Caspian

bc i feel like roman is stereotypical “princess” feminine, frills and glitter and “omg boys!!!” and singing cute disney songs, a doe eyed optimist that is so innocent they toe the line of naivety

which could make remus the comparison of what people call “dark feminine,” enraged, bloody, not afraid to scream about sex and murder and rape, able to prey on people’s biases + ignorance to make something truly horrifying. unapologetically loud, taking up space, seeing the filth of the world and refusing to look away, reveling in challenging societal expectations then laughing as they break them.

Yes yes i know love is love. But they are still killing CHILDREN. over this.

Sharing with @amberandomly ^^

Turn arounds of my and amber's characters

my chiikawa oc/child Tubig

Small orange side doodle (yet another homage to mini-me who made a wrath-side in 2020, my hc on what Orange could be has changed tho)

I think orange would be impulsivity cause to me its linked w being irrational which is the obvious antonym to logic - that and I think (personally) having orange be 'wrath/rage' detracts slightly from Pattons 'repressing my emotions is bad' arc. Also the 'orange' moments logan has had are often to do w him losing his shit slightly and that Is acting on Impulse if yall are picking up what im putting down

Jon waking up from his coma to Tim at his side: he's still angry, of course, but he doesn't have anywhere better to be (at least, that's his excuse)

Them comparing scars - not only do they have similar ones from the Prentiss attack, but they now have matching burn scars from the explosion. Bonus points if they have scars on opposite sides because they were pressed up against each other when it went off.

Jon having absolutely terrible circulation post-coma (I mean, his heart was stopped for the entire time) and being perpetually cold. Tim, on the other hand, is quite literally a human furnace. One day Tim finds Jon asleep in the archives, shivering profusely, and wordlessly gets into bed beside him to keep him warm; he wakes up the next morning to Jon practically wrapped around him and doesn't have the heart to push him off. Maybe it becomes a regular thing, or maybe it just happens once and neither of them bring it up again.

Tim constantly smelling of cigarette smoke - Jon can't figure out if he smokes that much or if it's a Desolation thing, but either way, the scent is comforting to him.

Tim lighting Jon's cigarettes for him with his Desolation powers. They both know how bad they are for them, but neither of them really care any more, and hey, it's an excuse to spend more time alone together.

...Tim never quite forgiving Jon: he doesn't hate him as much as before, but sometimes when he looks at him, he feels that rush of white-hot anger in his veins and wants, more than anything, for him to burn.

"My- feelings?" Jon echoes flatly, his own cigarette dangling between his fingers. The air is hazy with smoke, the stench of it curling lazily in his gut.

"You know," Tim gestures vaguely, "your emotions- feelings- even you must have them, I'm sure."

Jon steals a glance at his face, turning back at the slight quirk of his lips, an indication that Tim was joking. He takes another drag, whistling out the next exhale. Exasperated, he replies, "In my brain, I suppose? Isn't that where all emotions originate?"

"Well, yes," Tim says, "but you're going about it too literally."

"Was I not supposed to?"

"No. Not like that, at least. For example," Tim puts the cigarette between his lips, takes a drag, and holds his breath. His cheeks puff out from the effort. After a few seconds, he releases his breath, smoke rolling out of his mouth like a creek. "I keep my happiness here, in my cheeks. When I smile, I feel it pulling. When I'm happy, it almost hurts."

"Or--" Tim's hand lowers, lightly patting his abdomen. Jon eyes the still lit cigarette nervously. "--I feel fear here, in my stomach. Sometimes I get so nervous I want to puke."

He flicks his hand up again, staccato, stopping by the hollow of his throat. The tips of his fingers run over his adam's apple, lightly tracing the skin of his neck as he swallows. His voice is significantly softer when he says, "I feel grief in my throat. It almost feels like choking."

"And my anger," he says, turning his hand over, fingers spread out and reaching, "I feel it in my palms, my fingers." He closes it into a fist, hard enough that Jon can see his knuckles turn white. "Like lightning."

Jon stares at his own hand thoughtfully, brow slightly furrowed. He says, haltingly, "Well- I suppose my happiness is in my hands," lightly grazing his fingers over his palm, "they've their own mind sometimes."

"And," Jon taps his collarbone, expression still pinched in thought, "my sadness is in my lungs. Sometimes I can hardly breathe." He huffs a quiet laugh, "Though that might just be all the smoking."

His hand travels to his jaw, hovering before dropping to his side. "My anger is in my tongue, in my gritted teeth. The words fly out before I can reign them in."

Tim snorts. "I can attest to that."

Jon shoves a bony elbow into his side, pointedly ignoring the expletives that follow. His hand wavers in the air for a second, before he tucks it into himself, arms crossed and cigarette dangling from his fingertips. "I guess feel fear in my bones. They burrow into me, like- hm- a worm?"

"A worm." Tim echoes, teasing. "You've got fear worms in you?"

"You asked." Jon shoots back, face warm. "I've never tried to put it into words before. You know what I meant."