#How lucky you are to contain such multitudes!

[motoroil-recs]

KINFESSION Is it valid that I have many fictionkins or kintypes? Around 50+? I always feel invalid but I wholeheartedly believe these identities are all me in a different universe. Is that odd?

🏎️‼️

[snailpebbles]

teach me kisses? - OP81

summary: oscar teaches you to kiss ig. gone right.

wc: 2k

tags: fluff, tooth rotting, maybe suggestive, uhh kinda sad but not for them lmao, not proofread

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It was safe to say Oscar was a little more than concerned to receive a text from you in the middle of a relatively chill day, asking for him to come over. Of course he does seeing as it's impossible to deny you, his best friend of six years. He rushed around his flat unsure of what to grab, so he settles on a multitude of items: Advil, Tylenol (for variety, you tend to get picky), a hoodie with his cologne, and another hoodie (once again, variety).

While making the drive to your flat, he stops by a corner store to grab a few more items on the rare chance you might be upset with him. The bell dings as he steps into the family-owned shop, most definitely older than him if the kind old lady behind the counter was anything to go by. It's mostly empty, the short aisles containing various items, but he knows what he wants. Settling on a nice bouquet of pink tulips alongside your favorite soda, Oscar makes his way to the counter.

The cashier smiles at his items and makes idle conversation with the young man, feeling some sort of interest within him.

"She the lucky girl, or are you a lucky man?" She asks, chuckling softly as she fixes up the flowers to look more presentable. Oscar's face tints pink, an awkward side smile pulling on his lips.

"Oh shes- well-" He stumbles for his words, suddenly seeing you in a new light he'd previously pushed down in the fear of losing you. "lucky man." Is the answer he settles on, giving a slight huff of laughter to ease his own nerves that the old woman doesn't share. She hands him the flowers and soda, patting his left hand as she does.

"My Willis and I have been together since the fifties, so listen to me when I tell you...cherish each other." A nostalgic smile lights up her face, previous youth shining through. Pictures hang on the corkboard behind her, all featuring that youth beside a young man.

"He was lost in the war, but those few years were the best of my life." She sighs softly, a shaking hand tracing along a picture of Willis. "You keep that girl close, or my umbrella and I just might have to find you." Oscar nods at her comment, taking it to heart.

"I'd never hurt her, Gods help me if I did." He mutters, placing his credit card back in his wallet, a picture of you beaming at the camera greeting him momentarily further softening his heart.

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Your doorbell startles you even through you'd been pacing in front of it for the past ten minutes, debating every choice that has led you here. Trembling hands brush invisible dust off your pajamas and regret fills you for not looking more presentable. Peering through the peephole, you are greeted by Oscar rocking on his heels in the hall, your favorite flowers in hand.

The door flinging open surprises him, as does your hand tugging him inside. Within a flurry of motion the tulips are put in a vase, the soda is already half chugged, and multiple thank yous meet his ears. You're a tornado of movement and he has to catch you by the shoulders, stilling you in front of him with a worried gaze.

"Did something happen? Are you alright?" He asks, eyes scanning you and definitely not lingering.

Definitely.

"No I'm fine Osc, no need to act like a worried mother." You wave his concerns off, moving to set on your comfy sofa, soda still in hand. He settles down beside you, placing his stuffed to the brim backpack by his feet. He unzips it and a hoodie half falls out, one that he places in your lap. "Why..are you cold?" He smiles awkwardly at your question, now feeling like an idiot.

"No uhm, well I was worried so I might have...over prepared." Before he can hide his backpack you're already rifling through it, awing at each thoughtful item.

"You brought me drugs! How kind." You snicker, holding up the Advil and Tylenol. Oscars already red face only turns a darker shade and he snatches them away from you.

"I didn't bring you drugs- well technically I did- but I thought you were sick or something!" He defends, placing the bottles back in his bag. An apologetic smile forms on your face and your hand falls to his shoulder, appreciation only rising for the sweet man before you. What country did you save in a past life to warrant such blessing?

"Not sick, but I do have a bit of a request for you." Your hands twist nervously in your lap, the inside of your bottom lip chewed raw at this point. Oscar dips his head to meet your gaze, making you feel warm all over from his attentiveness. "You need to promise me that you won't laugh, okay?" Oscar nods, shifting closer to you.

"I promise I won't laugh." He murmurs, worry internally taking him over as thoughts rush through his mind. Did you take your ex back? Are you sick and lying to him? Oh God do you have a new boyfriend?? This one truly makes him sick, but he refuses to dwell on his reaction.

Inhaling deeply, exhaling through your mouth, you blurt out what you want with your eyes squeezed shut.

"I need you to kiss me."

Oscars heart stops briefly, then kicks back up into overdrive. Is this what a heart attack feels like? Kiss you? You? His lips on yours? Oh God.

His silence makes you nervous so you peek, and the air is punched out of your lungs as a result.

His face is red and he's stone-still, lips parted and eyes ever so slightly widened. Is it bad to say you enjoy seeing him like this?

"Okay." The words finally leave his lips in the form of a breathless whisper, tongue darting out to wet them subconsciously. Surprise smacks you in the face, never once having anticipated a yes so simply. An urge to explain fills you; to justify such a request.

"See I just- well I have a date tomorrow and it's been a long time since I've ever kissed someone, so I figured you could help me relearn." You explain, hands waving around in the air to further your point. As you speak, you don't notice the way Oscar steels back up, shutting back down. How could he ever think you'd be into him when you're so amazing? All of those emotions are forced back into an old box, edges worn out from his mind picking at it on late nights.

"Right. Yeah." He nods, swallowing the bile wanting to rise. He should be happy for you, for taking such a step after the shit-storm of your last relationship. Jealousy edges into his mind, seeping into the cracks and his ego, protectiveness shifting into possessiveness for a split second. You're his, not some random guy who can't even qualify as a man. He's always been there, not this- this idiot.

"So uh, do we just..?" You bring your legs up onto the sofa, sitting criss cross and shifting to face him. The nerves teeter on uncomfortable, but excitement balances it all out for you. His lips are so kissable, it has honestly pained you for years that you may never feel them against your own. Oscar takes the lead of course and his slender yet strong hands cup your jaw, pointer finger drawing circles just in front of your ear. You feel frozen in time, hands useless in your lap as you can't seem to draw your attention anywhere but those lips and the light stubble surrounding the area.

"..You need to close your eyes." He reminds you, his voice sounding a whole lot more gravelly, if not hoarse. Why would it be? What would cause such a-

Warmth. His lips, a delicacy you knew internally you craved, bring a warmth you'd forgotten the embrace of long ago. Oscar sharply inhales at the first contact and struggles to restrain himself, your hesitancy in the kiss the only reminder that you need slow and gentle. He abides by this and tries to stay focused while you lose any thought except the need to keep him as close as possible, right on you where he belongs.

Your eyes had fallen shut awhile ago, but who can say? Time feels meaningless when Oscars hands are trailing down to your hips, the kiss at some point having deepened into an intimacy you weren't sure even existed. He lifts you into his lap with an ease that sets you on fire, scorching a path up to your heart and burning up the oxygen in your lungs. Not that you mind. You'd happily give him your air if it'll make him stay attached like this. Oscar memorizes all of you as you do him, burning your skin with his touch and peeling away layers of lies you'd both put up for a false pretense of simple friendship.

Maybe you've fallen into wonderland because you certainly feel mad. He's tearing out your soul with how gentle yet compassionate his kisses are, soft gasps and sighs filling the otherwise quiet flat, only to mingle with birdsong outside the window. Would you let him kiss you on that balcony for everyone to see? A Juliet he'd most certainly keep. He tugs you closer, chest to chest and heart to heart, both fluttering wildly as if in a cage. Every touch he gets is full of you, any late night dream far surpassed as you give up any control to him, bending under gentle actions like putty. God and your taste, one in the same as it is for you. Closer and closer you become, the outside world ceasing to exist just like any false boundaries you'd both foolishly believed like it'd save you from the damnation of love.

"Osc.. Oscar.." You mumble breathlessly as you part, both panting for air and refusing to give the other space with the way your foreheads stay pressed together. "I lied. There's no date." The white lie is finally revealed, one you'd said out of fear for rejection.

"...Thank fuck." He mutters, laughing under his breath as his lips meet yours once more. He can barely kiss you though, not when he's smiling so widely. You giggle, so he does too and suddenly you're both laughing heavily, falling into one another.

"Be mine?" The question leaves you without consequence, your heart and head airy with love. Oscar nods into your collarbone, still placing kisses there with reverence.

"I've always been yours." He says simply.

"Me too."

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"C'mon! We're gonna get soaked!" Your laugh fills up the corner store, rain hammering down on the two of you. Oscar trails in behind you, hand tightly linked with yours as a bright smile stays firm on his face.

"Thought you liked when we were-" He starts but you slap his shoulder, covering your grin with your free hand as you scoff. He grins back, leading you through the short aisles to wait out the storm and maybe get a few (a lot) of cheat snacks. Oscar grabs Snickers, you grab Hersheys. He takes a Sprite, you take a Dr. Pepper. (You'll later end up forgetting that chocolate melts and get a whole pizza instead, walking in the park while eating out of the waterlogged box.)

"That everything?" The old lady behind the counter asks as Oscar goes to pay, just barely beating you to it while ignoring your protests. He thinks for a moment and then grabs a bouquet of pink tulips, grinning like he'd just won a race. Your heart warms and you peck his cheek as thanks, his pale skin going an identical shade of pink to the petals. Maybe one day he'll realize that that's why pink tulips are your favorite.

She checks you out and waves goodbye since the rain has since cleared up, watching as you walk out swinging each other's hand. Her gaze falls to the corkboard behind her, a small smile on her lips as she traces her lost loves face.

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hello I haven't written in forever and I also don't know why I gave the old lady a backstory ????

[kimarii-00]

Meant To Be (1)

Summary: Armando is captured by a gang in Colombia where he is sure he will meet his end. He isn’t sure what he’s done to upset these people in particular, but at this point, who hasn’t he upset? He waits for his inevitable demise to greet him, but he’s confused when all that comes to him are the four bland walls in the cell that he’s kept in. He’s even more confused when their leader comes to him, giving him an… apology?

Requested by: @joykai ! (sorry it took so long to write 😭)

Word count: 2.7k

Part 1/3 (?)

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AN: Hello… LMFAO, I have no idea why this took me so long to get out. At first I just had writers block, then I got a job, school started again, my laptop broke lol, and so much more… And also I was stuck on this for soo long trying to make connections between bad boys 3 and 4, and eventually I just ended up changing the request a little bit to fit the story better, I hope that’s okay!

Instead of the story starting off with bad boys 3, I just made it start off at the end of Bad Boys 4 to better fit the storyline I was going for.

This will probably be part 1 of 3 parts, but there could possibly be more parts depending on how much I want to expand this. The goal and the minimum is 3 though.

I also didn’t edit this very thoroughly so please let me know if there is anything I should change..

ALSO THANK YOU TO @yeahnohoneybye FOR HELPING ME WITH THE SPANISH TRANSLATIONS!! Such a big help tysm! It was a while ago but they helped me with the whole spanish section!

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When Armando was breaking his neck to do his mothers’ bidding, he knew that he had fucked with a lot of the wrong people. Gangs, police officers, and just downright dangerous people, and he knew for damn sure it would come back to bite him in the ass later down the line. Though that thought that used to be at the forefront of his mind slowly retreated to the backburner when he was relatively able to avoid confrontation with the people he may have pissed off in his past. Yes, he was technically on the run… But who really cares about technicalities?

The rescue mission that he was involved in to retrieve his fathers wife and the kid of the police captain he just so happened to have killed took a lot out of him. He knew that he was lucky to have made it out alive. Thanks to his father, he was able to escape on a boat and leave before authorities could get to him since he did illegally escape from prison, even if it was because he was being pursued and had people gunning for him.

He spent a lot of time thinking while he was in the water. He was a free man with the power to go damn near anywhere he wanted… Where would he go now? He didn’t exactly have a solid plan; afterall, he wasn’t expecting to be let off the hook like this. Eventually, he arrived at a place he knew he had connections in. He docked his boat and made his way to the larger house-boat that he knew contained an old ‘friend’ of his. The place was isolated and secured, for good reason. Both he and this ‘friend’ had been involved in some dangerous shit in the past.

He knocked on the door and it took a while for anyone to answer, but he knew someone was home. In time, he heard a multitude of locks being unlocked, and the door opened. “Armando?” The man said, “¿Qué haces aquí hombre?” (What are you doing here man?) The language hit like whiplash.

Armando had spent so much time with his father and other English speaking people, it’d been a while since he’d heard it.

“Necesito un favor.”(I need a favor) Armando said, quickly and to the point.

“Que? Espera, ¿no se supone que deberías estar en la cárcel?” (What? Wait, aren’t you supposed to be in jail?) The man questioned.

Armando sighed but nodded, “Sí, pero ya no. Sucedió alguna mierda; ¿Me ayudas? Necesito algunas cosas.” (Yeah but not anymore. Some shit happened; could you just hook me up? I need some stuff) He said.

The man nodded and stepped aside so Armando could come in. The place looked as dirty and unorganized as it's always been, but it had a homey feeling that came with it.

“Disculpa el desorden,” (Sorry for the mess) He laughed, “Algun dia me animare a limpiarlo, te lo juro.” (Someday I’ll motivate myself to clean it, I swear.)

Armando rolled his eyes playfully, knowing damn well this place would never be clean, “Sí, como tu digas” (Yeah, whatever you say).

Armando explained his situation to him, “Técnicamente estoy huyendo, pero ahora necesito una casa. En algún lugar remoto.” (I'm technically on the run, but right now I need a house. Somewhere remote.) “No importa dónde esté.” (Don’t care where it is)

“Mmmm, ¿una casa? Sí, seguramente tengo algo, pero no es tan remoto como te gustaría que fuera.” (Mmmm, a house? Yeah, I probably got something, but it’s not as remote as you’d like it to be.) He said with a smile, rubbing the back of his head, “Ya sabes lo que dicen: Esconderse a plena vista, ¿cierto?” (You know what they say, hiding in plain sight, right?)

Four months. Four months Armando had been living in Columbia. At first, it was hard to get used to. He lived in a small house in an even smaller neighborhood. It took him a while to wrap his mind around the fact that he was just a normal person now. He kept in contact with his father who’d informed him that he was keeping authorities off of his back, the concept of being on the run now foreign to him.

When he’d first moved in, he was wary of everyone and everything, thinking that just one slip up could cost him his new, peaceful life. After the first month went by without any incidents, he began to accept that he was now just a regular guy.

Everything was going great for him. Almost too great.

Armando had an odd feeling today. He didn’t know what it was, but it felt like there was a pit in his stomach ever since he left his house to go to the one convenience store he came to favor. He found himself looking behind his back on more than one occasion, but he chalked it up to him being paranoid. It would happen every so often, why would this time be any different?

“...Efectivo o tarjeta?” (Cash or card?) The woman at the counter said impatiently, and he realized he was zoned out. He gave the woman what he owed in cash, took his bags and left, but he just couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling he continued to harbor.

He walked back to his home, hyper aware of the amount of times he thought he’d heard footsteps following behind him, only to turn around and see nothing that could’ve caused the sound, the rustling of bushes that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand cautiously, the chills that he swore came over him every other minute. But everytime he would investigate these strange occurrences, there would be nothing that could possibly endanger him. Why was he so paranoid today in particular?

Looking back, he definitely had a good reason to be.

He was able to return home safely, but was confused when the pit in his stomach made no effort to remove itself. In fact, he felt it only deepened the further he went in the home.

He figured it was time to get some sleep. Maybe some shut eye would help the queasiness.

He’d made it to the door to his room before he realized that something was wrong, and that the stubborn feeling he was fostering for the past thirty minutes was not just a feeling. The door to his room was slightly cracked open.

He knew for a fact that it was not like that before he left.

Just as he came to this realization, he felt a presence behind him. But he didn’t get a chance to get a look at whatever, or rather, whoever was behind him before he felt a muscular arm wrap itself around his throat and squeeze, leaving him with little air, and hardly any room to fight. He clawed at the arm, and tried to use his own strength to tear the arm away from him and create a chance to escape, loosen the grip just a little, anything.

Before long, he felt black spots dancing around the edges of his vision, and for the first time in a long ass time, he felt helpless.

He was still fighting though, and this seemed to aggravate whoever was holding him, “Just sleep dammit!” A gravelly voice said, his grip somehow tightening even more than before.

“Allow me,” A honeyed voice said. Armando faintly heard the sound of heels clicking on the hardwood floor before a dark-skinned woman came into view. She had a deceiving smile on her face as she looked over him once, and her gaze settled onto the man who was still holding onto him, “Loosen up a bit, would you?”

A loud and dramatic sigh was heard and air began to miraculously flow back into his lungs, and he figured that this was his chance to escape.

He couldn’t even make a move before he felt a prick in the side of his neck, and liquid flowed into him. It made him feel tired easily, and he felt his bones beginning to relax. His eyes lidded, mouth numb, unable to say anything.

The woman in front of him, still smiling sweetly, pulled the needle from his neck. He felt himself slipping farther and farther away from consciousness. Before he could fully fade away, however, he was able to hear his two attackers' conversation as the man let him fall limp on the ground.

“(Name)’ll be happy, this dude owes her a fuck-ton…” The man muttered.

“You know she doesn’t like it when you call her by her name–”

“She’ll let me call her whatever I want when we get this asshole to her.”

“You’re insufferable, y’know that?”

“That’s not what you were saying last night–”

“Just grab him and let's go! God…”

The man chuckled at her reaction, clearly finding it amusing to see her flustered. Armando couldn’t keep himself awake for any longer, and promptly lost consciousness as the man leaned down to pick him up and throw him over his shoulder (rather roughly may he add).

His vision filled with black and his hearing faded to the serene sound of nothingness.

He was awoken by water as cold as what he imagined to be what the water in Antarctica would be like. It splashed onto his face and dripped down into his now damp clothes.

He frantically looked around the room, senses heightened in the unfamiliar place. All he found was the metal chair he himself was sitting in, and an old, dingy light hanging over him that flickered every now and then. He found his limbs to be bound by a tight rope that he could tell were not budging any time soon. HIs lips tightened as he realized his situation. Damn it.

“You’re finally awake, I was starting to think the little miss over there killed ya,” He gestured over to the dark-skinned woman who he hadn’t noticed lurking in the corner of the room. She shrugged and her lips curled into an innocent smile.

“I told you he’d be fine.” She said, nonchalantly. Armando didn’t say a word, contemplating in his mind different ways he could handle the situation. He couldn’t spot any windows or doors other than the one that was in front of him, but he knew there was no chance of getting out through there.

“What? Cat got your tongue? Pissed that you got caught? You know, it took an awfully long time to track you down.” The man said, sliding over his own chair and sitting on it backwards, letting his arms hang over the wooden back of it.

“The boss doesn’t want you dead just yet, to my surprise. If you play your cards right you might even get to live to see another day.”

“Unfortunately.” The muscle man sighed out dramatically. Armando still found himself staying quiet. He knew that, given his past working with his mother, the list of dangerous people he’d pissed off at some point might as well have been a book. These people in particular didn’t immediately ring any bells, but they did mention this ‘boss’ of theirs, so perhaps they’re the one he tipped off.

“You know what you’re here for so what’s the point in biting your tongue? Just fess up and pay up.” The woman said, pushing herself off of the wall and making her way to him. He held eye contact until she reached him and bent down so her eyes were on the same level as his were, “Is your pride really worth your life?”

Silence filled the room, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the burly man begin to stand, looking aggravated at his continuous silence. The woman held her hand up nonchalantly, gesturing to the man to sit back down and let her handle it.

He saw the reluctance but he eventually sat back down, but Armando could tell he was getting agitated. The woman focused her attention back on him. She took her pointer finger and gently placed it underneath his chin, lifting it slightly. She had her usual smile, but her eyes gave away her irritation. “Listen, you understand you can walk out of here if you just give us what we’re owed, correct? Our boss is being awfully generous. Don’t tell me you’re just going to throw away that generosity…”

He let her finish her sentence but he wasn’t hearing any of it. Whatever he owed these people wasn’t his problem anymore, and therefore, he decided to make sure that point was well received by his two kidnappers. He spat a glob of spit right between her eyebrows.

He’d never seen someone look so offended. The fake smile dropped instantly and was replaced by the meanest stank-face he’d ever experienced. Her partner damn near broke his wooden chair as he shot up from it, the chair clattering on the ground.

“I told (Name) this asshole wouldn’t cooperate,” The man yelled. Just as he was about to stomp his way over to a helpless Armando, his phone buzzed.

The man stopped in his tracks. When he took his phone out of his pocket, his eyes widened.

“Jax.” The man said simply into the phone. Was his name Jax, or was he speaking to a Jax?

Armando felt the burning gaze of the woman he spat at, but he favored listening to Jax’s (?) conversation rather than another staring contest with the woman he’d pissed off earlier.

“Right now? But… Y-yes… Yes ma’am… I understand… We’ll be there in five.” The man said, scratching the side of his head. After a few seconds, he stuffed the phone back into his pocket and turned back around to face Armando. “Looks like you get to live a bit longer. We’ve gotta bounce.” The last sentence was directed to his partner, who hadn’t said a word in the last five minutes.

She made sure to shoot one last disgusted look at him before following behind her partner and slamming the door behind her. He distinctly heard the lock for the door be secured into place before hearing them walk away. He let out a breath.

The darkness and silence were somewhat intimidating.

He didn’t know how long he’d been left alone. If he had to guess, the minimum amount of time would’ve been at least an hour or so.

As much as he wanted to make the most of it, there wasn’t much he could do. Of course, he could realistically break the wooden chair he was sitting in by slamming it into the ground, and enough force it would definitely crack. But what was he supposed to do afterward? The door was sealed tight, he still had his restraints on and he didn’t know how many people were guarding wherever he was being held at.

Damn.

He wasn’t left with his thoughts for too long though. The door in front of him creaked open much sooner than he thought it would.

He furrowed his eyebrows. A woman walked in slowly, closing the door behind her. It wasn’t the women from before though, and if he hadn’t been in the situation he was currently in, he’d have to admit that she was stunning.

He heard her take a deep breath before letting it out in a dramatic sigh. She walked over slowly, reaching for something in her pocket. Was she going to torture him for information? Shit…

Imagine his surprise when she pulled out a sleek switchblade, but instead of cutting him, she slipped behind him and swiftly cut the ropes binding his limbs together until he suddenly felt strength regaining in his wrists. He wiped his head around in confusion and caution. Is this a trap?

She looked like she was studying him before she let out another sigh, and muttered, “Damn idiots… The wrong fucking person…”

Wrong person?

The wrong damn person?

…

…

…

Low key not happy with the way this turned out since it took me damn near 2-3 moths to finally post it but I figured I should get something out there..

TAGLIST!

@dasaniswrlddd @thedarkworldofhananerea @taylormcguire282 @timebomb1101 @5arlan7 @desiiiisworld @babygurl030 @lovelyme22 @Leavemealing @lewispool @yeahnohoneybye @velocitynyoom @maybepersuasivetom @deadpool15 @believeinthefireflies95 @lxla04 @planetnique @arinotarianagrande @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @hotwomanlythings @themainacc

[crazysodomite]

finally gonna answer that asks thingg. long post

3. your favorite piece(s)?

i really, truly fell off since making these 😭😭😭😭 im honestly not even confident i could create something of this quality ever again #felloff

these older portraits also just go to show how much i fell off. lol 😭😭

i like some of my newer art but its nothing to really write home about. my art has become more self-indulgent compared to squeezing the most 'skill' and 'detalization' out of each piece. i think in the end the process makes me happier (?) but i don't the same pride as looking at some of my older art. to be fair i also spend far less time on art compared to spending like 20 hours straight or days on a piece. frankly im not even sure i could replicate my old pipeline anymore and replicate my skill <- because i fell off!

i cope with the fact i fell off by saying 'im just exploring my own unique artistic vision' <- words from a guy who is simply not that good anymore

4. piece you wish got more love?

idkkk i dont really pay attention to numbers. i only really care/look at comments. i want more taur fans to follow me and talk me about taurs.

7. easiest thing for you to draw?

furries and creatures

8. thing you struggle to draw?

human faces.... this is sad because humans can be so diverse and interesting to draw but personally every time i draw a human it just looks incredibly ugly and bad (unless heavily stylized and simplified) and i just don't enjoy it as much as furries animals creatures monsters etc.

11. do you listen to anything while drawing?

yes... for my own detriment. especially when i dissociate i just turn on something in the background to 'help me focus' but idk if it actually helps me focus or just makes the dissociation more comfortable

13. talk about a wip you like!

i cant show you but it's a piece with lace and hornet (hollow knight)... i think i actually have a lot of wips with angels actually but i dont wanaaa show anybody

14. whats your favorite thing about drawing?

i dont know. gets scared. i enjoy feling proud and enjoying the final product. recently i also enjoy just drawing bodies and forms and volume. the process of 'god this looks like dogshit' going to 'i actually like this :)' or 'i love this and im proud of this' (if im lucky) is very enjoyable.

17. what is something youre confident about in your art?

i dont knowwwwwwww.... im gonna say im confident about something and someones gonna just tell me that im actually really bad at it. i think maybe volume and 'ambient occlusion' !?

21. what do you think your artstyle would taste like? I dont knowww.... from what people say it would be gummies or candies. but tbh that's just my more 'cutesy' art. i contain multitudes. some of my art probably tastes like dirt from the ground at a factory.

22. do you have a favorite color palette to work with?

i pretty much use these colors (for some reason i rarely use green or yellow. the circled colors are especially common. looking at my art it's a lot of purple, pink, blue, red, some oranges. idk why i gravitate to purple so much. i guess i just like red and blue a lot and ourple is a nice middle ground

(and this doesnt mean i dont like green or yellow my immediate reaction to drawing a creature is just making it these colors. for some reason)

24. whats a compliment about your art that has always stuck with you?

I always feel guilty that i dont like. save peoples comments to a folder so i can remember them better (maybe i should do this). i have a bad memory so i can hardly recall what people say word-for-word. I think I'm very humbled and happy when people say that my art has been meaningful to them in some way or helped them or even just made them happy or more willing to explore things about themselves. I also enjoy the 'i look like this and this made me happy' on my art ❤. that's definitely a part of why i enjoy drawing bodies so much. seeing a comment like 'this made me cry because i've never seen a body like mine represented before in a positive way' is really sad honestly and i wish the world wasn't so unfair and cruel man.

25. what size canvas/paper do you use?

i usually use a preset in photoshop for A4 or A3 paper. so about 2000-5000px range

30. whats something youre proud of about your artstyle?

i dont knowwwwwwwww... i think recently i like the way i paint bodies and i've been enjoying the orb heads as a stylistic choice even if some may think its ugly and boring. i also enjoy stylizing body hair. i also also want to adopt a more elaborate brushwork style but idont really know how to do thatttt

34. whats something you still like from your old art?

im just gonna talk about my olllld baby art. i love how innocent and cute and sweet it is. like you can really see my soul was not corrupted by evil yet. sighs

[sweethoneyrose83]

Dialogue prompts for a preppy goth girl dark, edgy attitude. She’s confident, witty, and unapologetically herself:

"Oh, you thought I was all pastels and pearls? Guess again, sweetheart."

"I may wear a skirt, but don't mistake me for someone who won’t kick your ass in these platform boots."

"Just because I like skulls and lace doesn’t mean I can’t ace my calculus test. I contain multitudes, darling."

"There’s nothing quite like sipping tea while contemplating the void, don’t you agree?"

"If it’s not black, is it really worth wearing? But okay, maybe a touch of crimson for drama."

"Who says you can't mix Chanel with a touch of cemetery chic? Fashion rules are for the unimaginative."

"Some people pray for the weekend—I pray for thunderstorms and good coffee."

"Oh, this cross necklace? It’s more about the aesthetic than the faith."

"Just because I have a black heart doesn’t mean I don’t love pink velvet curtains."

"Yes, I’m aware it’s sunny out, but I’ve got SPF 100 and an umbrella, so who’s really winning?"

"You know, I usually don’t do sunlight… but for you, I might make an exception."

"If you’re trying to impress me, you’re going to have to do better than quoting Edgar Allan Poe."

"I’d say you look cute when you’re nervous, but that would imply I’m interested. Or am I?"

"Careful, darling, I bite. But only if you’re lucky."

"You look like you belong in a museum… of curiosities. Want to grab coffee sometime?"

"Oh no, I’m trembling in my combat boots. Whatever shall I do?"

"If I had a nickel for every time someone called me ‘weird,’ I’d buy a castle in Transylvania."

"Please, tell me more about how you think I should dress. I’m absolutely dying to hear it."

"The world may be going to hell, but at least my eyeliner is on point."

"Life is short. Might as well look fabulous while the apocalypse happens."

"I don’t dress like this to stand out—I dress like this because it feels like me."

"Sometimes, the prettiest roses have the sharpest thorns. I’m just embracing both sides."

"You say it’s ‘just a phase,’ but I’ve been this way for years. Funny how phases can turn into lifetimes."

"People think darkness is all bad, but sometimes it’s just… peaceful. No expectations, no masks."

"I guess you could say I’m a romantic at heart—just a bit more into moonlit graveyards than candlelit dinners."

"I hear you’re into horror movies. Want to see one in real life? Just look at my family dinner table."

"You think my style is dark? Wait until you see my sense of humor."

"Oh, I’m not evil; I’m just… creatively misunderstood."

"Trust me, I could be a lot worse. But it’s not Halloween yet."

"If I had a dollar for every time I was called a ‘witch,’ I’d have enough for a whole potion shop."

[epinebleue]

i can fix him (no really i can) (m) (chibs telford) | 01

“You’re not stupid, Eloise, just a whore.” Ellie looked into her mother’s eyes, the ghost of a smirk on her lips. A shiver ran down Gemma’s spine. It had been so long since seeing her reflection in her youngest child that she had forgotten how much she hated it. “Well, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

pairing: filip “chibs” telford x eloise “ellie” teller (original female character)

genre: angst, fluff, mature.

chapter’s warnings: a teenager (16) having a crush on an older man (35), Jax being a bit of an asshole, cursing.

chapter index | next chapter

Charming, 2000

Soft music filled every corner of the room. The cool autumn breeze blew through the window, gently swaying a pair of blue curtains.

Ellie quietly hummed to the chorus of Lucky as she doodled on the corner of her notebook, homework long forgotten. At one point in the middle of solving Math problems, her mind had wandered to places she was used to frequent lately: before falling asleep, while getting ready for school, during classes…

Not a day passed by without her fantasizing about Chibs.

Ellie couldn’t pinpoint the moment she had started seeing him in a new light, it had just happened. Suddenly, she preferred doing homework and studying at the repair shop, sitting by the window to check him out as much as she wanted.

Chibs was handsome, regardless of his scarred cheeks. How he ran his fingers through his long hair to keep it out of the way was addictive. Ellie liked the accent, yet she hated to hear him call her lass. It was a cruel reminder of the nineteen-year gap between them.

Ellie turned all the notebook’s pages, reaching the end. She pressed the tip of the pen against the striped surface and hesitated. Then, she wrote:

Eloise Telford.

She stared at her handwriting. Teller was similar to Telford, right? It fit quite nicely, even better than Eloise Ledger. She giggled at the obvious contrast between Heath and Chibs. Suddenly, that poem by Walt Whitman about containing multitudes started to make sense.

The door swung open.

Ellie, startled by the sudden intrusion, instinctively shut the notebook.

“Do you know how to knock?” She barked at Jax, who had stepped into the room as if he owned it, shirtless and with the button of his baggy jeans undone. The blonde boy glanced around. “I can see your underwear, by the way.”

Jax growled and grabbed the waist of his jeans to pull up and button them. 

“I’m looking for my red tee.”

“And what makes you think you’ll find it here?”

He scanned the room again, stopping at Ellie’s hand protectively covering the notebook. The corners of his lips went up in a wicked smirk as he pointed at it with his head.

“Whatcha doing?”

“Homework.” Ellie sharply answered, annoyed. “Your stupid tee isn’t here, so…”

And she gestured to him to go out. Jax, still smiling, nodded, and Ellie truly thought he would leave her alone.

Oh, how wrong she was.

The moment she turned her back on him, Jax sneaked behind her and grabbed the notebook by the corner, snatching it away.

“Let’s see what you wrote here.”

Ellie sprung up from the chair with her heart in her throat. Jax had started to flip the pages, holding the notebook as high as he could.

The girl screamed at him to stop, arms up attempting to retrieve the object. She tried to climb him, to no avail. Jax had reached the last page and was squinting to read the words written on it.

He froze in place.

Ellie, defeated and humiliated, ran back to the chair, sitting down and folding her arms over the desk, hiding her face in them.

She could feel the bile rising, her skin covered in cold sweat. There were two possible outcomes: either Jax screamed at her and demanded an explanation or he made fun of her until the day she died, which would be soon because she preferred killing herself.

As she sensed Jax moving behind her, Ellie closed her tightly, hoping that the harder she clenched, the sooner everything would turn out to be a bad dream.

Jax’s voice reached her ears.

“He’s twice your age, Ellie.”

“Can you just fuck off?”

But Jax continued, his voice surprisingly soft.

“Look, this is just teenage bullshit. You gotta get it out of your head.”

Ellie lifted her head but didn’t turn around.

“What if it’s not?” She protested, making her hands into fists to stop them from shaking. “What if I really like him?”

Jax’s chuckle made her blood boil. To him, she was a stupid little girl with a stupid little crush. To her, he was being anything but understanding.

“C’mon, Els, you can’t be fucking serious.”

Ellie lowered her head to hide her face in her arms again. She tried to control her breathing.

“But…” She whispered. “He’s nice to me.”

“He’s nice to you because you remind him of his daughter.”

Ellie’s heart snapped in two.

Deep down, she knew that he didn’t call her lass just because. He did because that was what he would call his kid if he were raising her. She knew he liked having her around because he couldn’t be around his own daughter.

And that hurt more than a rejection because it meant she didn’t even stand a chance.

“Please, don’t tell anyone.”

“I would never.” Jax left the notebook on the desk, beside her, and walked to the door. Ellie side-eyed the item. How could something so small cause such big trouble? “For your own good, rip that page out and throw it away.”

No reposting or translations allowed.

© epinebleue 2023-2024

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

PHIA SABAN INTERVIEWED FOR CONTENTMODE MAGAZINE.

CONGRATULATIONS ON HOUSE OF THE DRAGON! HOW HAS THE PROCESS BEEN SO FAR?

"Thank you! It’s a cool thing."

"When we’re working on it we’re in our own little microcosm with each other and those characters, and now it’s coming out and we’re seeing it all link up and become something else."

"It’s very new to me."

"Acting on screen still feels very new to me."

"I am so lucky to get to work with this group of people, they are so clever and loving."

"Recently we’ve been promoting the show and have been asked for opinions and explanations about our characters and the story."

"I’ve found it a new and funny facet of the job, to be asked sometimes to represent myself and speak from the character and for the bigger picture."

"It can feel different from acting, where you engage with the contradictions and spend more time with the mystery and the magic than the answers."

"I guess I’m saying that I’ve found this process contains multitudes."

"And watching the show is surreal — there are all my pals in wigs!"

MANY DIE-HARD GAME OF THRONES FANS HAVE READ THE BOOK SERIES AND ANTICIPATE PLOT POINTS IN THE TELEVISION SERIES. HOW DO YOU PROVIDE A FRESH TAKE ON FAMILIAR MATERIAL?

"It’s major to be part of something that people already feel passionate about, but it’s also exciting to have the chance to subvert expectations."

"It’s fun to make up little secrets that only you know about."

"As a viewer, I always like to be surprised anyway."

"I think it’s important (and fun) to have some irreverence for the genre so that you’re not patronizing your audience."

"The hope is to be part of something that challenges people!"

YOU'VE FOUND SUCCESS IN THE FANTASY AND DRAMATIC GENRES. ARE THERE ANY OTHER GENRES YOU'D LIKE TO EXPLORE?

"Yes! I miss being in plays so much."

"I cannot wait to be in the theater again."

"I’ve never been in a film, I’d love to make an independent one."

"Oh! To be in something people call a ‘picture’!"

"Recently I’ve been fantasizing about learning motion-capture and playing some sort of animal or creature."

"I’d love to be part of a suburban coming-of-age film, like the ones I obsessed over growing up."

"I’d like to do a great limited series, an intense crime one."

"And I could narrowly avoid being eaten by a shark, or an alien."

"I have dreams of doing a time-spanning project."

"I’d like to be the voice of an animation!"

"I‘d love to have a go at the present day."

"And maybe a dystopian future."

"And a Western?"

"I always want to do something funny."

"And strange."

"There are so many TA and filmmakers I admire (I won’t list them but they’re always being lovingly scribbled in my notebook.)"

"I’ll learn Norwegian and French for them!"

"I’m excited to keep finding new people too."

"More than all these, there are so many more things I hope to do, if I’m lucky."

"Not that I give it much thought or anything…"

HAS YOUR REAL LIFE INSPIRED YOUR APPROACH TO YOUR CHARACTER IN ANY WAY?

"Sometimes a character can be an expansion pack for your real life, like a new way to see things."

"So maybe it’s more that the fantasy inspires your real life!"

"It’s been really fun to explore Helaena’s interests."

"I’ve thought quite a lot about bugs."

"I get a huge kick out of investigating how her mind works and finding all the ways her’s overlaps with mine."

"I do lots of people-watching, which is great because now when I’m staring at people on the bus I can tell myself that I’m ‘working’."

WHILE FANTASY CAN SEEMS UNTETHERED FROM REALITY, DO YOU THINK IT CAN REFLECT THE REAL WORLD?

"Haha I hope so, otherwise that would be boring!"

"I suppose these stories are full of archetypes, which should mirror universal truths."

"But maybe that’s just good TV?"

WHAT TYPES OF NARRATIVED DO YOU FIND YOURSELF DRAWN TOWARDS WHEN READING SCRIPTS AND CHOOSING ROLES?

"Something surprising and honest that doesn’t tell me what to think!"

"And I love it when a script lets sad things be funny."

WHAT INSPIRES YOU AS AN ACTOR?

"Other actors, a lot."

"On a good day, almost everything can…"

"That might be one of the best things about being an actor."

[the12thnightproject]

Chapter 28 - Mitsunari POV Chapter - A Soft Place to Land. Another peek inside Mitsunari's brain.

Mitsunari x OC; Nobunaga x Mai

Previous Chapter

Logline - In order to protect a political alliance, Katusko and Mitsunari must pretend an engagement. But this “all business” arrangement is threatened by a coup against Nobunaga… and by feelings.

From the Military Notes of Ishida Mitsunari…

That… was not a good idea.

I did not expect that she would leave.

What have I done?

Mitsunari wondered at Okatsu’s ability to smile as if she meant it, when it was only as recently as this afternoon that she had sobbed until she was dizzy and shaking with emotion. Though her eyes appeared wetter than usual, she was looking around Mozumi’s banquet room with an air of quiet interest. Because he knew her, had over the past few weeks studied her, he knew that beneath that calm expression, she was still devastated. But he suspected he was the only one who did.

“Are you listening to me at all?” Ieyasu slapped his hand on the table for emphasis. “Did you get hit on the head while you were out there, because you’re worse than usual.”

“Thank you for your concern, Lord Ieyasu. I am uninjured.” Mitsunari dragged his focus back to his table companion. He was lucky to have such a friend looking out for him. To prove his health, he repeated, word for word, their previous conversation.

“Ah. Well. Alright then. Here’s a helpful hint. It’s polite to look at the person you are speaking with, and not the woman…” Ieyasu trailed off, glanced at Okatsu, then back to Mitsunari. “Oh. Wonderful.”

Happy that Ieyasu had caught on (perhaps he, like Nobunaga and Mai, could give him advice on love), Mitsunari smiled at Okatsu before turning back to Ieyasu. “Indeed, Okatsu is wonderful.” He moved his soup bowl to the side. “I am happy you like her too.”

“That is not what I-” Ieyasu sighed. “At least she’s not helpless, unless she’s completely succumbed to your influence.”

“Do you think perhaps she has?” That would be good news. He was prepared to list to Ieyasu the evidence both for and against Okatsu succumbing to him, but the lady herself suddenly stood up and excused herself.

“Are you feeling alright, Okatsu?” Perhaps she wanted to cry again. He should go with her to make sure she was alright.

“I’m fine. I thought I’d steal some dessert and take it up to Hikosane. Oh, no stay put.” She caught him before he fully was able to stand. “I know you haven’t seen Ieyasu in a while, and you want to spend time with your friend.”

She rushed out of the room.

“I haven’t the slightest idea.” Ieyasu answered Mitsunari’s previous question, while he glowered into his teacup. “And I prefer not to discuss it.”

The banquet ended soon after Okatsu left, and rather than getting pulled into whatever policy discussion Nobunaga and Hideyoshi were discussing with Mozumi, Mitsunari returned to his quarters with a certain book carefully hidden under his haori. Last week, or more specifically the day before Iekane’s coup attempt, Nobunaga had suggested that Mitsunari read one of the pillow books. Though Mai had protested that Mitsunari was unlikely to find it useful, Nobunaga’s response had been that at some point in the future, Mitsunari might be lucky enough to need the information contained between the covers.

Mitsunari still didn’t know if, or when, he would need such information. Tonight? Probably not. Okatsu was still upset and unlikely to be in a frame of mind to partake in physical affection. However, this also appeared to be an area where a certain amount of research and advance knowledge would be useful, so he considered the tome to be necessary preparation… for… some… hopeful… night in the future.

Unfortunately, the book contained no text, only artwork. And while it contained a multitude of paintings of couples in varied acts of intimacy, there were no instructions on how the participants had achieved those positions.

Of course, some of them were self-explanatory. Mitsunari had witnessed horses mating in a field (though he thought perhaps that humans preferred face to face encounters); he understood the basic mechanics. But as he continued to page through the book, the couples appeared in increasingly difficult-looking acrobatic poses. He paused on an illustration, where the man was on his knees, one arm fully extended to the floor, the other holding his partner underneath him, but suspended in the air. At least that is what appeared to be the case. The artist wasn’t particularly skilled, and Mitsunari couldn’t even tell where the woman’s other leg was.

Unless…

Was the illustration upside down?

Mitsunari rotated the book.

No. That was of no help.

Well. That seemed rather precarious. What if he lost his balance in the middle of it all? He could end up injuring Okatsu.

Curious to determine whether or not he could even maintain that sort of balance on his own, and for how long, Mitsunari placed the book on the floor, then attempted the emulate the three-pronged stance.

He was already teetering on the edge of disaster when Okatsu slid the door open.

The combination of embarrassment, surprise, and the need to hide the book, resulted in him thunking to the floor. He winced as the corner of the book caught him in the rib.

Okatsu hurried to help him up. “Are you alright?”

All he could think was don’t let her see the book. He tried to casually toss it onto the futon.

It missed the futon, smacked against the wall, and came sailing right back into her hands.

A voice inside of his head, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Ieyasu said, Congratulations. You know you couldn’t have achieved that if you tried.

Okatsu glanced down the book now in her hands… and back up to his face… and back down to the book.

He waited for her to say something in that calm businesslike way that in this case would have been extremely welcome, but… she just quietly gave him back the book. Feeling a need to explain, he said, “Lord Nobunaga suggested that I read this.”

Although at this very moment in time, Mitsunari wished he had listened to Mai instead.

Okatsun continued not-looking at him. “Why?”

“I wanted to understand love.” He ran his finger over the drawing, then realized he had just fondled a breast (granted, a two-dimensional representation of one) and quickly shut the book.

He wished she would say something so that he could figure out if she was shocked, or upset, or disgusted (hopefully none of those). Instead, she quietly seated herself by the tea table.

Mitsunari stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, then decided it would be less odd if he sat, so he settled on the futon, where he could see Okatsu’s face, but wasn’t close enough to touch her, in case she was thinking that he was as perverted as Mozumi and wanted to keep a safe distance.

Finally, she spoke. “Why?”

Because I might be in love with you. Because when you’re around, and when you’re not around, I feel both thrilled and scared, and the thought of you leaving is a pain I’ve never before experienced. Because if this is love, I want to know if there is a way to make you love me back.

None of those things he could tell her. He settled on a half-truth, wondering if he could lead her into giving him more insight into how she felt about love… about the idea of loving him. “Because I need to know what it feels like. Does it hurt? I think it must hurt sometimes.”

Hoping to gauge some sense of her feelings – or even her thoughts – he paid close attention to her as she took the book out of his hands and placed it on the desk face down (which was not how one ought to treat a book, even such a book as this!).  So… the book made her uncomfortable… but that was a symptom of something and not a cause. Many things could make her uncomfortable, and few of them were good. Eventually, she said, “this is not the kind of book that will help. It might not be in any books at all. Love is different for everyone.”

He nodded at the pillow book. “It seems like it would be futile, then to write this sort of text.” What he needed to know was what it was like for her.

“That’s not love. Well, I mean people who are in love enjoy those activities, in fact being in love likely enhances the experience – but that sort of thing can be enjoyable between any two-” she seemed to pause and think something over, before continuing “-people who are willing to participate.”

Yes, he had gathered that, having overheard enough discussions throughout the years that made clear that males at least enjoyed the activity with willing partners. Likely females did too, although Mitsunari was less clear on the mechanics of female enjoyment. Hence the book. “That makes sense. In which case, I have a follow-up question.” He tapped the book. “Is the knowledge in this necessary for…”

Okatsu blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. “I’m pretty sure it’s the kind of thing that people figured out long before there were books. Or there wouldn’t have been people around to write the books.”

Which was logical, although didn’t help him much. “Yes. I see.”

“Honestly, I don’t think this book is a ‘how to.’ Mozumi collected it because he enjoyed looking at the drawings. I mean, sure it probably helps to know what you’re doing. But you don’t need a book.” She reached her foot out and gently poked his leg. “Yes, there are things that you can figure out without a book. If two people attention to what each other likes, then it’s a good start.”

Now, that was a helpful clue. Pay attention to what the other person likes. He already knew that Okatsu liked it when he touched her hair. But how would he be able to tell if she was amenable to more? “I’m not always adept at understanding what others like or feel. Is it permissible to ask? For example, if I said, ‘Okatsu, where do you like to be touched?’ it would be ok?”

She touched her neck and lightly rubbed it. He wasn’t sure if she was aware she did that, but Mitsunari was aware. He imagined brushing his hand across her throat and watching her eyes drift shut in response.

“Um. Yeah. It’s ok.” She pulled her hand away and locked them together in her lap. Before he could ask another question, she put up her hand. “Please. I am really not the person you should be talking about this with. When it comes to the examples in that book, a lot of my knowledge is purely theoretical.”

That was a bit of information that made him feel both better and worse. Better because it was upsetting to think of Okatsu performing these intimacies with another person. But worse in the sense that he’d been hoping she would be able to coach him through any inherent difficulties.

Of course, she now looked so uncomfortable that he decided to borrow one of Mitsuhide’s mannerisms and poke fun. He’d noticed that that sort of distraction often worked to alter a mood (not always for the better, but he believed it might in this situation). “Ah. I understand. Would you like to borrow this book when I am finished reading it?”

She tilted her head as if she couldn’t be sure if he was joking. Then, she asked, “What were you doing when I came in?”

Hm. The answer to that was technically embarrassing, but he could think of no other explanation but the truth. He sat down next to her and showed her the page he’d had open when she walked into the room. “This looked rather difficult to achieve, and as I am generally clumsy, I wanted to test it out in case it was something that could potentially result in an injury.”

She started laughing.

Well.

He hadn’t expected that sort of reaction from Okatsu. Masamune, yes. Mitsuhide definitely. Nobunaga might even have been amused. But he hadn’t realized before that he was a joke to her. He felt his entire body collapse into itself.

“No… No. I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at-” she gestured to the room at large. “All this.”

Oh. She’d been inviting him to laugh with her. To share a joke. He wasn’t being excluded… he was being invited into a very small circle. A circle of two. He tried to picture what he had looked like when she entered, and he realized that without context, it might have seemed quite odd. “When you walked in… the look on your face. You must have thought I had gone mad.”

“I did, yes.” She flipped a few pages of the book and stopped at one where… was the man upside down? How was that even possible? Okatsu started giggling again. “Thank goodness you didn’t attempt this one – you might have given yourself a concussion!”

He suspected her assessment was correct. He tilted his head sideways to take in the full effect of the drawing. “I cannot imagine anyone performing that without injury.”

“Well. I could get into that position – it’s a simple handstand.” Okatsu stood up and so smoothly flipped herself upside down that Mitsunari was momentarily awed by her dexterity. “With a little artistic flair.”  She then opened her legs wide – a move that he couldn’t decide was more attractive for its skill, or because she had very nice legs. “But I don’t see why you would when a futon is perfectly comfortable.”

Hm. Nobunaga had been the one to suggest this book. Therefore, he must be the one who could answer that question. “Perhaps I ought to bring the book to Nobunaga and asks him to elucidate the purpose of these later illustrations.”

Okatsu blinked very rapidly. “I wouldn’t.”

True. It wouldn’t be good to bother Nobunaga, especially not now when he was trying to unravel the politics of Genba. “Hideyoshi then. Yes. Hideyoshi would be more patient.”

More blinking, and then Okatsu started laughing again. “No! Don’t make me laugh when I’m upside down!”

She was going to fall!

Mitsunari tried to catch her, but he only made matters worse.

Instead, he positioned himself so that she would have a soft place to land.

Okatsu had been cushioning his falls – his physical awkwardness – for weeks now. It was nice to be able to return the favor. And perhaps that was something that being in love meant. Making sure your love always had a soft place to land if they fell.

She was still laughing when she landed on him, and something that felt like pure joy bubbled up inside him and he could do nothing except laugh along with her. No, he didn’t need a book to tell him what love felt like. This was love. This was knowing. This was…

This was Okatsu’s face suddenly shuttering... “I’m sorry, I must be crushing you.” In an instant, she leaped away from him and dashed behind the screen.

What happened? “Okatsu, are you alright?” He slowly got to his feet. The screen meant privacy. It meant alone. It meant… lonely.

“Yes. Fine. I’m just changing into my night clothes.” Her voice sounded a bit rusty.

He glanced over at her futon, where her night clothes were neatly folded and waiting for her. “Okatsu. Your nightclothes are out here.” Figuring that she might want them, he handed them to her over the top of the screen.

“Thank you.” He heard her take a shaky breath. The same sound she had made earlier today when she cried over her father. Okatsu was either crying… or trying not to. But the screen meant that this time, she would not accept his comfort. He didn’t want to cede the room to her when she was this upset, but to give her some privacy, he picked up The Art of War and opened it. He’d already read it through, and so it was in his head, but Okatsu would likely not be looking that closely at the book anyway.

As usual, he heard the rustling behind the screen, but this time, no discarded clothing hit the floor underneath the screen. Nor was it tossed over the top. And so, when she reappeared, dressed in her night clothing, he knew, because he was looking for it, that she had put it on over her clothing.

She was obviously planning to sneak away.

Tonight.

He had been far too aware that she would be returning to her old life. But he had wanted this last week with her. More time to memorize her, to find pieces of Okatsu and times they spent together that he could put into his memories like the books. Times that he could take out and re-read to himself when he felt lonely.

“Goodnight.” She dove into her futon.

“Goodnight, Okatsu. Sleep well.” He thought about it. If Okatsu wanted to be away from here, he should support her wishes.

But he would not let her leave unescorted.

No. He would not give up this final week with her.

@lorei-writes @bestbryn @katriniac @lyds323 @briars7

[samstree]

What’s up readers?! How about a little show and tell? Answer these 13 questions, tag 13 lucky readers and if you’re feeling extra bookish add a shelfie! Let’s Go!

Thank you @darthwillies for the tag!

1) The Last book I read:

The Vampire Lestat. I've been slowly reading the first few Vampire Chronicles books since the TV show took over my body and soul lmao. So far this one is a lot of fun!

2) A book I recommend:

Creatures of a Day. It's a non-fiction and a good look into psychology in general and psychiatrist as a profession. Would highly recommend Irvin Yalom's other books too.

3) A book that I couldn’t put down:

The Song of Achilles. I read very slowly in English but this book had me hooked from the beginning and I finished it in one weekend. This was actually a few years ago now but I haven't had the same experience since. (If anyone knows anything that is the same but like...different, please let me know alskjdf)

4) A book I’ve read twice (or more):

This Is Going to Hurt. I really liked the humor in the book when the topic is so serious. It's about working in health care and especially in the OB ward. Witnessing life and death daily can't be easy, but Adam Kay makes it easy to read.

5) A book on my TBR:

The Red Sorghum. It's been on my TBR since it won the Nobel prize lmao. The theme is very heavy though, but anyway, one day I will read, even just for the nobel.

6) A book I’ve put down:

All the Light We Cannot See. The writing is beautiful but the WWII story just doesn't draw me in as much. Maybe one day I will go back to it.

7) A book on my wish list:

Can I put an unpublished book here? The Winds of Winter lol, if I can be cheeky for a bit. Watching House of the Dragon really just brought me back into my asoiaf era. I feel sixteen again and piecing together all the clues for the sequel and thinking about all the theories. Unfortunately it is still very much a wish list.

8) A favorite book from childhood:

Journey to the West! Who doesn't love an adventure story about four besties going on a road trip that is full of cool monsters of the week? Also the whole book is metaphor for buddhist enlightenment. So it really contains multitudes.

9) A book you would give to a friend:

Silver in the Wood. It's a short novel that I brought to a long flight and just finished in one go. It makes you feel like you've just taken a little walk in the forest. It's a light read that makes a perfect gift!

10) A book of poetry or lyrics that you own:

Does Evgenii Onegin count as poetry? It's one of my favorite reads back in university. Partly because of the adapted play I think, it is still the top theater experience I've ever had.

11) A nonfiction book you own:

When Breath Becomes Air. It was written by a surgeon about his journey battling cancer at the end of his life. It's one of the books that stayed with me, having read it after cancer being such a huge part of my life for years. I feel like I got some answers from it and would recommend everyone to read.

12) What are you currently reading:

Queen of the Damned. More sexy vampires! Some of them are even old AND sexy!

13) What are you planning on reading next?

Keep reading through the Vampire Chronicles until reason and taste fail me (or Anne Rice does). I hear people tend to stop at some point during the 12 books in the whole series. We'll see how long I last.

tagging: @kuripon @cherryjuicegf @silvipeppers @tideswept @valdomarx. No pressures of course <3

[forthegothicheroine]

Okay, so I'm in the hospital- a bit of a scare, actually- and the attending doctor walks in, lab coat and stethoscope, professional demeanor, a little preoccupied and busy as they all seem to be, and he sees the book on my lap, a two-pound doorstopper of a book, and he leans forward all concerned-like, and says "Edgar Allan Poe." Then there's a pause. He looks at me, really looks at me for the first time. "Wasn't he evil?" "Not evil per se," I say, clapping my mouth shut on the much longer spiel trying to spill out. He did have some terrible failings, I want to add. He also had some really good qualities! He was not the deranged necrophiliac drug addict you've probably heard that he was, and still there is a grain of truth to the worst versions of his life story. He contained multitudes. He was a genius writer who could absolutely fluff a sentence, and though brilliant, he was pompous and at times a faker, a windbag. His life was terribly hard and so, quite understandably, he was aggrieved and disappointed and often spoiling for a fight, and at the same time, almost endlessly hopeful. He would have had every right to dismiss the universe as hostile and stupid and cruel, yet he managed to forge meaning from his suffering. 'To be happy at one point we must have suffered at the same. Never to suffer would have been never to have been blessed,' as he put it. And despite endless financial challenges as well as a poverty of time and resources, he dedicated his life to appreciating and creating beauty. Even if you think a final analysis is possible, Poe remains a complex figure, which is entirely appropriate because we all have a number of different sides, and yet there's so much pressure to be just one thing or another, as if such an elaborate concoction as a person would have just one or two qualities, isn't that ridiculous? How can anyone endowed with the normal allotment of sympathy and a modicum of experience of themselves and other people conclude that there's just one way to be in the world, one way to succeed, one way to live a worthy life? "Not like evil-evil," I finish lamely, as the doctor makes to leave, perhaps sensing his lucky escape.

Catherine Baab-Muguira, Poe for Your Problems

[kerubimcrepin]

Episode 17 - Toothache

These look like various different armours. Interesting.

One of the very, very rare times Kerubim says "Jojo", and not "Joris" or "my Jojo".

Considering how fast he came, chances are he was outside, listening in to Kerubim searching for the tooth. He is so real for that.

Joris gets a pass for not being normal about Kerubim and his stories because he's 7. I won't make fun of him. He's baby.

(Kerubim doesn't get a pass for not being normal about Joris because he's like 60-80, and should go to therapy, instead of compensating for his fail orphanage childhood and divorce. It's equality. To me.)

Yes, his spine always hurts. Yes, he's also still very good at acrobatics and parkour, as all adventurers should be. He contains multitudes.

Peace and love in the World of Twelve. Also, Kerubim's fruity stance here...

He loves sharing things that make him happy with Joris. It's very cute. But also Joris is like 7, so I don't know what he's expecting.

Maybe he's trying to raise him with a love for selling things to people, so that one day he will continue the family business.

Bad news: Joris's main interest as an adult, while manning the store, is Bullying The Customers. Bullying them until they start to cry or call him slurs.

And are these... "assistants" in the room with us, right now?

Also: Kerubim knits, as can be gauged from the yarn balls with the knitting needles in them. At least he is putting that yarn ball addiction that has been alluded in the first episodes (before Simone cleaned up) and which will be fully revealed in episode 49, The Jellivision, to a good use.

I just know that before coming out, they had a talk that went something like:

"And then, when I clap, my Jojo, you will jump onto the counter, with milk! Imagine how happy it would make the customer."

"Yay papycha!"

Yet again, everyone in this household loves to jump onto tables. This will not change in even 600 years. Manlets. Littlefellas. Shortguys.

Joris is more won-over by Keke's customer tactics than the customer. A likely thing for Joris to be.

I want to point out that, at literally no point during the series, except for the racing episode, do we see Kerubim actually go to Brakmar, or really explore the Sidimote Moors.

I wonder if he has something to hide.

(Atcham. I am yet again talking about Atcham.)

Despite wanting to act like he's cool and lucky, Kerubim does actually put in the time to research what waits him where he's going. Especially when he knows it's going to be dangerous. It's an interesting contrast to the way he was in the Unikron episode.

I suppose it's very likely that that story happened before this one, and he's matured.

(Though it doesn't mean he isn't wrong about things sometimes.)

Truly, he is the male version of Lina Inverse.

Food moment: I am not describing all of them, but man, those sure are fruits and veggies.

This implies that Kerubim has used the tooth for cleaning before, either cleaning the house, or cleaning himself. No wonder he's so beautiful.

I will be real, if I was Kerubim I would like. Do unspeakable evils upon Simone. I would make her tea with salt for a week. He is more patient than all of us.

Dead.

Yeah, not even being the best and the prettiest can save this. It's over.

[magentagalaxies]

Kids in the Archive: Special Announcement

For today's Kids in the Archive entry, I thought I'd switch it up and try something a little different by responding to a piece of fan mail from the first year the show was on the air. And if you did send the kids in the hall fan mail in the late 80s/early 90s - don't worry i didn't actually read any of it aside from this letter, because while this fan was not writing to me specifically (how could she, i was over a decade away from being born when this was sent) i think i might have some information that's uniquely suited to answer her inquiry:

Lucky for both of us, Kat Kvill, they did bring Buddy back. Many times. For you see, Kat, Buddy's powers cannot be contained to one monologue. Even after a prolific run on The Kids in the Hall, Buddy still reappeared in his own autobiography:

surrealist independent webseries,

multitudes of live performances,

and even nearly came to primetime as a cartoon:

what's that, kat kvill? how do i know this? you see, i am the foremost expert on buddy cole's legendary career. documenting buddy's history and unearthing these many lifetimes that may have become lost media has been my passion project for the past year. the real-life tale behind our favorite lounge lizard must be told...

and I'm here to announce that soon you all can be part of that story.

Crowdfunding for The Buddy Cole Documentary launches on Indigogo on Thursday, November 16th, 2023

stay tuned for more updates from myself as well as my executive producers bruce mcculloch and paul bellini as we commence launch week!

in addition to helping support a young queer filmmaker give this comedy icon his proper place in the history books, the crowdfunding campaign also features a multitude of exclusive prizes you can only get from donating to this film: from exclusive behind-the-scenes footage and videos of never-released buddy cole material to personalized thank you messages from the kids in the hall and a chance to virtually attend buddy cole's happy hour, we are taking every opportunity to immerse supporters in the wonderfully queer world of buddy cole. so pull up a seat at the bar, this is one story you don't want to miss.

[wolfisland]

honestly futch was a huge part of my journey to being comfortable with butchness. its still important to me. its that foot in the door to a part of my identity that may be far more personal and private for me but is still mine nonetheless. when im feminine it feels more like drag nowadays, a costume instead of a shield to hide my insecurities.

i dont really wear makeup, and i dont shave anymore. ive started dressing like a midwestern 2000s scemo teenage boy again. tomboy is still there, tomboy is still real, but tomboy doesnt encompass the way i navigate the world or my relationships the way butch does, the way futch does. i say im predominantly a butch because futch is more of an umbrella identity for me as someone whos existence is contradictory by nature, i contain multitudes.

some days im possessed by a femme. some days im something i dont know how to articulate. most days, when im most myself in particular, im a butch. that doesnt negate my own personal fragility or experiences with femininity. im a woman still. and i still have feelings. and i like to feel special and loved and cared for as much as i like to dote on and love and cherish my partner. but futch was and is integral to my experiences there, the shifting dynamic between me and the people i love, me and whos in the mirror, me and the way i experience the world around me.

and futch is what allows me to even be butch. i need to be part of both worlds for my own sanity, safety, and security in my identity. dismissing one part of my identity to engage with the other has only ever done me harm. perhaps that makes me a "soft" butch, then. i know we all hated that term in 2015, the implication that butches are by default hard and unfeeling, and we were right to criticize it. futch isnt what makes me a brittle butch, but its what allows me to access the parts of me that are femme, that still live there and always will, that are present in my every day life in their own way.

futch as in faggy butch. futch as in a butch who knows what it is to be a femme and doesnt reject it. the only way i could ever be a Girly person is in the uniquely femme way, an identity that i experience as a wlw, as a nonbinary gnc woman. im just masc, most of the time, in most ways. im a femme for those lucky enough to have me. im a butch as far as you or anyone else should be concerned. im a futch to the bone and as long as femme still rings true to me no matter how grounded i am in butch being who and what i am.

[toomuchracket]

I know we’re venturing into the world of boy dad matty but your international women’s day blurb made me think of how matty would treat his daughters on iwd. would be telling them how cool women are and not to listen to all of the cultural narratives that tell them they’re unworthy and stuff. he would get up on his soapbox and when they’re little they’d be a bit like yeah okay dad but as they get older they would realize how lucky they were to have a dad that was so invested in their self esteem

i agree! i think he'd get those Little People Big Dreams books for his girls, and they'd learn about important, successful, inspiring women (and men, but it's not their moment rn) from the time they were literally babies. and matty being matty, i also think they'd learn about cool women through music and literature and media and art. but yeah, he's very much the "it might be more difficult sometimes, my girls, but you can absolutely live your own lives and do whatever you want. like look at this barbie, she's a doctor, and this one is a popstar, but they're both her; you guys can be the same! you contain multitudes! and you can look how you want when you do it - like look at mummy, a corporate professional, wearing glitter eyeliner to her work today without a care in the world! mummy's such an inspiration, actually, being as successful and smart and cool and fun as she is while taking care of the three of us, yeah? if you're going to take inspiration from either of us in forming your own personalities, please for the love of god try and be more like mummy than like me, babies" dad, even when they're literally two and four just looking at his impassioned rant a bit blankly lol. he's just so keen to make them feel empowered and able to do things on their own terms, and also to prepare them for any adversity they might face in doing so, which like you said they start to really appreciate when they're older and going through it a bit more. i wonder if they ever write an essay about their parents a bit like the one matty wrote about his dad, talking about how both their mum and dad were just overwhelmingly supportive but also honest about the world as they grew up, and how they're so grateful for them for that. yeah, he's a good egg is our matthew <3

[nothingbutloveforyou]

Working on myself made me believe more in love. I had to realize that sometimes I’m not as nice or considerate as I could’ve been and that the people I care about shouldn’t have to deal with that. So while I can’t control how I feel I can control how I react and treat others. That notion made me want to be softer and gentler because the people I love deserve the best version of my self I can present. And it reminds you almost when they treat you roughly that damn things must be so tough for them if they can’t be nice right now. And it makes me love them harder because all I want is to help them through whatever it is and I can!! I can by offering them a shoulder to cry on, a soundboard to vent to, I can even just make them a snack in silence so they feel loved. Idk when you realize you contain multitudes it reinforces that omg so does everyone else 💗

wow i love this so much 😭😭😭 your loved ones are lucky to have you anon <3

[themuppetarchives]

You wretched thing, you and your master alike. Your relentless pursuit of the forbidden will be your Undoing, that I promise you.

But very well, Watcher. If it's a tale you wish to hear, I can give you one. Enjoy the show.

It will not be my tale, though. You don't get the privilege of Knowing me. Instead I'll give you the story of the book 📖.

I know not of its creation. It's existed for far longer than any thing has a right to exist, and contains more Knowledge than any form of media can or ever will. It has a peculiar ability to contain whatever answers you seek, and opening it at any point will lead you directly to the desired section of information. The Codex Omnis. The Book of All.

It's fairly harmless, as long as one doesn't use it too often. Extended time with the book 📖 can lead to unfortunate circumstances. Reading it cover to cover is impossible, the human body cannot contain the multitudes that it does so effortlessly with Paper.

It came into my possession when my father passed as a part of my inheritance and I admit, I became... dependant on it. I never read more than a page at a time, I've seen what it can do. Witnessing one's own brother succumb to the Paper leaves quite a harrowing memory and a bone-deep sense of self preservation. I never let my curiosity get the better of me. I'm not of your lot, after all. I'm still myself.

But having the power to Know anything, quite literally anything I could ever want to know, was intoxicating. The book could tell me whatever I wished. Whether my housekeeper was stuck in traffic, what my horrible stepmother was wasting her half of my father's money on, the exact temperature and humidity of any room in my house. Whether or not someone I fancied was worth the trouble, their intentions, their deepest innermost thoughts of me that they would never ever say aloud.

And then one day, it was taken from me. My family heirloom, the key to my past and present and future, my own personal well of Knowledge that I could drink from whenever I pleased. It was stolen in the night. I didn't see their face. It was dark and I was still sleep-drunk and I'm fairly certain they were not facing me. They disappeared, tome in hand, and I've been searching ever since.

So, now I come to you, Watcher, child of the Beholding, the most beloved of the Eyes On Earth; The Archivist. I followed the trail and it led me to you. Whatever imbecile decided to try and read the damn thing in its entirety is likely wandering around out there, body slowly wasting away as they turn into Paper and Ink. It's meant to rain tonight. I hope they don't seek shelter.

I demand my book 📖 back immediately.

And I won't take kindly to being compelled again.

- Coda

[STATEMENT ENDS.]

I...must admit I didn't realize how hungry, I really was. Beholding thanks you for your...generous contribution. Not only do we have a new power to consider, but a new artifact and, should I be so lucky...a new Avatar as well. An entirely new world, so much of it still unseen, ripe for the viewing...

It was no coincidence I have found myself in This Place and This Time.

Now as for your book📖 - I can tell you that whatever poor soul had come to me with their statement was too far gone for saving. If it is as you say, which I have reason to believe that it is, they have succumb to...the Paper.

When consumed, does the book 📖remain intact or does it fuse with its host? I would quite like a chance to See this Codex Omnis for myself. This book 📖and I...I feel a certain...kinship with it. Are we that different - after all, I am The Archive of Fear. It came to me for help, perhaps it sees the Archives as some sort of refuge. What is an archive if not that exact thing - a sacred sanctuary for Knowledge.

More interesting still is the emergence of The Paper as a new power in this world...

The Paper. The Felt. The Hunger. The Faceless. The Dreaming.

[...]

Ah-

The rain is starting.

[END RECORDING.]