crystallized.

Hey, I'm Cat! ❁ ^. ̞.^ ✿

[cassiavioletblue]

Hello Visitor

Welcome to my tumblr!

I've been here a while so there's a lot to explore ;)

I mostly post pretty things, kpop, series, art & writing related stuff

✧ You can find my writing/fanfics here on AO3 ✧

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♡ Enjoy your stay! ♡

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[lantaniel]

more cardinal tim ft priest jason

[chimaerakitten]

idk if this is controversial or not, but I really like when non-professional writing like fic has hints of author bleedthrough when it comes to like, what different people assume is common knowledge. Like sometimes I’ll be reading a fic and it’ll just be obvious that the person writing it is either obsessed with medicine or has been to medical school, because they’ll use terms that are just a shade too technical without explaining them. It’s never the super specific stuff that they’d know other people are unaware of, it’s always the things that once you’ve known it for a while you forget it’s niche knowledge. It’s fun because as a fanfic reader it reminds me of how this is a fun hobby community, where everyone has their own thing going on outside of fandom. Everyone’s got their own specialties and they can’t help but write that into their work sometimes

[chimaerakitten]

…well this post sure took off

[bamsara]

new ask game; what do you think my hobby, skillset or knowledge or any other details of me based off my writing

[edgar-allan-possum]

[bamboozledjasontodd]

The Bat Boys

Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, and Duke Thomas

The Bat Girls

[whooooomp]

I like my whumpees angry and violent I need them to lash out at anyone who offers help and I need the team to refuse to give up on them and just keep trying.

Treating Whumpee like a scared wild animal that got tangled in a wire and needs to be carefully untangled from it without causing them to startle and hurt themself more.

[justbreakonme]

Touch tank monster whumpee

They’re so well behaved, so docile, so broken that they’re safe to be placed in a touch tank. Little children are instructed to pet them with open palms, careful of filed down horns and claws, feed them little bits from paper cups for 3 dollars a pop.

Whumpee flinches for the first few days, trying hard to hold still when their handler glares at them from behind a bright, kid friendly smile, but…

After a while, Whumpee starts to relax. A little. There’s still older kids or toddlers who pull their hair, adults who find it funny to grab their horns and yank their head up for a picture, and they still have their handler watching them like a hawk for any wrong move.

But Whumpee had been touch starved for so long. Beaten and snapped at and starved and stuffed in cages too small for them to even turn around in.

In the tank, they were outside, they could feel the sun and the breeze and see the sky, god they’d missed it. Thousands of tiny hands patting them and stroking their fur, cooing and awwing at how calm and “sweet” they were, feeding them treats with careful fingers, if Whumpee had to be anywhere, they could take being here.

So they stay calm and docile and broken and follow their handlers orders.

[whumpacabra]

They thought Aíne did not want to see the water hound.

She had seen the beast once, and that was surely enough.

(The mere thought of it brought to mind her brother’s mutilated body, ripped apart under the jaws and claws of the beast. It’s white fur had been stained red, fanged jaws dripping with blood and strings of drool as it ripped into the fresh corpse.)

And so when the teachers heard the exhibit would include a water hound, they were quick to assure Aíne and her parents that she could be exempt from the trip. But she asked to go. (What child would submit to the social embarrassment of not going on a field trip out of fear of a caged and cowed water dog?)

Her parents agreed it might be good for her - to see that the monsters in the water could be made docile and harmless with the right conditions. They hoped it would be good for her, and that it would help stave off the nightmares.

But when Aíne approached the touch tank, she didn’t feel the childish pride of proving to her peers she wasn’t afraid of the monster. She didn’t feel the relief of seeing a monster made tame.

As her schoolmates rushed to the edge of the water, hands diving into the narrow trough to stroke the water hound, she stood back and stared.

Aíne knew what a water hound looked like. She knew it had sharp teeth that grew beyond its ferocious maw, not the near toothless gums that tried in vain to catch the dead fish some children tossed into the tank. She knew it had claws made for tearing flesh, not the filed down nubs that could barely catch the glass wall of the tank. She knew it had horns - she swore it did, even when the adults told her water hounds didn’t have horns - and here she could see the nubs perched behind its black tipped ears, dehorned like a common cow.

“It’s okay, it can’t hurt you.” The exhibit attendant was trying to be reassuring.

But it should be able to hurt me, she thought, even as she was steered to the edge of the tank.

This close she could see other nauseating details. This water hound was thin, shoulder blades visible as it tread water to stay close to the surface. The distinct cross of black fur on its back was interrupted with silvery scars that raked down its flank like lightning. The attendant took her hand in their own, and plunged it under the water. Her hand landed against the beast’s neck, it’s thick damp fur under her fingers.

Below the soft fur, she could feel it’s pulse racing, bright eyes looking behind her with fear she knew well.

“See? It’s completely harmless. You don’t need to be afraid.” The attendant’s voice sent a shiver down Aíne’s spine. She stared at the creature, it’s gaze briefly meeting her own.

She had nothing to fear. But the animal in the tank was very, very afraid. And instead of snapping and baring it’s teeth and backing away into a corner, it rolled over to show its vulnerable belly anyway, the other kids cooing over how much softer it’s fur was.

Aíne complained of an upset stomach and her parents picked her up early. She knew the adults and the other kids would think she was scared of the monster in the tank.

She wasn’t.

She was scared of the person that put it there.

[whumpacabra]

1. Hot Tea

Environmental exposure, cold temperatures, bad weather, comfort, minor wound care, implied homelessness, implied past trauma

Masterpost | | Next

Vera wasn’t going to let some little ‘storm of the century’ get in the way of her weekly grocery shopping. The kind but anxious cashier recommended she wait it out inside the shop; it wasn’t safe to be outside. But Vera only lived a few blocks from the corner shop and she had walked through worse.

The winds were relentless, whipping the rain - and possibly some small hail - like bullets through the air. Thunder roared and lightning crackled, but she plodded along, cane in hand and footsteps sure.

Her pace only faltered when she saw someone else out on the street. Her first instinct was to hypocritically chide them - what in heavens name would someone be doing outside in weather like this? But upon closer inspection, and wiping some rain from her thick rimmed glasses, her brow furrowed with concern.

“Are you…alright?”

They didn’t look alright. Their face was gaunt, eyes hollow, but even curled up at the cusp of the alleyway Vera could tell they were well fed and well built. Like something out of the magazines she enjoyed in her youth. Except their hair was cropped short, their black shirt and pants and socks soaked through - for heaven’s sake, they weren’t even wearing shoes!

“Young man,” Vera would apologize later if she had made a mistake, but the sight of them reminded her all too much of the boys she once taught. “Who in the blazes let you out of the house dressed like that?”

His head snapped up at the question, eyes wide and wild and for a split second Vera felt afraid of this stranger, but not as afraid as he was of her.

“M - ma’am?” He was shivering and Vera only felt warmer with anger at the sight of him. She was bundled in layers and a waterproof poncho and still she was miserably damp and cold. This young man must have been on the verge of hypothermia.

She sighed and held out a waterlogged bag of groceries. Vera didn’t miss how he flinched from the gesture.

“I - I can’t take that, ma’am - ”

“I don’t want you to take it. I want you to help me carry it home.” She tilted her head, studying his reaction. “Unless you’d rather a little old lady like me slog through - ”

“No ma’am. I can carry it.” He shot up to his feet and it was Vera’s turn to flinch. She could tell he was a large man when he was curled up like a soggy kitten, but seeing him tower over her was still a bit surprising. He could see her reaction and his shoulders sagged, curling forward as he held out a shaking hand. Vera gave him a determined look and handed him the groceries.

“This way.”

—

Her apartment wasn’t very far - barely a block from where she picked up this stranger, but she counted herself lucky she bumped into him. The weather was getting worse, and she started to doubt she would have made it home with all her groceries in tow if she had walked by herself. She unlocked her house, a thin sliver of the city block bought with the blood sweat and tears of her younger years.

“You can set those right there on the carpet - here, let me get you a towel.” Vera started shedding her own soaked layers, eventually reaching her relatively dry sweater and slacks. The young man stood awkwardly in the doorway, cautiously setting the groceries down on the entryway carpet. “Don’t just stand there with the door open; get in here.”

Vera heard the door close while she was dragging a towel out of the hallway closet. He looked even more out of place in her foyer, a shivering giant that looked oddly fragile. She softened her smile when she held out the towel.

“Here, try to dry off enough you won’t drip. I’ll find some clothes you can borrow.”

He slowly began to wipe off his face and arms, movements stiff.

“I, uh,” his voice was hoarse and low, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to speak, “I should be going…”

“In this weather? I won’t let you. At least not without a warm shower, change of clothes, and some tea.” Vera stood with had hands on her hips, blocking the doorway behind him. She was well aware how easily he could leave if he wanted to. And so was he.

Vera almost took it as a small victory when he took a step deeper into her home, but then she noticed the tension in his body language. She came up beside him, the start of a question on her tongue when his arm lashed out - not hurting her, but guarding her from moving forward. His face was pensive, eyes scanning the hallway with a trained precision -

He didn’t move a muscle when Vera’s old calico stalked around the corner, tail twitching and a soft mhurp acknowledging its owner had returned. Vera patted the young man’s arm, and he slowly lowered his guard.

“That’s just Mimi. Here girl!”

The cat perked at the sound of her name, bounding over to its owner. Vera could feel the man in front of her shy away from the small cat, but the tension in his shoulders was slowly uncoiling.

“Tsk, get out of the groceries, you sneaky kitty.” Vera shooed her beloved cat away, picking up a bag. The young man grabbed the rest almost automatically, following her to the kitchen table.

After directing her guest to the bathroom and finding an ancient pair of sweats and a sweater that might fit his physique, Vera set about putting away groceries and putting the kettle on for some tea. Mimi danced around her feet, ever hopeful for a treat.

With the last of the groceries put away, Vera began cleaning up after the stranger. She had instructed him to leave his soaked clothes outside the bathroom door, and he had.

The fabric of his clothes was strange, a rubbery grip to the material almost like a wetsuit. Unsure if they would survive in the dryer, Vera hung them up by the fireplace. (The electric mimic was still warm, even if Vera missed the smell of a real wood stove.) She shuddered to think how miserably cold he must have been in such thin, uninsulated clothes. From the sound of the water rushing on the other side of the door, she hoped he was enjoying a warm shower.

She noticed he had also left the towel she had first given him outside the door, and there she noticed the blood. Not a lot, just a thin splotch of red. Maybe he had cut himself shaving his hair so close to his head. Vera set out the first aid kit on the table as she poured two teacups of steaming water.

Her guest had perfect timing; just as the tea finished steeping, he shambled out of the bathroom. He looked even more out of place in the soft, patterned sweater and ill fitting sweats, eyes so unsure as he approached the kitchen. He was looking at the first aid kit.

“Come’ere. Let me have a look at that cut.” Vera gestured to a chair she had already pulled out from the table, and he guest immediately sat. She could now see the thin slice at the base of his skull. Probably an accident with the razor, one edge clean and the other sloppy, as though the pain had startled him. “Nasty gash. Though I think you’ll avoid stitches. Let me get some antibiotic ointment on that though…”

He sat stock still as she inspected and dabbed ointment on the wound. His face was flat, but she could see his hands gripping the armrests in pain.

“You allergic to any meds, honey?”

“No, ma’am.”

Vera set some ibuprofen next to his teacup and began to put away the first aid kit.

“No need to ‘ma’am’ me, sweetheart. Not a fan of it. My name is Vera.” It was then she realized this stranger at her table hadn’t told her his name. “And you are?”

He hadn’t answered by the time she settled into her chair. When she looked up his eyes were wide, staring into his still steaming tea.

“Honey?” His head jerked up as if hearing her for the first time. “How about you drink some of that tea?”

“Yes, m - miss.” That timid voice of his finally stuttered, shaking hands taking the small, fragile cup. Vera just smiled softly and watched him.

(What the hell had she gotten herself into?)

Masterpost | | Next

Taglist: NA

[gruntsandpoetry]

As for Louis' relationship with Lestat, the two aren't on good terms when the season starts, because as we mentioned, Lestat is pretty pissed about the book. ("It would be weird if he's not,: Reid says.) But the thing about vampires? They have all the time in the world.

"In terms of Louis and Lestat, they're definitely on separate tracks at this point. But I would say that nobody will guess what's gonna happen next," Anderson says. [x]

[greengableslover]

MARIE ANTOINETTE (2006) dir. Sofia Coppola + dogs (requested by anonymous)

[asphodelis]

superhero suit glove-sleeve connection design showerthought

[figureskatingpenguin]

Cha Junhwan (KOR): Natural / Balada para un Loco | 2025 World Championships

featuring his iconic quad sals and the ever-so-elegant junhwan-bauer ❤️

bonus tcc reunion with jason:

[mrkestis]

Stars on ice is over what do we do now?

[mabychan]

Outfit remake for all the Robins :D 

- Dick Grayson (Nightwing) 

- Jason Todd (Red Hood) 

-Tim Drake (Red Robin)

- Damian Wayne (Robin) 

[no-entry-access]

Who needs dc when you have artists on tumblr

[knightowls-blog1]

052811 LOL Edit: Alternative title to this is clearly “I WANT THIS JACKET”

[choodraws]

cupid blues

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[its-not-lookin-good]

DC Pride: The Heart Wants (2026)

[birdskiss]