#you can tell who I favour just by how I sketch them

[etandthekeet]

Kind of stupid

[wri0thesley]

SO glad someone else is in the "Just the tip" hole, so here I am like a little kid, cupping my hands for any spare thoughts (preferrably anyone besides Sampo), if you have any to share? 🤲🖤

loni i was going to write a post anyway but being able to reply to asks with my thoughts - proof that there is Demand (tm!) makes me feel SO much better about the brainrot!!! i have many thoughts abt sampo too so i am eagerly awaiting ur drabble, just the tip is really a concept of all time!

ft: gepard, welt, himeko, serval, jing yuan, luocha cw: reader is afab with no pronouns used. public sex (luocha), straps, sex toys (himeko and serval), a little size kink (jing yuan), a little soft dom (welt). not sfw, minors dni.

Gepard doesn't quite realise how big he is. He's not got all that much experience; he's never really thought about it, far too busy with all of the responsibilities that come hand in hand with being Captain of the Silvermane Guards. So when your eyes widen and your fingers can't quite meet when you wrap them around his length, he lets out a ragged breath and a moan and pushes his cock between your thighs. You have to breathlessly curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and whisper out his name. He's already on the edge just by being close to you. The silky softness of your thighs, the inviting shine of your lips and the way that arousal makes your eyes blow dark and wide - when you whisper softly into his ear; "I don't know if I can take it, Gepard . . . J-just the tip, alright? Go slow--", he worries that he's about to embarrass himself right there and then and come before he's even gotten inside of you.

You whine and whimper as he slowly pushes you open, your wetness smearing all over the ruddy head of his cock. Your fingers tighten in his hair even as a soft strangled noise falls from Gepard's own mouth and he struggles to not ram himself inside of you - you have no idea how good you feel. How hot and tight and wet and perfect the embrace of your walls clinging to him is, even on just the head of his cock.

But he did not get where he is by not having self-control. His muscular arms, corded with scars from practise battles and real battles alike, cage you in on the bed beneath him. He looks at you like someone who cannot believe how lucky he is.

"I'll wait here," he promises you, his voice lust-soaked and cracking with the effort. "As long as you need me to."

Welt sees how your lip trembles, how you take in a slow, steadying breath, and he cannot help his desire to take care of you a little. To coddle you and fuss over you, to make the most of the age and experience that he has and you do not. So he smiles at you, crow's feet crinkling the edges of his eyes behind his glasses, and traces the pout of your bottom lip with his thumb. His voice is patient and soft when he speaks to you.

"I'll go slowly," he tells you, as he gently slaps his cock against your wet folds where you sit on his desk before him, animation sketches and research papers pushed to one side in favour of the tempting treat that is your body. He has spent so much of his time working - nobody could blame him for taking a break and finding himself again in the silky tightness of someone younger and prettier than he himself is. "Just the tip first."

"Alright, Mr Yang," you breathe to him, your hands locking about his neck, urging him forward. You sigh as the head nudges your clit, as his precome mingles with your own slick arousal. You're a sensitive mess already - Welt is certainly not the kind of man who'd leave a partner unsatisfied, and his fingers and his tongue have already learnt every petal-soft fold of you, every spot that makes you shiver and whimper until you'd had to bite into his shoulder to stop your cries waking up every other crew member of the Express.

Slowly, slowly, carefully, he eases into you. Watches with rapt attention every movement of your body; the stretch of your cunt as it accepts him, until your hips are wriggling and squirming and you're tugging on his shoulders.

"Mr Yang," you're saying to him, your lip trembling, your shoulders racked with gasps. A whine leaks into your tone as he rests the head of his cock inside of you, enjoying the feel of it. Your sex pulses around the modicum of his length inside of you, fluttering, waiting to be fully claimed. "It's -- it's not enough!"

Welt laughs softly and presses a kiss on the top of your head that is almost paternal in its comfort - a reminder that he's old enough to be your father, your grandfather--

His voice is soft with just a hint of admonishment in it.

"You're really going to have to learn some patience."

Himeko has you wrapped around her little finger, but that doesn't mean that you don't eye the toy that she shows you with a little trepidation. She laughs at you when you do, pulling you into her, kissing you with the taste of coffee on her tongue as she talks you into her bed.

"If you're frightened of it," she's saying, even as your mouth is going dry as you watch her disrobe, "We'll go as slow as you need, darling. We'll start with just the tip."

You lose the ability to speak at the sight of her, auburn curls tumbling down her back and over the milky pale spill of her breasts and shoulders. Bathed in the starlight from her cabin window, she's unearthly, and your entire body sings out with desire for her. She smiles when she sees you looking.

"Always such a flatterer," she teases affectionately, as she wraps the toy carefully around the curve of her hips. It looks just as striking on her as everything else does. "Now, you just lie back. I've done this before. Let Himeko handle it, hmm?"

You're helpless to a command from the beautiful navigator, and you let yourself fall back on the pillows as she walks towards you with all of the elegance of somebody who knows exactly how lovely she is. She gives you a soft smile, her golden eyes gentle in the light, even as she gathers herself onto her knees and her fingers lightly dance over your bare skin. Electric pinpricks of desire radiate from every touch.

"Aren't you beautiful?" She muses to herself, as she wraps her hand around the toy and pumps it a few times - when it comes away, you see there's something thick and clear and viscous dripping from it. She laughs softly again when she sees you looking.

"You're already wet," she whispers to you, in a low, musical voice. "But if you're still nervous . . . well, there's nothing wrong with a little help, is there?"

Her fingers dance over your skin. She knows every part of you intimately by now; the spot on your stomach, the way you whimper when she pinches your nipples, the place on your hips that makes you breathe in a deep sigh and your own lashes flutter. Through her touches, she keeps murmuring soft platitudes to you - how pretty you look like this, for her. What a precious treasure you are. How she can't wait for you to come apart--

And by the time she is sliding the tip of the toy inside of you and you are fair dizzy with want, you can do nothing but whisper out her name. She leaves the tip of the toy inside of you, smiling down, as patient and beautiful and dazzling as ever.

"I told you," she murmurs, as her long fingers return to pluck and play with your nipples, and you get used to the new stretch of having something thicker than Himeko's fingers inside of you. "We'll go as slow as you need. Any new territory worth exploring is worth doing . . ." She leans down, her mouth full and soft and wet as it meets yours and you whine into it. "Thoroughly."

Serval is a tease. You'd known she was up to something the moment you'd stepped into the workshop and she'd flipped the sign to 'closed' with a feline grin on her face as she'd beckoned you over to her and told you she could really use your help with some new gadget she was tinkering with.

So now, as she has you bent over her workbench with something vibrating pressed in the valley between the folds of your sex, the tip pressed just so - buzzing and tingling - against the swollen pearl of your clit, it's all you can do to keep your fingers tight around the edge of the workbench and your knees locked so you don't collapse.

"Kitten," Serval is purring, her hips slowly rocking back and forth, the phallic toy strapped to her hips rubbing through the wet mess of your cunt. "Don't you like it? I made it thinking of you!"

Your words come out garbled, a mess of moans and sighs. Your own hips thrust back when she pulls away, trying to get her to keep the toy pressed against your clit for long enough for you to get off. Instead, she just laughs, nipping at your bare shoulder.

"You're getting desperate," she teases you, her voice deep and throaty and satisfied. "Beg me, kitten, and we'll see what I can do for you."

"Serval--" Your voice comes out a whine. "Please . . ."

Her clever fingers, calloused palms, slide down your bare skin, leaving electric zaps wherever they touch you. You shudder under her practised touch - you are an instrument, and Serval has already proved she is a master musician.

"Seeing as you asked so nicely," she says to you, and you sense the wicked cat-like grin on her mouth. "How about I give you just the tip?"

"Not enough--"

"You're getting greedy!" The buzzing toy slides a scant inch inside of you without the smallest hint of resistance; you're wet enough from the teasing already. You can feel your own arousal dripping down your thighs, and Serval sighs happily as she dips one of her fingers between your thighs to toy with your clit as the tip of the toy rests inside of you.

"You're lucky you're so cute," she whispers to you. Her finger slides back and forth over your clit, drawing delicate circles - she always knows how to use them. "Come for me on the tip, and I'll fuck you with the rest of it too."

Jing Yuan's patience has long been mistaken for occasional laziness; but you know better than most that there is nothing of the kind, when it comes to him. And there is certainly nothing of the kind when it comes to trysts like this.

Oh, you and he have gotten used to rushing moments when you can, in between him being needed for meetings and work - but now? In the evening, loose ends tied up, with nothing but one another to spend the night on?

This is a tryst that will last.

Jing Yuan is not lazy - he merely likes to take his time. For a man whose being is tied up in his past warfare, he knows how to handle delicate things like you - but that doesn't mean he's going to rush it. Not when you look so pretty laid out like this for him, clothes rumpled and discarded beneath you, looking up at him with your eyes all soft and wanting and your mouth aching to be kissed.

He hums beneath his breath as he lets his mouth learn the shape of yours; pushes you gently back when you try and kiss deeply into him, to make him hurry up. His cock nudges against your inner thigh and he sighs a slow, indolent sigh of pleasure that makes your heart beat double time in your chest.

"We have all of the time in the world, little bird," he tells you, with an insouciant smile on his face. Your face scrunches, an adorable expression of impatience taking over your features, and he smiles down at you like someone looking at the finest treasure in the world.

"Impatient," he chides you, but there's nothing but warmth in his tone when it comes to you. His hands find your thighs, digging into the soft skin as he parts them. Warm eyes like pools of molten gold find your core, and he sighs as he looks at you. You squirm under his gaze, and as he softly leans down and lets some of his own saliva drip onto your cunt, you whimper at the feel. "This is impatient, too," He says to you, and laughs. "Drooling all over the place. Mm. Is that how much it wants me?"

"I want you," you respond to him, mouth petulant. Jing Yuan shakes his head fondly at you but readjusts himself, hand around his cock to guide it to your sex. He taps the thick head softly against your clit until you squirm, pouting. "Jing Yuan--"

"Ah, I know, I know," he looks down at where the two of you are not yet joined. "I'm always reminded how . . . small you are, when I look down at you like this."

"It will fit," you insist to him, and he raises one eyebrow.

"Oh, I know it will," he tells you, still smiling at you. "But it's a tight one, isn't it?"

"Jing Yuan, you're stalling--!"

He laughs again.

"Ha. My apologies, little bird." Slowly, he guides his cock to your opening - resting it against there, just for a moment. Exactly as he said, he seems so much bigger than you - his tip thick and blunt and rounded, your entrance small even as your hole pulses and oozes slick in preparation for him. "I simply like looking at you."

"There's something you'd like more than just looking," you encourage him, and he shakes his head so that his mane of hair falls over his shoulders.

"You're incorrigible," he tells you - and then he is pushing forth into you, and your mind goes white of anything but the feel of Jing Yuan inside of you, his cock, your cunt, where they meld together and you become one--

Wait.

Why has he stopped?

"Jing Yuan--!"

He swallows your cry of his name with a kiss that is anything but lazy, tongue exploring your mouth, teeth tugging at your bottom lip until you're dizzy with it all. He tastes, just a little, like sweets.

He pulls back just enough to look at you half-lidded, the tip of his cock just stretching you out.

"I'm merely taking my time," he tells you. "Whilst I have it."

Luocha is mean, you think, even as his words remain unfailingly genteel. Even as his face remains a polite mask, he leaves his cock not-quite inside of you as you tremble against the wall he has you bodily pressed up against.

"Please," you breathe out to him, teary-eyed, lip trembling. "Y-you can't just leave it there--"

He cocks one eyebrow, his face unfairly pretty - unfairly unruffled, even with the tip of his cock buried in you. He's unfailingly still - almost as if the hot tightness of your cunt pulsing around him has no effect on him whatsoever. One long, elegant hand curves around your cheek as a small smile pulls at the corner of his lips.

He's big. You can't help but squirm against the concrete, your cunt wrapped around only the head of his cock but feeling like you've taken far, far more.

"We're in public," he says to you, voice just a little condescending. "If I were to go about this more . . . vigorously, surely you wouldn't want the attention of every person in the vicinity on you?"

Your own need feels like a thrum inside of you. It's hard to think, as Luocha moves his hips the barest fraction and you find yourself whining aloud. Firmly, he moves the hand on your cheek so that it's pressed over your mouth, muffling your noises.

"You can't take more than this," he tells you, voice calm and patient. "Not here. Not now."

You whimper into his gloved palm, tears beading in your eyes like little diamonds. Even that doesn't seem to move him, though he tips his head to one side, vaguely considering. He moves his hand just enough for you to take a breath, and whisper beseechingly;

"I-if not here . . . will you do it somewhere else?"

He laughs only one soft, musical little noise. He leans in close, his breath cool against your neck.

"Mm . . . but when you ask like that--"

You cry out as he pushes another inch of himself into you, eyes widening as the noise breaks the calm, cool air. Luocha pauses.

"Oh dear," he says. "I suppose we'll have to both come quickly then, hmm?"

[poisonous-honey]

Why Are Their Designs So Complicated???

Who's Here: Kaveh, Alhaitham, and Reader/Player

Contains: Self aware genshin au (not the cult au), neither Alhaitham nor Kaveh speak since they're trying to keep the fact they're self-aware hidden, Kaveh outfit slander

You thought Kaveh would be an easier character to draw. At a glance, his outfit is much simpler than a majority of the casts, so you thought he'd be a safe pick for fanart. How wrong you were.

Alhaitham watched from the sidelines, far away from where your camera was pointing, as you fawn over Kaveh. It had been a while since you came to Sumeru City for anything while you were playing, so his curiosity got the better of him. Though it was nice to hear you without needing to partake in all the labour inducing tasks you always force him to do, He could do without Kaveh looking so smug.

He suddenly hears you complain as you turn Kaveh to the right, making him finally take notice of his presence. He could see Kaveh wanted to say something, probably to gloat, but with you currently controlling him he couldn't risk anything. Kaveh still had this air of pride and arrogance surrounding him, and it was obvious he was trying to show him up. Alhaitham merely raises an eyebrow at him before quickly tuning into what you were saying.

"I should have thought this through more. Why didn't I inspect his outfit beforehand? This is painful."

Kaveh's face immediately fell before he quickly fixed his error and returned it neutral before you could notice. Though, Alhaitham could tell just looking at his eyes and the slight twitching of his fingers that Kaveh was anxious.

"Why's there a gold band on his thigh? There's no purpose for it, and I don't think that'd be comfortable to sit with. Why do so many characters just have bands on their thighs for no reason? To make drawing them take longer?"

Alhaitham continues to watch as you move Kaveh every which way, and he can see he's struggling to keep his composure.

"I-I don’t even want to draw his scarf, but he looks unfinished without it. How do I simplify this, so I don't want to die drawing more nonsensical detail."

"I just wanted to make fanart for Writing on the Wall, why do these characters have to be so complicated. His outfit looked so simple in comparison to everyone else, but now I just want to keel over."

Kaveh looked like he was about to pass out, and it's quite a shock that you haven't noticed how not normal he's currently acting. Your blindness is currently acting in their favour, though, so while you're distracted he'll try to signal to Kaveh to get a hold of himself-

"Thank God, I think I'm done sketching his outfit. Kaveh I love you so much, To the moon and back, but I'm never drawing you again. Or anyone ever… Okay that's a lie, I love you all too much, but god I wish I had the patience to not go batshit. Now I'm just exhausted and don't even want to think about colouring this right now. I'll explore Fontaine a bit, I guess. I just need my exploration team-"

Your voice fades as you switch your team and teleport away. At least that saves them from Kaveh losing his composure in front of you, but now he's sure he's having a breakdown in his house. The things he puts up with for you. At least he has new leverage to pull against him.

[a-mere-dream]

how about instead of returning to the sect after finding the qiu manor in ashes, yqy runs off to become a dilf, pushing back his reunion with sqq by a number of years?

"Remember, parent-teacher meetings are tomorrow," Shang Qinghua said.

"Thanks for telling me, Shang-shidi," Shen Qingqiu ground out. "I never would have remembered it on my own."

A blatant lie, and they both knew it. Shen Qingqiu had been looking forward to this once-yearly event with all the enthusiasm of a man send to die.

In his opinion, it was one of the most asinine, useless, irritating days of the year; parents who thought to tell him how to do his job as Peak Lord, or those who came all the way to Cang Qiong Sect and then spend not a second asking after their child, instead choosing to spend their time trying to make Connections.

But no, Shen Qingqiu couldn’t just run off, because the Sect Leader never felt bad about levering their power to keep him on Qing Jing. "The shipments of paints will unfortunately be delayed, but if you make nice with the parents of that-and-that kid, I'm sure I can do something to help you," pah.

This year he had picked up three new disciples too. Siblings, though they did not look it. A moment of weakness; there had been something in the way they had been standing, that reminded him off... No matter.

*  *  *

He had been able to keep himself from spending time with the parents for most of the day simply by instructing his eldest disciples to lead them around while he stood to the side, loftily waving his fan and emanating an aura of You are not worthy enough to talk to me.

This did, unfortunately, bring with it the fact he couldn’t take out a book or sketching pad lest someone take that as an opportunity to strike up conversation with him. And so he had spent the day watching the people around him.

Most of it was a familiar sight; dolled-up men and women swanning around, flaunting their wealth and ignoring their children. Their robes cost as much as the yearly budget for paper, and that was without even speaking of the various trinkets they decorated themselves with.

One man stood out; his robes were old but well taken care of, patched up with so much care the stitching was near invisible. He hadn’t been able to do much about the washed-out colours, though.

He was surrounded by the three new disciples, each clamouring for his attention, pulling him to and fro to show him the best places on Qing Jing. He ooh'ed and ah'ed at all the right moments, an indulgent smile on his sun-worn but surprisingly youthful face.

He was holding something at his side; something thin and long, wrapped up in rags to obscure it from the world.

The girl--Wen Ming--pulled at his free arm, and without needing any more words, the man swooped her up to sit on his shoulder. He didn’t struggle in the least, acting like she weighed nothing at all.

Shen Qingqiu's eyes were drawn to his biceps without his consent.

... Strong.

The moment he noticed what he was doing, he hurriedly averted his eyes.

It was that moment, when he was silently berating himself, that the man chose to come up to meet him. His voice was a warm, low thing; combine it with the faintly familiar (and outrageously handsome) face he had, Shen Qingqiu was ashamed to admit he barely heard a word he said in favour of listening to the comforting rumble.

A sentence ended in an upward turn of his voice, snapping Shen Qingqiu out of his haze. "Could you repeat that question?"

The man smiled. "I was telling Master Shen how glad I was that Xiao Ming, Yuan'er, and Xiao Wei seemed to be doing well. I was wondering if next year I could be allowed to bring their siblings up to meet them? They miss them dearly."

Shen Qingqiu blinked. "More children?" slipped out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

Luckily the man didn’t take offense. "Yes," he said, sounding immeasurably fond. "Six permanent siblings, and a dozen or so that only stop by every once in a while."

Did this man have an addiction, or what?

... Shen Qingqiu was tempted to agree, if only because it'd be really funny to see those men and women having to deal with what he was fairly sure was a bunch of former street children.

Enter a comedy of errors where Shen Qingqiu refuses to admit he wasn’t listening when Yue Qi introduced himself

They converse through letters, somehow still not learning of the other’s identity, and grow fond of each other

One drunken night, Shen Qingqiu writes a letter where he proposes the man marries him so Shen Qingqiu doesn’t have to deal with raising the children anymore, so he can just teach higher level skills

Yue Qi agrees

It is only halfway during the wedding preparations that they realise who the other is

The children had figured it out before the two even met each other for the first time, but thought they just didn’t like to talk about it

[jesuis-melodrama]

A doodle of Lila! I was redesigning her outfit a while back and is quite pleased with that I came up with. 

This is Lila with the Fox Miraculous. Unlike her canon colour scheme, I have always imagined her as lilac. I've explained in a previous post how Lila's name means purple; hence associations with royalty, luxury, spirituality, and independence. There are two further reasons for a change in palette:

I want to differentiate her from Alya. Lila established herself as the first auxiliary Miraculous hero (even if her Fox Pendant was fake) all the way back in Volpina in S01E26, and although Alya has replaced her since as a true and just hero that actually holds the Fox Miraculous, Alya hasn't quite managed to shake Lila's orange identity from her. The girls are both sneaky foxes, but that doesn't mean they shouldn't have individualism. I imagine that Lila would blast onto the scene dressed as the most stereotypical Fox possible – complete with an eyeliner mask, bodystripe suit, and long tail – to fool Paris' resident superheroing duo, but would eventually settle into her own aesthetic.

I want to give Lila's outfit her personality. Orange is nice and all, but it's loud. And it represents optimism, energy, agreeableness; very Alya-esque but not very Lila. Lilac is not only the meaning of Lila's name, but has attributes far more attuned to her: wealth, extravagance, creativity, grandeur. I should also clarify that I do mean for Lila's outfit to be lilac and not pure purple, also to differentiate her from Papillon/Papillombre/Monarch who favours a very heady aubergine in his suit. The lighter shade represents that no matter how confident and mature Lila likes to act, she's still a young girl. And the youthfulness and sensitivity allusion attached to lilac displays that. The flower, lilac, also represents passion and renewal.

There are no purple foxes in nature, regrettably, but there are pure-white ones, a loud cry from their darker-coloured brethren. A defining characteristic of foxes is their usage of their coat as camouflage in their environment when hunting. Rena Furtive canonically has an ice-lilac-camo suit, and check out this adorable picture of an Arctic Fox at a purple sunset!

Here's a picture I drew of Lila awhile ago, wearing OZLANA's SS22 Heart Collection. I always associate her with purple, even back then when I had no idea how to dress her. 

Lila didn't have a mask in the previous image because I had completely forgotten to add it. I was thinking in lieu of a feature I deemed more important, her eyes, and I believe Lila wouldn't want some fabric covering her beauty anyway. Eyes are very important to me, windows to the soul, and the way they're shaped can tell an audience a lot about a character. Adrien, for example, has very characteristic and detail-heavy eyes. Each stroke has a story. As Lila is focused on her appearance, she would like to make sure people see in her exactly what she wants them to see. 

I do have an idea of what Lila's mask would look like, a Venetian style piece (Lila canonically has a collection of Venetian masks hanging on the wall of her bedroom, representing her two-faceness) combined with the tall bunny-ears of Fox Miraculous Holders. Foxes actually have triangular ears, but I like the height Miraculous fox ears have. Very playful. Here's a rough sketch of Lila with her mask, and what a coloured version of her outfit would look like, along with a somewhat-finalised project. 

You may notice I keep switching back and forth between a bow at Lila's bodice, and a bunch of ruffles. This is because I genuinely love Lila's bow motif on her polka-dotted romper:

Such a coquette and feminine detail. I want to add it everywhere, both because it represents her appearance-focused persona and creates a link between her Hero and civilian-self. But if her bow is at the forefront of her hero suit, then where does the Fox Miraculous go? I went back and forth on multiple ideas, I had a style where the Fox Pendant would be tied to Lila's ponytail and would swing like a pendant there. But: 1) that sounds like it'll hurt, and 2) I can't imagine Lila will want her Miraculous attached to a blindspot rather than at her chest where she could see it and most effectively protect it. In the end, I went with the design at the very top of this post. Ruffles, and her Pendant attached to her collar.

You may notice Lila is wearing heels. Really inadvisable for a hero suit, right? But don't let anyone tell Lila to value practicality over style. I associate Lila with Dolce and Gabbana, an Italian brand known for their extravagant floral and gold motifs. It's where all the gold accents on Lila's suit comes from, and where her laced-up boots are birthed. Again, going with the topmost image, her boots are calf-length rather than knee-length. I've decided it shows ease of movement better. 

Lila has two tails. I was inspired by this belt from Pinterest, and indeed in my design, Lila's tail isn't attached to her coat but to her waist itself, stemming from an elaborate and bedazzled cummerbund, inspired by – Dolce and Gabbana. The two tails obviously represents her two-facedness, and continues to differentiate her from Alya, whose singular tail paints her as Fox No.1 and displays her authentic nature.

Other than that, here's a little moodboard I've put together representing all the different styles I've taken consideration of while crafting Lila out. I've decided on a band jacket and shorts because while it's comfortable and empirical, it also has an undeniable aura of high fashion and stylishness. Ironically, out of all these outfits, the only one I could find a source for was at the top right-hand corner and she came from, you guessed it, Dolce and Gabbana.

Fun fact: the Internet excessively likes to link butterfly imagery to purple and lilac. I saw so many butterfly-themed objects while researching for this post, and they were gorgeous. I had to resist adding them on, I want space between Lila and Monarch/the Butterfly Miraculous right now, I want to focus on her Fox persona. 

Lila wears fingerless gloves. Partially to show off her nails but also so she could use her claws. Unlikes Adrien, Kitty Noir, whose brute force is strong enough that he wears straight-up metal gauntlets, Lila needs gaps in her armour for her claws to work their maximum.

Final details, Volpina's Flûte is canonically much thinner than Rena Rouge's. 

While Volpina holds a longer, entirely straight rod, Rena Rouge's has bumps and tapered-out ends. I don't plan on changing Lila's Flûte shape, I like the length and the slimness of it, it suits her very well. Other than adding some colour and accent upgrades (lilac and gold to match her suit) my version of Lila will still be holding the instrument her canonical self does.

[secretsappyabode]

Fuck it it’s MY house I GET to make silly little fics about my fave turtle family. The POV will be in second person, but this is specifically about my insert rather than a generic x reader fic yknow?

I’m gonna try make a head canon/ fic for each member of the family, so everyone will get their own post basically. First up is Mikey.

In the past 5 years of…let’s call it “travelling”, you never expected to find friends, let alone a family

And yet here you are, getting roped into… whatever it is these turtles get roped into

Still, you have to admit, it’s nice not being on your own. Finally having company for once. It takes time to adjust, but eventually you go from bringing your dish to your room and eating alone, to actually joining them at the dinner table! And talking to them! Go you!!

Lord, since when did a group of teenagers intimidate you? You’re in your 20s for god sake

Your travels had made you more reserved, more serious, and survival mode hasn’t turned off yet. You’re not the silly, joyful, positive person you once were a few years ago, as much as you wish you could go back to what you used to be.

And now you’re living in the same quarters as a group of turtles who are anything but serious. They’re fun, goofy, and have this sincerity with each other that makes you feel the pit in your stomach grow because you yearn for that connection. You ache for even a moment of simple validity of your friendship with them.

But can you have it? Do you even belong with them? Can you even call yourself a friend? An acquaintance even? You feel a bit out of place…

But they don’t seem to think so. To them, you fit in just right.

Mikey

The first to warm up to you. He’s not sure himself, but he was somehow getting some good vibes from you.

Your initial reservation didn’t bother him, you find. Apparently the purple clad turtle is quite similar in disposition. He would ask you as many questions as possible, to which you listen quietly and answer casually.

You liked his youthful personality. So enthusiastic and earnest, it made you a little jealous. But he never clashed with your mellow energy, in fact he complimented yours. (You wish you had some of that energy. You miss being positive)

You don’t know how he did it, but he somehow figured out your drawing hobby. Damn it, this was supposed to be a private thing. “You’re an artist and you didn’t tell me??? WE COULD HAVE BEEN ARTS AND CRAFTS BUDDIES THIS WHOLE TIME??”

You sheepishly reveal your sketches and he excitedly shows his designs. This turns into art trades which turns into art sessions where you talk about your processes together. He teaches you some really good shading tips. You teach him about expressions and form. You feel good about your art for once.

If the teens have one thing in common, they love your hugs. Mikey is the first to know what they feel like.

It happened to you suddenly, where he was thanking you for some odd favour you did for him and he wrapped you up in a tight hug. You were caught off guard, but eventually wrapped your arms across his shell. But as soon as you did that he quickly retracted from you.

“Shoot! Sorry, I should have asked first. Usually I’m really good with this but I just got so carried away and-.”

You tell him not to worry about it. It’s been so long since you received a hug, or any sort of positive touch for that matter. You just weren’t used to it, is all.

“Oh! Okay! In that case, wanna try again?” You’re prepared this time and bring your arms around him again. He leans his head on your chest and you feel him snuggle in a bit. This…is nice. You try to ignore the long years you endured without any sort of positive affirmation or care or sign of love or anything like that. You ignore the fact that you haven’t felt a hug this warm and close in a long time. You’re gonna ignore the wetness in your eyes now.

Mikey uses the “youngest sibling” puppy dog eyes on you and always tries to pull the “baby of the family” move. This is to no avail. No matter how hard he tries, you just don’t give in. This makes it harder when the other turtles want you to do something for them (and totally not against the rules)

“How is this possible?? Mikey is our secret weapon he ALWAYS works.” “How do my undefeatable little brother moves not work on you??” he wails. “Jokes on you, brother. For you see, I am the youngest sister in MY family, so therefore I am immune to your tricks!”

“SHOCKED GASP” “Dangit!” “Aw come on!” “GAHH! So powerful……”

Eventually you meet the infamous Dr Feelings the more you show yourself. He’s convinced that you need to “come out of your shell” and “stop isolating yourself” and “allow the help people offer in your life”

That last statement, you tell him that he needs to follow that as well. That he doesn’t have to be the “family therapist” all the time and he’s still young and why is he taking on such emotional problems bro he is 15 who let a 15 year old tackle everyone’s mental health?? You tell him that it’s ok if it all gets to be too much sometimes.

He gets quiet at that. Silently absorbing your words in his mind. It feels a little eerie if you’re completely honest. Seeing him sit there fiddling with his “therapist” glasses and averting eye contact, it’s like someone stripped away his personality and pasted on somebody else’s.

All you can do is stare intently at him, hoping he gets your message. You’ve been where he is now, and you know how rough it can get. You’d hate to see him fall down that same rabbit hole, and you’d be damned if you would let that happen to him. After everything that’s happened to you, to him, to this family. He has to know what you’re saying. He has to listen.

Mikey takes off his glasses and you notice a shimmer in his eyes. “You know what? I think….Dr Feelings really needed to hear that.”

After that night, he comes to you whenever he feels his “tazz isn’t very razzy” so to speak. Something about you and what you said just makes him feel more comfortable to admit those not-so-good thoughts around you. “Maybe it’s my inherent wisdom” you joke. “You can only say that if you’re like “old” old. Like OLD old old. Dad old” (you hear splinter shout from the other room)

“Hey come on I’ve got more wisdom in me than the average dad.” “Oh yeah? Impart some sagely wisdom, your wisely wisdomness” “You stink” “THATS NOT WISDOM”

Expect a lot of hugs from him. Everyone in this family is pretty affectionate, but he makes up 90% of it

You used to go on errands by yourself, but now…maybe some company wouldn’t hurt

He’s the first one you invite, making it his and your Thing ™️. Errand time is bonding time. It’s sacred.

And then the other turtles found out and now it’s practically a family outing

During the early days when you joined them on missions, he would show off a little bit (maybe not as much as Leo did, but you could tell his tricks were getting more showy)

He just wants you to be proud of him

He’d call for you to watch him as he swung his weapon at their enemies, showing no remorse as he kicked their asses

Only to turn around like “Hey did you see me?? Was I cool or what??”

All you can do is stare gobsmacked as you give a thumbs up.

Mikey was the first for everything in your friendships with the Hamato clan. Your first friend, the first to confide into, the first you indulged in your hobbies with, the first you personally invited to hang out with-

He was your littlest brother.

And you would do anything for him. For all of them.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

I’ve overlooked some stuff to get into the Perfect Brains podcast, with Lucy Beaumont and Sam Campbell. Only little things, no hardline dealbreakers. But I do find Lucy Beaumont funny enough so I’m willing to put some work into pretending I haven’t heard her explain, in a non-jokey interview where she was not “in character” and being completely serious, that she genuinely believes a bunch of the weirder shit about great works of art being secretly made by ghosts. Stuart Goldsmith gave her so many opportunities to say she meant it metaphorically or it’s part of her comedy persona, and she swore up and down that it’s a sincerely held belief. Normally knowing that would be enough to make it hard for me to take seriously anything someone says – this is why I’ve never got into Lou Sanders’ stand-up even though I enjoy her on panel shows. I’m not a hypocrite about it, picking and choosing what sincerely-held wild beliefs will put me off someone – Frank Skinner’s hard line on Christianity would be enough to make it hard for me to take him seriously, even if the “marrying a teenager thing” hadn’t already ruined him for me. (This is a tangent on a tangent, but it’s not like I have a problem with every religious comedian, Bridget Christie made a fascinating radio series about how she tries to reconcile her doubts and questions about the literal truth of her Christian beliefs and I can well understand how someone would have that mentality. I just have trouble connecting any of my own thoughts to those of someone who seems to believe stuff like that uncritically. Also Frank Skinner’s a dick.)

This is a way in which comedy is different from something like music or acting or some other category of celebrity. I find it difficult to connect a comedian’s material if I feel like there is too much of a massive, fundamental gap between their worldview and mine. I don’t need to agree with a comedian on everything to find them funny. Some of my favourite comedians are nothing at all like me, live very different lives and believe very different things. But there are some issues that I consider foundational, and if I differ from someone on those issues, it’s hard to get into their comedy. Obviously that depends on the type of comedy too – I can watch someone act in a surreal sketch even if they think they moon landing was faked, and it won’t bother me. But if that person is going to stand at a microphone and tell me their observations about dating sites or whatever, I will spend the whole time thinking, "Yeah but you think the moon landing was faked, how much stock can I put into what you think about anything else? I don’t need to hear what amusing connections your mind has made, because I don’t think your brain operates on the same plane of reality as mine." Whereas a person who thinks the moon landing was faked could make great music and I’ll enjoy that with no problem.

But Lucy Beaumont is very funny, and because of that, I’ve been willing to take those two things – Lucy Beaumont is very funny and Lucy Beaumont genuinely believes things on a different plane of reality from me – lift them both above the cognitive dissonance, and put them next to each other my mind, allowing me to enjoy the thoughts that come from her brain anyway.

I’m overlooking some other stuff too, in order to enjoy the Perfect Brains podcast. Like SamCam being friends with/generally venerating, as a person and as a comedian, Jimmy Carr. I don’t even know which of those two things are worse. I mean, I do, obviously venerating a guy like Jimmy Carr as a person is worse than just having bad taste in comedy. But it is weird to me that a comedian as funny as Sam Campbell can think Jimmy Carr’s comedy is funny, even if you ignore him being a terrible person in real life. But again, I’m looking past it, because someone liking Jimmy Carr is not not quite bad enough to be a complete dealbreaker (but if he comes out in favour of Ricky Gervais I’m done), and Campbell is very fucking funny.

Having said all that. The most recent episode of the Perfect Brains podcast was very funny, it’s impressive that they’re still meeting their high standards even after seven episodes (I’ve found maybe two of the episodes fell a bit below, but given how very fucking high that standard laugh rate has been, keeping it up for five of seven episodes is impressive), I’m enjoying it a lot. But in that most recent one, Lucy Beaumont did pull out a conspiracy theory that in this case isn’t just harmlessly kooky, it’s actively racist (the one about aliens building pyramids, and she even threw in a little comment about those aliens providing a civilizing influence). If I heard that bit of the podcast out of context, I’d probably assume Lucy was making a joke, when she said she believes that. But having heard her say in other contexts that she truly believes this stuff, I’m pretty sure she meant that one too.

It'd be good if she’d stop that. I’m trying to enjoy a comedy podcast, it’s requiring a certain amount of compartmentalization and turning down the cognitive dissonance, and she is making it harder when she pulls out the actual racist ones. Please stop it, Lucy. Don’t ruin this for me.

Having said that, I do feel a bit hypocritical for taking issue with anything else while I listen to The Ray Peacock Podcast at the same time. Enjoying that one does mean I lose the high ground to criticize most other things on the grounds of being offensive (I can still think Jimmy Carr is both a dick and not funny, though, as he is both more offensive than that podcast, and, crucially, much much much less funny).

I will say that if there’s anyone out there who has a problem with current Frankie Boyle because of some shit he said in 2007, then that’s understandable, but if you hold that view while being fine with current Ed Gamble, there are some flaws in your internal logical consistency. I say this as someone who’s a big, unapologetic fan of current Frankie Boyle, and an apologetic, guilty pleasure fan of Mock the Week-era Frankie Boyle (also an apologetic, guilty pleasure fan of Frankie Boyle-era Mock the Week). I’m not saying you’re wrong if you have a problem with this – in fact you’re absolutely right and you have better principles than I do. I’m just saying you should hear some of the shit that wholesome food podcasting Ed Gamble was saying in 2007, if you're going to hold 2007 against Frankie Boyle.

You cannot hold people to everything they said in 2007. Believe me, I wish you could. But you can't.

I am also a big fan of both 2007 and 2024 Ed Gamble. It was fucking jarring today to go straight from listening to Ed on The Ray Peacock Podcast to the latest Taskmaster podcast, but I greatly enjoyed both. His current stand-up isn’t really for me; as I’ve said before, there must be some middle ground level of edge in between the stuff with Ray Peacock, and his current stand-up about weddings and drag brunches. The middle ground is probably the sweet spot, but personally I prefer the 2007 stuff. Having said that, I still hugely enjoy Ed Gamble as the Taskmaster podcast host, think he’s incredibly entertaining most times he turns up on other people’s podcasts or panel shows, I love getting to virtually/vicariously/parasocially spend time with him even if I don’t love his actual material. As I’ve also said before – of the two Off Menu guys (a podcast I don’t listen to despite liking both guys, because I just don’t want to hear that much about food), I’d much rather have a ticket to James Acaster’s stand-up, but I’d much rather be friends with Ed Gamble. And James does come out on top there, because neither of them want to be friends with me, but I'm sure they'd both like me to buy tickets to their stand-up.

This post has rambled quite a lot, and I'm not entirely sure what the point was. But I think the point was that I'd like to hear less about Lucy Beaumont's belief in conspiracy theories that are grounded in racism, even though of course I know Lucy Beaumont is not personally subscribing to them for racist reasons. And Jimmy Carr can fuck off for a multitude of reasons. That's the other point.

[lizzybeth1986]

Fashion Faux Pas

Book: The Royal Romance, Book 3

Character: Kiara Theron (featuring a couple...AHEM...OCs). No pairing except for a hint of Hana x Kiara if you look really hard.

Rating: PG (a bit of cussing)

Word Count: 1,844+ words

Summary: You'd think the daughter of one of the most fashionable duchies in the country would be given the absolute best of haute couture. But alas...

Tagging @choicesficwriterscreations for FoTW

A/N: A thing just about every Kiara stan agrees on is that the outfit the team gave her for the Costume Gala was a fucking travesty. Ngl this fic was an opportunity to show off the gown I'd hc'd she would wear instead, to explore a bit of how Kiara was faring at the time, and to snark at the narrative a bit. It is set in the time between the Homecoming Ball and the Unity Tour visit to Castelserraillan, in my Petals and Thornes universe.

"This..." Kiara whispers, trying very very hard not to make it sound like a hiss, "this is what you want me to wear for the Costume Gala?"

This season's most favoured designers for the event ("the Gilded Three", Ana de Luca had called them in a recent interview) stare back at her, quite inexplicably impressed with themselves.

"Yes, Lady Kiara - look at this!" titters Karina L., running a seemingly-reverant hand over the dress, her words and manner of speaking fast and impatient. You can tell by the rapid flow of her sentences that this woman is a Lythikan. "The best fabrics money can buy - and all in your house colours!"

Kiara doesn't have to touch the dress to know Karina is lying through her teeth. The fabric feels scratchy and rough beneath her fingers - she might as well have been touching the fabric-equivalent of plastic. Cloth so cheap, Kiara is sure they have cleaning rags more luxuriant lying around in the estate.

"And not just your House Colours! See, my Lady, the feathers placed strategically over your sleeves. A fitting tribute to your House Crest, and to the Duchy of Haute Couture!" chirps Jenna Y., her repetitive flicking of her hair behind her right ear a clear sign that even she isn't quite convinced of what she's saying.

Keep those words out of your mouth! Kiara wants to yell, the smile she'd initially greeted the designers with now a thin grimace. Haute couture indeed. It's one thing if your feathers are faux - it's another if the ones you chose make faux feathers look like masterpieces! These, on the other hand, look like they'd been picked out of the garbage heap of a neglected owlery.

If she hadn't already seen samples of Team JKJ's work in secret, she'd have come to the conclusion that none of these people would know haute couture if it danced in front of them naked. But Maman had procured leaked sketches and photographs of Olivia's outfit - resplendent in satiny red, black lines weaving in and out of the fabric like a spider's web, glittering with shining beadwork and intricate detailing. And now these fuckers are standing here, in her estate, enjoying her lemon cakes and profiteroles and hospitality, shamelessly disguising their mothbitten leftovers as fashion befitting a lady of a Great House.

She can tell from their goddamned faces that they fully expect her to lie down and take this disrespect.

It's one thing to be disappointed in the result yet imagine that it was the result of sincere, heartfelt work. She's seen lesser-known designers provided with half their budget, who have showcased far greater work. This effort is about as sincere as Countess Madeleine's press-friendly "patriotism".

Rhythmically, Kiara taps a fingernail each onto the mound-of-Venus on her palm. The light sting on her soft skin is a welcome diversion. It's a calming technique she's been using since she turned 18, and right now she needs all the tranquility she can bring back on her face. An Olivia Nevrakis can throw a hissy fit and have the national papers gently laugh and gloss over her tantrums. She can't.

Jeff H., the final designer, truly pushes his luck when he pipes up. "I would have gotten the best hat to go with this outfit too - but I've heard that here in Castelserraillan there's scant appreciation for headgear." He sniffs in clear annoyance. Kiara briefly closes her eyes against the image of those dreadful faux feathers atop her head. She's heard enough about this man's obsession for hats - the perfect kind, according to him, is the kind that will render the subject's head invisible ("Heads are overrated!" She can just imagine Jeff say). No wonder Queen Mother Regina was always annoyed around him.

She wonders what dress Jeff would've had in mind for the Countess of Fydelia. It's been long known that the blonde "Two-Time Almost-Queen" (merci, Duchess Esther) has been his muse and inspiration, and he will undoubtedly save his best work for her. Already she's heard through the grapevine that he made orders for at least a hundred lookalikes of pine-tree needles, as authentic as he could possibly get them, to be artfully placed over her bodice in gold thread. One may claim that plans for the gown were in place before King Liam broke off his engagement to the Countess...but Kiara doubts that any of that would have made much of a difference to Jeff.

Kiara is hopeful that they've brought other options with them, but they seem far too confident that this outfit would automatically win the heart of the Lady of Castelserraillan. Or at least that she'll sigh and take it, fearing backlash and censure. This awful dress really was the only one they'd planned to bring for her. A disappointment she doesn't often feel settles deep in her stomach, but she pushes it away, pasting on her most genuine-looking smile.

"Give me a moment. Maman is at Côte d'Or at the moment...she insisted she see pictures of the outfit as soon as I got to see it."

The Gilded Three shift uncomfortably on their feet. "Is that completely necessary?" Karina's pacing of words sounds eerily slower.

"Of course! She'd think something was wrong if I didn't."

Pictures give way to frenetic messaging, the messages result in a fifteen minute phone call with the designers included. The trio leave barely twenty-three minutes after that phone call, polyester outfit in tow. Kiara is rather impressed at how well Maman handled that; she picked her words, and the rare fake compliment on their expertise, carefully...but you could tell from the look in her eyes and the way she pressed her fingers together that she was seething inside.

Kiara knows this, because Maman asks her to look around to see if anyone but their most trusted staff is around, and then asks her to move the call to where the wine cellars are.

Maman has to be really done with everyone's bullshit, to want to move a call to the cellar.

--

Kiara is getting a dressing-change done when Maman returns from Côte d'Or. She doesn't actually hear her mother come in; when they're changing the bandages and inspecting how far her knife wound has close, Kiara would much rather close her eyes and shut the world out.

If she focuses too much, thinks too much about what the medical staff is doing...she is bound to remember. The image of the split-second that that knife was hurtling towards her...no. No. She won't think of this. Already it's hard enough to handle the nightmares that will follow.

So she closes her eyes and thinks of the trip to Switzerland Baba promised for the entire family. Thinks of the clear, almost mirrorlike, waters of Lake Titisee, of feeding swans and sampling chocolate in Zurich. The fresh air is bound to clear her mind.

She knows Maman has arrived when she feels a trembling, manicured hand over hers, squeezing lightly when Kiara holds on. It stays that way till the medical staff leaves.

"Maman," Kiara gets up gingerly, giving her mother a weak smile.

"Doudou," her mother whispers back, engulfing her in a light, cautious embrace. "Did those miscreants leave our house with that dreadful excuse of a dress?"

A small smile plays on Kiara's lips as she nods. "I was rather impressed with your composure, Maman, that much I can tell you."

"Psh. It's a good thing I wasn't physically there. That garbage deserved to be doused in rubbing alcohol and set on fire!* And those "Gilded Three" would never be allowed to set foot in Castelserraillan again."

Kiara laughs. "I doubt Baba would be comfortable with things getting that far."

Maman shakes her head. "That man has the patience of a saint. I'm glad you didn't inherit all of that from him. Some of the time we do need to put up a bit more of a fight."

Kiara sighs, the resignation in her voice already sending frissons of apprehension down her mother's spine. "We have to learn to pick our battles, Maman."

She doesn't meet her mother's eyes. To her mother none of what Kiara says about court sounds like her fitting in. To her it sounds like too much compromise. To see her mother hurt for her like that, over something she'd made her peace with a long time ago...right now, after everything that's happened, after Homecoming Ball - it's too much.

Maman looks away. Kiara is grateful for this kindness, knowing how much it costs her mother. "Well. I'm glad this is a battle your father was prepared for."

Kiara looks up in surprise. "What do you mean?"

She smiles. "Do you really think we'd bank on designers we barely had a relationship with like that? For our daughter? Just because they're hot this season? We had to make sure we had backup, just in case."

Speechless, Kiara follows Maman to one of the many rooms in her bedroom.

Mon Dieu, to call this gown beautiful would be an understatement. She knows without even trying it on that its one-shouldered, heart-shape neckline would show off her shoulders, her collarbone, the cocoa-butter-enhanced smoothness of her skin in the most flattering way. The mermaid skirt is a vision in midnight black tulle; she can already feel its swish around her feet as she twirls around in a Cordonian Waltz (she tries, desperately, not to imagine the small, the golden-bronze-skinned hands that will spin her around, the brown eyes that she can only hope will return her gaze, the pink skirts floating as if they're on the clouds, together. But the image of her is relentless. It grabs her flush to itself, and won't let her go)

And their coat of arms! Weaved over the bodice in gold and silver thread, swirling into intricately interlaced patterns before descending into thin licks of golden flame just short of the mermaid skirt. The silhouette is designed specifically to mould her hips into their most desirable shape, making her voluptuousness impossible to avoid.

The last outfit would, at best, have spectators claim in a voice most nonchalant how cleverly chosen it is. This one will grab their attention and make it impossible to look away.

The owl is prominent on the design but now overwhelming. It's such a perfect representation of her home, of her...that she begins to feel something she rarely felt for a Costume Gala - breathless anticipation.

"Nothing like our local designers," Maman says, "Our lore, our traditions, our heritage...it all means the world to them."

"Maman," she breathes, "it's beautiful."

Her hand takes a playful chuck at Kiara's chin. "Nothing but the best for our Kiki," she says, "no matter what the rest of the world has to say."

As she often does when she feels emotional but doesn't want to express too much, Kiara wraps her arms around her mother, resting her chin on her shoulder. Even now, the idea of returning to that palace ballroom makes her stomach churn. But she's never felt more ready to go there, no matter when they're expected to leave for Switzerland.

Her family will be there. The people she loves will be there. She will be dressed in the most beautiful, most luxuriant fabric she has ever had the good fortune of wearing, crafted by the artisans of her home, weaved by her people. You bet she's going to feel like a million Cordonian drachmas.

For that one day, she's sure she can forget everything else. Nothing - and no one - will succeed in dimming her shine.

--

Notes:

1. Côte d'Or has never been mentioned in TRR, but it was very much present in RoE's version of Cordonia. It is one of the first places Leo takes the RoE MC for an outing, and is meant to be a more luxuriant version of Vegas.

2. * - This line absolutely came from the amazing @mand-delemonde, when I mentioned this point in the story. Many thanks to @cassiopeiacorvus for helping me figure out fabrics for Kiara's dreadful OG Costume Gala outfit too!

3. Drachmas was the currency used in Greece until they began using the Euro, so I just had the Cordonians use a version of it seeing as they hadn't fully entered the EU yet (tho I hc that they do later).

4. Reference for the Gown Joëlle shows Kiara:

5. I chose the names for the designers on purpose hdhshshsh

[sonarstories]

Infamous in the support department| Support course Izuku

Warnings: N/A

Summary: Rumours tend to lurk about UA concerning the support department, but what's the truth behind it all? When the very boy; Izuku Midoriya is seen as extraordinary for his work efforts and favoured by students for his keen eye and somewhat creepy fascination for quirks and heroes alike.

Tokoyami witnesses first hand himself the amount of truth and dedication behind what he's heard. As he asked the infamous student to help him with a new gear.

Word Count: 715

A/N: I had this in drafts for ages and only now deciding to post it after so long.

He didn't mind offering his assistance. Especially when it came to helping his peers with anything, it didn't even have to be anything specific. But on most occasions it was related to the support class itself. Whether someone needed a repair, a new gear, or had questions about possible gears. Even his direct classmates needing help with a project they were tackling. He always made time.

Currently he was in the workshop with Tokoyami, a student who resided in the infamous 1-A. The class somehow always causing some type of trouble.

"Hey, so can you tell me again what you were wanting? Something to help in close combat right?" Izuku asked, walking over to an unoccupied station where Tokoyami had sat at. Just to make sure he had it right.

"Yes, while Dark shadow can take care of most of my foes on the battle field. It can't always handle close range."

Speaking of the entity itself Dark Shadow hovered by its host.

Izuku nodded, reciting the information in his head that he already knew about the student who sat across him.

"Hm… Alright, how about we start off with something simple?" He suggested, already drawing up a sketch before he could recieve a response.

His work efforts was admirable, that was for sure.

There were rumours about the kid throughout the school, some said the guy was a quirk fascinated freak. Quirkless even. Envious of the powers that others had. Some held pity for him, saying his dreams were crushed and his resting desire was to instead aid them through his knowledge and skills.

The kid had a large knowledge of quirks, that was for sure. A keen eye for observation at that too, being able to tell more about a quirk then the user itself.

But he decided on something simpler for Tokoyami, a pair of claws- well rather a glove like design that resembled sharp claws.

Tokoyami couldn't help but watch, it wasn't neat, the initial sketch being messy with scribbles to cover quick mistakes and sloppy notes written in uncovered space.

But Tokoyami also couldn't help but glance around at Izuku's work space while the kid was distracted by the current sketch. Talking about other things he wanted to implement into the rather simple gear.

He had a few other gears, most it seemed like he was still working on.

One was a gauntlet of sorts, a hose nozzle-type design that extended from the wrist. Another was a headgear, similar to Hawks but the ear cups having been taken apart. Like he was fitting the manufactured piece with something else.

"Uh- Tokoyami?… Hello?"

Izuku was now presenting Tokoyami with a finished- albeit sloppy sketch of his idea. Pulling him back to the current agenda and the reason he was there in the first place.

"Sorry- you have a lot of gear here. But looks great."

He hadn't meant to become distracted. Not having heard half the stuff Izuku had been talking about.

"Yeah- I'm a bit busy with a few projects for other students. But that's not my focus! I mean- they are… But I'm just waiting for Mina to stop by so I can see how her new gear works…" Izuku explained, before further delving into other details.

Repeating certain aspects he had already stated previously, though Tokoyami having confessed to not having listened.

They spent awhile discussing the gear, Izuku making some further changes. At least until they were interrupted, when Mina came bursting into the room. Apologising for almost forgetting about her gear and wanted to try it out!

"Oh right- Tokoyami if everything's fine for you I'll get started on your gear as soon as I can." Izuku said as he stood up, grabbing Mina's gear. Seeming to be leaving to go watch her trial runs, a glint of excitement in his eyes.

"Of course, me and Dark Shadow can wait." Tokoyami nodded, watching as the two left quickly after that.

He also took it as his time to leave, glancing again at the gears piles up Izuku's desk.

Yes- an admirable student at that… It was a shame somethings he heard weren't pleasant. He was sure others heard the same thing. But decided to just leave. The very least he could do was appreciate the help.

[thezoraprince]

You turned me into a Sidon simp.

So I've seen this headcannon that Hylian's ears can move like animals' ears? So they lower and flatten and twitch?

What about a Sidon who's obsessed with Hylian's ears? Like, he always thought they were funny, but when he hangs out with you he starts to realize they can twitch and lower, so hes keeping notes on them and what it means, like, if they droop Hylians are sad or they twitch when they hear something suddenly, and they use the reader as a reference?

Then Reader does something new like maybe twitches them while tilting their head or they flatten against their head against a fight instinctively or just something Sidon hadn't seen before and he asks why you did it and you find out about his whole fascination?

Que Sidon learning he got a lot of things wrong but also a surprising amount right. And they read through his notes together and correct them and such?

It's definitely just something he finds cute and interesting, so he might even want to touch them !! Maybe reader's ears droop cause they like it and he just has a mini-freakout of happiness??

I could keep thinking abb this I'm dying.

I love your writing.

If you want, we can do a trade as well! I'd love to write something for Sidon so you'd be doing me a favour, if there's anything you want written for him that you're unsure about how to write or want someone else to do please tell me!!

hi hiiiii!!!!!

ahhhhh thank you so freaking much!! that means so much to me <3 and i will ABSOLUTELY be sure to remember that for the future! <333

i simply LOVE this!!! Sidon (or any of the younger Zoras really) would have such fascination with ears in general, and seeing how long and pointy Hylians' ears are... especially if they wear ear jewelry!!!

Sidon would probably take notes after every interaction with y/n, just about their mood and the way their ears moved with each expression. he'd for sure make little sketches too

[comfysofti]

(continuing this random writing with characters in my au)

((that's more of a rewrite of something i wrote with my au Sanford, aka my not-so-favourite-shark-hybrid, a while back, but who cares))

(((tw/cw: mentions of gore/torture? Not sure if tw's even needed, adding just in case. Nothing too explicit or gory, but still there)))

"painting"

Paintings. Beautiful way to express one's feelings on a canvas. Even if sometimes they're bloody. Sometimes they a way to make someone better

That's what he thought he did for some agents. They were all clones. Filth. Made to be filthy, empty, disgusting. Everything but beautiful. He thought he gave them mercy, fixed their physical flaws. Letting them die beautiful. By carving paintings into their skin. It is painful, but, who said beauty is painless?

"...stop moving so much. You only making this harder for both of us. And im not even carving anything yet"

Hybrid murmured under his breath, giving the, currently tied up agent, a glare, before returning to sketching. It was hard to work like this. He does them a favour damnit! He isn't killing them brutally or anything, no organ harvesting either. He offers them the only chance to die as something beautiful and meaningful and all this agent does, is squirms around, trying to get free from the chains binding them. How pathetic

The agent freezes, luckily, seeing this glare. Maybe it's really better not to move. Sanford may be nice for now, but sharks are still dangerous beings. It's weird to be sketched on tho. Not necessarily unpleasant just weird. Feeling the cold tip of the pen, glide over the exposed skin of their chest, marking the painting. The painters grip on the pen, and his lines, are confident, clean. This feels like very intricate work, Sanfords eyes are sharp, focused, although it's hard to see them in dim light of this room. Whatever it might be

The feeling of the pen moving away, makes the agent finally break the stare they had on their captor, who was now just looking at the sketch, fixing it here and there, erasing, adding lines

As calm as this moment seemed, this ment that the torture is closer. And their death with it. This definitely will be painful

"im in a good mood. So I'm giving you an option..."

Sanfords words and steps echo in the small room, as he walks towards the table, somewhere in the corner. It's space filled with all sorts of things. Different tools, some art supplies and all sorts of medication, in different vials, along with some other medical equipment. Agents attention draws to them, as the hybrid, starts mixing some medication, although it's hard to see which. But his movements are quick, like he did this millions of times before

"i can make this painless, or... You can suffer through all this"

Simple offer. Agent thinks for a moment, watching as Sanford fills a small syringe with this, medicational mix. Although the answer may seem obvious, for all they knew he could be lying. Why would this shark try to make this whole thing painless for his enemy? But, better take the risk of not feeling pain, than suffering through this torture. So they nod, moving their gaze to the floor. Waiting. Sanford just walks back to them, tilting their head with his free hand, to get better access to their neck. The syringes needle pierces the soft skin of their neck with ease. It's a bit painful, but relief from the medicine that was now running throughout their system was instant. They were feeling out of it

What did he even used on them? Hard to tell. But their head felt heavy, vision blurry. Whatever this is, it's definitely strong. They sighed, leaning their head back against the cold wall behind them. Why is their head so goddamn heavy now? Weird feeling. Hard to focus on something. Anything

"...hey? Stay with me. Come on. Keep your eyes on me"

It's hard to focus, but sound of his voice and him snapping his fingers next to them, or rather in front of their face, actually forces them to focus their vision on Sanford

"you're really that weak huh? Guess I should've given smaller dosage. Well, no turning backs now"

They can hear him say, before they returned their gaze to the ceiling. It's so hard to focus. But they attempt to, looking at the floor next to them. Carving tools. Where he got them from? Doesn't matter. Hard to think

They look back at the ceiling. No talking follows. Only some faint noise, but they don't bother focusing on it. Some movement, breathing...

And then the feeling. This tingling on their chest. It's not painful. But it's there. They weakly look down

Oh

He started carving. But it doesn't hurt. In a way it even feels nice. Huh. Ironic. This should hurt. But it doesn't. But they can't focus either way. But they just keep trying to. This feels. Interesting. Feeling their ribcage being exposed to the cold air, here and there, as their skin being quite literally carved away by Sanford, who doesn't utter as much as a sound. Just focusing on this "art". His work is slow, deliberate, calculated, careful. After all, when carving on alive canvas, one wrong cut, and poof, everything's ruined! It's not a paper canvas, where you can cover the mistake. You can't cover it on the skin

This carving, goes on for what feels like hours. Carving, cutting of the skin, even bones being broken or cut here and there. But it never hurted. It was just, tingling. Weirdly. But somewhat pleasantly. But their mind just seemed to get more cloudy, head heavier. They were really out of it, as this work was stretching for hours. But it's definitely better than screaming in agony, feeling their nerves go off in paines frenzy, eyes unable to cry anymore. They were trying to keep looking at his work. Blood covered tools, kept cutting, leaving pieces of bones, flesh and skin laying around somewhere on the floor. How bizarre. So that's how he does it. Very intricate work

They don't even notice once it's finished. When the tools are sat aside, to be cleaned later. They don't notice the click of a camera, as their captor takes a picture of his new bloody work. For memories. After all, this turned out way better than he expected. Can't let this work disappear completely

In agents head, there's barely any thoughts. Maybe because of all the blood they lost without noticing? Something else? But, there's really not much to think, before they feel a cut, on their throat. Yet again, no pain, just tingling

"you weren't born beautiful. But at least you'll die like you were"

They barely register the words, before, everything disappears. Void. Death

At least he kept his promise

They died as a masterpiece. Even if for eyes of a single person

[bisognamorire]

Beloved and dearly missed A.,

Happy Friday!

I am unsure what you would think of me writing these, because isn’t this kind of ‘not letting go’? But I thought: for me it is in a way, because I’m not asking for a response or acknowledgement and whether I type it out or not is a bit of the same, because I would tell you in my mind, if I wasn’t writing it down. I always want to talk with you. I always miss you. And you know I am always delusional and pathetic.

Two days ago, I had some nervousness inducing conversations with my therapist about me being dissociated most of the time, up to the point that I even dissociate in therapy sessions and can’t really process or understand/accept what is being said to me. And that I feel anxious to ask questions because I worry my therapist might not be honest to me when I ask her to be upfront (which is ofc my own trust issues) or might feel I’m annoying her.

We then looked closer at that cycle of dissociation and anxiety. I felt horrified to see how torn that inner insecurity (almost a grappling for the perception of reality between the “trauma brain/adult brain”) makes me feel and act at times. Sure you remember. And to get a sense of all the potential damage that volatile dynamic can cause others and myself.

This week has started with many people calling in sick to work, so I was obliged to take on more shifts than I originally had. Needless to mention that that isn’t very pleasant. I feel rather knocked out by this week. Patients and coworkers have been rather rude too — it reminded me of the time you worked in the city museum front desk. I, too, experience the general public’s madness everyday. So many bizarre things that I can’t possibly write it all down or remember it. I was once asked out of the blue, mid conversation, by a grandpa whether I was wearing a wig. An other patient complained to me that his taxi was taking too long to pick him up, but he apparently hadn’t even called one (?). Then the general babylonic discourses with russian people who are unfazed at me telling them I don’t speak russian and who proceed to speak russian anyway… 🫨

Im just constantly tired and exhausted— it reminded me of that little sketch you drew of yourself of rotting in bed and saying ‘surely theres a better way to live my life than that’.

Yesterday I rolled over in bed and stared at my wall. My blanket had wrapped around my torso tightly. I remembered you hugging me like that in the bed you had set up for me in your room on that last night and just began to cry horribly.

Not all that I feel can be expressed in words about all that.

I’ve also not slept very well all week and woke up in the middle of the night. I suppose dad and you are haunting me in my subconscious.

But — on to more ‘joyous’ things.

You know how I read up about the Somerton Man (scary) and I was very intrigued by the process of identifying him and just the mystery around that ‘Tamam Shud’ from Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyat in his pocket. I had wanted to have a copy of that for myself (there are such nice editions with art nouveau illustrations which you would surely appreciate too) and went to a nearby antique book store after my massage last Saturday. They had a battered 1913 copy (unfortunately without illustrations) of it and some of the poems really resonated with how I feel.

Heres some of my favourites:

Three days ago the rest of my Yamato Cosplay unexpectedly arrived in the mail, so I took some joy out of completing the costume for now. I feel like my inner transmasc oni was turned outward finally! 👹

For my birthday last year Sharon’s boyfriend gifted me a box of Basilur Green Tea assortment from the russian supermarket in front of my house. I usually don’t like green tea, so I only tried it recently. In that assortment they had a few sachets of milk oolong tea, do you know it? I love it now. I drink it with two or three spoons of sugar and a bit of milk. Its not as irritating to the stomach as the Earl Grey I favour, maybe you can try it? ♥️

While we are on the topic of Earl Grey — after I have completed a cosplay of Transmasc Oni Yamato (my alter ego) I am now thinking of doing a Ciel Phantomhive or Pinocchio from Lies of P cosplay, just because they’re both giving off that assholish midget horse-lady Laurent vibes, which — as you know — is also my alter ego 😏

I’ve been doodling a bit in the evenings after work (I’ve not drawn something in so long, and why? for who?), and listening to anime openings etc. Sometimes I wonder if it is a bit cringe that I still gain joy from the same things I had when I was 13, living with my parents back then and feeling utterly lonely (still do). Here are some of the things I’ve drawn:

The first one is depicting how I feel when I am experiencing an episode of mania (also, also, blood thing/our Laurent, self insert?). I called this emotional state ‘Archangel’, because it isn’t actually me, or thats how it feels at least. It is this righteous entity, that is entitled to anger and vengeful feelings. He is 100% sure his feelings are justified. I don’t often experience the archangel or that inner ‘surety’ of my own perception, of reality. But when I do — not only does he feel anger, he also punishes me bodily for — by proxy — feeling anger through him. He humiliates me. It is almost as if I was taking on the persona’s of the people who abused me as a child. Who disallowed me from standing up for myself, and who discouraged protecting myself from them, who disallowed me from feeling angry. I am not allowed to be upset.

I’m sorry if thats tmi and makes you uncomfortable, you know I’m always too open.

The second one is Romano and Antonio in the traditional clothes of the Fallas Carnival in Valencia. This year is the tenth year anniversary of me first visiting the city (I can’t believe it! I have memories of 10 years ago!!) I booked a one week vacation there for March to go by myself and finally see the Fallas! Valencia’s main festival! I’m very excited to drink Horchata de Chufa and draw some Antonio/Romano doodles and take naps. I also booked a tour to see the atelier’s of the artists building the statues, that will surely be interesting. I already wish I could send you a postcard, but I’m not supposed to, am I? Maybe I will get one anyway and just post it here and then add it to your little box of things I keep.

Again, I’m looking forward to rest and play my video game on the weekend, when I am off (I’m currently trying to level myself up to take on that acid monster in the Cathedral of St. Frangelico) 🙄

Thinking of you fondly at the sight of the stars & moon,

your Sabo

[aspenmissing]

𝚂𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚂𝚊𝚒𝚍 (𝙿𝚝 𝟷)

Sam is in the bathroom of their motel room. He gasps. He leans over the sink, the water running.

"No..." He runs a hand under the water and washes his face, scrubbing the hand through his hair. As he shuts the water off and looks up into the mirror, the door bursts open to reveal Dean.

"Sam, come on, zip it up. Let's hit the..." Dean pauses, absorbing Sam's condition "...road. What?" Sam is breathing heavily and blinking.

==

Y/N is driving the Impala, speeding down the road. The youngest Winchester is sat in the passenger side looking troubled with Dean sat in the back, leaning forwards. The radio is the only noise playing in the Impala.

"Rockin' Nebraska. Your source for the classics, all night long"

"I don't know, man, why don't we just chill out, think about this" Sam shuts off the radio.

"What's there to think about?" Sam asks.

"I don't know if going to the Roadhouse is the smartest idea"

"Dean, it's another premonition. I know it. This is gonna happen, and Ash can tell us where"

"Yeah, man, but..."

"Plus, it could have some connection with the demon. My visions always do"

"That's my point. There's gonna be hunters there. I don't know if, if, if going in and announcing that you're some supernatural freak with a, a demonic connection is the best thing, okay?" Y/N hits Dean's arm, a cast is shown.

"You could have phrased it better"

"So, I'm a freak now?" Dean slaps Sam on his shoulder, laughing.

"You've always been a freak" Dean smiles weakly and leans back in his seat. Sam looks to Y/N, who just shakes her head, shrugging and mouthing for him to ignore Dean.

==

At the roadhouse, Jo is playing a shooter arcade game as an older man watches. She hits every target and he groans.

"Damn, little lady, that was my room money" Jo takes the money he pulls out.

"Well, I guess you're taking a truck nap tonight" As she walks away, pleased with herself, Ellen walks over.

"Ought to check the high scores before you put your money down" She presses a button on the game and a list of high scores- all reading Jo "You went and got yourself hustled, Ed" Dean, Sam, and Y/N enter, passing two men at the table cleaning weapons, they look over and see Y/N and look her up and down, then smile. Dean almost runs into Jo, who stops, smiling.

"Just can't stay away, huh?" She speaks.

"Yeah, looks like. How you doin', Jo?"

"Where's Ash?" Sam asks, hurried.

"In his back room" Sam brushes past her.

"And I'm fine..."

"Sorry, he's, we're...kind of on a bit of a timetable" Y/N says. The three walk to the back room. Sam approaches a rough wooden door with a sigh handing which reads 'Dr Badass Is: In'

"Ash? Hey, Ash?" Sam asks, knocking on the door.

"Hey, Dr. Badass?" Dean says, also knocking on the door. The door is unlatched and opened with a crash to reveal Ash, who is naked. Y/N looks up and Dean averts his eyes.

"Sam? Y/N? Dean? Sam, Dean, and Y/N"

"Hey Ash. Um. We need your help" Sam says.

"Well, hell then. Guess I need my pants"

"I guess you do" Y/N says. He shuts the door and Sam, Dean, and Y/N go back into the main area. Ash is sitting at a table, now fully dressed, with his laptop open, looking at the hand-drawn sketch of the bus logo from Sam's vision. Sam sits across from him; Dean stands behind. Y/N is sitting on the other side of Ash.

"Well, I got a match. It's the logo from the Blue Ridge bus lines in Guthrie, Oklahoma"

"Okay. Do me a favour- check Guthrie for any demonic signs, or omens, or anything like that"

"You think the demon's there?" Ash asks.

"Yeah, maybe"

"Why would you think that?"

"Just check it, all right?"

"Dean. He was just asking" Ash gives him a look; Sam and Dean frown at each other.

"No, sir, nothing. No demon"

"All right, try something else for me. Search Guthrie for a house fire. It would be 1983, fire's origin would be a baby's nursery, night of the kid's six-month birthday" Ash looks at him, startled, and Dean looks around to check for eavesdroppers. Jo, cleaning a table nearby, is watching them

"Okay, now that is just weird, man. Why the hell would I be looking for that" Sam pulls out a beer bottle and sets it next to the laptop.

"'Cause there's a RBR in it for ya"

"Give me fifteen minutes"

"How come when you want me to do something you just give me your puppy dog eyes. Why don't you give me a beer" Y/N says. Later, Jo presses a few buttons on the jukebox and the opening chords to REO Speedwagon "Can't Fight This Feeling" play. Dean, sitting at the bar and holding a beer, looks horrified. Jo carries a tray to the bar and sets it down, catching his eye.

"What?" Jo asks.

"REO Speedwagon?"

"Damn right REO. Kevin Cronin sings it from the heart"

"He sings it from the hair. There's a difference" Jo looks at Ellen, then back to Dean.

"That profile you've got Ash looking for?"

"Hmm"

"Your mom died the same way, didn't she? A fire in Sam's nursery?"

"Look, Jo, it's kind of a family thing"

"I could help"

"I'm sure you could. But we've got to handle this one ourselves. Besides, if I ran off with you, I think your mother might kill me" Ellen, cleaning glasses behind the bar, looks at him. He smiles nervously.

"You're afraid of my mother?"

"I think so" Sam hurries up behind Jo.

"We have a match. We've gotta go" Sam says.

"All right, Jo. See you later"

"Y/N come on!" Sam shouts, just before Y/N could take a sip of beer. She groans and gets up.

==

The strains of 'Can't fight This Feeling' come from Dean's voice, singing a Capella.

"And even as I wander, I'm keeping you in sight. You're a candle in the window on a cold dark winter night. And I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might..." Sam keeps looking at Y/N who is trying not to laugh.

"You're a natural" Y/N says, sarcastically.

"You're kidding, right?" Sam asks.

"I heard the song somewhere, I can't get it out of my head, I don't know, man. Whaddya got?" Sam looks at a stack of papers.

"Andrew Gallagher. Born in eighty-three, like me. Lost his mother in a nursery fire exactly six months later, also like me"

"You think the demon killed his mom?" Y/N asks.

"Sure, looks like it"

"How did you even know to look for this guy?"

"Every premonition I've had, if they're not about the demon they're about the other kids the demon visited. Like Max Miller, remember him?"

"Yeah, but Max Miller was a pasty little psycho" Dean says.

"The point is he was killing people. And I was having the same type of visions about him. And now it could be happening all over again with this Gallagher guy"

"How do we find him?"

"Don't know. No current address, no current employment. He still owes money on all his bills - phone, credit, utilities..."

"Collection agency flags?" Y/N suggests.

"None in the system"

"They just let him take a walk?" Dean says.

"Seems like it. There's a work address from his last W-2, about a year ago. Let's start there"

==

A young woman is pouring coffee into a cup. Sam and Dean are in their suits whereas Y/N is wearing her blouse, pants and jacket once again. The three are sat at a table.

"You won't get anything out of Andy, guys. I'm sorry, but they never do"

"They?" Y/N asks.

"You're debt collectors, right? Once in a while they come by. I don't know what Andy says to them, but they never come back"

"Actually, we're lawyers. Representing his Great Aunt Leta. She passed, God rest her soul, and left Andy a sizable estate"

"Yeah. So, are you a friend of his?" Sam asks.

"I used to be, yeah. I don't see much of Andy anymore"

"Andy? Andy kicks ass, man" A man says, coming over to sit at the table.

"Is that right?"

"Yeah. Andy can get you into anything. He even got me backstage at Aerosmith once, it was beautiful, bro"

"How about bussing a table or two, Weber?"

"Yeah. You bet, boss" he says, before leaving the table taking a cup with him

"Look, if you want to find him, try Orchard Street. Just look for a van with a barbarian queen painted on the side"

"Barbarian queen?" Dean asks.

"She's riding a polar bear. It's kind of hard to miss"

==

Dean, Y/N and Sam stake out Orchard Street, watching the van-with-barbarian-queen.

"I'm sorry, I'm starting to like this dude. That van is sweet" Y/N looks at Sam.

"What's wrong?" She asks"

"Nothing"

"Sam, you look like you're sucking a lemon, what's going on?" She speaks.

"This Andrew Gallagher, he's the second guy like this we've found, Guys. Demon came to them when they were kids, now they're killing people"

"We don't know what Andrew Gallagher is, all right? He could be innocent" Dean says.

"My visions haven't been wrong yet"

"What's your point"

"My point is, I'm one of them" Y/N and Dean look at each other than to Sam.

"No, you're not" she says.

"Y/N, the demon said he had plans for me and children like me"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, maybe this is his plan, maybe we're all a bunch of psychic freaks, maybe we're all supposed to be-"

"What, killers?"

"Yeah"

"So, the demon wants you out there killing with your minds, is that it? Come on, gives me a break. You're not a murderer, Sam! You don't have it in your bones" Y/N says.

"No? Last I checked, I kill all kinds of things"

"Those things were asking for it. There's a difference" Dean says and looks out the window, away from Sam. A man exits a building, wearing a pyjama and a long satin robe embroidered with dragons.

"Got him" A woman in a second-story window waves at the man, who blows her a kiss. The man greets another man on the street, who smiles at him and hands the man in the robe a coffee.

"Man, I wish I can get coffee that easily" Y/N mutters as the three continue to watch him. Further along, the man greets an older man and shakes his hand.

"That's him. That older guy, that's him, that's the shooter"

"All right, you keep on him, we'll stick with Andy. Go" Sam gets out of the car and follows the older man. Y/N jumps into the passenger seat as Andy gets into his van and drives off. Dean and Y/N follow in the Impala. Sam watches as they go. A few minutes later, the man stops and gets out of the van, walking back to Dean and Y/N. Y/N gestures to the handgun and Dean tucks it into his jacket.

"Hey" The man says.

"Hey, hey"

"This is a cheery ride"

"Yeah, thanks"

"Man, the '67? Impala's best year if you ask me. This is a serious classic"

"Yeah. We know, we just rebuilt her, too" Y/N says.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, can't let a car like this one go"

"Damn straight. Hey. Can I, have it?" The man asks.

"Sure, man" Dean says and Y/N's eyes widen.

"What!" Dean gets out of the car, smiling, to let the man in the driver's side and he gives Y/N a smile.

"Sweet"

"Hop right in there. There ya go"

"Dean, what the hell are you doing"

"Take it easy"

"All right. Oh, and don't worry about her" Andy drives off in the Impala, leaving Dean standing in the street, looking confused.

"What the hell are yo-" Y/N says but it cut off as the man places his hand on the back of her head and smashes her head against the dashboard, effectively knocking her out.

"Sorry" he says and continues to drives.

==

Sam watches the older man from a short distance; the older man's cell phone rings and he answers it.

"Hello. Yeah" Sam sees the Blue Ridge bus approach, and crosses in front of it towards the sporting goods store. He runs up the steps and inside, looking around. He sees the clerk and bystanders. He turns and pulls the fire alarm. The older man approaches the store, but hearing the alarm go off he stops, confused, then turns and walks away. Sam leaves the store and goes down to the street, where he sees the man drive in the Impala on his phone, with Y/N leaning against the window. He stares in shock. The older man gets another phone call "Hello? Yeah? All right"

"Dean! Andy's got the Impala! And Y/N!" Sam says into the cell phone.

"I know! He just sort of asked for it and I, I let him take it. And he locked Y/N in"

"You what?"

"He full-on Obi-Wanned me. It's mind control, man" Sam watches in horror as the older man walks in front of a bus, which slams into him at full speed.

==

As paramedics put the older man into a body bag, Sam sits on the curb nearby. Dean crouches behind him, hand on his back.

"I kept him out of the gun store. I thought he was okay. I thought he was past it, at least...I should have stayed with him...And now, we've lost Y/N"

==

In the diner, Weber is busing dishes as Andy enters, looking upset.

"Andy! Whassup, dog?" He raises a hand to high-five Andy, who ignores him and heads for Tracy.

"Andy! What are you doing here?"

"Doctor Jennings...he's dead"

"Oh no, I'm sorry"

"I don't know, I, I was upset, and I wanted to see you" Tracy puts her hands on his.

"Well, I'm glad you did. I um, I missed you. Oh, you know what? Three people were here this morning looking for you. Two men and a woman.

"What guys?"

==

Sam and Dean approach the Impala from across the street.

"Thank god! Oh. I'm sorry, baby. I'll never leave you again" Dean looks over baby to see if there is any damage "Well, at least he left the keys in it" Dean looks into the back and sees Y/N, laying down with a blanket over her "...And a sleeping Y/N?

"Yeah. Real Samaritan, this guy" Sam comes around the car and opens the door, shaking Y/N. She groans and turns around, showing her slightly bleeding head. Sam wipes it away with the blanket before pulling it up further. He then closes the door and goes around to Dean.

"Well, it looks like he can't work his mojo just by twitching his nose, he's gotta use verbal commands"

"The doctor had just gotten off his cell phone when he stepped in front of that bus. Andy must have called him or something"

"I don't know, maybe"

"Beg your pardon?"

"I just don't know if he's out guy, Sam"

"Dean, you had O.J convicted before he got out his white Bronco and you have doubts about this?"

"He just doesn't seem like the stone-cold killer type, that's all. You know. And O.J. was guilty"

"Oh, but he seems like a person to steal your car and hurt Y/N" They pause "Either way, how are we going to track this guy down?" Dean thinks for a moment.

"Not a problem" Dean and Sam approach Andy's blue van from the back.

"Not exactly an inconspicuous ride. Let's have a look" Dean pulls out a small crowbar out of his jacket and pries open the back door. Porn music plays as the interior is revealed; disco ball, fur rugs, a tiger painting on the wall, several thick books, and an enormous bong "Oh. Oh, come on. This is...this is magnificent, that's what this is. Not exactly a serial killer's lair, though. There's no... clown painting on the walls, or a scissor stuck in victim' photos. I like the tiger" Sam looks at the book.

"Hegel, Kant, Wittgenstein? That's some pretty heavy reading, Dean"

"Yeah, and uh, and Moby Dick's bong"

"It smells like piss" A voice says. The two spin around to see Y/N with a scrunched face "What?... Oh, uh, surprise" she says, smiling.

"We have got! to get you a bell" Dean says.

[spindleleaf]

Some important moments from the epilogue...

[bubblegum-blackwood]

Since I keep seeing stuff about the new adaptation of TVC, I decided to re-watch the old one, so here's my thoughts on Interview with the Vampire (1994) the second time around:

I find it hilarious how book!Daniel was terrified out of his mind the whole time while movie!Daniel has such swagger

Jeez you can tell from the get-go that Brad Pitt hated acting in this. (Meanwhile it's so obvious that Tom Cruise had so much freaking fun. So much.)

I will never forgive the movie for getting rid of Paul de Pointe du Lac in favour of "wah my wife died in childbirth" like I get that that's shorthand for "cis white boy sad" and they only had two hours but STILL

I'll never understand the choice to have the statue’s eyes open. It's just weird lol

i'M QuiTe FoND oF LooKiNG aT CRuXiFiXeS

Why is there more than one coffin, Lestat? WHY IS THERE MORE THAN ONE COFFIN LESTAT -

"Read her thoughts." "I can't." "Eh." That little shruggy hand gesture is everything to me.

(this isn't the one I was talking about, although this is just as good - I can't find a GIF for the quote I chose lol)

Wow. Okay. Forgot about the little "voodoo" ritual Louis's slaves have there. Could have gone without that.

Love the way Louis wields that flaming torch like a rapier. Very elegant, very hot (pun intended).

"We're in a nice, filthy cemetery. Does this make you happy?" fhesiofwne the sass - (btw the above GIF is of this scene)

The smug look Lestat gives when he knows the baby-trapping has worked gosh how does anyone hate on Tom Cruise’s acting he got it DOWN like -

"I prefer Creoles to Yankees, their democratic flavour doesn't suit my palate" why does Lestat have to commit to the French nobleman act this hard? (I know it's not just an act but really he does fill the role perfectly)

THE RUFFLY PURPLE COAT GDOSX

I forgot about Claudia sitting in her bed surrounded by her dolls and casually drawing a naked woman -

GO OFF GIRL! GET IT CLAUDIA! I will never not be impressed with Kirsten Dunst's performance in this. She stole the show. The rage, the coldness, the sophistication, the gleeful cruelty - she nailed it.

The hurt, the betrayal, the slight fear in Lestat's eyes here . . . I will never be over Tom Cruise's acting in this scene.

"He will never let us go." "Oh. Really?" *smirk* Like I said, Kirsten Dunst was amazing in this.

"A beautiful woman with endowments you'll never possess" I literally said "wow" out loud. Holy fuck Lestat that was a low blow.

Hmm floating up against the ceiling while on fire, now where have I seen that before?

As much as I resent the movie depriving us of Louis and Claudia's vampire hunter days, I have to admit that the montage of all of Claudia's sketches was actually a really clever transition.

I saw something once about how clothing tells its own story in IWTV because even though Claudia stays the same she slowly starts dressing more and more like an adult of whatever time period they're currently in and I really do appreciate that detail.

Anne Rice really deprived us of some sexy Spanish lover vampires and it shows with how tantalizing the little glimpse we get of Banderas!Armand is

Ah, the Theatre des Vampires scene. They really nailed the dumb goth drama and I gotta respect this movie for that.

Random woman in the audience being like MONSIEUR VAMPIRE TAKE ME I ADORE YOU if that ain't all of us -

Who else wants to Armand to hug them like this?

"So you have answers?" "So you have questions?" *he responds before Louis is even done talking, maybe a bit too much eagerness in his voice* If Antonio Banderas nailed anything about Armand, it's the thirst.

Damn the way Banderas's wig moves it's so thick and silky and long and *chef's kiss*

I wanna know how historically accurate these costumes are lol

Imagine being Brad Pitt and having to sit in a coffin and scream at a camera that's inches from your face lol

Okay but I love how Louis tips the candles backward into the coffins without even a backward glance

This is not in the movie but I just remembered that canonically the plot of land that the Theatre was on is still under Lestat's name to this day and I love that.

"What if all I have is my suffering? My regret?" *implying that he doesn’t want to move on from it* Damn Louis needs therapy and Armand is not that (because he needs it too lol)

Louis going to the theatre and watching Nosferatu is something I will never be over

Rule number one of being a vampire: always dress well

Louis disturbed a bat and the subtitles said [SCREE SCREE]

Say what you will about how they changed the ending of the movie from the book but Lestat jumping into Daniel's car and just saying "I assume I need no introduction" is iconic okay

[husbandohunter]

What they love about you (part 2)[Genshin Impact]

Synopsis: It was as if the universe had changed when they saw you.

Characters: Zhongli, Childe, Albedo, Kazuha. Part 1 here

Genre: fluff

"Poetry for my hopeless romantic heart 🥺 and Kazuha, he was the perfect candidate for this. I decided to put Zhongli first of course, he deserves it after saving my ass in Baal's fight."

=================================

Spirit flows through the Immovable rock (Zhongli)

Nations fall, truths be told, iron rusts and earth erode

Through six centuries these were stories he watched unfold.

He sees you and the archon knew that you shall too grow old

But despite it all, he loves you for your existence, as nothing can compare to your intransient soul.

The purpose of contracts were made to ensure there had been a fair trade between two parties. Like merchants striking business deals for a favourable outcome, like mother nature maintaing the balance between life and death, like how you and your beloved said your vows and whispered promises to one another as evening bids farewell by the warm welcome of the moon's gentle glow. Those days were the most treasured that you couldn't help remisicing them-- when Zhongli appeared in your life. Your mortal life. How time can fly so fast.

Perhaps this had been a common notion among human standards. That to be connected, both sides must share the same factors in order to proceed the contract. Clearly your placement proved to be mismatched. Unlike Zhongli there could be a day when your legs gave up and you can no longer walk. He will go on without you, continuing to drift in places where you cannot reach, where time was out of the question, further and further away until the mist begins to seize your field of vision and soon your eyes were too old to see.

The difference in age can truly make someone feel alone and Zhongli knew it well. Thus he smiled softly like he always does and held you close, speaking with so much kindness:

My dearest.

Your soul existed like an evergreen tree blooming through all four seasons, unwithered and everlasting, even against the cold storm of white. And it could be as soft as the sunbeam cascading through the mountain peaks while they dust the land with their ethereal hues and emitting the warmth that breaths absolute serenity. If artifacts were a piece of what someone left behind then maybe everything you made was considered an artifact-- a treasure. A piece of you in those handwritten letters, the beauty in your fingertips after knitting him a scarf which caused scars to mar them, and because of how heavy your spirit weighs through everything you did, it became evident that the one he had fallen for was not your skin nor your body but the person who resides in it.

And sometimes he wonders if he had met you once upon a dream. What else could explain the mysterious feeling that made you seem so familiar, even when he only saw you for the first time? Or perhaps you were an old friend from the long long past, someone he stargazed with upon the infinite mounds of grass and glaze lilies, someone whom he shared the taste of osmanthus wine, someone he came to cherished just like how he cherished his own nation. Regardless, whether you were that someone or not, he wouldn't hesitate to relive those times all over again.

If there was a day when the world around you decided to cave in, where time inevitably caught up and you succumbed to change, he would still be yours. After all, the immovable stone was meant to be the symbol of constancy. He already sworn to you that his devotion and affection will never waver, they were solely held towards your essence for you had touched him through the things he could not touch, and left a mark that would last longer than his ancient self can last. Zhongli may have lived through many lifetimes but meeting you was the beginning of everything. You were a mortal immortalized in the world his heart, etched so deep that it stirs him apart, there was no room for anyone else.

~xx~

Drowning in the ocean flames (Tartaglia)

There was a man who fell deeply in love with war

They raged inside of him like the spontaneous battlefields he came to adore.

Consumed by desire, pain became an addiciton

And he eventually surrenders to the heat of your passion.

While many fear death, Childe learned to dance with it.

He revels in the way his heart pounds endlessly, as if new life had been born from the inside and then bursted like thunder, sending trembling sensations through his veins, bringing him to the peak of euphoria. The feeling was a drug in which Childe hesitates no more when he confronts it, rather he deliberately seeks it. He seeks thrill in the most dangerous situations since they were the moments that made him feel so alive.

Henceforth the Harbinger sought you out. He inches closer and ever so close, those deep cerulean eyes trapped in your hypnotizing ones. Childe loves how you look at him like you were about to devour him, consume him as the flames in hell would, perhaps destroy him completely to the point there was no turning back and yet...he would not mind.

Childe had been so drawn to you like a moth to a light. No. Rather, Adam and the devil, tempting him to sin because the things he would do for you were undeniably impetuous. It was too late. It was too late when you told him you wanted to stay. Too late when you pulled him down, with arms around his neck, stealing away his breath in one swift manner as well as a kiss. Curse you for having so much power over him, from then and there he was no longer the mighty harbinger everyone knew but a man foolish in love. Take him higher. Higher. Take him far. To say you were alluring would be an understatement. The scent of you brings all his senses to disarray and the taste of you-- by the archons-- had never made him feel so starved. All he thought of was mindlessly running his hands over your small back, reveling in the shape of you, exploring every inch and curve in attempt to make you completely his.

This was the reason why he grew accustomed to dancing with death. Because it was you. You were going to be the cause of his downfall and you were the cause of this insanity. Even though you constantly reminded him how risky the situation was due to being a wanted criminal in his homeland's eyes, Childe pays no mind. Didn't he already tell you to trust him? Anyone who threatens you would be an enemy of his, much to their misfortune. Whether it'd be conquering the world and laying it beneath your feet or walking through the depths of the abyss all over again, he'll make sure to have it all and no one can say otherwise.

~xx~

Shelter (Albedo)

Your warmth was his hearth

Like stars falling onto the earth

Gracing the plains in an empereal bliss

As they trembled under the touch of heaven's kiss

Closing his eyes, you are the first person he sees.

The sound of snow chasing the wind fills the silent night once again while it's whispered blows continued to echo just by the cave's entrance. Albedo had planned to take you back to Monstadt that day but Dragonspine was not the place to be merciful with the weather. No one else except the two of you occupied the abandoned space and a singular camp fire to serve as a source of warmth. You place your hand on your lover's forehead, brushing away his ash coloured strands while he seeps into slumber. Albedo sighs contentedly. Despite the world being engulfed in sheer cold, here he felt safe and sound.

Before meeting you Albedo never really had that. People regularly held him on a high regard and had a hard time matching his pace. He was a born genius to the point that he practically stood out like a swan out of the ducklings' crowd as they admired his brilliance. Truly Albedo was a perfect human being. But when turns around to see the rest he noticed how distant everything seemed. He was so focused on his pursuit towards the universal truth that he hadn't given the time to consider; where is he going with this? And what for? Everyone else looked so happy living in their mundane routines and Albedo soon grew curious about such thoughts. Out of all the places in Monstadt, exactly where does he belong?

Opening his eyes, you are the first person he looks for.

"Welcome home, Albedo!"

The answer was obvious. Home was the sound of his name on your lips. When you were side by side with him while he sketched the landscape from the far distance. In places where the lights were on as he entered the room, knowing you were inside. This feeling couldn't be describe with just a word. Home was not a nation nor was it a destination. Home was in your touch where he felt the most protected.

I'm home.

A sky filled with stars and he only saw one; his Starlight. Your warmth held the emotion similar to the kind where there had only been one cande lit amidst an infinite stretch of darkness. But it also brought the joy of flowers blossoming into the vivid future of new spring. There was no place he'd rather be than the shelter of your arms because with you, Albedo believed he truly found where he belonged.

~xx~

Pirr against the Scarlet Leaves (Kazuha)

Silencing the world

My heart begins to find peace

Soothed by your presence

- For my beloved, (Y/n)

I remember how the first petal of spring drifted by as it had flown into the crossroads of our path. Subconciously my entire being began to still. This particular flower... it must have come far and wide for the wind to carry such a pleasant scent. Although I had intended to continue my venture onwards but the air ceased to sound and I knew that this way was true. And so nature beckons me to the shore where the waves lulled back and forth under the moonlight's entrance, only then I began to sharpen my vision to see what was before me. You stood there on a rock with your face looking into the sparkling sky, singing a tune that drew me near. Just the mere sight was enough to stir my heart alone.

My beloved, do you know why I named this poem 'Pirr against the Scarlet Leaves?'

Watching you was like witnessing the ephmereal birth of a flower sprouting amongst the slums of an abandoned nation. A fleeting miracle where snow falls from the summer sky. I am compelled to capture these feelings in this poem yet there are moments where my thoughts scatter as if the autumn wind had whisked them away and out of my grasp until a singular leaf is only what was left. Perhaps it wouldn't be necessary for me to keep a notebook of ways I can describe your presence, instead a few simple sentences would suffice. Nevertheless, I only wish to express my feelings for you.

When you're with me it seems I have nothing to think about. The aura around you can silence the world alone, speaking louder than thunder cries, weighing heavily to those around you in ways it would feel empty if you're not here. Yet I could breath as if alleviated from the burdens of my past. This had me realize that this must have been the will of the wind. You were the greatest gift to have ever bestowed upon me and I confess, sometimes my chest aches because of how much I cherish you, it pierces me like a sharp blade but even if my heart bleeds it will continue to bleed only for your sake.

So wherever you are, wherever you may be, I can feel you in the breeze. Return soon my beloved, I'll be here, waiting.