#but was proud of her shame

[starburstsobsessions]

every single day I am appalled and amazed by Misaki's characterization being leagues above so many female characters in shonen history. She was a girlboss she could cry she had a tragic backstory that actively mattered she had flaws she was great at the game she had her own "superpower" she wasn't for sex appeal or a love interest she cut her hair short she was loving yet not yielding she is so cool. Misaki you're amazing <3

[hood-ex]

wait idk anything about the tevis’— why would tommy tevis call dick his son? would you be willing to give a quick rundown

After Dick failed to get himself incarcerated, he became an enforcer for a mob boss named Tommy Tevis. Tommy took Dick in and made him part of his family. Tommy considered him an honorary son and thought very highly of him.

Nightwing (Vol. 2) #107

He even told Dick that everything he had (his home, his reputation, his family, etc.) was Dick's as well. Lynette, Tommy's wife, told Dick that Tommy would let Dick do anything. The whole family loved Dick, including Tommy's 15 year old daughter, Sophia. Sophia actually had a crush on Dick, but Dick acted like an older brother to her, helping her with her homework and such.

While Dick was away from the family for a few days, the cops busted into the Tevis's home. Lynette got killed in the gunfire, Tommy got taken to jail, and Sophia got taken in by the state.

Dick, while mentoring Rose, broke Sophia out of the state home. He got Sophia to help him with the mob. Then, when Chemo fell on Bludhaven, Dick saved Sophia and left her with Amy. When they reunited at the hospital, Dick asked Sophia to leave the mob behind and join a boarding school.

So, yeah, that's Dick's relationship with the Tevis family.

[bizarrescribblez]

Oh no I’m getting too sucked into these Miguel ideas HELP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[thundergrace]

I don't care one bit about the NBA, but I care very much about Janelle's absolute takeover of All-Star weekend.

[timothylawrence]

finding out Ulder was distant from pretty much Wylls birth has left me only capable of thinking abt how lonely all of Wyll’s childhood stories are. he’s always alone in them and if his father ever makes an appearance, it’s to scold him.

no wonder he searched for mermaids and lead such a fantastical imagination. he was always alone and the only person he ever craved love and attention from was unreachable- even if he was physically there.

And now I’m reminded of a quote by Dennis Nurkse: in the park the child says: watch me. It will not count unless you see.

[ineed-to-sleep]

My therapist told me today that I'm one of her patients who's made the most progress in the last two years and honestly I have a feeling I'm getting a good grade at therapy

[halfnha1f]

Bangs a big metal spoon against a pot

Alright fuckers come eat I made dinner

I saw @ask-the-rag-dolly ‘s post about Ms Influenza and like bunnies or somethin?? Honestly I forgot there’s a very good chance I imagined the post tbh-

Yes I’m posting this at like almost 4 in the morning. The girl kisser thoughts won and I couldn’t sleep shut up and enjoy.

Suggestive outfit under the cut (playboy or bunny girl outfit)

And some other oldish doodles I did

If any colours are off it’s because I started on this before any references were dropped 🤗

Everything else that doesn’t match is because I do what I want including personal interpretation of designs 😋 thaaaankss

You should totally ask me to elaborate on my design interpretation choices even though it’s already pretty obvious why I did what I did twirls hair

[i-am-a-fan]

i heard you are totally normal about the characters you love.

care to share why 👀

This… this sounds like i’m being questioned for saying i’m normal….

BUT TO ANSWER YOUR QUESTION!!!!

✨AUTISM (possibly)✨

[starbuck]

i have so much love in my heart it’s unreal

[blorbologist]

My cats' post-spay shenanigans really do have me wishing I had some Cat's Cradle muse handy

Highlights include them high and staring into space at the weirdest angles, bonking the cones of shame into everything, trying to bump their heads into me for pets and just scraping the cone against my skin, Miss Thing escaping the cone 4 times because she wants to eat it, Pam trying to parkour the day after a major surgery, Pam escaping the burrito, bouncing off the wall and gashing me good when I gave her the pain meds, attempts to enjoy treats of ham with the cone on, all of us tiring of the cones so I made them smocks out of old PJs that might be a touch too small but keeping Pam from busting her stitches open makes it a pro actually

Also these reaction images

[cassynite]

So here is the first chapter of a fic I've been working on for a while, which is meant to be a character study of Daeran, specifically his relationship to his mother.

I hope everyone who decides to read this enjoys it! And if any information appears to obviously contradict canon, let me know.

[hekateinhell]

Before I started with the NSFW prompts, I was going to try to do Kinktober 2022. That didn't happen, but I did have this prompt and pairing scribbled in my notes app, so here she is, actually done. Lestat/Armand, post-canon AU, rated E (cock warming, canon-compliant), 2k. For @ancelegance, who read this already. 🖤

"What is it, Armand?" Lestat didn't even spare him a glance, although a faint smile tugged at the corners of the lips. So focused was he on the mounds of paperwork before him; it took him longer than it normally would have to realize he wasn't receiving a response.

Come with me.

"Armand, mon chèri, you know I would love to spend the evening with you, but look at this! I'll be lucky to grab a small drink before dawn." It's not meant to be defensive, but frankly, it felt as though Lestat could either manage one of two things: being Prince or being a Blood Spouse to one such as Armand – the circumstances of which remain a story for another time.

"Fine," Lestat sighed, flinging down his pen with all the added flair of a dramatic theatre child. Looked up and met Armand's large dark eyes with a forced cheeriness but a genuine affection. Must everyone always find him lacking in some way? Perhaps Armand read that in his expression because he appeared to shrink into himself momentarily, his youthful face vulnerable and sad once more.

Damn.

"I'll compromise with you," Lestat pushed back his chair and patted his lap, "Come here." Suddenly self-conscious but never one to disobey a direct command from Lestat's lips in this, their new season, Armand timidly slid his arms around Lestat's shoulders before straddling his lap and leaning forward to rest his head against the prominent clavicle.

Tell me what I can do for you, my wild one. Let me be a comfort to you. It's a plea, equal parts a desire to comfort and the need to assert his usefulness – if to nobody but himself. Lestat pressed a kiss to those auburn tresses, his hands instinctively resting on Armand's narrow waist.

"You already are such a comfort to me," he murmured, hoping Armand heard the sincerity that Lestat tried to infuse into every word.

A sigh was the only response as Armand tightened his grip and drew as close as he possibly could to be completely flush to Lestat's more muscular body. "I need you," he whispered as if it were a sinner's confession rather than a lover's ask, his hands repeatedly opening and closing over the fabric of Lestat's silk shirt.

"Of course you do," Lestat couldn't resist the tease, while swallowing down the rest of that thought. Of course you do, after I've denied you for so long. "Take whatever it is you need then, mon coeur," said Lestat earnestly, and he meant it; the notion of an equalized relationship still not an entirely familiar concept to him.

Armand wordlessly drew Lestat's hand to his face, nuzzling against his palm like a kitten might, before turning it over to place a lingering kiss on the topaz gem that adorned the golden band around Lestat's ring finger – clearly expressing his devotion and appreciation for his beloved, his Prince.

The tableau he made, with his dark lashes dusting over his cheekbones as he bowed his head, was enough to make Lestat's heart twist painfully in his chest. He pulled back his hand to twist it into Armand's hair instead, drawing him in for an embrace that was rough and possessing and perhaps a bit desperate. Surely Lestat wasn't that much of a withholding spouse that warranted the display Armand had just presented?

Armand’s smaller, delicate hands came to cradle Lestat’s face as his fangs grazed Lestat’s bottom lip, the sharp nails digging into the flesh just enough that Lestat resisted moving, opting to let Armand take control. Contrary to most appearances, it was nice–comforting even–to be held in place by Armand as he so often was.

It’s either the best or worst kept secret in their court.

"You do well, Lestat," Armand whispered in between kisses that were somehow chaste in their tenderness yet obscene in their urgency.

Lestat didn't do well; he knew this. His Prime Minister wouldn't be in the temper he was usually in if that were the case. Armand needn't come begging for a quick caress and a sweet word if Lestat were doing well.

Still, hearing the loving affirmation murmured in that honeyed voice was enough to make Lestat's throat tighten, and he blinked rapidly to dismiss the subsequent unwanted emotional response.

Armand, damn him, caught it anyway, and he smiled like a child, delighted.

“Imp,” Lestat waved him off gently with a laugh that wasn't entirely forced. “Go on then! Do what you came here to do, mon chèri!”

“Oh, I'm about to, mon roi,” Armand teased as he rose with a flourish.

Of course, Lestat watched – a man in a trance – as Armand unlaced his knee-high leather boots with a precision and a learned seduction that only a vampire, only Armand for that matter, could possess. His white ruffled shirt and grey trousers were next to follow, purposely left discarded on the rug.

For a man that hadn't felt the sensation of human arousal in his body in the last two hundred years, Lestat would certainly think he was at least experiencing the imitation of it, if it weren't for the obvious fact that nothing ever changed in the region below his waist.

What a pity, a travesty, really!

Nonetheless, Armand's was a bewitching beauty that Lestat longed to claim for himself; a wildcat he'd finally subdued into the demure, sympathetic creature that stood before him now.

Permit a man his delusions of grandeur, please. If nothing else, it appeased Lestat's ego to see the efforts Armand lavished on him. Always had... How could it not?

"Cherub child," Lestat teased in an abrupt flash of wickedness. What a thing to say as Armand approached him, seemingly dancing, before kneeling down in front of the ornate mahogany chair. Completely nude, his curls tumbling over his shoulders as his hand came to massage the ever-present hardness between Lestat's thighs.

"Expecting a miracle, are we, darling?" Lestat questioned, amusement and confusion evident in his voice as he reached out to push Armand's hair back over his shoulder, unobstructing the view of that angelic face.

"No," Armand looked up at him now, tiny fanged teeth coming to nip lightly at Lestat's jaw – an effective distraction – while a satin-like hand quickly freed him from the confines of his trousers.

Hard not to gloat like a mortal man upon seeing the satisfied glint in Armand's eyes each time he took in Lestat's physical endowments, even if he had no use for them beyond the mere aesthetic.

"Is that what you think? That I have no use for all of this?" Armand gently stroked Lestat from base to tip, lingering as though he, Armand, were gaining pleasure from the act itself.

"Do you, really?"

All other thought left Lestat's mind when he looked, really looked, at Armand's face for the first time all evening. His entire face flushed pink, darkest at his cheeks and plump lips, the stolen heat making itself known like rouge painted onto the features of a china doll. He felt almost feverish to the touch when Lestat dragged his knuckles along the apple curve of a perfect cheekbone, "You must have been starving to gorge yourself like this!"

Oh, but I am starving still, Lestat...

"I told you," Lestat reminded him, veritably hypnotized, "Take whatever you need from me. It's yours, Armand. I swear it." Armand startled and blinked at this in a way he hadn't the first time Lestat had spoken the words. He looked terribly, frightfully, young then – the seductive bravado slipping for a moment before his lips curved into a rare, genuinely serene smile. "You did tell me that, didn't you?"

It wasn't a question that sought a response, and Armand didn't wait for one. Turning to face the doorway, he held the edge of the antique desk with one hand while the other reached back and readily sought Lestat's cock.

"Armand-"

You said whatever I needed. Now, quiet.

He could only watch spellbound in rapt fascination as Armand sank down on his shaft in one fluid, rehearsed motion. A motion so skilled it ought to be scandalous. Armand had evidently prepared himself well beforehand, but it was not without a sense of pride that Lestat noted a subtle catch in his breath. In all probability, a part of the show, given a vampire's tolerance for pain, but Lestat still thought it polite and gentlemanly to enquire, "Are you alright, love?"

Armand was fully nestled in his lap now and warm. His internal heat surpassing what Lestat had felt on his face moments ago; the private clutch of Armand's body was snug, slick, and so agreeably warm. "It's an adjustment," Armand replied as he nodded against Lestat's shoulder, interlacing their fingers and bringing Lestat's hand to press on his lower abdomen.

Lestat could have laughed out loud. "My, you are certainly full of flattery tonight! Perhaps I shall ignore you more often." Armand didn't respond, but his fingers over Lestat's hand slacked as his body stiffened, his chin tilting downward ever so slightly.

Why did the wrong thing always slip out so easily to Armand? What sort of damnable curse was this?

I didn't mean that, Armand! You know that I didn't. You know how much of my love you hold, don't you? Tell me that you do…

He's the one gripping Armand's fingertips now, and Armand gave no reaction before suddenly taking in a sharp breath and sitting up again while keeping his toes pressed to the carpet. Never relinquishing an inch of Lestat's cock inside him as he braced his elbows along the hard wood and picked up the court document Lestat had been pursuing in frustration when Armand had first walked in.

His voice was clear and melodic when he read it out loud, as it was when he allowed his accents to come through. Sweetly caressing the vowels with a trace of their native French, the language in which they'd first been acquainted.

As the pronounced exhaustion that came only from duty and obligation began to make itself known – combined with Armand’s soft and saccharine tones and the heat that enveloped him – Lestat felt himself becoming rather lethargic in a manner not unlike a stray animal that’s long-last found its refuge in a storm.

His forearms formed a cage around Armand's middle, cheek pressing against the jut of an unblemished shoulder blade. At some point, the words faded out, but the delicate sounds remained – all Lestat knew in those moments as he drifted in and out of a half-sleep was the delectable inner warmth and the unmistakable scent of his boyish companion. Barely noticed a hand passing over his head, pausing briefly to tousle his golden curls before Armand made a small cut in his own skin.

Go on, lover. I fed for both of us tonight.

How easy for Lestat to turn his head to the other side and sink his fangs into Armand's throat without opening his eyes, relying instead on muscle memory and his predatory senses to find the vein, finally latching on with a slow and drowsy suck like an infant to its nurse.

Merci, Armand. Lestat squeezed his hips, grinding against him for good measure as if he could conceivably get any deeper, perhaps disappear entirely.

A kingdom to spend the rest of his eternity in this position.

Upon drinking his fill, he carefully retracted, sealing the wound with a lick and a kiss, dropping his forehead back down to its previous placement, partially hidden beneath that russet hair. Content to be wholly supported by Armand's deceptively slighter body while he slumbered, satiated in all the ways a man and vampire could possibly be.

Was I to your liking then, my Lestat? Coy, yet cocky at the same time. Knowing he had given Lestat what Lestat had needed, but craving the acknowledgment that Lestat had, in fact, understood what just transpired between them.

Indescribably so, as always.

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

On the one hand, Wilhelm understood this response: He supposed, being what so many people would consider a monster, a child of the night who lived on blood, being immediately feared upon revealing oneself as a vampire was to be expected, and in that regard, she didn't hold it against him and June, for reacting the way they did. They did it out of a desire to protect their son from what they thought was a threat...

...but at the same time, the guilt nagged him, even with her understanding. Maybe it was because it just wasn't like him to jump to conclusions about people and assume the worst, and he hated to think that he'd done it now (granted, he'd never thought he'd ever meet a supernatural being, but even so...). Maybe it was because he knew what it was like to have people judge him without hearing him out-even though he'd been sober for decades, there were still some who assumed the worst of him, thought he'd fall off the wagon at any given moment. It lost him a lot of job opportunities, people thinking that of him.

Maybe because he'd so forcibly kept Randall away from the woman he loved, he rebelled, trying to see her night after night, despite what might be out there in the darkness. There were things more fearful than Emily lurking in the dark-muggers, clearly. Maybe if he hadn't been so quick on the draw like that, trying to keep the two apart, his boy wouldn't be laid up the way he was now...

The thought continued to gnaw at Wilhelm as he knelt beside June, who seemed similarly distressed at the thought of being the indirect cause of her son's injuries, though she didn't say so as she sighed, "I just...thank God you were there, Emily. You watched over him, and you protected him when he needed it the most. That...that means the world to us. Thank God for you.

Is...is there anyway we can...repay you? Or, better yet...make it up to you, for everything?"

[applexi]

i don't have the balls to talk abt this in my other blog but holy fuck am i emotional over hollow looking back at ghost at that flashback i rewatched it just now and i feel awful for what would soon happen to hollow RAAAGGGH

[sillyfairygarden]

spent all say rereading old overwatch fanfic from when i was involved in that. ouuurrghhh d.va hana song i will commit crimes against the state for you

[topgunreacts]

In the story for the Werewolf Ice, you said that each of Val Kilmer's characters should turn into werewolves. We couldn't agree more on that! But could you please tell us what breed and color of wolf you have in mind for Val’s characters?

I am extremely headcanon-promiscuous, so each iteration would definitely come with its own distinct type of wolf. Overlaps, if they happen, would be circumstantial. When I write Iceman, he has a completely different family in each story, for example. I like the diversity, and enjoy being forced to come up with a different background that makes me consider what it was about THAT background that made Ice himself.

It doesn’t always need to be deep, either. Werewolf Iceman is an Iberian wolf, a subspecies of gray wolf that lives in Greenland. Just kidding. It’s the Iberian peninsula. I picked that wolf for Top Gun Iceman because they are trim, tightly muscled, and golden in color, just like Iceman’s tits in the volleyball scene. Also, Iberian wolves are cool.

Time for a

~Thunderheart Intermission~

Werewolf Ray Levoi is a Eurasian wolf, also a subspecies of gray wolf. Because Thunderheart takes place on an Indian Reservation and features a character of mixed indigenous/western European descent, I incorporated that into the lore of the story. The ancestral werewolf who gives Ray his power lives in modern day France, where she is worshiped, respected, and mostly feared. Ray’s mother is from a line of females (my werewolves pas down their power matrilineally) who immigrated from Europe to America. They are out of place in the US. Lost and isolated from their arcane culture. Ray specifically struggles with that on both fronts. His mother the European werewolf was too afraid to pass most things down to her son, and white settlers initiated multiple genocides to wipe out local werewolf populations, even seeking to kill the local ancestors to hobble them. This is because werewolf magic works to prevent things like consolidation of magical power. They’re like the water cycle but for magic. That makes hoarding magic very difficult! So Ray has almost NO connection to his werewolf side. He can’t even get in with the local werewolves because there aren’t any left (that he knows of…).

Similarly, he feels disconnected from his father’s people, the Oglala. His dad died when he was young, so he had very little exposure to Oglala culture. He’s white passing, and only goes back because his bosses at the FBI want him to root out activists, which he will do suuuuuper successfully by ingratiating himself with the locals. This will happen because he [checks smudged writing on partially censored document] shares an ancestry with the people his bosses are trying to put in the ground. For obvious reasons, this does not make him popular there because everyone with a brain cell knows what the fuck is up.

This is Walter and Ray doing their First Look on their wedding day. :) The sexual tension here is palpable.

But wait there’s more!!! In this AU, Ray is a black Eurasian wolf. Why? Because all black wolves have a little domesticated dog in them. That’s where they get that color. I didn’t pick a representative identity for the wolf and dog parts, since that’s not what I’m going for, especially given the fact that this AU is working with indigenous Americans: marginalized groups of people frequently compared to animals by virulent racists. Instead, the color is meant to symbolize Ray being torn between the magical and mundane worlds, being unable to find complete belonging in either place.

~the intermission has ended~

And now what you probably came here for: a small, unofficial official list of potential Val Kilmer Werewolves.

Tombstone Kilmer: red wolf that is always a lil dusty

Batman Kilmer: a timber wolf that was born in a zoo next to the bat enclosure

Real Genius Kilmer: a coyote pretending to be a wolf

Willow Kilmer: a tundra wolf wearing a wizard hat

Prince of Egypt Kilmer: Wepwawet's cousin

10th & Wolf Kilmer: human. too human.

Kiss Kiss Bang Bang Kilmer: extremely smart great plains wolf that willingly does enrichment puzzles with human field researchers for fun