#Cus my fill tool was mean

[astermagne]

a little speedraw

[barbatusart]

how do you make your art so expressive and fluid-looking? do you have a technique or is it just how you've trained your hand? I try to get my figures more fluid but they always look so stiff! even practicing figure drawings...maybe because you draw so fast that helps? idk man...any advice? thank you!

thank you first off for such a compliment!!! fluidity & shape are the things i prize most in visual art to the point where ive given up gunning for "correctness" in favor of chasing the preservation of motion lol. gonna put my response and my Full Visual Art Journey to where i am now under the cut as it's an image-heavy one and a bit long winded (shocking for me to be long winded i know LOL)

so i absolutely used to have the exact same problem many years ago of my stuff being too stiff, ie my sketch would be loose and fun but my inks would be nervous & tight & not as fun to look at as the sketch

this is a super old thing from 2011 when i was still on my anatomy journey (you can tell cus the sternum and nose are, uh, interesting LOL) but you can kinda see what i mean - the sketch underneath is fun & has movement as sketches do, but these little fineliner inks are so visually Nervous. the issue for me at the time was that i was subconsciously exactly that: nervous of messing the picture up, and that fear of making a mistake telegraphed loud & clear to my inks. using fineliner tools 100% did not help me either, as microns & the like have little to no "give" to them; you put the pen to paper and you get what you get, and you have to sit there & meticulously build the line up to get any kind of lineweight.

i was ultra dissatisfied with my output so i made 2 changes a few years after this: i stopped doing pencil sketches and started just doing straight inks, and i swapped to a brushpen

these are from 2012 or so & some of the first things i did in straight brushpen inks with no pencil, and theyre a total mess but they are LOOSE AND FUN! i had 100% no idea what i was doing with the brushpen and had no control over it because i was so used to the thin lines pencil & microns gave me, so everything i made was sloppy & out of control as i was struggling to keep control of the tool, but honestly it was absolutely freeing for me. now i had the looseness of the sketch right there at the forefront. the issue was though, how could i get enough control of the brushpen to make something that wasnt so messy? even if i had freedom, if i got too wacky with it, itd just turn into a black ink mess. i was completely done with pencils at this point and didn't want to go back & risk losing this looseness & freedom, and then i realized like - what if i just do my straight ink sketch like this & then figure out a way to go back in & "carve" into it to clean it?

enter the next tool in the arsenal, the white gel pen. this was my first experiment with it & it was legitimately a complete game changer, because now i could slop on my inks as much as i wanted & go right back in with the gel pen & literally carve out the black lines to as crisp as i pleased while still preserving the motion & energy of the ink sketch. i noticed even with tons of layers of gel too there was no way to fully get rid of the ghost outline of my corrections, so at this stage i leaned into that quality even harder & changed from white paper to exclusively brown

at this point i wanted to showcase loud & clear to myself exactly what i was cleaning up, i LOVED how this looked. i even went a step further & got some really translucent red ink for a second brush pen (had to fill the cartridges with the red ink manually in the sink lol) so i could do an even sloppier red sketch underneath, half precise slop on black ink on top of it, clean it up with the gel, go back in with the black, forever and ever and ever

and like this was an absolute physical mess of material but it was beyond fun. id completely given up on anything being clean or correct, because i could always clean it & correct it & have a blast showcasing the journey of start to finish as preserved in the materials. i basically gave myself permission to like, be imperfect, treat inks like clay, & draw with complete abandon like a kid again

eventually utrecht stopped making the kind of brown paper i loved (these brown paper books were HEAVY DUTY & could take so much punishment, when i was done with a book id legit flip it over & start drawing on the backs of the pages) & then all the available material physically couldnt handle the amount of medium i was putting on my pages, like legit the paper itself was just ripping & dissolving lmao. so at this stage i got an ipad (i could never wrap my head around a tablet & not looking at my hand and the tool touching the artwork) & pivoted from trad to digital in like uhhhh 2018ish & just did the exact same techniques of slopping inks down, carving with the eraser, going back in with the inks, carving more with the eraser, and so on. and now since it was digital & i never had to worry about my paper literally melting underneath my brushes LOL i could just go forever on one thing

early attempts while learning the new medium in my fury road era

tail end of the SAD SACK roughs in like 2019ish (SAD SACK really was what got me locked in with my digital technique & how i wanted to attack it)

tail end of the SORTIE roughs from like 2021, at this stage i think my style got so fuckin crazy because i wasnt worried about my pages getting destroyed anymore so im like Violent with the ipad lmao, that & it got Really fast bcus since i wasnt bothering with correct anymore & had no medium-being-destroyed barrier i could just gunshot-speed get these down

and then most recently DE RERUM NATURA from like january of this year which i think showcases what im currently doing pretty accurately

this got long whoops lol POINT IS: i dont worry about being correct (because i can fix it later), i dont worry about being neat (because i can clean it later), and i skip the sketch stage entirely by slop-inking & eraser-carving interchangeably, which lets me fix and clean all i want while preserving the energy & action of the first marks. plus, going straight inks all the time i think trained my hand & eye to A. put down the marks i want correctly in the General Space of where i want them, and B. do it faster & faster lol

after all this my advice to you is this: swap to a new tool! try a brush, try paint, try a medium you have no control over but something that forces you to improvise and remember whats so fun in the first place about making a mess on your canvas of choice. remember that any mark you make, you can tweak, fix, carve, shove around, whatever. i think a lot of people get stuck in the rules they have set for themselves with art (i know i did!) and we tend to forget that there are no rules. try & remember that feeling of being little & just going wild on paper without any care whatsoever about being Right. go for it, because you can always tweak it - even inks arent permanent 🤓

[fatteningmenstories2]

Coached

Chapter 1 

‘Davidson a word please !”

What was it this time, Axel was already raking his brain to see what mistake he had made this time, not being the sharpest tool in the shed always led him to situations like this. And as the bustle of the  changing rooms slowly died out, Axel knew he couldn’t leave Coach waiting

“Come on Davidson - finished putting on your makeup yet’ Howled Coach from his office 

‘No Coach.. I mean .. ’ ah Axel was always a mess when it came to speaking to Coach, sure he certainly fit the All American stereotype which his killer 6 pac and biceps for days  but Coach was on whole another level, towering over anyone who dared to stand up to him, the man stood at an imposing 6ft 5 and was  jammed tight with muscle earned from his old wrestling years Axel was basically putty in his hands and it  especially wasn’t helped  by the fact that he was harbouring a schoolboy’s crush on him, but not wanting to keep the man across campus for his bite being worse than his bark so Axel knew that he couldn’t run from this mountain of a man 

“Coming Coach’

“Right lets get started’

Sitting in Coach’s office Axel felt like he was straight back in high school, designed to the last detail to make its guest feel uneasy -  Coach’s office was no easy place to be. Shelves filled high with trophies and medals, and walls littered with pictures from Coach’s own wrestling days and the  varies teams he was in charge of over the college, one knew that Coach Creed was not one to mess around with

Axel could trace Coach’s entire life through those walls, from a young wrestler no bigger than he was, to his old college team and finally to a buff muscular man winning accolades easily late into his 40s. All resulting in the 50 year old man sporting silver hairs and bulging veiny muscles sat before him. 

“Now I hate to the bearer of bad news, but Axel those no other way to put this … you  simply are just not fast enough for track’

What !!!!,  the heavy weight of all the gym equipment couldn’t to compare to weight that was being onto dropped Axel’s shoulders, he was speechless 

“I’ve been looking over your times on the track, and its just not good enough’

“Butt..Bu…’ His defence couldn’t even leave his mouth before Coach’s hand signalled for his silence. And with the ferocity of a bull with its eyes set on its target Coach plowed straight through,  dismantling Axels dreams on the side 

“To be honest this colleges track team isn’t going anyway fast  enough .. ha ha’ he paused laughing at his own joke “ And the team we’ve got is just outside your body potential’ 

He gestured, pulling the noose tighter and tighter around’s Axels neck leaving Axel frozen in his seat

“But I hate to see such wasted potential So…’ he stalled,  eyeing up Axel sternly ‘ Axel isn’t ? consider this your lucky day cus theres an opening on my Wrestling team, sure its a bit different from running around in the same circle all day every day, but this is a sport for Men!!’

He let that last sentence ruminate, his powerful voice echoing around the room 

’Now Davidson ask yourself, when you tell your kids about you wild college days do you think they gonna to care about how daddy ran around chasing his tail all day or more likely how Dad wrestled with men and triumphed’

All Axel could do was feebly nod his head to scared to even make a peep 

‘Exactly Davidson you get  it, now to be honest you ate on the small side .. ain’t you ’ ( It was like the noose reappeared only tighter), “But I am happy to take you under my wing and make a worthwhile man out you”

What could he say, he certainly couldn’t see himself standing up to Coach but this was his live he had to put up a fight

“I..”

“And before you say anything just know that, that spot you might see yourself clinging onto on the track team is long gone , its Zero!  Nada!  we’ve got a faster kid already lined up for it’

Throwing a whimpering dog a bone Coach buckled down again 

'So its either wrestling or nothing, you can kiss the scholarship of yours goodbye and especially your social ‘credit’ on campus - what you say’

And with his cards already played for him  Axel knew he couldn’t run from this,  all he had left to do was nod his head as Coach happily showed him where to sign on the papers and then  showed him out, patting him on his firm buttocks as he slammed  the door behind him 

The walk back to his dorm seemed like it could go on forever, Axel felt like he had just finally settled in, his classes were going okay, his dorm mate was great and not to mention that the gay culture had easily let another good looking lad like himself into their ranks. This was the first real opposition he could even remember,  all his life he could coast by on track and his looks and now Coach Creed was ripping it away from him with the ease of a man stepping on a bug.

Sure he should have put up a fight but when he got back to his dorm and his RA informed him of his notice, telling him he had a day to pack and move he knew that there was probably very little he could have even done.

The weekend ahead was jammed back to front, first after moving out and saying his departure to Jake his now old new roommate, he had the task of moving into the wrestling dorm. Being the last to move in and by far the lowest member in the wrestling hierarchy he wasn’t given much say about his roommate - who had been given the non-imposing name of ‘The  Boulder’ Stepping into his new room it was easy to see why the rest of the team had  landed on this nickname, Tony ‘ aka the Boulder’ was easily the largest wrestler or even man properly on campus. Compared to Axel’s trim muscular frame Tony was a behemoth, standing at must have only been 5ft 9 what Tony lacked in height he made up for in size, he barely fit unto his double bed let alone their doorway. Wrestling had given Tony a strong muscular body with arms the size of tree trunks and thighs that could break bricks but his apparent gluttonous diet paved the way for his fat boy gut and rolls upon rolls of fat. Despite his impressive size and importance on the team even Axel could see why this was the least desirable roommate, from  the floor littered with candy packages, the smell of old takeout and Tony’s easily explained laziness leaving the room looking more like a pig sty, Axel’s  new roommate was definitely going to take some adjusting to

It wasn’t just to the ‘The boulder’ that Axel easily stood out too, it was the entire team, sure Axel certainly wasn’t a stick with his firm pecs and his muscles for days but the rest of the team was just in a  whole different arena. Most of them were Axels ages some a little older but they all looked like proper men, each one beefier than the next,  packed high with body hair and muscle. And they behaved just like proper men too, when they weren’t training they were sparring with other, playing the latest video games cracking beers and even watching pornos out in the open. Not to mention their limitless appetites fuelled by their wrestling led them to be constantly be grazing on takeout and various meats. Finishing  them all off with round stomachs and fuller frames all over.  But too Axels surpise it seemed that the boys had gladly  taken him in - even going as far to nickname him ‘Pretty boy’ already, it wasn’t till later as Tony plowed straight through a large dominoes pizzas he learnt their real intention. And as he struggled to fall asleep in his new room that was filled with  Tony’s  loud snoring or the greasy smell of the empty takeout boxes, Axel couldn’t help himself but be a bit giddy thinking about what the next year under Coach’s ‘wings’ would grow into

                                            ***********

“Now Davidson to put this simply there just isn’t enough of you is there’

Standing in his briefs as Coach took his necessary measurements, Axel couldn’t help but feel a tad  bit vulnerable sure he had a great muscular boy that people would line up to get with  but as Coach noted his findings 

'28 inch waist’

'160 lbs’

“90inch torso”

The sound of disappointment that followed each taking was enough to silence him 

‘If I played you in your current state, I’m pretty sure a middle scholar could snap you in halve you twig, now you wouldn’t want that would you’ he paused as if waiting for an answer, all Axel could do was nod sheepishly as Coach continued with his tangent 

“Exactly Davidson - not to mention the embarrassment you would probably face compared to the rest of my team they would spit you out for starters’ Coach went on “No we can’t have that now can we, So don’t your worry a pretty little hair on you head’

Coach  said  grabbing Axel’s chin and pushing his head side to side leaving a definite pause in the air 

“Coach won’t have that’  he said to himself breaking the silence in a hush tone 

“We’ll get some meat on those bones of yours in on time”

As the meeting continued and Axel found that Coach’s style of conversation was more like a series of instructions belted out to him, which he was expected to follow with no hesitation, this was something he was happy to do. He loved not having to use his own brain for anything and following Coach’s instructions left little room for error 

“Now dress up and sit down we’ve got some serious work to start Davidson’  

“Look this isn’t going to be easy - but its a good thing you’ve got the best coach this side of the Mississippi on you side’ Coach’s southern thang always found a way to jump out 

“First things first before I get you out there on the ring - I’m gonna to have to get you into fighting state - and from the looks of things I’ve got a lot of work to do - haven’t’

Axel thought it was best to just keep nodding his head in ever pause,  too clueless to really contribute anything 

“Right you get it Davidson, I’m going to have to put you on a little bulk - well not so little I guess’ laughed Coach 

“You’re gonna get Coach’s special Bulk up plan, the very same one that got me from looking like a pipsqueak like yourself into the man you see before yourself’ making a note to draw attention to his own impressive frame by flexing his giant arms 

Axel hated how turned on all this Man spreading was turning him on 

“I own you now, everything you do, say and eat MUST be exactly to  my orders even to  the last crumb - have made myself clear DAVIDSON  !!’ raising his voice to pin the point down 

All Axel could do was simply nod his square head up and down to scared and even more so turned on by Coach rage

“Exactly, now first thing out you gonna do is  throw out those little girls running shoes - ain’t going to be doing much of that anymore’ Pausing to let Axel quickly take off his shoes , and chucking  them in the bin behind his desk

‘I making a man not a feeble little mouse - ain’t I Davidson”

 Allowing time for Axel to nod as his wriggled his unhoused feet Coach went on 

 “No more training, no more cardio you can’t forgot all of that instead..” He said getting up and retrieving something 

“You’re going to be drinking these’

Handing Axel the largest shake he had ever seen

‘What you doing staring at it - I SAID DRINK UP - didn’t I’

Seeing Coach’s veins in his head, Axel quickly grabbed the shake and started gulping it down, and it wasn’t hard too -  it was delicious. Creamy and Chocolatey he gulped it down the fastest he could, even more turned than before. 

“Ah I see you like it - its Coach’s top secret recipe, Don’t go spreading it around will you now Davidson ?’

Too sacred to even nod Axel just kept drinking it the faster and faster only pausing to let out burps of the delicious concoction

“Attaboy you’re even sounding like a man already, there’s going to be a lot more of that now, 3 of those a day or everywhere you feel like putting those gay little running shoes on  - you hear  and  I BETTER not  see you wasting any of that ’

 Gulp, Axel made sure to finish the very last remnants, licking his lips free of the delicious substance in order to show Coach’s an empty cup

“That’s more like it, now here’s your amended timetable’

Handing it over, Axel was surprised to really see how much Coach power  really had at this college, apart from his main Business’s classes nothing remained all instead replaced with gym session and hours tabled sport, even his lunch had been  upgraded to 3 hours and he was happy to see even more free time 

“Like the changes huh Davidson’ Coach said spying Axels prying smile 

“Don’t get any ideas, each one of those gym sessions are mandatory , DON’T EVEN DARE  go skipping out on me now and in those free times you going to be under close eye - you hear !!” 

“Yes Coach” Axel let out, not knowing where it came from 

“Now with that all worked out’ Coach said putting on a smile himself ‘you’ll be pleased to know  you’ve joined us just in time for photos - now scram’

And with that Axel grabbed his bag, quickly fixed his boner and left, happy to know Coach’s orders for him. 

Returning to the changing team the rest of the team were eagerly  waiting to pounce  - “Look who it is ,Pretty boy’s back form his private session’ followed by the subsequent wooing and towel slaps as a blushing Axel made his way to Tony who was waiting with his  new wrestling singlet 

“Forgot them” Pausing to take chunks out of a giant chocolate bar “They grow out of’   Bite .. ‘your just fresh meat’ Tony said in-between bites, handing over his singlet

Trying it on, it was loose all over, Axel was practically swimming in it, asking Tony to read the label on the back in disbelief 

“XS, hey no pressure we just run a bit big here in wrestling’ Tony responded slapping his overflowing gut which wobbled and jiggled under his fat hand

But this didn't help Axel, when the words XS left his lips Axel couldn’t help but be shocked, Coach was right he was just a pipsqueak. Looking around all the other men filled their singlets nicely, showing off their round glutes  and filled pecs, he looked like a stick  in his, compared to them . His pecs barely  touched the straps not to mention the excess fabric around his thighs that piled up. Looking over at Tony he seemed  to be  having the opposite problem, all though his muscular arms and imposing gait  was clearly on display, the real star of the show was his fat gut that easily pushed the fabric to its limited, refusing to be contained and flowing over the singlet  hiding it from vision. Surrounded by all the other wrestlers Axel looked  borderline anorexic, nobody had ever made him feel so small all the guys he had go out always compliment his body but that was in the past, even Axel knew that if he was to survive on the team some change were going to have to made 

‘Ah don’t worry about them Axel, when Coach has his way with you will be filling out that singlet of yours in no time, not lets get moving’ Tony finished gobbling up the rest of the chocolate bar

When the photograph came out, it don’t take Axel long to see  he stood out like a sour thumb not being helped by being next to Tony’s giant self. Where he had abs the rest of them had thick muscle guts, his toned trim legs were their muscular beefy thighs, he looked like a boy next to men, even with his American good-looks and chiselled  jaw standing out to their double chin and rounded cheeks, Axel felt pathetic  but looking on the bright side as he guzzled down his shake, Coach had stepped in and he was happy to follow all of Coach’s orders to grow into a proper man.

[youremyheaven]

talking about Jennie makes me appreciate her more and more. I have a Venus Nak rising and I will say, I was pleased to find that out cus it explained a lot on how I am viewed throughout my life. your studies and answers to asks helped in understanding Venusian energy. I believe it’d be cool if Jennie is confirmed as one, too! ma’am, pls drop your birth time! we astrology girlies need to know 😩✨

im glad my blog has helped so many of you��🥺over the years, ive gotten some really sweeet responses and it truly warms my heart to know that ive played whatever little part i could in someone's understanding of themselves/lives. all the things we blame ourselves for, all the things we think are our flaws, everything we perceive to be "wrong" with us, so much of it comes from our astrological DNA and the way we're tired to deal with life.

living unaware of these patterns and natural tendencies can mean we suffer a lot, esp at the hands of others who try to brainwash us and try to make us believe we're not who we think we are. astrology can be a powerful tool for self-realisation. it helps me not take shit from anyone regarding my abilities/talents/powers/blessings, like nobody on earth can tell me that im unfortunate or lacking or whatever bc i have seen my chart with my own eyes. and the same goes for everybody else, we're all uniquely gifted and blessed and the world may often try to fill our hearts with doubt but look at the latent powers beholden in your chart and know that you were born with it all. nothing anybody says can take away from you what is divinely yours.

also im pretty convinced Jennie already knows/uses astrology. she meditates and uses crystals and listens to frequency music, so its not a stretch to think that she's also into astrology 😏hopefully we'll know soon

[pinkseas]

[parasocial bestie] to both responses on ur wip fics; i'm not a writer myself, like in a fic way altho i pour my brainrots out in a narrative way its a Mess, but i get what you mean!! it does feel like the more you stretch a story out there's bound to be a lot of loose ends and gaps you need to fill since you basically expanded it. in a way its how it is with drawing when you do big Big projects, having too much blank spaces over your main subjects without a decent background of the piece can get Annoying.

"i have my overall goal and less of an idea of how to reach it" OKAY BUT PERSONALLY? not even gonna relate genshin than my own original stories i always have this problem and still do, like. having a Beginning and End but literally almost no middle bc theres SO MUCH TO FILL and you have to think how it progresses chronologically And logically how it reaches the ending you imagined. it felt easy, it felt nice and 'complete', until you think of the middle and thats how i have stories that never finishes itself and stick to just throwing ideas around but unsure to put it as its canon or not o)-( so yeah!! the closest i can understand of a Process especially to long narratives.

ANYWAY THE,.... THE LUMINE ZHONGI @XIAO LYRICS,.... when hte,... when the UHUHUHUHUHUHSUHGUFHGUHUGSUDHFSKFHSKDJH

oh. yeah. i realized i did sorta sent a Bunch of brainrot BUT LIKE PREE MUCH EVERYTHGIN I HAD RELATED TO UM,.. AKFJHD THE XIAO DYING ONE OOPS cus,..... becus ughuhfjfdhgk its like a Big fav for me and am curious (and now i am a lil embarrassed JKAFHSDKFJH) and anyways i have a lot of Impulsive Brainrot Showers,....... scattered in that big one i told u cus of the Potential,....

also ill have u know during the recovery after xiao woke he can be a little cold bc the incident rlly shot down his physical constitution to nature so lumine covers him in a lil blanket over his shoulders that he can walk around with and that imagery is probably an Icon that represents the whole brainrot in general. blanket taco burrito xiao i think. anyway lumine got bored and did crochet, taught xiao how since its easier than knitting that thoma taught her, and the guy spent hours continuously crochetting a sheet like probably miles long till late at night bc lumine forgot teach him how to End the stitching. sweet lovely dumbass <3333

yes yes the expansion and more gaps to fill !!! that def makes sense with art too we are shaking hands rn... and idk when you have the filler/details planned beforehand it can be SO fun but when youre struggling to fill in the gaps. well. Fawk

admittedly cannot relate too too much with having a beginning and end, 80% of the time when i write i start from the middle there's just So Much Middle and then i dont know what goes where or how to connect it or what to make the beginning or end and and. explodes. actually tbf i have a solid beginning idea for both current wips and a half-decent ending for one of them but god help me figure out how the FUCK im gonna end the xiaolumi one i havent even thought about it yet it could honestly go on forever <- my worst nightmare.... stories that are never finished my BELOATHED i definitely get that god we are shaking hands once more

THAT'S ONE OF MY RLY OLD FAVORITE SONGS ITS SOOOOOOOOOOOO. xiao when he sees himself as an object or a tool or a weapon or something horrible but never really a Person and the song captures that so well when you think of him and the uckfingfg.f the fuckifngfg.

explodes and dies

THE XIAO DYING ONE GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD hold on finishing responding to this first

cold man with a blanket over his shoulders what if i Cried. that is so perfect in every way shape and form dear LORD. and lumi teaching him crochet and forgetting to teach him how to end the stitching is both so cute and so fucking funny dear lord this poor man sitting there for hours going on and on and on........

XIAO ALMOST DYING. GOD.

i have too many thoughts on death and near death and grief. something about xiao not allowing himself to grieve or process that he'd really been dead for a moment there because he survived, it's in the past, what is there to worry about? what is there to think of? it doesnt matter anymore. lumine struggling to come to terms with how close it was, constantly pushing back the what-ifs, if she'd been sooner if she'd been later if she hadn't been able to help him the way she did if zhongli hadn't come if if if if. zhongli, so accustomed to deaths of those so dear to him and moving forward from it, still shaken to the core because no matter how many times it happens you never really get used to it. it doesnt ever get easier. similar to xiao, telling himself over and over that it doesnt matter, all that matters is that xiao is okay, there's no need to grieve or be upset when he's alright. it's pointless.

lumine (and paimon) (and probably also venti lbr) bonking them both on the head because its important to process your emotions, because the fact that xiao isnt dead doesn't just magically get rid of the fear and the grief that the situation created. yes we Are talking about our feelings you stupid fucks ignoring the elephant in the room will not make the elephant in the room disappear. ignoring your feelings will not make them vanish it will only allow them to fester and grow stronger and more destructive!!!!

you'd think that people who've been alive for thousands of years wouldve learned how to express themselves by now but lumine and venti have to really push them through it.

and idk. just. the physical repercussions and what that means for him mentally. the intense feelings of self hate and uselessness amplified by being stuck in bed, amplified by being unable to move and fight and function the way he used to, having to relearn such "basic" things. he would be SO hard on himself about it. he should be better than this, he shouldve avoided it, it never shouldve happened in the first place, he should be recovering faster (nevermind that he is recovering exceptionally quickly in the first place, all things considered. just adepti things). and working through all of that, working through the frustration and the helplessness, being shown endless patience and love and care through it all, i just. mmmmmmmmmmmmmgmnfmngmfngmfdgnmg fuck.

finding himself useful and kept around and maybe even cared for as a tool vs being very suddenly forced to face the reality that even when he cannot fulfill his duty, even when he cant fight, even when he has no "use" and cant fulfill what he sees as his purpose- he's alive. he's cared for. he's loved and learning and moving forward regardless.

[mx-lovely]

May I give a suggestion since I loved your writing so far? (Since I've seen you're not taking requests just suggestions)

How about anything about Karna or cu chulainn Lancer?

I love them both!

╰┈➤ oh hello! my first ask! i hope you (and anyone else) enjoy this little drabble.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠/𝐬: none

(intentional lowercase)

karna expected the usual when he was first summoned by you.

to be treated like a tool, a means to an end, a servant and nothing more. built to serve and built to die and come back again. he was used to it at this point.

he cut off useless feelings ー things like kindness or pity would not help him in bloodshed and war ー and focused all his efforts on being a useful, powerful servant. someone who would make you fearsome just by standing by your side.

and he got what he expected, yes, but then he got.. something more.

he was a servant, but you treated him like... you treated him like an old friend. like you cared for and loved him, showed him kindness and smiled at him the same way you would towards mash and da vinci, who've known you longer than him. you put all your faith and trust in him, treasured him like no other.

you fussed over injuries he gained and told him, time and time and time again, firm yet gentle and kind, to be more careful.

he was a servant, but you made him feel like something more. made him feel things he'd never felt before, filled him with a warm, fuzzy feeling that buzzed around his stomach and his heart beat just a little bit faster.

he remembers how coldly he used to regard you. how he brushed off your efforts, found things you tried to do with him boring (but he was always quick to assure you that no master. it isn't you. it's my fault. sorry).

now his heart fluttered and lodged itself in his throat when he tried to talk to you, now he rushed to your side in every battle at practically any sign of danger, now he actively sought out your touch, your voice, your warmth, your smile.

karna may not yet entirely understand these feelings you give him, but he knows that he isn't averse to them, knows that he adores you.

you are his beloved master. nothing in the world and beyond would ever change that.

[kayluh1915]

I Miss You

Pairing(s): Francisco "Catfish" Morales/Female Reader

Words: 1,645

Warnings: Implied PTSD, mentioned former drug addiction, 18+ ONLY!

You and Frankie have a much-needed chat... and some unanticipated (but welcomed) alone time.

(Gif credit: @uuuhshiny )

I have no excuse for this. I'm fuckin' weak for Frankie and this is just my proof. 👀

I would apologize for my filth, but I'm not really that sorry. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

As always, comments are welcomed and encouraged.

You can also follow me on Twitter if you'd like. My life is boring, but I try.

Enjoy, my fellow whores!

My Masterlist

Read on AO3

Frankie had been in his shed all afternoon.

Extra warnings: Oral sex (F receiving), rough (protected) sex, hair pulling, light sub/dom, and creampie.

____________________

He hadn’t quite been the same since returning from his spontaneous trip down to South America, burying himself in a multitude of projects ranging from small builds all the way up to fixing something on the car that really didn’t need to be fixed.

You didn’t complain. You’d rather him cope with that then his previous methods, but he’d still end up isolating himself for long periods of time, missing meals and countless hours of sleep.

He was laying under the car again when you took him his dinner that evening, only able to see his legs sticking out of the side as you heard him drop one of his wrenches.

“Fuck!” He exclaimed, both sudden noises slightly startling you enough to emit a quiet yelp of surprise. Frankie heard you and rolled out from underneath the car, his eyes wide with concern. “Shit, baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay.” You sat his dinner down on his workbench and propped your back up against it, crossing your arms as you watched him stand up and start cleaning his hands with an old wash cloth. “What’s wrong with the car this time?” Frankie turned towards the battered sedan before answering.

“The oil needed changed and something was up with the axel. Was making some kind of weird noise.” You knew that the oil didn’t need to be changed and that the axel’s whirring was extremely mild, but tinkering helped him cope so you didn’t say anything. “What’d you make for dinner?”

“Chicken casserole. Didn’t really turn out the way I wanted it.”

“Anything you make is delicious, baby.” He commented, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you.” This is when you’d usually go back inside and let him have his space, but tonight you couldn’t find the strength to move. Frankie would always come in afterwards with his clean plate and help you with whatever you needed in the house, but you missed him.

You missed the evenings where you would sit and chat about whatever was on your mind, the nonsense you’d speak together and the laughter you shared. You missed cuddling up with him on the couch, letting him play with your hair as one of you complained about the “horrible” movie the other had picked. You missed going to bed at the same time, Frankie’s arms snaking around your waist as he kissed you sweetly.

Most of all, you missed him .

The nights when his innocent kisses would turn passionate, your tongues swirling around one another as his strong hands touched you exactly where you liked.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Frankie asked while chewing his food, bringing you back to the present with a light jolt.

“Yeah, honey. I’m fine… just thinking.” He swallowed the bite he had in his mouth, holding another forkful up.

“About what?” He asked before taking another bite. Your heart spoke before your brain could.

“How much I miss you…” Frankie stopped chewing, his dark eyes quickly glancing over to look at you. You wanted to scold yourself for what you had said. You understood that Frankie was going through a lot mentally and have tried to be supportive, but it was taking its toll.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until a choked sob tore it’s way past your trembling lips.

“Oh, sweetheart…” Frankie cooed, setting his fork down and pulling you into his arms. You laid your head on his shoulder, gripping the back of his shirt tightly as you cried into his neck. Frankie began to gently sway you, kissing the top of your head every now and again.

“I-I’m sorry, Frankie. I know you need me… to be strong and support you but-” You paused for a moment when you sobbed again. “Going to bed without you is so ha-ard.” You began to cry heavier at the confession, Frankie gently brushing your hair out of your eyes.

“Shhh… I know baby, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Please do-don’t feel guilty. I know yo-you’re trying to cope, bu-”

“Shhh.” He interrupted you. “Don’t you apologize for anything, baby. I know I’ve been distant lately after what happened, but you have been wonderful. Cooking me dinner every night and letting me have my space to recoup after all of that? Not a lot of women would do that.”

You didn’t say anything else, allowing his soothing voice to comfort you.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been spending a lot of time with you recently. I’ve been thinking about things a lot and didn’t realize how much I was hurting you. I promise, from today on, I’ll start coming in earlier, start eating dinner with you like we used to and even help you cook if you want.”

You wiped your nose with your sleeve, nodding eagerly on his chest. Frankie pulled away from you and held your face in his warm palms, wiping away your tears with his thumbs. “I love you, my little dolphin.” He whispered, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. You smiled at the pet name, the inside joke you haven’t shared in months bringing some joy back.

“There’s that smile.” He giggled, leaning back down to kiss you properly. At first it had only been a peck, but you were so hungry for him that you pulled him right back in. You threw your arms around his neck and deepened the kiss, Frankie not denying you even for a second.

His hands left your face and moved down to your waist, pulling you close with a low hum of approval. Your hands raked through his curls, knocking his cap off so you could grip his dark locks to hear those delicious groans fall from his throat.

“Please…” You whined, barley pulling yourself away from him. “Touch me… plea-.” Frankie’s hands flew to your hips, lifting you up to sit you atop his work bench. He instantly yanked your leggings off, taking your underwear with them and leaving you naked from the waist down… minus your strawberry socks.

He knelt down to his knees without another word, spreading your legs open and instantly pressing his face into your cunt. He had moved so fast that it took you a moment to process what was going on, tingles erupting from your clit, down your legs and all the way to your toes.

It hadn’t been that long since you’d been touched, but they always say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. The same must be true for your pussy as well.

“Ohhh…” You breathed, his tongue making you lightheaded. “F-Fuck…”

Frankie hummed, the vibrations only increasing your pleasure as he looked up at you. You were already so incredibly close, the tingling in your clit rapidly growing in intensity until… he pulled away. You whined quietly, your pussy aching with need.

“Down.” He said simply as he undid his pants. You jumped down from the workbench, completely unprepared for him to spin you around and roughly bend you over the table. He pinned you down with his left hand on your lower back, his right hand rubbing his cock along your drenched folds before pushing in completely in one thrust.

You felt like you had been sat on fire, the heat spreading over your body as he fucked you rough. You heard a few things fall to the floor as the table began hitting the side of his shed with his thrusts, but both of you were already too far gone to care about his tools.

“Fuck, baby girl.” He growled, his hands tightly gripping your hips. “So fucking’ wet for me.” You felt like you couldn’t breathe, his cock hitting the perfect spot every time. You placed your hands on the table and rose up slightly, one of Frankie’s hands instantly leaving your hip to push you back down to the table.

“Don’t fucking move.” You moaned at how rough he was being, your pussy throbbing with an incoming orgasm. Keeping you pinned to the table, he tangled his fingers into your hair and pulled it, the painful pleasure and one last perfect thrust of his cock doing the job and sending you over the edge.

Your cunt fluttered around his cock, the waves of absolute pleasure feeling more intense than they had in a while. Frankie never slowed down.

“Y-Yeah… take it.” He growled. “Being such a good girl for me, baby… cumming all over my cock. You think- fuck - you think you deserve your reward?”

“Yes, please! Give it to me! I’ve been such a good girl! I deserve it! Ple-” He tugged harder on your hair, a whine interrupting your pleas.

“Good girl, begging for your reward. M’gonna fill you up so good.”

“Yes! Frankie, please! Give it to me! Give me your cu-uhhh… uhhh… ahhhhhh!” You exclaimed, cumming on his cock for a second time without warning. It was also the end for Frankie.

“Fuck, baby!” He halted his thrusts, growling low and loud and he shot his cum into your pulsing cunt. The warmth expanding in your abdomen prolonged your orgasm, your legs shaking and buckling out from under you. Frankie held onto you tight, pulling you up to stand as he placed kisses to the back of your neck and shoulder, his breathing still coming out in heavy puffs over your skin.

"Did I hurt you, sweetheart?" He asks, gently easing the grip in your hair.

"God no." You replied, still trying to catch your breath. "You-you have no idea how much I've missed that." Frankie eased himself out of you, a mixture of his and your own cum dripping out of your pussy. Frankie hummed at the sight, lightly gripping your ass cheek to spread you open to get a better view.

"I think I got a pretty good idea."

[akampana]

Prompt n.24 sounds very interesting. Arturia is a king, but also a knight. And the one thing a knight has by their side, is their trusted weapon...

But we know that sometimes, a weapon is not just a weapon. Sometimes its much more...

Right, Cu Alter?

24. “You will never lose me. I will always be right here beside you.”

Cu Alter x Arturia

One-shot, set in a world where Cú Chulainn and King Arthur exist in the same time period. Enjoy! Thanks for the ask!

___

A loud clang resounded within the stone confines of the throne room, and yet it was quiet compared to the storm raging hell outside, and quieter still to the turmoil that wracked King Arthur’s mind.

Tristan’s desertion was followed by those of a number of knights. The first crack in the glass foundation that kept Camelot’s flag flying high. The exposure of Lancelot’s affair, however, was the hammer that finally smashed it to smithereens. Now here she was left amongst the rubble, with an aggrieved Gawain, a conflicted Bedivere and the cold, dead body of poor Agravain, who fell victim to her excommunicated First Knight. Arturia did not know where Merlin was. Kay had left months ago with all his fortune. She needn’t be a genius to know he wasn’t coming back.

What the people demanded was revenge for King Arthur’s cuckolding: the hunt and execution of the treacherous French knight that fled to his homeland, to whom Arturia held no grudge. Her logic demanded she carry out the farce, but what remained of her sealed-up heart did not.

From this derived her conflict, which she wrestled in solitude, here at the glaringly empty Round Table that used to seat her comrades.

Pursue the man she’s forgiven or stay her hand? Give the people what they want or stand by her own beliefs?

Arturia flinched as cool metal brushed against her fingertips, her startled eyes climbing to meet orbs the color of the wine she just spilled.

“King—!” the glare he sent her stilled her tongue at once, his inhuman crimson eyes glowing in the dim candlelight.

“Cú,” she corrected herself, wrapping her cloak tighter around herself. Her thinner night garbs did little to hide the secret of her sex. In the dead of night, she wasn’t expecting any visitors. Especially not at the Round Table, which was devoid of all life at this hour.

“Has your fire gone out for the night?” she said, twisting her father’s silver ring around her thumb as she spoke, “I will arrange for a servant to assist you at once—”

“Forget it,” interrupted the brutal warrior, reclining himself into Lancelot’s former seat as he poured his own goblet. “Can’t sleep in all this racket.”

She knew instinctively he didn’t mean the storm. Regretful green eyes inspected the mess in the corner, wasted wine that was a victim to her ire. Briefly, she wondered how the foreign king could hear her from all the way in the east wing, but it was hardly important. Cú was already a man of few words. He wouldn’t waste any on small talk.

“Yer gonna chase the bastard, aren’t ya? It’s what yer subjects want,” came his raspy declaration, cutting in through the silence just before a crack of lightning illuminated the room. Their eyes clashed in the glaring white light, blood orbs against evergreen.

“I can...I cannot deny them the justice they expect of me,” she answered, grief lacing the small voice that barely carried itself through the thunder.

“So you deny yerself. Just like you’ve done all yer life. Ain’t that right, Arturia?”

It took King Arthur a moment to fully grasp what had come out of his lips. Her breath began to labor as she wracked her brain for an excuse. Panic settled into her bones faster than the snow outside seeped into the grass. Before she could formulate anything, however, she felt Cú’s fingers encircle her wrist.

“Relax. I ain’t telling no one. Weapons don’t talk, remember?” he soothed, as much as an emotionless killing machine could, anyway.

“You are not just a weapon. We have been over this.” Arturia shot back, momentarily forgetting the source of her stress.

As her frantic breaths began to still, she managed a small question. “How long have you known?”

His claws released their grip, lamenting the small indents they left on her skin. “Since ya wasted yer fourteenth seat on a foreign king that once would have torn yer land asunder.”

Cú reached past her arms, lifting the wool cloak from the short king’s chest. Sure enough, he now had his confirmation, a modest chest that was so cleverly hidden behind her armor plates.

“‘Tis of little consequence to me,” he voiced, replacing the garment she pulled so closely around herself. She watched him as he gave her another glass of wine, trying to discern if he spoke the truth.

“I don’t bloody care about what’s between yer legs, the same way you never cared for this fucking tail that trails behind me. All I need to hear are yer orders,” her allied king continued, flicking away a loose strand of hair with the scaly appendage.

“If ya wanna kill Lancelot, Arturia, I’m with ya. Point me in the way of France. But if not, then gimme some other fucking command. I don’t give a shit, as long as it’s what ya want.”

The King of Knights pursed her lip, still unaccustomed to hearing her real name from one who wasn’t supposed to know her secret. Especially when the one who used it was someone she did not expect: the displaced King of Connacht, who was more frequently an envoy serving at her court as an allied Warrior of the Round Table than the ruler of his late queen’s territory. The latter job, Cú had delegated to Fergus, as the “Mad” King had chosen to dedicate his freedom to the one that liberated him.

Arturia shook off his crass manner of speech. After nearly a decade of having him by her side, she’d grown accustomed to his language, even if he was frequently scoffed at by Agravain and Gaheris when the siblings still lived.

The reminder of her knights’ deaths led her gaze back to her table and its empty seats. There were so few that still belonged to the living. Some of them were never to be filled again. Arturia turned to her right, to where Lancelot once sat, meeting ruby eyes instead of onyx ones.

“Then how about this,” she suggested, imprinting the Irish King’s face into her memory the same way she’d done for the rest of her knights. Slowly, she slipped off the silver ring she’d been fiddling with and slid it onto his pinky.

“Return to your homeland with as much gold as you can carry and my eternal gratitude. Take a fourth of the cattle. Reward each of those in your service with one and keep the rest to enrich Connacht.”

Thunder raged on outside the castle walls, but it was the silence of the king before her that unnerved Arturia to a ridiculous extent. For while neither were as talkative as her remaining nephew, the quiet had never been quite so tense.

“The hell?” Cú finally asked, glaring at the Pendragon ring with disgust instead of honor. “You’d have me run? Do ya think me a coward—”

“—I think you are a king that should not die for the flag of a kingdom that is not his,” she cut him off, grasping his hand before he could tear her father’s ring off. “You asked for an order. This is it.”

Cú Chulainn’s claws dug into the collar of her cloak, as he pulled her to his face, a menacing look upon his countenance.

“An order?” he grunted harshly, “Or a feeble attempt at driving me away before I can leave you?”

Arturia’s struggles suddenly ceased, her limbs going limp before the foreign king finally let go of her clothes. The chairs screeched as each ruler fell back onto them, the older one far more irate than the younger.

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Cú murmured, his voice soft as his fist thudded onto the circular table. “Ya’ve been an absolute tool since that depressing redhead turned in his rank, and some thoughtless fools followed. Then ya let Lancelot leave, don’t even bloody try to tell me he got away.”

Arturia turned her head, hiding her eyes behind her hay-colored hair. It mattered not how her charisma could sway crowds, her tongue knew not how to lie. Green eyes searched the empty room, counting the few chairs that would be occupied tomorrow. Her sister’s remaining sons’, Bedivere’s and...oh, how very few.

Arturia rested her hand on his fist, urging him to keep the heirloom as proof of the great service he gave Camelot.

“Go home, Cú. I cannot...I cannot lose you, too.” the British king sighed, getting used to the chill of solitude. She’d always known that a life as king was a life alone. At least with Cú, she could choose the day he left, instead of spending her time counting the days till he made his exit, just like her knights, her wizard, her brother.

“Don’t ask something so fucking stupid then go looking so damn pitiful,” he responded, flipping their hands and dragging her into his space till her lips touched his.

There was a reason Cú had stayed, pawning off Connacht to someone else that deserved it more and joining Camelot’s court instead. Not only had Arturia broken the geis that kept him tied to Medb, but she also gave him purpose.

Cú never spoke of it, but he remembered their first meeting like it was yesterday.

It was on the battlefield, back when he was still bound by geis to serve another mistress. Medb, the sly vixen, had tricked him into her service, forcing him into the frontlines till he’d slain every single one of his former comrades.

Bathed in the blood of his friends, the red clouding his vision, the man who was once Ulster’s proudest warrior was no more. His valiant face was replaced by a monstrous visage, his armaments were stained black. Upon his head sat a crown of thorns, forced onto his head by a queen who knew nothing but chaos.

Before long, the name he was proud to take up had been given new meaning. He was no longer Ulster’s guard dog, but Medb’s rabid hound, who sunk his teeth into anything and everything that so much as irked the devilish queen. Cú Alter, she called him, now that she’d bent him to her tastes. Cú Alter, a fitting name to a warrior forced to tarnish his own title.

As the bodies piled up around him, no rhyme nor reason for their slaughter, Cú began to see himself in a darker light, grasping at straws for some sort of purpose behind all the mindless killing.

He must have been a monster. A monster that massacred all that stood in his way regardless of honor and glory. Yes, that must have been it, he convinced himself, finally submitting to the dark cage that his hated loathsome queen had put him under.

As the black chains dragged him deeper and deeper into his own personal hell, he took up his spear once again. It lashed out whenever he touched it, staining itself dark till the vibrant red he used to wield was nowhere to be found. Once more, to the battlefield, said Medb. Once more, he tore across it with a godlike ease.

Then suddenly the cursed spear collided with its match, a sword of shining light that glowed as bright as its wielder. He remembered the moment so clearly, his breath hitching at his throat as his strikes were pushed back, the wind pressure whipping his hood out of his face. His heart pounded with adrenaline as his gaze fell down to his opponent: a tiny little thing, so small they should have fallen to his last strike, but there they still stood, defiant green eyes staring up at him with no fear.

Rage overtook his figure, fueling his strikes as he tried to cast the small warrior back, but all his efforts were met with equal force.

“My name is Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot.” a small voice, too fragile to have been a man’s, rung out across the battlefield. Spear met sword once again, pausing in their dance.

“Your name, knight.”

Even though he stayed on his feet, it was like the king had pulled the rug from under him. Their eyes locked once more, and he saw himself within the green irises, staring mouth agape at his opponent.

His name? His name? How long had it been since he’d been asked for his name? How many foes had he slain since then? How many nameless faces had he sent to the grave? How could this person, this puny king, take one look at his monstrous form and face him like a knight regardless?

“Cú Chulainn,” came his raspy voice, which too often had been used to roar like a beast. It felt foreign on his lips, which had ‘til then spoke nothing but bitter resentment.

That day, Arturia saw more than the monster. More than the weapon he’d disillusioned himself into being. Cú followed the king after Medb’s defeat, intending to find some proof that it was all a fluke, but it never happened. Arturia never treated him or her knights like a weapon or a tool. Arturia treated him like an equal.

And now, years spent the line, she was robbing him of that feeling, sending him away with glory and riches. If he were younger, he’d have jumped at the prize of heroic fame, but that was no longer what he wanted. What he wanted was to be right here, right next to the person that made him feel human again.

As their lips parted, Cú sent a glare through the empty seats of each of the deserters. He’d never understand how they could leave their king behind. He’d met his fair share of monarchs— hell, he technically was one—and even as belligerent a person he was, he wouldn’t wield his spear for any other.

“You will never lose me,” Cú declared in between rough kisses. “I will always be right here beside you. Understand?”

The Irishman returned her ring as she nodded, breathless, into his shoulder. She had one. Even if the world were to turn on Arturia, she still had one. One that would stay forever beside her.

Beside her...

Beyond Cú, the shorter king saw the backrest of Lancelot’s former seat, and finally, she knew just what to do to settle the people and follow her heart at the same time.

“Disregard my previous orders. Heed this instead…”

As the words left his king’s lips, Cú Chulainn proudly grinned.

[wolffesimp]

This is What War Does to You

--

summary: y/n is a doctor for the GAR. after a stressful day, obi wan seeks comfort from her. 

warnings: 1.4 k words of trash. hurt to comfort fic. there is a lil bit of angst and there is also happy endings cuz i don’t write unhappy endings in MY CANON! 🥰

--

--

Rex was the first to run in, holding a trooper in his arms. In obvious disarray, he was looking around to try and find Y/N. His desperate eyes locked with hers. Y/N gaped, running to Rex. Just then, more injured troopers entered. Many familiar faces were in pain. 

“Wh-what happened?” she was horrified, grabbing Rex’s arm to lead him to the medic bay. “I need all hands on deck! Troopers will be coming in soon!”

Rex set down the clone in front of Y/N. 

“Injuries?”

“Leg and left arm.”

Stripping the clone of their armor, she found the sticky blacks hiding underneath. They had been bleeding profusely. She cringed as she unveiled their injuries. Two deep gashes from bullet wounds. Looking up, she found Rex’s tired eyes. He can’t be here, it’s just too much for him right now.

“Rex, honey, you need to leave. They are safe in my care.”

“But ma’am-”

“Do not fight with me right now. We cannot afford to have such arguments when your brothers are all in critical condition.”

Rex frowned as she began to turn on her medical droids and ready her tools. “I-I understand.”

She caressed his cheek gently. In no way did she mean to come off cold. But right now there was too much happening. Y/N couldn’t have him in her way. “Thank you, Rex. You are one of the bravest soldiers I know.”

And with that, he walked away. Assessing the troopers injuries, she mentally prepared herself for a long night. The entire bay was filled with clone troopers and their short-staffed medical team. Emitting a sigh, she began to work on the man in front of her. 

How many more would she have to treat tonight?

--

Well, Y/N was beyond stressed. By the time of 6 AM, she was still working. The last trooper was being treated. Their injury wasn’t extensive, unlike the others that she treated. She made her medical team go to sleep earlier in the morning. So, she worked silently in the shroud of stars and hyperspace. 

Suddenly she felt a presence. Looking behind her, she found a sleepy Obi Wan. He approached her, standing beside the head doctor. In his hands he held a tea and coffee. Completing the last stitch, she exhaled deeply. Y/N turned to the Jedi who offered her the coffee. Warmth filled her palms as she latched onto the cup. Eyes softening, she gave the Jedi the best smile she could muster in her drowsy state. 

“I could just kiss you right now, Obi Wan. This means a lot to me.”

Obi Wan laughed. “How are you doing, Y/N?”

This is a dandy opportunity for Y/N to release all of her internalized stress and anger! Obi Wan sat down in a nearby chair. Y/N paused to take a sip of her coffee. 

“I thought this was going to be a great way to help the GAR! Which, it is, but there is so much other shit going on! Like, I’m not just a doctor. I serve as a soldier in some situations where my medical attention is needed on the field. I help Cody and Rex strategize and provide mental support to any clone that needs it. And now, I have not one pain in the ass, but two entire legions of pains in my ass! No offense, but you Jedi are also crazy! Next thing I know you motherfuckers are gonna start flying around with your weird mind powers!”

“So, to answer your question, I am doing fan-fucking-tastic Obi Wan. Especially since you guys brought in at least 15 new soldiers for me and my team to scramble around and try to help without giving me any heads up!”

“I admit, that was inappropriate of me. But it wasn’t like we were expecting everything to go wrong.”

Sitting beside the General, she ran her fingers through his hair. “I know darling. There’s nothing you can do about it now though.”

He yawned. “Suppose so.”

“Have you gotten any sleep?”

“Only woke up a few minutes ago.” 

Like a puppy, he curled into Y/N’s side. 

“Just let me stay here for a little bit.” Obi Wan said

His arms wrapped around her waist. Burying his head into her upper chest, he intently listened to her heartbeat. Their position was slightly awkward, as the arms of the chairs separated their bodies slightly. But they made it work. Comfortingly, she continued to run her fingers through his hair. It always worked like a charm on the Jedi. 

“Everything went wrong. No matter what we did-”

“What happened happened. You cannot go back in time, no matter how much you want to. There will always be lives lost in war. I am not saying that these deaths are meaningless. They most certainly are not. But, it is the expectation that people you love will die. That is why I hope there is a place we go after we die, reuniting with everyone who is gone.”

“Fate works in strange ways. Like how I joined the GAR and met all of you magical people. Nothing is a coincidence. In the end, we are all connected one way or another.”

“Now, you can look at the clone’s deaths however you like. But me personally? I will be thinking about the next time I see them. Not in pain, not sick, not dying in my arms, but happy. It is what they deserve. Only the best the afterlife has to offer.”

“War is ugly. You can never forget or escape it. I know some moments still haunt me in my sleep, and I haven’t fought nearly as many battles as they have. But what we have to do is get through it. To see the light at the end of the tunnel. I know it’s there and if we fight long enough, we will find it.”

Obi Wan was crying, she realized soon after her compelling speech. His body shook as silent sobs racked through his body. Arms tightening around her waist, grabbing at her supple skin. He needed something- anything to make him feel better. Like a child, he was deadlocked onto her. The pressure of being the perfect general and Jedi was prevealant in the wrinkles on his handsome face and the callouses on his hands.

Hot tears stained her shirt as they continuously fell from his face. Y/N held him impossibly closer, hoping her affection was enough to quell the sadness in his heart. Tears also began to fill her eyes. An immense sense of guilt fell over the two. 

This is what war does to you. 

It breaks you slowly. Even the strongest of people cried.

“It’s alright darling. It’s alright.”

They both knew it wasn’t. 

“Nothing is lost so long as we continue to dream in color and fight with all we’ve got.”

To Obi Wan and Y/N, dreaming in color was fantasizing the ideal future. One where the Jedi weren’t held up to such high standards. One where the clones lived a full life doing whatever they liked, not judged by society because they all looked the same. One where Ahsoka felt like a real teenager and did teenager things. One where Padmé and Anakin get their happy ending. They could make it a reality so long as they fought hard enough. 

Obi Wan tilted his head up. Just the sight of his heartbroken eyes cued Y/N’s floodgates. His bloodshot, golden orbs continued to be beautiful even in moments of pain. Neither were used to letting their guards down. She cupped the sides of his face, thumbs running over his deep and silky beard. Tears dripped down her chin and jaw as they shared the intimate moment. 

“You stop that.” Obi Wan said 

Weakly, he kissed her tears away. Soft lips collided on her skin. Heat coursed through her veins at the gesture. Closing her eyes, she let the last of her tears slip out. The salty taste lingered as he pulled her into his lap. Her legs wrapped around his torso. Pressing their foreheads against each other, they stared back at one another. 

“You are the one that started crying first.” she teased softly

They both laughed despite the pain. It was something you learned to do after so many hardships. She rested her head in his neck. 

“I forgot how tired I was...”

“Then go to sleep, darling.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Just as she was doing to him a few moments ago, he began to play with her hair. Coaxing her to sleep, he mumbled things into her ear. But she caught one thing before she succumbed to slumber. 

“I love you.”

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a/n: WOOOOW IT HAS BEEN A MINUTE, Y’ALL! I am so glad that I worked past my writers block! I really do hope to be posting more content soon. Sometimes it’s just hard to force yourself to sit down and FINALLY write! But I did it! I’m hoping you guys enjoyed! 

And as I always say, DO NOT BE AFRAID TO INTERACT! My ask box is ALWAYS open! My direct messages are OPEN! Comments are welcomed, as well as reblogs. I love you guys!

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masterlist for more of my content

[madamcarina]

A young mother

In the heart of Brooklyn, Puerto Rican immigrants settled into an entire apartment complex filling the halls with culture and life. Here my grandma and her eight siblings, my mother and her four sisters, and my brothers and I were raised. Spanish was an important tool for much of the older generations to learn but this tradition of learning and speaking Spanish died with my mother’s generation. From a Puerto Rican-American’s point of view learning Spanish is a way to reconnect and affirm their heritage. This is why I choose to interview my mother and better understand her output on the world having grown up in Brooklyn. 

Carina: So why don’t you introduce yourself? 

Sandy: Hello my name is Sandy Gomez. I am a mother of three. I am a Latina and I live in Brooklyn NY. 

Carina: Tell me about where you are from? 

Sandy: My mother and father and family are from Puerto Rico.

Carina: What part of Puerto Rico?

Sandy: My mother is from a small town called Aguadilla. Pretty much on the northern side of the country. And my father is from a town called Arroyo.

Carina: How long have you lived in Brooklyn? 

Sandy: I was born and raised in Brooklyn. I grew up with my parents' influence.

Carina: How do you like Brooklyn and would you move anywhere else?

Sandy: I love living in Brooklyn because it is diverse! It is the best place for me to be. I’ve traveled around the world and other states and there is no place like Brooklyn. I have traveled and visited Puerto Rico and every time I go there it’s amazing. it’s beautiful and I love it. I love it. I feel at home when I am in Puerto Rico. 

Carina: Would you ever live there or no?

Sandy: I would love to live there. 

Carina: would you live there now? 

Sandy: Right now? 

Carina: yes. If you could just get up and go?

Sandy: if I could just get up and go… I would 

Carina: Do you speak Spanish? 

Sandy: I do speak Spanish

Carina:  Do you speak Spanish in the household? 

Sandy: I do not speak Spanish in the household? 

Carina: Tell me why you don’t speak Spanish in the household.

Sandy: Well when I was growing up my mother and father spoke English to us, to me and my sisters, and they didn’t really speak Spanish to the children. They spoke Spanish to each other and they spoke Spanish to the elders. Like grandma and aunts and uncles. But it wasn’t directly to the children. And I pretty much learned Spanish by picking up on it. 

Carina: Did you teach your children? 

Sandy: No I did not teach my children. I spoke to the little words here and there. They basically understood what I was saying if I told them something in Spanish. Do you know what I mean? 

Carina: Yea but… why did you not teach us Spanish?

Sandy: Because I felt I, myself wasn't fluent in Spanish. 

Carina: So you felt that you didn't have the skills to teach us the ‘correct Spanish?

Sandy: Yeah I mean I can, and I do... but I don't. It's hard to explain

Carina: Do you ever remember learning about Latinx history or latinx figures in school? 

Sandy: I remember learning in high school during Spanish class I was given a free pass cus my last name was Gomez. So I was able to read and write minimally so he just saw my last name and was like you're fine. 

Carina: No I mean like, Latinx history and heroes? stuff like that?

Sandy: Nothing was ever taught about anything Hispanic other than. I think. The Mexican-American war was touched upon. But other than that no. OH! and Christopher Columbus was from Spain. And that was it. 

Carina: Out of all things. The colonizer. And how do you think that lack of representation shaped your life? 

Sandy: Well...Other than my home life and culture at home, it wasn't influenced at all in school. So that definitely curved me there.

Carina: Did you have Latinx friends or no?

Sandy: I did. Because I was living in Brooklyn I had a diverse friend group. I had Spanish friends, Caribbean friends, I had some white friends. 

Carina: Now you say you've lived here all your life, what challenges have you faced in the US as a Latina woman?

Sandy: I think that you're labeled. You're automatically labeled as being a certain way. You are stereotyped. So I was always stereotyped because of maybe the way I spoke or the way I saw that I was a ‘typical Latina woman’. Especially as I had children I felt that I was looked at as a latina woman who had three children. She was young. A young mother. I just fit all the checks.

Sandy: And I was stereotyped from that and labeled. And sometimes people were, especially when you guys were in school, people would be like ‘oh’. Like they would approach me as if I didn't understand certain things. Or couldn't relate certain things an. 

Carina: They looked down upon you?

Sandy: Yes. Definitely. 

Carina: Any other challenges?

Sandy:Hmm as being a latina woman? Sometimes they would see me… Because it was Brooklyn you had to be black or white. And I would be labeled as a white latina. So sometimes that was also a thing because they were labeling me as white and I wasn't. 

Carina: And when you fill out documents and stuff like that is it hard to find the right box to put yourself in?

Sandy: It was always difficult. Actually, I never used to check it off. I would just leave it. Until recently I noticed that sometimes there's no way to avoid it. To continue on. Or it’s something needed now. You have to put what you are. And I always have difficulty putting that because you're neither black or white. But they put black. You have to either be black or white first. And then they ask if you are of Latino descent. 

Carina: So like, They are saying you're subpar and don't have your own category?

Sandy: Absolutely and from as far back as I can remember filling out forms. Young I can always remember feelings 'I'm not black. And I'm not white and that's the only option for us.’ Black or white or other, which is like Asian or Indian. And you're one of those.

Carina: So you never had… a box to check off?

Sandy: Exactly. And then once you did It was like oh you'd still have to check white. So id have to check white first. And that's only because of my skin color.

Carina: Do you feel like your skin color gets in the way of things or no?

Sandy: Yes...and no. 

Carina: Explain. 

Sandy: The privileged part, as your dad says all the time, I am treated differently because I am light. 

Carina: Hmmm

Sandy: Especially being a postal worker, I think I’m approached differently than I would be if I was.

Carina: A dark-skinned latina?

Sandy: Yes

Carina: What are you most proud of being a Latina ?

Sandy: I love being Puerto Rican. It’s just something about being Hispanic and Puerto Rican. What is it? I don't know. I think it’s the connection with the language being able to speak Spanish, however, I do it, is one of the reasons. The music, the dancing, gatherings with family, I love it all.

My mother speaks on issues of representation and stereotyping of Latinx women in society. She felt she was always treated better because of her skin color but still felt she always had to work harder to prove herself and earn things. I find that these generational curses follow me into my life as a second-generation college student. Sometimes I find myself being the only black/Latinx student confused on whether I have earned my seat in college. Or I’ll reflect on my workplace and think of how my gender affects the discrimination I face. Interviewing my mother helped me understand some of the struggles and burdens she carries in silence.  Just as our rich culture shows being Latinx is a blessing and a strength not everyone has the privilege to have.

[hodariblue]

a birth day

I don’t have too many words for what it means to make it to this solar revolution/return. But as talking to myself through timespace has been one of my main ways of moving through this experience, here are a few:

I have struggled seeing myself in the future and have often romanticized my own early death because I coped with my trauma through normalization and finding beauty in the most painful of circumstances. It hurt too much to expect something better and be repeatedly disappointed, so why not turn the turmoil into meaningful plot lines in some inspiring coming-of-age film within my head? A film where my death inspires other people to live out their dreams or be kinder to one another - a thought rooted in deep insecurity as well as some over-inflation of my importance. Like what if I died, and that was it?                   I        just          died,          and everything mostly          continued                 exactly         as          it         did                 when I was here.

I am growing and working on unlearning this

Giving myself the space            to feel/fill            possibilities that excite me

Giving myself permission

And as I do this,

every day feels a lot like a miracle.

Like a divine opportunity to learn and experience. To notice new details. Like turning a new page in the coloring book that is my life. I feel this more on some days than others, but I am beginning to internalize this as a foundational truth of my existence. Hopefully.

Maybe feeling death so closely means I get to feel life closely too. 

Hopefully.

And it feels a lot like a miracle. 

Like the clarity of a new glasses prescription, but even that takes time to adjust to. I got so used to seeing things as I did that I didn’t even know it could be better.

Or like giving birth to a baby, but that is also painful, too. From what I’ve heard. And scary. What a grand release of control and also an act of so much power. All at the same time. The bravery in letting go.

I would not be the me that I am today without all of the people and other beings I am privileged to build and remember home with. 

I’m talking bout 

the sweet older Black women I see at Piedmont grocery who greet me with the warmest of smiles                                                                                   and                                                                                  the red hibiscus flowers I see on the corner of 62nd on my morning walk - near the JW church and Bushrod Park                                             and                                                                                      the loved ones who share the biggest of bear hug embraces with me - the ones that have you saying mhmmm so deeply like damn this got my bones feeling held. like all the way down to marrow. like damn i didn’t know i could be snatched like this.

So as I’m here reflecting on my own experience, I can’t help but think of all of my loved ones, too. I love you, deeply. And I am practicing loving you and myself unconditionally. I believe it is one of the most radical things we can do in a system that teaches us to hate each other and ourselves. 

The word “radical” means relating to the root. What if the root of all evil and harm is a lack of love? I know it sounds cheesy. And I know the Bible says the root of all wrongdoing is a love of money. But if money is just a tool to express value then maybe starting with value makes more sense. To get to the root.

“I love you“ 

as in “I value you” 

as in “you are important to me” 

as in “I am so grateful you are here” 

as in “I am in the practice of loving you exactly as you are in your entirety” 

as in “I am here with you, and I don’t always know what’s best, but I’m still here” 

as in “I enjoy yo ass so much and I don’t know how to express that to you in any other way than with this phrase we got, and even that shit ain’t enough”

It’s my first birthday without my dad here in this plane, and it’s tough cus I know he wanted to see me last year, but I was too caught up in my flow and too afraid of him truly seeing me that we didn’t get to be together. We hadn’t been physically together in about 6 years but emotionally even longer with the ways he was moving through his (*our) mental illness.

Wildly enough, I think we are somehow closer now than we’ve ever been. 

I get to be with my mom today. What an honor. After all, it is her birth day, too. And she’s sleeping on some couch cushions in pink silk pajamas with orange ear plugs and a black eye mask in my room right now, and it’s complex because every relationship is, but she is here. With me. 

And that is enough.

Often times the simple things are enough: 

laughing in the car crying to memes - how you’ve been so serious healing your trauma and working on yourself all these years that you forgot what laughter could do in a few minutes, 

biking down telegraph with a loved one on the bike they gave you - seeing the sunshine turn their golden curls even brighter and the way their brown rich skin activates and glows - how light your breath feels in this moment,

tarot table turned pisces-to-pisces check-in about lovers and what it means to be our own lovers on our paths of becoming - remembering we are the greatest romance of our lives,

dancing in the blues and reds of the club losing our hard forms and lines becoming soft silhouettes - sweat, spirit and smiles - ancient movement,

breakfast in the backyard on a leant, white, antique table with lopsided legs and so much to offer, 

running naked into ocean beach under a full moon remembering what felt like your entire life for the first time, 

skating near the Disney center in downtown LA like we owned the streets - like we were frozen out of time - like we were never getting older,

These are the moments I live for. The ones that really help me stay here. The ones that help tip the scales from tragedy and pain to joy and freeness. But it is a scale, and it’s all there at the end of the day. That’s what makes it whole. Both sides. That’s what makes me whole. Both sides.

Imma make a blog this year, since instagram ain’t really a word place, aaannnnd I worry I take up too much space there. It’s my digital inner space though, and people can come and go as they please. There really is no pressure. Anyways, in the spirit of missing out on my queer Tumblr youth endeavors, maybe this will be another dimension of my exploration.

Imma make a book, too. Cus why not?

Imma make an album, too. Cus it sounds fun.

And a movie, too. Cus I already see my life as one.

Soundtrack for this post is Devonté Hynes “Hair”  (feel free to run this scene back with this song playing in the background) (or not - it’s your trip)

Thanks for being here. Cheers to another linear year together. May we continue moving in circles.

Notes: *I say “our” mental illness because I refuse the notion that mental illness and our emotional/spiritual wellness is ever solely individual. We are social interconnected beings, and what my pops had to move through was deeply related to the ills our larger society suffers from. 

[baconpal]

I know internet praise is cheap but, really, You are the best binary tool artist I've ever seen, and I browse pixiv, dA and twitter religiously, it's such a cool style and I gotta thank you for keeping it around, with good humor to boot. I really hope you will make it big. I feel like you will.

I didn’t mean for that last post to be me lamenting myself or anything like that.

But in the same way that my art isn’t “pixel art” or “trying to be pixelated”, i dont consider being a “binary tool artist” to actually mean much of anything, and i’d never want to think “Ha, Ha, Ha, I am the greatest binary artist, I no longer need to improve!” cus in the end, i’m just an artist. It’s silly to act like its a whole new art form cus its not blurry.

Also, while i appreciate being a favorite, there’s binary artists out there who do things I can’t who I definitely appreciate, like people with really really high res stuff, or super messy stuff where they clearly aren’t using fill tools or anything.

I appreciate the last little bit, thought I don’t really want to be “big”. Even with just a couple followers, you quickly understand that the number doesn’t really matter. I want to make the things I want to make, so that people can enjoy them. I’ve got a lot of projects and dreams, and even if it was just a few people enjoying them and supporting me, I just want my life to be me being able to make those things.

[bluepluto03]

this is just the first 1/2 of the next bruised apple chap cus it aint finished yet.... don’t really need a specific tw if you’ve read the rest of the fic but if you havent check the tws on ao3 pls 

-=+=-

Evie flipped through a potion book, one of the few she’d decided to take with her from the Isle. She’d been doing so for the better half of an hour, having skipped out on her lunch knowing none of her friends shared it with her today. Again. 

The book was somewhat old, pages worn soft from use, and handmade, containing the most useful spells she’d found in all her mother’s old potion books, copied over onto paper remade from the destroyed scraps brought over on the trash barges. 

(Carlos had learned to make these sorts of almost-notebooks ages ago. They’d take old books, too wet and moldy to be read, and tear out their pages into a vat with any other scraps of paper they could find. They’d remove any sort of mold or residue, then boil the mixture into a watery-paper mush. From there, they only had to bleach it and then spread and dry it into greyish white, thick parchment. Then bind the parchment into the shelled books and, voila! They hefted a pretty price on the market, too, clean paper surprisingly rare, and useful, on the Isle.) 

It was one of her two ‘main’ potion books she kept. Mal had a similar book, refined over the years, though it contained mostly spells while Evie’s held more potions than incantations. 

But while Mal had only her one book, Evie preferred to keep two separate ones. Both had choice spells and recipes she’d chosen from her mother’s books, but there was a distinct difference between the two. One was filled with spells they could actually complete on the Isle, and one contained potions she’d never hoped of being able to create with their limited resources. 

The second she’d also brought with her, but she’d yet to open it since arriving here. Even if she should be able to actually use the spells now it felt... wrong in a way. She’d only ever opened her second book to copy down potions she was sure she’d never make, it was almost more a graveyard of ideas than a source of information. 

Because of that, she continued to flip through her first book, and left the second hidden away. 

She’d been thinking about magic a lot lately. How the people here treated it, how Mal’s eyes lit up when she discussed it with Jane, how Carlos and Jay stiffened at it’s mention. 

(She of course hadn’t forgotten about Carlos’s magic, but she encouraged others to give him space, and the matter had been tabled for now. She knew he’d come to them with it, eventually.) 

Something she’d been thinking about was how her magic was so different from the others’s. It was much more passive, like a jacket instead of a second skin 

That didn’t make it any less hers, of course, it just made it… different. It was a tool. It didn’t run rampant with her emotions like Jay’s did, didn’t bend unconsciously to her every whim like Mal’s. She didn’t know what Carlos's magic was like, but the way he’d acted when Mal called him out on having it, she’d bet it was emotional in some way as well. 

So, if her magic was a tool, it was her job to decide how to use it right? It was her choice. 

She glanced down at the spell again that she’d been reading. Hide scars, seal small blemishes without any mark. 

She stared down at it for a long moment. Eventually, she folded the side of the page, marking it for later. 

If she had a choice, then why did she feel so trapped? 

-=+=-

“Are you okay?” Doug asked her, as the two walked to their english class together, something that had become the norm over the past few weeks. 

Evie forced a smile, the almost-casual kind most people couldn't see through. “Of course? Why do you ask?” 

Doug frowned at her.  “Cause you keep looking around. And you straight up flinched when some girls laughed behind us.” He lowered his voice. “If you’re self conscious about what other people are-” 

“I’m not!” She smiled, cutting him off. 

Doug looked skeptical for a moment, then sighed. “Alright.” He said, finally, and pulled out his phone, probably to check the virtual garden game he’d shown her yesterday. 

Evie took a deep breath, and took a sort of index over how she must have looked right now. Her hair should be perfect, but what if a bit fell out? What if her makeup had smudged?

She hurried into class and to her seat, pulling out her (non magical) mirror while Doug sat beside her, still on his phone. 

Why were Auradon kids so good at emotional stuff? On the Isle the most anyone could do was tell if you were bluffing about a brag or a trade, stuff that could start a fight or something. But here everyone payed attention to everyone’s stupid emotions. The only thing they couldn't do was tell when people were obviously lying, all of them far too trusting.

Evie snapped her mirror closed, a bit harder than she really needed too. She was fine. She looked fine. Perfect. No one was saying anything about her, no one was even thinking of her.  

The thought only made her feel more ill. She needed people to think about her, she needed them to love or fear her. Hadn't her mother told her a thousand times? 

“Evie?” Someone called her name, snapping her from her spiraling thoughts. 

“Y-yes?” She blinked, realizing the lesson had started and she hadn't even noticed. 

The teacher looked at her for a moment too long, obvious suspicion in the woman’s eyes. “Ben says he needs you.” She finally said, gesturing to the door at the back of the room. Evie turned to see a nervous looking Ben standing in the doorway. 

“Oh, one sec.” She hurried to grab her stuff and step out into the hall. Ben shut the door behind her, looking concerned. 

“What happened?” She asked, eyebrows scrunched. She couldn't think of any reason Ben would come to get her, unless one of the others were hurt. (Or hurt someone else, but she honestly preferred they hurt someone else then being hurt themselves.)

“Nothing bad, don’t worry.” Ben said hurriedly, his nerves still evident. “I just- uh, Doug mentioned you were upset about something?” His arm moved to rub the back of his neck, hesitant. “And I was wondering if there was anything I could do to help?” He asked, eyes wide and expression open.

Evie blinked at him, surprised. Was that really all? From how sincerely embarrassed Ben seemed to be, face bright red, she didn’t think he was lying. 

Evie considered Ben for a moment. She never talked about anything relating to emotions with anyone besides her crew. But he seemed… sincere. And he’d helped Carlos. And as much as she loved her crew, she didn’t really want to put this on them. Not because she couldn't trust them, but because she knew they were already worried about her. 

Evie looked over her shoulder. There wasn't anyone in the hall, but they were still out in the open. Venerable. 

“Is there anywhere private we could go to talk?” She asked, voice barely above a whisper. 

Ben looked shocked for a moment, before he shook himself back to reality. “Y-yeah! There’s an empty classroom at the end of the hall. Number 17.” 

Evie nodded. The two walked to the room in silence. Evie tried to figure out how to explain what was going on without giving too many details, and staying as far away from mentioning the stress of their parent’s expectations. 

Ben held the door open for her, earning himself a slight smile. She stepped inside, sitting at a spare desk right near the door. Ben seemed to take note of that, and moved a row farther in, so he was diagonal to Evie, and she was between him and the entryway. 

Evie fiddled with her bracelets. Ben looked at her expectantly, though he seemed ready to wait for her. She was grateful for how considerate Ben was, but she didn’t really know how to respond. 

“Would it be better if I got one of the others?” Ben asked, his hesitance still hanging around him. 

Evie shook her head. “I don’t want to worry them.” 

Ben nodded slowly. “Okay… we don’t need to talk about it, if you don’t want too. I just know talking about it can help, but there's no pressure. Seriously.” 

Evie sent him a tight smile. “You really are such a gentleman, Ben.” He blushed, and her smile widened for a moment, before she sobered again. “It’s just… the people. The staring. It’s getting to me.” She admitted. 

Ben frowned. “Are people saying stuff to you? Because if they are I can have Fairy Godmother talk to them.” 

Evie shook her head again. “It’s just… whispers. Normal gossip and stuff. I should just ignore it, but it just....” She bit her lip. “It just makes me feel so ugly.” She finally admitted, voice barely above a whisper. 

Ben blinked at her, shocked confusion evident on his face. He honestly looked more like Evie’d slapped him with a fish rather than told him she was insecure. 

“Ugly? Why?” 

He sounded so baffled it practically forced a small laugh from Evie’s chest. She shook her head, another giggle passing her lips, and buried her face in her hands as dozens of emotions swirled around her mind. 

“It seems ridiculous but… well my mother is known for her obsession with beauty, isn't she?” She let out another slightly hysterical laugh.

“It’s not ridiculous.” Ben insisted. Evie gave him a look, like she did when Carlos insisted he hadn't been up all night even though he was covered in motor oil. 

“I’m serious.” Ben continued. “A lot of people have issues with how they look, and for the record, you’re one of the most beautiful people I've ever seen. And even if you weren't, that wouldn't mean you are any less of a person. Hell, I look like a boiled mushroom, and i’m gonna be king soon!” He laughed, face bright red. 

Evie smiled at him, tired but genuine. “Thanks, Ben.” 

He smiled back at her. “It’s not a problem, really.” 

Evie glanced at the clock on the wall. “Should we go back to class?” 

Ben checked his watch. “If you want too?” He looked up at her, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Or we could keep ditching. I know that a fresh shipment of ice cream just came in, and no one should be in the kitchens right now.” 

Evie laughed. “Sure, lets go.” 

-=+=-

Mal watched Jay from the corner of her eye as she ate. The two were situated in a secluded corner of the field for lunch, and Jay had been weirdly silent the past few days. It was a bit worrying, but she knew she didn’t need to push, at least not for him, Jay was surprisingly open to discussing stuff with the other four after he had time to process it himself. 

They sat for a little while longer. Eventually, Jay broke the almost-silence around them. 

“Mal.” He said her name almost like a request. She relaxed slightly, and turned to him. 

“What’s up?” She asked, gentle in a way she could only be when she was alone with one of the others. 

Jay hesitated.  “I think there's something wrong with the bracelet.” 

“What?” Mal’s relief at the fact that Jay was ready to talk instantly dissipated. She grabbed at his arm to look at his wrist, knowing full well that if anyone besides her, Carlos, or Evie tried that Jay’d probably have fucking decked them.

“It-” Jay cut himself off with a sigh. “The other day, that window that exploded, I think that was me. I was… thinking about stuff, and all of a sudden the bracelet got super hot and the window shattered.” 

Mal frowned. “This was supposed to drain your magic but…. Well, your a Djinn.” She whispered the word, even though they were alone. ”You generate a lot of magic, much more than we do. More than the bracelet can contain.” 

Jay’s eyebrows scrunched. “I thought it like released the magic or something?” 

“In theory, yeah.” Mal huffed. “Magic is active, it’s a form of energy. It never stops moving, and it doesn't stay in a container for long. It passively leaks out on its own, that's why nothing happens unless you try to use the magic. But you generate so much, it fills up faster than it gets rid of it. So, you’re left with magic of your own.” 

Jay’s expression became stricken with fear, and his breathing hitched. Mal internally berated herself for how blunt she could be. 

“So then, what do I do?” He asked, voice strained. 

Mal grabbed his hand. “First take a breath.” She told him. He scowled for a moment, but then seemed to force himself to take a grounding breath. 

“Okay.” She breathed, interlocking their fingers. “I’ll get E to make a few more of these, okay? And I’ll curse ‘em with the same thing. I’ll try and see if we can find a more permanent solution, maybe C can find something online. But it’s gonna be fine, okay?” 

Jay took another breath, and buried his face in her shoulder, nodding into it. Her arms wrapped around his back. 

“Alright.” 

[lokbobpop]

Focus

Well, the word focus comes directly from the Latin focus, which meant “fireplace” or “hearth” (that is, the floor of a fireplace). This is what focus originally meant in English when the word entered the language around 1635–45, though that sense has been extinguished, as it were.

Focus is defined as to concentrate on something in particular. ... Focus is defined as to bring into view. An example of focus is to put all of one's energy into a science project. An example of focus is to adjust a microscope to better see a specimen.

Focus fo cus f ocus foc us fuck us

Writing the word focus

Well thsi is a brilliant point to bring up my lack of focus i get so distracted by the mind i forget to focus on what is there like my mark 6 win today theres 80m up for grabs tomorrow and as the time gets closer my mind liek t focus on the energy it can build up within me in the thoughts if has which is 1 ive been told one day at 52 i would win a large amount of money to fill the bank im now 55 but the brains says hey maybe they were wrong lol 2 the desire to have such large amounts of money my ego where i see i dreams often of owning so much money and what i will do with it i see most people have this mind problem within desire its nothing new it does however need ot be delt with as i have no need ot think such things on a regular basis maybe when I buy and when it is i have no use for thr thoughts in between this time they are productive and just not needed for sure as it bring me into being and seeing myself better and another grander and so on so yes manybe only twice Mind hav enough go that ??? All other thoughts are not needed.

Reading focus

I need to train my focus when i write i mean i have go so much better lately as i just get sidetracked with something on my leg maybe the dogs didn’t get ot after all lol when i first started writing it would take all morning to do 1 or 2 words i was so sidetracked it wasnt funny i would drift off all the time at least now i can really tune in more but i need it to be better run like a business thsi doesn’t support so stop that thought now and close it down asap yes close down my mind its going out of business with ni customer to believe in its propaganda anymore the mind with live equal with me and ot against me be with me mind come on see what we could really do yes thanks for this little high you are now sendi game of positive energy i see what you do i didnt ask to be positive got get it lets move on your are a program you could be with me as one ????? I am your creator so that means i can be your destructor yes

Having dyslexia does mean you cant focus as well i body just disagreed with this a not all dyslexia people are this way but i am i think out attention span well im not that bad but my daughter trin does have a problem here with focus i need to teach her more about getting into the physical fro sure.

I see my focus has to be open up a lot more as in when my mind bring up comparisons or past relationships i need to be more focused on stopping and seeing whats it all about why am I allowing my mind to do this what have i not covered within it i have two main ones at the moment along with desire today but this will change hopefully when i get thsi one out the way ill have a new one and i wont be creating any new ones to deal with this is key right her no more new lol

It’s like training really im training myself to focus on what my mind is showing me about me it doesnt know whats write from wrong it just shows me what i have not dealt with thats all i need ot deal with it when and as it comes up that all simple as that really.

What you focus on expands like what you put your attention on will just get bigger like the money mark 6 desire the more I allow it the bigger it will get so what i will resist will persist so deal with in each moment not later now breathe for thr small one writing for the big ones until you move past each one and clear it within you. Ive currently got many to work with next week i have made more time for myself to do this.

Saying focus

To be intent on an outcome and to not let shit get in your way this is me thsi is who im becoming within me oh yes i want this im dedication for this life is my dedication to being me ive done so well im so pleased with myself oh yes.

What you focus on expands again as see i have dimples in my focus of what i think i should be and what is happening i dont want to go backwards only forward my mind just showed me a time i wanted ot go back to wheni wanted something back i dont want anything from my past it has no real support for me now or in my future so thanks mind i saw that i dotn need that im safe sound and confident i dont need another to do this i can do it on my own.

So if i focus on my process i should theoretically expand it right so all my focus on what my mind shows me and dealing with it will eventually expand it so i can move freely as i do more now so i can help another move more freely yes this so.

Thought of my eyes cant focus now on words i need glasses and I remember B saying you cant heal the eyes i think he looked into it so i should take care of my eyes for sure hey.

Sf

Does this definition support me no and yes of a sort i know what i have to do to get where i want i know how to use my mind and not let my mind use me but show me what i am allowing within me so i use it it doesn’t use me its my tool im not its tool

Focus foc us

Focus

To see what i want and go for it, to use my mind to see what im missing to have one outcome within this life to be free of the my constraints and see clearly

I will live this word with looking at what needs doing looking my thoughts of what is best for me and all to be tunnel vision to see what i want and go for it i have the perseverance i will not stop until done

[akelyokikagu]

The Witch and The Priest - Chapter 2

A bad day starts when China had eaten everything

The city was bustling with heaps of humans pacing quickly as if every second meant something. But perhaps, because she didn’t fear death like humans would, every second did mean something in the meager time they were allowed to live and experience. Kagura admired the charming houses, their wooden structure filled with beautiful colored walls. The buildings all stuck together and aligned into a labyrinth where Kagura could see, at its end, a castle of blue.“It changed a lot,” she said to Okita. She had bugged him for weeks to visit the city, and he finally ceded to restock the food for the month faster than expected as the female inhaled most of it during her ‘afternoon snacks’. “You came here before?”

“Uh-uh, but only the castle didn’t change. Before it was dirty and dull, and lot of things destroyed because of the war.” Kagura tugged on her hood, making sure her red hair was not to be seen- or else people just might believe she was some banshee of some sort. Humans hated hair color like hers. “It was when I was only a hundred years old though.”

“… How old are you?” They never really introduced themselves, and Kagura just integrated Okita’s life naturally. He assumed she was around fourteen, “Are you an old hag?”

“Three hundred years old is hardly considered as old.” Kagura frowned, “I bet you aren’t good at courting. Women hate being reminded of their age, young or old alike.”

“As if a man ever courted you.” They retorted to each other on their way, strolling lazily towards the south-east of the city where artisans, crafters could be found. “Let's get what you need first, but tell me, do you think a mix of nettle and poison would go well to kill Hijikata?”

“Poor man. I'm a good witch, not going to help you and your devious plan.” Kagura stared at a store offering gemstones. It immediately caught Kagura’s eyes because of how unkempt it looked, and so was the name. “Abi’s Gems,” she read aloud, “Let’s go in. We might find something for your sister.”

Witches and sorcerers loved gemstones for their innate properties. The common people would use salt pink stones to fight against insomnia, but gemstones could be used to their full potential through magic. Protection spell, curses, restriction, and amplification… There were thousands of possibilities, and any good artifacts should possess a strong gem.

They entered the store with a ring as the bell danced, but no one seemed to be inside. Rather, it looked like a ghost store who's been abandoned by its owner since months and dust had accumulated to the point of inducing cough upon entering. The shelves were messy and dirty, and the carpets late of two generations of fashionable taste yet Kagura immediately plunged further into the room, observing the rows of gems.

Unlike the shop, each gem was obviously polished and cleaned, glittering preciously. Since the olden times had Kagura encountered charlatans who liked to trick apprentices into buying fake gems but she knew those were genuine. They radiated of power. Her fingers wrapped around a green marbled blue gem as if it was sea itself, she closed her eyes and asserted the hardness— only hard gems were good, too soft and the stones were unstable added with magic. But this one was good for its kind, chrysocolla since healing and protection charms didn’t need diamonds or the hardest kind of stones.

Okita made her break out of her thought, “How do you use one?” He asked as he grabbed a ruby, “Can you cast a hex on them?”

“There’s a lot to do when you want to make strong charms, artifacts even more. You need to work the stone first, work its essence then work the magic." Kagura slipped further into the store, into a hallway behind the counter. Okita followed suit without thinking much; it was impolite but what kind of owners would let their business like so?

“You didn’t answer all of my questions, though.”

“You can cast hex and curses, that’s why there are cursed jewelry or weapons. They are full of dark and hate, you can hardly purify them. Especially weapons, because some like to work the gems but also the iron if you see one don’t touch it. Don’t try to exorcize it because it doesn’t work that way.” She knocked over a door, sturdy it was like it had been there for centuries. “Cursed weapons are like wands or scepters, but like a lot of things in destructive magic they aren’t used, they use the users.”

“Are you worried about me?” His mouth stretched into a dashing smile. Kagura was now part of his life, breakfasts and tea parties were all managed by her as well as house chores but it was the first she was interested in his job. Before Kagura could reply, the door creaked open and they discovered a new, large room filled with columns of gems and tables with the tools to make jewellery. A girl was sat on one of the tables, a magnifying glass monocle over her right eyes and her hands gently sculpting a ring.

Kagura removed her hood, a thin smile stretched on her face. "Abi's tenth generation, you are."

Tenth generation?!

The girl raised her head in surprise, she had messy chestnut hair— short, and kind of frizzy. She didn't wear fashionable women dresses but was instead in a sort of dark overall, clothes clothing every part of her. No women, at their time, could wear pants besides noble women during their horse riding lessons.

Her hazel eyes widened as she stared at Kagura. Like she was a ghost, something supernatural that went beyond human understanding. "My ancestors didn't lie," the female got up and strolled over them. "My grandparents and parents never saw you, I didn't think you'd greet first. I'm just an apprentice, my parents are on a trip, I can't offer you anything." She was obviously embarrassed, Sougo could note the way she fiddled with her hair. "I mean, you are our family's— our biggest patron. Over generations. You are her right? The Red Witch, the second."

Kagura stared at the stone in her hand, then scanned the girl. Okita almost felt uneasy for her, almost because just seconds afterward the witch had the warmest smile he had ever seen. "You're a good heiress. I know it, you look right like every one of them— the good Abi's, same hair, same eyes. “Talent runs in your vein, it's the Abi's blood. All good Abi's look alike. How are you called?"

"Alisha Abigail Hayes, but I'm called Abi in the shop, I mean you know, it's the tradition. I prefer Alisha, though.”

"I want this stone," Kagura threw the gem at her, "Alisha. You are going to be my supplier, study hard, don't disappoint the first Abigail and all that followed. If you need anything then call me, I'll hear you. Make that a pendant; a nice one, for an elegant lady.”

"It will be ready quickly, I promise. No more than a week, I'll work hard."

Kagura didn't say more and caught Okita's wrist, dragging him out of the shop. He hadn't spoken much, as opposed as his usual demeanor but it was almost fascinating. He had thought he was born special, for having an eyesight good enough to see spirits, but she was a witch. A witch that lived more than a century, in that short, childish woman.

 "Their family had been at our service, free supply in exchange for our magic," she explained.

"What kind of favors do you get them?"

"It depends on what they need, a long time ago I had healed the fourth generation Abi's husband. Or sometimes they ask for charms, protective spells during dangerous times, I'm making a healing pendant for your sister." She was talkative today. It wasn't like he discussed with her often, at most it was what would they be eating, about Mitsuba's condition, they weren't close. They weren't meant to, either.

"Why did you come to find me?" He suddenly asked. "You obviously have allies. You have the skill, even if you can't purify you should be able to escape or injure them."

"Are you insecure now? I *am* an extraordinary witch, after all." He couldn't see her face because of the hood covering most of her face, but he was sure he had heard the smile beneath. "There are beings that weave fate and they brought me to you. I don't understand it either but like the Abi's, they look a lot like the first one. Even you Sadist, you look like someone I knew.”

"Me?

"Yeah."

Silence took over again as they walked up to the main streets where they would be most likely to find cheap food. Okita was a man to appreciate gastronomy but with his limited budget he had to feed the monster of a female too. If she didn't bake so well; he may have kicked her out.

It was when Kagura was negotiating the prices for some bread that Okita felt it. A shadow. It wasn't a small sprit by the aura it had, the pressure he felt all of sudden in the bright streets. It had to be something inhuman too because it was insanely fast— most spirits and demons were slow and proud, but this one was like a wild beast.    

"Oi China, be quick and we'll go home. There was something like a demon right now," he purposely leaned in and whispered to her ear as to not be listened.  Kagura's eyes widened before quickly accepting the current price and taking the bag full of hard, traditional bread before following behind Okita. She was being hunted, this was why she avoided promenading out of Okita's property. His home was safe, but the city wasn't and it was going to be Doom if she were to be caught.  "What was it?"

"I don't know, maybe a werewolf, a brollacan, no a Cu Sith— it was like a dog, white."

"A white dog?"

"We don't have the time to talk China," he started to run. His only weapon was some sacred water and a dagger, he didn't think of bringing his sword just for a city outing. He underestimated China's enemies. A hellhound wouldn't appear normally unless there was a reason.   And that reason was China.   He grabbed her hands, she was too slow for him— wearing a long dress that got into her foot. If China died there would be no more hope for Mitsuba, he wouldn't allow it.     It was in a panic attack that Okita missed the stunned stares of three men walking in black.   "Isn't that Okita?" Yamazaki was absolutely bemused at the desperate face the young exorcist had. He usually was poke-faced, playful at most but ever since Mitsuba had fallen ill he never showed such… passion.    

"It was a woman, right? I saw long hair, and she's too small to be a man. No, Sougo told me he had gotten a servant recently," Hijikata stared at the street the couple just escaped. "By servant did he mean he had gotten a lover? A wife?"

"Our son had grown so fast Toshi!" Kondo was crying, deeply moved by the scene. "But why did he not tell us?"

"Don't tell me he's using her for his fun? He's going to ruin the woman! He didn't bring her to the Gods!"

"Our Sougo isn't like that—" Kondo paused, then wore a solemn face. "Oh no, our son sinned. He's so young and reckless, maybe was he lonely because of we didn't give him enough love Toshi! It's all our fault!"

"Enough, we should go after them quickly! We can't let Sougo ruin this poor woman."

******************************

Help to read:

Chrysocolla (gem): Hardness 2-4; strengthens lungs, enchances metabolism, emotional balance and helps clear subconcious imbalances. =Wicca

Brollacan: A creature of the night that is shapeless = Scottish faeries

Cu Sith: dog Faerie, shaggy hair and size of a calf, hunts in silence. Also known as Black angus. = English/Wales/Germany myth

[winteriron-trash]

Could you do Bucky/Tony with Wings? idk if youve already done it but like, they bith have damaged wings, Tony bc of Afghanistan and Bukcy cus of tws, and Buckys feathers are like made of covered in sharps and Tony's wings are like half missing and he's made like an iron man feather replacement bc as part of the torture, they plucked his feathers so hes all protective about his wings like nah you cant see.

I actually haven’t done a WinterIron wingfic, though I have been meaning to. Hope this satisfies!Backstory, wings are common; everyone has them. You can “retract” them into your body, to hide them. If injured, the feathers (naturally white) turn grey (or black, in extreme cases) in the area of the injury, permanently if it’s bad, like a scar. 

Tony’s wings were hideous. And he damn well knew that. They were a patchwork of feathers and metal parts made as crude replacements for feathers, misshapen and bent. Hell, he couldn’t even fly with them at this point. (That had always been his real reason for building the suit, proving he didn’t need biology to fly if Tony was being honest) They were nothing more than a painful reminder of what those goddamned assholes had done to him in Afghanistan. Blackened from abuse to the point where Tony had more grey and black in his wings than white.

So Tony kept them hidden, closed and inside of his body. He only took them out for basic and minimal preening, as not to cause pain to himself from cramping. And when he preened him, it was in the safety and solitude of his workshop.

Which was what he was doing, fingers carefully pulling out loose feathers. As he worked, he wondered whether or not it’d be worth the pain just to cut his wings off altogether.

He didn’t hear the elevator doors slide open until it was too late.

“They’re beautiful.”

Tony screamed and fell off his stool onto the floor when the voice behind him spoke. Seeing Bucky standing behind him was utterly horrifying, knowing someone had seen his wings. It actually took him a moment to process what Bucky said, then another moment to understand it. He looked around, trying to figure out what the hell Bucky was talking about, while he forced his wings back into his body with a hiss of pain.

“Your wings, I meant.” Bucky clarified, sliding his hands into his pockets.

Tony stared at him. “What?”

Bucky shrugged, blushing now. “You looked confused about what I was talking about. So I wanted to-I was just trying to clarify, I meant you’re wings. They’re beautiful. Your wings are beautiful.”

Tony stared at him for a long time. “No.” That, that was his brilliant answer. Tony pushed himself to his feet.

“No?” Bucky frowned, taken aback.

“You heard me, no,” Tony repeated. “Now what do you want? You know you don’t have to compliment me to get what you want out of me.”

Bucky tilted his head to the side. “I’m just here for the routine work on my arm. I didn’t-I wasn’t trying to get anything out of you.”

Tony snorted. “Right.” He grabbed his tools. “Come on, then.” He gestured for Bucky to sit down in a chair like he always did when Tony worked on his arm.

“I just thought your wings were pretty and wanted to tell you.” Bucky looked away, sounding like he’d just watched someone punch a puppy.

“Barnes, my wings can’t even fly.” Tony snarled. “They’re mangled and disgusting. Don’t try and flatter me.”

“Mine are just as bad if it makes you feel any better,” Bucky mumbled, still not able to look at Tony.

Tony sighed, looking up. “Why would you even think they’re…” Tony couldn’t get himself to say it.

Bucky shrugged. “I guess, they’re a reflection of who you are, ya know? Broken and beaten down, but still captivating and unique. They look real pretty when the metal bits catch the light.”

“I’m not broken.” Tony made a face, going to work on Bucky’s arm.

“Sure, and neither am I.” Bucky deadpanned, an eyebrow raised.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Okay, maybe I’m a bit cracked, but that doesn’t change the fact that broken things aren’t pretty.”

Bucky smiled. “Broken glass makes beautiful mosaics.”

“You stole that from some Tumblr post, didn’t you?” Tony glared at him as he worked.

“Doesn’t make it any less true.” Bucky shrugged.

“And they call Steve the sappy one,” Tony said under his breath.

Bucky laughed. “You wanna see ‘em?”

“See what?” Tony asked, looking up.

“My wings,” Bucky said, body shifting with slight discomfort as Tony dug around in his arm.

“Why? You don’t have to, just because you saw mine.” Tony dismissed. Bucky was just as private with his wings as Tony was, and Tony respected that.

Bucky offered a half shrug. “I know. But I want to.”

Tony sighed, finishing up his work on Bucky’s arm and closing the panel. “Fine.

Bucky stood up and nodded. His shoulders rippled, and a pair of wings shook themselves out behind his back. Tony couldn’t help pausing a moment just to stare.

Bucky was right, his wings were just as bad. They weren’t bent and twisted like Tony’s, but black and glinting with metal, some parts even bare of any feathers at all. HYDRA’s doing, Tony assumed.

Tony was captivated. He walked around Bucky, curious. “Do you mind if… if I…”

“Touch them?” Bucky filled in. “Sure.”

Tony lifted his shaking hands, running them through the soft feathers, instinctually going to preen them. “Ah, fuck!” Tony swore when his finger caught on a piece of metal.

“Shit, sorry.” Bucky apologized. “There are sharp bits everywhere, you have to be careful. HYDRA experimented on them too. I’ve… I’ve never tried flying since my fall, but I don’t think they’d work even if I did try.”

“I can work on them, like your arm.” Tony offered, still preening Bucky’s feathers. “I mean, make them safer, less painful.”

“I’d like that.” Bucky glanced over his shoulder, smiling.

Tony smiled back at him, and for the first time since he could he remember, voluntarily let his wings come out in front of someone else. Bucky noticed and turned around fully, so they were facing.

“See? Beauty in pain.” Bucky said, smiling.

Tony smiled, shaking his head. “Yeah, whatever, Barnes.”