@theartofmadeline
Three Goblin Art
RMH
noise dept.
Cosmic Funnies
One Nice Bug Per Day
NASA
Not today Justin
hello vonnie
$LAYYYTER
ellievsbear
Love Begins
Sade Olutola
todays bird
tannertan36
No title available
Peter Solarz
JVL
#extradirty
will byers stan first human second
seen from T1
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@dreamfig
#𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚𝑓𝑖𝑔. ━━━━━━ [ … ] independent multi-muse featuring fandomless original characters and canons from the boys, marvel, the pitt and more. [ … ] a study of making, mending, and sometimes breaking; of hands that build against a collapsing world, and of lives desperately in constant motion.
written by 𝑚𝑒𝑙𝑙, twenty4. guidelines and roster available via carrd. personal blogs and minors please do not interact.
carrd. opens. starter call.
ill be back to write SO soon!! ive been busy preparing for a public speaking event and its happening in like 2 hours and the mayor is gonna be there and like yeah i
AM SHITTINGGGGG please tell me my prescription glasses lend me credibility
just did a heavy rehaul on my canons section!
main canons:
victoria neuman (the boys/gen v)
john shen (the pitt)
eric brooks (blade/marvel)
tangerine (bullet train)
canons available upon req:
a-train (the boys/gen v)
ben hargreeves #6 (the umbrella academy)
adam warlock (marvel)
ricky "jupe" park (nope)
test muses:
richie jerimovich (the bear)
luca (the bear)
marie moreau (the boys/gen v)
armand (iwtv)
this is the funniest fucking still from the pitt
THE BOYS 2x07 | Butcher, Baker, Candlestick Maker
just found out one of my fcs is a zio so im purging the entire oc and deleting every post with them
i hallowed too much of my ween last night so im not writing today. i just want to yap my little heart out
Ken Kirby as Dr. John Shen THE PITT 1.14 "8:00 P.M."
HAPPY. FREAKING. HALLOWEEN!!!!!!!!!
♡ ˚ . open starter for: anyone! ♡ ˚ . with: haruka morinaga, she/they, 24. a production assistant at a local tv station with aspirations in film and television, she's the daughter of a corporate giant's ceo and determined to follow her passion despite her family's disapproval. ♡ ˚ . plot: it's your muse's birthday, and haruka remembered.
it's no grand affair, no glittering birthday spectacle, just this: haruka, arms stretched wide, and a cake—carefully chosen in a favorite flavor—perched on the table. “ ta-dah! ” her smile is taut, held in check, humble in its edges. “ you didn't tell me, ” she admits softly, although lilted with a hint of triumph, “ but i found out anyway. ”
now they were finally getting somewhere. introduction was simple enough, but houston never expected much to begin with, especially since they'd been able to just exist beside each other in silence for the longest time. it almost felt sacrilegious to even know that much about the stranger, but he supposed the comfort of being unknown at this moment would still linger if they gave each other just enough & never too much about themselves. ‘ deacon, ’ he echoed, as if testing its weight on his tongue, or familiarizing himself with it. ‘ like the dudes from churches or whatever. ’ and it was only polite to introduce himself, too. ‘ i'm houston, ’ he said, a pause as he tried to decide whether he should offer a handshake, or if he should just keep it impersonal since they might never see each other again anyway. ‘ like the city. ’ he added as he opted for the latter, hands kept on the chains. though lips quirked a picture - perfect smile anyway, the kind primed for photoshoots & interviews, or whenever he found himself in an odd situation but wanted the other person to still feel at ease. ‘ so, deacon . . . ’ he started, body shifting to face them a little better. there was a hesitation hidden in the curl of his smirk, didn't know what was too far & what was comfortable, but houston thought he should ask anyway. out of his own selfish curiosity, and partially because he knew it might be easier to talk shit about life to a total stranger. ‘ you wanna tell me why you're out here in the middle of night, when it's cold as shit, or is that way too personal ? i'll tell you mine, if you tell me yours. ’
deacon doesn't do feelings. they haven't for years. it's messy, useless, like trying to scoop smoke into one's hands—no traction, no payoff. talking doesn't fix anything; it doesn't bend reality to suit him. it just ... is. and yet, here he is, suspended in the ridiculousness of this encounter, the fleeting novelty of someone else's company that might vanish the second the chill drives them back inside, back to their own worlds. he's tempted to leak a sliver of himself anyway. mirroring houston, they pivot just enough, the angle calculated, ready to throw a little truth into the void. “ i'm head chef at this fancy ass restaurant, ” he starts, clipped with that habitual edge. “ not that i wanted to be, but they needed one, and i was ... there. and i should act grateful, like i've arrived at some culinary paradise, but it's just ... not. ” their jaw tightens. the day's residue sits heavy in his chest: rich assholes parsing his life choices between courses, critiquing his labor like it was a moral failing. a joke. a bitter, grotesque joke. “ i fucking hate these people. bunch of fuckin' assholes. ” the words taste sharp but necessary. hate is a strong word, sure—but today it fits like leather. they let it settle, the barest exhale carving a little space in their chest. that's more than they've given in months. more than they meant to. “ anyway, ” their voice is softer now, almost neutral. “ what about you? ”
She watches him as he looks around to no avail and gives up on the already unlikely scenario that they could get themselves out. Her phone buzzes and she sees her absence has been noted for tonights rehearsal and sighs before popping it away. Eyes lock onto his face as she speaks and she finds herself smiling at his amusement, "You know what? I'm with you on that." She pulled her coat off and laid it on the floor before sitting on top of it, "Might as well make ourselves comfortable."
she's got the right idea. ambrose doesn't hesitate; he mirrors her motion, except he resigns himself to the full indignity of bare contact. hips and palms press to the cold, grimy surface, the very brand of filth that might leave a memory on his pants long after laundry has tried to scrub it clean. he leans back, letting the wall bear part of his weight, “ so, ” he glances around briefly, “ where were you headed before this happened? ” a beat. civility persists, even trapped in a tin box with no escape. “ i'm ambrose, by the way. ” his arm extends, earnest, a hand reaching out to shake.
her mind had to be playing tricks on her. the night must've tipped her into a delusion born from exhaustion and an abundance of solitude. so much time had passed since she heard that voice, but her body recognized it, even before her brain did, and it felt like a muscle recalling how to move. head lifting, brown eyes wide, their gazes intersected, and nostalgia flooded through her along with a cascade of memories: summers biking down streets with scraped knees, afternoons in this very park, promises they couldn't keep due to the everchanging seasons of life. "deacon?" she breathed out, mirroring his wonder. "holy shit. it's really you." she took him in, the familiarity seeping through, and a smile formed, crinkling at the corners of her eyes. "i thought you left this city behind years ago." questions swirled in her mind, but she didn't want to bombard him. vaguely, she recalled him having big dreams . . . well, they both had. "how has life been treating you?" kindly, she hoped.
they did, once. left this place like it was something to shed—skin sloughed off in the name of reinvention. over a decade gone now, and still the memory of it clings: they left for college, for a degree that promised everything and delivered jack shit. a framed reminder of debt and wasted years. funny how that worked out. a whole lifetime flickers through him as he looks at her; makes it hard to tell if he's supposed to say something profound or just breathe through it. everything and nothing sits on his tongue at once, so he defaults to what he does best: indifference, lacquered smooth over the cracks. “ yeah, ” they exhale, lips twitching into something that wants to be a smile and almost makes it. “ yeah, i'm back now. ” a beat. a shrug that tries too hard not to care. “ got a pretty cushy gig workin' at one of those fancy restaurants here. ” he shifts toward aspen. the swing creaks. “ what about you? ”
it's maybe the first time in a long time that cameron has felt settled and at peace. he lets out a breath that he wasn't even aware that he was holding when he feels taiwo's hand against his. soft and warm against his that are roughened from callouses due to years of playing hockey. his breathing slows a little, he's sure of it. it's almost as if her touch grounds him from the hurricane of thoughts going 100mph in his head. if only he could have her next to him on the bench with him during a game. actually, maybe that was terrible idea. he wanted to keep her as far from that part of his life as possible. the ugliness and brutality of hockey was something he couldn't drag her into, he couldn't take the chance of tainting something so peaceful, so good and real. hockey had invaded every corner of his life and this was the one thing he wanted to keep separate from that world, even if it meant keeping the truth about who he really was from taiwo.
"it's more than okay," he beams at her, eyes crinkling as he squeezes her hand softly. his thumb softly grazes the back of her hand, swinging them back and forth ever so slightly. "it's nice being out here like this, out with you."
and when she looks at him, she looks at him like he strung the constellations himself—threaded starlight through the night just to see her smile. there's devotion in it, bright and guileless, the kind that might scorch her if she knew the truth. because she doesn't. not yet. she hasn't seen him in the blinding light of the rink, all speed and grace and noise, the roar of thousands chanting his name—a name that belongs on jerseys and headlines, not here, sitting beside her with the low hum of streetlights instead of applause. as far as taiwo is concerned, this—him, here, now—is the good part of the world. the small miracle. the impossible thing that feels earned, even if she doesn't know what it cost. cameron is worth it. worth every second of suspended disbelief, every thrum of adrenaline that hums beneath her skin like a live wire. their fingers knot together, tighter, until the goddamn air itself feels conspiratorial. the warmth between them climbs higher, creeping up her throat, settling hot across her cheeks. “ okay, ” she blurts, cracking open the silence. the word feels inadequate, stupidly mortal, and it makes her laugh under her breath. “ cool. ” another small act of rebellion against her own nerves—she tips her head to rest against cameron's shoulder. it's easier not to look at him when the closeness already feels too much, like staring into the sun. her voice comes quieter this time, soft enough that it might get lost between them. “ is your heart beating as fast as mine right now? ”
LEE PACE in FOUNDATION (2021-)
just ate my little heart out in $1 oysters and came back inspired to have my lee pace be a volunteer firefighter AND a catty divorce lawyer
ideating ... ideating ….. lee pace oc….should he be a catty divorce lawyer…or a humble house flipper … or a surgeon…
