#im adding more to it i just wanted to share

[cesiscribbles]

OK SO

I had an idea snippet for the ending of the Ineffable Family series but it made me sad and I dunno if I will ever draw it so Im just gonna share my idea with you in written form:

(btw It's not fanfic quality, it's more messy bulletpoints written out within 5min or so)

---

Astra is growing up, getting older and lives a happy life amongst human society with her parents on earth. One day she falls in love with a human and they share the kind of deep bond like Azi and Crowley do. At some point Astra even announces that they gonna get married and her parents are super excited and want to make her the bestest wedding gift ever.

They wrack their brains over what this gift could be for a quite a while but nothing seemed right.

A book? To generic and boring. A kitchen aid? Nah, probably an other persons idea already. Money? Missing the deep meaning behind it.

It's one day before the wedding and Astra asks Crowley and Azira to meet at their special spot at a wonderful lonely flower field somewhere in the nowhere. They loved to visit this special place and spend hours being together, having picknicks or gaze at the stars (Yes, in this version Crowley can see stars). C+A arrive at the spot where Astra is already waiting for them and they are quite curious why she wanted to meet up here.

Astra turns around and looks at them with a smile, but it's a mix of a happy and sad one.

She knows what she would like the gift to be and she describes how she feels different from all the angels and demons and that she never experienced an existence before the beginning or witnessed when everything started. She loved growing up between humans and experience change herself. But she knows her true love, her human, will wither away in what feels just like an eye blink in the life of an immortal being.

Astra comes closer to her parents and holds their hands, telling them how much she loves them and apologizes that what she will say next, won't be easy.

The best gift, she could ever ask for is Azira and Crowley combining their powers and making her mortal.

Ofc both seem bewildered at such request and try to talk sense to their daughter but in the end they recognized that they would have done the same for their partner because a life without them would hurt too much.

With a heavy heart A+C respect Astra's wish and grand it to her.

She lives a happy life with her human, both equally growing older and A+C watching over them like guardian angels to make sure no sickness or harm comes into their house... till the day they have to say goodbye.

Astra and her love are not going to Heaven or Hell. They return back to the stars where they can be together and where A+C can see them from earth.

And then the end says

"Ad Astra"

(lat.= to the stars)

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 23.

Summary: A conversation between you and Oliver as you both try to distract yourselves from thinking about the day behind, and the night ahead.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

A/N: 2957 words. i split the henrys dinner into two parts because the dinner itself was very different tonally to the conversation with oliver that needed to be had i think. this part is sfw but the next part Will Definitely Not Be :) also im putting more gratuitous shakespeare mentions because i love characters pointing out their own narrative parallels. i feed off of the lovely comments y'all leave, so if you have any thoughts you'd like to share, i always love to hear them!

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

No matter what you wore, these formal events made you feel like you were choking.

Oliver finds you in the shared bathroom a few hours before dinner began, already dressed and agitatedly fussing with your collar in the mirror. Spotting him in the reflection, your scowl doesn't clear, but you do start vocalising the thoughts that had been running through your head.

"Lady Daphne has three children, all under fifteen."

"What?" Oliver, still looking entirely casual in sharp contrast to you, leans against the sink, watching you with interest.

"Tonight; the woman next to you who isn't Ven, she has three children under fifteen, their names are -" squeezing your eyes closed tightly, willing yourself to remember, you swear with frustration as the children's names elude you. You'd managed to find and memorise Henry of Suffolk's children's names - Henry Jr and Charlotte - but you're again feeling like it's not enough. Your collar feels too tight.

Unbuttoning your top button for what must be the fifth time in the past half hour of your indecision, you groan with frustration.

"Are you okay?" Oliver asks carefully, to which you try and waive off his concern. Clearly, it doesn't work, considering he's making his way over to you to rest a gentle hand on your shoulder.

"I'm fine, it's fine," you tried again, though it still comes out with clear irritation. Closing your eyes again you try and calm yourself enough to focus, "I saw their names the other night in my notes, I know this," you hissed under your breath, "Lady Daphne and Lord Henry; he's Sir James' godson and his own sons are named..." you wrinkled your nose, braced against the counter, "they're fucking French names, I know this!"

"Are Lady Daphne and Lord Henry French?" Oliver asks.

"No, they're just pretentious," you bit out, though suddenly it came to you, "Regis, Gabriel, and Louis." A grin lights up your face at that; the tension leaves you for the moment in the wake of your small victory. You feel like you can breathe again. Oliver gives you a hesitant smile, at least glad to see you're feeling better for having finally remembered. Breathing a relief sigh, you turn to him properly, "how are you, Ollie?"

"Should I remember Regis, Gabriel, and Louis at dinner?" He asks with faint hesitancy. You shrugged.

"I'm sure it couldn't hurt," logically you knew your own anxious preparations were often too detailed for what the night would actually require, but if you had information that could help ease Oliver into this world to which he was unaccustomed, you'd offer whatever you could to make him feel prepared.

But when he asks if you want to stay with him while he gets himself ready for the evening, you still find yourself hesitating.

Farleigh had found you that afternoon as you'd been coming back in from your gardening; he looked more than a little irritated, but refused to explain his mood. There was something unusually guarded about him at the time, something almost bordering on reproachful in the way he looked at you.

As your heart sank with realisation, you tried to find a way to explain to him everything that had happened between you, Felix, and Oliver. The tricky part of it all would most certainly be reassuring him that you believed him entirely, while also figuring out a way to explain why you'd given Oliver another chance despite knowing he was lying to you and Felix. There was no way you'd be able to explain yourself in this moment, and Farleigh seemed to realise this too.

"If you have something to say to me," Farleigh told you tersely, glancing over his shoulder where you could both hear Felix chattering loudly to Oliver down another corridor, "if you can bare to tear yourself away from your darling, little Iago," he spits, and you sighed deeply, expression clearly showing your disappointment, which Farleigh paid no mind to, standing to his full height and fixing his cool gaze upon you, "you know where I'll be."

So now, here you were, after almost an hour trying and failing to distract yourself by skimming through Shakespeare's Othello since Farleigh's latest cruel nickname for Oliver had reminded you of it, you'd decided to bite the bullet and get yourself ready. Really you should head over to Farleigh's room and sort things out with him, talk everything through and smooth it all over, but Oliver looks so helpless at the mere thought of what tonight would require. You tell yourself you can always talk to Farleigh later.

The afternoon eases itself into early evening with far less tension than the middle of the day had brought with it. Simply being in Oliver's company does wonders for your nerves. Even if talk between you is limited, the silence is not uncomfortable; Oliver gets himself ready, and you continue to skim the play while splayed out on Oliver's bed, and the duvet that used to be yours, easing each other's anxieties in quiet parallel.

You're looking for a quote you half remember from when you'd studied the play back in high school, a line that would be all too fitting of an offer to Farleigh when you saw him next, picking up on his allusion while trying to assure him you weren't just blindly believing Oliver over him - there.

I am not merry; but I do beguile The thing I am, by seeming otherwise.

You keep the text open on the bedspread before you as Oliver asks you questions about the unspoken scripts that you all must follow throughout the night. There's something like vindication that wells up within you when you realise how easy you find it to talk him through them.

"Do you always wear suits to these things?" Oliver asks carefully in the intimate moment in which you stand before him, doing up the cuffs of his dress shirt.

"The Henrys dinners? Yes," you nod, nimble fingers dancing against the fabric by his wrist. An amused smile makes it's way across your lips as you explain without even really thinking, "the first and last time I wore a cocktail dress to a Henrys dinner I made one of them, Henry Rochester I think, very uncomfortable," you smirked at the memory, and though Oliver's glad to see you're more smug rather than uncomfortable about the memory, he still doesn't quite seem to understand why.

"Because you're...?"

"Technically yes," you huffed a laugh, letting go of the first cuff to do the second, "because he now gets hard thinking about me in a dress and he doesn't know how to feel about it, and I don't want to deal with that." For a moment, the words simmer in the air between you both, and you finish up with the second cuff, stepping back with a pleased little smile. Oliver, however, still seems to be confused, and finally you acquiesce, giving him the final piece of the story;

"It was a very nice dress, Henry was just so bloody wasted he forgot I was the one wearing it when he couldn't see my face when he walked in on Fi and I in the wine cellar decided to stick around and watch with his dick in his hand," you shook your head dismissively at the memory, rolling your eyes but still grinning, "which isn't our fault, it's our wine cellar, he's the one getting drunk and going for a roam on someone else's estate."

It startles a laugh out of Oliver, the sound bright and sharp as his hand comes up reflexively to cover his mouth. Your expression scrunches up, pleased at the sound. In the few moments that follow, you straighten out Oliver's collar as he's giggling to himself, watching you from behind his hand with warmth and something almost adoring.

"I should show you some time," you wet your lips, crossing your arms as you gave him a leering look over, your intentions obvious. Oliver flushes a little, smiling under your gaze.

"The dress?"

"The wine cellar," you corrected, making Oliver laugh once more.

"You sure you're not going to get me drunk and brick me in down there?" He asked, and your eyebrows rose at the unexpected reference to Poe's Cask of Amontillado. At your obvious surprise, Oliver gives a half smile, reminding you that you'd left a book of Poe's work in the drawer by his bed. He'd read it? You're not sure why you're so touched by that, but you are.

"If we end up drunk in the wine cellar, I promise I won't be leaving you alone down there," there's a surprising amount of affection in your voice for what is ultimately some pretty on the nose flirting, but Oliver seems to appreciate it nonetheless.

When you return from your own room with a pair of cufflinks for him, however, his expression is pensive as he's sitting on the edge of the bed, flicking through the copy of Othello you'd left there.

"Thought my party had something to do with the Midsummer Night's Dream one," he says with faint confusion. You've already got the line you'd found earlier memorised, so you're not concerned that he's flicking through, losing your page in the process.

"No, it is, it's just Farleigh -" except you really don't want to tell Oliver exactly what Farleigh had called him, had implied about him with a single, derisive nickname alone. Iago. You shrugged, "he just said something earlier that reminded me of it is all." Then, sitting down beside him, you shoot for a smile, "what are you up to now; tie?"

For a long few moments, Oliver gives you this utterly unreadable expression. You wonder if he knows the play; if he did, he could almost definitely make an educated guess about what Farleigh's comment may have been, especially given the very recent circumstances. Even if you don't know exactly how Oliver would react to something like that, you're not exactly eager to find out.

The moment thankfully does pass without further comment on the play, with Oliver instead standing and heading to the full length mirror by the wardrobe.

"Is your family helping Felix's with paying for Farleigh's uni and stuff?" Oliver asks with genuine curiosity in his voice as he glances at you in the mirror's reflection.

"What?" The question seems to come out of nowhere, and your reaction is entirely genuine.

"I just wondered if that was, you know, part of the reason he was so loyal to you," Oliver shrugged, though there's something almost apologetic in his eyes, "and, I guess, why you knew you could trust him to be so loyal?"

How did he even know the Cattons were helping with Farleigh's education? Your suspicions were with Elspeth, whom you loved despite how much of a gossip she always was, but Oliver admits that Felix had told him about how he and Farleigh were cousins, and Sir James' guilt over his semi-estranged sister, all the way back at Oxford. Ah, makes sense. Part of it was probably to explain why Farleigh was always hanging around them despite his obvious distaste for Oliver. It takes you a beat to compose your thoughts; knowing both Oliver, and Farleigh, you had to be deliberately sure of whatever information you shared in this moment.

"I'd give Farleigh anything if he asked," you admitted, wearing a faint, sad little smile as you recall how coldly he'd looked at you earlier that day, "but he never has," you shook your head, "not about something like that at least. Why?"

Looking over at the mirror, you see Oliver with his tie done up, looking at you in the reflection as though you're a puzzle he's desperately attempting to solve. But, when you smile, he returns the look in kind.

"I think this might just be one of those times where I have to remember you telling me there's more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in my philosophy," Oliver says with a wry smile, and you can't help but laugh at the memory of your first proper conversation with him about your friendship with Farleigh on one of Oxford's many rooves.

"Farleigh is simply one of my best friends; I don't begrudge him his pride, it's part of who he is, and I love who he is," with your warm laughter, the mood in the room has lightened considerably, and you finally stand. Wrapping your arms around Oliver from behind, perching your chin on his shoulder, you take in the sight of you both in the mirror.

"You know, I think you'd look so beautiful in a dress if you ever wanted to wear one," you tell Oliver idly, handing over the box with the little, golden cufflinks that you'd been fidgeting with on the bed.

"Beautiful enough to give an old man a sexuality crisis?" He asked with a blithe grin, pulling out of your grip if only to make his way to the cupboard where his jacket had been hung.

"Oh, undoubtably," you don't even hesitate, sitting yourself in the arm chair by the window, watching him once more.

"Don't know if I could start with a cocktail dress," he says, gazing at himself in the mirror with a pleasantly thoughtful look in his eyes as he genuinely considers the idea. Then, "I think I trust you with this more than I trust me," he gives a suddenly self conscious chuckle, ducking his gaze, fidgeting with the collar of the jacket he was still holding.

"You don't have to start anywhere if you don't want," you assured him faintly, but Oliver's smile is so damn affectionate.

"It's fuckin' impossible to describe the kind of effect you have," he tells you, shaking his head, "if you say I'd look beautiful, all I know is that I think I want to look beautiful, just so long as it's you who's looking at me."

"I feel very lucky sometimes," you give an endeared hum at his words, grinning to yourself, "my beautiful boys." Oliver, jacket now on, freezes. He's turning a delightful shade of red at that, looking like he was trying and failing to fight off a pleased grin. Finally, he meets your gaze in the mirror, "would you let me put together a costume for you, for your birthday?"

"What?"

"It's a costume party after all, could I put together a costume for you? Not a cocktail dress, I promise," you teased, and Oliver finally turned back to you, regarding you with nothing but love and affection.

"You know, sometimes I still can't believe you give me the time of day," the words almost seem to surprise him as they leave his lips. Something in your chest tightens, and you pause, once again caught off guard by Oliver Quick. There's a sweetness to the way he speaks that has butterflies fluttering so strangely in your stomach, "you're so..." he turns the words over in his mind, looking for the correct one, before he finally settles, "you're a dream," he says simply, "I don't think you don't get enough credit."

His words fill the sudden silence of the early evening as he steps towards you, cufflinks in hand, offering them as a silent request for assistance. You agree without even thinking.

In the back of your mind, you hear Farleigh calling Oliver Iago, but you can't bring yourself to care. Yes, Oliver spent enough time around you, observing you, talking to you, being in your space, that he knows exactly what to say and how to say it to endear himself to you. Clearly he's genuinely fond of you, but it's not often he gives you a compliment like this. Everything always so deliberate.

But it feels so fucking good to have someone put in the effort for you, someone other than Felix. Felix had always known how you worked, what songs to sing to make you dance if the whim ever struck him. It almost overwhelms you to realise that Oliver had learned how to hum along to the quiet song your heart sings too.

You wonder if you should tell Oliver that he doesn't need to try and manipulate his way into your life, that you'd already made a place for him here, all he had to do was ask to stay.

"I keep giving you the time of day because I'm very, very vain," you can't bring yourself to face his sincerity with any of your own, or you think you may either start crying, or possibly jump his bones, and it's too close to dinner for either. Instead, you grin from ear to ear, teasing tone letting him know how clearly you were joking, as you fixed the first cufflink to his jacket's sleeve, "and you keep saying lovely things about me."

"Lucky for me then that I don't think I'll ever run out of lovely things to say about you," you'd forgotten just how well Oliver could flirt when he really wanted to. Eyes bright and smile brighter, you can see mischief sparkling in his eyes when you look up, meeting his gaze. You love this boy so much it feels like it hurts at times like this.

"Think that means I should keep you very close by, at all times."

"Very few places I'd rather be, sweetheart."

That beautiful bastard knew exactly what he was doing to you.

Later, out of this space, out of this moment, out of Oliver's arms, you could go back to worrying about the night, about all the lies oscillating around your whole situation, about Felix and Farleigh and Venetia. Later, you'll find yourself thinking that Farleigh may have had far more of a point with Othello than you'd first realised when you read 'one that loved not too wisely, but too well' before you put the text back on the shelf.

Later.

Right now, you let Oliver pull you in for a kiss.

[silverzoomies]

totally gonna send you random headcannons of my xmen dr based off of stuff i see you reblog

im forced to move into the mansion to stay safe and i only agree to it under a few circumstances:

no classes for me

my own room with my own private bathroom

access to a kitchen bc i love to cook/bake

some times i can’t sleep so i’ll randomly bake cakes or cupcakes or whatever it is i’m in the mood for and i like to believe peter will bother me while i do it and he tries to help but he ends up splashing batter all over the kitchen

when we celebrate his birthday for the first time together i bake him a giant twinky cake and he cries (he gets sick from eating over half- lets be real the ENTIRE cake but that’s okay we still love him)

I LOVE THIS SO MUCH DJFIEHFIJRJR !!! y'all, please keep sending me stuff like this. it makes my entire week, you don't even know !! 💗💗💗

you have nooooo idea how jealous some of the students are gonna be !! like, c'mon !! you get a private bathroom ?? that's just not fair !!

your baking habits are so frequent, the students forgive you for stealin' the private bathroom. as long as you're makin' tasty treats they can indulge in, you're alright in their book

one night, you're up late and baking. that's when peter spots you. you're mixing some good good in a bowl. lost in your own, little world. got the radio on at a low volume, listening to some tunes

but it's like...3am. you know that, right?

i mean, it makes sense for him to be up. he really doesn't need to sleep when his energy is so limitless. but you? what, did you have a bad night or somethin'?

peter just wanted to grab a quick soda, rush back upstairs, play some mortal kombat (on the arcade cabinet he obtained 100% legally, fyi)

but - guilty as charged - he's a sucker for sweets. and now...you've made him a little curious...

this becomes somewhat of a habit

at some outrageous hour in the night, you'll bake again. peter'll be there, leaning over your shoulder. he'll pester you. tell you all these (slightly exaggerated) stories of all the cool stuff he's done

he sticks around, at first, just to taste test everything you make. but after so many nights - he kinda just really likes hangin' out with you

eventually, he tries to help. but cooking is a slow process. you tell him a thousand times - he needs to be patient !! he can't rush the process !!

next thing you know, you're turning around at the sound of a casual "whoops." there's batter everywhere. flour. a few broken eggs. he's licking unmixed batter off the whisk. he makes a face when it doesn't taste like yours

"i followed your recipe to a t, dude. i dunno how i bombed so bad!! i even added a little extra vanilla"

"peter, you used the whole bottle"

"so? what's wrong with that?"

seriously? what did he even do wrong?? who can complain about more vanilla ??

on his birthday, you tell him you have a surprise for him. and his first, immediate assumption is-

"is it a cake? it's a cake, isn't it? definitely a cake. what kind? did you make your own frosting? how big is it? it's huge, right? please tell me i don't have to share-"

and again, you remind him he has to be patient. which makes him antsy. but...fine !!! he's (kind of) willing to wait, if it means he gets somethin' tasty out of it

you reveal it's a giant, twinkie cake. same recipe as the originals, but even better. you put your own little spin on it. made it extra special. and this is...LEGIT SO CRAZY !! it's totally AMAZING !! like, how did you even know ??

"i could kiss you right now, y'know that? i could, and i might. right after i dig into this bad boy. just you wait."

he doesn't think before he acts. ever.

he devours the whole thing before you can remind him to pace himself

normally, his rapid metabolism saves him any aches and pains. he can swallow down a whole pizza - or two - and be just fine

but this cake...this is a really, really big one. you went wayyyy above and beyond with it

he'll be keeling over in bed later, writhing in tummy achin' agony. but your baking is so worth the suffering

[breathe-2am]

you were my everything / which, upon reflection / was probably the problem

ye olde breakup playlist

[beeduoo]

originnssssss who remembers origins i Loved origins

[revvywevvy]

hiiiiii guyyyyyys its been a while huh :] heres some pyrrlinas since its taking me forever to finish the other things i've been drawing of them and im impatient and cant wait anymore <3 (AND THIS TIME I REMEMBERED TO ADD THE WATERMARK LOL)

[wat-zu]

Absolutely love your art. I want to nom it.

Also, Hollow Heads Siblings my beloveds,,,

Theyre the doomed siblings ever its not even funny

[narelleart]

Anyone here a killi person involved in killi clubs?

I need access to an article that's locked behind a membership to Killi-Data. I'm hoping to find someone that already has access so I don't have to join.

Here's the one I need:

Huber, J. H. 2019 (31 Aug.) A nomenclatural and systematic analysis of livebearing Cyprinodontiformes (Acanthopterygii: Anablepsinae, Goodeinae, Poeciliidae). Killi-Data Series 2019: 4-155.

[Link]

(All I actually need is the bit on the Poeciliidae.)

I am pretty sure it won't have any new information that I need for my science, but I need to confirm because it's listed on Catalog of Fishes as a relevant citation for taxonomy in one of my study species.

[feline-evil]

I can't think of anything that could kill a generative ai system faster than letting it pull from blogs on here, its going to be fed so many erroneous callouts and pointless discourse posts that its gonna generate a way to speedrun offing itself

[mercury-prince]

Now, what I want to see from star trek is how aliens represent other aliens in art. Imagine if that ancient Bajoran guy who space-sailed to cardassia came back and told ppl how cardassians look, spawning hundreds of kinda shitty drawings in bestiaries after a long game of telephone where they barely look recognisable (like these: first is a scorpion, second is a panther)

[Image ID: a square medieval illustration of a creature with a human-ish face, a fish-like body, and four limbs sticking out akimbo. it has a sharp tail that is piercing someone's hand. /.End ID]

[Image ID: a deer-shaped creature with a red belly, face, and legs, a blue back, green butt, and beige neck. it has white streaks coming out of its mouth, as if it's exhaling or spitting. a group of rams, sheep and deer look at it, with very confused expressions. /. End ID]

All the pre-warp species that the federation had broken the prime directive with must have some sick paintings of vaguely humanoid creatures standing around in matching outfits.

BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY: do other species have something like the zodiac? Or drawings of the star systems around their planet, using familiar figures to link different stars together? What did they call the foreign planets, before they learned they were called Vulcan or Romulus or Ferenginar? Imagine all the pre-warp star maps in different alien languages and art styles. the ones we have irl say so much about the cultures they were made in.

first pic [Image ID: a photograph of the nebra sky disk, from 1800-1600 BC. It is a turquoise coloured metal disk with a gold circle representing the sun, a crescent moon, and small circles depicting the Pleiadies star cluster. /. End ID]

second pic [Image ID: an annotated diagram of the Mayan Wakah-Chan Tree, a design found on the burial lid of Lord Pacal, from circa 680 AD. It is an illustrated diagram depicting the sun, moon and planets with intricately patterned symbols. /. End ID]

third pic [Image ID: an illustration from The Book of Fixed Stars by Abd al-Rahman al-Sufi, circa 964 ad. it depicts the constellation of Orion, using a black ink drawing of a kneeling figure with the stars drawn as red circles on different parts of the body. Each of the stars are labelled in Arabic. /. End ID]

I could go on forever about how we love to look into the vast unknown to find reflections of ourselves, and how i think star trek is an extension of that urge we've clearly been having since the dawn of time. Its not just the need to study things that will help with our everyday lives (like looking at the harvest moon), its the way we often take a celestial body and make it the symbol of a human characteristic, like how klingons represent honour and vulcans represent logic. what we think about space and what we do to fill in the gaps of the unknown say a lot about how we think in general. and according to trek we think a lot about weird little blokes in weird little outfits so. yh fair enough

i think this is my most research heavy shitpost ever lmao. but please add ur thoughts or take these ideas however u like

[high-guardian-herbs]

So, trying to remake HGS is a bit hard cause it's a delicate line between adding some changes and just making a whole different story with different characters that happens to have the same name

I'm trying to let the beginning of the story stay the same for the most part, cause I'm trying to make a reboot not a rewritting or sm, but at the same time if I want to add lore and a conflict I have to change many things and even get rid of few characters

For example, aloe can't exist (at least not in lyngarth) or else she will kind of destroy the lore I'm writing for the elves, and if I were to add her her design will look different to fit in with my image of the snow elves

Also anise too is a bit awkward looking in the show, since she is a punk in a traditional magical world, and she isn't really needed as rosemary and sage have a dorm already, and she might not fit into the lore I have for sages family

With that being said, I may include her, but I really hate making big redesigns for characters (cause they don't feel like themselves if I did anything too big) so I'll have to think of a believable reason so as to why this punk girl is among peasant looking people

And that's just two characters who barely have a role in the show, and I have to try and fit every character to the lore of it's species and to the lore of the character itself and the rules of the world and it's magic (seriously the demon teacher is giving me a bit of a headache ugh) and not to forget to find a conflict (cause the show didn't have the time to show us much about the big bad guy) and I'm still not sure on what to do with slime boy or alastor

(seriously tho the way I will go about with slime boy's past will be the moment the story and it's conflict is set in stone)

Also I just suck at coming up with ideas for episodic adventures lol

[deancaskiss]

what if I just? added one more name to my bio? but didn’t make an announcement post about it because I don’t wanna annoy y’all with adding just one more name? even though this name means a lot to me and to my girl and it feels special and fits me well? would that be okay? would anyone see it in my bio and use it? or am I just being too annoying and I just need to shut up? or am I being nervous and I just need to do it because I want to and because it makes me happy and that’s what matters?

[mejomonster]

I recognize how i headcanon and intepret the ff7 games is almost Certainly not likely the intended interpretation and probably Not the biggest fan interpretation. But i dont care. Im in my own lane, in the sunshine, having a lovely time. In my lane tifa and aerith like girls and are thrilled when clouds nonbinary ass dresses particularly feminine, theyre even more thrilled to be galavanting together heroically as girlfriends, zack is bisexual (of course) and. Well sephiroth is kind of canonically (id argue) into cloud but its really messy and heavy and woulda been a lot cuter when cloud was a cadet but. Back as a cadet his idolized crush on hero sephiroth was Nothing compared to his actual Friend crush on zack fair.

And yes. As u know. Far as im concerned the game is one massive polycule

[discranola]

au where for one reason or another, danny wasn't there to save jonathan from drowning when he was five. george obviously gets as many people as possible to search for as long as they can but they never find the body. seven years later dio gets taken in by george like canon. one night he sneaks out just to sit by the river behind the joestar mansion when he notices something in the river staring at him (hint: its jonathan)

[todayisafridaynight]

the worst part in being able to write sentences is that nothings stopping me from writing fics yk

[nomaishuttle]

comparison (new on left old on right)