#not even sure what to tag this lmao

[cherrylight]

i will throw my nervousness to the side to talk about this now because i really want to and i hate how i am always so nervous over everything ever 

so. long post. probably. knowing me lmao

hello hi. id share what she looks like, but maybe another time. anyway, others may know or feel familiar upon hearing the name ally :] for the longest time, i talked about her and was very nervous talking about her but i believe its because i reworked her into something i didnt like so it was difficult to talk about and she was a hs s/i so yay i guess...

HOWEVER!! ive been so fixated on cr.eepyp.asta again that talking and thinking about her is so much more easier! mostly because her origin was from crp :] so its very special to me! anyway! i think ill make her back to her original roots as a crp s/i! so yay! go me! :]

anyway, her rework follows this: she basically doesnt hold a lot of fear of the creepy things, or most horror! she finds a lot of comfort in it (and that i find a lot of comfort in it anyway), so to her its like a little safety net she can go to as a way to comfort herself :] so, meeting the rest of crp doesnt really phase her and she isnt afraid of them because well... to me, theyve been this second family for majority of my life so thats how i view them to me

regardless, she likes the creepy side of things and shes pretty mischievous when she can be! ive realised this s/i and my other one usually have something that is regarding mischief and its funny theyre basically practically my personas so i guess i like mischievous characters lol

anyway! ive decided that she isnt human but she doesnt fully know shes not human :] shes a ghost-angel... knowing me i love ghosts and her aesthetic usually has something to do with angels and thought of her being some sort of anomaly being that is both! HOWEVER! she has no idea that she is this corrupted anomaly! so its kind of... fascinating as some sort of plot hole i guess??

there is a lot of lore that i want to play around and theres different things that i have in mind and unsure what would be officially canon and what isnt

i guess i can mention this now: her rework lets her have back originally her blue eyes, but this time theyre pastel and she still has her heart pupils and i think that works really well on her being an angel because of the odd pupils :]

oh lol!!! to add: i ship her w b.en dr.owned :] also because i love that guy so much he is the loml and i just hdkfghdflkghdfklh im love him im very attached to him so !! yay !! :] the silly guy is back <3

ok i think thats all i can talk about 

[judyalvqrez]

there was something really jim henson-esque and campy about how some of the non-human races were portrayed in the new dnd movie that i really enjoyed. they could’ve easily gone the shitty cgi route or just not shown those races up close at all, but no, they said you want a bird man? we’re gonna get you a bird man

[glossysoap]

readers in the cod fandom when they find out they can curate their own experience and successfully avoid dark fics (stalking, noncon, dubcon) if they don’t wanna see them 😨😨😨😨

[kimdokjas]

We are alive. And we will continue living. So long as you remain by my side.

[eviestevie-nametaken]

“I buried my sister today.”

I haven’t even gotten to the Vacuo part of What’s in A Name? But omg omg a birthday gift from @lyddieowl I’m exploding been living off my own crumbs then I get a full MEAL GAH anyways I’m normal about them

[unproduciblesmackdown]

imagine...

...that some things have changed (including some marigold ventures?) and Atlas May is like uh oh both lackadaisy & i are doomed, but if i set up my own death maybe only i'll be doomed and lackadaisy might have to shutter but perhaps more so on involved people's terms, such as mitzi being fine financially, but also if she thinks it's her fault that'll be good for maintaining my posthumous Image to her, perhaps she did some defrauding again? and i'll have mordecai, my trusted & effective gunman, be the one to fatally shoot me, & of course he doesn't want to, but it's Mere Work Ethic time, what's he gonna do besides argue at all maybe, ultimately refuse? (no) and he may hate it but he's not going to want to fully turn on mitzi or anything after because then what would have been the point

[khattikeri]

i don't think enough people talk about how the backbone of nie huaisang's plan hinged heavily upon jin guangyao's low birth, and the jianghu's willingness to dogpile on such people.

nie huaisang is upper class. he's specifically stated in the novel as behaving more like the idle rich than like a distinguished second young master of one of the five great cultivation sects, but he's still an heir by birth. even if nie huaisang had been more openly caught, who would do anything to him?

wei wuxian notices that bicao's testimony was bought with a few shiny baubles— that nie huaisang was the one who bribed her with a nice bracelet for her testimony. he intentionally kept his own sect half dead, barely afloat for years, just to keep up the guise of an incompetent loser!

but the only actual consequence he's faced for such poor leadership that probably hurt a lot of common folks in his territory over 13 years is that people think nie huaisang is an annoying, useless crybaby. nie huaisang has a level of protection from consequences that jin guangyao had to fight much harder for (and that jin guangyao ultimately never truly got).

nie huaisang knew his own class and social position extremely well, and he knew how most people of that position behave and think. he was more than willing to use this in his revenge.

we know lan wangji is the type to use his wealth and position to do good for others. nie huaisang is the opposite— he's the type to use his wealth and position for himself and his own personal goals.

and this wasn't just something that started after his brother died! avoiding responsibilities, never carrying his sword, ignoring the fact that he wasn't honoring his sect or ancestors the way others wanted… his underground ring of selling porn as a teenager even got him out of the worst part of the wen indoctrination camps, because he bribed the wen cultivators overseeing everyone else.

my point is, nie huaisang is self-aware enough to know he doesn't really ever do the "right" thing! at no point in the story does he delude himself or others with grand ideals of how one ought to behave. he doesn't care.

unlike almost every single other upper class cultivator in the story— jiang cheng, jin zixuan, nie mingjue, lan xichen— who all think of themselves as righteous in a way, who are always able to justify their thoughts and actions, rarely if ever able to conceive of those thoughts and actions as flawed or wrong... nie huaisang KNOWS his own selfishness.

like lan wangji, nie huaisang recognizes that his class can easily be used as a shield to do whatever he wants. while lan wangji at worst uses this nifty privilege to silence people he doesn't like, refuse to explain himself in inconvenient situations, and bring wei wuxian along with him everywhere, nie huaisang uses it to shirk his duties for decades and tear jin guangyao apart in revenge.

jin guangyao being the son of a prostitute automatically amplifies bad rumors around him. bringing to light his incestuous marriage and the gruesome way he murdered his upper class father, however deserved, is obviously going to impact him in a way that someone higher class wouldn't be as hurt by. combining that with a final lie to get his sworn brother to stab him in a flash of doubt, and well...

is that good or righteous or just? no, of course not. nie huaisang doesn't spend any time pretending that his actions were conducted based on morality, or that he "had no choice".

nie huaisang just wanted to destroy jin guangyao, and damn did it feel good to finally do it.

[cherry-flavoured-thot]

"Child of man, may I see some of your sketches?" Malleus' question surprises you, for two reasons. The first that moments before you were sketching him, which you had assumed he hadn't realised considering he hadn't look in your direction once.

The second that you hadn't even mentioned to him that you even drew sketches. But you supposed the sketchbook and pencil in hand did make the latter rather obvious. You aren't sure if you want him to see your sketchbook, a singular drawing of him would be easy to explain away, but the several, page consuming ones, would be a bit more complicated.

"I would appreciate it if you would even permit me a single glance at the current page in front of you." As if reading your thoughts, he gives you room to reject his curiosity, and while part of you considers doing so, his inquisitive expression is enough to show him the page in front of you.

"I was sketching you." You confess, heart beginning to pound as his expression refuses to give away any of his thoughts as he examines the various sketches of him on the page. Eventually he looks back up to you, a smile tugging on his lips.

"I am honoured that you would chose me as a muse." Your face feels hot, searching in your brain for a reply that doesn't give yourself a way.

"Well you're a rather good one," is not what you want to reply with. It hints at too much, it peaks his curiosity further, you can tell from how his eyes drift to the corner of the page. But if he figures that this isn't the first time you've drawn him, he doesn't voice it. "Anyway, I should really get going." It's an excuse, you really don't want to have to explain why you don't want him to see the rest of your sketchbook.

"Of course, thank you for showing me your sketchbook." He pauses, meeting your gaze before continuing. "It's fascinating to see how someone else views you."

"I hope you didn't find it offensive."

"Nonsense, I'm flattered. You seem to view me quite favorably, if your sketches are anything to go by." Part of you wants to say that he doesn't even know that half of it, but the way that he stares at you, his lips curled up into a smirk. Makes you think that he may be onto you.

[sencheep5]

💃💃💃

[sparky-is-spiders]

Jonelias Week Day 1 (Which is definitely today I swear), for the prompt "No Powers AU"

This one... maybe got away from me. This is actually only the first half of what I've written so far, and probably the first third overall! I do plan to post this to Ao3 at some point (although I suspect I'll need to do a lengthy round of editing first lmao). It's some very self-indulgent nonsense, which is a lot of what I write, but now it's getting put in the main tags of a ship during said ship's event week. So. It may also be a little bit "aromantic dude tries to figure out what having a crush is supposed to be like." Also a lot of "dude who took Principals of Accounting once pretending it knows what office work is like." Anyway, quick warning before we begin, and the rest will be under the read-more:

Stalking (played for laughs) for most of the fic.

Just. A weird amount of obsession.

Ok that should be it I think. Fic under the cut.

Jon's new boss was, quite possibly, the most boring man in the world. He wore the same outfit every day (pale dress shirt with dark unpatterned tie and gray slacks and matching suit jacket). The only personal effect in his entire office was a potted plant on the windowsill (some sort of succulent, and definitely fake). He always arrived to work exactly half an hour early and left exactly half an hour late. The only hobby he appeared to show any interest in was scheduling, which he seemed to find both deeply engaging and remarkably irritating. In fact, he was apparently so opposed to the idea of mixing his work with his personal life that he might as well not have existed beyond the walls of their office. Jon had never been more fascinated by anyone else in his entire life.

It stared with the transfer to the accounting department. Elias had met with him personally to get him acclimated to his new role. He had been blandly polite, and blandly handsome, and Jon had stopped listening to him about five minutes into their conversation. It was probably bad form, really. The software Elias was droning on and on about sounded like it was about to become a central feature of his days. He really should've been paying attention to it. Instead, he pretended to make eye contact while zeroing in on the top of Bouchard's forehead (a very useful trick, really) and became inordinately focused on the small lock of hair that had fallen across it. It was terribly distracting, and Jon had wondered how he hadn't noticed it. And then he wondered how it had come to be there. And then he had built up an entire story involving a murder, an illicit affair with the assistant director of marketing, and the potted succulent. And then he had noticed Bouchard eying him with what could've been suspicion or amusement or irritation or nothing whatsoever, and had been forced to rapidly pretend to care about their company's bad debt expense policy. Bouchard had indulged him, and had spoken with the calm authority of someone who knew what they were talking about, and had even managed to avoid being overtly condescending (a feat forever out of Jon's reach). At the end he had shaken Jon's hand (with a nice, firm grip), and had told him "I'm looking forward to working with you, I'm sure you'll make a wonderful member of our team." Jon had left that meeting with a mind shrouded in a fog of boredom and a faint sensation of warmth which he decided was best attributed to curiosity and left otherwise unexamined. Over the next few weeks, Jon had tried to subtly inquire into Bouchard's life. At the time, he had been naively under the impression that surely he must have let slip something about his life; some odd quirk or funny story or harmless bit of information which could justify Jon's blooming curiosity. Unfortunately; "He lives in Chelsea, I'm pretty sure?" (Sasha) "He's currently in a meeting. Honestly Jon, you'll be better off just sending an email. Now can I please get back to work?" (Rosie, probably lying about the meeting) "He actually lives here in the office. Set up a cozy little home away from home in one of the storage closets and sneaks out at night to raid the canteen. And he's having an affair with the assistant director of marketing." (Tim, definitely lying (but maybe a mind reader? Also, full of brilliant ideas for places Jon could maybe set up a cot whenever he needs to stay overnight)) Clearly, Jon would have to take matters into his own hands if he wanted answers. That was fine. It could be his own private little research project.

Jon liked to think that the entire thing had actually been quite reasonable, and that he had acted within the bounds of their pre-established relationship as employee and supervisor. Surely any rational person had to realize that nobody could possibly be that uninteresting. Anyone would be curious as to what dark secrets Bouchard his behind his well-tailored suits and polite, professional demeanor. … perhaps most rational persons would not meticulously record the movements, behavior, and daily appearance of their colleague in a discreet notebook (with annotations, color-coding, and graphs where appropriate), but Jon had always prided himself on his dedication to research and understanding. So far Jon had collected frustratingly little data. If Bouchard was hiding anything, it wasn't apparent from his schedule (see pages 8-13, figure 2.b), his eating habits (see page 22), or his lone plant (see page five, figure 1.c). His breaks did seem specially timed to avoid other people (and he appeared not to engage in many social behaviors generally), but he never acted irritated or otherwise unhappy to encounter one of his subordinates, so Jon wasn't entirely sure if it was deliberate avoidance or simple coincidence. Really, the only truly odd thing about him was his inexplicable interest in Jon. That very morning, for example, Bouchard had stopped by his cubicle for a fifteen minute discussion on the upcoming Annual Team Luncheon, an event Jon had never attended before (due to an annual migraine which coincidentally always happened to occur on the exact date of the luncheon), which Jon did not plan to attend, and which honestly sounded like some sort of violation of the Geneva Convention. The topic itself was not especially odd (small talk was an archaic tradition which had stubbornly clung on in every workplace Jon had ever set foot in), but Bouchard's low propensity for inter-office socialization combined with the fact that he had both chosen Jon specifically as his conversational partner was… highly suspicious. Most people who encountered Jon inevitably concluded that he was more effort than he was worth (an attitude Jon mostly appreciated).

And of course, there had also been their interaction two days ago, when Elias had paused briefly to inquire as to whether Jon would be staying late, and what he was working on, and if he might perhaps consider heading home soon because there was only so much overtime they could pay him. Or on Friday, when he had managed to hold two separate conversations with Jon where very little was said. Honestly, Jon somewhat suspected that Elias had spoken to him more in the past few weeks than he had spoken to any of their colleagues for the entire time Jon had been there to observe him. Most of Jon's notes were now dedicated to their interactions. From his cot in the unused storage room (which was indeed a good place to stay overnight, thank you Tim), he could jot down everything he recalled about their interaction; it had begun at 8:32 and had concluded at 8:47; the weather was warm and slightly humid, although the office interior remained at a comfortable 21 °C. Bouchard's shirt had been a nice, cool gray, which complemented the silver of his eyes. Jon (who had been busy digging for his favorite pen (the ink was a lovely deep green color, and it was usually kept on the left side of the top desk drawer, and Jon had no idea where else it could have possibly gone)) had settled on "irritation" as his tone, which Bouchard either had not noticed or had not cared enough to acknowledge. He had easily dominated the conversation, and Jon could admit in the sanctity of his research journal that his voice had been soothing enough to cool away some of Jon's annoyance. He wrote his conclusion: Subject behaved near-identically in tone, posture, body language, and apparent mood as he has in all previous communications. Subject displayed no strong thoughts or opinions on subject of discussion nor conversational partner. Interaction was pleasant but slightly dull, no new information discovered. It was almost exactly the same as every previous conclusion. Jon had to admit, so many months with so little progress was… discouraging. He shifted on the narrow mattress and winced when his movements aggravated his backache (which was surely unrelated to his frequent occupancy of the cot). It was becoming more and more apparent that the only possible solution was to do some actual, direct investigation. His first idea (break into Bouchard's office) seemed a tad far (also, he didn't know how to pick locks). His second idea (follow him home) seemed a stretch further than the previous one, and was perhaps best saved as a last resort. His third idea (something something computers? (perhaps "idea" was a bit generous)) would almost certainly require Sasha, who would have questions Jon couldn't answer. He flipped idly through his notes, half-skimming, half-thinking. It was only when his gaze landed on figure 2.b, Weekly Schedule of E. Bouchard, that he actually came up with something reasonable. Something actionable.

[scarycranegame]

like how everyone else on this site is like "omg the feeling of seeing your f/o for the very first time!!!" and meanwhile when i saw them for the first time i was like "oh, cool guy you got there, canon" and then 3 weeks later my brain goes "hye guess what :D"

[danvillecheese]

the thing about a three way crossover is that the mml one was already so jam-packed with characters that plot points got cut and it was a hodgepodge of an episode and it was ending a story arc and also trying to squeeze in characters from pnf at the same time. imagine adding a third show full of characters to it could you even imagine the chaos

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

not to brag, but my therapist told me today that i did incredible during our emdr session, which means i get an A for the day in therapy, something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve 🙂‍↕️😌

[rosewheresheshouldntbe]

> Rose: Confess to Kanaya!

Rose: I love you.

Kanaya: Y Yo Ati, Rose.

> Rose: Get swallowed by something that looks like Venom.

> Rose: Get sent to super hell!

> Kanaya: Have something very gay and homophobic happen to you.

Kanaya: ...

What an absolute diversity loss. You find yourself thinking "love loses!"

[frenchonionsoop]

fandom dont turn character who has any even mildly feminine appearance into a shy, soft, sweet archetype challenge (impossible)

[princess-of-purple-prose]

Fish, 7 (For your prompts! ❤️)

Hi, anon!! Thank you for the prompt, you were the very first one to send one in! 7 was, again, the wildcard, so I randomly generated a different number to land on Yue Qingyuan (from Scum Villain)! I have no choice but to dedicate this to @bytedykes, because I told her about this prompt and she said “yqy pet fish mental health speedrun” and we went, uh, a little insane about it. Enjoy some yuefang, folks!!!!

“Mu-xiong,” Yue Qingyuan says. “I’m sorry to bother you. Are you available?”

“Yue-xiong is never a bother,” Mu Qingfang says warmly. “And I am, actually, yes. Is everything okay, Yue-xiong?”

“I think I need help.” A bit dramatic, perhaps, and Yue Qingyuan hates to trouble Mu Qingfang on a rare day off, but Yue Qingyuan and impulse have never been the best combination, and he would appreciate a second opinion.

Mu Qingfang’s voice turns hard. “Where are you? I'll come right away.”

“What—?” Yue Qingyuan stares at his phone like the blank call screen will tell him why Mu Qingfang suddenly sounds so serious. “I'm at home, but—”

“I'll be right there,” Mu Qingfang says, and hangs up.

Yue Qingyuan stares at his phone for another second, then lifts his gaze to his sparkling new aquarium. His new betta, white and black and resplendent of fin, stares back. Was his crisis of faith about his viability as a fish owner really so deserving of such urgency…?

—

“So,” Mu Qingfang says. “This was your emergency?” He looks about as unimpressed by the betta as it does by the two of them.

Yue Qingyuan feels obscurely like he’s being scolded. Mu Qingfang is one of the nicest men he knows, but that just means that his censure takes the form of a blunt instrument of mass disappointment.

“In my defense,” he points out meekly, “I didn’t say there was an emergency. Mu-xiong just assumed.”

“That’ll teach me,” Mu Qingfang huffs, but at least he looks amused. “Yue-xiong should get used to asking for help more so this gege doesn’t have to panic every time he does ask.”

Yue Qingyuan’s mouth almost drops open. He can only hope his cheeks aren’t as red as they feel. “Er—well, I asked this time, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Mu Qingfang allows, looking something horribly close to fond. Yue Qingyuan swallows and tries to hurry on.

“So—not an emergency, but I do want your opinion,” he coughs out. “I’m having… doubts. About the fish.” Mu Qingfang’s eyebrows contract. Yue Qingyuan rushes it out. “Do you think I should keep it?”

“Yue-xiong…” Mu Qingfang looks politely incredulous. “Why does my opinion matter? The fish is already yours, isn’t it? If you don’t think maintaining its upkeep will be feasible, that’s one thing, but… Surely Yue-xiong did the research before getting it?”

He doesn’t sound judgemental, but Yue Qingyuan feels his cheeks warm. “I did, but I wasn’t planning on getting a fish; I was only admiring the tanks. There was a salesperson who was… very insistent.”

Mu Qingfang regards him doubtfully, which is fair. Yue Qingyuan towers over most people he meets, and his bulk only further adds to the impression of immovability. It’s only when he opens his mouth that it becomes clear how spineless he actually is.

Yue Qingyuan falters. “I had thought… I thought it might be nice.” The bettas had seemed so majestic in their tanks, iridiscent monarchs of false grass and plastic coves, and Yue Qingyuan had thought, wildly, that one might be rewarding to keep, might breathe a touch of life into his immaculately sleek living room. The whole affair hadn’t even been expensive by his shiny new standards, forget difficult to physically arrange. It was only when installation and set-up for his new aquarium had finished and he was left to watch that jewel-bright being swim disaffectedly through its new home that doubt had seized him, all-consuming and black. He had, admittedly, panicked a little after that.

(Yue Qingyuan’s apartment is very large, and very clean, and very empty. It holds the barest amount of decoration and muss to qualify as lived-in rather than a snapshot from a magazine ad. The fish may, in fact, be the only thing in the entire place which really qualifies as his. No wonder Yue Qingyuan wanted to jettison it from his life as soon as he got it.)

Mu Qingfang’s expression hovers between concern and simple confusion. “I’m sure Yue-xiong will be a more than adequate caretaker,” he says, more gently than Yue Qingyuan and all his neuroses probably deserve. “What’s this really about, Yue-xiong?”

Ah. There it is. Being the mildest person of Yue Qingyuan’s admittedly sharp-tongued social circle doesn’t preclude Mu Qingfang’s wit from being as keen as the scalpels he works with.

“I don’t…” Yue Qingyuan falters. How to express to Mu Qingfang how manifestly unfit Yue Qingyuan is to care for any living creature at all? He changes tack. “I think he hates me,” he admits dolefully.

Mu Qingfang stares at him for a long time, long enough to imply that he’s reevaluating certain opinions about Yue Qingyuan’s intelligence. “Yue-xiong, with all due respect to your new pet—it’s a fish.”

“Fish have emotions!” Yue Qingyuan argues. He flushes at the volume at which it comes out, and at the way Mu Qingfang’s eyes go wide-eyed in startlement. But the salesperson had been very insistent about that, as well. “Bettas are intelligent animals. They dislike certain colors, apparently, and they’re very sensitive—ah, to environmental disruptions, that is. And—”

Mu Qingfang’s eyebrows are still high, but his face has relaxed into a smile. “It sounds to me like you like it quite a bit already. Isn’t that reason enough to keep it?” His tone curls with sudden mischief. “Have heart, Yue-xiong—you’ve hardly known each other for a day! Give it time to adjust to you, and I’m sure you’ll win it over as surely as you do everyone else.” And he grins, sure and easy in his trust that Yue Qingyuan won’t fumble and shatter something so small and monumental as a life that he could cup in his palms.

While Yue Qingyuan is still dazed by that, Mu Qingfang’s eyes alight with interest. “Ah, Yue-xiong—what have you named it?”

“...”

Mu Qingfang’s face falls as devastatingly as it had lit up. “Yue-xiong…”

“Mu-xiong is aware that I was unsure of whether or not I’d keep him!” Yue Qingyuan is terribly aware that his ears are now heating up to match his cheeks. Mu Qingfang’s ensuing laughter does not help with that matter.

Yue Qingyuan is not very good at holding onto things. More often than not, he makes a mess of whatever he’s set his clumsy hands to, lets it fall right through his scarred fingers. But Mu Qingfang’s words ring through his head: Isn’t that reason enough to keep it? And, well, isn’t it? Surely Yue Qingyuan is adult enough to follow through on this. Maybe happiness can be look like his new betta swimming up to the tank to observe the new colorful form moving in front of it, can come as easy as Mu Qingfang quipping that his knowledge about fish is clearly lacking and vowing casually to read up on bettas to be a better fish uncle.

Yue Qingyuan buries a smile and walks over to let Mu Qingfang know that bettas can be trained to follow fingers around. The betta’s clear preference for Mu Qingfang over Yue Qingyuan is as good a marker of intelligence as any fun fact the pet shop worker could have given him. Yes, Yue Qingyuan thinks with a smile—he thinks he’ll be keeping this after all.