#hoard showcase

[mercymaker]

on one hand, i miss animal crossing

on the other, i cannot face the absolute clutter that is my island, i don't want to deal with all the random furniture and clothes scattered around my house and all the stacks of flour and tomatoes either

[anulithots]

Perhaps I just exist to collect things I like, learn information that's a little too niche, and be a tad bit less reliable than google.

Then I can showcase/gift the archives in my head like a dragon of knowledge

[scoops-stevie-archive]

@outpastthebrakers posted a thing about hospital security guard eddie and er nurse steve and @zerokrox-blog sent in a prompt for a steddie med school au, but despite working in a hospital, i don't know anything about med school other than it's 4 years of schooling and 4 years of residency, so i couldn't deliver on that part unfortunately. but i hope yall enjoy regardless!

"Are you gonna actually do something tonight, or are you just gonna sit there and look handsome like always?"

Steve pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he looks up from the computer and rolls his eyes.

"I could ask you the same thing, you know," he says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "This is the third time you've been down here in the last," Steve checks his watch, "hour. Don't you have a parking lot to patrol or something?"

Eddie only laughs and hooks his thumbs into his belt loops. "Bold of you to assume they let me drive the car, big boy. Nah, Preston drives and I get to be the passenger princess I was born to be."

Steve snorts. He definitely doesn't pay attention to the looks the other nurses are giving them.

"Besides," Eddie continues. He leans his elbows on the counter of the nurse's station. "It's your fault I'm down here so often in the first place."

"Oh really?" Steve raises an eyebrow and doesn't hide the fact that he's checking out the tattoos on Eddie's forearms that are showcased by the short sleeves of his uniform shirt framing his biceps. Hospital uniform policy says minimal jewelry but Eddie's never been one for conformity so his fingers are adorned with rings of different size.

(Hospital policy also says that security staff are, under no circumstances, to physically harm violent patients or visitors, but that policy doesn't say anything about Eddie threatening to dole out a knuckle sandwich or two.)

Eddie tracks Steve's gaze and smirks. He taps his fingers on the counter in a rolling rhythm, his black nail polish accenting the flashiness of his rings.

Eddie leans in a little more (which isn't necessary because the counter is a foot above the desk Steve is sitting at) and almost purrs, public decency be damned, "Because, princess, if it weren't for you, I'd be stuck up in my office doing something boring, like reading." He places a hand on his chest. "As much as I love my dragon hoard of books, seeing your pretty face for twelve hours is a much better option."

Steve blushes and tries to sputter out a response, but the radio clipped to Eddie's shoulder goes off.

Eddie confirms the call and groans, dropping his head.

The moment is all Steve needs to compose himself. "Oh no," he frowns, insincere but his tone teasing. "You have to actually do your job. How awful."

Eddie mouths wordlessly back at him, mocking, but then grins and raps his knuckles on the counter once more, giving him a wink. "Don't miss me too much, sweetheart."

Steve tries to not watch as Eddie walks down the hallway, but god those pants fit him so well. He's always had a thing for tiny, perky asses.

"Steve."

Steve jumps and does not yelp like a child. He turns to see his colleague Jen. Jen's been working in the ER for a few years and is a spitfire with a heart of gold.

"You've been flirting with him for months and neither of you have made a real move on each other. What the hell? The betting pool Trent and Brett have is getting shallow."

The tips of Steve's ears start to burn. "Betting pool?!" He turns his chair around to the guys mentioned and they're very much making an effort not to look at him. "You guys are betting on us hooking up? How old are you, twelve?"

"Stevie," Jen sighs in a dramatic way that reminds Steve of Robin and it makes his heart clench. "You have turned down every single person in the vicinity since you started. Eddie is obviously into you and you're into him. I'm going to say this as nicely as I can because you're my favorite out of all the graduates: Please jump this man's bones so I can get my $50."

"My love life is only worth $50 to you?"

"Steve."

Steve groans and hits his head on the desk.

xxxxxxxx

Eddie outright moans when 7am rolls around and he's finally able to take off his uniform. He shoves the bulletproof vest and his holster belt into his locker and his shirt and pants into his dufflebag to be washed later.

God, he doesn't even want to think about laundry.

After he got the call that pulled him away from Steve, it was like the floodgates opened. Two code violets, one report of a car circling the ASU parking lot suspiciously, and three code browns that ended up being patients sneaking outside for a smoke.

He didn't blame them. With the night he had, he's regretting his decision to quit.

Eddie walks through the automatic doors at the entrance of the hospital after he's changed back into his civvies, and those regrets immediately disappear and his mood brightens when he sees who's waiting for him.

Wayne's van is parked in the drop off zone and the sliding door is opened. A bright grin stretches across Eddie's tired face as he gets closer to his little girl, happily squirming in her car seat and drinking juice out of her bottle.

"Da-dee!"

Eddie lets his bag slide off his shoulder and onto the ground but Wayne picks it up and puts it next to Emma's diaper bag.

"Hi, baby!" Eddie coos as he unbuckles her. "Good morning!" He kisses her cheek and buries his nose in her hair, a chesnut brown like her dad's, and cuddles her close. "I missed you so much. Did you have fun with papaw last night?"

"She fussed a little after you left but I got her settled," Wayne says. He holds up a McDonald's bag. "Decided she was gonna get an early start this morning so I figured yall could use some breakfast."

Eddie's stomach chooses the right time to growl and his mouth waters. Last he ate was a TV dinner around one in the morning. Eddie tells Wayne to pick a spot in the visitor's parking lot and then takes Emma back inside the hospital with him.

He doesn't see Steve when he gets to the ER.

"Hey, Steve hasn't left yet, has he?"

A nurse, Jen, Eddie thinks her name is, looks at him and immediately starts cooing at the (admittedly adorable) baby in his arms that's looking around with curious eyes and drinking her juice.

"Steve's in the locker room getting changed, he's just about to clock out. Who is this little cutie?"

Eddie grins and bounces Emma lightly. "This is Emma, my little monster. She gets all her cuteness from her other dad."

Jen's face falls for a second but before Eddie can ask what's wrong, Emma squeals way too loudly for a hospital at 7:30 in the morning and almost throws her bottle in her excitement.

"Da! Da!"

Steve looks just about as tired as Eddie feels and he can practically hear their bed calling their names. But Steve's eyes light up when he hears who's calling for him and a sort of puppy-like grin takes over his face, dopey and happy.

Emma is already reaching for him and Steve quickly strides over and takes her in his arms.

"Good morning, lovebug," Steve says, enveloping her in the gentlest hug he can muster. He breathes in her natural baby smell and closes his eyes.

Eddie's hand goes to his waist to keep him awake and Steve hums, opening his eyes and leaning into give Eddie a peck on the cheek.

"Morning, baby," he murmurs, all traces of teasing and flirting from the night before gone and replaced with open affection.

Steve doesn’t need to look at Jen to know her jaw is probably on the floor.

Eddie returns the kiss on Steve's lips. "Morning, sweetheart. Wayne’s waiting with breakfast outside. Seems like little miss princess here decided she was gonna wake up early, early today." He tickles Emma's tummy as he says this, causing her to laugh around her binky and try to push his fingers away.

"Food sounds so good right now," Steve practically whines.

Jen is still staring between the three of them. Steve smiles sheepishly.

"Sorry you didn't win your money. I should’ve told you, Eddie and I have been together for years. Emma's our daughter." He shifts Emma in his arms and gives everyone a wave. "I'll see you guys later."

He and Eddie walk out of the hospital hand in hand. They eat their breakfast in the parking lot and Wayne follows them to their house to stay up with Emma while Steve and Eddie get some much needed sleep.

When they go back into work later that evening, they fess up to everyone and Eddie gives Jen $50 right from his own wallet.

[l0starl]

earth 42 miles with hello kitty fan!reader bc I love the whole tough guy with a soft also tough partner trope!!

hello kitty plushies I had in mind:

A/n : this kinda seems boring tbh, i don’t think I did a good job

(🕸️) — Atsv Taglist ; @adorefavv @adorinjae @daydreaming-en-pointe @hobiebrownismygod @cleartragedyidiot @imjustagirlintheworld777 @deluxary @lauryn2558

(✏️) — TAGLIST ; fill it out to be apart of it!

A limited edition hello kitty plushie was being sold in a nearby store, as soon as you found out you practically begged miles to take you there

“Sorry, Cariño, I have to go do a favor for uncle Aaron in a few minutes.” Miles sighed, knowing you wouldn’t take no for an answer

“Please miles, there’s only a limited amount in stock!” You frowned

“Alright then, how far is this store…?” Miles questioned, debating if he had the time to take you there “Just a few minutes, we can just walked there!” You suggested, already making your way to the door

It was a pretty short walk, but as soon as you reach the entrance of the store, you could tell it was going to be packed

Your hand intertwined with his as you walk through the crowd, you were a bit surprised because you knew miles wasn’t a fan of showing affection in public

miles squeezed your hand harshly as he feared losing you in the masove hoard of hello kitty superfans , all of them mashing others to get to the front; almost nearing a moshpit

You spotted a neon hello kitty sign in the distance, making your way over there with miles, pushing people out the way while saying quick apologies along the way

You arrived at the sign, under it showcasing multiple hello kitty plushies, their wasn’t that much left so you had to act fast before more people come by

You grabbed a hello kitty plushie that caught your eye the most as you both quickly made your way to checkout

The checkout was packed, people pushing and shoving each other ferociously, some being trampled on the floor

“Yikes…” you muttered to yourself

Miles continued to hold your hand tightly, leading you both to a cash register, pushing people out the way, while you followed along, avoiding the mean glares

You arrived at the cash register, the employee behind it was clearly exhausted from all of these crazed fans, you hand them the plush as they scan it

“$32.99” the cashier sighed, tapping on the counter

Miles digs through his pocket, finding the money he hands it to them as the cash register makes a “ding” sound, placing the money inside.

“Would you like a bag?” The cashier questioned?

“No we’re good!” You smiled, grabbing the hello kitty plushie you and miles exited the store.

“So, we can go home now? Is that all you needed?” Miles questioned, tilting his head

“Yep! Thank you miles!” You beamed as you kiss his cheek

“Yeah, yeah” he sighed, but he managed to crack a smile

[madelynraemunson]

— along for the ride ☆

🐃 the tag team (co-writers): @joshlmbrt @swiss-mrs @mediocredreams 🩶

eddie x fem!reader

a/n: reading flight of icarus and finding out eddie is from tennessee REALLY husked my corn 🤠 also, this may or may not have been inspired by the bull fight scene in hoard

cw: daydream p in v sex, riding, eddie gets a hard on watching reader ride, innuendos, play on words

Stamina. Strength. Strategy. Safety. The Four Important S’s when it comes to bull-riding. 

‘Support’ is your unofficial fifth. You’ve generated quite the following after showcasing your riding skills at Whisky Jim’s every Saturday night, the ooohs and aaahs of your spectators filling the air as the spotlight drenches your cute… calculated… perspiring body. 

Bull-riding at the dive bar every weekend has become a favorite hobby of yours. It’s a perfect outlet for all the stress, the rough-and-tough of it all perfectly counterbalancing your slow-as-snails, but somehow busy and draining 9 to 5. Riding gave you something to look forward to.

“Look at her go,” an onlooker coos in admiration. “She’s got life by the goddamn horns.”

You toss your head back, glossy lips parted in excitement as the crowd’s appreciative hoots and whistles filled the air.  You could get used to this. You have gotten used to this.

Even with the world at your feet, things were starting to get boring again. And you are constantly craving something wild, something new. Something or someone that will make like the bull by sweeping you off your feet and taking you out for a spin.

Someone like Eddie Munson, perhaps.

Eddie isn’t sure what drew him… here out of all places. But something about the rowdiness compels him as he climbs out of his van, Halen and into the bar, boots scuffing the hard wooden floor. But the flight-risk metalhead is determined to find out, itching for adventure as he saunters with feigned confidence into the southern saloon. 

He flags down the closest bartender, a country heartthrob of a man with black hair and blue eyes. The Casanaova places a coaster down in front of him as Eddie steps up to the plate. “What’ll ya be havin’?”

“Anything local,” Eddie replies, more of a question, unsure of what exactly is available. “Anything hoppy.”

“Bottle or Tap?” the man follows up after a curt nod, mindlessly running a hand over his thick mustache.

“Tap. Pint, please.”  

The bartender gives another nod before disappearing to fulfill Eddie’s request. Meanwhile, the outcast takes this short window of time to look up and down the bar at the different patrons. 

All from different walks of life. But all here for presumably the same reason.Whisky Jim’s is decently packed, but for the most part, the crowd is congregated either in booths, at tables, or in the middle of the floor.

A glass is placed onto the coaster. The same deep country twang effectively regains Eddie’s attention.

“Wanna start a tab, brother?” The older man asks with a polite grin, eyes crinkling up at the sides as he does. 

Eddie offers a polite smile in return.

“Uh, sure. Thanks.” 

The bartender studies him intently this time, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“First timer?”

 Eddie clears his throat uneasily, kicking at the peanut casings at his feet to avoid contact with the John Wayne of a man that was in front of him.

“Obvious?” 

The man cackles at Eddie, the slight patronization of the old-timer’s demeanor making him want to evaporate. But the amused blue eyes and downturned smile indicates it’s all in good fun, much like his uncle Wayne who always liked giving him a hard time whenever he made himself too small. 

“Son, you couldn’t stick out further if you were a dog’s balls.” 

A fellow bartender laughs at the man’s remark. Then Eddie joins in. It was pretty funny. 

“You just don’t really look like the kind to be into square dancin’, is all,” the bartender remarks as he narrows his eyes at Eddie. Eddie shrugs and takes a sip of his beer, slightly wincing as the first sip hits him.

“Well, you’re not wrong. Just thought I’d explore a bit outside of my usual.” 

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Eddie.”

“Greg.” The bartender gives him his hand to shake. “You from around here or you comin’ from outta town?” 

“Hawkins.” 

“Not too far from home then. And it seems you came on a good night.” 

And as if on cue, the crowd towards the middle of the building erupts in cheers. Eddie briefly glances over his shoulder in the general direction before turning back to Greg with a curious head tilt.

“What’s happening?” 

Greg nods his head over in the direction of the crowd.

“Bull Ridin’ Night.”

Your thighs are wrapped around the firm leather seat as you’re whisked around in one fluid motion. You turn to give your rapt audience a wink. The crowd eats up your presence, evident by the adorn kisses they blow your way. You buy into the theatrics, pretending to catch them before putting them in your back pocket for later. It only riles the audience up more.

“They bring that thing out on Saturdays,” Greg explains. “Between the Karaoke Nights and the Hoedowns, Bull Ridin’ is one of the most popular.”

 Eddie tries another glance in that direction, but due to the crowd, he doesn’t have the best view of who is actually riding.

 “You gon’ give it a try?”

 Eddie’s head whips back around to the older man to find a teasing smirk on his face. Eddie shakes his head.

“I… don’t think so.” He chuckles. “I’m not the most balanced or coordinated person.” He admits that with a grimace and another sip of his Hawkins Pale Ale. 

“I’m just teasin’ ya, boy. HEY!” Greg whistles at the bartender next to him. “Who’s up there now?” 

 The coworker throws a quick glance over their shoulder before replying. There’s a bashful smirk when they reply, 

“Who do you think?” 

The crowd erupts again, cheers and whistles alike. Who else gets this kind of crowd engagement? No one else other than you, of course. 

“Looks like my girl is up there breakin’ hearts again.” Greg lets out a soft laugh. 

Eddie gulps as his breathing shallows. A girl? Up there? On that thing?

Eddie, once again, nearly strains his neck trying to get a glimpse of the rider. When he fails, Eddie turns back to the bar, downing the final quarter of his pint, before looking back at Greg.

“Fetch me a bottle for the road, yeah?”

 Greg issues him a chuckle, grabbing the empty glass and handing him a bottle version of that very ale, while Eddie sets off on his curiosity journey to the middle of the floor.

“Boys will be boys.” Greg’s female coworker remarks with sassy pursed lips.

Eddie closes in on the crowd,  slipping through the few empty spaces between the onlookers with half-assed ‘Excuse me’s. Though no one was paying him any mind. And when he settles by the barrier, just a mere two rows behind, he finally gets the perfect view of you.

Eddie couldn’t fight the grin that spread across his face at the sight of you working the crowd. He watches as you give a practiced flick of your hips to get the crowd going and the enticing jiggle of your breasts under your tight shirt. Drew in Eddie’s eyes like a laser beam. The thin material was stretched taut, giving a hint of the perfect tits underneath as you arched your lower back and thrust your chest forward to keep your balance. 

“Christ,” he exhales sharply, in awe of your natural performance, the boisterous, unpredictable gravity of the machine whirling you around as you wrestle to hold on. 

His eyes drink in the sight of the soft, rounded curve of your ass that peeked out of the bottom of your faded Daisy Duke’s as you lean forward to steady yourself in the saddle.

WHOOSH!

The bull jerks sideways and you flex your thighs and circle your hips in the saddle to keep yourself astride. The plush skin of your upper thighs press tightly against the seat and your upper body sways in rhythm with the bull’s movement. 

You were born to ride.

“That’s how you do it, Indiana!” a spectator hoots in adoration as you cling on for dear life. “That’s how you do it!”

You give a deep roll of your hips to meet the thrust of the machine, causing Eddie to run the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip before sucking in a shaky breath. Your hips… the way they roll… is almost hypnotic, and Eddie’s brown doe eyes can’t help but linger on the sliver of skin that peeks out, black, intricate swirls of cyber-sigilism that tease him slightly. 

Fuck.

“God, she’s so pretty…” he thinks to himself. “And she knows how to ride.”

Eddie’s eyes trail to the white of your knuckles, his own fingers gripping the bottle of his beer when his eyes slide up your arm and land on your face.

The front of his pants start to feel uncomfortably tight. Eddie adjusts himself as discreetly as he could, but even the soft brush of his fingers against the strained denim causes  him to hiss under his breath.

“Ride it, cowgirl!” an audience’s comment centers Eddie once again. “LET ‘EM KNOW!”

The way you matched the bull’s gyrations and anticipated its every move made him weak in the knees, and as he watched you swirl your hips in the saddle like a modern day Annie Oakley he couldn’t help but wish it was him straddled between your shapely thighs instead. 

As Eddie stood there watching, the dull roar of the crowd faded into the background. At that moment it was just you and him. 

In his mind he’s already lassoed you to his bed; and you’re sat astride him like a cowgirl in your saddle, hands splayed on his chest for balance as you lowered yourself onto his throbbing cock. And you’d bite down on your plush lower lip and let out a soft moan as you sank down onto him slowly, taking your time and adjusting to his size. 

“Oh, Eddie,” he could almost hear you purring. “It’s so big.”

And he’d chuckle with false modesty and rub a hand tenderly along your thigh as if to soothe the delicious stretch of his thick girth.Then once you adjusted, you’d move, meeting each unpredictable roll of his hips with your own as you mastered the rhythm of your very own long-haired bucking bronco.

And he’d be gripping you tight with each deep thrust, pistoning, plowing himself into you while watching his cock disappear into your slick pussy over and over with each forceful snap of his hips. And with every strained mewl he milks out of you he’d press you down by the hips and drill into you further, your weak cunt just about ready to tap out on top of him. This handsome bull’s sure a challenge, you’d be thinking to yourself. Eddie is a ride you wouldn’t be able to survive.

———

The crowd disperses when the show is over. Eddie stands a bit straighter when you finally leave the middle of the floor, eyes darting towards the plush smirk that your soft lips create. If it’s even possible, he thinks you look even more heavenly. He’s sure you don’t even realize what you’re doing to him. 

Little does he know that for you, he’s taken that same effect. You’ve grown so accustomed to everyone here that a new face has captured your attention. And you felt him staring at you, with a gaze so impassioned that you just about almost lost your footing up there. But you pulled it off real well, attempting to shake off the redirection in the form of a dramatic bounce of your tits.

It perplexes you. A man making you that nervous? Up until late, it’s become rather unheard of. You want to know this man and see for yourself what his energy is all about.

Eddie finds himself fixing his appearance when he notices your legs striding over, clearing his throat as his palm slides over the stubble that he had been trying to grow. 

“You know it’s kinda rude to stare the way that you do,” you remark.

“How so?” Eddie challenges. “Everyone else is doing it. What makes me different from everybody?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” you smile at him.

Eddie shifts his weight onto the counter, bringing the bottle up to his lips, taking another gulp. His eyes dart everywhere -- the metal buckle of your belt, the skin that was shiny with dried sweat, your hands that tap at the sticky countertop of the bar, the way your lips wrap around the tip of your bottle and the liquid that slips out and down your chin that he greedily wanted to tongue away. 

“Funny,” you observe. “I’m here every Saturday and I’ve never once seen your face.”

He thinks he’s looking over at an angel, really, heart beating faster when he realizes it’s him that you’d made an effort to come up to. Made an effort to get to know.

“Interesting that you saw me.”

“I see everything from up there. And you’re a newcomer, I can tell. Sticking out like a sore thumb in the best way.”

You invite him into your energy, closing up the distance between the two of you with a graceful stride in his direction.

“You were amazing,” Eddie says to you. “Really know how to put on a show, cowgirl.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eddie insists. “Spotlight loves you. Killer crowd engagement as well.”

“You a performer too?”

“Depends who’s asking.”

“Mmm, I don’t know…” you sigh dreamily. “Just a fellow performer lookin’ for some tips and pointers.”

Not much needs to be said to know that you two ache for each other, judging by how the intimate dive bar grows non-existent for as long as you two are captured in the forcefield of each other. Eddie thinks that there would be absolutely nothing better than giving you some pointers, his hand leaving the bottle, some of the liquid sloshing around the precipitating glass, heart pounding in his ears as he nods quickly. One rowdy night wouldn’t hurt anybody, he thinks to himself. And it’s very apparent that, the stunner that is you, wants take him for a spin.

“So what do you say, cowboy?” you cock an eyebrow at him. “Why don’t we ride off into the sunset, just you and me?”

dividers by: @animatedglittergraphics-n-more @saradika @mikeykuns

[insanesanitysparks]

So I'm just sitting here fantasizing over dragon Kiri courting...

Because he's a dragon, I see him gathering shiny little trinkets 'n' stuff to bring as little offerings to you. If he were a wild dragon, he might hunt and bring back his kills for you but because he's "civilized" he brings his kills home and convinces Bakugou to cook them to perfection (probably suggests that he can't handle it or something so Bakugou has to prove him wrong). He would fly over and around the city doing crazy stunts like barrels rolls or flying upside down, spinning in circles, etc. to impress you and to show off his brilliant red scales and fire power.

After bringing you a hoard of pretty things (that could never compare to your beauty), proving that he is capable of providing for you by hunting, and showcasing his skills and handsomeness-he would then prove his strength to you by sparring with a strong opponent. Obviously he wants it to be impressive so he choses the strongest warrior he knows, Bakugou Katsuki. Obviously, Bakugou knows what his shitty lizard friend is doing and being the little jerk we all know and love, he plays along up until Kiri almost beats him. Then he turns the tables, totally whips Kiri's ass, and leaves him for you to clean up.

As your wiping the dirt, sweat, and blood from Kiri's exhausted form you probably giggle a little at how foolish he's acting, all on your behalf. He's already half naked in front of you, so you give him a little encouraging peck on the cheek before disappearing into your bedroom with a beckoning flutter of your eyes. Kiri's a little shy and blushing but he's running to follow when he sees you toss your outfit out the bedroom door. Apparently, all his stupid little courting ideas actually work...

And Bakugou regrets his decision to help his friend out because now he gets to listen to two horny dragons keep him up all night.

[giorno-plays-piano]

Metamorph

Part I

Pairing: art teacher!Aemond Targaryen x reader (Horror AU)

Warnings: dark!Aemond, obsessive behavior, murder, horror, yandere, kidnapping, misanthropy, general creepy stuff.

Words: 1.5k

Summary: Drawn to the artworks of one of the most esteemed artists in the city, you wish to learn from him and find out what inspires him to create his masterpieces. You have no idea how much his secrets will cost you.

P.S. Unhinged Aemond, my dear Ewan nation! No physical harm done to the heroine, though.

___________

"Are you ready?" He asks you calmly, but you can see his impatience, the way he restlessly looks at you and back at the door leading to one of the smaller studios he always keeps locked at all times. Aemond can't wait to show you something, some other paintings of his he prefers to hide from others, and you feel both intrigued and disturbed by what you will find.

He is a genius, no doubt. One of the best artists of the century, the critics say, and while your city literally consists of art studios and galleries, people speak of Aemond Targaryen with a weird reverence, and his name is constantly on the ear.

His drawings caught your attention the moment you saw them online, mindlessly looking through your feed. It was hard to explain what exactly made you stop and look at them - even after months of attending his course you still couldn't quite put your finger on it - but you saved the pictures, printed them out, and then was staring at them hanging from the wall for days like you had been hypnotized. The ones you stumbled upon first depicted all sorts of buildings, always only in black and white, overgrown with... something. Flowers, vines, some greenery that looked like flesh and bones, painted in vivid red, of course. It was sort of scary... but also sort of not. It was a work of art, not some background picture from a cheap horror movie. The architecture he chose, they way he drew it as if he was recording his own perception onto the paper, each stroke written with his style, perhaps his very soul embedded in it... It was impossible to describe it with words. One had to see it to understand.

So, you had visited a gallery where his works had been exhibited, and since then you were fully supportive of city's infatuation with Aemond Targaryen. There was no way you could stay indifferent to his art, especially considering your own desperate attempts to get better at drawing.

How could he be so expressive while mostly using just black, white and red paint? Most of the time, he wasn't even painting but drawing, making sketches, that sort of thing. And yet you were obsessively saving and printing all of his artworks you were able to spot online. Some you hang on the walls of your apartment, some - the ones that made you held your breath - you kept in a drawer like you were a dragon guarding your treasure chest. One time when your mom accidentally spotted them you literally wanted to fall through the floor. It was... too intimate for sharing with anyone. Despite the paintings and drawings showcased openly in the galleries for everyone to see, they felt like they were your great secret, your own hoard, too precious to even talk about it, less let people see printed artworks you kept hidden in the bottom drawer of your cabinet.

Who was he, the man who brought these breathtaking paintings to life, you had often wondered. How had he done it? How did he make the red paint so vivid, so expressive and yet not vulgar? How could he lay strokes with such precision, but not the same way most artists did? How did he build his compositions that they felt real and surreal at the same time? What sort of magic was that? Everyone around joked he must have sold his soul to the Devil.

When you saw Aemond for the first time, you thought the same thing because he scared the Hell out of you. First, he wore an eyepatch and had a long, ugly scar crossing half of his face. An incident from his childhood, someone whispered to you. Someone had stabbed him in the eye.

This felt disturbing and surreal, too. Stabbed a child in the eye? What the Hell? Wasn't he from some wealthy, upper-class sort of family?

Perhaps, it was one of the reasons why Aemond seemed so sullen and chilly, his only presence making the temperature in the room drop a couple degrees. Despite his obvious attractiveness, it felt like he was an alligator waiting in front of a crowd of stupid bunnies who came to admire his teeth. Didn't help he was dressed in all black, and both his skin and hair were alarmingly white like he wasn't really a human being.

A stupid suggestion, really.

He'd been through some serious shit, someone kept murmuring you in the ear as you stared at the artist, open-mouthed and frozen in place. His dad was really wealthy, but rumors had it he didn't really care about him or his siblings, and his mother was constantly on antidepressants. Then the incident with the eye-stabbing happened, but it was still shrouded in mystery even with journalists trying to dig up the truth for years. After he grew up, Aemond went to study business and started working under his grandfather. Rumours had it he made some crazy money but started hating his life, ended up having serious issues with drinking, and at one point, he suddenly left everything and disappeared.

Whatever happened then was a mystery, too, and the artists never spoke about it in any of his interviews expect for saying that drawing has saved him. Although nothing suggests he is a former alcoholic and had once been homeless thanks to the immaculate way he dresses, you thought there was something in his face that made you wonder if he actually got better. Aemond seemed... very hostile.

But he'a an artist, too, and you've found all of them weird in one way or the other.

Of course, despite the fact that you've been drawing for years, you've never thought yourself an artist. No, no, you just enjoy it as a hobby, and you're nowhere near people like Aemond Targaryen.

But when you heard he opened a drawing course for the general public, you were so frantic about getting in you swore to yourself, regardless how much it costs, you would get in. Even if you wouldn't be eating for the next few years.

Seriously, it was Aemond freaking Targaryen you were talking about. A literal King! He had been the talk of a month even in the capital thanks to his recent dragon paintings collection that was sold in an auction for a ridiculous sum of money. So what if he's scary and had this chilling-to-the-bone stare? Most successful people you knew seemed at least a little frightening. Besides, if anything, you could just drop out of class.

But if you were brave enough to apply, you could have a chance to actually see him at work.

How did his studio look? What sort of routine did he have? What kind of paint and pencils did he use? How had he gotten that amazing crimson color you were trying to replicate for months without any success? What did he use for inspiration?

Clearly, you just couldn't let this opportunity slip away. You had to try to get in.

Surprisingly, the course wasn't even that expensive, sold at nearly the same price as most other art courses as if Aemond was just like any other artist in the city. The problem laid in his way of choosing the students: he requested to see the artworks of applicants to determine whether he'd take them or not.

It nearly put a stop to the whole thing because you were terrified of him seeing your drawings. What would he think about an amateur like you? How could you even dream about coming to him instead of improving your technique first with some other, way less known artists? He was Aemond Targaryen, for God's sake.

But you knew he might never take other students again. He might even move to the capital that would give him much more than your city ever could. What if he just disappeared? It could have been your only chance to see him work.

When he accepted you along with 9 other students out of more than two hundred participants, you thought you were dreaming. How? Why would he? You were far from professional. Goodness, you weren't even planning on becoming a true artist, and it felt like you were cheating on people who did. So, how could he take you, knowing that?

Not that you were going to drop out before the start of the course. Over your dead body. You literally spent the entire week shopping for new materials even though you knew he would give you suggestions later. But how could you show him your pencils and brushes that looked like your dog chewed, ate, and then threw them back up? You'd rather jump from the roof.

___________

Alas, on the first day of the course, you stood there among other students, holding your breath as you watched the door of the studio open. Aemond Targaryen was going to teach you his art.

Part II

Tags: @heavenly1927 @yazzzmints @devils-blackrose @lost-and-founds @kennafild

[hermajestyimher]

One of the things I've been pondering often on lately has been the overt level of infantilization of adults in our societies, not just Western but across many areas of the world.

This intrigue led me to read this amazing peace on the matter which I wholeheartedly agree with.

Throughout my life, I've often been referred to as "very mature for my age". That characterization may have been accurate and perhaps flattering during my early childhood and teens. Underneath it, there was a sea of trauma that forced me to grow faster than my peers. However, now at 24 years of age, I continue to get the same sort of comments, with many people being amazed at my intelligence or perspective of life at my age. I don't find those comments flattering but rather amusing at best and uncomfortable at worst. After much consideration, I've come to realize that as an adult entering my mid-20's I am not in any way "very mature for my age", instead, I simply do not behave in ways that are childish and inappropriate. That should be the standard and not the exception.

I often see around me how people, mostly men, in their mid 30's and 40's behaving like absolute children with no understanding of boundaries, wholly attached to unhealthy vices showcasing a total lack of self-control or discipline, with no regard at all for their physical appearance, with no ambition to grow as a person or getting educated by consuming truly edifying content. They resent many women for not giving them the time of day and the world around them for their shortcomings. They have no sense of accountability and self-awareness. They remain in this never-ending limbo of mediocrity and child-like ways that upon close observation ends up being extremely depressing.

I've also noticed similar patterns among some similarly aged peers of mine, and this time including women. It's genuinely shocking to see grown people derive their entire personality out of TikTok or Twitter trends, being unable to think about things critically and instead parroting the popular talking points they see having the most retweets and engagements, thus joining a hive mind as if they were still in high school following what is popular and requires little effort and independent thought.

Even our popular music is becoming more and more immature with lyrics and beat patterns designed to be consumed in numb and almost irrational ways. The kind of music we listen to dictates a lot of how we view the world.

Our politics have become a soap opera that drive with them hoards of cult-like followers behind the most stupid and caricaturesque ideas that lack the sophistication politicians used to have in the past. All while the decisions of the inept clowns the immature, and dumbed-down masses end up putting in power end up having negative consequences in our general lives. See people like Trump, Matt Gaetz, or Geroge Santos being elected to high positions in the most influential government in the world.

My belief is that if you know you are someone who strives for excellence and greatness in your life, you cannot succumb to the ways of the masses. You cannot emulate the trends and habits that are popular around you because those same habits are designed to keep you in a toxic loop of immaturity and stupidity. If you know you are destined for greatness, don't fall short of your potential by wanting to be like the rest. Those who stand out do so because they are different. Keep improving yourself, hitting your goals, continuing to grow and evolve, and rejecting stagnation and regressivism. You are above that.

[brownblob]

can you do malleus x y/n?

Do you?

Malleus Draconia x GN!Reader

Malleus Draconia, the stoic Fae prince, and future ruler of the Briar Valley had always been a figure of intimidation. Since he was born, no one had ever dared to go against the prince. It was surely wonderful to be respected as such, even feared.

Yet, he couldn't help but feel so dreadfully lonely.

Everyone saw him as a prince, a man who would one day rule over all faeries, a man who who could kill in just a snap of his fingers.

A boy who was never invited to events, a boy who was feared so much that he never lived like a child. A boy who's name could cause thousands, if not millions, to cower.

Then why were you not scared?

Why was it that whenever you saw him, you smiled? Why was he always greeted as an individual, a friend, whenever he met up with you? Why did you trust him so easily?

Were you foolish or naive? He did not know, but what he did know was that you were endearing, a sort of light amidst his black and white world.

You had opened his eyes to what friendship was, what it was like to be cared for unconditionally.

Yet he was greedy. It was in his nature, after all, he was a dragon. He was a dragon who wanted to hoard this newfound treasure.

That treasure was you.

You weren't like his retainers, you never served under him. Nor were you like his followers, you never worshipped him. Then what were you?

The simple idea of someone so peculiar messed with his brain. He wasn't sure what category you were part of. You started off as "just a human" a very peculiar one, but still a mere human.

"Tsunotarou!" You'd say with that same goofy smile plastered on your face. Did you really not know what he was capable of, or were you just that brave?

Yet, whenever you said that name, reaching your arms out to engulf him in your embrace, he couldn't help but smile. The corners of his lips tugged to a grin, showcasing his sharper teeth as he returned the gesture.

He didn't know when nor did he know how it happened, but soon enough, you weren't just a human anymore.

You were his human, his peculiar human that he wanted more than just a friend.

He wanted to be more than "Tsunotarou".

His greed longed for your love, his greed longed for your touch, his greed longed for you.

"Child of man, what do you see me as..?" He asked, his voice deep as usual, his left hand cupping your face. He leaned down to your height, his lips awfully close to your neck.

"What am I to you?" He asked, his voice a whisper. The room seemed to go silent as you stood there, his free hand snaking around your waist.

What started of as a normal walk in the woods, turned into something more serious, much more intimate. The way his right hand snaked around your waist as the other one cupped your face, it was all so confusing, yet so fitting.

Fireflies seemed to dance around you, illuminating the dark night. The wind made the trees dance, the moon seeming a bit too dreamy than usual, as it made a pond nearby glow. The scene was right out of a fairytale, and it seemed as if he were a prince and you were his fated lover.

This was the first time he'd been so outright blunt with you, and so awfully close. Yet, it felt nice, the way his hands fit against you, the way his breath felt on you neck, and the way the blood rushed to your cheeks.

As he moved away from you neck, you looked up at him, your neck craning a bit. His emerald eyes looked into yours with something you couldn't explain, they were seeking an answer, they were longing for you.

"You're Tsunotarou, my friend..." You replied, your mind running a bit too fast for your liking as your heart skipped a beat. What was happening to you? You weren't sure what he was hinting at, what exactly was he asking, so you stated the obvious.

He wasn't stupid, he already knew this. He wanted to know more, what exactly he meant to you, what the possibilities were.

He pulled you closer, your face buried in his chest as he leaned down a bit so you could hear his words as clearly as possible.

"What if I want to be more than friends?" He asked, as the arm gripped around your waist tightened.

"You've given me the chance to experience friendship, something I am deeply grateful for. Yet, friendship doesn't soothe the longing in my heart." His words were careful, slowly reaching the goal he was aiming for.

"I want to be yours."

He let go of you slightly, allowing his eyes to look into yours. His grip loosened a bit as he waited for you to run off, for he may have made you uncomfortable. Yet you didn't, you simply stood there in his loosened embrace.

Your face was flushed, the usual childlike smile nowhere to be found. Instead, your face was red, an expression he'd never attained from you, an expression that he wished to see more of.

The fireflies still danced in the night, the moon glowing brightly, the trees swayed with delight, as you two stood there, relishing in the serenity.

"Do you long for me as much as I long for you?"

Note: Sorry for leaving at kind of a cliffhanger but I wasn't sure how far I was supposed to go and whether it was supposed to be wholesome or more heated. Please do give me more premises and ideas to write about, it would be greatly appreciated.

If you enjoyed it please interact with this post and.or follow me to support! If you wish to request something please read the pinned post first! Thank you!

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Age of Khonshu, or as I like to call it: Oh no. Oh no no no no.

Age of Khonshu, written by Jason Aaron. 2018.

Who is Jason Aaron? A big writer at Marvel, he is best known for PunisherMAX (the ultras violent and non-marvel universe version of the Punisher), some runs of Thor (the one where Jane Foster becomes Thor), and certain runs with Wolverine: Weapon X. He also wrote Southern Bastard, which is a big name over in Image comics.

Another important fact? He was raised Southern Baptist that has since become an atheist.

That history out of the way, let's look at the sort of comic this is.

I have been putting off reading this little doozy for YEARS. Why? Three reasons.

This was not a good year for me personally. In fact, this was the start of some REALLY bad years to follow for the next 4 years.

I missed the original release and when I tried to find it to read it, no one had it. Not even the library. (This should have been my first clue).

This is a Marvel tie in event.

Now, I have ranted about these before and I'm going to rant about it again.

What is a tie in event? It's a big Marvel World event that attempts to do a large story-line that involves a lot of other big names (usually the avengers).

In Events, you have the main story line that involves the main character. So say, DareDevil is fighting a super ninja. You have the main story that takes place in DareDevil's comic "DareDevil vs. the super ninja" and in that comic, it's such a big fight that the avengers have to get involved, and maybe Dr. Strange and perhaps Brother Voodoo is getting a movie next spring so they want to showcase Brother Voodoo working with familiar faces so he's involved now too.

BUT. All these people involved also have their own comics running. They don't just want to keep going and ignore this big ninja fight that's happening. So then we have side event tie ins that pause their normal story-line to respond in some way to the event that is happening.

So Let's say Ms. Marvel has her story line going where she's been fighting some evil mob boss. She's suddenly going to pause that story. She'll suddenly come up on a hole hoard of evil ninjas and have to fight them for a single issue. But they don't want to loose steam with her evil mob boss because they have to get back to that in the next issue! So it turns out her evil mob boss HIRED those ninjas in some sort of attempted partnership with the evil super ninja. Just to highlight how evil the mob boss is!

Oh, and if you haven't been reading DareDevil or the Avengers or ALL THE OTHER COMICS INVOLED good luck trying to keep up with what's going on. So by the end of the event, you have to compile a LOT of comics together in a particular order so that you can fully understand what's going on.

Even worse? Sometimes the responding tie in comics that aren't really involved with the main story line try to solve the issue. So, going back to my example, Ms. Marvel not only defeats the ninja gang, but she discovers something amazing that will in the end help defeat the Super Ninja! She has single handedly helped bring it down! …In her own comic. It makes her look like the big hero and like she was crucial to the event….When in truth, she has nothing to do withthe main story line over in DD world and her little discovery won't have anything to do at all with how to bring down the Super Ninja in the end.

With me so far?!

If this sounds familiar to you, then congratulations, you may have read "Moon Knight Shadowland", which was infinately better than the main story line of Dare Devil Shadowland. (I'm still bitter about that one). Or the original Civil War saga. Or Seige. Or Dark Reign. Or Age of Khonshu.

Today, I'm here to talk about Age of Khonshu.

In which Moon Knight gets his own special event under an Avenger's title.

So how did they compile this event under an Avenger's title? We start with something that makes no sense to someone that has not been following the Avenger's comics.

Stepping further into it? This event follows directly after the 2017 BEMIS run. So we are moving from the worst run in MK history into Aaron's Age of Khonshu. The next comic after this didn't come out till 2021! That's a three year gap!

What's the story?

Mephisto (I hate Mephisto. He has been made basically into Marvel's version of the Christian Devil.) is messing with the time line and is going back in time to amass soul contracts with people and is slowly taking over the world or destroying it or building up hell. It isn't ever properly explained, but most evil things like this usually aren't.

For some reason Khonshu has seen the future of a world where Mephisto has destroyed it and done terrible things. So he puts these images into Marc's head. Marc, thinking Khonshu is out to fuck with him again (when isn't he?) tracks down Khonshu in one of his Moon Cult temples.

Khonshu tells Marc that he's terrified of Mephisto and Marc realizes that Khonshu isn't just fucking with him this time.

So he teams up and decides to…STEAL ALL THE POWERS OF THE AVENGERS AND GIVE THEM TO KHONSHU.

That's right. As someone told me, it's like watching a ten year old talking about how their character is the most powerful and can beat up all the other characters.

Moon Knight beats up Dr. Strange with the power of Khonshu and steals his magic. Then he beats up Danny and steals the Iron fist. Then steals the GHOST RIDER'S fire of vengeance. He goes after Thor on the MOON. Turns out Thor's hamer is made out of moon rock so Moon Knight laughs as he steals the hammer because he has the power of moon. He goes after the Black Panter and T'challa is just like "LOL No. My power comes from my ancestors. You can't steal that."

So they lock up T'challa in a pyramid.

YOU KNOW WHAT MARVEL MOVIE WAS COMING OUT IN 2018?! That's right, the first Black Panther movie.

So in this comic, it's going to feature heavily that Black Panther is super powerful and the hero of the story.

Giving Khonshu all these powers, he remakes New York into Khonshu World and imprisons anyone that fails to worship him, because he's an all powerful god that will stop Mephisto.

And he does fight Mephisto and kill him, but there are so many versions of him now, because he's the devil and you can't kill the devil.

And throughout this, Moon Knight worships and prays to Khonshu, calling him his god and how he's a follower, and believes that Khonshu is a powerful god.

The Avengers keep asking him to stop, that he's off his meds or something and mentally ill and they can help him stop Mephisto if he stops Khonshu.

Eventually Moon Knight realizes that Khonshu can't stop Mephisto and he's gone too far.

He prays to a different god and THE PHOENIX fire shows up and he becomes Moon Knight Phoenix.

He betrays Khonshu because now he is his own god I guess? Helping them take Khonshu down, he gives back all their powers and they lock Khonshu away in Asgard.

Now he expells the Phoenix from his own self before he becomes Dark Moon Knight and destroys the world.

Now the Avengers story moves on to them dealing with Mephisto in a later run, but Khonshu is defeated and that's the important part!

T'challa offers Moon Knight a place in the Avengers, rather than a jail cell in Wakanda for his crimes. Moon Knight turns him down and returns to a small part in Manhattan that he'd rather protect.

And that's how it ends.

Aside from the main story aspect of this particular volume of MK avengers, here are the MAJOR problems:

Throughout the entire run, there is HEAVY christian imagery and language.

They talk about the devil and how scary the devil is. They talk about Hell. They talk about angels. They talk about gods.

They especially show Moon Knight worshiping and PRAYING to Khonshu or Phoenix.

Moon Knight himself discusses fighting the Devil and going to Hell as a construct of the horrors he has seen and done.

2. Throughout the run, Aaron tries to pull out bits from Lemire. Referencing him and doing callbacks. It falls SO flat.

There is a scene early on where he does the "I am Marc Spector. I am Steven Grant. I am Jake Lockley. And we are Moon Knight" bit. But it's followed by a prayer to Khonshu because he is the Moon God's accolyte.

Later he talks about how Marc expelled Khonshu from his mind and had healed and was his own man again. He talks about how Khonshu had put horrors in his mind that made him ill.

He then talks about how he frequents a certain mental hospital.

Not only is he referencing Lemire, but he's taking it in the wrong context. This man read it and went "Yeah sure I got it" when he clearly didn't.

In Lemire's run, we see Marc dealing not just with how KHonshu used and abused him and how messed up he was, but we also see him coming to terms with his own mental illness and trying to understand himself. To understand that he himself had been abusive towards himself. His self harm attributes. His pushing people away. We see him learn to embrace the 'what if' aspect of after mental illness. We see doubt and we see room to heal.

In this it's just "Khonshu did it."

3. We're back to the mental health topic. While they DO acknowledge Steven and Jake twice, offhandedly, we don't see them. It's just MARC. And I find it hard to believe that either of them would either let Marc go this far off the rails to hurting his friends, but that they would go along with it without having a discussion or working as a team if they found it to be the only solution.

They also have NUMEROUS remarks from the others about "We all know Moon Knight is crazy but I didn't think he was this crazy". It carries on the old conversations that everyone in the Avengers and so on all see Moon Knight as mentaly unwell. Unfit. Crippled, even. He's not well enough to do things. He pretends to be a hero but we all know he's likely to melt down any minute and do something crazy, attitude.

And repeatedly he's told to take meds, go to the hospital, check himself in… Even T'Challa tells him "Wakanda has made great strides in Mental Health. We can cure you!"

Cure him from what? Trauma? Take away his DID? Or implying that he's some sort of other unwell causing him to not think straight?

It's these three things combined that just really set me off.

The absolutely disgusting use of Christian vocabulary and idealism to portray a Jewish character. Even if Marc isn't observant of Jewish beliefs, he is culturally Jewish and raised by a Rabbi. Unless he blatantly converted, he would not find himself worshiping and praying to another god. He wouldn't believe in the devil or use such language to describe Mephisto. He wouldn't talk about Angelic idealations or even Hell.

Then the blatant use of his mental illness to further how it's easy for Moon Knight to fall into such ways. Of course he did this. He's crazy. He'll do anything!

Of course he made his god Khonshu into an over powered dick.

I've discussed this before with a good friend, but there is a difference between following Khonshu and worshiping Khonshu.

I love the use of Yehya Badr to show this in MacKay's run. One has converted and religiously believes and follows Khonshu. The other follows a path that he himself set down as a result of his experiences and own needs.

Moon Knight never outright worships Khonshu (when properly written). Even in Moench's old run, he believed that he had been resurrected by Khonshu and therefore his power and life was in Khonshu's hands. This was more following Marc's thinking that he himself was nothing more than a ghost. Without Khonshu, it was more of an existential dread that he was nothing. Not that Khonshu was a god figure.

In later runs this translated into a sort of worship and it never should have. In Moench's run, Khonshu was some unknown force. Perhaps a god, perhaps a spirit, perhaps some form of something ancient that represents the moon and protecting those who travel by night. Considering the Marvel universe and such loose terms of applying all powerful beings under the phrase of 'god', it makes sense. Thor is technically a god. But he is not a god to be worshiped.

Moon Knight takes his own Jewish upbringing. He is here to cherish all life. To protect those who fall into the margins and cry for help.

What's most insulting is that this comic directly followed the run by Bemis. The one that was so laced with antisemitism and blatant disregard for mental health topics.... So we jump from blood libel and Nazism into fighting the actual Devil and praying to gods and worship.

This is not a good look, Marvel.

Here's the thing, we need a Jewish writer.

I don't mean someone that was formerly Jewish that converted to some other following. I don't mean an atheist that has a special interest in other religions (as Aaron claims he is). We need a born and raised practicing Jewish writer.

We need someone to use the proper terminology that isn't Christian based. We need Jake to speak more Yiddish. We need Steven to be seen putting money into the Tzedakah box. We need Marc to discuss his conflict with his Orthodox Rabbi father and his current path in life and how, like it or not, he has become the epitome of the Jewish struggle to exist.

I appreciate Mr. MacKay, but when his run is done and Marvel looks for the next Moon Knight writer, I'd really like to see a Jewish voice step in and not only respect their own people (despite what Marvel may tell them to do) but to also continue to represent and respect the mental health aspect of Moon Knight.

Maybe I'm asking too much? But this issue...

TLDR: Do not read Bendis, Bemis, and Aaron when it comes to Moon Knight.

[yvescreations]

Hi, tumblr and the tags! I am brand spanking new, don't even have a theme yet, but would like to introduce myself with some JOSEPH QUINN medium gifs I've made of the clip from his upcoming movie, HOARD. I won't be making a page and waiting for the movie to be released and in my grubby hands, however, if the rpc ( roleplaying community ) would enjoy them, here are the few I made under the cut! I don't have big rules, just don't take credit and give this little post a like and/or reblog! ( Tips are welcomed, but not pressured ) warning; the thighs will be showcased as well as him in underwear. bless.

[butchriptide]

I think Peril and Winter not getting a chance to interact more on friendly terms is one of the many crimes that arc 2, even if, in all fairness, I feel that Peril's POV book/involvement would've been more suitable to some other point in the series.

Because they ARE foils to each other, in a way. They both play on a theme that crops up in a lot of characters of WOF, which is the way that types of trauma and abuse can shape a person and their worldview.

Peril is CONSTANTLY drawn back in by Scarlet through the repeated message of "I am the only person capable of loving you." She spends her entire childhood being gaslit (and I mean genuinely gaslit, not the meaningless twisting of the word that the internet has given it. The actual abuse tactic gaslit.) and manipulated by the only maternal role in her life to be so dependent on her. She's hailed as Scarlet's Champion and a monster alike. She's feared in a way not unlike how Scarlet is feared, but Peril didn't choose that. Her image and role in her society is specifically selected to further isolate her. It isolates her so severely that she is made to feel that she has no hope of integrating into society even IF and WHEN Scarlet disappears from the Skywing kingdom. She's instructed to burn up helpless eggs before she can SPEAK to plant these seeds into her as early as Scarlet can, both in Peril AND in the society which engages with her. Scarlet carves herself into Peril so that Peril is convinced that she can't live without her, and she DELIGHTS in having this kind of specific, all encompassing control over her. She WANTS Peril to stay, not out of any real love for her, but because she loves that she could do this to somebody at all. Peril is just like any other piece of her lavish, extravagant hoard; loved like something intended to be owned, to be possessed.

Winter, meanwhile, is made JUST as dependent on his family, but by opposite means. Winter being nothing to his family, being a constant disappointment to the people he loves, is something that is reinforced time and time again from a young age. He's a failure the moment he fails his first hunt. And thus, he becomes easy to scapegoat. Hailstorm isn't the perfect image of an Icewing in many respects from what we know of him before his capture; he's shown to be goofy, and his plan is what actively gets him and Winter in trouble, but he's still hailed as perfect. Not to say that Hailstorm's treatment was less damaging, we don't know what his relationship to their parents was like beyond reputation, but it showcases that these traits aren't seen as default flaws by Narwhal and Tundra. It's just that you have to be able to justify any deviation from the norm. Everything that deviates from the perfect, ethereal Icewing in Winter though, is something to be picked at, something to be shunned. Slow and obsessive and now the reason his perfect brother's gone. And failing his family doesn't just reflect on Winter, but it in turn reflects on his family, who he loves, within their society. He's made dependent on his family with the intangible promise that if he was just a little better, just a little tougher, just a little more like what they want of him, he could have that love returned to him, he could justify being the one who was left behind in their eyes.

I just think they're the products of very opposite but ultimately overlapping circumstances. Abuse as direct action versus abuse as neglect. Both dependent but in opposing ways; both convinced they can't live without their abuser, but one is convinced into believing she is literally, physically dependent on her abuser while the other is convinced that he is OBLIGATED to prove himself to his abusers, that to live is to justify himself in their eyes. "Champion" as a leash to keep her on and a warm light on the tundra skyline that's never possible to actually reach.

[mrsshabana]

✧ ♡ 𝓓𝓔𝓜𝓞𝓝 𝓢𝓛𝓐𝓨𝓔𝓡 𝓗𝓐𝓤𝓛 ♡ ✧

I know it's been awhile since I've shared the Demon Slayer (mostly Gyutaro) merch I've bought. I've been hoarding some things so I could make a post showcasing a lot of items! (I have duplicates of some things, which I will be selling on Mercari, please dm me if you'd like a link)

Art boards I found on Buyee! I think I finally got all of the Gyutaro ones. (I have a few extra I'll sell too)

The white day Gyutaro standee!! I really love this one, and I have one extra that I will be selling! I also got this snow globe, it was a little expensive but it was just too cute. I get sad every time I look at it though and remember Gyutaro's back story. ＞﹏＜

I pre-ordered these figures literally last June and they're finally here. Here is a link to where I got them: Gyutaro & Daki

I found the little plushes on Buyee, but they were pretty hard for me to find so I don't have a link. But I do have a link for the figures! I bought them on Buyee too but they are also being sold here: Entertainment District Figure set

Ok, so I'm really excited about these! I found these a few months ago on Buyee. They are flyers from Japan for the movie showing! (I have an extra one of these, but I don't know how I'd ship it. If I can figure it out I'll sell it)

I also found these! I'm not entirely sure if these were given away at the theater or what, but it looks like it was some kind of promotional item for the movie. It's film of one of the scenes with Gyutaro!

All of these are placemats from the Ufotable café. I am so obsessed with the Gyutaro ones! I bought them as a bundle, which is why I have some of the other characters too. But let's just take a moment to admire how beautiful the artwork of Gyutaro is (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

I have extras of some of these too (none of Gyutaro sadly) but they are very large so I'm not sure how I would ship them. But if I figure it out I'll post them on Mercari as well! I also have some really cute kny keychains I will be selling on there as well. If you'd like a link send me a message!

I pride myself in being able to find any and all Gyutaro merch, so if there is anything you really want, let me know and I will try to help you find it! (ɔ◔‿◔)ɔ 💚

[mathiwrites]

the justice league's moms' book club's guide to vampire slaying, a martha kent, alfred pennyworth, atlanna & hippolyta fanfic

Chapter 7 - Damned Teenagers

The food—the food. 

Heaven is not a place on Earth, but rather a set of people and a combination of circumstances. Heaven is having Martha Kent and Alfred Pennyworth in a single room, showcasing their culinary expertise for no other reason than pure enjoyment. Next time, they’ll invite Tom, who is a master when it comes to serving fish, and seafood, and the trifecta will be complete. 

Atlanna has not said a word, too busy digging into the food. Silence, she has learned, is the sign of true happiness. In a house with two boys who cannot agree on anything except politics, she has come to appreciate the peace that comes with good food. Also, she cannot get enough of everything that is being served. 

“Your son is old enough to take care of himself. Should you want it, there is a place for you on Themyscira.” Hippolyta takes a bite of the slow roasted beef and it melts in her mouth. Martha has prepared a feast for Queens, all in the space of her modest home and by herself. This is a feat that must be rewarded and protected. Hippolyta would not mind hoarding her talents for herself or, at least, giving her ample room and ingredients to make her culinary dreams come true. (And Alfred, too, she guesses.)

“Martha, you’ve really outdone yourself.” Alfred has picked his plate clean. Not a single spot of sauce remains, or a crumb, or even a leaf. 

Smallville is a tiny town with little crime; everyone knows each other and they go way back. These are the same people who have helped protect Clark’s secrets. Whenever something strange would happen around him, they never questioned the explanation, no matter how irrational. Whoever it was wouldn’t do anything, would they? After all, they couldn’t respect the boundaries of her land. 

What if they got lost in the stalks?

The compliment goes unheard as Martha looks towards the kitchen window from her seat.  So, Alfred tries again. 

“Martha, it was really lovely what you’ve made for us.” He reaches out and touches her hand. It jostles her from her thoughts. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, yes, I’m alright,” she smiles.

“She thought she saw someone outside. Rowdy teenagers or the like,” Atlanna supplies, finally taking a breath between chews.

“Oh, glad of you to finally rejoin us on this plane. Were you embodying a Hoover?”

“I’m surprised you know what a Hoover is, your highness. You would learn how to eat like this too if you lived in a house with two growing boys.”

Martha laughs because it’s true. She always makes sure to eat while cooking before Barry and Clark get into the food. The two of them sure can eat, and she imagines it’s about the same for Arthur and Orm, too.

“Hoover was popular in the 40s and 50s. You live on the surface and yet you do not know its history,” Hippolyta complains, rolling her eyes and brushing her friend off. “Shall I drive them off? It will take but just a moment.”

“No, no, it’s alright,” Martha says, but her thoughts grow distant again. In the 90s, she harbored a great fear against cow-tipping. Yes, it was proven to be an urban myth, but she worries about her animals. They’re all she has left, now that Clark lives in the big city. “On second thought, maybe I ought to check.”

All three of them slide back their chairs, ready to join her. 

“Oh, hush, all three of you sit and enjoy. I’ll just have a walk around. Make sure the animals are alright.” She puts on her boots, a warm coat and grabs a flashlight. Normally, when she’s all alone, she’d take the shotgun, too, but she doesn’t want to look like an alarmist around all her friends. It probably isn’t anything, and at the very worst case, just a shout will bring one—or many of—the most powerful weapons in the world. “I’ll be right back. Make yourselves at home.”

“A former special operations executive, an Amazon Queen and an Atlantean Queen sit around a table. It sounds like the start of a bad joke,” Alfred hums.

“Or a really, really good one,” Atlanna beams.

***

The distance between the house and the farm has never felt so far. On one side, her path is lined by a wall of dark stalks, a perfect hiding place for someone to bide their time and watch. Even if they mean no harm, Martha thinks she’d easily be scared if someone were to jump out. Except, that’s always her first thought—the fear, the hesitation, the thought that she won’t be able to do something. Then, she takes a deep breath and trudges forward anyway.

The sounds of the night are much louder on the farm. Crickets singing their songs, and the distance clap of hooves from inside the barn. An occasional moo will soothe her overactive imagination and remind her that she’s been doing this for decades. She chose this life, and it means the world to her.

One step at a time, Matty.

It gets easier once she starts moving, one boot onto the creaky wooden step, then down onto the dusty ground. She sweeps the ground before her with the flashlight’s gaze to make sure there’s nothing in her way. She thought she’d outgrown her pride—it shouldn’t matter what her friends think about her—but they’re all having a nice night, and she doesn’t want to raise the alarm with two warrior Queens. 

Little by little, she makes her way to the barn.

Little by little, the hairs on the back of her neck begin to stand on end. Gooseflesh ripples across her skin at the feeling of being watched. 

Crack.

Something in the stalks. Martha whips towards the corn, shining her bright light towards the dancing leaves. There was something there. Slowly, she backs towards the barn, but the eerie thought that she is exposed from every angle has her heart hammering. This is so silly, she reprimands herself, but instead of calming, she becomes distinctly aware of the distance between the farmhouse and the barn. She is exactly in the middle, away from the safety of her porchlight or the light at the entrance of the barn.

I need to get to the light.

She doesn’t know why, but it’s what her instincts demand of her. Martha turns on her heel and runs. A second pair of feet seem to join jer, and the stalks crack wildly with the approach of something fast and something strong. Her breath squeezes in her chest, burning on its way in, and loud on its way out. The scream bubbles up in her throat, ready to shout for help—

At the last second, Martha pivots and slams her back against the barn, fiddling with the latch while frantically keeping the darkness at bay with her flashlight. She’s terrified to look, but she has to, aiming the beam towards the stalk where a white pale face stares at her among the green. Its eyes are beady black, and its teeth —oh, god, its teeth —are nothing more than a forest of fangs. Its mouth is stained red, and she refuses to think about what it could be. 

She pulls the barn door open and locks it behind her. 

The animals—she has to check on the animals. She’ll worry about getting back later. 

Slam .

The thing slams against her barn door so hard, the entire structure rattles. Louder still is the frantic whinny of Frances, the large black draught horse that is also considered the matron of the farm. Frances stomps her hooves in her stall, huffing loudly to the rhythm of the assault against the barn. The other animals join in, panicked whereas the mare remains fiercely defensive. A crowd of sounds unite against the monster and the banging—

stops.

Martha quickly barricades the door with whatever she can find lying close, and keeps a pitchfork as her makeshift weapon. She hushes the animals and listens.

The scratching starts at the front of the barn, followed by a rattle at the door. When it does not give, the scratching continues around the barn. No, not scratching, but the long drag of something across the barn’s wooden walls. It spooks the animals, some which move away from the walls and huddle together. Frances follows the sound too, and reciprocates with sharp, threatening exhales. 

A rattle at the back door startles her, too, but they keep that door locked, too. It’s blocked by an old tractor Clark hasn’t gotten around to fixing yet (and he won’t let her fix, either).

Whatever it is, it’s looking for a way in. And the realization strikes her.

It’s looking for a way in.

Martha’s eyes dart to the mezzanine that Clark loves so much—a little not-so-secret place where he could study and soak up the sun from the large window-like opening . 

No, she breathes and barrels her way up the stairs. No!  

She’s not—

She’s not going to make it.

[viviennevermillion]

I like to believe that when you enter Malleus' castle, at first it looks like a really elegant and slightly intimidating place. It's a big gothic castle on the tallest mountain in the area and the only way to get up there is flying or using a staircase that was probably made in hell and destined to destroy the bones in your legs. If we ever get a Briar Valley event I can just see Malleus looking at his guests and going "oh well you guys don't have any wings and I don't have brooms ready so I'm going to accompany you as we walk the stairs together :)". Bonus if it's Idia and Azul.

The walls inside the castle are cold, ancient stone and there's all sorts of expensive carpets and curtains in the hallways. The place is lit up by chandeliers and candle holders and otherwise the only light source is the frequent lightning outside. It has this mystical fantasy charm.

But the more time you spend in there the more you realize that the Draconias are fucking insane.

First off, all offices in the castle have the exact same layout and it makes you feel like you're walking into the same room just decorated differently. The windows are are always behind the desk and facing east even when there should be a fucking wall there because there's another room right next to it. Magic.

There's a statue that talks but got on everyone's nerves so hard that the Draconia family regretted putting it in the castle. It's unfortunately such an architectural fuck-up that it functions as a pillar that would make an entire wing of the castle collapse if removed so they decided to just tape its mouth shut.

The treasure hall contains a glass showcase and Maleficia is like "this is a weapon our most treasured warrior Lilia Vanrouge used to decide the course of a battle long ago that saved all of our people" and it's just a wooden stake that still has some dried blood on it and you're like "tf did he kill with this? A vampire?"

There's a secret treasure hall inside of the regular treasure hall and the entrance only opens when you collect parts of a clock from different rooms all over the palace and place it into the large grandfather clock in the treasure hall. The Draconia family and Lilia are the only ones who know this mechanism but it's completely useless because they can just teleport in and out of it regardless. For some unexplained reason they repeatedly forget this and do the super complicated mechanism anyway.

The bookshelves in Maleficias office contain the entire "Draconia Chronicles" where each family member just documented their life experiences and there's Malleus' weird af great granduncle Malgus Draconia who just writes about how he climbed into the piano in the music hall once and met the god of death who gave him a treasure map of the Scalding Sands and sent him on a wild goose chase after a "long lost treasure stolen from Briar Valley" and all he came back with was a weird tree he could supposedly communicate with and a small bust that is most definitely cursed but everyone conveniently ignores the way it makes the castle distort sometimes.

They're just like "oh yeah this happens sometimes no biggie"

The castle has all sorts of hidden passages and one of them leads to a path in a cave that splits in two. One of the paths leads to what Malleus calls "the catacombs" and never elaborates on but you can hear creepy singing coming from it. The other leads inside the mountain to the Draconia family's dragon hoard. Listen. I need you to understand that every member of the Draconia family had a dragon hoard full of jewels and gold. You enter Maleficias' and it's like you're in Kalim's treasure vault. And then you enter Malleus' dragon hoard. And it's just the weirdest fucking place you've ever seen. Because Malleus has a very different definition of what he considers a treasure so you got golden goblets and gemstones lying around right next to parts of GaoGao Dragon-kun he replaced, a macaroni necklace Lilia taught him to make when he was like 7 and some rocks he found at the side of the road when he snuck out of the castle. It's a big pile of everything Malleus has ever owned and especially received from others and whenever he sulks, he just climbs on top of it and lays down.

When Malleus first came to NRC, Lilia and Silver had to convince him that he definitely does NOT need to bring his entire dragon hoard.

"But Lilia, how am I supposed to feel at home in this school if I don't at least bring this 7 feet tall GaoGao Dragon-kun statue I commissioned for my last birthday?"

He was pouting and Lilia was just gesturing wildly like "I don't know how to make this clear to you but this will not fit in your room-"

Speaking of Malleus' quarters....oh boi. Malleus' room at NRC is a temporary residence and thus looks relatively normal but Malleus' room at his castle is a 200 year old testimony to his complete and utter boredom while being locked in the castle for most of his life and it looks exactly like that. The interior design is elegant and princely but there's a whole pin board full of hyper realistic drawings of Malleus and GaoGao Dragon-kun and Lilia flying through the sky over Briar Valley and eating ice cream together and he has Twst Lightning McQueen bedsheets. He doesn't know who Lightning McQueen is, he's never seen the movie, Lilia got these for him 5 years ago from the mall in Shaftlands and Malleus thinks it's another foreign treasure given to him by his guardian. Lilia has also never seen the movie and doesn't know who Lightning McQueen is.

There's a corner where the walls and floor are basically charcoal because it's where Malleus practiced breathing fire as a kid. They've offered renovating it like over 50 times by now but Malleus keeps insisting he "likes it that way because it reminds him of an abandoned building"

There's several stringed instruments including one Malleus just utterly ruined in an attempt to "create his own version of a violin" where he tried to replace the strings with spinning wheel thread.

There are stone equivalents of action figures of the Great Seven and one plastic figurine of GaoGao Dragon-kun from the Twst version of a Happy Meal 12 years ago and a spreadsheet with the tarot readings Malleus made for them. He has a handmade tarot deck where every card is just designed with drawings of thorns and lightning. The Tower looks "accidentally" like one of the towers of his castle.

The wall over his desk has a chalk attempt of Malleus trying to play tic tac toe against himself and failing.

One corner of the room has a pile of gold and jewels he sits on when he doesn't feel like going to the dragon hoard right now.

[maris-medley]

Messing With Remnant: BTC AU Bit - Part 1/3

Page Count: 5

Word Count: 788

Author’s Note: Hi hello hi hello HIIIII

I’m finally writing something for this AU. Finally. Fucking finally. Oh I’m so ill.

Idk if the events described in these little oneshots will actually happen but for now their purpose is simply to showcase the dynamics among the characters. For actual canon BTC characters, I’m gonna try to stay as true to canon as possible with what little info I can get. As for River, the relationships between her and the canon characters are.. headcanon?? I think??? Idk.

Also yes I do mention River having games on her phone and I’m just gonna give an explanation for that now cause it’s not much of a spoiler lmao: she does NOT have any kind of internet or signal. The most she can do is use her notes app and listen to already-downloaded music. And play the tons. And tons. And tons. And tons did I mention TONS of no-wifi-required games she’s got on her phone. So yeah she may or may not use that to distract Tom every so often when she and Springtrap embark on their mischievous little evil terrible endeavors.

(I swear I have an explanation for Tom being able to interact with objects she gives him I will talk about that within either the second or third part).

But yeah BTC Springtrap has infected my brain and I will never forgive @skeletoninthemelonland for that. /lh /j

All BTC characters as well as the general story belong to them ofc so please follow them I love BTC and their art and they’re a very cool person :33

Also skeleton TELL SPRINGTRAP TO START PAYING REMNANT TAX FOR INFECTING MY BRAIN. IF IT’S GOING TO ROT AWAY HE SHOULD GIVE ME FINANCIAL COMPENSATION!! /lh /hj

Okay anyways uhhhh hope you guys enjoy this!! :3

***

Pure energy.

That’s what it looked like to her, anyway—it was the only way she could think to describe it—even though she already knew from the start that this would go much deeper than that. She’d have been shocked if Springtrap of all people knew exactly what it was, though, let alone be able to articulate it in a way another person could understand.

She couldn’t pinpoint exactly why, but she was almost drawn to it, having recalled a vague, childhood memory of fire, how it pulsated and flicked around wildly despite being contained within the constricting wick it was lit upon.

Whatever this energy was: it reminded her of that.

Unlike fire, looking at it sort of hurt her eyes…

“What are you doing?”

She blinked, flinching back to reality. Without realizing it, she’d begun to reach out to it. “Uh…”

That was all she could muster. Springtrap rolled his eyes and lightly smacked her hand away.

“You didn’t hear a word I said,” he sighed irritably. “Did you?”

“You were talking?”

He smacked his right hand against his eyes, grumbling to himself. “Do you ever take anything seriously?”

“Absolutely not,” River replied without missing a beat, flashing a grin. “You should know this by now.”

“Well, what I was trying to say,” Springtrap said, taking a step toward… whatever it was and lowering his hood. “That this is what I mentioned yesterday: remnant.”

“I mean, I guess I see why you’re so obsessed with it now,” she shrugged, lowering the hood of her cape, as well. “It’s kinda pretty.”

“Oh, yes!!” Springtrap exclaimed, suddenly in a weirdly sing-song voice drawling with sarcasm every syllable. “Because I’m obviously dedicating my life’s work to this substance just because it ‘looks pretty’!!”

He paused, then said, “Stop taking me for some moronic, shiny-object-obsessed kleptomaniac!”

“...I mean I was tryna be nice by not mentioning your crazy hoard ‘o metal parts, but—”

“Moving. On.”

River snickered to herself before turning back to the remnant. “Yeah, yeah. So… what is it, again?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” he said, to which she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “That isn’t the important part yet, anyway; what’s important is what I- we can do with it.”

“Skip to the part where ya actually elaborate on somethin’ for once, please,” River interrupted. “I don’t know how long my games are gonna distract Tom and co. for.”

Springtrap heaved a pointlessly dramatic sigh once more, shaking his head. “Fine, whatever. We use it to generate power; that’s the most basic the explanation can get, at least. But I take as much as I can to use for… research purposes.”

“Real convincing, Spring,” River said, wearing a sarcastic smirk.

“I thought I told you not to call me that.”

“I won’t hesitate to get Tom to start saying ‘Springle’ again.”

Springtrap went back to the subject at hand, but his eye twitched rapidly. River thought he’d pop a vein, if… well, if he had any that still worked.

“Based on what I currently know about remnant—albeit my knowledge is a bit limited—I have a theory that it may help you.” He paused again, absentmindedly scratching the side of his head. “Though I can physically interact with it just fine, I’m unsure what sort of effect it would have on actual, living matter.”

“Is this your lame attempt at convincing me not to touch it just ‘cause you want it?”

“Of course I want it,” Springtrap scoffed. “But I’m being serious, kid! I don’t know enough to just let you grab it out of the air right when it appears!”

“Then why did you bring me along?!”

“Because you need to know about it if you have any hope of returning to wherever you came from!”

Out of spite, River glowered up at him, holding eye-contact as she reached her hand out and grabbed the remnant, clutching it in her hand as tightly as she possibly could.

It burned. It was as if she’d shoved her hand into actively boiling water. She couldn’t take her hand away from it, because it’d already faded from her grasp. Not that she ever had been, but the feeling traveled through her veins as if she’d been bitten by a snake that wouldn’t retract its fangs, or struck by lightning with a metal rod in hand. This was about how she’d imagined it at least.

She couldn’t even scream. Her voice was caught in her throat. The tears that streamed down from her eyes stung her skin. All she could do was stand there, but even that became too much, and her knees buckled under her weight.

All noise dulled, the last of them she could only just barely make out being Springtrap yelling her name.

***