naive), like Rikido Satou’s homemade chiffon cake. 

Even so, the reason I’ve been able to maintain this optimism is thanks to your support for Deku and his friends. Without your support, the series couldn’t have continued. 

Maybe because I’ve experienced this before, I still have nightmares about my series being cancelled. In the dream, my editor tells me I’ve only got 3 months left to complete it and then my mind goes completely blank and I wake up. It’s thanks to you that this dream hasn’t become reality and the series can still continue. So it’s really no exaggeration to say Deku and his friends have come this far all thanks to the support of each and every one of you. 

This series is like the spirit of One For All. My outlook might be sweet like chocolate manju but we are steadily approaching the finish line. Both heroes and villains, with wounds all over their bodies, are struggling to achieve their goals.

Now I’m going to go PLUS ULTRA with Deku and the others to ensure your support until the very end.  

The weather is getting cold now, so please take care of yourselves.

PLUS ULTRA

Horikoshi Kohei

[netherworldpost]

Morticia Addams Brings You A Housewarming Gift

You're moving into your new home. Maybe it's your first, maybe the first home you've ever owned. Regardless, it is the first place that you know in your heart will feel like home.

Doorbell rings. You have a doorbell? Who knew!

Morticia Addams.

Your neighbor.

The real estate agent warned you "about the neighborhood" but this home was priced to move and you had just enough cash and credit and favors to call upon and you snapped it up.

"We have brought you a gift," the words are funeral in slowness, hallowed in tenderness, chilled enough to lower the sweltering summer sunshine into something bearable.

It is a box. In her alabaster fingers with the bones clearly marked across the flawless marble skin daggered with the crimson talons is a box.

It is moving.

It is oozing in slime.

It smells like moss and every secret you were told by every lover on every night where the sun is gone and the heat is not and it is too hot to sleep and too hot to do much but eat ice cubes and idly day dream of a day you would be in a home you owned that has temperature control and a lockable door for the days when you Just Need To Be Alone.

A very specific smell, to be sure.

"You are coming for dinner old man! Ha ha! We insist!"

Gender and presentation do not matter as Gomez Addams firmly and thoroughly shakes your hand, eyes a wild forest fire, cigar so enjoined.

"Come, bubeleh, we mustn't be a pest."

On your doorstep Gomez begins kissing up his wife's arm until she taps his chin with those amazing talons. "Darling, walk me home now, mischief later."

A parting "welcome to the neighborhood" is joyously growled from Gomez as he takes hold of your door knob and closes your front door for you.

[archivedinc]

Archived photoshoot at Maxfield LA exhibition "Furnished Room"

[ourmadmusings]

Pointed Lesson

Words: *one-shot

Type: Slight angst

Summary: After an altercation, you’re left with the choice to trust Batman with your secret, or risk him leaving you to bleed in the alley.

Warnings: No Spoilers! Mentions of violence, reader is hurt [descriptions of blood, stabbings, pain] Fem!Reader [no descriptions of race or body type].

A pointed lesson in privacy - You and the Bat have a complicated relationship, but he who removes the mask first is the one willing to accept the judgment of your shared sins.

---

You can feel your teeth rattling in your skull, eyes wide and straight in front of you, you blanch -- “You have to pull it out, Batty.” You’re pulling your shoulder up as tightly as you can bear. Looking over your shoulder you can only just see the hilt of the knife, the sight immediately sends a wave of nausea over your form and reinforces the tremors wracking your spine, it’s plunged deep and you know trying to remove it yourself will cause more damage. He needs to pull it straight and fast to minimize any lasting damage to the muscles. You know you’re visibly shaking, you can feel the full-body tremors wrack your frame despite your calm demeanor, “if you make me do it I’ll hurt myself more.”

You can’t see him from where you’re angled, facing the wall and crouching into your core from your knees, shaking hands outstretched on the wet brick, your suit is soaking through on your shins. You’ll chafe if you let it soak through anymore, you think briefly. A quick conversation with Penguin ended with his goons jumping the two of you, and of course Batboy got out scott-free -- his suit was leagues more expensive than your skimpy gimp-suit. His was made for fighting, yours was made to keep your face hidden. You could tell he had money, or perhaps he was on someone else's payroll. Either way, he was bulletproof, you were flesh. You’re reminded of that every now and then, no matter the inconveniences that it causes.

“Let me take you somewhere, I know someone that can help you.” He’s not moving, you know he couldn’t be more in shock than yourself, but the anger and adrenaline are getting the best of you, “no!” You can hear your own panic as you try to turn your head to see him, “just tear it out, the longer you wait the mo-” you cut yourself off with teeth clenched, your breath getting stolen from your chest as another wave of pain rips through. You can’t move with the knife stuck perfectly at the top of your shoulder. You can feel the warm trickle of your own blood dripping in light curls down your back, even through the expensive leather. You’ll have to mend it completely with a new patch, another quick thought as your head falls limp between your arms with a huff from your chest, your eyes are screwed shut and your jaw is starting to ache from the pressure. You’re wearing yourself out, sitting and waiting on him like this, you can feel your energy ebb the longer you wait.

You hear the heavy footfalls behind you as his own pants creak with his weight, he’s crouching behind you now, you watch his large hand extend to the wall just next to your own. You’re snug between his knees, he’s looking down his nose at you, you can tell. Assessing the situation, perhaps? You can hear your pulse in your ears as his other gloved hand comes in contact with your shoulder, just below where the weapon has stuck itself -- the contact, as light as it is, makes you flinch forward and squeeze your eyes painfully tight again, you kill the soft yelp in your throat before it escapes your heaving chest, you wouldn’t let him see you like that. Not yet, not ever. His breathing is tough, a whispered apology and his hand is gone. You briefly think that you miss the contact before you see his right hand move from the wall and anchor itself on your right shoulder, he’s right on top of you now, “take a slow breath in for me,” he’s whispering into your right ear and the second you start to pull in air his right hand slips down your shoulder and you feel his long fingers spread out over your back, he grunts as the knife is ripped out of your left shoulder.

The pain is immediate, you fall forward into the wall, your head colliding painfully with the brick as you grunt out. The adrenaline in your system dulling the pain, but not nearly as much as you’d hoped -- if he hadn’t doddled and just pulled it -- You have to close your eyes, squeezing them shut to ward off the creeping blackness seeping into the corners. Your gloved hands are on the cold, wet ground as you feel the small trickle turning into a deep curtain on your shoulder, you’re sure it’s just from the plug being removed, but jesus, you can’t focus on anything except the red-hot pain.

The nausea gets the better of you, twisting slightly, you hurl whatever small contents you had in your system. All the while, though you‘d never notice, Batman has a hand around your midsection and one has made a home on the top of your neck, smoothing out the small bubble of hair tucked under your mask. He’s red-faced and panicked, just as you were. Your shaking has him on edge. He’s seen you take a few beatings over the short time you’ve worked together, but he’s never been able to shake his fear of pain on someone else’s face.

You’re curled so deeply inward he can’t pull his left arm from your midsection, the tremors have gone from fearful shakings to painful spasms, your body’s last-ditch effort to keep itself conscious, he recognizes. You’re almost limp over his arm, “take your mask off, it’ll help.”

It’s quick and sharp, “no.” Without a hint of hesitation in your voice, he lets out a huff, “you need some air, just take it off for now, there’s no one here.” He’s trying not to sound desperate, but the more you dry-heave, the more you shake. You need to cool down and get your head back on, and he knows that, you do too, he’d guess.

Your breath is ragged, harsh and painful. Every short pull you manage to get in hurts just as badly as the wound's original pain. It’s all sharp edges and, god, you need to stand up. You just need to walk it off. You’re sure you’ve had worse. Moreover, you can’t afford to run the risk of your masked partner gaining the upper hand by seeing your face first.

You shrug his grip from your neck and move a leg out, kneeling with a hand set back on the wall in front of you, just stand up! Just get up! You’ve always gotten up, what makes this time so different?

Your mask is hot, it’s suffocating really, but you have to get away from prying eyes -- you’ve hauled yourself to standing feet, one hand stuck out in front of you and the other hanging limp, unable to garnish enough strength to move yet. He’s still on top of you, raised to full height right behind you as you all but hug the wall for any support, his hands are tight on the back of your hips, “please, just-” his left hand, still covered in blood from pressing into your wound, “let me take it off,” has found the edge of the mask, he doesn’t sound as dark as he usually does. You can hear the real man behind the mask, the worry lacing his words hits you in the chest harder than the knife had -- you often forget that just like yourself, there’s a human behind the heavy armor and cape. You don’t think he’s ever had the luxury of seeing you as bulletproof in that very moment and you crack. 

You spin quickly to face him and all but fall into his chest. Your good arm flies up to your mask and you feel your hair pull painfully as you wretch the mask off like it’s burned you. It thumps to the ground and you bury your face in the hard exoskeleton in front of you. Your face is still screwed up in pain, and your working arm reaches to grab him, grab something to ground yourself. His hands have found a home around you, too. Taking a moment to hold you, the fear behind his mask is his own to bear, but yours? He’d take en mass, just to lessen your load for a moment.

You’re stuck like that for a long moment, the fresh air clearing your lungs of the painful pinching, your head clearing, and your faithful partner takes a moment to grasp your chin, turning your still-bowed head to the side as he bends at the knees to scoop up your now-soaked mask. He won’t look at you as he raises himself, he simply shifts to stand behind you, hands on your lower back as he leads you from the grimy alley and into the street.

His hands warm your spine only slightly, and he leads you from behind. He keeps you steady until you get to your bike, he keeps you steady as he sits you on the back and waits from behind you until you tuck your chin so he can place your helmet oh-so carefully on your pounding skull, he keeps you steady with one hand atop the two of yours that wrap around his midsection.

He leaves you eerily close to your apartment building, and he says nothing as he steps down from your bike, kicking the stand and sliding off. He doesn’t wait for you to remove your helmet. He’s gone around the corner and leaving you to wonder if he ever wanted to see your face -- you know he knows who you are, really, but he couldn’t seem to come face-to-face with you without your own mask. You’d wonder why that is at another time, you’d suppose. You had more pressing matters - as did he, you assumed.

a/n: call it a vent piece, call it a need to be known, call it yearning to be held. Let me know what you think, I’m still a little rusty, but I’m trying to get back into writing a bit. I don’t think I’ll move any fics from my old blog, so we’re starting from scratch, baybee!!

[miebell]

800 FOLLOWERS GIFT HEEEEEY!!!!!!!!!

ive had these posters and rugs for a while so i thought this was the perfect time to share them!!! ^_^ thank you everyoneeee!!!!

DL :3

posters + rugs

[charcoyours]

this one gets its own dedicated post

November 30th, 2022

[spark-of-future]

“I don’t... really know how to describe the feeling? It’s weird, I suppose, especially when you feel him moving...!”