#was looking for references of rats on google

[violaextract]

fated highschool au, this is an au that was made by a group of us when the official discord server was still up and running, i redrew them in their teenage get up because i was reminded it existed

what kind of high school shenanigans are they gonna get up to??

some more doodles of the au for fun vvvv

#jrwi fanart #jrwi show #jrwi fated #sylnan vengolor #braad vengolor #velrisa grayrock #jrwi mountain #jrwi taxi #theres references to stuff if you look close enough #this was meant for a jrwi discord im in but im also posting here because i like it #i dont have the google doc that was made so i dont remember some of the smaller details we created #just imagine the whole story but in the context of highschoolers #the thieves guild was a rival school and brendan was the principle #we made him a tired dad in this au #taxi braad and vel met on a bus #also rat king was a janitor who they found dead #the entire arc with ander takes place on spring break at his cabin and they meet red because he got lost wondering in the woods #okay im done blabbering #viola extras

[thedomesticanthropologist]

Astarion never felt full. Vampires tend not to, unending blood thirst being a well known aspect of their condition, but he wasn't JUST hungry due to his condition

He was starved. Then, through "food", he was tortured.

You cannot die from being starved when you are undead. Starvation cannot kill a corpse. We see this in his year of isolation. We see this in the 7000 Spawn locked in the dungeons without a drop of blood fed to a single one of them since their capture.

What Astarion WAS fed, was putrid rats and bugs. Lets stsrt with the rats. Putrid.

"Putrid" refers to something that is decomposed, rotten, or emitting a foul and unpleasant odor. It is often used to describe decaying organic matter or anything that has undergone significant deterioration.

This would have taken effort to produce on Cazadors part. Rats are easy to come by, with his labyrinthine temple beneath an expansive estate. To gather a rat is an easy thing. He has many servants. To gather a putrid, rotten animal is another. This would require gathering the animals via trap, letting them rot for days, and then providing them to Astarion. They could have been caught in droves, or a few at a time and laid out in the kitchens or pantries or within the closets to be gathered as a treat-meets-torment for the Spawn, but it required FORETHOUGHT and TIME. Animals do not /rot/ in a day.

Then there is bugs. The type of bug you'd expect to find within the kennels of the mansion would be your fairly typical selection of Ants, Spiders, Beetles, Flies, Silverfish, Mosquitoes, Centipedes, Cockroaches.

Each of these has up to a few MICRO LITRES of blood, which would be accessed by biting them and sucking on their entire corpse until you've got what you can get out of them. the amount of blood in these small insects is typically not enough for a human to taste. Vampire Spawn? Hard to say.

The feeding of these creatures to Cazadors Spawn would be for the purpose of torture alone, in my opinion. There is no way that they would provide relief or sustenance in any meaningful way. The rats, depending on their freshness (which I would argue was sometimes more or less fresh depending on when it was caught) would be the primary source of "reward/hunger suppression", and the bugs something eaten due to sheer desperation.

Let's look at rats and decomp now!

The blood of a decomposing rat undergoes changes as part of the decomposition process. Initially, bacterial and enzymatic activity breaks down the blood, and its nutritional content diminishes. The precise timing can vary based on environmental conditions, such as temperature and humidity.

As decomposition progresses, the breakdown of organic matter continues, and any remaining nutrients in the blood become less accessible and less nutritious. It's challenging to pinpoint an exact timeframe, as it depends on various factors influencing the decomposition rate.

This means that if served a particularly rotten rat, Astarion could very well face the reality of its poisoned, rotten blood providing him with NOTHING beyond disgusting flavor. Keeping in mind this is all based on guesswork about how Vampire Spawn can obtain what they need to sustain themselves based on nutrition alone, when there's evidence its also *life force* that they absorb from their victims, which also would not be available in a dead victim/animal

And then suddenly, after 200 years of this, 200 years of having to fuck the food he cannot have, pressing his face against flesh that throbs and POUNDS underneath his touch from him administering pleasure that sets his targets hearts to THUDDING, veins pushing litres of sustenance through them in ways he would be incredibly attuned to but unable to access,

After 200 years of rotten, unsustainable dead blood

He's free. Surrounded by living animals- that boar, which he drained dry in one night, for example. Total blood volume of a swine (couldn't get boar on Google, but it's comparative) is 60 ml/kg or 6.0 % of total body weight. The average weight being from 60kg-100kg depending on sex and size. So let's say he drained a 75kg boar.

That means the night he snuck off, he exanguinated (completely drained) an animal of roughly 9 POUNDS OF BLOOD

Impressive

Let's go to the Bear, now. Cave bears are actually extinct, so I'm gonna go with grizzly bear but feel free to do your own math. He took down between 130kg-270kg of bear depending on its sex. Let's say 200kg for ease. As roughly 6%-8% of any mammal is its blood, I'm gonna use the Boar 6% from before to average the blood Astarion would have drank.

Total in pounds: 26.455

HE DRANK

26 POUNDS OF BLOOD FROM ONE ANIMAL IN ONE NIGHT

All my research on these numbers is from Google and a calculator so forgive me if I'm off. But I'd say this is evidence of binging after starvation, as well as solid evidence that Vampires absorb blood differently than humans drinking fluids, so I'd HAVE to assume it evaporates within him or is consumed in its entirety and converted to energy magically cause there's NO way a body could absorb all of that and just "get drunk"

Anyways thanks for coming to my Ted Talk about vampires, Astarion, starvation, and blood volumes in your average mammal. 🫡

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #cazador szarr #vampire spawn #vampires

[entishramblings]

The Scorpion of Sarn Ford [Aragorn/F!Reader]

A.N: the amount of weird shit I had to google for this….my FBI agent definitely thinks I’m planning some fucked up crap.

Inspired: this fic was inspired by @estelofrivendell ‘s fic A Change of Heart. I adored the Assassin/Ranger relationship and had to put my own spin on it!

Pairing: Aragorn X Fem!Reader

Summary: The Scorpion of Sarn Forn is a notorious assassin. Much to Strider’s dismay, they are both hired for a job.

Disclaimer: I tried my best with geography, once again, it isn’t my best subject. heh!

Word count: 8.2k (idk why I’m like this)

Warnings: enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, humor that will have you peeing, blood, torture, death, murder, brief insinuation to sexual abuse (side character), creepy men that get what's coming to them, a little bit of spice, brief shirtless aragorn. this sounds very dark but I promise you its good, besides: shirtless aragorn. duh.

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

Aragorn never thought he would be in this position. He never even anticipated such a scenario. It was, quite frankly, entirely unfathomable. Not once did it cross his mind that he might be in the same city as her, much less be forced to sit next to her at The Black Falcon Tavern and Inn with a potential contractor. You see, The Scorpion of Sarn Ford—or as Aragorn preferred to refer to her as: the heinous hellspawn that middle-earth would undoubtedly be far better off without—was a notorious assassin. She made her coin from slipping into the shadows and slaughtering her targets, leaving no trace besides a corpse—still warm from the blood that once ran through it. The men of the south-west were wise enough to be wary and the rich of such lands were stupid enough to empower her with their dark wishes. She’s rumored to have a body count in the hundreds, including kings and queens. Though, that is not how she acquired her title.

Percaric Rothswood, one of the richer dukes of Anfalas, sat with them at a table in the back of the tavern. The Ranger and the Scorpion occupied the bench alongside the wooden wall, granting them both a clear vantage point of the entire establishment, while Percaric sat in a chair across from them. Aragorn's arms were folded, a small blade discreetly nestled up his sleeve, and his ale remained untouched on the table. Yet, the assassin reclined casually at his side, her dark cloak draped loosely enough to unveil the myriad of weapons adorning her attire, with two empty pints before her and a third in her hand.

The peculiar grouping drew the attention of onlookers—it was indeed an unusual gathering, particularly with the presence of the infamous Scorpion of Sarn Ford, and her form specifically beside Strider. Nervous and inquisitive gazes, hushed conversations, subtle nods, and even more overt glances from passersby and bar-sitters were all directed towards the pair. If a meeting like this were to take place, something must be going down.

“So, what’s this job, Percaric, that requires a ranger and a shrew,” Aragorn gruffed, his scowl as deep as the sand pits of the eastern coast.

The woman beside him snorted. “A shrew. Just what a lady wants to be called.”

He shrugged. “An argumentative, ill-tempered rat. I see no difference between it and you.”

She raised a brow, twisting her head to look at him. “Technically a shrew is a mole.”

Aragorn sent her a glare in response.

She huffed at him. “A mole that will die if it doesn't eat every two to three hours.” She picked up her ale and took a swing. “That sounds nothing like me.”

“You reckon so? I bet if you didn't get new gold to chew on in that exact time frame you would also die of pompous deprivation.”

A deep chuckle escaped her throat as her jaw tightened and her eyes narrowed. She turned to quip back an insult; however, Percaric nervously interrupted the hostile hires.

“Well, uh, you see, it's quite a delicate matter. The-the job, that is. My client doesn't want his indiscretions aired out among the common folk because, well, uh, the matter is quite sensitive and—”

Aragorn rolled his eyes. “Just spit it out, Percaric.”

The man exhaled through his nose, nervously patting the table. “Right, right, very well then.” He cleared his throat. “Well, uh, my client, his daughter was taken by someone of high prestige and, well, he would like her back.”

Aragorn leaned back in the chair. “Why doesn't he just pay the ransom then? Instead of hiring someone to take her back. There is a ransom isn't there?”

“Of course, of course. But, well, you see, this daughter, ehem, she’s bastard-born. His wife doesnt know that she exists and he would like to keep it that way. Paying the ransom directly would cause too much attention. Like I said, he wants this discreet.”

Aragorn sighed, his morals pulling hard on his heart. “How old is the girl?”

Percaric winced. “Fourteen.”

The Ranger cursed under his breath. “She’s just a kid.”

“Yes, yes. Well, you see, that’s why my client asked for you, Strider. Not many would want to help a bastard daughter.”

The Scorpion leaned in. “Then why did he ask for me as well?”

Percaric’s face twitched. “Well, uh, Scorpion, there’s a matter a bit more delicate involved that requires your skill.”

She raised her brows.

“My–my client’s daughter is quite beautiful. Well, we can only assume what is being done to her by her captor during her stay. He, well, he wants the perpetrator killed.”

She snorted, leaning back into the wall behind her. “Why not make Strider here do it?”

The Ranger clenched his jaw. “He should be imprisoned, rotting in a cell for his crime.”

“Ah,” she started. “You would bring him in instead of kill him, and that would mean a trial.” She winked at Percaric. “Too public for this client of yours.”

An anxious and awkward giggle-like breath left the man’s lips. “Precisely.”

“So, where is she being kept?” The Scorpion asked.

The duke glanced around him before leaning in and letting his next sentence come out as a whisper. “The tower of Eastemnet.”

“Eastemnet?” Aragorn confirmed, wide-eyed and surprised. “But that would mean—”

“Lord Theovail,” the assassin interjected. “One of the richest, well-guarded men in Arda.”

Percaric bit his lip. “Yes, yes. Now, well, now you see why my client asked for you, Scorpion of Sarn Ford.”

Aragorn huffed, hot air coming from his nose, as he shook his head—now finally reaching for his ale. “We will take the job,” he stated reluctantly.

“Oi! Not so fast,” the assassin interjected. “What’s the pay?”

The Ranger shot her a glare. “A girl, a child, is being held prisoner, and you worry of pay?”

She glared right back at him before turning back to Percaric. “The pay?”

He cleared his throat. “Three hundred pieces of gold up front and another three hundred upon your return of the girl, alive, and proof of Theovail’s death. Though you will have to split it, I’m afraid.”

She raised her hands with a tilt of the head. “Fine by me.” She turned, flashing a devilish grin to the man next to her. “Let us go hunt a girl-snatching arsewipe, Strider.”

He offered no-response other than a scowling side eye.

“Fantastic,” Percaric replied, taking two coin pouches out and plopping them on the table.

The assassin was quick to snatch up one of the bundles, standing, ready to take her leave.

Aragorn, however, let his finger drift over the coin. He glanced up at Percaric. “What’s her name?”

The man’s expression softened. “Calista, daughter of Lord Kassim.”

Aragorn nodded, grasping onto the pouch. “We will bring Calista home.”

……

The pair had been traveling for approximately two weeks at this point, and their interactions during this time were characterized by sparse conversations intertwined with numerous glares and disdainful expressions. In those few moments when words were exchanged, they were often heated disagreements concerning which path to follow, strategies for infiltrating the tower, or debates over the responsibilities of meals. It was, quite frankly, the most miserable trek across Arda that Aragorn had ever taken upon. But it wasn't until they were passing through the gap of Rohan, between the Misty Mountains and Ered Nimrais, that they met any trouble.

An arrow, coming from the mountain’s rocky side, whizzing past Aragorn’s ear was the first sign of danger.

He whipped his head around. “Scorpion!” he called out in warning, his eyes meeting the assassin’s for a brief moment.

She drew her dual silver blades only seconds before a small pack of goblins began descending. She was quick to behead the first goblin whose feet hit the grassy pass they walked through.

“Goblin’s from the Mountains,” she hissed.

Aragorn too drew his sword. “They shouldn't be this far south! They stay up near Ehu Daur and Moira!” He drove his blade through one of the beasts, swinging around to slice another.

“Well, clearly, they dont give a fuck as to where they should or should be!” The Scorpion quipped back as she brought one of her blades through the neck of one of the creatures. “On your left!”

Aragorn twisted his body just in time to block a blow from a rusted scythe.

The assassin dodged the next beast that came at her and sprinted towards the biggest one. She was quick to push herself into the air, flip over the goblin, and slice its throat before her feet even landed on the ground.

She looked up to see the two final goblins, one in match with her companion and the other approaching his back.

The woman moved quickly. Her feet carried her towards the beast who held its blade above Strider’s head. Just before it was to be brought downward, she yelled out a war cry and grasped onto the few hairs the creature had. She yanked hard. The goblin fell backwards onto the ground and she pounced on top of him, sending her blade through his heart—his pungent blood spraying across her face, neck, tunic, and leather armor.

With heavy panting breath, she stood and turned to face the Ranger who had slayed the final beast. Kicking the corpse of the one she had just killed, she spoke. “Only nine. A scouting team. More will be coming upon their lack of return. We gotta get a move on.”

Aragorn’s lips were parted in surprise, realizing that he nearly lost his life. Surprising the assassin, he spoke words that she never would have thought to leave his lips for her. “Thank you, Scorpion.”

She raised her brows. “I have a name, you know, Strider.”

The Ranger turned away from her, continuing along their path. “I don't care to know it,” he gruffed out, his brief sincerity from moments before disappearing.

She snorted, calling out to him regardless. “It’s (Y/N).”

“Don’t fall behind, Scorpion,” he replied.

She huffed, her irritation obvious, before jogging to catch up with his wide strides. “I don’t like you very much either, but if we're gonna be on this job for a while, you could at least not be a dick.”

“Coming from the rudest and most corrupt person I have ever met, that's rich.”

She chuckled loudly. “Wow. Rude, okay, I deserve that. But corrupt? That’s a bit far-fetched.”

He stopped walking, twisting to glower down at her with disgust. “You truly think so? Let’s talk of why they attach the massacre of Sarn Ford to your name. You killed dozens. Women. Children. Innocents. All for what? Gold! Corrupt is too kind a word for you. Wicked, diabolical, vicious is more like it.”

(Y/N)’s brows shot upward as a pained and frustrated laugh thundered in her chest. “Really? Do you even know what was happening in Sarn Ford?!”

“They were farmers! Common folk! Living off the land in peace and you…you slaughtered them!” he yelled.

She got in his face, her hot, angry breath burning against his skin. “THEY WERE ALREADY GOOD AS DEAD, STRIDER!”

“How could you even say that?” he replied, horrified.

She closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath, before focusing back on the man before her. “A disease was making its way through their village. Incurable. Painful. An alchemist, who had been working for weeks to try and find anything to help them, hired me. There was nothing to be done for them except extend a hand of mercy. To give them a good, painless death.”

Aragorn stared at her, his brows pulled together with shock in his gaze.

The assassin clenched her jaw. “I had mothers plead with me to end their child's life while cradled in their arms, only to follow them into death. At least, that way, they could die together.” She looked up at him, her tone privy with rage. “So, yes, Strider, feel free to bestow upon me any epithet you see fit."

He was silent, his shock radiating into the wind around him. Quietly, he spoke again, “How did you not get sick?”

She exhaled slowly. “The alchemist instructed me to wear cloth over my face and cover all skin but my eyes. Once the deed was done, I burned everything I wore and paid for new clothes with gold born of their suffering.”

Aragorn nodded slowly, compassion in his gray eyes. “I am sorry. Doing such a thing mustn't have been easy. It was an execution of mercy.” He turned, continuing once more. “Though the tales of your other kills aren't so kind. Come along, Scorpion. There’s a town a couple days ahead.”

(Y/N) snorted, anger seething in her bones, but followed him nonetheless.”

…..

The pair strode towards the Inn, located not far from Gondor’s borders. They forcefully pulled the door open, unveiling a noisy uproar of laughter and boisterous shouting, mingling with the lovely odors of urine, sweat, and stagnant ale. Creating such an environment, one the Scorpion and Ranger were used to, were the disheveled bodies of inebriated men.

With a mischievous grin, (Y/N) expertly navigated through the crowd, leading Strider to a secluded table nestled in a dim corner. It wasn't long before the arrival of steaming platters of meat and bread arrived, along with two pints of foamy ale, both of which they heartily devoured. The Scorpion raised her hand, beckoning the barmaid over and placing an order for two more pints—both of which she downed, much to Aragorn's evident disapproval.

After releasing a loud belch, she casually swiped the back of her hand across her mouth, then rose to her feet. “Gonna go get some air,” she grumbled, her balance momentarily unsteady as she gained her footing. Aragorn, in response, merely offered an exasperated roll of his eyes.

The assassin maneuvered through the bustling throng of men, slipping through the sea of people before pushing through the doors. The sudden rush of frigid tranquility enveloped her skin as she stepped into the embrace of the night. With a deliberate intake of breath, she allowed the crisp air to fill her lungs. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she tilted her head upwards, letting the misting drizzle of rain kiss her skin. The sound of the tavern was muffled, and the echoes of the celebration they passed down the road drifted into the air. Though it was subtle, for it didn't drown out the sounds of the singing crickets or the croaking frogs. It was peaceful. Well, that is until a form slammed into her and pressed her against the wall.

The smell of ale-laden breath and sticky sweat filled her nostrils as her eyes shot open. Her gaze, fueled by adrenaline, locked onto the burly figure before her—a man with a rugged orange beard—who had forced himself upon her.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing all alone in a dangerous place like this?” he asked, a knife held to her throat.

She snarled up at him. “Oh, you're about to find out—”

Before she could make a move, however, the man was suddenly struck from the side, his body sent sprawling onto the weathered, muddy path.

As (Y/N) peeled herself from the wall, her hand instinctively reached for the slight gash on her neck. Meanwhile, the bearded man found himself seized by the throat, forcefully hoisted upward, and pressed hard against the unyielding stone.

“Do you even know who that is?” Strider uttered sharply.

A chuckle escaped the lips of the man, his bloodied lip spraying a fine mist of red onto Aragorn's face. “You’re whore?” he sneered.

With an unrelenting grip on the man's throat, Aragorn pulled him several inches away from the wall, only to slam him back against it once more. The impact elicited a grunt from the man. "The Scorpion of Sarn Ford," Aragorn hissed through clenched teeth, his voice seething with restrained fury.

The assailant’s laughter was dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah and I'm the fuckin’ King of Gondor.”

The Ranger clenched his jaw, ignoring the secret dig the man's comment produced. “You know why they call her that? Hmm. The Scorpion? Scorpions incapacitate their prey with venom, paralyzing them before they deal the final blow. That woman over there? She severs her targets’ spinal nerve, rendering them unable to move before subjecting them to her torture and kill. And the worst part? She doesn't even need them paralyzed. She gets off from witnessing the terror in their eyes as they're rendered helpless.”

Another laugh escaped the man, but as his gaze shifted towards (Y/N), his amusement faded. The assassin now held a dagger, twirling it in her fingers, a sinister grin stretching across her features.

He turned to look back at Aragorn, the color now drained from his face. “Ye’ c-cant be serious,” he stammered.

The Ranger merely lifted his brows and tilted his head.

Driven by desperation to escape the woman beside them, the man started to shove against Aragorn. However, a single forceful punch to his jaw rendered him unconscious, his body collapsing onto the mud once more.

“I had it handled,” the assassin stated.

Aragorn shot her a stern glare before responding bluntly, "Sure, you did."

The woman emitted a snort, yet settled into a squat beside the man, her dagger poised.

The Ranger, however, was quick to grab her by the wrist, successfully stopping her actions. "Are you out of your mind? We can't kill him. That's the last thing we need – drawing attention to ourselves."

With a huff of mild exasperation, she sheathed her blade. "Fine." She then nodded to the black horse tethered nearby, gesturing with a nod. "That's his horse. Saw him dismount as we entered. Bring it here."

Aragorn frowned, confused, but did as she asked.

“Alright,” she stated, gathering the man’s arms in her hands. “Help me with his legs.”

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked.

“Strider, just grab his damn legs.”

Exhaling audibly, the Ranger complied, reluctantly gripping the man's ankles. With a coordinated heave, they hoisted the man up from the muck. After a few groans and sighs, he was draped over his horse's back.

The Scorpion then took the leather strapping of the saddle and began binding the man’s hands and feet to it. She nodded to the young maple tree behind the Ranger. “Get me a large twig from that. Bout a foot tall. Keep the leaves on it.”

“What?” he hissed, his hands spreading wide in a gesture of bewilderment.

“Strider, would you just get the branch,” she urged impatiently.

Another loud, reluctant exhale left his lips, yet he trudged toward the tree and pulled off what she requested. He approached her, holding out the twig.

“Ah, thank you,” she acknowledged with a grin, accepting it from him.

With that she moved to the side of the horse, close to the man's legs. She seized the waistband of his trousers and gave it a yank, reaving his bare ass.

“Scorpion,” Aragorn chided.

Undeterred, she grinned, sticking the small branch between his ass cheeks so it stood upright, its leaves rustling faintly in the breeze.

“Seriously?” he gruffed out, his arms crossed.

(Y/N) looked at him with a wicked smirk. “You hear that party still going on down the road? I think they would appreciate some impromptu entertainment.” With that, she smacked the horse's rear and, with a brisk snort, it took off down the path.

Not even a minute passed, when they heard the shouts of anger and amusement funneling from the gathering.

Strider turned to glare at her, his jaw clenched and his eyes burning with irritation. He grasped onto her bicep and pulled her towards the doors. "Get inside the damned tavern, quickly."

A loud, hearty laugh flew from her throat, yet she allowed him to pull her along.

Engulfed once again in the clamorous atmosphere of the inn, Aragorn wasted no time in steering her towards the bar. “You can't just put a branch up the arsehole of a person that pisses you off,” he hissed under his breath.

She grinned unapologetically. “Sure, I can.”

He blew hot air out his nose, opting to withhold a retort. With a determined demeanor, he maneuvered them through the crowd of men, navigating as close to the counter as he could get. "Barkeep," he called out, projecting his voice. "Two room keys."

The man approached them with a shrug. “Only got one room left.”

Aragorn huffed. “Fine. Well take it.”

With that, the Ranger deposited three gold coins into the man's palm, secured the key, and then swiftly tugged the Scorpion alongside him as they grabbed their bags and ascended the creaky wooden staircase.

They approached their door, marked the same as the key, and it swung open under Aragorn’s touch. Within, the room exuded a chill darkness, accompanied by a faint draft slipping in through the slightly cracked window. The space appeared quite sparse, furnished with nothing but a small dresser, a modest table accompanied by two chairs...and a solitary bed.

A muttered curse escaped the Ranger's lips as he unceremoniously dropped his bag onto the table. "I'll take the floor."

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “Really, Strider? It’s the one night we get the option of having a bed. As long as you stay on your side, I don't mind sharing.”

“Fine,” was his gruff response.

With that, the pair began getting comfortable for the night. Aragorn lit the worn down candle, its feeble golden glow illuminating the area, proving slightly better light as he dug through his bag. Meanwhile, (Y/N) shed her cloak and vast assortment of weapons, earning a skeptical glance from the Ranger. Yet, when she began to unfasten the tightly-worn leather armor that clung to her figure, his reaction was far more dramatic. "What on earth is that stench?!" he blurted out, recoiling.

She shrugged nonchalantly. “Remember those goblins? Yeah, I got an unexpected bath in their blood.”

“That was days ago. You reek,” he retorted. He strode over to the dresser, opening drawers until he came across a gray towel. Returning to the table, he picked up the pitcher beside the candle and gradually poured water into a small basin, also provided. After submerging the towel and wringing it out, he flung the damp cloth towards her, which she easily caught. “Clean yourself up.”

She shrugged once more. Turning away, she shed her shirt and let it drop to the floor. Her swift movements were focused as she wiped her face, neck, and chest, cleansing her skin of the grime that clung to it.

Though Aragorn didn't intend to look, his gaze inadvertently flicked towards her silhouette against the wall. It was then that his eyes fixed upon her bare back, adorned with a network of vivid, angry scars. He’d seen scars like that. He knew what they were from: torture.

“(Y/N),” he whispered sincerely, his steps leading him closer to her form. “What happened?”

Hearing her name for the first time from his lips, she was caught off guard—her heart skipping a beat. The simple utterance carried an unexpected weight, a rare vulnerability that seemed to momentarily freeze her in place. Uncertainty gripped her as she stood still, her mind racing to process the unfamiliar tone from him.

His touch was tender as he raised his hand to trace the lines on her skin. “Who did this to you?” he growled.

Brought back to the present, she instinctively recoiled from his touch. "I'm an assassin. I've earned my fair share of enemies," she replied, her voice tinged with defiance. Shifting her gaze over her shoulder, she met his eyes. "Have an extra shirt? Mine's beyond saving."

"I, uh, yes. Yes, of course," Aragorn responded, seeming to realize the sudden intimacy of the moment. He retreated to his bag, rifling through its contents until he procured a cream-colored tunic. He tossed it to her. "This should suffice."

“Thanks,” she grumbled, pulling it over her head.

(Y/N) approached the table, the Ranger's shirt engulfing her smaller frame. The fabric's loose drape hung off her shoulder. If she wasn't such a menace, Aragorn would have thought that she looked cute in his clothes.

Ungracefully, she deposited the damp towel on the tabletop before proceeding to yank off her boots and socks, placing them with a deliberate thud upon the chair nearby. “We are not that far from the tower of Eastemnet. Perhaps a two day journey or so. However, our predicament remains unchanged: we don't have a solid strategy. We don't have any floor plans. We don't know how many guards will be stationed. And we don't know where the girl is being kept. We are gonna be going in blind—”

“You’re bleeding,” he interjected, his voice carrying an unmistakable note of concern.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Just a scratch,” she dismissed casually.

Aragorn grasped onto her jaw, lifting her chin up to take a better look. "A seemingly insignificant wound could easily become infected, Scorpion," he asserted, his tone insistent.”

She pulled her head from his grasp with a snort. “I’m fine, Strider.”

He crossed his arms, an unyielding resolve in his expression. “If we are breaking into Lord Theovail’s tower and stealing from him, I'd prefer my partner not succumb to infection-induced delirium, potentially endangering both our lives." Swiftly, he nudged the empty chair towards her. “Now, sit down, Scorpion.”

(Y/N)’s brows lifted, followed by a teasing expression that animated her features. “Oh? So I'm your partner now?” she quipped, her tone laced with playful amusement. "What happened to the 'vicious shrew killer that you would rather leave tied to a tree,' as I seem to recall you once calling me?"

He glared at her. “Sit, or I will leave you tied to a tree.”

Surprisingly, she did as he asked, allowing herself to sink into the chair with her legs casually sprawled and her arms folded tightly across her chest. Aragorn dug through his bag, pulling out a couple small tins and a tiny glass bottle. Grasping the towel, he located a clean section and dipped it into the basin. Squatting down between her legs, he lifted the towel to her neck. "Chin up," he instructed, and she obeyed without protest. Gently, he began cleansing the wound, meticulously removing dirt and debris from the area. Next, he uncapped the small glass bottle. "This might sting," he warned.

She clenched her jaw, but said nothing as the alcohol was poured upon her neck. Aragorn gently dabbed the liquid away. He then opened one of the small tins, extracting a dollop of green goo.

“What is that shit?” (Y/N) asked.

“Athelas leaf paste.”

“Athelas leaf?” she echoed, seeking further clarification.

“Kingsfoil. Athelas is the elvish word for it,” he replied simply, his attention focused on gently applying the paste to the wound.

She raised her eyebrows. “Elvish, huh. You're full of surprises, Strider. Where’d ya learn that?”

“Shush. Be still.”

The Scorpion rolled her eyes, but complied as he completed the task.

Standing up, Aragorn rinsed his hands and addressed her once more. "We can devise a plan for the tower tomorrow. Right now, we need rest."

(Y/N) sighed, nodding in agreement, as she too stood. She made her way towards the bed and pulled back the thin sheet, eager to climb into the softness of a mattress—regardless of how old and worn it was.

The gentle sound of air extinguishing the candle was succeeded by the enveloping darkness that reclaimed the room. Soon, Aragorn’s footsteps followed. She discerned the rustle of fabric as, presumably, he removed his shirt. The bed then creaked gently as he settled beside her, lying on his back.

She, resting on her side away from him, let her eyes close. There she laid, for a moment, before shifting. Then she shifted again. And again.

“Stop moving, Scorpion,” Aragorn grumbled, his patience waning.

“I can’t get comfortable!” she retorted.

“That’s because you keep moving.”

“It’s cold and you're stealing all the blankets.” With a determined tug, she seized more of the fabric, leaving Aragorn with a minimal share.

He merely exhaled audibly, opting for a wordless response. At the very least, she had ceased her constant fidgeting.

Aragorn remained awake during the initial hours, unable to find slumber. (Y/N)'s breathing had swiftly settled into a rhythmic pattern after she commandeered the majority of the sheets, though her small unconscious movements kept interrupting the perceived tranquility. Occasional, soft whimpers escaped her lips, her brows furrowing with evident distress. In truth, Aragorn found himself uncertain of how to respond. He held onto the hope that the disturbances would cease on their own, perhaps that whatever troubled her dreams would eventually pass. And eventually, it did stop, but not without an unexpected turn of events.

The Ranger's senses jolted as the Scorpion’s frigid form rolled towards his side of the bed, seeking refuge in his warmth. Although she had mentioned feeling cold earlier, the intensity of her chill surprised him. The wave of uncertainty that washed over him did not leave as her cheek pressed against his bare chest. Initially, the thought of infection taking hold crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it; her skin would have been hot to the touch if that were the case. It only took seconds for him to realize that the draft from the cracked window was striking her side directly. With a sigh of reluctance, he tentatively encircled his arm around her, drawing her in further.

In her state of deep slumber, she instinctively nestled into him, drawing a slight skip from Aragorn's heart. He cast a cautious gaze downward, taking in her appearance.

She seemed so different—distinctly separate from the notorious assassin he knew her to be. There was an innocence, an unexpected purity, about her in this moment that rendered her almost unrecognizable. Gone was the perpetual scowl that often marked her features. Instead, her face had relaxed into a gentle expression of repose, free from the tension. Her lips, adorned with the faintest hint of a pout, moved slightly as she drew each breath, almost as if he warded off the nightmares that had plagued her.

In this vulnerable state, the Scorpion seemed untainted by her reputation, stripped of her fearsome persona. The layers of her identity, usually shrouded in crude comments and sharp weapons, had fallen away. It revealed that the facade that she showed the world was just that, a facade. A good one at that though. Even Aragorn—a man well-acquainted with the intricacies of human nature—hadn't thought it would be a mask; but her story of Sarn Ford was the first thing that revealed its possibility to him. It was as if the walls she kept built had crumbled away, allowing him a glimpse of the person beneath the lies. And, until sleep claimed him, he allowed himself to savor this glimpse—to see her beyond the assassin.

When the first light of dawn began to filter in, (Y/N) stirred, wrapped in the warmth and safety that had cocooned her during the night. She hesitated to peel open her eyelids, savoring the sensation. However, as her senses roused to full awareness, a gentle yet distinct rhythm reached her ears—the steady thud of a heart beating beneath her. In an instant, her eyes shot open, and a surge of apprehension raced through her.

Beneath her, Strider's form lay, his chest rising and falling in slumber. Anxiety tightened her chest and clawed at her throat. Reacting instinctively, she sat up abruptly and, fueled by adrenaline, threw a punch at him.

A resounding groan of pain escaped his lips as he scrambled to sit up, his expression twisting in both surprise and discomfort. "What the hell, Scorpion?!" he managed to sputter, his hand instinctively reaching to dab at his lip.

“I thought I told you to stay on your side of the bed!” she retorted sharply.

He glared at her, his irritation obvious. “I did. If you would take a moment to observe your surroundings, you would see you are in fact on my side of the bed.”

Wide-eyed and perplexed, she twisted her upper body around, casting a glance over her shoulder. As the reality of the situation dawned on her, she faced him once more. Her eyes filtered over his form briefly, taking in his muscled biceps and defined abs. Her expression then turned into a deeper scowl. “Fuck off!” she snapped.

He only stared at her, bewildered.

….

Under the shroud of darkness, the Ranger and the Assassin stood at the base of the tower of Eastemnet on the south side. Concealed within the protective embrace of the tree line, they had spent approximately three hours observing the guards' patterns and identifying vulnerabilities in the tower's defenses. There they had hidden two steeds that (Y/N) had procured for them at the inn—most likely through theft, though Aragorn didn't want to think of that—allowing for a quick escape with Calista. Strategically, they discreetly knocked out all the guards on the outposts, binding and gagging them, for they knew the element of surprise would be their only bet. So, now they stood, with a pretty loose plan, ready to steal back what Lord Theovail had taken.

The Scorpion grasped onto the vine that entwined itself along the stone surface of the tower. A swift, assessing tug confirmed its stability. Her gaze shifted briefly to the man positioned behind her. “About two hundred feet to the top. Best guess, that’s where Calista is being held.”

He nodded. “After you.”

The Scorpion adjusted her grip upon the vine and she initiated her ascent. Aragorn doing the same only minutes after.

They moved in a synchronized rhythm, the sound of their breaths and the faint rustling of vines mingling with the night's stillness. Each handhold and foothold was chosen with precision, the texture of the stone under their fingertips guiding their progress.

(Y/N)’s movements were fluid and practiced, evidence to her agility and experience. Her lithe form seemed to dance with the contours of the tower, making it look easy. Aragorn, not as accustomed to such endeavors, displayed a determination that rivaled his unease. His powerful muscles flexed and strained as he pulled himself upward, his eyes never straying far from the path she took.

After what felt like hours, the assassin spoke. “Nearly there, just a couple more feet.”

Aragorn only grunted in response.

The woman firmly gripped the vine adjacent to the windowsill, positioning her feet against the wall in a manner resembling a vertical walk. This facilitated her upward movement as she pulled herself closer to the window. Yet, as her head reached the level of the glass, she swiftly withdrew, instinctively lowering herself. In an unfortunate circumstance, the unconventional stance she maintained resulted in her ass colliding with Aragorn's face.

He groaned. “Really, Scorpion?! Really?!”

“My bad,” she huffed out. “Hold on a second. I think someone is in there.”

“Yeah, hopefully Calista.”

She resumed her ascent, then promptly lowered herself again. This time, Aragorn effectively maneuvered his head to the side, evading her buttocks.

Regardless of this, he shot her a glare—not that she would be able to see it.

“It was a maid.” she whispered. “I think we are in the clear now.”

With that, she heaved herself up for a final time and reached for the dagger strapped to her thigh. “Duck your head,” she commanded. With as much force as she could muster, she brought the blade against the glass, tucking her face into her elbow. It shattered, falling around them both like deadly snow.

The Scorpion pulled herself upward and through the window, careful not to be pierced by any stray piece of glass, and Aragorn did the same.

The room was small, but decorated to the extreme. The prominent feature was the bed, elevated upon a platform, its tall wooden posts adorned with a luxurious velvet canopy that cascaded in graceful drapes. The mattress was covered in ornate blankets and quilts, complemented by an array of plush pillows. However, any semblance of beauty was starkly contradicted by the grim sight of chains extending from the wall and ensnaring the wrists of a young girl, shattering the room's facade of luxury.

Immediately, Aragorn ran towards her side. “Calista,” he murmured gently. “Wake up. It’s time to go.”

Calista's golden hair framed a face that appeared worn and defeated. Her eyes fluttered open, revealing a gaze void of life. Her voice emerged as a feeble whisper. "Who are you?" she inquired softly.

Standing steadfast in the center of the room, (Y/N) maintained her posture with crossed arms. Her unwavering gaze fixed on the imposing wooden door that likely remained locked from the other side. “Your father sent us.”

Aragorn carefully manipulated the cuffs that bound Calista's wrists, gingerly freeing her from their constricting hold. "I'm Strider," he introduced himself, his fingers working skillfully. "We're here to help. Come.”

As if entranced, Calista began to sit up, struggling to rise from the bed. Aragorn extended his support, assisting her onto the floor. However, her weak frame proved too fragile to sustain itself. She leaned unsteadily against him, her body unable to bear its own weight.

The Ranger looked to his partner. “She’s too weak. There's no way I can scale down the wall with her on my back. She won't have the strength to hold on."

The Scorpion uttered a quiet curse. “You will just have to come with me to find Theovail.”

He shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. We can't bring her near him.”

“Well, we don't have any other choice,” she snapped. “But as soon as I kill him, we will have to haul ass. His guard will be coming for us then—if they don't already know we are here.”

Aragorn clenched his jaw, inhaling deeply. “Fine. Get that door open.”

With that, the Scorpion set to work picking the lock and Aragorn scooped Calista up in his arms, her golden head nestled into his chest. It wasn't long before the group was creeping down the tower, level by level. The Scorpion led the way, ducking behind walls and maneuvering around pillars, making sure the way was clear. When they came across a guard that was blocking their escape, she was quick to slice his throat and pull his body out of sight.

“Scorpion, why you can't just knock them out?” Aragorn whispered with exasperation.

She, dropping his legs as she stuffed him into a closet, glared at him. “And risk having him wake up and alert others? I think not."

He huffed, knowing she was right.

However, their path forward soon encountered a challenge they couldn't evade as easily. Just as they were on the verge of turning a corner, a young maid's panicked voice pierced the air. “The-the girl. She’s gone!”

(Y/N) slammed her back against the stone wall, Aragorn doing the same.

“What do you mean ‘she’s gone’??!” A deep male voice thundered.

A shared realization passed between (Y/N) and Aragorn—Lord Theovail had now entered the fray.

“FIND HER!” he snapped. “Or it will be your head!”

The servant scurried down the hall, running right past the Ranger and Assassin who slunk into the shadows with their charge.

(Y/N) cautiously peered around the corner. The room before them was every bit as lavish as the one that had imprisoned Calista, if not more so. A roaring fire crackled in the grand fireplace, casting flickering shadows that danced across the two plush velvet couches by it. Luxurious fur blankets adorned each sofa, hinting at Theovail’s rich indulgence. A sprawling fur carpet lay before the fireplace, while an ornate wine cart laden with deep reds was conveniently placed nearby. And there, infuriated, stood Lord Theovail himself, a glass of crimson liquid in hand, his temper fuming. To make matters worse, his guards were positioned near the room's exit—the very door that Aragorn would need to pass through in order to escape with Calista.

The Scorpion drew her knife, sending Aragorn a look. It was time. In a hushed tone, she whispered to him. “When you hear it’s over, take her and run to the doors. I'll be right behind you.”

He nodded in agreement.

She then disappeared into the shadows. Not even a minute passed before Aragorn heard the thumping of two bodies, one right after the other, followed by the telltale crash of a shattering wine glass meeting the floor.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Lord Theovail’s voice thundered, a mix of surprise and outrage lacing his words.

Aragorn cautiously peered around the corner, his heart pounding. Lord Theovail was now a whirlwind of fury and frustration, his gaze darting in every direction and a knife clutched in his hand. “I am not one to indulge in games!” he roared, his voice echoing through the chamber as he brandished the blade. “Reveal yourself, you coward!”

Within seconds, the Scorpion’s blade was poised menacingly at Lord Theovail's throat, her grip firm and unwavering as she held him in check from behind. Her voice dripped with a sinister malice as she spoke, her words slithering through the air like a venomous serpent. “Lord Kassim sends his regards.”

A broad chuckle bubbled from Theovail's lips, mingling with a mix of disbelief and arrogance. “A woman?! Kassim sends a woman to kill me?!”

Aragorn watched as the assassin drew another blade from her lethal arsenal, the steel glinting in the dim light. He winced inwardly, knowing what was about to unfold. In one swift, calculated motion, the Scorpion's blade found its mark, slicing deeply into Theovail's spine. The lord's body crumpled to the floor, staining the pristine white fur carpet with a gruesome red pool. His once-commanding presence now reduced to stillness. Though his eyes, wide and drifting in panic, showed his fear.

She then sat on top of him, bringing the blade to his neck once more. The Scorpion's lips curled into a chilling grin, her eyes alight with a dark satisfaction. “Not just any woman. You ever hear of The Scorpion of Sarn Ford?”

Instantly, a tidal wave of horror engulfed Theovail's blue gaze, his previously defiant demeanor shattered like the fragile glass of Calista’s window.

He knew the legend. He knew there was no escape for him.

However, at that moment, a large, burly guard burst in. Seeing what was unfolding, he was at his Lord’s assistance in a flash. His hand grasped onto the assassin’s hair, yanking her form from Theovail.

Aragorn clenched his jaw, giving her a moment before he intervened.

The collision sent shards of glass and splintered wood flying as the guard and the Scorpion crashed into the wine cart, locked in a fierce struggle. The guard, towering in his size, managed to regain his footing first and hauled the Scorpion up with him. His meaty fists struck out, landing brutal blows that drew crimson from her nose and brow.

The Ranger cursed. Quickly, he sat Calista upon the ground and rushed to his partner's aid. Unsheathing his blade, he lunged into the fray. His sword found its mark in the guard's back, the steel emerging through the man's stomach. Time seemed to freeze as the guard's bloodied gaze locked with the Scorpion's, a moment charged with shock and shared disbelief. The guard crumpled to the ground, revealing Aragorn.

With a swift motion, Aragorn twisted his blade downward and reached out to grasp the Scorpion's face, his hands marked by a blend of relief and fear. The touch, both tender and urgent, brought her gaze to his. Blood marked one cheek, while the other felt the cool press of his blade's hilt against her skin. His deep voice, a mixture of anxiety and care, called out her name. "(Y/N)," he stated, the word a lifeline that pierced through her dazed state.

"(Y/N)," he spoke once more, the urgency remaining. “Are you alright?”

She blinked, forcing a response. “Yes, yes. I'm fine.”

Aragorn released a sigh of relief, yet his hand remained for another heartbeat, a reassurance in the form of touch. "Take care of Theovail. I will get Calista," he instructed, his hands finally and reluctantly withdrawing as he moved to tend to their young charge.

The rest was a blur: (Y/N) slicing Theovail’s throat and grabbing his ruby ring, Aragorn hauling Calista into his arms, and the trio racing down the tower's corridors—fending off any obstacle that dared to stand in their path. Adrenaline drove them to the treeline, panting breath heavy and loud, as they climbed upon their horses and took off into the night—leaving behind the bloody assassination of the Lord of the Eastemnet Tower.

…..

Weeks later, at three in the morning, the trio stumbled into The Black Falcon Tavern, where they first met with Percaric. The establishment was eerily quiet, save for the slumbering figure of the barkeep, who had succumbed to the late hour with his head on the counter. At the far end of the room, Percaric and Calista's mother stood, their figures illuminated by a flickering candle on the table. An air of anxious anticipation clung to the atmosphere.

As soon as their feet crossed the threshold, that stillness was disturbed. Calista's voice pierced the quiet as she called out to her mother, her strength visibly renewed since the ordeal. Without hesitation, mother and daughter closed the distance between themselves, embracing as if they had been torn apart for eternity. Tears flowed freely, mingling sorrow with joy. The warmth of their reunion dispelled the darkness that had clouded their lives.

Percaric approached the Scorpion and the Ranger.

The assassin tossed the man Lord Theovail’s ring. “Proof of death,” she stated bluntly. “I was gonna bring you his head, but figured it would smell pretty rotten after the long journey.”

He nodded awkwardly, the thought making him feel ill. He took a quick moment to examine the ring. Seemingly satisfied, he spoke. “You did well. Lord Kassim sends his thanks.” He then tossed them both pouches of gold before turning back to the mother and daughter. As Percaric prepared to take Calista and her mother back home, he turned back to the two rescuers. His voice carried a sentiment with his words. "Thank you."

Aragorn's silent nod and the Scorpion's subtle acknowledgment conveyed their understanding and their shared commitment to a world that often demanded their sacrifice.

With that, Percaric, Calista, and her mother left the inn, leaving the assassin and the ranger alone.

“Well,” (Y/N) began, as she walked towards the snoring barkeep and leaned over the counter, fishing for the room keys. “I don't know about you, but I could do with a good night’s rest.” She pulled the ring from his waist and turned back to Aragorn. Holding it up, one key dangling, her grin faded. “You're kidding, right?” She shook her head with a huff but turned and made her way to the rickety stairs. “As long as you stay on your side of the bed this time, Strider—”

“Scorpion,” he interrupted as he followed her.

The wood creaked under her feet. “I am serious. Keep yourself in check—”

“Scorpion.”

“I will not hesitate to paralyze you—”

“(Y/N)!”

She froze upon the stairs, slowly turning to look at him on the step directly below her. Now they stood at the same height, face to face, only inches away from each other.

“You almost died out there,” he whispered, his hot breath brushing against her skin.

“Yeah, so did you. It happens,” she shrugged. “It’s what we do.”

“(Y/N),” he persisted.

“What?!”

With that, he grasped onto her face, his finger warm and calloused from the lifetime of travel and battle. Time seemed to freeze as the moment lingered, the air changing between them.

And then, his lips were on hers.

At first, a sense of uncertainty held her still, her mind grappling to comprehend the sudden intimacy. But as his touch deepened and the kiss became a dance, she surrendered to the moment. Her fingers found their way into his hair, tangling themselves among the dark waves, as her lips moved with just as much force—if not more—as his. He tasted of pine and fresh soil, she wast sure if she quite literally was consuming the dirt upon his face, but she didn't care. She couldn't stop herself from becoming enthralled by his lips.

“Scorpion,” he mumbled against her mouth.

She hummed a reply as her lips continued to move with his.

“Room. Now,” he practically growled.

She grinned, her teeth tugging on his bottom lip. “Make me.”

Aragorn pulled away from her, raising his brow with a smirk. With that, he grabbed her by the hips and hoisted her up. Her mouth found his again as he stumbled up the stairs, ignorant to the barkeep who woke and was now squinting at the pair.

“The Scorpion and Strider,” the old man huffed. “The boys aren't gonna believe this one.”

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[skunkes]

do you have any tops for finding good plus size references…i keep trying to google shit (with “” as well) and all i get is dehydrated gym rats 🫠

fatphotoref and nsfw selfie subreddits dedicated to the body type you're looking for (fr example there are a couple for "Big Handsome Men" and "Chubby Guys") are what have helped me, as well as keeping an eye out for SWers on twitter ^_^ morpho's book on fat bodies is also easy to find a pdf of and will help lots alongside dis!

#skunk mail #Anonymous #clarifying that the way i use references is usually not by 1:1 tracing or eyeing etc #bc i know it wld otherwise sound strange to be like ''yes steal content from SWers''

[olderthannetfic]

A lot apathetic feelings on HP here.

What do people think of the Warrior Cat series?

I read both series when I was about 11. I remember next to nothing about Harry Potter; the only things I do remember are stuff I’ve read in crossover fanfics. And I can’t see myself ever trying to read it again.

Warriors, on the other hand, I loved. Even if the target audience is elementary students, I still plan on rereading it one day. And I remember so much about the cats, more than the wizards anyway.

What I remember from Warriors (spoiler warning, I guess): Bluestar getting into a deep depression after the betrayal, Tigerstar getting poisoned by his mother after being told it was medicine, Firestar’s atheist nephew, the whole Skyclan thing, and so much more.

What I remember from Harry Potter: Ron had a pet rat that was a murderer, and Harry’s foster family getting a million letters sent from the wizard world.

I don’t think I ever seen Warriors get any pop culture references in mainstream media, and that makes me sad. Is it just not as popular as I think it is? It deserves just as much love as Harry Potter, if not more! (Personal opinion, I’m not a professional critic.)

--

Heh. I'm familiar with this existing at all only because it is all over Wattpad and I do fandom research sometimes.

It came out when I was already out of college. In my experience, nobody my age has even heard the name.

I honestly thought it was pretty popular based on the Wattpad fandom, but sales figures look to be below 100k for most of the books based on a cursory google.

Still, for cultural references, I'd guess the biggest factor is just that the original audience is hitting like 30 now. HP had a lot of older readers a number of years before in addition to selling a zillion times better.

[snezus-christ-risen]

I am both pleased and ashamed to debut my En//canto fixation (and primary source of dopamine) to the world. About a month ago, after having watched the movie for the forty-eighth time (#momlife), a thought crept into my mind later that night (and I’m blaming the edible for this one): has anyone ever made this Bruno guy sneeze? I knew from the moment I took to Google to find out that I was already in too deep. So I wrote a little something myself, for myself. Part II to follow if this hyper fixation doesn’t burn out and die before I get around to finishing it.

Stubborn Things, Part I - Aperitivos

(Part II - https://www.tumblr.com/snezus-christ-risen/748150063515287552/back-blessed)

Colds were stubborn things. Notoriously incurable, it’s only natural that they would pose a challenge to the woman who could heal almost anything. To Julieta, almost anything was an evasive mental itch, a thorn in her side, one elusive combination of ingredients away from becoming everything. What did it matter how many bones or tendons she could mend if she couldn’t even conquer the sniffles?

Julieta was a stubborn thing, too (and maybe, maybe a bit of a perfectionist). She resolved to solve this puzzle if it took the rest of her life. But that was, God willing, quite a few years yet. Her brother was sick now.

Ay, Bruno. Su conejito extraño. He was another thorn in her side (but how she’d missed him so!). So much like her Augustín at times that it was alarming, except Bruno’s chaos was more… deliberate, governed not by butterfingers and left feet, but a seemingly insatiable drive to push himself past his breaking point as often as possible. Despite having developed a robust immunity to most things (owed, in part, to a lifetime of keeping close company with rats), he was particularly susceptible to catching colds. Naturally, this made him the perfect lab rat for his sister’s culinary experiments. Julieta wouldn’t deny that she subjected him to a lot over the years, but nobody ever claimed the field of medicine was without its sacrifices.

Bruno was late to breakfast that morning, which was unusual. Since his return, he was always the first one at the table, so eager he was to make up for lost time with his family. Alma was in the middle of asking Antonio to go check on his tío when her son shuffled in, looking just as pale and tired as he did when he first emerged from the walls. Not that he ever looked particularly healthy. Coupled with the fact that his visions were known to sap his stamina, nobody thought to question his appearance. Bruno quietly apologized for his tardiness, then sat down at the table and cleared his throat a few times, covering up the sound of his fist knocking against his chair. Julieta heard a hint of something in his voice, something that kept drawing her attention back to him as the meal progressed.

Only a few minutes had passed before he scraped his chair away from the table, burying his face in the sleeve of his ruana to stifle a volley of sneezes. A pair of rats dropped to the floor before scurrying away. The conversations around the table ceased abruptly, giving way to stares and scattered blessings. Bruno sniffled, withering under his family’s collective acknowledgement.

“Sorry! Sorry…” It was unclear if he was apologizing to them or his rats.

Camilo resumed (or perhaps never stopped) his reenactment of the argument he had witnessed at the market that morning, talking quickly and switching rapidly between faces in a way that reminded Julieta of cards being shuffled. Her nephew had been so eager to share what he saw that nothing else seemed to register for him. She flicked her gaze back to Bruno as he returned to the table, looking upset with himself for having interrupted. He reached instinctively for the salt cellar, but then met his mother’s eyes and withdrew his hand as if from a flame. It swung around to grip at his left arm instead. Julieta recognized this as a self-soothing gesture, except this time Bruno’s fingers were digging into his arm.

“Are you feeling okay, tío?” Dolores asked, having lost interest in her brother’s story a long time ago. “You’ve been sneezing all morning.”

Bruno shot Dolores a look of betrayal so dramatic he could have been performing a scene from one of his telenovelas. While he was distracted, Julieta seized the opportunity to reach across the table for his forehead. “Are you getting sick, manito?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Bruno said, dodging her hand and sliding down in his chair. He started to pull his hood up, but when Alma cleared her throat in disapproval he yanked it back down again, sitting up straighter. “Really, I feel great, I’m just, uh… still getting used to the air out here, you know.”

Nobody seemed convinced, least of all Bruno himself, but nobody challenged him, either. At least, not until he interrupted Alma during her morning rundown. He had just enough notice to stutter out a breathless apology and twist away from the table, crushing his fist against his nose. Julieta winced as he stifled two sneezes into silence without a breath in between. She kicked her brother under the table, frustrated by his stubbornness, and mouthed stop it. How many times did she - did they all have to tell him not to do that? Bruno blinked, looking dizzy and indignant at having been cheated out of his usual pattern of three sneezes. His retaliation efforts were less than successful; Julieta saw him bite his lip to hold back a curse as his foot struck the leg of the table instead of her own.

Alma, wearing an impassive expression, cleared her throat and waited patiently for her grown children to settle. While Bruno was preoccupied with his body’s latest betrayal, she casually brushed his curls back from his forehead to rest her hand there. He looked at her in stunned silence, breathing more quickly than usual through slightly parted lips.

“Bruno is unwell,” she stated matter-of-factly as she withdrew her hand, then held it up to cut off his objection. “He will remain in Casita today so he can rest.”

Julieta was surprised; Bruno actually had a few appointments lined up for this morning. Their mother never used to let something like a cold get in the way of her family’s obligations to the town. They were all still getting used to this new Alma, who, while not perfect, was learning to see the benefits of resting and recovering over crashing and burning. Julieta sat up a little straighter, wondering how much further she could push their luck.

“Mamá, if it would be alright-” she began, and Bruno, apparently aware of where this was going, started shaking his head.

“Uh, no, nope, not uh,” he said, rapping his fist against the table with each syllable.

“-I’d like to stay here too and test out some new recipes-”

Bruno continued to shake his head. Julieta closed her mouth and frowned, genuinely wounded by his fervent refusal. “Do you have so little faith in me?” she asked, and that was all it took for his protests to melt into praise.

“Juli, you are incredible, and you know I know you can do anything, I’m just… .” He swallowed nervously as she eyed his untouched plate. “Full? So full. I, uh, ate earlier, you know, I’m still getting used to the new schedule, well, I guess the old schedule, and besides, and most importantly, I’m not sick, so it would b-be a w-waste to… heh!”

Julieta prided herself on being the most mature of her siblings, but something about Bruno always called her inner child out to play. She just couldn’t resist the urge to tease when the opportunities presented themselves. Catching a glimpse of Pepa across the table, smirking as their brother’s breath hitched helplessly, only egged her on further. “Perdona, a waste to what?” Julieta asked, fully aware that providing clarification in his current state would pose a challenge.

He surprised her by squeezing his eyes shut and holding his breath before forcing it back into a steady rhythm. She had never seen him do that before - a technique he learned living in the walls, perhaps? Had he been doing that for the last ten years to avoid detection? Julieta was impressed with his self-control, but she could imagine how unsatisfying it must have felt to deny his body something it desperately needed to do. Bruno didn’t look like he was going to sneeze anymore, but he did look ten times more miserable than before.

“Disculpe…” He sighed it more than spoke it, then sniffled again, wincing at how wet it sounded. “I forgot what I was saying.”

“Ay, mijo.” Alma passed him her unused napkin before waving her hand at him, directing him to turn away from the table and blow his nose. She then turned to Julieta. “You will stay with your brother today and see what you can do. I’m sure Mirabel would be happy to bring your food into town. We have those new herbs that Isabela grew. Perhaps they’ll do the trick for your…” She paused as Bruno blew his nose, then looked at him pointedly. “… purposes, today.”

He gave a little cough as he crumpled the napkin in his lap. “I suppose I don’t get a say in any of this.”

Julieta shook her head and he huffed out a sigh, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes. He seemed resigned to his fate. Good. That would make things go a lot more smoothly for the both of them.

#why does my lesbian ass keep falling for these twerps #his sisters are hot hot hot and yet I torture him #they’ll have their turns soon enough #sneezefic #male sneezing #cold sneezing #en//canto #I wish I was clever enough to come up with a phrase like melon felon but for people who go bonkers for big honkers #sorry I said honkers but the rhyme was right there

[maniculum]

Bestiaryposting Results: Kraegrat

Allow me to start with a disclaimer: I woke up sick this morning, so if it seems like I'm doing a worse job than usual stringing words together, let's all agree to blame fatigue & cold medicine.

Now, on to our beast for the week. The entry people are working from can be found here:

This is kind of an interesting one: not only is there no physical description, but the entry consists entirely of describing a single behavior that has at best a tenuous connection to reality. Nevertheless, a number of people indicated that they recognized it, because this is one of those "bestiary fun facts" that tends to stick in folks' heads.

As usual, we're going to go through the depictions in roughly chronological order -- let me know if I missed yours. This week, for some reason, my original post doesn't appear under the #Kraegrat tag, so who even knows what's going on there and I'm fully willing to believe yours is hidden for some kind of absurd Tumblr reason. (Maybe it got flagged under the "don't go nuts don't show nuts" policy -- I kind of suspect that's what happened with the entry post.)

Images below the cut, because (1) aforementioned nuts, though i'm pretty sure this is within Tumblr guidelines, and (2) i really should be doing a cut for all of these but i keep forgetting.

@mobileleprechaun (link to post here) has gone all in on the pathos, making the Kraegrat small, fuzzy, and sad. They describe it as "beleaguered and persecuted" and "a poor guy" which honestly I think is pretty fair for anyone in a situation where you're constantly being hunted for your testicles. They also cite "tanuki inspo" for obvious testicle-related reasons, and yeah, I see it. Very good Sad Gentle Beast here.

@embervoices (link to post here) has done a few different species of Kraegrat, all of which have kind of a lemur look. (They also provided their own alt text, which I really appreciate, thank you.) The linked post has an explanation of design decisions, and also references that Anansi story about tiger balls. (I googled it just now, and all the results reference American Gods -- did Neil Gaiman make that one up?) Anyway, excellent whimsical lemur thing, love the depiction of it throwing the testicles.

@mayhaps-magical (link to post here) notes their "appropriate medieval disregard for standardized spelling" and explains that they reinterpreted it as "Kragen-rat". My German is almost nonexistent, so I had to do a quick check...

... okay, yeah, I see how that comes into play. I also like the idea of playing around a bit with the spelling and etymology, because gods know the medieval authors did the same with no regard for accuracy. (The vastly-encyclopedic, frequently-inaccurate work that has led Isidore of Seville to be put forth as a potential Patron Saint of the Internet is ostensibly a book of etymologies.) Anyway, I like this guy here. It kind of looks like one of those big dogs that are always kind of shy and nervous around new people, which I think fits with the description as "gentle". Also like that it apparently has both claws and I think thumbs for the throwing of testicles.

@silverhart-makes-art (link to post here) acknowledges that they're pretty sure they know what this animal is supposed to be, but they're trying to put it out of their heads. I think they've done a very good job of that: this is a pretty naturalistic drawing of a ground-dwelling mammal that doesn't quite look like any real animals, including the one that this entry was based on. The post linked above contains a description of the design decisions behind this critter, which I of course recommend checking out.

@coolest-capybara (link to post here) has, as usual, done a beautifully stylized rendition of this one. She cites the famous unicorn tapestries as inspiration, and I can absolutely see it. I think it's an interesting artistic choice to focus on the hunter rather than the beast in this drawing, but one that absolutely makes sense: the entry doesn't tell us anything about the Kraegrat except how it interacts with hunters. Enjoy your bounty of severed testicles, Sir Hunter... and, um, keep an eye on your dog if you want to make sure you still have all of them when you get home. I think it's contemplating something there. The linked post contains a brief description of design decisions, and also this line, which I enjoyed:

I'd also like to state for the record that when I started this challenge, I was not expecting to draw a field of severed testicles, but here we are. It was more fun than I expected.

@rautavaara (link to post here) has again taken an unusual direction with this one. They describe their interpretation as:

Medicinal plant-like lizard that loses its tail when scared off.

Considering this and the drawing, I think I can see the path of creative interpretation. The animal as presented in the bestiary entry is obviously ridiculous: a mammal that self-castrates to save its life is not an evolutionary success. So what could it be other than that? Well, lizards detach their tails to escape predators; what if there was a lizard with nodules on its tail that medieval people interpreted as testicles?

I can't swear that that is rautavaara's thought process, of course, but it makes sense to me as an interpretation of the material provided, and if that is what they're going for, I think it's quite clever. Also, as usual, the art style here is excellent.

@sweetlyfez (link to post here) explains that her design process consisted of blending together various animal features and then giving it sparkly magic balls, because that's all the entry really provides. Which, fair. Also I appreciate the taste in choosing what I think is "tapir + deer" as the animals to blend here. Those tusks kind of remind me of musk deer, which is actually pretty appropriate, as we'll see later. The facial expression plus the sparkly balls strike me as very funny, I have to say. Good beast.

@karthara (link to post here) was apparently also skeptical about the idea of a self-castrating animal, and if you check out the linked post, you'll see a brief explanation of how they resolved that as well as some other thoughts on design decisions. The gist is that the Kraegrat has decoy testicles, which I love as an interpretation. Fantastic. No further notes.

@cheapsweets (link to post here) has done another ink drawing that is, frankly, delightful. Love the Kraegrat escaping into the Nonspecific Medieval Trees. Love, love, love the hunter getting smacked in the face with a set of thrown testicles while his dog watches. The above linked post also provides an explanation of design decisions which I think is worth reading, go check that out.

@treesurface (link to post here) has drawn us a rat-kangaroo thing (not to be confused with a kangaroo rat) calmly displaying its lack of testicles. Looks fairly good-natured about the situation, really. They provide a brief discussion of their design decisions in the linked post, and also express a desire for more "weird scary beasts" in the future -- so I checked, and while I can't really define what is or isn't a weird scary beast, I think we should get at least one qualifying entry in January.

@pomrania (link to post here) has made the understandable decision that they aren't going to draw animal genitalia today. Fair enough. I also think this is a pretty good depiction of a Mammal that is clearly not any animal we're familiar with -- I'm impressed by how many of the drawings we're getting for this are Plausible Yet Unfamiliar Beasts. Anyway, pomrania provides early sketches and an explanation of design decisions in the linked post. They also express relief that this is not "Yet Another Bird", and I regret to inform you all that there is a small cluster of Bird entries coming our way.

Anyhow, let's take a look at the Aberdeen Bestiary depiction for this one.

I have to say I find this illustration very funny. That bizarre pose where it's wrapped around a tree is good, but what really makes it is the hunters. Look at those two. Spear Guy looks like his eyes are about to bug out of his head, while Axe Guy seems like he's going "hey, is that normal? should we be doing something about that?"

Anyway, as some of you guessed (and as I'm sure more of you picked up from that very accurate Aberdeen illustration above), this is a Beaver.

Yeah, the whole testicle thing is probably a misunderstanding of the castor sacs that beavers use to scent-mark their territory. Castoreum is still used today, mostly in the perfume industry I think, but apparently the medievals had some kind of medicinal use in mind. So the people who surmised that this isn't actually talking about testicles but rather some other anatomical feature that looks like testicles were correct. I have no idea where the idea came from that the beaver would rip them off voluntarily, though.

So! There's this week's bestiaryposting. I will now Retreat to My Chamber and Lay As One Dead (scroll Tumblr in bed until I fall asleep).

#maniculum bestiaryposting #kraegrat

[great-and-small]

Hi! I hope you’re doing well. I was wondering if you could help me out? I know your primary interest is birds, and also that you’re from Florida, but you seem rather knowledgeable about all sorts of wild animals so I thought I might as well ask.

A relative of mine has been seeing a very large (4-5 feet long, maybe slightly longer) snake about once a year for the past 3-4 years, and none of us have a clue what it is. Said relative lives in Ohio, and my attempts to search “large snakes in Ohio” just lead to questionable exotic pets and searches for native snakes was bringing up smaller snakes that didn’t seem to fit the bill. My best guess was some kind of rats snake but it’s just a vague guess.

Here’s a pic for reference:

I’m also curious about the snake’s behavior. The family has a dog, and one of the adults is unemployed, so they’re outside often, yet they only see the snake once, maybe twice a year. Additionally, they live in a well-off suburban neighborhood, with little “wild” space, so I’m curious where the snake is living and what it might be eating. (Chipmunks??? Is it the reason they don’t have rats?) is this species native to the area? Or is it invasive?

Do you have any insight on any of this? No worries if you don’t, I just thought I might ask as my googling hasn’t been very successful, and I saw you post about snakes a couple of times.

Thanks for taking the time to answer, and I hope you have a lovely day/night! :)

Now that is one healthy looking snake! I believe the species that your relative has spotted here is indeed a gray ratsnake (Pantherophis spiloides). This species is native in Ohio and they can grow to be pretty large. Ratsnakes are wonderful to have around and as their name implies they make for fantastic pest control. Your relatives might have this friend to thank for keeping the numbers of rats and mice around their property to a minimum.

Snakes can be a bit more shy and elusive than some other animals, so it doesn’t surprise me they don’t see this individual too often. Rat snakes adapt to life around humans fairly well and aside from rodents they’re also happy to eat birds and eggs, as well as small lizards and amphibians. It’s in great body condition though so you can be sure this guy is eating good! If you or your neighbors happen to have a chicken coop, make sure not to use fake eggs as these can be lethal to snakes.

Thanks for sharing your snake! I really like this species (and all ratsnakes) and you have a really lovely specimen here. Wishing him many years of prowling for rats as your friendly neighborhood pest control.

#asks #snakes #rat snake #wildlife #Pantherophis

[vampirictranssexual]

Long post in regards to WWDITS s5e7. There’s a lot of mixed feelings about this episode, and for good reason. I think the reason so many people were unsettled with this episode is because of the general uneasiness we feel when looking at the creatures Laszlo experimented on. Animal experimentation/abuse/neglect is a huge part of our society and western science- and it is uncomfortable to acknowledge this. Another factor is that the creature designs fall into the uncanny valley, but that’s besides the point I will be making.

I want to point out that in the beginning of the episode Laszlo is transfusing Gizmo’s blood with several different animals. With the frog blood transfusion he says, “And a frog. Frog not so happy.. but it’s just a frog.” He refers to his creations as “freaks of nature”. He sees them merely as objects to be used to further his scientific discoveries. Laszlo then repeatedly tells Guillermo to kill his animal hybrid experiments. Laszlo is ready to toss his “abominations” out as soon as they no longer serve his purpose.

Bizarre and extreme forms of animal experimentation were hugely popular in the 19th century, well into the early 20th century. And we still do experimentation on animals to this day. Whole companies, organizations, and universities poor millions of dollars into creating and maintaining facilities to experiment on animals. And somewhere close to 100 million animals are killed due to animal testing every year. Here is more about that: https://www.slate.com/articles/health_and_science/pepper/2009/06/brown_dogs_and_red_herrings.html

It doesn’t take much time before you see the reality of animal testing when you do a quick google search. (Insert my belief that animal testing should be abolished and so should zoos. Fight me.)

Since experimentation on animals became normalized, we can see a shift in how we view certain animals. Frogs, mice, rats, pigs, stray dogs, farm animals, etc. All of these animals are commonly victims of animal testing facilities. And all of them have a particular stigma associated with them. For example, stray dogs were such a problem in the 19th and early 20th century that the solution was to round them up and send them off to animal testing labs. Just think of the animals they hybridized with Gizmo- they all have some level of stigma attached to them. That stigma is purposefully curated to benefit industries that profit off of testing on animals.

In Laszlo’s efforts to become more human by experimenting on the animals, he only grows further away from his humanity. His cruel actions are in part a result of his desire to be human and his inability to remember what it was like to be human. The vampires have become distant from their humanity, and that distance only grows over time. Laszlo may have glimpses of humanity here and there, especially in his fatherly moments, but he is ultimately lost.

Then Guillermo must decide what to do about these creatures. He claims he “cannot hurt an innocent creature”. Then immediately suggests that maybe he should just call an exterminator or animal control. Ultimately, he decides to send them to an elderly home, which is still a form of discarding them. However, at least they are in loving hands here. But Guillermo warns them to stay out of the nurses’ sight. They have been relegated to living in the shadows, too.

Would Guillermo have killed them if they weren’t technically also him? Does he only spare them because of his own ego?  Or does he spare them because he refuses to lose his humanity despite his transformation into a vampire?

Every vampire must sacrifice their humanity in order to survive. So what does that say about Guillermo’s survival? Does he need human blood to survive? Vampire blood? Or is he a hybrid that can cure others of vampirism?

#Upon rewatching this episode #it's not so bad- I actually laughed more this time around #but the ear fuck from that rat is still unacceptable to me lol #wwdits #wwdits spoilers #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows spoilers #long post #tw animal abuse #tw animal cruelty #tw animal testing

[mykaeba]

really cool posts!

(this is a very incomplete masterlist made by me for whoever is interested. there are a lot of links that lead to more masterlists, so- prepare to browse!)

tumblr lore and very cool posts i guess:

goncharov (1973), apparently (unreality)

the tumblr folk stories

tumblr obsessions alignment chart

humans looking for Someone else

internet is haunted

the legacies people leave behind in you

humans are space orcs

how do you make memes

lighthouses

making toast

the body is round

the rat poem

cool stuff:

just a bunch of useful websites

life hacks (good websites)

in case you’re having a bad night

33 good things to know

learn things for free

for trans afab friends (takes you out of tumblr)

if you love cool socks, artists being paid and to get packidge from the post (takes you out of tumblr)

sew some frogs!

muslim-made modest fashion

pirating is cool i promise (be careful though):

the best beginner’s guide (takes you out of tumblr)

pirating 101 (reddit)

use firefox smile

other search systems (fuck google)

free books

photoshop but online

photoshop never gets hacked. ever. (i can’t guarantee this one, be careful <3)

adobe x pantone bullshit 1

adobe x pantone bullshit 2

for dsmp/mcyt peeps:

every technoblade video (reddit post)

where to read mangoball

for fan artists and writers: put it on your résumé

references for when you wanna draw and need help why is it so hard:

free morpho fats and skin folds this is literal gold

i literally found even better than one morpho: more morphos. and other stuff??!

smithsonian open access! a gigantic bank for free images

same energy (pinterest but cooler)

outfits of older eras holly molly

heads in every angle possible

how to draw hands the way old disney artists did

how to draw wings

how to comics

some brushes (free)

more brushes (still free)

even more (guess what)

these brushes are for making cities fast (wowwie it’s free)

some fonts

color palettes generators

png or jpeg?

references for when you wanna write and need help why is it so hard:

writing deaf/mute/blind characters

writing children!! when you don’t remember how it was

common medical mistakes

some fucking resources

Resources For Describing Emotions

how do i do x on ao3???

how to read like a writer

if any link is missing or deactivated, please tell me! i’ll try to find the missing post again,,,

#masterlist #how to tumblr

[sophsiaaa]

going home

CHAPTER 2

bnha masterlist

pairing: tomura shigaraki x fem reader

summary: Stranded in another world that eerily follows the plot of your favourite manga, you find yourself sucked into the story, trapped on the side of the villains. You're just a girl who knows too much and wants to go home, but with Tomura Shigaraki watching you, escape won't be easy.

notes: I know this is a kinda cringey premise but I've had this idea trapped in my head for months and I love shigaraki so here.

chapter contains: references to sexual assault (not shigaraki)

—  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —     Reader

You were dead.  

That’s what you thought as you opened your eyes to thick dark. You couldn’t see, didn’t know where you were. Your heart kicked into overdrive as your fingers wandered over whatever you were lying on, blindly trying to read the terrain. It was spongy, with ridged edges. A mattress?  

You were in a bed.  

You sat up, hands clasped over your body. Clothes were still on. That was good. But the pounding in your head, the tender soreness of your neck, was less so. Everything felt throbbing, hazy. Palming your face, you looked around the dark. Where the hell were you?  

Last you remembered, you’d been trying to sleep. The alley you’d been calling home for the last week wasn’t exactly a five-star-hotel, but given your circumstances, it wasn’t like you had much of a choice to sleep anywhere else. You’d been trying to sleep, too tired to cry anymore, to look for help anymore, and then...  

That’s right. The two men. Satellite Ears and Tattoo Guy.  

They’d kicked you awake, shouting words you didn’t understand. The extent of your Japanese was hello and goodbye . It made you wish you’d paid more attention in school.  

The men had hoisted you up, hands wandering down your sides, and you didn’t need Google to translate the look in their eyes. It was clear what they’d wanted.  

But they hadn’t gotten far because... that’s right. Another man showed up. The one with the red eyes and black hoodie. The hand on his face. He’d saved you. And then he’d wrapped his hand around your neck when you’d begged for help. After that, you must have blacked out.  

You felt the ghost of his fingers on your throat, pressing yours over the phantom marks. Where were you now?  

Crawling forward over the bed, you found its edge. As it turned out, it was just a mattress on the floor and you slid easily onto bare wooden slats. You felt around in the darkness, managed to stand. Though, your legs were wobbly, and you had to lean against what you assumed was a wall. With your bearings righted, you noticed a slim strip of light in the distance, like the crack of a doorway. Fumbling for a path toward it, your fingers grazed over what felt like stacked boxes. Were you in a storeroom?  

When you reached the light, you realised it wasn’t a doorway: it was a curtain. Plush and velvet, purple in the warm light beyond, cordoning you off from what looked like a bar.  

You blinked the dry crust of tears from your eyes. It was a bar. A smooth countertop divided the room, red stools dotted along on the other side. There was a door with a small grated window, and some folded tables at the back. Closest to you, rows and rows of high shelf liquor, coated in a thin film of dust, and a bartender cloaked in tendrils of violet mist cleaning a glass.  

But across from him was a sight that closed a fist of surreal fear around your heart: Tomura Shigaraki, chained in hands. The man who’d saved you in the alley. The villain from your favourite manga series.  

—  

One Week Ago  

The midnight bus pulled into its last stop for the night. You thanked the driver and hopped off, the last passenger. Pulling your coat closer against the wind, you walked alone down the empty street. Rats crawled over black thatched power-lines above. A cool breeze whipped at your hair as you stepped in puddles on the way back to your apartment; they rippled like jelly around your boots, reflecting a milk-bowl moon, high in the sky.  

It had been one hell of a shift. You worked retail, a little game store in a suburban mall an hour’s bus ride away. The commute was annoying, especially on nights like tonight when late night shopping meant the mall was open until 11pm. But the job was all you could get as a uni student, and the bus rides were at least a good time to catch up on your weekly readings before class.  

Not tonight though. Tonight, you were shattered. A mother had brought her teen son in, harassing you and your coworkers on register for selling him an R rated game when he was only fourteen. Between that and the onslaught of customers rushing in to buy the newest releases your store had just stocked, it had been a draining eight hours.  

You were eager to get back home. Leo, your boyfriend, would be passed out in bed by now. The two of you had been living together for about a month, and your relationship was still young. There were certainly growing pains. Still, it was nice to come home to someone.  

While he slept, you’d shower, throw on the same pajama shirt you wore last night, and reheat whatever was in the fridge for dinner. You might even have a chance to continue the manga you’d recently started on, enjoy some light reading before bed. Boku no Hero Academia, or bnha , was a fun story about heroes and villains and superhuman quirks. It wasn’t your usual taste, but Leo had recommended it to you and since you started the series, you’d found you just couldn’t stop. It was like the author put crack in it. You were only at the training camp arc. Leo had told you that arc was about season 3 of the anime, and given there were already 6 seasons out, you had a lot of catching up to do.  

Work. Shower. Dinner. Reading. Sleep. Your life was the definition of ordinary.  

Boring.  

Around the corner, your apartment building stood in a cement block, six storeys high. You crowded the stairway entrance, fumbling for buried keys.  

That’s when it started.  

A feeling . It crept across you, a strange, wild wind of emptiness. You looked around and saw nothing. No one watching, no one driving. No one. Even the rats were gone.  

Weird .  

Slowly, the streetlights began flickering. On-off, on-off, quickening with your heartbeat. You hurried to fish your keys out. The wind rushed into your ears, tousling hair and coat. You dropped the keys down the stairs.  

Fuck.  

The wind stopped. Still as the dead. Quieter than breath.  

And something happened . You weren’t quite sure what. Lightning lines of light speared through the air, the concrete, appearing from nowhere. It was like an orphic landslide, heading straight for you. One moment you were scrambling for your keys, the next, falling.  

Falling and falling and falling. Up and down. Spinning. Somewhere. Nowhere.  

A scream tore from your lungs, swallowed up by the nothingness you fell through. This was death. You were dead.  

Until you weren’t. A moment later, you were okay, landing on your ass in an empty side street. No bones broken. Coat a little singed around the edges. But otherwise, you were fine. Sounds of people and traffic travelled in from a main road. It was daylight. You were alive.  

Wait, daylight? You shook yourself off and stood up. It was the middle of the night. How could-  

A woman with horns, whose skin was the faded blue of the sky, jumped from the top of a tall building. She landed right in front of you, grinning before taking off again, a wide, large leap like a double jump in a video game. She jumped, and you stared slack-jawed after her.  

Somebody shouted behind you.  

Another woman, running up beside you. She shouted again in a language you didn’t understand, and she seemed angry, righteous. A yellow cape billowed over her back, and her head, it was a lemon. A lemon . Like a literal fucking lemon . From the center of her palms, she shot juice like jet fuel, breaking flight as she chased the blue woman.  

You were left in the alley, watching them move through the air.  

Impossible .  

Following, you stumbled out onto the main road, eyes the size of planets as you took in the true vastness of unending impossible . It was like the world had turned upside down, inside out. Were you on a terrible acid trip or something?  

People with frog heads, people with spray bottle arms, people that looked completely ordinary, only to shoot water from their mouths a second later, wandered down the road in business suits and school uniforms and casual sweaters. Skin the colour of rainbows. Springs for legs. Fireworks shooting from fingers. A street of ordinary people with impossible powers.  

You were frozen to the sidewalk, a specter, as the brunt of a superhuman society that appeared out of nowhere moved in swells around you.  

There were only three words for what you felt.  

What. The. Fuck?!  

—  

Now  

Tomura Shigaraki was reading a newspaper at the bar. He wore the hands, one clasped tight to the face you hadn’t recognised earlier. How could you have not recognised him? How could he even be real?  

Since winding up here, you’d tacked onto the fact that wherever here was, it seemed to be mirroring the fictional world that existed in your favourite manga. A comic brought to life. But seeing Shigaraki just sitting there screamed wrong .  

You’d collapsed after seeing the quirks that first day. Out of fear, or confusion, or the weight of your previous day’s work, you weren’t sure. A hero had found you lying in the alley that the strange lightning light had dumped you in. Hero . The word still felt ridiculous, even in your mind.  

He’d woken you, asked if you were okay in Japanese, discovered you only spoke English, switched to that because he wanted to practice, and then stood stock still as you’d absolutely grilled him on where the hell you were and what the hell was going on. You were left reeling in disbelief as he confirmed the impossible. Yes, these powers everyone had were real; they were called quirks. And yes, he was really a hero; that was a real job. And yes, villains were a real threat, UA was a top school, All Might was the symbol of peace, and actually miss, you should be careful because the Hero Killer is on the loose.  

In one night, one conversation, reality tipped on its axis. You’d been in freefall ever since.  

The curtain hissed open.  

You jumped back, squealing as the misty bartender looked down at you. Kurogiri. Shigaraki’s transport and... parental figure? Caretaker? You weren’t sure. The manga didn’t exactly give him a title. His eyes swirled and narrowed, twins of yellow.  

“Are you done eavesdropping?” Shigaraki said, in English, and your eyes went back to him. It surprised you. After hearing a week of Japanese (barring that one hero) your language felt foreign. But Shigaraki had been speaking English to you earlier in the alley. At least, you thought he had. Things were still blurry.  

You nodded slowly, flush creeping onto your face. Shit, was he going to kill you for spying on him?  

He didn’t. Shigaraki folded his newspaper up. “Sit down.”  

Kurogiri gestured for you to walk past him toward the bar stools. You hesitated. Your feet were planted. It was hard to tell behind the hand mask, but you swore Shigaraki scowled.  

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he said, voice the rough rasp of rock salt.  

Tentatively, you forced yourself to move and slipped out from behind the bar into the crimson stool furthest from the villains. Your ass teetered on the edge of the seat, and suddenly, you felt like an unwelcome guest trying not to get the couch dirty. They glared at you, and you looked down at the smooth countertop, reflection ragged in its polished shine.  

Your lip was split, eyes hollowed. Feint bruises bloomed over your throat.  

This week had clearly taken its toll on you.  

After you’d met that hero on day one, you’d spewed out the story of what had happened. How you’d been going home from work one minute in a world without quirks, and then sucked into this world the next. He’d taken you to the police. They put you in the drunk tank.  

It was unfair. You’d railed against the bars, demanding help. But they ignored you. Just another maniac. Just a girl making up stories.  

When they found you had no identification, no quirk, no money, no listed address, the police took you to your home country’s embassy. The embassy couldn’t help though. Of course, they couldn’t, you weren’t a citizen of anywhere in this world. Wherever this place was that the lightning light had dumped you, you weren’t anybody.  

In the two nights at the police station and embassy, it was easy to convince yourself that you’d died. T his world was some wacky afterlife based on the manga you liked. A weird respawn point. You thought of closing your eyes, just sleeping. Maybe you’d wake up back at home, in bed with Leo. But you never did go home. Whenever you woke up you were still here, a reed washed in the stream. Everything was too real. You felt. You breathed. You got hungry. You got cold. People died on the news. It rained on the embassy windows. Wherever you were, this world was real . Not ink on paper or eight-bit graphics, but solid reality.  

So, staring at the embassy ceiling on a threadbare sofa as idiots scrambled to work out what to do with you, you revised your assumption. In your world, the idea of parallel or alternate timelines was the stuff of fiction. However, it was also a burgeoning science. A theory of possibilities. If you weren’t dead or dreaming, you had no other explanation for this world you were trapped in than that.  

Somehow, a tear had opened up between two worlds and you’d been sucked in. This was another universe, one where quirks were real, where heroes and villains existed, just like in bnha .  

The embassy let you go on day 3 of your respawn , as you’d been calling it, a nd you returned to the alley that you’d been dumped into initially, living there since you had nowhere else to go. You’d hoped that whatever force had taken you to this place, might reappear there to take you home.  

Unfortunately, in the rest of your week in the alley, your doorway home never opened. No more heroes came to help. You blended into the background, just another homeless person crying in the corner. You wondered what Leo would think. Would you have been reported missing? Would your family know yet?  

Two days later, the Hero Killer was arrested. You saw it broadcasted on city screens stuck to the side of buildings after finally being lured from the alley in search of food. Of course, with no money, you’d been forced to shoplift snacks from a convenience store. You were scoffing down cheap onigiri when the whole street looked up at the news story of Stain’s capture; bold kanji that you couldn’t read reeled beneath the arrest footage.  

It made you jumpy. It meant that not only was this fictional manga world real (a fact you still weren’t completely sold on) and so were all the characters, but that it was also following the plot of the manga too, arc for arc. You weren’t much further ahead in your knowledge of what was to come, but that night, curled up in your alley in an old blanket you’d found in a bin, you’d decided it would be best to stay away from any major plot developments.  

You needed to survive, to find a way home, and the best way to do that was not to become collateral in a war between heroes and villains. You could not get involved with characters.  

Great job you were doing of that so far.  

Shigaraki glared at you from behind the hand mask, an unnerving glare that pressed against your skin. You swallowed hard, keeping your head down. Why did it have to be him that saved you? Why couldn’t it have been literally anyone else?  

Kurogiri pushed a glass of water towards you. It was cold to the touch. Didn’t smell weird.  

“It’s not poisoned,” Shigaraki said as you sniffed. He almost sounded insulted.  

He could have been lying, but he’d had his chance to kill you earlier in the alley. He brought you to his dingy bar instead. He wanted you alive. So, you guzzled the fresh water in heaping gulps, a fish returned to the sea, a swimmer coming up for air. It slid reverently down your dry throat.  

“Thirsty?” he asked with a crack of humour.  

You slammed the glass back down, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you met his imperceptible gaze. There were no gaps in his mask, in his posture. He looked every bit the menacing villain you’d read about, right down to the video-game-esque-costume. Grey-blue hair hung over his face in mussed trundles, hiding scant glints of carmine eyes. He was bonier than you’d thought, and taller too – a wryness to him that reminded you of sly cat, still one moment, on you the next. It was hard to believe he was real. You sort of wanted to reach out and touch him just to be sure you definitely weren’t on an acid trip.  

You shook your head. “Not anymore.”  

“Good. I wanna know about your quirk.”  

“My quirk?”  

“Yeah.” Shigaraki clasped his hands together on the bar top, looking right at you. “Before, you said you didn’t have one.”  

“I don’t.”  

Of course, you didn’t have a quirk. You weren’t even from this world!  

Shigaraki scoffed. “You sure about that?” And then he was out of his seat. He came at you and, remembering how easily he’d killed those guys in the alley, you tried to jump back. But he grabbed you by the wrist, five fingers pressed to your skin. You winced and shut your eyes. This was it.  

After a week of trying to avoid this type of fate, you were dead.  

Kurogiri said something in Japanese. Shigaraki responded. You opened your eyes to see him still touching you. You weren’t dead.  

“You’re a liar,” Shigaraki said. He ran his hand higher, feeling from wrist to forearm, beneath the loose fabric of your jumper. His knuckles brushed the hem, sent gooseflesh rippling across your arm. He explored your skin almost disbelievingly. “You do have a quirk. How else do you explain being immune to my decay, hmm?”  

You trembled in his grip, answers dead on your tongue. You should be dust in the wind.  

“Is it nullification? Touch-based?” He let you go, slumping into the stool beside you.  

You pulled your wrist back, thumbing over the spot where his skin had dragged against yours. His eyes tracked the movement. You felt the urge to reach for the bruises on your neck. “I... I don’t know. I guess.”  

Your head was spinning. How the hell were you immune to his quirk?  

Kurogiri said something else in Japanese, and you thought that maybe he couldn’t speak English. Either that or he didn’t want you knowing what he was saying. Shigaraki merely snorted and shooed him off. He turned back to you. “You’re welcome, by the way.”  

“For what?”  

“Saving you.”  

You frowned. As if he actually intended on saving you. He was going to kill you too, you’d just been too stupid to see it until it was too late. “Why am I here?” you asked.  

Shigaraki kicked a foot up over his knee. The ratty laces of his red converse hung from it like nooses. “I’m building a league,” he said, hands neatly folded, “gathering recruits. Your quirk would be a useful addition to my inventory.”  

“You want me to join your league?”  

He nodded.  

You knew exactly at what point of the manga Shigaraki must be at right now. If the Stain incident had just happened, then the training camp arc you were up to should be scheduled to take place very soon, so long as this world continued to follow the manga’s plot. Shigaraki was learning to operate as a leader. His League of Villains was about to get a whole lot bigger and deadlier. Dabi would join. Toga too. But... you shouldn’t be part of it.  

You weren’t meant to be in this story.  

You feigned ignorance. “What type of league? What do you do?”  

“We’re going to kill All Might.” A mania filled Shigaraki as he leaned forward. His face was hidden, but the smile in his voice, the excitement, was clear as day. It was captivating. It was terrifying. “With my league I’m going to tear down this backwards society. Heroes, their false sense of justice: they’re my targets. We’ll destroy it all, this whole messed up world.”  

You blinked at him. He was... insane . You knew he was a villain but seeing him get going like this was truly fucked up. Did he seriously want to kill everyone? How the hell would that be helpful? Was this how all villains thought? Was this how this world worked?  

You didn’t understand how you’d gotten trapped here, or whatever this immunity to quirks was, but you couldn’t become someone you weren’t.  

“I can’t. I-”  

Your refusal fizzled out when Shigaraki stood up. His shoes hit the floor with a thud . He loomed over you, spindly arm propped on the counter. He was a spider, arms and legs, and you were in his web.  

“Don’t think for a second the heroes would have saved you from those creeps,” he said.  

Your breath shuddered, remembering the fear, the inevitability of being trapped. The men who’d roused you from sleep, what they’d planned to do. The weakness of your underfed body. Their strength. You remembered losing your will to fight them, wanting to just give up and go to sleep. Go home .  

You remembered Shigaraki wandering in. For a moment, you had thought he was going to turn a blind eye to your assault, walk away. For a moment, you almost didn’t call out for help. But you had and he hadn’t. He’d killed the men, for whatever reason. And it wasn’t heroic, it was gruesome and bloodstained.  

It was exactly what you had needed.  

Don’t think for a second the heroes would have saved you from those creeps.  

It was only a hook to lure you in, but Shigaraki’s words held a ring of truth. The heroes hadn’t helped, not then, and not when you’d been stranded. They’d effectively turned you onto the streets. If you left this bar, where would you go? Back to that alley? How much longer would you wait? How much longer before you passed out from lack of food? How much longer until another low life tried to hurt you?  

You needed help. If you were going to get home, you needed help.  

That was a fact you could no longer close your eyes to.  

You looked up at Shigaraki, at that murderous gaze hidden behind dead fingers. The boss villain brought to life.  

You had no one, nothing, and apparently an immunity to quirks that made no sense. But maybe that was the key to finding your way home. This immunity, was it a side effect of being transported here? You didn’t know, but you knew you couldn’t figure it out on your own. Maybe staying close to the plot, to the characters of story you knew was inevitable, would be your best shot at learning what this immunity was and whether or not it was a path that might take you home.  

Shigaraki certainly wanted to know more about it. Perhaps you could use that. And perhaps, though loathe to admit it since he was a lunatic that had already tried to kill you once, he was your best shot at safety and a roof over your head for the time being. Perhaps Shigaraki was your ticket to going home .  

“Yes,” you whispered. Yes, okay. I’ll join you.”  

You stood to meet him, and he leaned back. You held out your hand.  

Sharp corners of a smile broke out from behind that heavy hand on Shigaraki’s face. Pinky instinctively raised, he took your hand. His touch was cold. Firm. It was a contract, a plea, a promise sealed in skin.  

“Sounds good,” he said.  

You were now a member of the League of Villains. For better or worse, you’d entered the plot.  

#shigaraki tenko #shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki x reader #bnha shigaraki #bnha #bnha reader insert #bnha x reader #bnha fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #nsft #mha #shigaraki x you #shigaraki x y/n #reader insert

[corrodedparadox]

wow looking at your rat king thing, you improved SO MUCH in the last two years. what did you feel helped you improve?

There’s a handful of things I would say but the main one was switching from a screenless tablet to an iPad!! Obviously iPads are kinda pricey so I can’t recommend it for everyone, but I genuinely feel like switching from a screenless tablet (I used to use Huion) to screened one REALLY helped me get a better grasp of everything, along with procreate just having an easier layout to use compared to the other programs I used (SAI and CSP) which made me less afraid to mess around with brushes and other fun things like halftone textures and chromatic abbreviations, ect ect . Definitely play around with brushes!! While a different brush won’t suddenly make you the Best Artist Ever, finding a brush that works well with your style/art process can help a TON (almost all my brushes are from @/thedawner brush packs, I highly recommend their brushes!! Lots of free packs too, I use the bonobo chalk as my main painting brush)

The other big thing is references!! I rarely used any references until like last year, I’ve been taking my own pose/expression/ect references (yes that means looking at a weird picture of you for like an hour to get the pose right but you get used to it) and going on walks to get nice landscape shots for my work (all my giant ass floating fish drawings are based on images I personally took), but if you don’t wanna do that websites like unsplash, Pexels, and pixabay are great for royalty free (VERY IMPORTANT, I have seen LOTS of artists end up in legal battles because they just used a random photo they got off Google that ended up being copyrighted) pictures and vectors to help get ya started.

The last major big thing is my drawing process in general!! I was hardwired to believe you HAD to do art in the steps of sketch, lineart, color, then shading all on separate layers. Don’t be afraid to use what process works for you! When I threw lineart out the window and started painting all on one layer it became WAY easier for me to block out shapes (highly recommend doing greyscale paint studies, it helps SOO much with more coherent color pallets and lighting) and really helps the entire work fell connected rather than a character that feels poorly overlaid on a separately drawn background.

Don’t be afraid to fuck around! Its art! It’s supposed to be messy and weird! Merge your layers! Use 30 different brushes because you feel like it!! Have fun and mess around with the process and see where it takes you!!!

#there’s two other attributes which was finally getting art classes that were more geared towards developing my style rather than the basics #and my brain fully developing at 25. I wish this was a lie but I feel like my brain can just suddenly understand anatomy better #ask #long post #behold my text wall

[xrosaurax]

Clingy Terzo (FLUFF)

Content: Terzo had his day off and wanted to cuddle with you all day, and it went with both of you having deep talks. Google translated Italian words lol

Tags: Fem! Reader x Terzo emeritus, cuddle

Word count: 1.017

You woke up in a soft white bed with a purple silk blanket and found no one beside you, it seems like Terzo woke up first and is been doing something right now, as you got off of your bed, Terzo walks out of the bathroom with a towel hanging on his shoulder, his eyes lightened up as he looked at you like he just found a cute cat.

You smiled softly "Ah, you're cleaning yourself up?" you said, starting a conversation with him while thinking of what to do today, "Yeah.. you just woke up, yet you still look beautiful.." you giggled at his reply and nodded only, you stood up and walking up to the mirror, grabbing a brush and fixed your hair with it gently.

You saw Terzo approaching behind you in the reflection and he wrapped his arms around your little waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. You smiled warmly at him and leaned your head against his. He took a deep breath "May I?" He refers to your brush, you nod.

He grabs the brush from you and brushes your smooth hair, loving the scent of it. Terzo running his fingers through your scalp, he puts the brush away then hugs you from behind, his arms snaking around your waist. Your cheeks heat up from his hands Caressing your sides.

You move your hand up to caress his cheek, he leans in to your touch and hums.

"ah..Terzo, I got to make some breakfast..Im pretty hungry right now hehe" He only hums in reply, he unwraps his arms around you and follows you to the kitchen, you cracked 4 eggs into the mixing bowl and sprinkle some salt, beating the egg until its all yellow, you heard some bare footsteps walking behind you and his arms wrapping around your waist again, resting his chin on your shoulder like before. He watches you beating the egg, til you spoke "You seem clingy today hm?" "Mhm...its my day off anyways, so i got the chance to hug you all the time.." "Makes sense" after beating the eggs, you put them on the pan and stirring the egg to make it scrambled "it smells delicious, cara" he plants kisses to your temple.

You giggled softly at his kisses, you gently hit him with your elbow to stop him from tickling your curves "Ah- no no terzo, Im cooking here. Im sure you dont want seeing me getting burned while cooking!" "heheh sorry, dolcezza" he backs away and grabs some wine from the shelves, pouring himself one in his wine glass and drank. As you finished cooking scrambled eggs, you put it on the serving plate and placed it on the table, and putting two plates and some spoon and forks for the two of you.

You began putting some eggs on your plate and some rice and start eating neatly. You noticed Terzo looking at you in the corner of your eye and looked at him, he doesn't eat his food and just stare at you smiling "Come on eat your food, or else I will feed it to Copia's rats.." you said while eating "I prefer you feeding me, tesoro" You frowned and let out a small laugh at his reply.

You agreed and proceed to feed him some scrambled eggs carefully. Feeding him while he looks deeply into your eyes, You were avoiding his gaze and just staring at his mouth chewing the food. Terzo made a satisfied hum "That scrambled eggs is delicious.." "Really? Its just a simple egg dish, its not like its fancy or anything.." you smiled shyly at him. "No, seriously, it tasted good. Something I dont taste before, Its like you put something on the eggs~" "Ohh.." You kept feeding him until theres no more left.

After eating your breakfast, Terzo stopped you from washing the dishes "Ah, amore, let me do all the dishes for you. You deserve some rest for cooking our breakfast, si?" "The cooking is not that much of energy consuming, but.... sure" You can't stop smiling at him, him tucking his sleeves up to wash the dishes makes you blush for some reason, His hairy forearms looks attractive you thought to yourself, You began walking to the living room and sat down in the couch, and letting out a relief sigh.

After Terzo finished doing the dishes, he goes up behind the couch and strokes your head, then moving down to caress your neck and shoulders. You hummed from his soft touch, "Are you alright, tesoro?" you only nodded at him, he walks around the couch then sat beside you. Wriggling closer and he lays his head on your shoulder and wrapping his arms around your little waist, you closed your eyes and leans against him, you hold him in protective way, he kisses your neck softly and hummed, he laid down and pulls you closer, making you lay on top of him now. Cuddling each other.

You move your body until you found a comfortable position for you to cuddle, he wraps his right arm around your shoulder and plants kisses all over your face, you both Giggle. Terzo then looked up at the ceiling, looking like he's thinking about something "Whats on your mind, terzo?" "y/n...You never know how much happy I am to have you.." He moves his whole body to lay sideways, facing you completely "Hehe..I feel the same too..Im so glad to have someone like you, terzo" Terzo pressed his forehead against yours then Nuzzling your small nose, he chuckled "No one's treating me like this before, cara..until I met you and thought you're the most beautiful donna I've ever laid my eyes on.. It's like we're both made for each other" he starts cupping your cheek and rubbing your cheek bone with his thumb softly, you place your hand on top of his and you peck your lips against his softly.

"Thats the most sweetest thing I ever heard.."

"eheh posso dirti.."

"I love you.."

"ti amo più di quanto tu possa mai sapere, y/n.."

Translate:

ti amo più di quanto tu possa mai sapere: I Love you than you'll ever know

Tesoro: Darling

Cara: Dear

Dolcezza: Sweetie

#papa emeritus iii #terzo #terzo emeritus #the band ghost #ghost terzo #papa emeritus lll #papa terzo #papa emeritus iii x reader

[ericasays]

country girl canadian is the brand. 💖 portrayal apart of @brawlhq

olivia jade brasher-reso was born on september 4, 1997 to professional wrestler william jason reso (unknowingly until 2021) and stephanie brasher. steph and jay dated on/off while jay persued his dream of becoming a professional wrestler around various independent promotions in canada until they split after a year. stephanie was an aspiring in ring valet accompanying numerous wrestling talents but looking back on she would admit to being a bit of a ring rat as well. yeah, stephanie was that girl. dating and sleeping around and partying, doing the what young canadian girls do until she found out that she was pregnant. she often tells olivia that the moment she took the pregnancy test, her life had changed for the better. however, because of her partying and promiscuity she never had a good idea of who olivia’s father might be..

stephanie raised olivia on her own by choice and in fear of what it might do to the father’s, whomever he may be, wrestling career. she could never rob someone of their dream.

stephanie dropped off the face of the pro wrestling circuit and began saving up for a steady income as a single mother. she worked up until the day before she went into labor… or at that’s at least what she’s always told her daughter.

fast forward to 2021, a blue eyed blonde young lady decides that she’s tired of living in mystery. her mother had just passed away and she had never questioned the identity or location of her biological father up until now. as a kid, she just really believed that her mother was so much of a superstar that she didn’t need a dad. olivia had decided that it was time to acknowledge the elephant in the room and began researching through her mother’s journals; narrowing it down to two possibilities. one of them happened to be william jason reso. when you type into google those three names? you’ll be amazed at the articles upon articles referencing a Canadian WWE Superstar who was referred to as Christian and even sometimes Christian Cage. the year had quickly passed and she had worked up enough courage to DM this man by simply asking if he had remembered Stephanie Brasher.. he had.

present day and olivia is not only getting to know her father, but getting to know her little sister as well. she’s also pursuing her own dream by being a backstage interviewer for all elite wrestling; a company her father works for.

her onscreen name: liv cage. 🎤 🧨

all plots & connections are open. ♥️ first come, first serve basis.

[quillyfied]

Okay first batch of episode thoughts that I don’t know that I can expand into real coherent thoughts so heck it we’re doing it live and cramming them together, no chronology just memory vibes, PART ONE:

- the visceral physicality of that hug on the beach. Hot.

- The way dream Ed keeps repeating phrases but trying new pet names. Additionally: the tears in Stede’s eyes when he first hears Ed calling his name

- Swede being the new husband: fair. Makes sense. Farewell, fond thoughts of unexpected dreamboat Buttons.

- I WANT TO KNOW ABOUT ED’S UNLICENSED MIDWIFERY

- Zheng Yi Sao’s reveal from soup lady to Pirate Queen. Never been another like it.

- Zheng and Auntie have a dynamic that reminds me of a much healthier and better adjusted Ed and Izzy—Auntie calls Zheng out for getting distracted by Olu but doesn’t stop her or interfere, Auntie is the harsh voice of Zheng’s orders and her enforcer with the crew but isn’t cruel, and Auntie clearly respects the hell out of Zheng and supports what she built with her piracy career, and actively helps her and is respected in turn by Zheng. Take what a captain and a first mate are supposed to be like, and bring a flavor of Stede’s people-positive management style without the naive condescension. Competent and thriving. We love to see it.

- Okay but can we get a recipe of the noodle soup bc that looked genuinely so good

- Frenchie is a cat. He’s being a cat. He’s a cAT—

- Fic writers who called bitchy teenage anger Lucius aimed at Stede, take a bow, you’re the MVPs. (And sweet sweet farewells to the many headcanons of Lucius living in the walls of the Revenge as a ghost, but girlie you did not need to be there and that’s for the best)

- Frenchie is so intelligent though. And sneaky.

- Been wondering too if Ed’s impossible bird is a reference to something existing, or something made up for the show, but keep forgetting to Google it. Keep seeing references to albatrosses, which tracks and I’m okay with letting that be the extent of it for now.

- I’m telling you, either Buttons IS the rabbit, or the whole crew is gonna THINK Buttons is the rabbit. Auntie gives him a document about transforming into animals, and in later episodes Ed is wearing Buttons’ shirt and there’s a rabbit??? Buttons has something to do with this.

- The garlic and finger crosses are deffo gonna be aimed at Ed in upcoming episodes. Can feel it. Also wondering where exactly Jim brought down the cannonball for Ed to survive it—AND ALSO HEY YALL THINK CALICO JACK SURVIVED HIS OR—

- Listen I can’t think for too long about the mermaid sequence or imma cry but SWEET LOVING GOLDFISH ;A;

- Also if they don’t make a Rick Roll joke or reference with Prince Ricky then what is the POINT of him

- Also points to us for being pretty sure he ran into Spanish Jackie; you never want to assume but when a guy shows up in this universe without a nose…

- Wondering about the symbolism of the pig in Ed’s Limbo

- Also finding grim humor in how Ed’s vision of Hornigold had to force the nutrition down his throat. Not at all metaphorical and layered.

- Black Pete being honest and not taking the shot. Go you, Black Pete. Not letting your ego talk yourself into irreparable trouble.

- I love Archie. I want more with Archie. Can’t wait for Jim to get good use out of having two hands for more than hyper competent murder. Hyper competent cuddling of their exceptional partners.

- Olu pronouncing eucalyptus. I want to bottle it for a rainy day. Also he’s so sweet the entire time they’re on Zheng’s ship. Love him. Oh captain my captain.

- And…the original rat man in the room. Izzy caring about the crew all of a sudden feels fast but tbh there’s been a time skip and Izzy is fighting an uphill battle with the consequences of his actions; I’m inclined to give the season a bit of leeway and see where it goes. Can’t get into too much detail or I’ll derail this whole thing trying to decode him and I don’t want to.

- I KNEW THE PROMO PIC OF PETE LOOKING EXCITED WAS HIM SEEING LUCIUS. I CALLED IT. IN MY MIND.

- also called that old guy in ropes was Hornigold. Nice.

- I got distracted and made another post about Ed really taking the long way around this whole suicide thing but my heart just drops every time I look at how he CHOPPED OFF THE WHEEL. THAT THING LOOKED SO SOLID. ED YOU TAKE THE AXE OUT AT THE WRONG ANGLE TOO HARD AND YOU COULD HURT YOURSELF PLENTY.

- Okay also aside for how I was NOT expecting either Ed’s prettiest babygirl look to be at his most unhinged, and I was NOT prepared for Ed shooting Izzy in the leg to be the thing that made Izzy lose the leg.

- Like seriously, I figured losing the leg was going to be a metaphor for Izzy cutting out the worst and most toxic bits of himself, the pieces literally rotting away and killing him with them, the toxic masculinity and the homophobia and the racism and such—but not quite like THAT XD and it’s way more a metaphor for him being forced to let go of his relationship with Blackbeard before it kills him, which is better and less comprehensive anyway.

- The way I flinched a mile when Ed shot him though. Just wasn’t expecting it.

- And the way Jim is sticking up for Izzy. The whole thing with them and Fang and Frenchie—I’ll put this up from one of my many failed Izzy essays, their treatment of him has nothing to do with Izzy and everything to do with them as people. Their choice to fight for a better ship atmosphere. Because love and forgiveness have fuckall to do with how much either party DESERVES those things and everything to do with whether they’re WILLING TO ACCEPT THEM. Love is redeeming and transformative but it takes work, babes.

- Izzy just happens to be the recipient of their reaching. And he might just be tenderized enough to let it start getting to him. But we will see.

- Ed’s suicidal tendencies and his will to live and hope versus his belief in his own unlovable nature has been covered so much and so much more eloquently. But it bears repeating that I knew I was going to fall in love with this show when Stede was shown to be passively suicidal, and then later Ed was too. Maybe I’ll make a fuller post about it later, but. That just means so much to me personally. And while the visceral hurt and drama of Ed’s journey is a step beyond me…I get it. I love how it was handled. Looking forward to seeing how it progresses.

- STEDE BELLYFLOPS OFF A SHIP TO GET TO ED. MY BELOVED GOLDEN RETRIEVER.

- Stede’s continual cold dismissal and refusal to engage with Izzy. Character growth. Delicious drama.

- I sincerely hope Zheng Yi Sao accomplishes her piratical takeover. And I hope some sort of truce with the Revenge can be reached, bc yeesh. What a way to get out of an admittedly not great situation with an objectively great character.

- It’s so weird bc like. It’s baseline a historical show. We know that the golden age of piracy ended and not well for the pirates. But they’re already throwing actual hard facts and reality out the window. So it makes things like a Chinese pirate taking over the Caribbean feel way more plausible. I’m excited to see what happens with the larger scope of the show as well as the smaller emotional focus.

#our flag means death #ofmd s2 #ofmd s2 spoilers #here we go. a reaction post. #I finally did it

[system-of-a-feather]

how did you do the wooma art study? whats ur sketch process? im trying to learn how to do art studies next year and urs was rlly rlly rlly good so i wanna know ur process...

*slams through* DID SOMEONE SAY WOOMA ART?!

Ok ok tho like I literally haven't been near the front for like a month or so cause our systems been working on other things and me and the trauma parts related to our trauma tend to 'pause' when were not being actively set off or when we don't have mental capacity to deal with our Stuff but I like popped up like an excited little mole rat cause y e s (and this is not a problem or me being mad, very thankful if anything cause this shit is one of my few dopamine topics and i usually only front for negative shit so WIN)

But thank you on the compliment ^^ I'm the Wooma kiddo in the system cause Wooma's art gives me dopamine and comfort and I just really like it so it means a lot that you liked it.

Our system parts that do art actually have very different processes, but the only parts that do proper studies are Riku and I and even in that we have different approaches so they'll probably reblog and add on their process as well BUT AS FOR ME

A lot of art studies (the Wooma one included) starts with a lot of just looking at the art and multiple examples of it to find some tendencies and similarities. You can do this physically by like drawing notes over some of the art that they've done or just mentally take notes as you look through it. A really good thing Riku and I would talk about when they were helping me figure it out when I doubted art as a hobby was that its really important while doing this to make take note on the things you ESPECIALLY like and find really cool about it because those notes should be mentally starred as inspiration for how you might like to modify your own personal art style

But like a good place to start is to google the style you like or look through their media / portfolio and just spend a good time browsing it and interacting with the source art itself and try to pick apart the question of "How do they do this" which we tend to look at line thickness / quality / brush type, proportions, major shapes and how they represent things (eyes, noses, facial expressions and the individual ratios of them), etc.

I usually don't actually draw over / draw notes directly over since I just like to browse and take mental notes and reference as I go but for the point of this ask Ill do a bit of an example pulled from Wooma's Instagram (I got lazy since I don't usually actually physically do much of this type of studying and got bored)

So

Collect a number of references, I just pulled from instagram thumbnails; then pull out thing that seem unique / stand out to the style to look more closely at

2) Lower the opacity and try to draw over the general base structural shapes and take notes on how things work together and the "steps" done to draw the basic structures

3) Doing the above gives you a general idea on the "rules" that are principle to under lying a style. Cool thing is to then make the layer below invisible so all you have are your notes and you have some general good guide lines to reference for later

Then after you did that you can try to do an emulation / try to do and study a specific one you like so like I did a few but one I think I still remember the specific image I studied from was this one [link]

Which became this one

And from here you just kinda plug the art that you are directly trying to emulate and breakdown free hand to the side / corner to regularly look at and reference how the original artist handled doing one thing and decide how you want to apply that to your own

Follow the notes and "rules" you found below and do it as well

Another note I like to add though is that you should never be afraid to go "I like that but I prefer to do it this way / apply my usual style" cause Wooma tends to use a more pencily thin solid / cleaner line but I just like the brush I used, I like the sketchy messiness and I also like coloring in the way i did which is not Wooma style, but just how I like to do things. The eyes are inspired and studied from wooma particular in size and general shape, but I prefered the more fluid and less clearly parallelogram shape and did that as well + my way of handling hair is not studied off of Wooma but rather inspired by the over exaggerated angular style / expressiveness of Wooma's overall art

They actually tend to do hair a lot more in a - for lack of better words - normal anime style but I was like noooo i like the angularness and "dramatized stylized" proportions and shapes so I was like ok im applying that to the hair even if you dont

Like I really like Wooma's art cause of how expressive it is due to how it breaks a lot of typical proportion rules and uses very sharp and dramatic shapes as a foundation sooo

Oh and regarding sketching, I don't sketch I just immediately draw and start with the foundation shapes and just add it directly over. I might erase a few lines that go over but I dont really have a sketching layer. Sketching would be a thing Riku or rather XIV would probably know how to explain better cause I just don't.

But ANYwAyS we have a movie to watch with fam and all soooooooo Ill have to give up the front but THANK you for the prompt to GO OFF cause it was nice to be back after a month or so to do something so fun and just info dump and sdlafkjlda

Love you anon. Riku will probably add their version of this when they get the down time and energy (if they get the downtime and energy, a lot of what I put here was partially advice they gave me)

Hope this was helpful!

-Lin (I am really ad at shifting over from Rin rip)

#alter: lin #art #art tips #art advice #art resources #art reference #wooma art #wooma art study #art study #ask #asks #alter art