heyo!! i saw u do outfit boards & theyre super sick! can i request a masc/neu wintery outfit board for a silver fox therian? (and if it isnt already taken, could i grab the anon tag 🦊🌌?) thanks regardless!!!

Wintery masc/neu silver fox outfit board!

Requested by: 🦊🌌anon

Hope you like this anon! Let me know if you'd like any changes :>

WTNV quick rundown - It Devours! - Joyous Congregation&members

Click here for the plot points! Click here for facts about Nilanjana! Click here for facts about Darryl! Click here for facts about Night Vale and it's citizens (including Cecil and Carlos) in It Devours! Click here for stuff about the other scientists! Click here for misc interesting facts I found!

Stephanie is a young woman who befriended Darryl when they were both children. She is studying for a degree in theology and wants to become a Church Elder (which she does in the end). She is good at volleyball and enjoys the academic side of her religion. She and Darryl end up dating.

Jamillah is a young woman who never lets go of her power drill and understands a lot about machines despite not being too interested in science. She does the illustrations for the churchs pamphlets.

Martin McCaffry is a church member who used to work for the TSA out at the NV airport. He was unhappy with his job and continuously made drawings of an elongated dark figure with no memory of making them. He tried setting traps, making sacrifices and even using a future predicting machine to try and catch it. Eventually, he met a church member called May who turned him onto the religion and a new (worse paying) job overseeing the summer camp counsellers. This doesn't help him either. He eventually becomes consumed with drawing the figure and spends all his time making them, but has never been happier.

The church urges all of it's members to present a happy face to the world with the intention of spreading joy but outside presentation is valued higher than actual feelings.

A religious gesture in the JC is to make a 'circling motion with an upright fist'. If returned, the participants than make eye contact and hum a single low note for ten seconds.

They believe the Smiling God has always been here even before the Big Bang. It lives beneath the earth but used to live with people except people 'weren't ready' and so it had to go away. The DOW is heaven.

The Smiling God uses exclusively it/it's pronouns and has a wide smile with a vast field of teeth.

Blood-letting is part of worshipping a Smiling God.

It is believed to devour your sins, unwanted desires, regrets and worst memories, things you wish you did and didn't and vice versa.

The Central Church of the JC in NV used to practice out of storefronts in half-empty strip malls but earlier 'this year' a proper church was constructed a few miles off of route 800. It's tall silver steeple is visible from the highway and it looks like a mix of a church and an office building. It has huge old looking doors with ringed knockers in the shape of centipedes. The real door to enter is a more office-building looking one around the side.

The JC believe in the '11 stages of human education' which are: birth, earthly nourishment, divine nourishment, friendship, love, awareness, family, enlightment, community and the Devouring. Depictions of these in the church often include foxes, for reasons not fully understood but a possible theory is just that Kevin (their prophet, who apparently brought them the Book of Devouring from 'heaven'/the DOW and would preach on his show) just really liked foxes.

There are classrooms in the church, full of toys like dolls and candles and cars with human faces painted on them. There's also books like 'Felicia finds an obelisk' and 'Smiley the centipede accidentally swallows the Earth'. There is a board with the question 'What is Divine Pain?' on it. The teacher is called Ms French (or was when Darryl was young).

The congregation religious outfits consist of long shapeless yellow robes and big square hats with mesh that covers the face.

Once a year the church holds a 'Youth Culling' where children can choose to become full members.

Before services, church members fast so their hunger will remind them of the Smiling God's hunger.

The Congregation has missionaries in Venezuela, Mexico and Double Mexico. Darryl teaches them Double Spanish.

Gordon hates and fears books.

The Book of Devouring is bound in centipede skin and has a pattern made of nails with wire strung between them on the cover, which makes the interlocking triangles of the centipedes hunting pattern. It is written on the yellow pages of a legal pad and contains diary-like entries of observations and many drawings of the triangular movement patterns. The invocation to summon a Smiling God involves wearing fox masks, jumping up and down and having a tray of milk and teeth.

hi!

NS/FW DNI, I AM A MINOR (vent/g0re accs are completely okay!)

hello everyone ~ ! this account is an agere + petre account for the littles that don't get much recognition, as well as a couple of more well known ones, but i'll do any (sfw) requests for (almost) anyone! my posts will have lots of pictures, so expect each one to be a little long ♡

request anything/anyone you'd like and specify what you're wanting of it/them!

[i.e. ; i'd like a cg/agere/petre moodboard/outfit/stimboard/scenarios of (animal, character, media, etc . . . ) please!]

OR something more like . . .

[i.e. ; i'd like an agere trip to (the waterpark, beach, aquarium, etc . . .) please!]

feel free to include preferred colours, any triggers you have and don't want in the post, and anything else you'd like me to know in the ask ~ using my askbox makes it a huge priority, even if it's already on my list of plans !

UP NEXT . . . BATS !

requests ; PALLAS CATS

my board plans as of right now ~ . . .

all fox species i can think of!

melanistic

silver

bat-eared

marble

arctic

bear cubs

red pandas

fawns

bunnies

beetles

jellyfish

dolphins

sharks

sea bunnies

squirrels

mice / rats

owls

various birds

otters

minks

ferrets

hyenas

lambs

clowns

spiders

. . . there are many more to come ~ ♡

to whoever is reading, whether this account is specifically for you or not, i hope you have a lovely day!

K, N and O please

K -Say something nice about someone in any of your fandoms

You! Are! So lovely! And funny! And supportive! Tbh everyone I've met through fanfic writing has been a delight.

I will also shout out @amadness2method who has been my sounding board for all my ideas, even the stupid ones, and been an overall joy to know

N - Name three things you wish you saw more or in your main fandom (or a fandom of choice)

I guess Loki is my main fandom in this instance, which is a bonkers thought to me given my general distain for the MCU as a whole.

-more comic appreciation and use of comic-canon. I mean more than just gebderfluid loki. I mean Loki's friendships with the young avengers, his love of musicals, his painful awareness of the narrative, his little outfits....

-more mobius looking and acting like a silver fox. Stop erasing his wrinkles!!! Stop giving him smooth features!!! Hes a crunply older man and thats hot you fucking idiots!!

-sylvie kills fascists. Recognise that. Shes fucking Right.

O - Choose a song at random, which ship or character does it remind you of

Beautiful James by Placebo

Been thinking about Sylvie/B15 today, I think it suits them. Something about Sylvie guiding B15 through her memories.

hermes mini kelly 17

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This Kelly, in the Sellier fashion, is in Rouge H chevre leather with gold hardware and has tonal stitching, two straps with entrance toggle closure, single rolled deal with and detachable shoulder strap. The interior is lined with Rouge H lambskin leather and has one open... This Kelly, in the Sellier fashion, is in Rose Lipstick chevre leather-based with gold hardware and has tonal stitching, two straps with entrance toggle closure, single rolled handle and removable shoulder strap. The design was first imagined by the then artistic head Jean-Louis Dumas in 2000 in some early sketches and was later released in Swift Leather. Some of these bags were created for particular boutique openings, and sport a definite foil stamping that denotes which retailer the bag was created for. The Kelly Doll has since been made in a range of colors and supplies from easy Swift leather to excellent combos of exotics. 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What fits inside an Hermes mini Kelly 20cmThese are my usual essentials on a daily. Even although she is a whole narcissist and filled with herself I don't know if she can be foolish sufficient to deliver a faux into Hermes where it would 100 percent be seen. It was one of those mornings after I felt like dressing up. I instantly knew that I wanted to take out my Hermes Mini Kelly. You can at all times contact us to be taught more about the item before inserting your order. Our staff is pleased to send additional photos and movies so you can place your order with confidence. Do not hestitate to contact us by telephone, email or social media to talk to certainly one of our luxurious experts. I knew I simply had to swing and go otherwise John would. It’s tricky on the market, the wind’s picked up, quite a bit of chatter,” stated a wired Seth on the seashore. With a history courting again to Quiksilver’s ‘mini-guns’ journeys in 2007 , Kanoa and Kelly have a a lot closer relationship than you might assume from two men with a 25-year-age gap. The Birkin bag is a personal accessory ofluggageor atotebyHermèsthat is handmade in leather and named after actress and singerJane Birkin. The bag is presently in style as asymbol of wealth as a end result of its excessive price and use by celebrities. Birkins are the most well-liked bag withhandbag collectors, andVictoria Beckhamowns over a hundred of them. Costs escalate in accordance with the type of leather-based and if unique skins have been used. The luggage are distributed to Hermès boutiques on unpredictable schedules and in restricted quantities, creatingartificial scarcityand exclusivity. The petite bag is in a good vintage form and situation. It has solely minor signs of utilization on the leather-based, slight cracks on the removable shoulder strap and few marks of wear on the solid 24 carat gold-plated hardware. Coveted and rare to find traditional Gold Epsom leather with gold hardware. For Hermès, what started as a maker of leather-based equestrian items for European noblemen would ultimately develop into one of the most storied style labels on the earth. In 1837, German-born French entrepreneur Thierry Hermès opened a saddle and harness purveyor in Paris. But competitors for the coveted carryalls is still fierce; Lovelace tells us one of the baggage she’d earmarked for West even offered out from beneath her. wikipedia handbags mini kelly 2 Every Kelly bag is special in its own way, but over the years some finishes have proved themselves to be a step above. Just as Grace Kelly was ahead of her time when it got here to fashion, the Kelly bag and its fans are perpetually ahead of the fashion sport. From Beyoncé to Victoria Beckham, the celebs who carry around the Kelly are icons in their very own right—and each icon needs a go-to designer handbag. As with the original, the Grace Handbag is available in a extensive range of stunning colours that will cater for everyone from the extrovert who needs to be seen, to the quiet woman who simply likes quality goods and to blend in.

Thousand

a Tyler Seguin one shot

a/n: I’m back! Last week was busy for me and this one is, too, but I have three other WIPs coming up after this one within the next little bit, so stay tuned. also idk if anyone else watches One Tree Hill (I know Tyler does 😉) but his family gives me major Nathan, Haley, Jamie, and Lydia Scott vibes in this one.

summary: still playing for the Stars, Tyler is recognized for his 1,000th career game and celebrates with his wife (the reader), family and team.

warnings: husband and dad Tyler being cute with his family and becoming a slightly silver fox (I think that def deserves a warning); hint of a daddy kink lollll

_____

February 22, 2025

Dallas

“Mama! Can I wear my new jersey from Uncle Jamie? Please?”

You pursed your lips, fastening the back onto your emerald earring as you looked at your five-year-old son’s reflection behind you in the mirror. You turned away from your vanity to meet him at eye level.

“Baby, you should wear Daddy’s jersey tonight,” you told him gently, rubbing his back. “We’re celebrating a really big milestone for him, so he’s gonna be recognized out on the ice, and we’re gonna be there with him, remember? I know it would mean a lot to him if you wore his jersey.”

Luca pushed his bottom lip out just a smidge, pouting just like Tyler was famous for doing. You bit your own bottom lip to hold back a laugh.

“Okay. Well, can I wear Uncle Jamie’s next game?” Luca bargained.  

You smiled at his tenacity and smoothed your hand over his crisp white dress shirt that you’d laid out for him. You put your forehead to his and assured, “Absolutely.”

Luca perked up and stood a little straighter at your promise.

“Thanks, Mama,” he said. You kissed his cheek and said, “You’re welcome, baby. Thank you for understanding.” He nodded and turned to leave the room, presumably to pull a 91 jersey from the ever-growing collection in his closet. He stopped short and turned back to look at you.

“Hey, Mama?” he began. “Hmmm?” you prompted, trying to fasten your necklace and suddenly wishing you’d had Tyler put it on you before leaving — not only was he much more capable, but the way he always kissed the nape of your neck after securing the clasp made you melt each time.

Luca paused, smiling down at his sock feet before lifting his gaze to you again.

“I’m really happy for Daddy,” Luca said with a smile so sincere it made you melt. You were such a sap for these Seguin boys.

You nodded, choking back tears. “That’s sweet, baby,” you said. “I’m really happy for him, too.”

_____

An hour later, after dressing yourself, your son, and your two-year-old daughter, you pulled into the private parking area within the gates, Luca bopping up and down in his car seat, ever anxious to get inside the arena. The moment you unloaded both kids, they took off for the door to the arena.

“Luca Paul Seguin, slow down, please!” you instructed in your best mom voice, fumbling to throw both your purse and the diaper bag over your shoulders. “Hold onto your sister’s hand, bub,” you requested.

Luca smiled brightly and turned toward Harper, extending his hand toward his toddling little sister, who took it with a giggle. You finally caught up to the two of them and scooped up your daughter as you stepped onto the elevator, headed to the front office floor. When the doors opened, you were greeted by Tom Holy, the Stars’ VP of communications who had become a close friend over the years.

“Here are the real stars of tonight’s show!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands once, making you laugh. Luca ran to him for a hug and Tom playfully dusted off Luca’s little shoulders that now donned his favorite black Seguin jersey.

“Nice jersey, Luc! Hey, I gotta tell you, though, we have something else for you and your sister to wear tonight — if you want to,” he said.

You shot Tom a warning look as he produced a black tote bag from the reception desk, telling him, “You did not.”

He gave you a wink and said, “Do you know us at all by now? Of course we did.”

Much to Luca’s delight, Tom pulled two home green jerseys from the bag, with white 91’s printed on the back and sleeves and the “A” adorning each chest. But the nameplate didn’t hold your last name — instead, it read “DADDY,” with “1,000” printed below the jersey number. Luca jumped up and down with the jersey in his hands, while Tom handed the smaller jersey for you to dress Harper in.

“And we got a little something for you, too,” he added, reaching his hand into the tote bag once more. Your eyebrows shot up, caught off guard.

“Why me?” you questioned, feeling completely undeserving.

“Because, he says it himself all the time — he wouldn’t be the person he is without you,” Tom told you earnestly. “Tonight we’re celebrating all of you.”

He handed you a small black box and you froze for a moment before he extended it further, insisting that you accept it. You slowly grasped the box and pulled it open. Inside lay a pin nearly mirroring the style of lettering on the back of the kids’ jerseys, but instead it read “Seguin - 91 - 1,000,” encrusted in diamonds and emeralds.

You covered your mouth with curled fingers, attempting to steel yourself so that the waterworks wouldn’t commence just yet. You warmed inside at the incredible kindness of the gesture, giving Tom a hug.

“Thank you, Tom,” you said softly. “You guys are always first class.” He waved you off as you retrieved the pin from its box and fastened it on the lapel of your long black blazer, paired with a lacy camisole, jeans and black heels. You propped Harper on the desk to switch out her jersey for the new one, Luca having already made his own outfit change.

_____

In the tunnel, you had Harper on your hip and held tightly to Luca’s hand to prevent him from running to the ice and interrupting warm-ups. Your kids were used to standing at the boards where they could watch the guys drill and give their dad knuckles on the glass — where he could tap his blade in front of them each time he skated past. But not tonight. They might not realize it for years to come, but tonight would be even more special than watching their dad skate in front of them.

After a few minutes, you felt a hand come to rest on your shoulder — Jim Nill’s. You smiled at him and leaned in for a hug as he greeted you warmly and gave Luca a fist bump.

“And this little one…” he added, tapping Harper’s nose lightly as she grinned up at him. “She’s gotten so big. She’s too cute — you sure she really belongs to Segs?”

You laughed and remarked, “Pretty certain, yeah. If you saw her dramatic side, or how she is with the dogs, you’d see the resemblance.” It was Jim’s turn to chuckle.

Tom sidled up next to the two of you and advised you on how the presentation would go.

“So, we’ll roll out the carpet, and you guys will head all the way down to the end. Jim and Bones will follow. Tyler will come and stand next to you guys on the ice and then we’ll do the presentations,” he instructed. “That sound okay?”

You nodded and smiled at Tom. “Yeah, it sounds great. Honestly, I’m just a little nervous about holding onto these two so none of us fall on our asses,” you half-joked.

“Well, Gramma can help with that.”

At the sound of the familiar voice behind you, you spun around and gasped, while Luca exclaimed, “You’re here!”

There stood not only Jackie, but also Paul — the two were always willing to come together for momentous occasions in their children’s lives, especially now that you and Tyler had given them the gift of grandchildren, and you were grateful. You had had no idea that they were coming, even having spoken to Jackie the day before, asking her once more if she was sure she didn’t want you to book her a flight to Dallas.

Tears welled in your eyes as you shook your head, completely at a loss for word as they flanked you. You squeezed each of them tightly and whimpered, “Does Ty know?”

Paul shook his head. “He has no clue,” he responded. Jackie added, “And the girls are up in the suite already. They wanted to watch it all up there.”

You could only shake your head repeatedly, barely having time to recover before hearing the PA announcer ask the fans to turn their attention to the ice. You dabbed the corners of your eyes with your knuckle and passed Luca duty off to Jackie, keeping a hold on Harper yourself, as Tom smiled and winked at the five of you.

“Not even a warning, Tom?” you teased, sniffling. He chuckled and squeezed your shoulder.

“No way,” he remarked. “Your reaction was priceless.” You shared another smile before you saw Rick stepping onto the green carpet near the boards.

“Here we go,” you breathed, leading your in-laws out to the ice past Rick as directed, not without him stopping you to give you a kiss on the cheek, squeeze Harper’s hand, and pat Luca on the back.

You stepped carefully along the fabric-covered frozen surface, concentrating on a beaming Tyler before you, Harper already reaching her arms out for him as he waved at her. You knew immediately that there was no point in fighting her on wanting to be held by her daddy, so as soon as you reached the end of the carpet and gave Tyler a peck, you handed her off to him, Tyler kissing her rosy cheeks.

The crowd “awww’d,” but you could only concentrate on the dumbfounded expression Tyler wore upon looking up from Harper’s “Daddy 91” jersey to smile at you before noticing his parents only a few feet behind. Rarely, if ever, left speechless, Tyler was completely in shock.

Jackie came forward to reach for Tyler, singing, “Surprise!” as she threw her arms around his neck.

“Oh, my god. I can’t believe you guys are here,” Tyler finally said, his voice shaky. Jackie kissed his cheek and pulled away to wipe tears from her eyes.

“We wouldn’t have missed this for the world, son,” Paul assured as the two men embraced.

After thanking his parents, Tyler crouched down to greet his boy — practically his own self, in miniature.

“Cool jersey, bubba,” Tyler said, glowing with pride as he nudged Luca’s chest and squeezed his hand.

“It says ‘Daddy 91’ on it!” Luca pointed out. Tyler giggled boyishly and kissed Luca’s forehead. “It sure does, doesn’t it,” he said, Luca nodding.

Tyler stood upright once more, snaking an arm around your waist as you held onto Luca’s shoulders in front of you, smoothing his hair affectionately. Tyler then noticed your new pin, running the back of his index finger over it and commenting, “Wow. This is unbelievable.” You could only nod.

“You look beautiful, baby. But what, no ‘Daddy’ jersey for you?” he asked softly with an ornery grin, making your cheeks warm as you pushed your shoulder into his chest. You shared a quiet laugh and he kissed your temple, then the PA announcer turned over the floor to Jim.

“Stars fans, you all know better than most just how much this night means to our number 91,” Jim began. “We as an organization have watched him grow, both as a person and as a player, since his fourth year in the league. We have witnessed the way he has blossomed, from an outstanding young player into a seasoned veteran. Tyler Seguin has become one of the most prominent leaders of this franchise, and I know I can speak for all of us when I say that we could not be more proud to call him a member of our family.”

The crowd cheered, so loudly that Jim had to pause, Tyler blinking back tears as he squeezed your hand tightly and nodded to the fans appreciatively. Even Harper began to clap, making Tyler laugh and kiss her sweetly, sniffling when he looked back to the crowd.

“Tyler, we thank you for the role that you have played thus far during your time as a Dallas Star, we look forward to many years and celebrations to come, and we recognize you tonight for reaching another milestone in your career in the National Hockey League — 1,000 games. We are thrilled to have your lovely wife and your beautiful family here with us tonight to celebrate you. Now I invite our captain, your dear friend, Jamie Benn, to join us and present you with gifts from your teammates, then Rick and I will proudly present you with gifts on behalf of the organization.”

You had held your emotions together decently thus far, but when Jamie glided over to you with a huge bouquet of white roses in one arm and a small gift box in the other hand, you felt tears trickle down your cheek. Jamie stopped in front of your family, greeting you first. He gently grasped your shoulder and kissed your cheek as he placed the bouquet in your arms.

“For you,” he spoke. “Love you. Thank you for everything you’ve done for him — for all of us.” You nodded, reaching up on your tiptoes to wrap your arm around his neck and whisper a thank you of your own into his ear, Jamie smiling at you tenderly when he pulled away.

“And for this guy…” Jamie began, extending the black box, which you now could see was marked with the Rolex logo, Tyler’s way as Tyler wrapped his arm around Jamie, hugging him tightly, the two of them exchanging private words of gratitude. You swiped at your tears as you watched Jamie pull back to kiss Harper’s cheek, making her squeal with delight at the attention her favorite uncle was showing her.

You all laughed, and Jamie turned his attention next to his godson. He bent at the waist to look Luca in the face, his wide grin growing even bigger. Jamie held out his fist and the two engaged in their special shake and bake handshake, Jamie ruffling Luca’s chestnut brown curls atop his head as he stood straight again.

“Love you, buddy,” Jamie told Luca, extending his hand for a low-five. Luca slapped his palm and beamed up at his beloved uncle. “Love you, too,” he confirmed, Jamie winking at him.

Next, Rick approached and presented Tyler with a gorgeous crystal award, engraved with Tyler’s name, the Stars logo, and the date and statistics from his 1,000th game against St. Louis a few nights before. Jim gifted Tyler a silver hockey stick from the Stars organization to commemorate the occasion, and Tyler thanked them both profusely, hugging them as the PA announcer asked the crowd to now look to the scoreboard for a video tribute.

This was one part of the evening you had known was coming — Tom had arranged for you and the kids to be filmed congratulating Tyler on the actual night of his 1,000th game, in the wives and girlfriends suite. You had inquired about who else was being asked to be part of the video, and Tom rattled off the names of some of Tyler’s closest friends, current and former teammates, and most respected fellow athletes — his sisters, Freddy, Derrek, Marchy, Tom Brady, Rob Gronkowski, Jordan Spieth, Dak Prescott, and many of the Stars he had played with for multiple seasons all made appearances, including Jamie, who smiled at you as he skated behind you to watch.

“1,000 games. Did you ever think we’d all be here?” Jamie asked you softly as the video started, glancing Tyler’s way.

You, too, looked toward your husband, his face lifted to the Jumbotron, and you noticed the way his handsome features had only become more distinguished with age and the few grey hairs sprinkled near his ears and in his beard. He always groaned when you jokingly pointed them out, but you loved them — in your eyes, they told the story of his life as a man, his life as a hockey player, his life as a dad, his life with you. This occasion was just another chapter of Tyler’s dream come true — your dream come true.

You glanced back at Jamie and nodded, smiling. “Actually... yeah,” you answered, a hint of surprise in your tone. “I think I did.”

_____

Late that night, long after you’d put the kids to bed — with Luca having insisted on sleeping in his new jersey — you and Tyler lay cuddled up on the couch, wine glasses now empty on the end table, feet entangled on the ottoman. The gifts Tyler had received were propped on the mantle across from you, out of reach of children’s hands and dogs’ paws. Tyler kissed the top of your head, inhaling your scent deeply as you absentmindedly fiddled with the button on his loosened dress shirt collar.

“Are you happy?” you asked softly. Tyler breathed a chuckle. “I don’t think happy even begins to cover it,” he told you, smoothing his hands up and down your bare arms. “It’s more like… amazed. But it’s not even because of the 1,000th game.”

You rolled your head toward his to look up at him, meeting his gaze. “What do you mean, baby?” you asked.

He glanced at the new additions to his memorabilia collection and then back at you, the corners of his mouth twitching into a thoughtful smile.

“The ceremony was great. The best. I’ll remember that for the rest of my life,” he told you. “But what I’ll remember most is the way you looked, carrying the baby and just smiling at me walking onto the ice. And the moment I saw my parents with Luca between them.” Tyler’s voice quivered as he spoke, and you tightened your grip around his waist, laying your stomach against his to lean up and kiss his jaw. Tears shone in his eyes as he gave you a grateful look, pulling your hand to his lips to kiss your fingers.

“My career has been far better than I deserve,” Tyler added. “But what makes me the happiest is just getting to do life every day with you, and the babies. And my parents and sisters, too. I’m just really feeling blessed.”

As he sniffed, you pressed a kiss firmly to his lips and said, “Life with you is more than I could’ve ever wished for, Ty. Every day is like a celebration of the love you and I share. Everything else, like tonight — it’s just icing on the cake.” Tyler nodded, giving you one more kiss as he whispered his gratitude for you.

Gwynna - F Firbolg x F Human (Reader) // NSFW

The pictures do not belong to me. I only created the mood board. Do not repost my work anywhere.

Content: NSFW/Lemon; mentions of deceit, flirting, an obsession with fruity lip gloss, kissing, sort of strip tease (reader), nipple play (kissing, touching), fingering + orgasming, fluff

Wordcount: 2708

“Tropemas” Summary: for months, the firbolg hadn’t made any progress in her module, until you found out she had already passed it

Notes: Gwynna was my absolute favourite to write and I fell in love with her so this was me intending to personally save best for last - though my gnoll Ollie comes close second. This was intended to be my last tropemas story, but things got away with me and Farren the lich will be here soon. For now, enjoy my absolute sweetheart Gwyn <3

Masterlist // “Tropemas” Masterlist

Being lied to stung. It stung like an anchor breaking the surface of the ocean as your stomach fell, knees weak and heart aching, but not all lies. Only some.

This lie did the opposite.

Finding the firbolg you had tutored for the last eight weeks leaving a classroom she had no business being in - not with her grades, not without passing the module she came to you for help in - hadn’t left you struggling for breath. Beyond the fog clouding your thoughts, the deceit turned you against the wall before she saw you too.

In that same classroom, Silverstone - a silver fox of a wyvern-shifter - had taught you the year before, in the year Gwynna studied in. Only he taught the optional module, and it was all he led. If Gwynna hadn't passed the one you tutored, her compulsory module, she couldn't have taken it.

Which seemed odd, as she'd failed her past two exams.

The library remained ever quiet when you set up your usual booth with old textbook notes and the textbook itself, decorated in part by Gwynna's doodling as she tired of your lessons; small flowers matching those she wove into her bright hair, like the flowers she grew at home far from the city, or small notes you later stumbled upon, on paper torn from her notepad, and always little compliments: 'you looked cute today', 'i love your perfume', 'try the tea with honey i promise you'll love it!'

Many of your prior tutees had passed the module with your help, yet Gwynna’s grades only worsened since spending longer hours with you. Her lack of focus had changed how you tutored, though it was obvious now her inability to settle wasn’t through boredom or confusion, but because she already knew it all.

You greeted the golden-skinned firbolg with the same smile as always, smothered in her warm hug. Standing “only” at seven foot - apparently short for firbolgs - and always carrying the scent of the woods and flowers, you returned the close hug and breathed deep. She was glowing in the sunlight, wearing wide, flared trousers and a warm jumper.

"I bought tea," you said. Her wide ears twitched as you handed her a cup. "Three sugars, no honey."

"No honey?"

"They didn't have any, Gwyn. It's a university library café." Her sigh lifted your smile, and maybe a little cruelly, too. "I wanted to try something today. Practice exam."

Her voice weakened. "Tea without honey and a practice exam? Do you hate me?"

The knot in your chest forced you to take her hand with a small squeeze before her crestfallen face ruined you. She played you too well after weeks together: always with the soft, doe eyes and pinned back ears. Gwynna exhaled - her next words inevitably to question if she still had a test, until you closed her warm fingers around a pen.

Baby blue eyes narrowed. "What are you doing for an hour?"

“Looking over some old material.” You smiled, not ignorant to her throat bobbing. The textbook for Silverstone’s module rested before you. “Never hurts to refresh it.”

Her lips parted on a breath many times, so close to speaking. It was your pen bitten by her teeth and not the first - you had separate pens for her now. She hadn’t yet opened the test when she straightened. "Did you reconsider tutoring more modules?"

“Like Silverstone’s?” Beneath overgrown bangs, she looked to you with a soft nod. “Maybe once you pass your module, I’d reconsider.”

The pen returned to her glossy lips. On the first evening of coffees and yawns, Gwynna asked of other modules but this was the only one you tutored. Not even a week later, she failed her exam. Had it counted toward her final grade, the sessions would have been far longer beforehand and from then - until a second mock she again failed, the nights together in your corner of the library ran long after dark.

With her final only over a month from today, her grades from practice exams were still low. You almost wanted to see how long she could pretend for.

"Do you want to try the tea?"

The small, paper cup dripped damp marks onto her unopened test paper and you smiled. "Don't distract yourself, Gwyn."

"I'm not! Isn't yours so plain?"

"Will you at least try the test if I try it?"

In the same sweet tone you pretended to reconsider tutoring for Silverstone, Gwynna passed her tea. “I might.”

The sweetness stuck on your tongue; too sickly, far too hot, but you loved it. Not for the tea but the fruity flavour of her lipgloss on the rim. It wasn’t the tea warming through you, tightening your chest. Her lips curled; she could read you too well, but not well enough to know why you were flushed.

"Finish the test."

Every new question, she stalled. Her pen spun in her slender fingers or her tail twitched by your hip. Those feigned moments of confusion had before guilted you for failing to help her, but tonight you sipped your tea and watched when her forehead scrunched.

Then she would deliberately choose the wrong answer.

"Worst score yet, Gwyn." Only someone with a complete understanding of which answers were right could fail so spectacularly, but she winced all the same. “Your mock next week,” your said quietly - there wasn’t one, not with the final so close, but Gwynna had no idea as she looked up. “Would a change of environment help? If could bring honey tea to yours.”

“No.” The pain sharp in your chest couldn’t be only the desire to catch her in the act of failing, but you fought it. Gwynna brushed her long fringe from her rounding eyes before touching her hand to yours. "I have sweeter tea at home."

"Friday?"

Friday worked.

From then to Friday, you shared one more evening bundled in the corner booth. Gwynna never once touched a pen or a textbook in the session. For hours, she leaned against you, legs pressed tight and her tail wound to your ankles. So far your favourite night together as she spoke of home - even inviting you back in the holidays to the woods. Despite her teasing for your scrawled handwriting, nothing warmed you more than her warm hands taking yours, tracing the smudged ink and she held it until the end of your session.

Dressing in the outfit she always complimented most on Friday evening was coincidence, nothing more.

Her single flat off wasn’t far from you, both living off of campus, though Gwynna distanced from city centre. The flat’s cosy quiet led you into a tiny lounge where she hugged you close - “look at you! So pretty,” she’d whispered, leaning down - before leading you round with a hand in yours to the smaller kitchen.

In plain sight, Silverstone’s textbook tucked beneath the module you taught on her coffee table. 

"Before I make tea," she hummed, filling the kettle. Her hair swung in a thick plait down to the middle of her back as she turned, eyes bright. "You're not making me do another practice test are, you?"

"Would you throw me out if I did?"

"Yes."

“Maybe later,” you teased. Her lips twitched but she held a frown until reaching for mugs on a shelf much taller than you. “How are you finding things?"

Her voice warmed the small room, backed by the small clinks of her spoon in the mugs. Without asking, she made your tea how you liked - frowning and grumbling at the lack of sugar as she did, before offering you a biscuit. Homemade, so you couldn't resist.

"How do you find our sessions, too?"

Gwynna blinked over her shoulder before winking. "Highlights of my week."

Streetlights softened the smile on her dark lips. They glistened with her fruity lipgloss, pulled into a wider smile when you welcomed the hot tea in her favourite mug; favourite for her favourite person, she'd whispered, and the golden tint to her skin flushed.

"I forgot to ask..." She hummed so gently you nearly refrained from asking, scared of upsetting her. Though she had lied to you for weeks, so spoke softly, casually. "How do you find Silverstone? Do you like him?"

"Oh, I love him! He teaches almost like you, actually-"

If you hadn’t reached for her hand, her sweet tea and mug would have shattered by your feet. From curses to apologies, she stammered, quieting the more she backed away from the kitchen. She never moved her hand from yours.

Silverstone had been your favourite lecturer. To hear her compare you was a high compliment and a reassurance that your style of tutoring wasn’t an utter failing. Had she not refused to look back at you, the compliment would’ve meant much more.

One, soft gasp came at her legs pressing back against the sofa. She had nowhere to run to with her fingertips still brushing yours. Her fringe shadowed her closed eyes. With every call of her name, her ears turned back, so you tiptoed. Her frilly collar tickled your palm but it was enough to lower her for your lips to meet.

All seven foot of her fainted back. Her arms stroked around your waist until you followed her down. She lost all timidity in settling you on her lap and turning her face against yours, foreheads together.

"You kissed me. You just kissed me."

"And I'd do it again, Gwyn.” Her breath came as a whine when you loosened her collar to stroke her neck. “If you let me."

Her kiss was your answer. She tasted of sweet fruits, more than just the gloss of her lips, more than the tea still warm on her tongue, like she was yours to taste and hold. The warm hand then stroking your hip tightened, gently running lower until she was squeezing your ass and shifting you closer across her wide thighs.

"I never meant to lie," she whispered. Like the reminder of her deceit could lose you, she ran her nose to yours and indulged again until you gasped. "That was... that was a lie. I did mean to lie to you. I didn't want you to stop tutoring me, and-"

“Gwyn, none of that matters. Not when you’re trying to undress me.”

Even leaning back beneath you, her face rose above yours. She softened her kiss and her fingers before tentative on your back dipped beneath the waist of your trousers, low enough you hummed into her lips and louder with her tongue sweet to yours. Loose strays on her nape ran through your fingertips, holding her closer with parted mouth kisses following your jaw lower. 

"When did you pass the module?"

She mumbled something into your throat so low you couldn't hear, and sighed. "The day after we met."

"Gwynna, that... you never needed my help?"

Her cheeks flushed a warmer shade. "I nearly corrected you sometimes. I'm sorry! I'm," she rasped, curling you close when you reared back, jaw fallen low. "I can make it up to you?"

Heat rounded her stare, eyelashes fluttering in a deliberate, blatant look down and up to your warming face. She was the one to unbuckle your belt, but you rose from her thighs with a parting kiss to stand, bending lower to undress.

Gwynna curled her fingers into the edge of the sofa cushions. Standing before her in only your underwear made you hesitate, but her soft, whispered plea undid the clasp of your bra. Her groan muffled behind bitten lips though she never once looked away when your thumbs tucked behind the hem of your underwear, and they fell.

Nothing could delay her any longer with you bare and in reach. The strength of a firbolg dragged you returned to straddling her lap. Her thighs spread wider and parted your legs, bound close at her mercy. Though with the way she trembled, a whisper of your name before she lifted a hand to your chest, you had never felt more in control.

"How are you going to make it up to me, Gwyn?"

Her smile was your last sight before she stole your breath and tasted your moan. Sweet and warm, delicate like the careful touch exploring you. The smooth pad of her thumb stroked your nipple and shivers bloomed beneath her touch

Her lips silenced you. Sweet and warm, delicate like her touch as she explored you. The pad of her thumb stroked your nipple and she ran her fingertips down your spine, sending small shivers through you.

Not following the falling of her palm left you crying and holding her shoulders tight. Her finger stroked low and entered you to the knuckle. Gwynna’s laugh softened to a shy smile.

“Like this,” she said and curled her finger to stroke deeper, following your fluttering walls around her. “Is this okay?”

That she asked warmed you, but you were quicker to burn when your body clenched against two crooked fingers. “More. More, please.”

It was an oversight, not to follow her fallen hand; an oversight making you cry and curse and clutch her shoulders tight when she eased a thick finger between your legs, a sheepish smile lifting her lips when she looked up.

“More,” she echoed. Only her hand cupping your nape held you from falling back when your back arched in pleasure. With her fingers finding a hastening rhythm, her thumb brushed against your clit before rubbing it firmer. “More?”

She held you tighter when you panted, “give me everything.”

Her blouse fell loose on her arms under your hands until your bodies pressed flush, the heat of her stirring through to where her fingers slowed. Gwynna stole the breath you desperately needed when your eyes rolled back, the coaxing of her three fingers lifting you to your peak.

Gwynna’s breathing deepened with yours. Each stroke of her fingers came against your hips grinding down, her hair loose under your tugging. “What do you need? You’re so close,” she hummed, nestling against your chest and sucking your nipple into her mouth. “So pretty.”

She was there, touching you where you needed to be touched, breathing as hard and as hot as you were. "How does it feel? What do you need?"

“I need you. To touch-”

Her cosy flat erupted with light. Gwynna’s kisses marked your chest above your racing heart but never slowed the firm touch on your swollen clit. Through your legs trembling and walls clenching around her still moving hand, she prolonged the intense pleasure until your cries softened into quieter moans against her shoulder.

Warm arms curled you to her chest, slumped and still tingling. Her nose bumped yours and on lifting your glossy stare, her lips parted to suck your release from her fingers. The teasing wink as she licked you from her lips made your stomach flutter.

"Was that okay?"

"More than okay," you mumbled. "Lie to me anytime."

Her forehead creased. "We never finished our tea."

"Gwyn, we won't finish them."

Nestled into your throat, her lips pulled up. She nibbled at your jaw and laid close, the both of you swaying until the rush faded and your breathing slowed. In the pause before you begged Gwynna to carry you to her bedroom - your legs still trembled, her hand running up to your thigh - you tipped her chin up. Her eyes closed in anticipation of a kiss which you surrendered too before swallowing a laugh.

"You'll find this funny," you began, and she hummed, tucking hair behind your ear. "I planned on asking you out when I was no longer your tutor."

Gwynna's wide ears drooped. "This took so long because of me?"

"That depends." As you had, she shivered from the brush of your fingertips running along the cups of her bra; it would be off in minutes. "How long have you wanted me?"

"Why do you think I wanted you as my tutor?"

“Take me to your bedroom,” you whispered.

Gwynna laid you down on her bed, where the night drifted passed in many kisses and returned favours, until you woke to do it again.

Prompt from @mermaidelephant : 

Two of your characters have to infiltrate the estate of a noble obsessed with fashion. How would they dress and how comfortable/uncomfortable would they be in their new clothes? How do they feel about the noble’s fashion hobby?

--

This had to be one of the more…interesting…tasks Mitsuba and Gen had encountered during their hunt for two particular Uchiha men. Hints of their whereabouts had taken them to strange places, but this was by far the strangest—and, perhaps, the most dangerous. Nobles weren’t to be trifled with, after all. Not openly, and especially not by two rogue shinobi connected to one of the most well-known clans of the land, uninvited and unwelcome.

Ah, if Butsuma or her brothers caught wind of this…

But, no. Intel was intel. If Mitsuba worried before there was a problem, it would only distract her from their goal.

There had been reports of an eccentric and grossly wealthy noblewoman called Tenryū Momoka hiring the Uchiha clan to guard the caravans that brought her deliveries of extravagant riches and garments thieves would fetch a pretty penny from—if they could make it out alive. Uchiha presence, though, summarily ended any pilfering.

The reports, however, were only rumors. They needed proof. Receipts, correspondence, sightings… Anything that would lay the next stepping stones and set their search on the right path. And, in order to get that information, they had to play a part.

Namely...

Infiltrating the noblewoman’s manor as one of her several well-dressed and perhaps equally noble guests. 

It wasn’t a huge issue as far as appearances went—everyone wore a mask on the manor grounds during the so-called ‘one-hundred day festival,’ so their identities were safely concealed.

The masks resembled those the future ANBU would wear. Porcelain. A bit heavy. In the shapes of fox faces and cats and boars. The ones Mitsuba conjured up through her wood release and painted with swift and sharp smears of paint, however, were much lighter and only noticeably different if someone got much too up close and personal. The lenses of her glasses did press up against the eyeholes uncomfortably, but she wouldn’t have to bear it for long. They’d be quick. In and out in less than an hour. Any longer, and they ran the risk of getting caught.

“I can hardly fathom this type of lifestyle,” Gen muttered at her side, keeping close perhaps not out of necessity, but because they were both adrift in this strange and whimsical world of fashion and faceless forms that seemed so detached from their reality, and if they drifted too far away from each other they may never find their way back. They’d be forever lost, flitting about and chatting and laughing and drinking. “This is a waking nightmare, Mitsu.”

“Only if you think of it that way. But it is definitely distasteful.” She eyed him curiously through the narrow eyeholes of her mask, wondering if he’d ask why she had no trouble with lace-up strings or buttons or frills or the more restrictive seams of these ‘strange and foreign’ fashions when he himself seemed to squirm and itch to return to his sleeveless top and haori and loose-fitting pants. It hadn’t been easy, tracking down the woman’s past stolen outfits, but it had been a stroke of luck that they only needed minor alterations to fit well. 

Whoever Tenryū Momoka was, she had access to the far corners of the world, not limited to their land or their culture alone. Western styles Mitsuba was familiar with, once upon a time and likely forever, rang true in fitted pants and double-breasted coats lined with golden embroidered accents. And the full, satin skirts of what could have been Victorian or Georgian-era gowns. She’d never cared to learn the distinction—and, besides, in this world, they probably had different names. Something that even resembled an intricate and flowing Indian sari was displayed by one of the masked guests among them.

If she and Gen hadn’t been dressed in the same vibrant hues and patterns as everyone else, their drab and neutral forest-tones would have stuck out like two sore thumbs.

She did wonder, though, if Momoka had gifted these outfits to her fellow nobles as costume or if they were only on loan until the festivities reached their end. Festivities that also had influences from far-away, much bolder and free than what she’d come to know in this world.

Moving through the crowd, however, was simple due exactly to that boldness and freedom. No one noticed two guests slipping away into the shadows of the manor halls, where the world fell still, and almost quiet, when the doors were closed and when they crept further and further in so that the sounds and music outside were nothing but a whisper.

Inside the manor—inside was possibly worse. More than a manor, she’d go so far as to call it a museum, expertly crafted and curated and creepy, with a plethora of fashions that mirrored those found outside and included headwear, hats, and styled wigs. Some hung up on display boards, some fitted to wooden mannequins—

Gen gripped her shoulder as they came to a halt in the middle of the strange exhibit. “We may have made a mistake coming here.”

“Have you always been such a scaredy-cat, Gen-sensei? It’ll be over soon.”

Mitsuba opened the nearest door—and wished she hadn’t.

She stood before the rows upon rows of fanned-out kimonos suspended on stand-up hanging racks and briefly felt the sting of a not-so-far-off memory that involved her late mother’s own garment. No—not so much a sting, but a shiver that raced down her spine. The colors of the fanciful garb before her took on dull, cool silver and blue hues all awash in the hazy hauntings of the past that no longer, if ever, welcomed her. 

She closed the door with a definitive snap. “…Let’s not go in there.”

“Who did you say was a ‘scaredy-cat,’ again?” Gen eyed her with a wry smile, but she ignored it and crept to the next room with purpose.

No matter how many doors they opened, the contents were much the same. No signs of a study, of personal quarters, of a library, or anything useful, and their time ran short.

It wasn’t ideal, but…

Until the hundred days of revelry were up, they had quite a few chances to return and run a thorough search.

Daisies & Daffodolls Day 17: AG Series (Part 6 of 6)

Again, Olive only has one outfit, so most of their list is a wish list.

Meet Outfit: denim shorts, yellow t-shirt, cute mismatched socks, blue slip-on shoes, silver necklace from their sister, Superman cane

Sleepover Outfit: yellow pajamas, slippers, stuffed fox

School Outfit: green jeans, superhero t-shirt, sneakers, stack of homework

Soccer Uniform: black shorts, purple jersey, knee socks, shin guards, cleats, soccer ball

Spring Outfit: Yellow, blue, and purple knit tunic, purple knit pants, orange sandals (actually knitting the tunic and pants now but not done yet)

Dance Suit: pastel suit with polka dots or flowers or something else fun, suede shoes, corsage

Gardening Set: trowel, seed packets, watering can, gloves, plastic flowers

Prayer Set: prayer mat, two hijab scarves

Sleepover Set: board game, pizza in box, popcorn, madlibs books

Can I request an outfit for a silver fox therian? Masc/Androgynous pls!

Masc/androgynous silver fox outfit board!

Requested by; @unnamedboxvoid

Hope you like this! Let me know if you'd like anything changed :>

What I Would Add To/ Change About: Devil May Cry 5

Hello again! Today is March 8th! Two years ago, Devil May Cry 5 was released, over ten years after Devil May Cry 4. Such a long gap caused many to believe that Capcom abandoned the franchise, but to our surprise at the 2018 E3 conference, after years of silence and tentative hope brought by a picture of Reuben Langdon and Johnny Yong Bosch in mocap gear, the day we dreamed of happened: DMC was back!

Now here’s the million dollar question: Did Devil May Cry 5 live up to it’s fans’ expectations after all those years?

I’m pleased to say, YES!

To the whole collective fandom, this game was totally Smokin’ Sexy Stylish!

To me individually...

Well...

It wasn’t really what I’d thought it’d be.

This is all just my own personal opinion and if you disagree with me, that’s perfectly okay! If you’d like to talk about a point I made, please let me know, but please try to respect my opinion as I respect yours.

Fair warning, I won’t talk about online stuff. I’m not an online gamer, that’s just not me.

Well, with out further ado, let’s get started!

SPOILERS AHEAD!

Like the last time, I’d like to start with the positives before getting to the things I wasn’t 100% on board with.

Combat. It’s DMC, and it’s styling way past any other game that dare challenge it.

The music: Frustration is getting bigger! BANG, BANG, BANG! Pull my Devil Trigger!

NICO. I jut love that crazy chick. And yay! Nero has a friend!

The death screen changes were SO helpful. Giving an option to come back in the middle of a fight saved me so much time! As long as it stuck to in-game currency...

The backgrounds are so detailed, Redgrave City looks amazing! And I was really happy when they brought back that gorgeous gothic architecture for Sparda’s mansion!

Bosses are tough, but not to unfair levels. It really makes you feel awesome when you finally knock that last bit of health out.

I’ll never miss an opportunity to fight Vergil. One for having an opponent that doesn’t tower over you, two for his fights just being great as usual. And after everything he’s done, yeah, it feels good to beat the ever loving crap out of him.

Dante dance. I cannot do it justice.

Lady’s new outfit is so cool!

Patty! Call her back Dante!

MOTORCYCLE! BUZZSAWS!

Dante has officially embraced being a silver fox. I salute him.

LORE!!!!!!

NERO! NERO! NERO! BEST BOY, SPICY SON I LOVE YOU SO MUCH YOU PRECIOUS BLOODTHIRSTY SWEETHEART!

You can see just how much detail went into the game. From the blood tubes staining you to V decomposing, it’s astounding.

Nero got a Devil Trigger! And it’s GORGEOUS! ...I do miss his persona, though...

Seeing all our favorite demon hunters again! I missed these guys!

Okay, but before we get to what I wish they added, I want to say something.

I have a lot of issues with this game, but while I can blame some of that on the writing and design teams, a lot of it is also on me having spent years basically imagining the story that would be perfect for me and probably me only. So a lot of my problems may boil down to the game not matching my imaginary scenario, so take my suggestions with a grain of salt.

Now here are some things that could have possibly made me like the game more.

ADD:

MORE LADY AND TRISH. These women were screwed when it came to the plot and they could have done more, what the heck?! Maybe some scenes where they try to process what happened to them, have them distraught at having been used by Urizen to help him destroy the city and blame themselves. Have Lady blow up at Dante for not warning them about what was really going on, for letting them go in unprepared, let her tell him that the blood of the city is on their hands because he kept his mouth shut. Lady is a huge influence in his life, and I feel like this would really open his eyes to how much he messed up.

As for Trish, she knows better than anyone else that you can really screw up and hurt someone that cares about you. Maybe after everything goes down, she could be the one to encourage everyone that, “Yeah, we messed up big time. But sitting around here hating ourselves isn’t getting anything done. So get up, we’ve got a city to fix.” I feel like this could really show how human she’s gotten from being with Dante and the others. I think it’d make her look more multi-dimensional.

And how come Vergil can get a DLC when he was in the game even less than they were?! The women in these games deserve equal representation, Capcom’s DMC developers!

And as for Vergil, maybe make his deal less ambiguous? I mean, the whole “Is Vergil really redeemed?” debate is really bringing out the worst in people. Like yeah, keep it ambiguous to the characters, it makes sense for Vergil to not show something “weak” like remorse to others, but show it in a way that the player can easily interpret.

Give Vergil some missions to himself where he takes in exactly what he’s done. Have him see Redgrave City, where he was born, devastated, people he may have once known reduced to ashes and know this is all because of him. That just because he wanted to be stronger, he’s destroyed lives, because even if he had no intentions of doing so, the split went against his wishes and left him weak to see a tyrant slaughter countless people without any goal. Have him realize that even if that was unintentional, he still nearly almost ended humanity once before with a sound mind (Temen-ni-gru) so he can’t pretend he’s in the right and that he’s actually probably a disgrace to Sparda’s legacy. Have him run into a sobbing little boy crying that his mother was killed and he lost his brother, maybe in the ruins of the family home. Have Vergil look into a mirror and see Mundus, have him realize that he’s no better than the demon that killed his mother and imprisoned him for years. Have him hallucinate Sparda disowning him for going against everything Sparda believed in. Have him see Eva sadly tell him that she wanted to save him, but seeing what he’s become lament that she lost her life trying to save a monster. And when Dante tells him Nero’s his son, he freezes. He abandoned and maimed his own child, left him for his brother to care for. Dante sees this and doesn’t know what to do? Is Vergil...sorry? Can he take a chance on him this time?

Or leave him an unrepentant jerk that’s just upset he still can’t win and expressly tells Nero he’s only going to cut down the Qliphoth down so he can fight Nero again and because he doesn’t want to give up Yamato.

And for that matter, make V’s goal clearer to the player. Have him expressly state, when he’s by himself with his familiars with no one that he can manipulate around that:

A. He wants to stop Urizen and prevent anymore devastation as atonement for his crimes as Vergil and part of the reason he wants to merge again is that while he does want to fight Dante again, he deserves to die as Vergil or defeat Dante and fix his mistakes by himself, realizing that Dante’s been cleaning up his messes for years. 

B: He wants his power back, his mind got stuck in the human half and he can’t stand how weak it is. Everyone is just a stepping stone for him to be stronger.

Actually have the characters react to the Qliphoth. Seriously, everyone is crazy apathetic to all the death and destruction that they failed to stop. Aren’t they supposed to be the “heroes?” The only character this would make sense for, ironically, the one who actually seems to remember it exists at the end, Nero. Yeah. Remember how he didn’t care about anything but Kyrie in 4? Remember how the developers said he would just walk away after Dante shot the pope if Kyrie wasn’t there? I’m not say he needed to stay apathetic, I’m just saying it doesn’t make sense for him to be the righteous character. 

Have Dante at some point just look out at Redgrave and see that if he had told the others what was going on, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. “...This didn’t have to happen.” Have this weigh on him. He’ll still act goofy, but he realizes that his selfishness can have real consequences. 

Have him realize that he really hurt Nero with what he said and that he used Nero’s trauma and insecurity against him in the heat of the moment and it’s causing a rift between him. When he’s alone, make him privately promise to make it up to him later and actually apologize at some point near the end. Dante should know from his experiences with Vergil that insecurity can lead someone down the wrong path and that if he doesn’t do something he could lose one of the few positive relationships he has.

Have Nico have at least one freak out at everything around her and realize that she might not be as ready for this as she thought. She hasn’t experienced something like this before like the others. Nero comforts her and it makes their friendship grow stronger.

When Nero starts talking about family, he should acknowledge that while he is related to Vergil, they’re not really a family yet until they actually work for it, and that he knows what a real family is like, the ones who adopted him and were there for him (Kyrie’s parents, Credo, Kyrie, Nico, Dante, Lady, Trish, etc.).

Make it clearer that Vergil isn’t forgiven for his crimes, but that they’re willing to give him a chance. His last one.

Alright, now for the overall changes.

CHANGE:

The entire ending. Instead of Dante going down with Vergil, Vergil stops him and tells him that his life is here, with people that haven’t hurt him like he has. Dante tries to protest, says he can’t leave Vergil free to do whatever, but Vergil gives a bittersweet smile and tells him he can’t stop him, but it’s obvious Vergil’s not going to do anything again. When Dante gets desperate and tells Vergil he can’t leave him again, Vergil tells Dante he’ll be back, once he’s cleaned up his own mess for once; he’s the older brother after all. With that, Vergil goes to fix his mistake.

Dante’s left behind by his brother again. Instead of brushing things under the table, Nero is furious with Dante for never telling him the truth about his family. Especially after he was left uncertain about the future and looked to Dante for guidance, Nero feels betrayed. Dante understands and apologizes. Nero’s too upset to accept and tells Dante he needs time to think before he’s ready to talk to him again. Instead of begging Nero to stay and keep a connection he desperately needs, Dante lets him go, realizing that if he wants to fix things, he needs to start learning how to talk about how he actually feels instead of covering things up and unintentionally hurting those he loves.

Vergil destroys the Qliphoth, but doesn’t leave the Underworld. Realizing just how much he’s sinned, starting all the way back to Temen-ni-gru, he resolves to not go back to the human world until he’s made himself one worthy of being a Son of Sparda, finally understanding what that really means. Descending into the Underworld, he won’t leave until he’s eliminated those that would harm the world his brother, father and son protect so hard. This could be the start of his own spin-off series that would focus more on the demon lore in the games and take place entirely in the Underworld with Vergil struggling to be a better person and take responsibility for his own actions. Devil May Cry: Atonement, maybe.

Nero heads back home with Nico but doesn’t read V’s book. Hurt from his betrayal, he puts it in a box and seals it up for Vergil’s maybe return. When Nico starts talking about how Agnus is the reason she’s alive, she also acknowledges that she already has a real father and family that love her and subtly (and stutteringly) implies Nero’s a part of that, cementing that Nero has a family that loves him and is there for him. Nero thanks her  and the two descend into silence for a bit before they start mocking each other and end up laughing before Nico realizes Nero’s crying. When she starts freaking out, he explains that he’s scared he’s still not strong enough to protect them, but before Nico can say anything, the phone rings. Answering it, a voice says, “You don’t have to be.” Looking out front the two see Kyrie and Patty, decked out in hunting gear, a phone in Kyrie’s hand. Smiling at them, she says into it, “We’ll protect each other.” Running out of the van, Nero scoops Kyrie up in a hug. When Patty starts complaining about them ignoring her, Nico pulls her away and tells her not to interrupt. After a bit, the group looks out at the horizon and vow to fight together, not letting themselves fall to the bitterness that led to this mess. Seeing some demons approach and watching his crew get ready, Nero smiles before smirking and gets ready to throw down. “Let’s rock!” Devil May Cry: Forsaken.

Dante looks out over Redgrave from his childhood home, silently miserable. After a while, Lady and Trish come over and try to talk, but he cuts them off with an apology. Fully realizing how his inability to let other people in nearly got them all killed, he encourages them to leave so they don’t end up like that again. Stunned from Dante apologizing, the two are silent. Then Lady angrily asks, “What the hell?! Just how dumb are you?!” She tells him that yeah he really screwed up this time, but they’re not going anywhere! He’s an idiot, but he’s THEIR idiot, and they’re not leaving him alone. They need him and he needs them. Trish tells him that if he has time to mope, he has time to clean up the city. The girls begin to walk back to the city and tell him to hurry up. A genuine smile on his face, Dante looks to his family’s home one more time, sheds some tears and walks away, from his past to his new family. Devil May Cry 6 will pick up on what happens next.

If Resident Evil can have like 50 spin-offs, why can’t DMC?

Alternatively, I’m also open to the suggestion of Vergil being stuck as V for the rest of his life. Karmic punishment at it’s finest.

In all honestly, Vergil was really unnecessary to bring back. Like, just make him DLCs, his whole story is done. It just feels like fanservice and the writers banking on a popular character to bring in sales. I also feel like the game bends itself over backwards to please him (back to life, cheat coded to power, no more nightmares, gets to fight Dante whenever he wants, gets a son who wants his acknowledgement he didn’t have to raise, crimes are basically swept under the rug) while everyone else gets kind of screwed over (Dante has to leave his friends behind, Nero’s abandoned again, Lady and Trish are captured and get no screen time, V’s familiars are gone, millions are dead).

I think Urizen and V should have been their own things: I liked the idea of Urizen being the general of Mundus that attacked Dante’s house (his ACTUAL reason for fighting) and V being Mundus’ son who was abused and bonded with his henchmen who decided to become a devil hunter in vengeance for his mistreatment. I dunno, I feel bad V (who legitimately creeped me out) was just made into a convenient little redemption arc.

Nero’s character arc really should have been something else. I think he should have learned throughout the story to stop caring what others thought about him (a trait that should have been visible in 4 if it was going to be such a big deal in 5) and learn to trust his own strength. He should’ve realized that he doesn’t need to prove anything to Dante, he’s never going to be the same and he should be happy with who he is. Also, wanting Vergil’s acknowledgement doesn’t make sense. He may be his biological father, but literally the only things Nero knows about him is that he ripped his arm off, started the apocalypse, got millions killed, manipulated him and wants to kill the guy who was actually like a dad to him. Biological ties can only count for so much.

Alternatively, his arc could have been about becoming a more compassionate person. Like I said earlier, it’d make sense if he didn’t care about anyone other than Kyrie being in trouble. And remember when he tried to kill an armor he thought had a human in it in 4? Along with the seemingly human Agnus? Have Dante worried Nero might go down the wrong path. Have him tell Nero about Vergil WAY earlier (months after 4) and have Nero worried if he’ll turn out like that. Nero actually had more potential to be dark than Dante, and I feel like that in trying to make him look like a perfect hero in 5, they had to make Dante look worse (keeping secrets, ignoring suffering, etc.).

And instead of “deadweight,” Nero’s berserk button should have been Dante not telling him things. You know, like the Order? The group he worked for that tried to start the apocalypse in secret and nearly got him and his girlfriend killed along with actually killing his older bother? Yeah.

I do not like the hyperrealism. This is purely on me preferring more animesque art styles, but I always felt that not looking like actual humans helped the series’ fantastic elements shine.

Dante’s new outfit is just so...muted. It’s just boring. Dante’s supposed to be flashy, dang it! Give me back the chaps!

Nero’s hair is awful. It just looks terrible on him, I wanted him to have long, pretty hair. They should have just kept his trigger hair all throughout the game.

Also, Dante’s the hunk, give Nero back his soft, pretty boy face!

DON’T GET RID OF DEVIL BRINGER! I hated using the Devil Breakers, who wants breakable weapons in Devil May Cry?! What’s next, reloading ammo?! And if you can come back from being stabbed, shot, electrocuted, impaled, would it kill you to let Nero grow his demon arm back to keep his playstyle easier?! And if you needed a challenge, congratulations! Nero lost his Devil Trigger! WORK WITH THAT! 

Please don’t get rid of Dante. I love Nero, but he can’t do the main protagonist role. This is Dante’s series and he needs to finish it. Sure, give Nero a spin-off or two, but let Dante finish the story; the “Sons of Sparda” storyline was just 3. Not the whole series. Vergil is an important figure in Dante’s story, but he’s not where it ends. Dante. And. Vergil’s. Lives. Do. Not. Revolve. Around. Each. Other. They just liked to fight each other and developed opposing ideals, but their overall goals ultimately didn’t really factor in the other.

The whole Vergil abandonment thing shouldn’t have happened along with his beating Dante obsession, it seriously weakened Vergil’s character. He started out as someone who wanted the power to defend himself and became so deluded that he was ready to disregard any moral limitation to get it and simply fought Dante to amuse himself while never letting it get in the way of his goals. And him blaming Dante and Eva and insisting that Dante had an easier life, while I can understand it, just makes him come across as a spoiled brat throwing a tantrum.

Let V’s familiars kill demons without him. That was just really annoying.

And that’s it. My dreams for Devil May Cry 5 and the reality were two very different things and honestly...I’m afraid I’m growing out of this series. 

I’ll still post some content I want to get out, but I’m not sure I’ll be picking up the next one.

headcanons - life and fashions of eloise part 1 of 4 : equestrian

sloane men and women of past and present have always been tempted back to that most tempting of weekend retreats: the Manor, the country house belonging to mummy and daddy, or an aunt or uncle who holds you in high esteem.

you stay there as a part homage to your time at boarding school, partaking in the same hobbies which exemplified your time there: playing records in your bedrooms while sharing a bottle of wine, getting the best suntans on the roof without being caught by teacher nor parent, and skinny dipping in the heated pool as the result of a dare.

you also meet up there with old school friends, calling each other by the same old nicknames and strolling down to the stables to get tacked up and roam the land, and breathe in the balmy air of freshly clipped lawns and admire the meadowsweet growing wildly near the land boundaries.

eloise was a competent rider, always easygoing on the horses. medals and rosettes filled her bedroom walls back in the day, eventually moving on to winning tiny silver plated trophies at showjumping competitions. she wasn't introduced to the hunting back until age sixteen, and what a rude introduction it was.

it was heartbreaking to eloise that the friendly fox would always meet the same fate. she quickly invested in a wartime coat to hide the foxes and their kin, always confusing the hunting party as to how their dogs had lost the scent. her soft spot for animals would last a lifetime, would never stray from this moment forward.

while joining a hunt, shooting party or ride, she's dressed to kill without the killing. jodphurs of beige matched with a brown riding boot, perhaps worn with casual trousers when feeling the cold. a white, wide collared shirt to show off the silk square of a cravat and the matching red reminiscent of traditional hunting jackets.

eloise sometimes alternates this with a silky black bow if wearing this type of outfit for a formal occasion, black leather boots with an accusing heel to match and black leather trousers, the tightest she can find. she really gains confidence, and comes into her own wearing outfits like these, can feel like someone else.

@jaigcaptain​ inquired: ❛   don’t   say   that,   you  don’t  mean  it.    ❜

angst for ships sentence prompts | accepting

      The words could be classified under the long list of MISTAKES made within the past 72 hours. However, the sentiment itself was HONEST, meant to remain trapped behind ribs shaped of ice. Their remaining grains of time having slipped free months prior, there was no telling if the Princess would ever again find herself in the company of the Captain. For that reason she did not speak as she did now to him then. Had even promised herself the strange, lovely flowers set a-bloom in her chest would wither and die given time. Snow-covered. How foolish a thought, as they were born in battle, watered with blood, fed on the need to SURVIVE. Distance and time may have temporarily frozen solid each closing bud, but seeing him again melted it all away. Even the iridescent, petal-soft wings of insects the Princess had never seen once more took flight, filling her stomach with girlish anticipation.

      ‘I think I may love you’. Not a confident statement, for what was love really? Once it was pain, once it was belonging, but what Fox felt now, it was different. She could be wrong, but she MEANT it regardless, and that was the TERRIFYING part. Fist-fighting a battle droid was preferable to admitting a VULNERABILITY. It was Rex. A part of her wondered if it had always been him. He was the weakness Abal chose to exploit -- not because Rex was an ally, but because Abal KNEW how she felt when she hadn’t readily admitted it, especially to herself. ( perhaps the man wasn’t as big a fool as they all thought ).

      Unable to bring her gaze back to the face of the man to which she spoke, Fox examined the passenger carrier still resting stationary among the endless amount of stars. Recounting the events of the day that had brought her there, a place she could’ve never anticipated. Admitting to feelings she was content to ignore. The ship, whose lights continued to flicker, had fallen from hyperspace mere hours prior. After promising to be the fastest and safest option for those seeking to travel to Coruscant and other surrounding planets. Sure, she’d been skeptical, had even had a BAD FEELING about it, one that was heartily discounted. It came as no real surprise when panic ensued, strangers immediately interpreting the accident to an enemy attack and not a failure in mechanics. Even in the watered down regalia of travel attire, it was obvious she held commanding rank among the pilots apologizing profusely for the delay. What had come as a surprise was when they asked HER what their next course of action should be. It was hard sometimes to remember that no everyone knew the tragedies of battle. Not everyone had muscles that pulled taut in anticipation of the next fight, not everyone knew what it was like to watch light leave the eyes of comrades as their blood seeped over hands clenched into fists. They were afraid of a threat they could not begin to fathom -- one that was hopefully not coming as she directed the Starburst’s captain send out a distress call. Her first mistake was boarding the passenger ship, her second came when she boarded the Jedi Cruiser that came to their aid.

      Jedi were to be expected, as were Clones. What was not were the familiar faces of the General’s who had helped free her people. Which meant... REX. The smile she had worn for the others compared nothing to the full grin that lit up her features at the sight of jaig eyes. Ice cracked. It had been another mistake to bow to the privacy offered for two friends catching up as the Jedi attending to what were surely more important matters. And another as Fox moved to embrace the body she could not feel beneath gleaming plastoids, the heart she had once BEGGED to keep beating. For a moment there was only the hollow sound of the small white and silver beads hanging from her kokoshink tapping against him. “I was not certain I would ever see you again,” the first admission that set every one after it rolling. His face, she was sure to see his face, but it would not belong to him. Only another one of his brothers fighting throughout the galaxy. Cloned and yet achingly individual. “I have MISSED you.” She had let him go before she wanted to, as if remembering she had a royal presence to uphold. After the second admission she filled the space between them with news of good fortune and a bountiful harvest as well as stories of how the children happily collected lost objects to piece together their own variation of clone armor. Life was never going to be the same after the occupation they had survived through -- just as her life was never going to be the same after meeting him -- it did not mean it could not be BETTER. Then she listened, listened to all he was willing to say, parched for more until her interior thoughts bubbled too close to the surface of her tongue. Causing her voice to come far softer when the words indeed flowed forth.

      “I think I may love you.”       “Don’t say that, you don’t mean it.”

      His answer to her words did not sting, in fact, had the roles been reversed, Fox knew she may have answered the same. “What if I do mean it,” she whispered, still watching the ship and the stars and the ghost of his reflection in the glass. For once she wished for the heavy cosmetics of the full royal outfit, if only to hide the warmth blossoming beneath the freckles of her face. Was it a blush of love or a blush of SHAME? Either way, it BURNED. Gaze shifting to the decadently embroidered patters atop her boot tops, she fought the urge to make some excuse to leave.

      “I expect nothing,” she spoke instead. “I ask for nothing,” to even DREAM Rex may feel the same only built her hopes up for failure. “I suspect I have told you now for the impossibly selfish reason of not wanting to live another moment keeping a SECRET from you.” Painted lashes lifted briefly to glance toward the Captain as she smiled, just barely. “That was our promise, though, if I remember correctly; no more secrets.” Time and distance did not change it just as it had not changed her heart.

Justice League #2 (1987)

I didn't know Orgazmo was in this comic book.

Once again, I'm surprised by how quickly an old comic book I read years ago gets to some of the stories I think of as major story arcs. These pseudo-Marvel heroes on the cover are the precursor to The Extremists whom I remember as major antagonists to this team. I don't know if The Extremists appear any time soon though. First, the Justice League have to deal with these peaceniks. Only after they've become allies with Blue Jay and Bald Thor and Brown Scarlet Witch do the Extremists finally come to destroy Earth. The issue begins with Kevin Maguire going, "Look at these lips. You like these lips and this mouth. Well, you're gonna get lots of them! Even Maxwell Lord gets some lovely pouty face slugs!"

I'm sorry for referring to lips as "face slugs."

Batman's main goal is to get to the bottom of how Doctor Light became a member of his League. He'd already hired Black Canary so why would he need another woman in the group? Isn't a ratio of eight men to one woman good enough?! I'm counting Oberon in the number of men just to make it seem even more lopsided. Although Doctor Fate has already ditched (and will become a woman soon anyway, right?!) so, not including Oberon, that makes the ratio six to one! Getting better! Plus add Doctor Light since she was on the cover and has somehow forced her way in, a ratio of six to two! That's three to one if you reduce it! Which is practically one to one if you squint and put your fingers in your ears and go, "Nyah nyah nyah! Everything is already equal! Why are women fighting for more than they already have?!" Anyway, my point was: Fucking Batman. What a monster!

I wouldn't think a sleeveless vest with a wacky collar layered on top of a turtle neck with elbow length white gloves would look so cool!

I prefer to concentrate on Guy's outfit rather than his misogyny and lack of intelligence and terrible haircut. In this issue is an advert for the all new Dr. Fate four issue mini-series by Giffen and DeMatteis. So that solves the mystery of why he was sort of included in the first issue. He was basically a commercial. Jack Ryder's gossip television show has been trying to portray the new Justice League in a negative light because that's the kind of reporting that gets eyeballs and raises revenue. Maybe if people's lives weren't so boring, they wouldn't eat up all that hot take drama shit from people like Jack Ryder and Sean Hannity and Tucker Carlson and Laura Ingraham. I suppose I shouldn't wonder how rational people watch that shit because most people, rational or not, are just looking for somebody to repeat their inner views back to them. And Fox News has honed that ability to a razor edge. Sometimes I imagine Sean Hannity doesn't believe the stupid shit he comes up with but then I remember my high school and college friend Soy Rakelson and I think, "Oh yeah. He actually believes that shit."

I recently found this letter by Soy from our college paper. It's been in my head since 1994 when I could not fucking believe he wrote it. Poor, poor discriminated Soy, self-declared "Defender of Western Civilization."

One small note about Soy: maybe a month or two after Trump became president, he quietly disappeared from Facebook for good. I won't speculate on why but I suppose if I spent some time trying, I'd probably come up with his actual reasoning. After Guy throws another tantrum that has to be quelled by Batman, Doctor Fate gets a scene of his own! I guess he didn't completely disappear from the comic book. At least not yet. Although, if Doctor Fate sticks around for a dozen or more issues, I'm going to feel even more shitty than I already feel about my memory. Doctor Fate visits some purple haired guy who sees everything as gray and warns him to take back up his destiny. I don't know who it is. The only purple haired character I remember is Pariah. But what is his destiny other than to watch worlds burn? Also, he has other selves across the world reaching into people's souls. Is he Jim Corrigan? I have no idea! Meanwhile, Blue Jay, Wandjina, and Silver Sorceress (whose costume is brown), from Earth-Marvel-Parodies (or some other new world, I suppose. In 1987, there was just one Earth left, right?), are busy dismantling Bialya's nuclear arsenal. Bialya is one of DC's evil countries. Sometimes you don't want to write a story that exists in a gray world; you just want pure black and white, good and evil. When that's the case, you have the heroes battle Bialyans! Blue Jay and friends are here to rid the Earth of all their nuclear weapons so as to save it from the fate that befell their homeworld. The leader of Bialya sees an opportunity for mischief and power and the destruction of America, so he greets them with open arms. Rumaan Harjavti, the leader of Bialya, teams up with Blue Jay and Friends to help guide them to other nations who have nuclear weapons that need to be disposed of. The first country he sends them to is Israel. Probably because it's close by and not because he has ulterior racist motives. Guy Gardner hears the news and is thrilled because he gets a boner imagining a world where only Ronald Reagan has control over a nuclear arsenal.

When he first mentioned Ronnie, I thought it was a mistake. I forgot how old this comic book is!

Batman is all, "We're going to stop these peaceniks from making the world a safer place!" Because if there's one story that can't be told enough it's the one where we all learn a lesson about how the ends do not justify the means, no matter how amazing the ends will be and how messy the means are. I suppose the ends justify the means if the means are compassionately thought out and done with respect for all parties' opinions! So maybe sometimes the ends justify the means? Or does the statement not work that way because the point is that you can't just make that blanket statement. Like, do you murder five million people to save one little girl's life? Probably not! Or do I have it completely wrong and everybody thinks the ends do justify the means? Anyway, Batman doesn't think world peace should be achieved through the destruction of other people's dangerous property. It's basically the same story that season one of Stargirl just told. The Injustice Society of America wants to make the world a leftist dreamscape but at the cost of 25 million lives or something. And the Justice Society is all, "Well, we really like your manifesto. We agree with all of these points. But maybe the cost is too high?" So in the end, I was left supporting the Injustice Society of America because I guess I believe the ends do justify the means?! Also, I'm fairly certain I don't like a quarter of the population so good riddance? But also maybe the entire season of Stargirl was some sort of anti-leftist parable about how you have to let people come to their own decisions about saving the world because forcing them to get on board is rude and it's better if climate change destroys the world than to force one person to believe that manmade climate change is an actual thing? I had philosophical whiplash by the end of Stargirl season one. One character is all, "Murder is wrong!" and then goes and murders somebody and another character is all "I need revenge because this monster killed my parents!" and then he gets all merciful and lets Solomon Grundy go so he can kill other parents and the Injustice Society is all, "We'll kill indiscriminately to make the world a better place for our rich white kids!" and then their all, "A lot of rich white people's kids are going to die from our plan but that's okay because they're not ours." Also, the worst part of the show, the part of the show that I cannot forgive, is how they introduced us to Doctor Mid-Nite's sad owl back at the abandoned JSA headquarters and Luke Wilson is all, "Yeah, he's just waiting for Doctor Mid-Nite to return. It's sad, right? He just hangs out here alone super sad." And then Beth becomes the new Doctor Mid-Nite and you keep expecting the owl to befriend her but the owl never appears, ever again. Every episode, when the sad owl didn't appear onscreen, I was reminded of the sad owl. So every minute of every episode, I kept thinking, "Is the owl going to befriend Beth now?" And nothing. The season ends with the sad owl still super sad and all alone and fuck the writers and showrunners for that. I suppose they couldn't afford a CGI owl after ejaculating all of their CGI money on the five minute Solomon Grundy fight. I just digressed so much I need to take a shower.

Guy and I are in 99.5% agreement about the dismantling of nuclear weapons. That last bit is where he thinks the U.S.A. should get to keep theirs.

Everybody treats Guy Gardner like his argument isn't even worth listening to but they're all wrong! They're just treating him like a dumb jerk! Sure, I agree that the Justice League just can't take it upon themselves to rid the world of all nuclear weapons. I mean, do I?! Hmm. I'm not so sure I do agree with that! If Superman really cared about Earth, shouldn't he martyr himself by becoming the biggest criminal in the history of the entire world by destroying all nuclear weapons against the will of every nation that has them?! There are plenty of other planets in the DCU that he could go live on after becoming a giant Earth menace! Can't he even make that small sacrifice for the safety of his homeworld?! And if his actions cause some kind of horrible repercussions that cause the world to spiral into chaos, he can probably just blame Batman. Silver But Really Brown Sorceress questions if what they're doing is right. Bald Thor says, "In the end they'll thank us. And even if they don't, at least they'll be alive to hate us." See?! That's what I just said about Superman! He should totally take that bullet! That was not a tasteless George Reeves joke and even if somebody read it that way, it's been like a hundred years since his death! Blue Jay and Friends tell each other their origin story as they remember how their world was destroyed by nuclear weapons and how they decided to interfere with everybody else's lives because of it. I think their origin was supposed to make me see their side of things and feel empathy for them but it totally made me rethink their position and now I totally think they need to be stopped. Because I was fine when I thought the argument was "Destroy all nuclear weapons to save Earth." But I dislike the argument, "Something bad happened to me and now I have to make sure it never happens to anybody else no matter how annoying I make myself!" It's like when somebody's dumb kid gets hit by a bus while riding their bike and then they have to get a law passed making it illegal for busses to run over kids and to name the law after their kid and to get politicians who support the law because it doesn't really change anything (being that busses running over kids was probably already frowned upon if not illegal) but it's good press and makes it look like they're doing something. Then after the dumb law is passed, the parents of the dumb kid can say things like, "My baby didn't die in vain!" Even if that's totally untrue and their baby did die in vain and the law never actually makes the world a better place at all. Guy rushes in to stop Blue Jay and Friends all alone but fails because writers can't reward brash arrogant heroes who are mostly just big jerks. It would be unseemly.

So far, I've liked the bits with Captain Marvel but I'm still weirded out that he's a little boy in a grown man's muscular body.

Blue Jay and Friends fly into Bialyan airspace and the Justice League have to back off. But they'll get another chance to stop Blue Jay and Friends next issue when Blue Jay and Friends try to disarm Russia! Justice League #2 Rating: B+. It gets too complicated when super heroes bump up against the wall of political conflicts. When Batman points out that the Justice League can't chase Blue Jay and Friends into Bialyan airspace without creating an international incident, some readers might start questioning how super heroes can act even within the borders of one specific country! Surely every time they commit their vigilantism, they're creating a domestic incident! Don't make me start asking questions about the fundamental nature of masked people doing whatever the fuck they think is justice without the consent of any kind of laws or political powers, comic book! This is too heady for my tastes! I guess the whole point is to eventually have the Justice League backed by the United Nations so that the reader can think, "Okay, right. So they have the authority to do whatever they want now if I'm willing to believe the United Nations has any real authority at all!" And then the reader goes on to prove the moon landing never happened and that Project Cloverleaf rains human excrement down on our heads on a daily basis for some kind of Nazi experimentation.

FROST OF AVALON/ CHARACTER INTRODUCTION

Theme Songs: 

Name Gawain| Age 19 | Gender male

Physical Appearance Eye Color marroon | Hair Color dark brown | Skin olive toned  Body Type lean/athletic | Scars n/a Weapons sword and shield. Through “Merlin’s Gift”, he is able to summon the power of the Green Knight and project it in spirit form or absorb it to boon himself  | Outfits Helios School Uniform, Casual, Armor

About: Sir Gawain wasn’t only the Prince of Orkney but Arthur’s nephew. After being sent to Camelot as a prisoner of peace, Gawain earned himself a spot at the round table and became one of Arthur’s most loyal knights, even acting on behalf of Arthur during his absence. His dealings with maidens earned him the title “The Maiden’s Knight”. He is considered the most gentle of the Round Table, but he gets stubborn and protective when it comes to Carys.

After Merlin frees Gawain from the form of a fox, Gawain swears allegiance to Carys for saving him. He is undaunted by her vehemence towards his oath. With no signs of his wife’s return, family is all he has to live for, and after everything they’ve been through, Carys is the most important family to him aside from Arthur himself.

But Gawain is soon caught in a struggle of loyalty between the two. Though he will never turn his back on his king, he also finds himself needing to protect a sister from him. Gawain manages the middle, and with his hopes riding on this second chance--he will make sure that Carys and Arthur make it out of their curse happy and alive.

Alignment: lawful good

Positive Traits: loyal, kind, courageous, obedient

Negative Traits: becomes hard headed when it comes to Carys’s safety and happiness, can become overly passionate

Character Board Pictures

Tag List Below. Ask to added/removed.

@jess---writes, @silver-wields-a-pen, @uccelletto-di-kokuyo

Risque Rouge pt1

... Finally. Welp, I know I’m also in the middle of my IkeSen thing right now and this would be the first long fic I have done for IkeVamp here and it sort of took over. I hope you all enjoy it.

Tagging: @umbralaperture​ @otome-smut-queen @silver-fox-of-azuchi @tsundere-mitsuhide @jennacat84

General warnings for the whole fic: Angst, some fluff, Mental health issues, emotional things, trauma, blood, death and possible triggers. Please read responsibly. 

Darkmindsotome Masterlist

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Chapter 1

For those of you searching for a little entertainment and a performance with a little je ne sais quoi. You could do worse than set your sights to a little building in the more bohemian quarter on the outskirts of Paris. Here you could rub shoulders with a Prince as easily as you could a street merchant as all were equal under the ruby lights. 

As long as you paid your coin you were all set to be whisked away into a land of fantasy. Everything here was the stuff of dreams the only nightmares were beyond the gates on your journey home. It was a strong selling point and drew a lot of custom from the streets of modern Paris to explore the artistic world and indulge in pleasures without fear of judgement.  

His feet once found the establishment by accident. Wandering around to stave off the boredom of yet another endless night. The books didn’t hold his attention, music was lost in the air and the mansion felt somehow empty even with the souls residing in it. This happened every few centuries, he had an itch that couldn’t be scratched and his feet took him wandering in search of a distraction. The distraction tonight was the same as the one he had discovered by chance a month ago.

The stage was lit up with a combination of harsh electric and gas. The tables and chairs around the room were tightly packed and none of them matched. Elegant dining chairs mixed with milking stools and benches. Tables of nothing more than upturned barrels or balanced planks on brick were the standard here. It was so haphazard and yet felt so warm and inviting with the melted candles pooling on them without containers. He couldn’t help but smile at the creativity of mortals and their desire to live life to the fullest no matter how few resources they had to achieve it.

Brushing his long coat neatly under him he took up a seat and a girl sauntered over to him. Black stockings clearly visible through the splits in her flowing skirt, with a tight white blouse that was straining under the pressure of her bosom.

“Something to drink Monsieur?” She asked with a smile, her eyes roaming from his head to the tips of his dress shoes.

“Oui merci.” He returned her smile and nodded. As she turned to go and retrieve a drink for him, he called out again. “Ah pardon Madame, would you be so kind as to tell me if the nightingale has done her turn?”

“You mean Evie? No Monsieur her performance is still to come.” She seemed to pause thinking of something for a moment before doubling back to his side to lean just a little too close, making sure to press herself against his shoulder as he leant in to whisper into his ear. “If you get tired of waiting for it, you could give me a call. I’d be happy to entertain you while you wait.”

“You honour me, Madame. I shall continue to wait though thank you.” He took her hand and brushed a kiss to the back of it his golden eyes glowed and the woman walked away as if she was in a dream. She returned with a selection of bottles for him to choose from. One was the colour of deep emerald, another was brown. There was also a yellow and one with a rosy blush.

He had not really cared to learn much of the drink until he started coming here, even with a rather famous patron of the beverage being under his roof. Darker green seemed to mean a purer distillation. Yellow was aged, the rose was coloured with fruit and the brown was not made with the leaves and blooms but the roots of the wormwood. Among these discoveries, he also learned it had no real effect on him. Indicating the dark emerald bottle, he was presented with a small tray. On it was an absinthe spoon that looked like an ornate item from a palace, balanced on a glass with a small stem. There was also a bowl of roughly formed sugar cubes and a long spill.

Left alone, he noticed a few of the other men in the establishment glancing in his direction. A faint smile and inclination of his head seemed to send their eyes elsewhere as he balanced a sugar cube on the spoon and poured a dose of the liquid over it. Taking up the spill he lit the end from the candle on the table and then set light to the sugar. The flame flickered as the alcohol burned and the melting cube dripped slowly through the spoon dropping into the glass. He watched the flame dance in the reflection of the drink and the clear emerald liquid begin to change.

It was a popular drink and more commonly known as la fee Verte or the green fairy. It also had another name and one which he found himself almost preferring, the devil’s drink. There were other methods in enjoying this drink but the drama of fire and alcohol seemed to be prefered here. As the flame died with the last of the sugar falling, he took up the spoon and stirred the mixture just as the music and the lighting changed. He attended this place every day for a week while he worked out the schedules and knew this one act only performed on a few nights for about an hour at a time. He brought his glass to his lips the medicinal scent filling his nose as he took a sip. His eyes never leaving the stage for a second as the performer took their turn.

---

It was always like this. Her whole body turned to a boneless mess backstage as she waiting in the wings for her turn in the lights. Worrying if she was going to mess up and forget a line. That was to say nothing of the fear she would be so badly out of step with the other girls on stage, making a complete spectacle of herself before the next act performed. She checked and rechecked her stage make up in the long mirror propped against the wall. Ghost-like white skin with dark make up on her eyes and shockingly red lips. Under the lights it balanced out and from a distance it didn’t look bad, but up close? She actually hated how it looked like a painted death mask.

“Almost time Evie!” A cheerful voice called down from the rafters. She turned her head to look up and found a smiling youth a little younger than her, his hands busy operating different ropes that changed the lighting for the stage. She couldn’t speak and gave a weak smile back as she nodded and stepped to the edge. The light cut a hard line through the shadow and part of her really wished to stay hidden, but that wouldn’t do. She owed so many for her life and this was the only way she had to repay her debt.

The ice-white feathers and pale sky-blue fabric wrapped over her figure, revealing her curves but also denying complete exposure. It was a tantalising taste of erotism that kept a lot to the imagination. Small strips of glass beads gave an eye-catching gleam to the outfit in all the right places, just enough to be suggestive but still tastefully teasing. Other establishments had reputations for being far more provocative than this.

Actually, even here there were performers and people on staff that went much further. She was constantly referred to as the Little Princess backstage because she was never pressured to go further and the owner always met that kind of demand with firm disapproval. The name was not something intended as a slight, she was in fact well-loved among the performers. Each had time to shine and all were given equal billing, so the need for petty arguing and fighting was never something to plague this performing house. No performer here was ever asked to do something they hadn't already consented to, a policy that saw the rejected stars from elsewhere flocking to them for continued employment. She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. This was her show, her performance and the Nightingale had to shine.

The two giant ostrich feather fans snapped open as she held one behind and in front and stepped out into the light. The music turned more up-tempo with a clearer beat. It was easier to follow even as the lights blinded her. Dust in the air mixed with smoke as it danced in the agitated air through the beams of light making the stage feel magical. The nerves she had in her stomach relaxed and she twitched her hands swaying in time with the music. Right now, in this moment, it was only her and the music.

A flick here, a flutter there, just enough to give a glimpse and tease of what the feathers hid from view. One remained in place as she gave a wide arc with her arm holding the other. Her eyes that had been mostly cast down now looked out into where the audience was. The tables close to the stage were lost to her it wasn’t until about halfway back into the room that she could make out some shapes. Focusing her eyes as best she could on one point, hoping it was enough before dropping them again.

Her fan dance continued even after the song finished, a paper wall appeared behind her. Slipping behind it as the other dancers hit the boards to join her. She dropped the fans and the second part of her act begun. Her voice found its volume in partial hiding and the wall became a shadow theatre of sorts allowing only a silhouette to be shown to the gathered crowd as she began her striptease.

---

Mesmerising. It was the only word he had that could describe the performance and also the only adjective he had left in his vocabulary to say how he had been affected by it. She was skilled in her art and the charming innocence of her captivated the audience easily. Each patron fell under her spell one by one and when she looked up her eyes seemed to lock with his. His drink sat half drunk as he moved to the side of the room and slipped into the wings.

Furniture, fabric, ornate household items that were intended for props and décor choices were piled high on either side of the narrow space. He was careful not to disturb them in his path through them all to locate the owner. He was a proud supporter of the arts and more than once supported it in various forms when financially the artist struggled. Will had been a beneficiary of such interest in the past and continued to this day, placing pen to paper and showcasing performances that shocked and amazed. When he expressed an interest before, he was informed the Nightingale was not for sale. Clearly there had been a misunderstanding and that was what he wished to sort out tonight.

Showgirls, performers and all manner of people milled about the crowded backstage area in various stages of undress. They were rushing to change clothes, getting ready for their next turn or in a couple of cases already combined in trysts. Yes, mortals really were a colourful and lively bunch. He still couldn't shift the notion that something didn’t sit exactly right with him and the idea that such an innocent should remain here without assistance. A flash of his friend came to mind and he could practically hear the other man calling him an interfering busybody. With a wry smile on his face, he knocked on some upturned crates and waited for a response from the man sitting in lamplight surrounded by stacks of papers that could only be described as a fire hazard.

“Yes?” A middle-aged man with slicked-back oiled hair snapped his head up at the noise. He had on a shirt with an open collar and a printed scrap of fabric tied around his neck in a poor attempt to imitate a cravat. The pattern was so faded with wear it was hard to make out even its colour. It had probably once been high-quality silk but it was little more than a rag now.

“Ah Pardon. I was hoping now might be a good time—” His smile was ignored and his words were cut short as the man briskly stood and grabbed his jacket from somewhere behind himself. The fraying hems telling the same tale of the worn-out quality as his tie. 

“A good time Monsieur? A good time?” He was animated more than agitated as he pulled the jacket shut and buttoned the front. “I believe I have already told you that the little princess is not for sale.”

“I understand however I do believe we are at odds as to the meaning behind my offer.” Le Comte nodded in understanding. He had been right his offer before had clearly been misinterpreted.

“Well? What is it to be then? A fine gentleman such as yourself taking an interest in the entertainment of this place is nothing new. Neither is the interest in our Nightingale. But Monsieur,” The short man brushed blithely past Le Comte glancing over his shoulder. Le Comte followed behind gracefully avoiding the obstacles in his way while the owner almost collided with them all in turn. “Not one such person has managed to obtain that which they looked for and none have received my blessing to so much as talk to the girl.”

“You are very protective.” Le Comte’s voice was soft like that of an old friend showing approval.

“Naturally the child came to us as little more than a babe in rags, found her myself and raised her here. You might say she is something akin to a daughter too me. Whatever else happens here Sir is the business of the individual but I shall not see the child bothered with such things.” The man huffed as he grabbed a couple of the sandbag weights, moving them to the side revealing a crate of bottles. He reached out dragging them closer and began counting silently with moving lips.

“Admirable to be sure. We are in agreement on several things I see which would mean we should be able to reach an agreement if only you would give me the time of day to speak Monsieur.” Le Comte’s words were polite but held an edge to them that demanded attention.

“Very well, speak. I have duties that need tending too.” The owner sighed and straightened his back to look him directly in the eyes.

“I should like to offer my assistance financially in support of the young lady. I have no ill intentions and only a desire to see she be able to live comfortably in a lifestyle of her choosing without fear of the poor house or ill health taking her security.” Le Comte’s hushed tone rang clear as a bell the owner’s eyes widened as he gave an audible gasp.

“Y-you truly want nothing more than that?” The man stammered as his arrogance of earlier seemed to melt under the strength of those amber eyes looking at him. He prided himself of being able to spot a charlatan and there was nothing in the man reflected before him that told him his words were anything but true.

“That is correct.” Le Comte nodded and found himself wondering how he managed to maintain a stoic appearance when the man he had finally managed to reach an understanding with suddenly doubled over in a dramatic display of grovelling that would not look out of place in any number of reputable theatres.  

“Monsieur I should offer you my deepest heartfelt apology I fear I not only did you a great wrong but also caused you great insult in the process of protecting the child.”

“Think nothing of it. Instead, I should consider the matter settled if you would accept my offer?” Le Comte allowed a small chuckle to escape him in order to break the tension. The owner recovered himself and the stern expression he wore earlier was replaced by a much more relaxed one.

“Such generosity. However, I might act as the child’s guardian but I also have no legal right to do so. If you would come with me, I believe the girl should have her say on this matter.” He began moving again checking every few steps he took that he was still to be followed as if expecting the generous man to evaporate.

“A splendid idea.”

---

The performance was over and she was now free to retire to her room. Unlike most of the performers who had other accommodations elsewhere, she was given the luxury of a private space. A gown had been handed to her as she stepped back into the shadows of the stage and she had gratefully accepted it pulling it tight over her exposed skin. The smile on her face didn't fall until she was safely inside her own room. Her door was nothing more than a heavy curtain but once it was dropped the noise from the other side faded a little and she let out a sigh. 

She didn’t know when it had started to happen but she was getting increasingly more tired after every performance. The doctor had been called back several times after she collapsed in the past but nothing was done, except a suggestion of increasing her medicine and suggesting eating more food. She sat down at her dressing table and slumped over onto it. The cool surface on her forehead gave a little comfort as she felt her body shudder in a cold sweat. With a shaky hand, she pulled open the drawer and removed one of the vials. She turned it in her fingers against the lamplight, a milky white substance that looked like liquid moonlight.

After pulling the sealed cork from the glass she downed the mixture knowing it would remove the tremors from her body. When she regained a modicum of her former composure her vision stabilised and fell on the tray of food left for her on her chaise longue. She moved to stand, her legs feeling heavy as she dragged herself over to the tray and began to devour the offerings.

The first bite was all it took for her to abandon the cutlery and start taring through the cooked chicken and vegetables using nothing but her hands, finding that even then the food did not seem to go to her stomach fast enough to fill it.

A movement out the corner of her eye caught her attention and she saw herself reflected in her mirror. The appearance she had taken on with food covering her hands and face was like some sort of wild animal and suddenly the insatiable need to fill the void inside her was overridden by shock.

“What on earth am I doing?” Her voice came out in a pitiful confused cry.

She bolted over to her washbasin and poured fresh water from the jug into the bowl. Plunging her hands deep into the water she closed her eyes and visualised the fear and uncertainty melting away from her. Her fingers rubbed against her skin removing the remnants of food and brought water up to her face. The cold water running in cascades back into the bowl felt refreshing as the air she didn’t even realise she was missing returned to her lungs.

There was a knock outside and she could hear someone call her name.

“Evie? Are you in there Princess?”

“Y-yes!” She replied grabbing a hand towel to quickly wipe her hands and face.

“Is it safe to come in dear?” The voice was familiar and friendly but there was something about it that made her think it seemed more formal than usual.

“Sure.” Her answer was almost automatic and came before remembering the tray of food abandoned on the chaise. She scurried over and covered the tray with the towel in her hands moving it to a table next to her before the curtain to the room was drawn back.

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