#i mean ahem

[smokingtomas]

(((69 votes))) 👀👀😏😏

[megane-sama]

When they....when they...and they...they-

[kingofmeatballs]

(Looks like a cheesy birthday card but hey, aren't they the best))

Anyway here we are! 500 of you guys! I didn't really prepare any grand speech so i'll just say i am insane but i guess it's a flavour you like so thank you for fueling my insanity :3 (and giving me motivation to continue create stuff)

[leaderintitleonly]

Hold the phone, some blue birds told him there might be someone interested in the princess.

He is absolutely throwing Snow White a party once he finds out it’s Luisa.

[omniscient-sims]

*rising up from loosely packed grave soil* who the fuck buried me. This is atrocious. Do a better job next time

[noteworthyao3]

What genre of song does Messer like? Also, what inspired you to create her character?

Mmm, what genre of music...speaking generally, whatever the person reading the character likes. Thinking of Messer as they are, it's probably a mixed bag. The type of person that collects a ton of different songs like rocks. If I had to pick a specific genre though, Messer is a bit of an old soul and enjoys stuff like records, so probably the oldies. I can definitely see Messer enjoying a vinyl of The Beatles, Billy Joel or Queen from their attic.

To answer the second question, I'll have to venture back in time a bit. *insert flashing lights and futuristic whooshing sounds here.* Imagine it, six or so years ago. (dear god six years...)

I think the short answer would be: spite.

I've always had a problem with Danny's love interests, even when I was little when the show first came out. He's a not-so-sneaky rip off of Spiderman, and when you copy something, you also copy the mistakes, so his love life is as wrecked as Peter Parker's, go figure. I wasn't a fan of Paulina because she was essentially a cardboard cut out with a crop-top, Sam was a middle aged man's idea of a strong willed teenage activist playing coy with her feelings the whole series for Reasons I Guess, and Valerie, while being my favorite option of them all, just didn't hit all the marks that I wanted her to.

I was within Danny's age range back then and I'd had a crush on him since 5ever, and I was no stranger to reader insert stories of him, but they didn't fill the void either. So, the only natural option was to make one myself. Messer went through some renditions while I was brainstorming and writing drafts (which is just a fun way of saying I would make a concept chapter and forget about it within a week). I was very young so they were pretty standard ideas, Messer being another halfa, Messer being a popular kid, that kind of thing.

Once the Clockwork idea came into play, it went from there. I considered the type of person that would come out of a bizarre upbringing like being raised by the show's equivalent of Father Time. No real social skills, no access to electronics, well versed in the ghostly ways, a quick learner and intelligent, if not a bit calculated. Manners aren't exactly Messer's main concern, either, so cursing was on table. Thus, my little brain baby was born. (that sounded less weird in my head pfft)

Though over the years, Messer went from the main components to really coming into their own as a character. With layers, if I dare say? :3c

[triona-tribblescore]

Husk went and bought some bike-safe clothes to cope with his adrenaline-junkie boyfriend uvu ✨

[barb-l]

Just wanna take a moment to talk about how much I adore Vaggie's verse in "Whatever It Takes", especially this line.

Because it makes so much sense after finding out Vaggie's backstory. Unlike the other residents in the Hotel, Vaggie wasn't someone that needed Charlie to be redeemed. Vaggie had always been a good person. She was a real angel who put down her weapon and refused to kill a child, even if it were a demon.

Lute saw Vaggie's mercy as a weakness and flaw that made her undeserving of her halo. Vaggie didn't need someone who saw and believed in the good in her. The problem is that she was seen as sinful just because she extended her kindness towards someone supposedly damned for eternal punishment.

Meeting Charlie made her realize that she wasn't alone. Vaggie is an outcasted angel for showing mercy to a demon, while Charlie is a ridiculed demon for believing in redemption for damned sinners. Charlie understood how it felt to be punished for her kindness, but still persevered with who she is, and so Vaggie does too.

One of the things I love about their relationship is that Charlie didn't "fix" Vaggie. She saved her, yes, but Vaggie had always had that good in her that she acted upon despite the consequences even before meeting Charlie. Such a pure soul like Charlie deserves someone whose kindness isn't dependent on their romantic relationship. It's why Vaggie saying that she believes in Charlie's dream aren't just empty words for the sake for supporting a loved one. Vaggie may be more realistic about it, but she definitely means what she says. She has saved a demon before, heaven's orders be damned. So she'll help Charlie save many more.

Vaggie isn't just helping Charlie with hotel just because she's being a good girlfriend. Well, she is duh but also they both just genuinely care about people even Heaven abandoned. That's why she and Charlie are partners.

[1v31182m5]

Secret identities

[omaano]

The Art Nouveau inspired space cowboy pinup set for @ribbonkandy is finally complete 🌟

Thank you so much for working with me on these, and for the perseverence to get all three of them done!

Other posts with Din and Boba (and Din)

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

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[general-cyno]

I haven't stopped thinking about zolu after wano bc isn't it crazy that zoro, as enma's new wielder, has declared he might as well become the king of hell and it turns out he's a descendant of the shimotsuki/frost moon family line, making him a descendant of shimotsuki ryuma the god of the blade whom he resembles physically, whose sword zoro earned after defeating his zombie in thriller bark and who's considered a hero of wano that's only rivaled now by joy boy - luffy's sun god nika the warrior of liberation and joy. that both zoro's presence and luffy's df awakening as nika/joy boy in wano were considered the "work of fate". how zoro was luffy's first crewmate, one he actively sought after learning just his name and fearsome reputation. the whole pirate king and greatest swordsman business. their parallels to roger and ray. how they both have the will of kings/conquerors. I feel insane

[bellamysgriffin]

FAVORITE TELEVISION EPISODES:  Spyfall (Doctor Who)

These are the dark times. But they don't sustain. Darkness never sustains, even though sometimes it feels like it might.

[sun-snatcher]

🌾 ・ OF CLARION CALLS

summ. The rebellion runs into trouble, & Jet takes the brunt of it. In the aftermath, you fight to keep him alive. pairing. Jet x f!medic!reader w.count. 1.5k a/n. So little Jet fics/imagines around so i had to take matters into my own hands. Enjoy!

The moonlight casts a halo above your head, and for a brief moment, Jet thinks you’re a divine spirit, perhaps a goddess— or whatever it is his mother used to read to him before bed.

( In some ways, you are. )

…Jet, he hears, distant. He can’t pinpoint exactly where— every sound is either muffled or echoing, and the world keeps tipping in and out of a blur. All he can sense through the haze is the belt of dull pain creeping up his chest, and the cotton-numbness engulfing his head. Right. He’d been shot clean through his armor plate by a wayward arrow after he’d jumped infront of Sneers to protect him. He remembers now, vaguely. It had been an ambush on their way home.

...et, stay with me. 

Jet. 

“Jet!”

The world focuses. He inhales, sharp, and the pain blinds him white as he gasps.

“Easy there, handsome,” you joke (not really), holding his twitching body down and trying to meet his dazed look. The blood is thick enough to taste, and one look is enough to tell he’s walking a tightrope between life or death. He's growing colder, and losing colour by the minute. You make quick work to staunch the gaping wound in his chest, hope he can’t detect the shakiness in your hands, or the tears gathering in your eyes. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“Will he?” comes a voice behind the two medics crowding him. It’s Smellerbee, standing at the step of the medical tent; her voice sounds uncharacteristically frightened, and it sends a pang through your heart. I’m fine, Jet instinctively wants to insist, but you answer for him instead. “Yes. He will." ( And, well, surely such a small deception would not count against you, not when it was meant to give the others some measure of peace. )

Jet blinks, finally orienting himself enough to look at you and not through you— and blinks again. You’re lying. He could feel it. He could always tell, whenever it comes to you. 

…Stay, he thinks, suddenly and senselessly, and clasps his bloodied hand around your wrist. He calls your name, voice straining in pain. But he must’ve said it aloud instead, because you’d smiled at him as gently as you could— even when it looked as if the effort of doing so would wound you— and said, calmly, convincingly: I promise, I’m not going anywhere.

“With me?” he asks, again, even when he knows he must’ve sounded like a madman. Perhaps it’s the bloodloss. Likely, it was. It wouldn’t be such a bad end, though, so long as you stood by his side. He wants to tell you this— been wanting to for a long time, now— but the strength has left him, leaving him floating somewhere between the world of waking and dreaming.

“With you,” comes your reply. 

You catch the ghost of his trademark smile just before he slips away.

Jet survives.

That’s the first surprise. 

The second is that; you’re here. Just as you’d promised.

He must have been out for longer than he thinks, because the atmosphere in the medical tent seemed to have ebbed to something much more conducive than last he remembers. The tinctures of alcohol and sedatives surrounding him and his bloody bandages that night are now replaced with dry ingredients; yarrow half-crushed in a mortar and pestle, mixed herbs and colourful liquids corked in tiny bottles and tins he couldn’t begin to name. His armour had been stripped from him, lying above a chest by the corner.

Ever the leader; “Sneers,” is the first word out his mouth, once he’d stirred awake on his cot and recognition returned slowly to him. It’s early sometime in the morning, judging by the colour of the sky outside the tattered tent flaps and the still quietness in the air. Beside him, an incense of sandalwood burns. “Sneers—”

“Is alive, thanks to you,” you override. The faint bitterness in your voice is not lost on him.

Somehow, someway, seeing him conscious now seemed to make you bristle. You think— no, you know— that it’s unfair of you; that it’s simply the pent-up frustrations and stress overflowing from the night he’d been hauled back to camp with one foot in the grave. But Longshot’s harrowing clarion call for a medic from the trees still rings clear as a bell in your head, just as much as the cold shock that had seized you the moment you realised the birdcall was for Jet.

“Good.”

“Not good,” you correct, “Not when you of all people pay the price.”

( Jet doesn’t delude himself into thinking that there could possibly be another meaning to what you said. It would be impossible. ) “You would’ve done the same,” he bites back, and takes your silence as quiet agreement.

“You’re upset,” Jet points out, narrowing his eyes. “Why?”

A sigh. “You just woke up,” you dismiss, if only to get him off your scent. “We can talk another day.”

“We’re already here, so let’s settle it now. The mission went well, and as far as I can see, I’m the only one in here, which means nobody else got hurt on the way back but me. Atleast, not as badly.”

It’s a debrief, you recognise. A coping mechanism for him— to spur himself into action and settle himself. Given the stress and trauma his body has been enduring the past days, you let it pass.

It’s only when you shift out from your seat by his cot, standing to begin putting away the bowls of medicine prepared, that Jet realises your fingers had been holding his wrist before. You must have stayed up for, what he can only imagine to be long nights, to keep track on whether his pulse was still beating. ( Something inside his chest burns. He can’t tell if it’s your doing or the injury being fussy. )

“I’m sorry,” he huffs, sighing out. “If that’s what you wanna hear.”

“For what?” You set the mortar down on your table with more force than necessary, and looked at him sharply from over your shoulder. Jet, damn him, still looks at you straight in the eyes, confident as ever. You want to kiss him. You want to break his nose. “For being a hero?”

“No.”

“Playing martyr?”

“No.”

“For saving Sneers? Everyone?”

“No—”

“Then what?”

“For scaring you,” he says, simply.

Your heart starts. 

A frisson runs through you, and you feel the back of your eyes begin to burn.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that,” he emphasises, and doesn’t say, I’m sorry I made you cry, because your prideful self would have denied it instantly, even if he remembers it clear as day. “I’m sorry I put you through that.” 

He yanks at a loose thread on the blanket you’d laid on him a night ago. It must have been terrifying to see him be dragged to the table, half-dead with a broken arrow in his chest, and leave a mess of blood and horror in his wake. It must have been terrifying, indeed, to be the one responsible for him against Death itself— to carry the weight of his life on your shoulders, while the rest of the Freedom Fighters watched on. 

“It’s, it’s my job,” you turn away to close a drawer of medical instruments, because you’re not quite sure you can stand meeting his gaze. Not when it only reminds you of just how much he lived, breathed and bleeds chaos and revolution; not when you know this accident definitely won’t be the last.

You can’t handle him. Or maybe it’s yourself you can’t handle, when it comes to him. “Just, be careful.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he salutes mockingly, albeit with a wince. The flinch is what kicks you back into action.

“You’re staying in bed until you’re better,” you order, curt, ignoring his groan. His wrapped shoulder still seems painfully defiant despite all the numbing you’d given him; it would be a couple of weeks longer before he’d be fully healed, but knowing Jet— he’ll be up performing duties within a week. “That means no strain at all. No scouting or recon or hunting, got it?”

He lulls his head, but there’s a dash of humour on his face. “Since I’m bedridden, does that mean you’re at my every beck and call, then?”

Your face twists. He lets out a laugh when you answer, "In your dreams, Jet."

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

You roll your eyes, though without heat, and place a bowl of fresh water by his side. There is, at the very least, a smile on your face, and Jet’s sure he can sleep well tonight knowing you both are, at the end of the day, okay. 

“Hey,” he calls your name, once you've begun making your way out the tent. You try to ignore how much more sweeter it sounds coming from him. “I really am sorry. I’m serious.”

He had caught your sleeve when he spoke, so your fingers now brush against his. You try not to focus on the touch too much. “So am I.”

“We can’t lose you, Jet,” you continue, unsteady; because saying I can’t lose you would have been unthinkable.

[arcsin27]

Kinda gay to dress up as the same character. What are you, two halves of one whole?

[venriliz]

World Tour or Hostile Takeover?

Aenyx (OC) and her space llamas arriving on planet Earth. :')