#I’m so rusty when it comes to digital stuff and I need to get into the gorve again

[cissa-calls]

I need to start posting art again….I’ve fallen behind and been forsaken

[shirecorn]

how about 17 and 24? what inspires you and how do you deal with art block?

Long post warning.

Art block...

I don't actually get art block, which is probably a combination of neurodivergence and drawing every day for the last 3 years

I wrote an entire tutorial about how to do that, but didn't feel like illustrating it. Would people want to read it even without visuals?

Maybe... I'll just start rambling.

There's a couple different types of art block, and it's really just a philosophy puzzle to get past them. I'm going to assume that the things I think of slow days, or art mud, is a milder form of art block and work through that.

Art block is a symptom, not a disease. You probably have something deep inside that you don't want to face, or don't know how. Sometimes you need to discover the cause, sometimes just power through.

Method 1: Rest

Let yourself just Exist. The act of consuming art is part of the process. Watching shows and playing games, taking a break and going gardening or focus on school. This is what you need for burnout-induced art block.

Method 2: Action

I always choose action, sometimes it means a tiny 2 min sketch per day. Ugly or super simplified. As long as I don't stop moving.

Toss everything. Start every piece thinking you will throw it away.

The act of drawing moves you forward; pinning it to the fridge does not. Don't work things until they are perfect. Work them until they are there.

Art block causes and solutions:

- No Inspiration

Not sure what to draw, nothing seems appealing. Art won't come out like it used to.

Do studies from life or photos. Sketch, paint, digital, traditional, doesn't matter. Rocks, fruit, figure drawing, landscapes, buildings, anything.

Study and copy professional's work. Old masters are best, like rubens, michalangelo (only his men tho) etc because they will teach you anatomy while you work. If you copy someone with a lot of flaws, you will repeat those flaws.

Trace to learn, not to earn. Trace photography and art from anyone you want. Don't post it unless you have the artist's permission or they are dead, whichever comes first. This is strictly work for yourself, on yourself. It's not about the finished drawing.

Find an artist with a fun style and try converting stuff into their style. Don't make that your new style though and especially don't start selling it. Your style is a chimera of everyone you love, not a clone of one person.

Take blurry photos. You don't need a fancy camera or good skills or beautiful subjects. Doing studies from your own photos can spark life into your workflow.

Make challenges for yourself. Randomly generate things to combine. Try fusing characters! Don't try to make it look good, just be fun.

Doodle patterns, swirls, lines, random stuff. Try looking up art warmups and doing some of those.

- Everything Sucks

You finally see how bad you are. Or somehow you got worse. Every piece is a fight and you spend hours trying to get something right only for it to be stiff and disgusting and STILL wrong.

Why are you trying to draw good? It's enough just to draw.

Accept that your art is bad. Every artist can see flaws in their work. Your problem is that those flaws outweigh anything remotely worthwhile and hurt to look at.

So what? You're in a period of growth, not a period of production. Keep that wonky second eye. Let them have hot dog fingers.

Show everyone! Show no one! No piece of art can ever be a reflection of the artist. Not their worth, not their skill. The only thing your art says about you is "Held and moved a pen for a bit."

Make bad art. It's ok. Most of the time, the pressure to perform and get things Right is what made them wrong in the first place. Relax.

- No Motivation

The #1 killer of artists everywhere. On some level you think you should draw, on every other level you think you should stay in bed.

You are not lazy. You wouldn't have read this far in a post about art block if you were lazy. You wouldn't CALL it art block if you were lazy. Laziness is wishing you didn't have to do anything. A block is wishing you were doing something. If you think you can namecall Yourself into productivity again, you're wrong and You need to unionize so that you don't treat You like that anymore.

Consider Mental Illness. Losing interest in something that brought you joy can be a symptom of depression. I know it seems obvious, but if you're waiting for a sign that it's "bad enough," it's bad enough. Seek care if you have the means. Forgive yourself if you already know this.

Selfcare. Examine yourself for neglect. Nutrition, exercise, enrichment, social need, and sleep are all part of the art process. Eat three meals and sleep 8 hours. That's your gaymer fuel. You deserve it, I promise. Depriving yourself of your needs will make your blocks worse, not kick you into making them better.

Identify potholes. Sketchbook falling apart? Tablet cord frayed? Half your pencils missing? Chair uncomfortable? Desk hard to reach? There's a lot of things that you tell yourself to work around and get over. Just because you CAN workaround something, doesn't mean you SHOULD. A difficult work environment can cause secret dread deep inside that you don't recognize and just think you're lazy. What you think of as "no motivation" might actually be "I don't want to deal with my tablet disconnecting every time I move it wrong and I have to wiggle it for a few seconds to make it work again." These little things are like potholes in the road. Sure you CAN still drive through them, but eventually you're going to look up and realize you haven't voluntarily left the house in weeks.

Repair potholes and roadblocks. You might feel bad about buying a new pencil, headphones, tablet, car, etc because technically the old one works if you hustle. But if you're running into so many potholes you've ground to a halt, it doesn't Actually work anymore, does it? Invest, save up, request, and require working equipment and suitable conditions. This stuff isn't just cushy privilege, it's an investment in yourself and your art. You are worth the effort it takes to clear the way. If you can't afford reliable (reliable! not perfect or luxurious) equipment, then say it. If cardboard is all you can afford, draw on cardboard. But know that you deserve canvas, and one day you might be able to make the jump. Acknowledge that sometimes, if you don't have it in you to smear burned twigs on wet cardboard, the problem isn't motivation, but opportunity.

- Haven't Drawn in So Long

A unique type of art block that self perpetuates. The thought of starting again is so stressful you can't do it. Or maybe you'll do it tomorrow. Yeah. Tomorrow for sure.

Face your fears. Are you ashamed of your lack of drawing? Are you anthropomorphizing your paper and thinking it's going to judge you, like "oh NOW you come back >:/" I internalize voices I hear and project them onto other people, concepts, locations, and inanimate objects. Your paper, computer, WIPs folder.... none of that is judging you.

Reframe your WIPs. Do you feel shame when you see "unfinished" projects? Why? Who says you MUST bring everything you start to Finish? You don't have to. A sketch is a finished art piece; it's called a sketch! If a sketch is a fully realized creation, pages that are half colored, 75% lined, or partially rendered are all fully realized creations too. Unless paid otherwise, art is done when you're done working on it.

Lower the stakes. Draw a chibi or grab some crayons. Get messy and slowly ease yourself back into the flow over the course of a couple days. It's fine.

Get a buddy! Find an art meme, do an art trade, get a study subject, or just wing it. Drawing art alongside someone can help you get past that block.

Pretend you never stopped. Don't think about the gap, how long it's been, or rustiness. As far as anyone knows, you drew the mona lisa yesterday and didn't break a sweat. Today, you drew a starfish on your hand with a gel pen. Keep up that streak, good job!

Just keep drawing. Make a goal to do one sucky drawing per day on the back of a napkin. Don't make up for missed days, just pretend they didn't happen. Who's going to judge you? The calendar? That's pieces of paper; it doesn't have an opinion. Draw a cat on it. Done. Keeping up the momentum is a great way to prevent art blocks in the future.

TLDR: Draw imperfectly and toss it. Selfcare is king. Draw often and don't judge yourself.

Art is a process, not a product.

[gaiuswrites]

Ashore

Part one | Open Waters

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader

Summary: You and Frankie leave the beach with only one thing on your minds.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 3.6k~

Warnings/tags: smut, ✨butt stuff✨, oral (f receiving), some lovey-dovey shit

Notes: Here we are friends. You don’t necessarily have to read Open Waters to understand the contents of this chapter (considering it’s mostly just booty bumpin’). You can thank heathens @javierpcna and @whataperfectwasteoftime for the debauchery to follow. It’s been a while since I’ve written and I’m genuinely nervous to post this lol but alas. We have arrived. Is it shit? Is it pure filth? Who’s to say hehehe. Cheers bebes x

Masterlist | read it on ao3!

The worst part was, you had to get gas.

Frankie drives. You sit beside him.

The return trip is hushed with anticipation—with sullied stain-glass imagery occupying the void. You've said next to nothing since you packed into the car; the only noise comes from the radio—the preset station phasing in and out as you wind along the backroads leading away from the shore—Journey, Jimi, Led Zep and the like all crackling dry through the speakers.

Everything, each micro-movement, feels stifling— like burning ants under a magnifying glass— each gesture riddled with intention, Frankie’s words echoing clear in the caverns of your mind.

He glances left right at an intersection.

‘Anything?’

He flips on the turn signal, blinking one two one two one two.

‘You gonna let me have your tight little ass?’

He steers the wheel with the heel of his palm.

‘When I cum, it’s gonna be here—filling you up.’

The engine rumbles as you idle at a red light—stalling. Dawdling. The sun spills lazily from the horizon, draining the last of the afternoon’s light with it, bleeding the sky scarlet—emboldening the horizon— and you watch as the setting glow catches the hair on his arm—there, resting on the console between you. His hand fists over the gear, knuckles creasing as they tense around the worn, leathered head. You’re playing a game—a silent, ruleless game. You know he can sense you observing him, can feel the heat of your gaze weigh on the flex of his fingers—the same fingers that had ripped an orgasm out of you not two hours before.

You almost unbuckle your damn seatbelt and fly out of your chair. You nearly break with it, with the unspoken tension filling the car like gas and fuck, how you crave him; how you yearn to put those fingers in your mouth and suck—lave the summer clean off his digits and bob around the long width and—

The light turns green.

Frankie resumes his hand to the wheel, your lewd fantasy dissipating along with it.

It’s minuscule. You would have missed it save the fact that you’re so acutely aware of every fucking breath you two share in the aluminum confines of your old Jeep. It’s a subtle thing: Frankie adjusts his hips— innocent enough— but your eyes flicker over to find the groin of his drying swim trunks tented.

You’re not ashamed to say it— your mouth fucking waters, you salivate— and as if on cue, he squirms again, seeking relief from both the blood rushing south and the blister of your stare. His lips part— the rasp of an inhale as he prepares to speak—before his focus is torn down to the dashboard, an orange symbol popping up in the gauge stealing his attention.

“Shit,” Frankie mumbles under his breath. Looking around, he scans for a nearby station and groans at the realization that he’s just passed one, spotting it in the rearview mirror. “Shit.”

You swivel towards the passenger side window, attempting to hide the I told you so expression pulling wry at your mouth. Not that you’ll hang it over him, but you did inform Frankie that the tank was empty on the way to the beach. You hear another muffled curse come from the man beside you, and the world goes topsy-turvy and reverses itself— the act of Frankie making a grumbled U-turn.

He puts the gear into park with a huff, Van Halen’s solo abruptly cut short mid chord.

The car door opens with a rusty squeal and Frankie clambers out, fishing his wallet from his back pocket and swiping his card through the reader at the pump—but not before he squeezes a palm into the plush of your thigh, thumb searing like a brand into your skin. I’ll be quick.

Fuck, you could have cum right then.

Your gaze follows his movements, dogging after him as he waits on the gas to fill— arms folded across his chest, strong build leaning on the frame of your car.

It’s not a novel concept to you, but God is that man broad. The ratty t-shirt he wears clings to him, pulled taut between the plane of his shoulders, the cut of his tricep apparent even from your vantage point; the corded muscle running up his neck flashing as he watches the digital numbers on the screen tick higher.

Shit, you’re aching for him— you can feel yourself throb into the crotch of your swimsuit. You’d have him right here—in the backseat, steaming up the glass— if it weren’t for the overencumbered bags and rickety beach chairs crowding the space.

With herculean effort, you wrench your eyes off him in search of a distraction, letting them drift to the dark flooring of the car. It’s been dirtied—white flecks speckling the interior—and you won’t be able to get the sand out of the matted carpets for weeks. It’s a nuisance, to be sure, but you have to admit that you’re sort of fond of it; little memories, vestiges in the grains, lingering long after the season ends.

Hello, remember me? each granule chirped, remember when we laughed giddy for hours, maddened by the grace of the sun? Remember when we burned red that time we forgot sunscreen? Remember when we bought soft serve from the surf shack and it globbed sticky down our wrists? Remember when we when we when when when…

Frankie, ever practical, hates it. It’s a pain in the ass, he’s told you, regaling you with the woes only a mechanic would care to know. It ruins the upholstery.

You’ve had your exchanges about the topic—your faux-squabbled back and forths—and yet despite himself, he can’t help but like that you like it. Conceptually, he gets it—it annoys him to kingdom fucking come and he’ll almost certainly take the vacuum to the mats first thing tomorrow, but he understands. He understands it.

He understands you.

You’re like that, you and him. You’re different. You are made of different things, a compository of fractures and fragments. Mosaic tiles. You don’t quite fit—not all of you—but you never force the pieces into any sort of place. You admire each other’s mismatched bits, those sweetly quilted jigsaws, and you hold each one up to the light and point at the unique curves, the notches and swoops there, and say I love you, I love this, I love this too.

When Frankie keys up the ignition and puts the car in drive, he keeps his hand on your lap. Arm resting over the median dividing you, calloused palm sealing over your quad, his fingertips knead a pulse into the meat of your leg with each bump in the poorly paved road— a reminder. A vow. Almost home.

You think he does it just to torture you.

It fucking works.

/

The sound of laughter parts the front door as you enter— Frankie had made some colorful comment about your absolute favorite neighbors, the ones who always leave their damn garbage bins in front of your driveway— and your key ring clatters as it hits the bowl on the side table.

You discard the bags, plopping the sandy things down in the entryway, and kick off your sandals— bare soles padding along lacquered wood paneling as you head to the kitchen for some much needed water.

The sound of the tap running camouflages Frankie’s movement, you don’t hear him behind you. He’s got stealth in him, harbored there from before. He’s light on his feet when he chooses to be—nimble-like, bordering on feline—and you startle with a bubbly chuckle when you spin around to discover him far closer than you anticipated.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping us hydrated,” you grin, as if it were obvious. You’re welcome.

He hums, the note rumbling against the cage of his ribs, and lessens the distance between you with a single stride. “That can wait.”

He rids you of the glasses, hurriedly placing them on the counter, and meets you in a kiss—and fuck can that man kiss. Frankie, like with all things, is responsive—attentive. His lips are fever-laced and wanton, and he roves against yours like they’re designed to— fated for no one else’s but your own— nipping and tonguing at your honeyed whines, orphaned there in the well of your mouth.

His hands vine up your body, so deprived of the luxury of your form - of touch - and he grabs at anything he can— your hips, your waist, your breasts through the cotton of your shirt— their half moon curves sitting ripe in his palms.

After ushering you up to the countertop, he strips you of your jean shorts, your bikini bottom sloughing down your calves along with them, and hoists your feet onto the fake granite, prying your legs wide for him.

When he gets an eyeful of your gleaming pussy, pearled with arousal, the wind gets punched straight out of him.

“Jesus honey,” he groans, “you been like this the whole ride home?”

Your brain is numb, lagging with lust. You don’t trust your voice to speak—all you can do is nod.

“Poor thing,” he simpers. “Poor pretty thing, all wound up for me—all wet.”

You whimper at his tone—graveled, just shy of condescending—and your knees weaken shut before he snatches them apart.

“Sit still.”

It’s a command, there’s no room for disobedience; he orders it with a soldier's voice—that dead thing he wears like dog tags around his neck. Vice grip widening your legs, Frankie sinks down onto his shins, head leveled with your core, engrossed with the sight of your damp sex quivering.

Blotchy warmth creeps up your neck, like ivy crawling over brick.

He’s staring at you— hungry and possessed and simply staring at your open cunt and you begin to fidget once more—riling under his umbered appraisal.

“Sit still baby girl,” he murmurs, softer now and desperate too—intoxicated with the heady perfume of your heat. “Lemme just— fuck, I gotta taste you…”

When he swipes the deft muscle of his tongue through your slit, your head careens back onto the cabinets, plates and bowls rattling behind the wood.

Oh god, Frankie.

He’s got a talent for this— an excruciating, body wracking talent. He thirsts for you something dangerous, something unquenchable; he tugs at your labia, forming his lips around your clit, lapping at your essence— the ocean musk, that sea foam wet.

You fumble through his hair, mussing the saline woven strands with urgent fingers as you grind grind grind, rolling your hips to meet him in a covetous show of want and he purrs into your pussy as you fuck his face, the scratch of his stubble chafing at your legs.

It doesn’t take long, not with the fervor of how he’s claiming your cunt with his mouth. You soak Frankie’s chin— you nearly fucking drown him with it—and he’s glistening with you when he finally emerges for air, pulling you to him to slant his lips against yours, letting you savor your own taste on his hot tongue.

“Bedroom. Now,” he husks, breath hitching as his nose grazes along your ear, and with two hands under your armpits, he gathers you off the countertop. Frankie lands a swat at the plump of your backside, sending you scurrying through the living room with a shriek—completely bypassing the abandoned pile of laundry left lying on the couch.

He smirks—delirious and ramrod stiff—sauntering behind you, enamored with the pendulum sway of your hips as you lead him to the bed.

/

You’ve never been here. You’ve never gone this far. You both have tiptoed this narrow line for months; he’s fingered your ass plenty—you have even gone so far as to don a butt plug. You’ve discussed anal—toyed with the idea, flirted in circles around it like tittering birds.

But you’ve never taken Frankie’s cock. Not yet.

He’s been working you loose and limber for the better part of fifteen minutes, delving himself knuckle deep into your slicked hole until you’re sputtering for more— until you’re downright sopping and fucking shaking— and not with trepidation but with desire. Frankie’s made you gluttonous. Frankie’s made you voracious.

You’re starving for him.

“You gonna let me have this now?” He presses a digit over your ass, kissing his thumb into the knot there.

You tremble, nodding frantic.

“Think this pretty little ass can take me, baby?”

He serves you a slap, plush skin jiggling and pricking pink under his palm. You keen into him, in search of the promise he’s been baiting you with and you arch your hips, gyrating back onto fucking nothing.

“Yes. Yes—” You twist, chin corkscrewed around to see him. You want to watch. You want to watch as he disappears inside you— as you swallow him.

“A-Are you sure?” he asks, suddenly gone gentle around the lines fraying from his eyes—those wrinkles he’s hard-earned and won, like badges, like medals—from all his years spent under an unforgiving sun, all of that which he has seen and endured. Survived. Your Frankie, always thoughtful, always checking. A goddamn gentleman, even now—even as his dick brays hard and angry against the soft of his tawny stomach. “Because really, we don’t have to—”

You cut him off with a whimper, splaying your pelvis up to him—spreading yourself, letting him see the filth dripping from your seam, dappling your inner thighs. “Fuck me,” you whine, both holes puckering for him. “Fill me up, like you said you would— please.”

Something shifts across his features like a shadow and his expression morphs until it steels— his pupils dilating to a predatorial onyx— and he spits into his palm, coating his shaft, jerking himself with it.

He hisses as he guides himself into you, as you accommodate around him, as you envelop him entirely— inch by veritable inch. He has to station a hand to the base of your lumbar, struggling to maintain his composure—air rattling in and out his lungs as he attempts to breathe.

“Shit,” he gasps, “t-this okay?”

You fist the comforter, coiling the fabric into a ball. It’s a stretch— it’s a real goddamn stretch— and briefly you consider that he might, in fact, snap you in two...

Francisco Morales is going to split you clean in half—and God, if you don’t you love it.

“Yes - yes baby - keep going. D-Don’t stop.”

He pitches into you, setting a legato tempo— transfixed by the lurid juncture where you converge into one. “You- you’re so tight. Shit, you’re—”

He silences himself with a delicious moan, biting at his lower lip until the vessels there burst and it purples, and deals a particularly aggressive thrust— one you respond to with an ugly wail of your own, eyes somersaulting in their sockets.

You’re both impatient, verging on rabid, and it doesn’t take long for him to set a rougher pace and fuck you faster - harder - hammering into your ass until you see stars, popping and fizzing in front of your retinas, a symphony of guttural grunts and carnal praise fogging up the bedroom.

Your pussy feels so empty you could cry—weeping and gaping and fluttering for him as he takes your tight ring of muscle, fucking himself to the hilt. It’s like he’s behind your brain—like he’s carved his way up your spine and nudging at the nape of your neck with how deep he’s driving into you—restless. Ceaseless. His balls slap slap slap against your puffy cunt and you pant— girlish and buoyant with the dulled smacks to your sore clit.

“Please,” you sob, “Please, I need—”

You can barely push the words out—your mind is of no help and your tongue lolls useless, languid in your mouth. Your motor functions have all but puttered to a halt, every scrap of you fighting to stay above the sensation that’s threatening to drag you under its current. The rip tide of it all, of Frankie’s cock, coursing through your ass, tempting to hurdle you out into the dark, wet blue.

“Tell me,” Frankie rasps, scraping through his throat. “Tell me, pretty baby.”

Your response is pathetic—you can hardly dignify it as a response at all. Your temple is pressed into the mattress, hair knotted with brine and sand, and all you can do is coo.

Frankie folds over you, angling himself to graze his teeth over your shoulder—savoring the salt and sex tang bathing your skin, all those pheromones and velveteen chemicals anointing you—baptizing you anew for him. He’s gruff when he murmurs, his beard grating your freshly tanned skin.

“C’mon sweetheart - hng, fuck - what do you need?”

“My clit,” you rush out, needy. “My clit. Please, oh my god Frankie I-I need you to, I need – oh fuck—” And your pleas are mummed by a rapturous moan as he trails his hand from the hollow of your hip to the apex of your cleft and flicks.

Fuck. Fuck, oh Christ—

There’s a ringing in your ears, buzzing you deaf, making you dumb—or maybe it’s just your heart, beating loud and errant against your skull—you can’t say. You don’t feel human. Frankie’s pounding into that cinched channel and playing with your clit—swiveling eddies into your swollen nub—and you feel like an animal. You feel debased. You feel disgusting and perfect and you’re fucking drooling; cheek squished and mouth agape, saliva pools from your wagging maw, darkening the white linen you’re being driven into.

“You need me in your pussy, too?”

He doesn’t wait for you to answer him— he already knows what you need, how you need to have every part of you gorged on him— and Frankie dips his fingertips into your entrance, hooking them up and up and in, fucking in time to the cant of his hips.

He’s in you. Everywhere, everywhere—every possible neuron and synapse consumed with him.

“You need me like this—fucking you this deep? Fucking both your pretty holes?” he growls, weaving his hand lower to grab a fistful of your hair, rucking your head up. Throat stretched bare for him, your mewls muddle to cock-drunk cries as he spears you on himself again and again and again.

Yes yes yes fuck harder please please Frankie

You're pleading with him—you’ve been reduced to meager begging— and a chorus of slurs sings your release as you contract around him and cum, the cradle of your hips bucking reflexively.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he seethes, “you’re so good for me baby, Jesus fuck—”

He’s close now—his blissed finish drawing nearer and nearer with each sharp snap of his hips. Frankly, he’s shocked he’s managed to last as long as he has; it’s a small miracle he hadn’t cum the instant he slotted himself inside you with that very first stroke.

“Baby,” he warns, losing his rhythm. You saddle your spine, hollowing out the valley of your back and arch pretty and supple for him— preening under his weight. He moans at that, and through your fucked out haze you have the wherewithal to smirk at him, devious and prideful, a wild look owning your eye.

Frankie has to brace himself on your hips, untangling from your locks to bruise into the pillow of your skin— gripping on for dear fucking life as he plows you. You’re strangling him. You’re strangling the thick of his cock until he’s dizzy with it—until he’s feral and blind and he can’t hold on, can’t keep fighting this fucking monsoon that’s raging in his core.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna—fuck me, oh shit—” He shouts, spurting inside you thrust for thrust, painting your virgin walls with his seed. It’s too much— after all that, and you’re still too tight— and he’s overstimulated to the point of delirium. Frankie roots himself still, cum dribbling out your stuffed hole while he rides out the high of his orgasm—his vision, his senses, his goddamn soul, slowly oozing back into him. When he slides free from you, he does so with a pained heave, leaving you yawning with his absence.

You feel shredded. Vacant. You’ve been sent to another fucking dimension all together.

Without wasting another second, Frankie claws you up. You’re easy and malleable, bones and muscles too strung out to protest, and he whirls you around to bar you to his chest—crushing your sweaty body to his with bullet marred arms— the same arms that have taken lives, that have spared them, too. The same arms that link around you, delicate and daisy-chained, like you’re the most precious thing he has.

And you are.

You are.

Frankie kisses you breathless, drinking rich from your cup— tongue greedy and reverent as he kneels there at your altar, praying his sins into your mouth.

So gorgeous, he croons, peppering your face—your flushed cheeks, your perspired brow—with his lips as he tells you over and over and over again.

So good for me, pretty baby

Was that okay?

Fuck, you’re a dream

You’re my best girl—you’re my only girl

Was that okay?

God, you’re my whole fucking world

Was that okay? Was I okay?

Are you okay?

You swoon, helpless to the contented sigh that seeps out from you like mist. You’ve gone limp against the breadth of him. He has reduced you to rubber, left wobbling in his grasp, and you’re so damn full—your heart and your body—all of it. You feel unequivocally complete. You feel safe, you feel home.

You are home. Francisco is home.

He’s flattening out the nest of your hair, taming the damage he previously delivered to it, earning from you a sleepy grin into the muggy crook of his neck. And with the last of your waning strength you hold his pieces up to the light—the light you left on in the hall as the night grew dark around you, the one who’s yellow glow your naked bodies bask in now, and you say

I love you

I love this

I love this too

tags:

@krissology @heartsofbeskar @madhattervanessa @andiesturgss @sharkbait77 @tenderwhat @javier-pena @pedros-mustache @frannyzooey @chasingdreamer @djarinsbeskar @thosewickedlovelies @juletheghoul @not-the-droids @filthybookworm @pilothusband @letterfromvienna @keeper0fthestars @greatcircle79 @day-off-inkyoto @mermaidxatxheart @lawfulgranola @heatherbel @quica-quica-quica @stuckonthefiction @janesbrontes

[poisonpeche]

YOU im like this every time u tell me things 😍🥺

Ummmm you are not a long-winded mess, you are my new best friend LMAO /j unless but oh my gosh. I’m so thrilled to know you are enjoying Untitled, and as a former art major too (of course you are) — never would I ever have expected to bond over the hilarity and relief of American Spirits post-critique like come onnnn that’s so specific and yet I felt like it was a specificity that really suited Eren and Y/n’s dynamic.

I’ve written myself into a corner with Untitled but you are helping me to see that there is something special in the story. The third chapter is coming along, but I did the thing I normally do and started two new series around the end of writing chapter two. I’ll come back :)

But pa-lease no pressure to read or anything, you’ve already really made my whole month I think (lol)— for real. I cannot express how grateful and just so content to connect with you and our love for Levi— our connection really makes me feel a little more connected to the aot/fandom community— or at least the levi corner hehe— believe it or not!

omg if you look under the tag #mica.draws u will find my “art” i am a rusty artist lmao. I think i’ve only posted one on this blog… hm. Drawing was never my medium but I did keep a sketchbook. I’m trying to get more familiar with keeping a digital sketchbook nowadays. OMG UNTITLED LEVI IN YOUR STYLE WOULD BE WILD but hey, i see you are working on some fun stuff please no pressure or expectations at all i’m like rarely even inspired these days *shakes fist at the cosmos*… 🖤 mica

HI NEW BESTIE.

Lmaoo I had a TA that would hand roll his cigs while someone would break out a pack of Spirits. Literally just thinking about it warms my soul. The fact that it was a shared experience across art school is fucking hilarious to me.

Feel pressured? To have the absolute honor to read your words? Um, literally never. I would be out of my skin honored hehe.

Take your time, and I can’t wait to see what you come up with! Your plot is fantastic, but you have a gift delving into a character’s psyche…their ticks…idiosyncrasies…schemes…Anything you’d commit to us will be spellbinding I’m sure of it. No doubt, your work is very special to me and others.

What if I told you…I was LITERALLY working on my version of Untitled Levi when you sent me this ASK dfjhkbvljhvbweljrhvb. I’ve been CAUGHT. 💀

Just…Look at him please…

He’s taking over my life. HOW DARE YOU.

Also, welcome to this corner of tungle. We are fucking insane, but we love our babygirl Lev’ somethin’ fierce.

I can’t wait to check out your art! If you ever need anything, you know where to find me.

ALL OF MY BIG STUPID LOVE.

XX

[vegalocity]

The pieces fall (Red Groom AU)

Basically i said to myself 'I need to finish this before i get too deep with the Animorphs stuff' and then realized this was the final chapter about halfway through lmao

TW: Death, blood, 'To The Pain' is retold in its entirety

--

Red Son was out of time.

He stalled as long as he could, bought as much time to drag the official ceremony on as possible But it was for naught. He heard the commotion outside, the demons shrieking in fear the booming voice that reminded him of the mercenary in Spider Queen's Employ, Spat the tea forced into his mouth in the Prince's face, and loudly cursed and raved, insisting not only that he did not consent to this, but also that this sham of a marriage would only last for the length of time it would take for his love to arrive.

His Noodle Boy would come for him, he'd crowed and bragged with all his might, and the Prince had insisted the futility of the hope, that his love was dead, and yet more lies, that he'd seen to it himself.

But he couldn't hide the fear behind his eyes and Red Son announced as much. He couldn't move with the cuffs restraining him, his hands throbbing in pain and a solid purple color from the restriction of blood flow, but he raged and rallied anyway, he was tempted to try and ruin the fine robes the servants had forced him into, to scorch them without a care to what injuries would be laid onto himself from it, but he didn't want to be in rags when his love crashed through the doors.

But then the ceremony was finished, despite his protests, and Red Son was out of time.

He struggled against the guards as they shuffled him through the halls, followed by the weak and fading demon king, but one final ditch plan formed in his head as the halls lit with flame and he was brought to the prince's rooms.

“I suppose I should apologize, demon king.” The frail creature turned to Red Son and he felt a strange sort of pity for the man. He seemed no longer aware of what year it was let alone the cruelty of his own offspring.

“What was that young fellow?”

“I'll have to be killing your son tonight, or I'll die instead. And you were probably a kind man before this curse destroyed your body and mind, so I felt I should tell you as much.” he placed a hand on the King's arm and he hummed absently as their paths diverged.

As then the door slammed shut behind him, and Red Son's last gambit had to be played. If he was fast and he burned hot enough he could do it. It would be a struggle to work around afterward, but if he could manage it and he had Xiaotian to help him work around it he could invent something to compensate by the end of the year.

Still, to cut ones own hands off to escape bindings and then murder their fiance was certainly going to be a challenge.

–

She saw him. For just a moment she saw the Macaque, the flash of dark fur, the curl of his tail, those six ears, those cruel amber eyes. She'd said what she'd been waiting to say for ten years, she held her head high and said the phrase that had kept her going for so long.

And he'd fled.

She'd parted form the group the second he'd left, racing through the corridors, breaking through doors, and following the faint sound of fading footsteps. Finally, Finally it was happening. Today was the day. The day she'd been waiting for for ten years. The day she finally walked up to the monster that ruined her life, the bastard that stole her father from her, the macaque that took everything from her before she was even a woman, and she finally made him pay.

She descended a staircase that lead deeper into the halls and a sharp pain pierced through her gut. Xiaojiao yelped and brought a hand to her side, she saw the dark fur for only a brief moment before she stumbled back, hand clasping over the- over the blade-

he'd thrown a knife at her and it had landed in side. She didn't think it pierced anything important, but she couldn't be sure. It felt like she'd been struck by lightning in one very small localized area. Warm blood quickly soaking through her shirt and staining her hand.

It wasn't that her legs weren't working anymore, but they refused to obey her as her back hit the wall and her knees turned to jelly. She slid until her bottom brushed the stairwell behind her.

Ten years.

And she was a sitting duck. The Macaque could kill her in one swipe of that wretched spiked staff of his and she'd die a failure.

“I'm sorry father-” she muttered softly to herself. “I tried.”

“Hang on, I recognize that sword.” The Macaque's smarmy voice broke through her thoughts. “You're that dragon girl aren't you?” He whistled lowly. “It's been what, ten years?” slowly she watched the monster approach. “Have you been tracing me your whole life?” He laughed, a cruel cold thing. “and right on the precipice of victory you die here, bleeding out from a stomach wound. Pathetic.” he leaned against a table, ready to host the banquet for the wedding that would never come now. “Honestly that's hilarious.”

her fist tightened over the handle in her stomach.

–

He needed to be quick, he only had a little time before the Prince came in to end him, and with his hands so useless already he would just need to stop the bleeding which would be a snap once he had his fire back.

But he needed something sharp first. His hands gave dull throbs of pain whenever he tried to force the sluggish digits to move but eventually through his rummaging through the nearby work desk he found a small silver dagger, likely the one the prince was planning on using to kill him later on. He'd have to brace the knife on something to get both of his hands and if he passed out in pain he was as good as dead.

Soon enough he pulled together a brace on the worktable, and went about steadying his left hand first, if he was quick he could pass it right through cleanly and-

“You know there's kind of a shortage on perfect hands, It'd be kind of a shame to waste such beauty as yours.” a voice cut through his thoughts.

A familiar voice. But a kindly one.

His heart leaped into his throat and he felt his face turn red as he turned to find Xiaotian, a little beaten up and still in his False Monkey King garb laying on the bedding as if this were any day back on his mountain. Red Son wondered just how long his love had been there, watching him plotting out and trying to carry out his own dismemberment, and Red Son hadn't noticed. It would have been embarrassing if he bothered to care.

But he didn't, he cared far more about seeing his beloved again and ignored the pain in his hands as he fell on top of Xiaotian in the bed, barely able to get his name out before Red Son was kissing him. The uncertainty that the prince had placed in his mind burning away in and instant as he felt Xiaotian move against him he was kissing him back, he wasn't angry or upset-

But he wasn't returning the embrace.

Red Son pulled himself away from that perfect mouth just long enough to smile and mumble a small teasing comment. “Is this your revenge for leaving you waiting? Must I beg just to get you to hold me?”

“Ah-” Xiaotian sounded pained, but when Red Son let up properly any trace of discomfort was gone. “No, it's just a bit complicated.” But there were other pressing matters.

“I just need a moment my love, no matter if I'd love nothing more than to run off with you, I wasn't able to stop the Prince from forcing things to fall in his way.” It was a rock in his gut to consider, especially how without the use of his hands he'd need to somehow pull a victory against a demon prince in his own mountain but-

“If we want to be together this farce of a marriage needs to be made defunct.”

“Well did you consent to it?” That gave him pause.

“Huh?”

“The marriage, did you give consent to it?”

“Of course not!” his temper flared for a moment only to be immediately quelled by the small adoring grin Xiaotian hadn't stopped looking at him with. “I spent the whole time rejecting the whole thing, loudly. Violently. Buying time for you to break the ceremony up, wonderful timing by the way Noodle Boy, I was just about to chop my own hands off if you hadn't noticed.”

“I did actually. Horrifying. But crafty.”

“But what does my consent have to do with it, that's not how demons work things out-”

“Maybe, but it means more when its demons marrying each other.” His gaze flickered to a place just over Red Son's shoulder. “Wouldn't you agree, your highness?”

a thin blade rested on Red Son's shoulder. “A mistake that shall never be repeated, 'Monkey King'” the Prince hissed, breath hot and far too close to Red Son's ear.

–

“Are- Are you still trying to fight?” Her knees felt like they were about to give in, and her hands were shaking, but she was able to pull the blade from her side and raise her sword again. “Wow you're obsessed!” The macaque crowed, before finally taking out his staff. “That's gonna get you into trouble some day.” he sent the head of the staff for her face, child's play, the flat of her sword hit it right before impact and pushed it to the side, one half of her hair was taken down from its updo, the stone cracked beside her head.

But her skull wasn't smashed in.

The Macaque pulled away and made another lunge. He was rusty. How long had it been since he'd actually fought anyone? She made the next jab skew to the other side, her hair now fully released from its former ties, the wall behind her now a pile of rubble.

It seemed the Macaque realized she wasn't an easy kill because he started to properly wield his staff again.

His form was sloppy. Strikingly easy to counter, even with the fact that she was stumbling forward, free hand buried in her clothes to try and stop the bleeding in her side as she fought.

She opened her mouth, and she wanted to say something witty, but she couldn't think of any words to say at all, her entire mind was turning to white noise, save the one thing she'd been carrying with her for a decade.

“Hello, my name is Long Xiaojiao. You killed my father, prepare to die.”

Her side gave another throb and she caught herself on a nearby table. The Macaque spurred forward to try and capitalize on the opening.

The bench below splintered into pieces and she forced him back a few steps. “Hello, my name is Long Xiaojiao. You killed my father, prepare to die.”

“I heard you the first time!” The macaque grunted as he swung forward again.

Child's play.

Somewhere along the line, she'd surpassed him.

“Hello! My name is Long Xiaojiao! You killed my father! Prepare to die!”

“Stop saying that!” The Macaque growled, he was getting flustered. Good.

He made another jab at her, this time when she parried her blade met flesh and struck a line across his cheek.

“Hello! My name is Long Xiaojiao! You Killed my father! Prepare to die!” She crowed, now she had him on the ropes, when she moved forward and struck he'd have to move back to not risk being hit again. She could corral him. Her blade landed again, this time along the Macaque's knuckles, and his staff clattered to the ground. The tip of the jade blade tore into his shoulder, right in the place her scar was.

She only ever told people the first part of how she would picture this to go. And sure it wasn't perfect, she didn't expect to nearly die right out the gate, but it didn't need to be.

It just needed this.

“Offer me money.” She pointed the blade to his nose. He was without a weapon and if he tried any tricks she could run him through before they were completed.

“Three mountains full, all yours.”

“Power too, offer that.”

“All that I have and more.”

She leaned back just a hair, not enough to give him any room to work, but just enough to gesture. “Offer me anything I want in the world.”

The Macaque seemed to know where this was going, and whether he had a backup plan in mind she didn't care. “Anything.” He made one last lunge forward to try and grab her.

A grip on a sleeve, a jerk forward, the warm blood dripping down her sword.

“I want my father back you son of a bitch.”

When the Macaque's body fell she didn't... feel much relief. A little, the release of tension of a confrontation, the knowledge that she hadn't wasted her life.

But no revelations, no great euphoria or deep happiness at finally avenging her family. Her side was still bleeding, and the scar on her shoulder was never going to fade.

She began to stumble forward through the pain. She'd lost Sandy some hallways back, and they'd left Xiaotian high and dry, she needed to find them or they'd never get out of this damned mountain.

–

“Now beloved, you may want to remove yourself from this charlatan before I'm forced to do something you'll regret.” Red Son glared over his shoulder at the prince, but he gazed impassively back at him, and flicked the tip of his ear. There was a small zing of pain and suddenly the side of his face was very warm. Xiaotian hissed through his teeth at the Prince, but Red Son did as asked.

Once again parting him from his love because he had no choice but to trust a liar to be telling the truth.

“I should have had your body tossed in the forest when I had you killed. I never liked Six Ears' machine.” The Prince huffs. “But nonetheless it'll be more rewarding to kill my husband's lover first and THEN my husband. And hey! I won't even need your parent's army beloved! The Monkey King will be dead and Flower Fruit Mountain ripe for the picking!” The Prince crowed. “So, Qi Xiaotian, to the death?”

“To the pain.” Xiaotian didn't even flinch. Despite the fact that Red Son had never heard of such a duel condition.

Apparently nor had the prince, “I'm not sure if I'm familiar with that one.”

“I'll explain, and I'll use small words so you can understand you slug faced warmongering buffoon.” The tone in his Xiaotian's voice was unlike anything Red Son had ever heard, even when he was still masquerading as the Monkey King. It was severe, cold, yet ruthless. The unrelenting force of a blizzard.

“That may be the first time in my life someone below my status has insulted me.” The Prince turned a very strange shade of violet.

“Well it won't be the last. 'To the pain' means that once I defeat you, which I will, first you lose your feet, just below the ankles.” Xiaotian held direct eye contact with the Prince and Red Son found himself unable to look away. “Then your hands at the wrists, next your nose-”

“Then my tongue I assume? I killed you too quickly the last time, an error I will not be repeating.” The Prince reared back with his sword and Red Son made a grab for the knife he'd had before, but when Xiaotian spoke up again the prince stopped.

“I wasn't finished! The next thing you lose Is your right eye, followed quickly by your left!”

“And then my ears I get the picture! Let's get on with it!” The Prince was losing his temper fast, Red Son needed to act quickly. He couldn't torch the prince and hope it would be enough to break his cuffs, but he could barely hold the knife he'd dived for let alone be able to wield it with any force.

“Wrong!” Xiaotian interrupted, his face still the picture of determined calm. “Your ears you keep! And I'll tell you why!” The Prince was stopped again, and Red Son figured if he could put enough weight into his grip he could probably disarm him on his own at the moment. And another wave of frustration washed over him at the realization that he certainly couldn't put enough weight into his grip.

“-So that every shriek of every child dismayed by your hideousness will be yours to cherish. Every babe that weeps at your approach, every maiden that cries out 'Heavens above what is that THING' Will be heard oh-so perfectly, in your untouched ears.” He huffed a small laugh. “That is what 'to the pain' means, it means I leave you in Anguish. Alone in your head with naught but the screams you've long since deserved forever.”

There was a pause as the Prince processed the threat. “You're bluffing.”

“It's possible, worm.” Xiaotian responded. “I could be bluffing. It's conceivable you miserable odious mass.” 'Odious' what kind of vocabulary did his love learn while becoming the false Monkey King? “I could be lying here because I lack the strength to stand. But then again, would you like to take that chance?” slowly, as though he were in great pain, Xiaotian began to sit up, and from there stand. He lifted his staff from its position leaning against the bed frame, and pointed the end to the Prince's nose.

“Drop your sword.”

it clattered to the ground.

“Undo the cuffs on Red Son's wrists.” a quick spell and a gesture and the golden bands clattered to the ground. A fierce pain jolted through either of Red Son's hands as the blood was finally allowed to start traveling back through them.

“Have a seat.” The Prince stumbled into a chair and Xiaotian glanced over at him.

“Can you tie anything?” his fingers curled painfully but he could probably manage, so he nodded and only then noticed the coiled up rope beside Xiaotian's former resting place.

“When did you get that?”

“You never know when you need rope.” All the same he tied the prince up firmly, excepting on the wrists that he tied to the armrests of the chair, those he tied as tightly as possible.

See if he liked watching his hands turn purple.

Just about as Red Son was done restraining the prince the sound of approaching footsteps came near, and with a flash of green (well, green stained red) he recognized the Swordsman mercenary.

She looked around at the lot of them and then her gaze settled on Xiaotian. “Where's Sandy?”

“He took of with you!” Xiaotian countered.

“Yeah but then he said he'd double back!”

“Well-!” Xiaotian cut himself off with a surprised yelp as his body pitched to the side, Red Son of course was there to catch him.

“Quick on the draw Red Boy.” The Swordsman hummed “Was that just reflex?”

He didn't pay her any mind. “Xiaotian what happened are you alright?”

“I'll be fine.”

“He was mostly dead all day, his body's completely zapped of strength.” The Swordsman countered.

“You've been dead?!”

“Mostly dead!” Xiaotian corrected as if that made any difference.

“Ha!” The Prince cackled. “I knew you were bluffing!” The Swordsman had zero patience for him though as that was enough for her to press her sword to his nose. “I knew he was bluffing.” The Prince repeated far more sedate.

“Xiaojiao! Xiaojiao can you hear me?” a voice calling from the window broke up all the near forming arguments, and though ti took Red Son a little finagling to ensure he had a proper grip on Xiaotian despite his hands not wanting to grip much of anything right now, the three made their way to the window peeking out the side of the mountain only for Red Son to see the large mercenary waiting below with a small gaggle of horses.

“Ah! Xiaojiao! There you are! I was trying to make my way back to Xiaotian and I ended up in the Prince's stables! The poor things deserve to have better keepers I think! I figured I'd take four of them, since there would be four of us when we found the Red Prince.” Sandy's eyes flickered to Red Son. “Oh, Hello Red Prince!”

“Nice job Sandy!” the Swordsman (Xiaojiao apparently) cheered. “Think you can catch some projectiles?”

“Of course!”

the large mercenary (Sandy) positioned himself below the mountainside, ready to catch any and all of them, and Red Son could remember, vividly, just how adept he was at such physical performances.

“well, royalty first.” Xiaojiao turned to him and gestured. Which, whatever. Though his hands gave another painful throb, he climbed onto the windowsill and jumped. The air was cool as it whipped against him.

–

“You know, it's funny.”

“What is?”

“I killed the Six Eared Macaque and now... I'm not sure what else to do. I've been in the revenge business so long, I don't know if I have anything else of value to try out.”

“Would you like to try leading? I could use a captain I can trust back on Flower Fruit Mountain.”

Xiaojiao shrugged.

–

“Oh, well you don't wanna hear this. The end I suppose.”

“What? Why are you stopping if it's not the end?”

“Well you were very specific about not wanting to hear about the kissing stuff, I don't want to gross you out or anything little one.”

“Well... Maybe I... won't super mind... if it's the ending. But only because it's the ending!”

–

It took a week's travel for the four to enter truly safe territory. To come into the lands of Flower Fruit Mountain and be greeted by the armies of demon monkeys that Xiaotian called his people.

They were finally safe, and Red Son recalled that he'd promised himself to wait until such a time came before he allowed himself to drown again in the ardor of having his love back, but now that it came, he found he simply wasn't as deliriously giddy as he once was. The stresses that had mounted between Xiaotian's return and now had dampened the mood, though his hands no longer ached and strength had returned to Xiaotian's body, they'd both been through so much stress there simply wasn't the space in either of their heads to be anything but focused on reaching their destination.

Of course Red Son had curled up next to his love every night around the campfire the Swordsman- That Xiaojiao would light and tend to, but there was nothing but relief in his body, bone deep, weary relief.

But now they were safe, and Red Son simply couldn't muster up the energy. He should have been jittery and excited to be alone with his love, but honestly he'd just wanted to bathe and eat something beyond travel rations.

Then the dirt and sweat had been washed away and their bellies were full of fruit and what few savory dishes Xiaotian had taught his monkeys to make, and Sandy and Xiaojiao shared a sly grin before going to explore 'the guest bedrooms' in Xiaotian's iron palace behind the watercurtian, and he was alone with his love.

And he felt like he should do something, yet nothing was coming to mind. They were safe, Xiaotian was alive and right here, and they could finally be together in the open, and Red Son felt such a fool for the fact that he didn't know how to proceed.

Xiaotian scooted closer to him and placed an arm around his shoulders, tugging Red Son to the side until he was leaned up against him.

“Red Son.” His voice was a low rumble that vibrated through Red Son's chest.

“Xiaotian.” he responded simply.

He might not have known what to do, but Xiaotian it seemed did. He reached over to gently cup Red Son's face with a hand, and brought him close.

There have been more love stories on this earth than we have time to ever recount in their entirety, but every story has in it a kiss. A soft, loving kiss, a kiss of relief and thankfulness and passion as the hard part was finally over.

It has been said that in the upper echelons of these kisses, that the one shared between Red Son and Qi Xiaotian in that moment, blew them all out of the water.

Tomorrow would come, and Red Son would sent missive to his parents explaining the situation, and Xiaotian would prepare a message to be sent to his own fathers, and they'd spend the next few days bracing for impact.

But tonight was theirs.

And though struggles were certainly on their way, all in all, their lives were finally on the path to be together.

And to live happily ever after.

–

“-The end. Now I think you should be getting to sleep.”

“Okay....”

“Welp, get better soon little one. So long.”

“....Grandpa Sun?.... Maybe you could come over tomorrow too? I could teach you how to play my game?”

“Heh, As you wish.”

[bunny-hoodlum]

I'm not dead!

But I did totally blank out (afain) on this side of the interwebs and I am very, very sorry about that. 🥺 Tbh, I was going to ease back into the Tumblrsphere, cuz I had turned on notificiations for like all of a minute a couple months ago... And then I couldn't watch WandaVision in private listening mode without the audio cutting out from the notifications. XD I feel like I'm somehow showing my age because surely that shouldn't be such a hindrance... Well anyways, I turned off notifications right away and forgot about everything since then. Q n Q

My current brain space in order has been: Kipo: Age of the Wonderbeasts, Dr. Stone, Jujutsu Kaisen, Heaven's Design Team, I've dyed my hair 3 times again, I'm wondering when I can get my ears pierced budget-wise (I'm literally hitting my 13yo milestone at 30, I'm such a late-life bloomer)... I've been eating almost nothing but salad for the past week or two, Idk, the days blur together and time means nothing to me anymore... Going back to shows!!! My recent headspace is: My Hero Academia -- YES I'M FINALLY BINGING IT -- Tokyo Revengers, ODD TAXI (I loooove this unique anime, it's like a gritty Parappa Rappa), Shadows House ... I still have to watch To Your Eternity but I'm going to be all over that!! And I recently decided to watch Sleepy Princess in the Demon Castle. I absolutely love it. What I wasn't loving was the Funimation captions being too early since jokes are ALL ABOUT THE TIMING! So I'm still on ep 4.

Will I ever really talk about any of these? Or draw fan art ever again? I have no idea. The urge never crosses. The images never visit my mind anymore.

I'm just dropping this here because it's been awhile and I am alive but I've just got the worst attention span and I will check my messages again just like I always do before I disappear again -- I'm not actively working on anything that I would share on tumblr so that is why I forget to come on here -- what was I getting to? Right, anyways...

I haven't forgotten about the stories I need to update and repost (like "Powerless") but my procrastination keeps kicking in because the amount of time it feels like I'll have to put in towards that stuff is overwhelming, and when it all turns into a multi-project sludge in my brain, I just go hide in video games and shiznots. 😔 Ugh.

Even the thought of updating on FFN is intimidating me. I'm pretty sure all my old files are gone by now because I haven't refreshed them. So to re-upload "Powerless" is literally going to be like from scratch. Not writing it, I mean the editing. The italicization and the bolding and the scene separation!!!

I wish I hadn't deleted it the first time after all. Q_Q It could've just sat there accruing hype or yearning or whatever. Ugh.

Okay, so why is my attention span so bad honestly? Well, I have the chance to not work slave wage and instead actually focus on my 'art'. Ofc my fine motor skills are rusty and my digital drawing program skills are severely lacking. When everyone else has kept at it, I fell behind. That's what it is and what it feels like. I'm just at a hobbyist level, like, it's really, really bad. And I'm struggling not to look back on my life and question why I didn't do more to make sure I went to art school. Like actually work buttloads to go to VCUArts. Idk, my mom 10 yrs ago was like 'you need a car', as if I can't exist anywhere outside her reach without one. But I would've tried to live in the dorms and just bike. UGH. WHY DIDN'T I JUST DO THINGS AND SAID FUCK ALL TO OTHER PPLS WORRYING??!

Sorry. Ahem.

On the other hand... There's Skillshare and Schoolism and things, and even some Youtuber art pros have discord critique days or whatever, and all that is supposed to be a better investment than 200k debt, but I still keep feeling like I avoided really important experiences and that I'm still disadvantaged. I'm prolly am being pessimistic but it feels so objectively true. Ugh. I just don't see the self-taught vs formal education gap ever closing in a satisfactory way.

I forget what my point is. I wish I could update my fics, I really wish I could schedule some time in, but I haven't been able to properly think about any of it for the past three weeks I think. Another thing that's currently occupying my headspace is an artist that goes by HeartMush. I don't want to @ them because I don't want them to see my whining, but I'm sooooo enamored with their skills and envious of their formal education. And other things. Which you could find on their website contained within their downloadable CV. T_T This person feels like a prodigy to me. Lesigh.

Anyways, if I ever come back again, hopefully it'll be some art that I'm proud of. Maybe whenever I get there, I'll have clearer feeling how much farther my goal really is, and that should be enough for me.

[huntresswarlock]

I am so sorry

But also no I’m not

1 for all because I am an evil bastard

Then more specifically

4, 12, 18, 24, 25, 35, 40, 42, 44, 45, 56, 63, 69 for Lady, Harmony, Nomiki, Odonys, Ione and Somnia

6, 44 and 58 for Nik and Valerie

20, 40, 42, 56, 65 for Icarus as well

💞💞💞

under a read more because i cannot shut up about my characters and i won't apologize for that!

most of these will b organized by character instead of by question but since you asked for 1 for all of em i'll put them all underneath it

1. why did they choose their class(es)? their subclass(es)?

Nik: they found a weird book in a thrift shop and accidentally figured out how to poke Ink-Treader to get certain automatic responses in the form of magic powers, which they swear are totally normal and not the result of a pact (conscious or not) at all.

Nomiki: her mother was a fighter who trained her well, and when she was a bit older she swore vengeance against that which destroyed her world, which she initially thought was the gods but then turned out to be The Hungry Hungry Caterpillar (Eldritch Edition)

Harmony: was always an outdoors-y sort of girl, so druid made sense when she was transported into The School, and then the Dictionfairy of the Summer Reading Court took a special interest in her and gave her some extra stuff on top of druidic powers!

Lady: built to be a… let’s call her a “personal companion,” whose main gimmick was that she is extremely intelligent about a great many things with a perfect memory; hence Archivist. as for the Artificer class itself, that came about primarily when she was working with an inventor/engineer named Rowan Keen, who enlisted her as his assistant in his projects. she learned a great deal about mechanical engineering and building from him, as well as receiving some upgrades like sewing/welding tools in her hands to assist her with this.

Somnia: she is very old (like, 650ish years old) and very in tune with nature already, and then the goddess of sleep saved her life with a drop of her blood, giving her the Stars circle powers

Odonys: they were formerly a Watcher Oath paladin, and took up that mantle because it's what their society set out for them. they made the choice to break away from it when offered freedom by the primal embodiment of chaos, though they have mixed feelings on this because it caused them to be exiled

Ione: she didn't have a choice 😔 nearly drowning unlocked some latent sorcerer powers

Valerie: stunt fighting training baybeeeeee

Icarus: also didn't have a choice, on account of nearly burning himself to death and then taking a deal from the god of fire to work for him in exchange for not dying

Lady

4. if they could learn one spell that isn’t available to them at present, which spell would it be?

Chaos Bolt is the meme answer, Dream (to reach out to Rowan) is the sad answer

12. have they ever been in love?

she's not supposed to have been. but. ;)

18. do they see themself as a leader or a follower?

a follower, for the time being! she has spent a long time taking orders and fulfilling requests, and though that part of her life is done now, she is still content to leave the leading to others.

24. which of the four elements speaks to them the most?

🔥🔥🔥 it's wild and free

25. what stories do they like to tell? what stories do they like to hear?

she doesn't really tell stories, but if requested, she would tell stories about things that happened to her

she likes to hear stories she hasn't heard before

35. which party member do they worry for?

Domino Domino Domino Domino Domino D

40. do they enjoy poetry?

yes! she's not really one for composing it, but it's nice to listen to

42. what are three words they would use to describe themself?

beautiful, intelligent, free

44. what do they need to learn?

WHEN WILL SHE LEARN!!!!! THAT HER ACTIONS!!!!!!!!!! HAVE CONSEQUENCES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

45. how do they hug people?

at 4'11", she's almost certainly going to be shorter than whoever she's hugging, so she tends to go for arms-under-the-shoulders and head-onto-chest. she gives really really good hugs, on account of all of her......... padding.

56. what animal do they most relate to?

caged bird that recently busted out :>

63. what fight has scared them the most?

before she got free will, we encountered some Crown-of-Thorns Starfish (In Space) that knocked her down to single-digit HP. though she wasn't physically able to feel fear at the time, the significant damage was deeply alarming.

69.how would they describe their party members?

Domino: "My dear friend, and a very kind and intelligent woman. I was very concerned for her when I was still under restrictions. Now I am no longer restrained in what I can think or do, but I find that I am still worried about her. She is always so melancholy when she thinks no one is looking..."

Rusty: "Something of an enigma. I only recently learned his real name: Rheneas Dolgoch. Apparently he used to be involved in various criminal activities before being framed for the disappearance of his boyfriend and then taking this portalhopping job for Dr. Horizon. I'd like to get to know him better, and have him teach me some things."

Clifton: "An honest man, with a good heart, and somewhat lacking the brains to think through his actions. Still, he tries, and he is responsible for getting Kinmati's attention with regards to my previous plight. I do wonder if adventuring across the multiverse is the best coping mechanism for the loss of his fiancée, but..."

Harmony

4. if they could learn one spell that isn’t available to them at present, which spell would it be?

the campaign stopped at level 12, but i think she would have jumped at the chance to use Animal Shapes!

12. have they ever been in love?

yes!!!! she loves her girlfriend, Mick, very very much

18. do they see themself as a leader or a follower?

she would describe herself as leading from the back, primarily encouraging others to be their best selves but not exactly telling them what to do

24. which of the four elements speaks to them the most?

🌎 (earth), because it's grounding and stable, like her

25. what stories do they like to tell? what stories do they like to hear?

harmy likes to hear and tell stories with happy endings!

35. which party member do they worry for?

she worried about both other party members equally, really, for different reasons. they were both working through more issues than her, so she felt the need to be the emotional glue holding them together and getting them to talk things out.

40. do they enjoy poetry?

not as much as prose, but she likes a good poem or two! especially free verse stuff

42. what are three words they would use to describe themself?

cheerful, outdoorsy, kind

44. what do they need to learn?

over the course of the campaign she needed to learn (and did learn) when to keep trying with diplomacy and when to fight back

45. how do they hug people?

really really tightly! probably while rocking them back and forth, too

56. what animal do they most relate to?

she turned into horses a lot so....... honse

63. what fight has scared them the most?

the fight with Mr. Ciliary when Mick seemed dead-set on sacrificing herself so that Harmony and Bill could leave scared her quite a bit

69.how would they describe their party members?

Mick: "My girlfriend!!!!!!!! She's so strong and cool and pretty, and she's a really big streamer, I love her!!!!"

Bill: "One of my best friends! He's really smart, and crazy good at fencing. And he takes really good care of Mikey."

Nomiki

4. if they could learn one spell that isn’t available to them at present, which spell would it be?

Mending would be really useful for her

12. have they ever been in love?

yes, she loves her boyfriend Ramiel, the god of storms

18. do they see themself as a leader or a follower?

a leader, even if she has to strike out on her own

24. which of the four elements speaks to them the most?

🌎 (earth) for strength and stability

25. what stories do they like to tell? what stories do they like to hear?

she likes to hear any stories told by her dad

she tells a lot of myths and folktales and fables

35. which party member do they worry for?

Xiro, at least until their fighting training started to pick up

40. do they enjoy poetry?

yes, though she's no good at reading or reciting it, she likes to hear it being spoken aloud

42. what are three words they would use to describe themself?

big, strong, stubborn

44. what do they need to learn?

nomiki needed to learn how to trust people and open up again

45. how do they hug people?

BIG hugs. huge hugs from a huge woman with huge arm muscles (and later on huge wings). like being wrapped up in a warm blanket in the dead of winter, like the promise of safety from any monsters out to get you. like a loaf of bread right out of the oven.

56. what animal do they most relate to?

cows! pretty, large, gentle, stubborn

63. what fight has scared them the most?

fighting the King of the Storm played right into her storm phobia, so much so that she couldn't even face it properly and mostly dealt with its offshoots

69.how would they describe their party members?

Xiro: "Xiro is my friend, and my little sibling. They're a really good fighter and baker, and they've helped a lot of people.

Muire: "Muire's my friend too. She's crazy smart, though sometimes she can forget not everyone around her is as smart as she is. But she has a good heart."

Odonys

4. if they could learn one spell that isn’t available to them at present, which spell would it be?

being able to cast Zone of Truth would come in handy when dealing with Q'ix, but since they only have two levels in paladin now, they've lost the ability to do so 😔

12. have they ever been in love?

tritons don't feel stupid things like love.

18. do they see themself as a leader or a follower?

follower. second-in-command, sure, but still a follower. though that's been shifting, lately...

24. which of the four elements speaks to them the most?

🌊 for its adaptability and power

25. what stories do they like to tell? what stories do they like to hear?

they don't really tell stories, but they like to hear the tales of myths and gods and heroes

35. which party member do they worry for?

as if they'd worry about any of their party members, hilarious! the closest thing would be mild confusion about Suvi's tangled concerns for the party's free will

40. do they enjoy poetry?

they've never had the chance to hear poetry, and i don't think they would enjoy it unless it was in the style of an epic

42. what are three words they would use to describe themself?

solitary, unpleasant, scarred

44. what do they need to learn?

how to exist around others, how to rely on others, what their place in the world is

45. how do they hug people?

they don't.

56. what animal do they most relate to?

a dog, a feral dog to be specific. they even resource guard!

63. what fight has scared them the most?

they have trained hard not to feel any fear when fighting, even on the brink of death. still, being chased by every shark in the ocean did get to them.

69.how would they describe their party members?

Q'ix: "Annoying. Good with their fiddle, gifted with magic, but I don't trust them at all, and I don't know if it's worth keeping them around."

Sloane: "A creature that skinny has no business being anywhere close to the middle of the fight, and yet that's where he is constantly, like Breidr when he gets underfoot. Except Breidr has more bulk. Still, he seems to know what he's doing with that sword."

Suvi: "I wonder if there's even anything underneath all the layers of falsehoods and misdirection she wears. But she has been helpful, and having a cart has come in handy."

Amber: "A woman of few words and strong convictions. I appreciate her presence."

Somnia

4. if they could learn one spell that isn’t available to them at present, which spell would it be?

Catnap, so she can cast it on Nemo and Gimmy!

12. have they ever been in love?

Somnia loves her children very much, and loves life, but in terms of romantic love specifically, no. as for the person she used to be before she died and was resurrected? ... also no.

18. do they see themself as a leader or a follower?

a follower, mostly. she's old, and she's done enough leading that she's happy to let her kids take the lead.

24. which of the four elements speaks to them the most?

🌎 (earth) on account of druid stuff as well as dependability

25. what stories do they like to tell? what stories do they like to hear?

somnia likes to tell the stories of the constellations on whatever world she finds herself on! she has an innate ability to know them and know what they mean

she likes to hear whatever sorts of stories are being told, she's really not picky; it's more important that the story is important to whoever is telling it

35. which party member do they worry for?

Nemo, constantly. they are so young and they've been through so much that she can't help but worry. Gimmy is at least an adult, though he still needs a bit of fussing over.

40. do they enjoy poetry?

i don't think she actively seeks it out, but she won't say no to listening to or reading some if the opportunity presents itself

42. what are three words they would use to describe themself?

motherly, empathetic, old

44. what do they need to learn?

she needs to learn that not everyone can be saved, or is worth saving, i think

45. how do they hug people?

with that good deep pressure therapy and mom bod

56. what animal do they most relate to?

tortoise, probably. old and slow and wise.

63. what fight has scared them the most?

the fight with the Found Footage when she was knocked out and wasn't sure whether Nemo and Gimmy would be okay without her. though tbh this upcoming fight with the Imago is more than likely going to take the scariest fight spot, at least until we finally face the Broken Lurker.

69.how would they describe their party members?

Nemo: "Oh, my poor little Orion... they're a good child, they really are. But they were surrounded by people who didn't know or care to realize that, and they've thought themself a nobody for so long that it hurts my heart. I wish they could see how many people they've helped just by being themself."

Gimmy: "Gimmy is very dear to me. He pretends like he doesn't care, but I know that he does. I can see it when he works on his little dragon construct, and when we were speaking to Minerva about Nemo's past. He just needs a little bit of help understanding how to be polite and kind to others, that's all."

Nik

6. which party member do they relate to the most?

tbh probably svetlana. they're both big smarties who have Simic roots! they're basically identical!

44. what do they need to learn?

how to care about other people beyond just "what can this person do for me?"

58. what do they think their role in the party is? what is their role in actuality?

they think they're the brains of this operation and the sole voice of reason, but really they're a bit of dead weight because i didn't build them very well

Valerie

6. which party member do they relate to the most?

tough to say because we've only had a couple of sessions of the campaign she's in, but right now probably Ashlyn. just two mean girls against the world!

44. what do they need to learn?

it's actually not a bad thing to be girly or to embrace femininity, it's not a weakness like she thinks she is but can be neutral or even a major strength

58. what do they think their role in the party is? what is their role in actuality?

she thinks she's the only competent member of the party and the fearless leader; she is an asset in fights for sure, especially once she gets some maneuvers, but in reality she is only one piece of the puzzle

Icarus

20. which of the five senses do they rely the most on?

hearing! icarus has always had impeccable hearing and has relied on it a lot when sneaking around

40. do they enjoy poetry?

he does not talk about the angsty teenage poems he wrote when he was younger and didn't realize he was trans. but i think if he applied himself he could be a good poet, and he likes to read and listen to it.

42. what are three words they would use to describe themself?

selfish, failure, coward

56. what animal do they most relate to?

prior to almost burning to death, he would have said a swan. post-burning... an ugly duck

65. what is holding them back?

what isn't holding him back tbh. he has a lot of issues stemming from being raised to think he was perfect and then tossed aside as soon as he stepped out of line. i think the number one thing though is the image he has of himself as a bad person who does bad things. he used to be a bad and selfish person who has hurt a lot of people; after his near-death experience he became really humble and considerate, but still thinks of himself in terms of his past actions, instead of what he is doing now to redeem himself. what is holding him back is his inability to recognize that he's changed.

[nad-zeta]

Match up! (~˘▾˘)~

 Hi again…can I get an Ikevamp match-up? I got curious on who I would end up with tbh😅😅😅

About myself…I never lose a temper, I am extremely shy and quiet, it’s extremely difficult for me to trust new people. I am around 5'9 feet tall, above shoulder length messy brown hair tied into a ponytail; I would be mistaken for a boy if I let my hair down. I wouldn’t even notice if they mistook me for a boy until someone addresses me as one😅😅😅. I look intimidating at first sight because 1.)I am silent most of the time, I look cold and aloof, I never smile, and 2.) I can be blunt without noticing + my difficulty of showing emotions would make them think I’m judging their soul *yikes…whoops?😅😅😅*. That intimidates most people and when in reality when I am the one who feels more intimidated by them. 😅😅

Once I warm up, I have this side that only my family and close friends know. I get along well with anybody; I won’t judge people for their race, beliefs, personality, religion, and all. It doesn’t exist here when I befriend them 😊. I have this weird sense of humor that can turn dark and morbid without noticing… 😅😅 I am like a child at Christmas when it comes to new art supplies, baking, and cooking new recipes; I love sharing it with my family and friends. I can compare my strength to a guy and I can carry heavy things without a problem😅… I love to play the guitar and I used to play the piano when I was younger and I missed playing it. I’m extremely rusty after not practicing for 7 years now😥. I can still read music notes, and it will take longer for me to navigate the piano if I play it. I mostly draw and paint right now tho…

I’m not a fan of wearing girly clothes, and I would rather stick to wearing good ol’ shirts, polo (long/short sleeves), pants, and hoodies style. I avoid drinking alcohol because I easily get tipsy; I’d turn into a loud drunk after a few sips.  My friends would often keep me away from who knows what they’re reading and watching stuff… Told me that they don’t want me to taint my innocent eyes and soul or something like that…I never cuss even if I’m used to hearing my classmates swear like a sailor. The first time my friends hear me accidentally swear, they look at me in horror and demanded me to know where I got that word🤣🤣

I don’t like loud and crowded places, I would feel dizzy and suffocated if I stayed there for too long. There will be times on where I’m nowhere to be found since I would look for an isolated place somewhere around the corner for me to hide whenever I want to draw or paint. I am not really confident of my skills in drawing; I have a bad habit of hiding those from my family *which annoys them*. I have another bad habit of being stubborn whenever I got sick, and I wouldn’t even let anyone know I am unwell because I do not want anyone to worry about me. But when someone noticed, I would admit that I am sick. *I would go to school even when sick so I can finish my school works because, whenever I miss a class, there will always be some of them who would deliberately not tell me that I missed something in class so…i learned the hard way.😅* …

I easily get startled by sudden noises if I let my guard down: objects making a loud sound when they drop. I don’t know how to deal with physical affections and would probably get stiff and flustered. I’m not used to guys hugging me cuz would go stiff whenever a guy hugs me *I love hugs and all but… I’m not used to being hugged by guys… 🙁* I’m a bit of a disaster-prone whenever I’m outside, and would accidentally hit my head on lower tree branches and lower places, sometimes I would accidentally sprain my ankle on the uneven ground *if someone made me wear heels especially if it’s stilettos*. 😅😅😅

Yay: I love my coffee with a ridiculous amount of milk and with less sugar; baking, cooking, sweets, drawing, painting, digital art, music, cats, dogs, pokemon, Manga, anime.

Nay: I despise certain types of vegetables that are bitter and slimy. My face would shrivel up seeing those kinds of vegetables. Animal cruelty is a big no-no for me; I normally don’t get angry, and I forgive people within a blink of an eye *that annoys my family a lot😅* but, I will make an exception for that.

I can control my own anger, that no one can tell I am fuming.

If it’s ok with you…😅😅😅 Took me a long time to figure out how to send a more detailed one. 😂😂 I think that’s enough spilling tmi about myself… Whoopsie…😅😅 🦊🐱🦊🐱

Hi hi love! ❤🌻Thank you so much for the request! I had so much fun writing this up for ya and i hope you enjoy it dear! ❤🦊Also i hope you are keeping safe and well and have a super good day!🐇❤ Also sooooorrrry for taking 2 billion years with this! hehe so without further ado........... @xarexraven

So I match you with…………… Theo

The first time you met everyone, you were so quiet and reserved hiding behind Comte. They took one look at you and instantly thought, “oooh great another male guest.” You were wearing a hoodie and jeans and your hair tie keeping your hair in a ponytail, had just snapped as you walked through the door. Comte gave you a gentle push to introduce yourself, and one look at your intimidating face, had the entire household believing that they had another tsundere in their midst. 

During dinner, you had hardly noticed that they all thought you were a boy. The residents all started retiring to their rooms after dessert, when Sebastian handed you a final cup of coffee, “Here you are sir.” Your eyes widened, and you started up at Sebastian in confusion, too shy to correct him/ That is when Comte who was still sitting beside you gave your head a gentle pat, “Sebastian it is quite rude to mistake our precious guest for a boy, especially one who is beautiful.” Both you and Sebastian were left blushing at the comment, that’s when Vincent, who was the only other resident still at the table, spoke up. “I have to agree with Comte, it is not nice to call someone so pretty, a boy.” The resident angel beamed up at you, while Sebastian apologised profusely, and through it all, the only thing you could think was, “man, this is awkward.”

The next morning after Comte explained the whole, everyone in this mansion is a vampire thing, you wandered around the mansion aimlessly. Well, that is until Napoleon came across you and grabbed your hand, dragging you to the dining room, where a feast of sugary goodness laid wait. He told you that he had made way too many pancakes and that they needed help finishing them. No one in the mansion had seen you smile yet, but at the sight of the giant stack of sugary pancakes, you couldn’t help but beam. Vincent had spotted you and flagged you over to sit next to him. “Oi knaap, don’t go hog all the pancakes, save some of the rest of us will you,” Theo loudly exclaimed as you loaded up your plate to a stack of pancakes almost as high and his. At the sound of Theo calling you a boy, Vincent narrowed his eyes at Theo and started scolding his younger brother for being so rude. Theo stared at you in disbelief but with your hair now in a pony tail he simply shrugged and gave you a new nickname “Hondjie”. With the misunderstanding finally cleared up once and for all, you made quick work of polishing off the stack of pancakes with the three men.

After lunch Vincent gave Theo a detailed list of art supplies that he needed, and at the mention of art supplies your ears perked up. Your eyes gleamed in excitement, and your cold, aloof exterior changed to one of an excited child on Christmas morning. Your cheeks were starting to hurt, that had been a record of two smiles in one day. Although even though your smiling felt weird to you, to the three me it was the most beautiful sight. Theo took notice of your enthusiasm and in his typical indifferent voice, asked if you wanted to come along for the ride. You without a second thought nodded, you basically radiated excitement as you went upstairs to put on some shoes and get a jacket. You met Theo out in the foyer, and soon the two of you made your way to the art supply store. 

Comte had told you that you were free to break the bank and buy anything and everything your heart desired, on the condition that he would be able to see your first piece of art created with the new supplies. 

You were so excited at the thought of new art supplies and being able to continue your passion for art, even though you were stuck in the past, that you let your guard down a little with Theo. He asked you in his usual blunt way, why you were dressed like a boy and not wearing skirts and dresses like other women. You told him that you were most comfortable wearing pants and hoodies. The way your eyes were beaming, low key reminded him of his precious brother, and he found himself low key drawn to your pure, innocent energy. 

The two of you spent hours and hours picking out the perfect supplies, you were low key shook at Theo’s knowledge about art and supplies. He actually helped you pick out the best supplies for your personal drawing and painting style. After spending hours in the art shop. The two of you made your way to the waiting carriage, when Theo spotted an ice cream store, his eyes lit up at the thought of sweets. When you saw how excited he was, you suggested that the two of you investigate the shop before heading back. 

For the first time in Theo van Gogh whole existence, a woman had paid for him. He was sitting across from you in the ice cream parlour while you were happily eating away at your sugary treat, still trying to process it all. You had paid as a token of thanks for him helping you pick out the best art supplies. What shocked him even more was during argument about the bill you legit gave him a deadpan look and bluntly said that you were ganna treat him no matter what. After that comment you legit left him blushing and speechless, you truly were a strange woman.

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments when you finally decided to break the ice. You curiously asked why it was that he knew so much about art, and that’s when he revealed that he was an art dealer. And so the rest of the afternoon was spent chatting about art, paintings, drawings and your mutual passion and appreciation for the trade. To say Theo was pleasantly surprised by you would be an understatement, his first impression of you was now so laughable compared to the person sitting before him. The first time he saw you, he thought you an aloof, little boy who seemed to judge him down to the very depths of his soul. Yet as he got to know you, he had come to realise that there was much more to you.

In the weeks to follow you seemed to surprise Theo more and more. The first thing that had this boy sister shook was your inhuman strength. One day as you were helping Isaac sorts out the library. The two of you had managed to fill up 2 huge boxes of junk and clutter that could be stored in the mansions attic. Isaac lifted one of the boxes and determined that it was too heavy for the both of you, so he went to call Theo or Leo who would have an easier job with doing the heavy lifting. As Theo rounded to the corner to help move the boxes, he almost rammed straight into you. “Oi hondjie, you are going to hurt yourself let me take…” As he took the box from your hands, his face started going red, and a vein in his neck started popping out. The box you had been carrying was obviously almost too heavy for him to carry, he turned around swiftly and started walking up the attic stairs. It took you no time to catch up to him carrying another heavy box of your own. At this point you could see a bead of sweat roll down his face. Theo was determined to carry this box up, there was no way he was going to be shown up by a girl, especially one that he liked. He finally made it to the top of the attic and place the box down with a huff, you had to laugh at the small blush that was still on his cheeks. 

Just then out of the corner of your eye, an old piano caught your attention. Theo eyed you curiously still recovering from the blow to his ego, as you sat down on the dusty piano chair and blew the dust of the piano keys. Your fingers moved to their own accord, gliding across the keys to play a familiar song from muscle memory. Theo sat down next to you and closed his eyes to absorb the beautiful melody. As the last note echoed through the attic, Theo opened his eyes, and sapphire eyes glared down into the depths of your soul. He had honestly never in his life felt more drawn to anyone, before he could say anything your stomach gave a loud growl. It was now your turn to blush and look away in embarrassment. Theo then leads you downstairs, where he whipped you up some stroopwafels.

You tied the apron around your waist and helped Theo prepare the sugary dessert. You were so excited and happy, you loved baking and learning/exchanging new recipes. Once the two of you were done making the sweet snack, you sat down and munched on the Stroop waffles and coffee. The rest of the afternoon was spent chatting about your mutual hate for bitter slimy vegetables and love for dogs as you ate the sugary snack and sipped on coffee. This actually started a tradition between the two of you, where once in a while the two of you would exchange recipes and cook your favourite dishes together.

One day as Theo joined Comte in his room for some tea, he saw a beautiful painting hanging behind Comte, it was just filled with so much emotion. “Hey, Comte, did Vincent paint that one, I haven’t seen it before.” Comte gleamed in delight and told him that you were the artist responsible for the masterpiece and that you had given it to him as a thank you gift for the art supplies. Theo was shook, he knew you loved art but to have created such a masterpiece. He stomped his way to your room and knock on your door. He could hear shuffling from the other side, he swung the door open and spotted you throwing a heap full of tissues in the dustbin and hiding the trashcan behind you. All it took was one look at your red nose, pale face and tired eyes to know that you were clearly sick. You tried to play it off and make your way past Theo to help Sebastian with lunch service, when Theo picked you up and plonked you down on your bed. The second your head hit the pillow, your tired eyes closed and you lost consciousness. You woke a few hours later to Theo sitting by your side gently stroking your hair while placing a cold washcloth on your forehead every now and then. You stubbornly tried to convince him that you weren’t sick. Theo narrowed his eyes at you and in a soft, gentle tone said, “Hondjie can you just stop being stubborn for one minute and let me take care of you.” Theo had nursed you back to full health and you got to see a new side of Theo that you had never seen before, his sweet kind gentle side. It was actually during this time when Theo had confessed his undying love for you.

Theo love love loved your art and would insist you show him your masterpieces once you are done with them.  He knew your weren't confident in your skills and would usually hide your drawings so he did what any reasonable person would do. He tickled you until you gave up the hiding spot so he could see your creation.

He also knows you don’t like crowded places or loud noises, so he actually cleared up a room for you to use as your own art room to work in peace, where no one was allowed to disturb you. 

He knew you would get dizzy and feel suffocated whenever the two of you would walk through a busy crowd in the markets. So now every time the two of you cuties go out, he was sure to plan your route using back roads to avoid unnecessary crowds or he would bring King along for a walk with you. Even though King is a sweet, friendly golden retriever, he has come to love you and will do whatever it takes to protect the new member of his pack. Even if that means angry staring down people so they can part like the red sea before you and Theo.

Theo absolutely loves you to the moon and back. He loves your sweet innocent mind and will always cover your ears and glare daggers at Arthur whenever he is telling stories of previous nights conquests as he “doesn’t want Arthur to taint your innocent mind and soul.” 

He absolutely loves to finally have someone around who gets his dark, morbid sense of humour and who can equally match his weird jokes. Often when the two of you are together, you would be quick-firing the weirdest jokes at each other, while being in stitches laughing at each other.

Theo also loves how you have similar beliefs as him in not judging people. It was due to this that he was completely able to open up about his past with you. You helped him to heal and grow from his past traumas. You helped catch him many a time before falling in the abyss, dragging him out back into the light. 

Both of you were pretty awkward when it came to physical affection at the beginning of your relationship. However, after many, a stiff, awkward hug followed by a fit of laughter from how awkward the two of you were, eventually the two of you started to get more comfortable around each other. 

Now when Theo cuddles you, as you draw him as a manga character, the two of you chuckle at the memory of how stiff and awkward it was the first time the two of you had even held hands. Theo will 100% always insist on holding your hand whenever the two of you go outside as he knows just how accident-prone you are when it comes to nature.

Ultimately Theo loves to spend quiet evenings with you snuggled up in his arms as the two of you exchange stories of each other days. He loves to read all your little manga’s you manage to create for him. Although he will never admit it, he always gets super excited when you tell him about an anime you watched or show him your newest manga drawing. He will shower you with endless amounts of hugs and cuddles from the moment you go to bed till the moment you wake up. And every morning without fail Theo will greet you with a freshly bred cup of milky coffee and a kiss.

Other potential matches…………… Vincent 

I hope you enjoyed this dear and i hope you have the best day! 🦊🌻❤

[schrijverr]

The Mystery of Castiel

Dean sets out to prove that his husband, Castiel, is an acual angel walking amongst man. He tries to convince his friends with his documentary. much to the confusion and amusement of fans.

Part of the Famous Husband verse, which is also a series)

On AO3.

Ships: Destiel

Warnings: None, but I’ll be happy to tag something for you, no questions asked! :)

~~~~~~~~~~

The video opened with a grainy and moving shot of a dark hallway with lights spilling out of a doorway at the end. From behind the camera Dean whispered: “I think there’s something in my house. It feels ancient, powerful. So, I’m checking it out.”

He was close to the doorway and he took a deep breath before rounding the last corner, finally showing the kitchen.

Standing at the kitchen counter was Cas, he was in his pajamas and looked like a dear in headlights when he heard Dean enter. In his hands he held a cereal box from which he was eating dry cereal. The digital clock beside him displayed the time, 03:07. His voice was gruff from sleep as he hurriedly said: “It’s not what it looks like.”

Dean screamed, then his intro rolled. It was a drawn impala that came down the road, it stopped in the middle of the screen and the drawn Dean gave a wink to the viewers, then he sped off again and the smoke was bridge back to the video.

The backdrop was out of focus, but you could make out a bunch of red string and vague pictures. Dean was sitting in front of it, his hair was disheveled and he had dark bruises under his eyes. Of course, the viewers didn’t have to know that was thanks to Jessica's make up skills. He rubbed his forehead and said: “I can’t do this anymore.”

He sighed deeply and went on: “I love my husband, I do. He is my everything, but the elephant in the room hasn’t been discussed seriously and it’s eating me up. I don’t know how to start talking about it without him turning it into a joke. Which is why I am making this video, I want your opinions and tips on how to handle this or just for you tell me if I’m acting crazy. Because I really need someone to tell me what to do.”

He was now looking straight into the camera as he said: “I think Cas is either an angel or some sort of cryptid. He’s just not human that’s all I know, okay. He has to be immortal, not of this world. I mentioned this before, but no one takes me seriously.”

The video changed and a time line came into view, while Dean did a voice over: “I met Cas in September of 2010. According to him he is born in 1990, so he should be 30, if all of this is correct and he has aged just like a human would.”

A dot appeared on the line and 2013 came above it. Dean said: “I started my YouTube channel in 2013, Cas claims to have been 23 at this time and I have footage of him in one of my videos.”

A clip played of Dean telling the camera he was going to try and drink three liters of soda in one go with no break in between. In the background a man walked past.

“I now see that that might not have been the best clip, so here is a picture as well.” Deans voice was heard as a photo of a young Dean and Cas appeared. They were sitting next to each other on the beach. Dean had a beer in his hand and cheered to the camera while Cas did a peace sign in the background, bee sunglasses firmly on his face.

“To compare this to now, here is a picture Sam took of us last week.” Dean said and another photo appeared beside it. This one was taken on the couch the viewers knew so well from live streams. Dean and Cas were sitting next to each other in this picture as well, they had a blanket thrown over their legs and a bowl of popcorn on their laps. Dean was kissing Cas’s cheek while he flipped of Sam, aka the camera.

“He appears to have aged normally, although he is still dashingly handsome, if I might say so. Not the point. Anyway, since he has aged so normally most people don’t believe me, but I’m going to prove it.”, the photo’s faded and the Dean from earlier reappeared.

“I’ve been awake for days now, trying to find all the evidence I could, just to try and convince someone out there, to hear a voice back saying that I am not going crazy.” Dean said, “I am married to an immortal non-human, an angel in the biblical sense, and I need to tell someone.”

He picked up a manila folder, and opened it. He started: “Okay, so the first thing I have is his family. He grew up extremely Christian, or so he says, but I think he’s hiding behind a facade of biblical households to hide the fact that he is an angel himself and therefor witnessed everything that happened within the Bible.”

Dean chuckled: “He’s not even subtle about it. I mean, seriously. His name is also the name of an angel, Castiel the angel of Thursday. And he has eleven siblings, which makes a total of  twelve children, like twelve as in the amount of apostles Jesus had and they also all have biblical names. His brothers are Gabriel, Micheal, Raphael etcetera. He even has a brother named Lucifer that apparently no one talks to anymore, because he defied their father and is now in prison or something. That’s not a good cover story. That’s the Bible retold, but then bad.”

Cas and Dean had discussed what Dean would say about Castiels family beforehand and they had decided that this was enough. No reason to get into more detail about it. This was supposed to be funny and dumb, not revealing and sad.

“What shoots a hole in this, according to Sam is that we have pictures of him from when he was a child.” Dean said and a picture of a toddler Cas with big blue eyes and a small frown already on his face was shown, before Dean went on: “I think that Sam is wrong. If you’re a powerful entity, you can make fake pictures of a baby-you that has never existed. But I will let you draw your own conclusions about that.”

“Coming back to an earlier point,” Dean went on, “his History knowledge. This is also weird, since he knows everything about History, in particular thing about long long ago. Which as he points out is because he studied History. And that’s fair, but it’s weird.”

He rubbed his face again and groaned in frustration: “Ugh, just let me, let me put this into words better.”

“If you studied History, you know History and that’s just how it is. But what you don’t know is suddenly everything about the ancient times, no matter how much you specialized on it, which I know he hasn’t since he teaches History and you need to know more than just one period in order to do that.” Dean said, “We all on the same page?”

There was a silence, like he was waiting for a response. He acted like he got it: “Good, so why- how can he know everything in excruciating detail about that period? And he knows it like he’s been there and he has an abnormal amount of space in his brain for memories.”

A clip played of Cas, Dean behind the camera. They were on vacation, probably, and standing in a church. Dean said: “Can you repeat what you just said, sunshine?”

Cas looked over, saw the camera and shot it a tired look. He rolled his eyes and pointed at a picture of Jesus: “I said that this Jesus isn’t very realistic, because he isn’t smiling. Well, he has a smile, but it’s like this weird serene one. He was young when he was crucified. You really think a twenty-year-old had any patience or chill? I think not. He had a big happy smile,” then hastily, “probably. I think, at least.”

Disheveled Dean reappeared and said: “Tell me that is not fricking suspicious. And that’s just the one I captured on camera. He’s always commenting stuff like that.” his eyes lit up and he snapped his finger as he said: “Like, like he did in the Q&A video we did!”

The clip played of Castiel talking about the Tower of Babel.

“I mean come on. He talked about it like he knew how it had suddenly turned, because he had been there. I know what you’re thinking, it’s a story that gets told to Catholic children. And you’d be right, it is a biblical story. Yet, Mr. History talked about it like it is something that happened, even though it hasn’t been proven.” Dean explained, “And then he tried to cover it up, by saying how it would be an opportunity to find out. Good cover story, angel, but not happening.”

“And don’t get me started on his lack of pop-culture knowledge.” Dean went on, “I mean, I got him a phone. His first phone ever, for his 21st birthday. No one should get their first phone in 2011.”

A picture of Cas came on screen. He was holding up a phone, but it was all wrong. He held in with his pointer finger and thumb, a thumb that was in the middle of the screen, and he looked at it with confusion written all over his face.

“He also knew nothing about movies.” Dean appeared again, “I had to show him everything. And I mean everything. No Disney, no Star Wars, no Lord of the Rings, no Friends, no Indiana Jones, no horror movies, nothing. Almost like he had been away from earth while all of it was made and only popped down recently, which reconnects to my previous point about the specific History knowledge.”

“Another thing is his social skills.” Dean moved on to his last point, “He had no clue how to interact with people when I first met him and when I asked about it he claimed his ‘people skills were rusty’, like he used to have them, but they had faded over time. Which would be impossible, because at that age you either don’t have them or you do, you cannot have forgotten entirely.”

The screen went black again and a list appeared: “So we now have four strange things about him.”

1. Youth and Family

“His youth is filled with weird biblical details that are so accurate or strange that it couldn’t have been a coincidence.”

2. History Knowledge

“Despite his study, this is still weird and suspicious, but I feel like the evidence I showed speaks for itself.”

3. Lack of Pop-culture Knowledge

“This could also be his sheltered upbringing, but he was already out in the real world for two years when I met him, so why he had never encountered any of it is a mystery. With, in my eyes, an easy explanation.”

4. Lack of Social Skills

“Again this could be his upbringing, sure, but even then. If he isn’t lying about his family that is eleven children and parents along with an entire church to communicate with. You still pick up stuff like personal space.”

Dean appeared again and said: “I’ve laid out this evidence to some of my friends, this were their reactions.”

It cut to Sam sitting on a chair, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. Sam asked: “Do we really have to do this, Dean?”

“Yes,” Deans voice came from behind the camera, “just hear me out, okay. I get that you didn’t want to listen before, but I have evidence now.”

Sam sighed.

It cut again to Sam shaking his head and saying: “I don’t know, why you’re so invested in this. All of this has a rational explanation, you can see that too.”

“But the family thing is weird, right. It’s so suspiciously correct that has to be fake that just can’t be coincidence.” Dean protested.

“Actually,” Sam replied, “humans have a weird sense of perception about coincidence. So much happens at one moment in the world that something strange or usual is bound to happen, we classify that as coincidence, but it’s just statistics, Math. It’s very interest-”

“Yeah, whatever, nerd.” Dean interrupted, “So, you don’t believe me.”

“No, Dean. I don’t.” Sam told him, “Can I go now?”

“Yeah.” Dean sighed, before it cut to Charlie sitting in the same chair.

Dean asked her: “So do you know why you’re here?”

Charlie nodded: “Yes and I am willing to hear you out.”

“You are?” Dean said, excitement seeping into his voice.

Charlie nodded, then it cut to her reading the final notes in the folder. She bit her lip and said: “I don’t know, Dean. Some off this is pretty suspicious, but I wouldn’t call it evidence of Cas being an angel or other immortal. I mean, the church can be weird.”

“But the History thing is definitely suspicious, right? I’m not being crazy about that?” Dean asked

Charlie answered: “Well, it wouldn’t surprise me, if he had developed a special interest in ancient Christian history while growing up and if he used to be a heavy believer then I suspect he must have thought a lot about how Jesus must have been and stuff.”

Dean huffed, but didn’t respond.

There was a shaky video of Ellen saying: “Dean, I have a bar to run, I don’t have time for your bullshit.”

But then Jo was in the chair and she said: “Dean, I love you and all, but I’m not doing this.”

“Please, just hear me out.” Deans voice was tired and it cracked, Jo relented.

In the end she said: “This is all strange, sure. I might have believed a bit of it, if I hadn’t known Cas. I mean, come on. He’s a dork and a teacher. He loves you, Dean. Don’t ruin that over something stupid.”

A sigh was heard.

After that it was Bobby, who was sitting on the chair. He didn’t look all that pleased. Most knew Bobby from Deans series about Baby where he would sometimes help or appear in the background and stories about Deans childhood.

Dean said: “Bobby, you know me, right?”

“I’d hope so, boy. I practically raised you.” Bobby replied.

“Exactly,” Dean said, “so you know, I’m not one to make random claims about this.”

“I do.” Bobby sighed, clearly not liking where this was going.

“Great.” Dean exclaimed happily, “Because I have collected a bunch of evidence and I want your opinion on it.”

It cut to Bobby rubbing his forehead while he read the last bits of evidence. He looked up and said: “I think you’re grasping at straws, right now. There are more logical solutions than this, but you’re ignoring ‘em, because you want to see this.”

Significantly sadder than before Dean responded: “So you don’t believe me either?”

“No, of course not, you idjit.” Bobby replied, “I walked Cas down the isle, I think I know the damn guy. He’s not some immortal. And don’t go bothering Jody about this either, you hear me.”

Then it cut back to the disheveled Dean, who said: “As you can see they still weren’t ready to listen to me. So I turned to my last resort, Gabriel. Castiels older brother.”

Gabriel was lounging in the chair, smirk playing on his lips and lollipop in hand. He smiled: “Dean-o, it this what it’s come to? Crawling to me?”

Dean sighed from behind the camera and said: “It was either you or Michael, you’re the least worst option.”

“Ahw, you flatter me.” Gabriel said with a wink, then he asked: “So, what is this all about?”

Dean answered: “I’m trying to prove that Cas is an angel, or an other sort immortal, but main theory is angel. I figured you were the best bet to get to the truth.”

The moment the word ‘angel’ left Deans lips, Gabriels face fell although he quickly tried to cover it up. He tried to laugh it off: “You’re being ridiculous. Little Cassie is a nerd, sure, but immortal. Sorry, but that’s hysterical. Besides, how else would you explain me, or the other people at the wedding?”

“I don’t know, other angels? Actors? Lot of possibilities. Maybe it was mind control.” Dean replied.

Gabriel laughed and shook his head, but when he looked up his face was completely serious as he said: “Stop searching, Dean. You won’t find anything, just love your husband in peace and live a long and happy life, okay.”

Dean swallowed thickly and shakily said: “Okay.”

Then it cut back to Dean from before, who said: “As you can see, he wasn’t very helpful. Although he did kind of scare me, the guy nearly threatened me, but he also made Cas more suspicious. He’s hiding something, I can feel it.”

“Anyway, none of my outside resources were helpful, so it’s time to look at our subject himself, Cas.” Dean said and the screen warped to a vlog.

It was filmed in such a way that it was obvious that Dean was trying to be stealthy. It showed Castiel doing the dishes, after a second Dean asked: “Why don’t you use the dishwasher, sunshine?”

Cas looked around and shrugged: “I don’t trust it, Dean. Machinery doesn’t seem to like me and I have not come to an agreement with the dishwasher yet, maybe later.”

Dean laughed: “The dishwasher is not a businessman, Cas. Here I’ll load it in.”

Then it changed to the living room, specifically the couch. It was a solid couch, easily a 1000 pounds. Dean yelled: “Caaaaas!”

From the distance came: “What is it, Dean?”, along with footsteps.

“I dropped my phone and accidentally kicked it under the couch. Can you help me?” Dean answered.

Cas looked at the couch and nodded. First he tried to fit his hand under and swipe the phone out from underneath it, but when that didn’t work, he grabbed the underside of the couch and lifted it as he told Dean to grab his phone, which he did.

Dean smirked at him and said: “Wow, Cas, very sexy. Have you been going to the gym lately?”

He only got an eyeroll in return along with a quick kiss, before Cas disappeared.

What the viewers didn’t get to see was the small carjack that had been carefully edited out, along with Sam, who had operated it.

Then it was Dean running up to Cas, yelling: “Smile, angel!”

Castiel turned to him like a deer in headlights and blinked heavily when the flash nearly blinded him. What was peculiar about this moment was the fact that his eyes seemed to glow an intense light blue, almost as if he was illuminated from the inside, which had been an easy edit, but it looked very cool, if Dean was being honest.

After that Dean said: “I showed these clips, along with a few others that are, admittedly, less convincing to my friends.” followed by a quick compilation of Sam, Charlie, Jo and Bobby shaking their heads and telling him he was an idiot or other variations thereof, “As you can see, they were still unconvinced.” Dean finished.

“They were unconvinced, what I have set out to do isn’t achieved. They aren’t listening and they aren’t seeing the truth. I know what I see, I know what Cas is. And they are just blind for the truth.” Dean told the audience, “So, I’m trusting you to open your eyes and see what is out there. Please, look at this and see the truth.”

Then it went to the endcard. Dean waved and said: “That was it for today. I hope you can support me and tell me that I’m not crazy. If you do, comment about it, like this video, share it to get the word out. Maybe subscribe and ring that bell, so you won’t miss out on any updates about it. Bye Hunters, see you on the-”

He was cut of by the slam of a door. He startled and looked over, but before he could get over the shock the lights overhead exploded and the room went dark. You could hear the heavy and angry voice of Castiel, who bellowed: “Dean Winchester, you have not listened to the warning Gabriel gave you. Your time has come.”

Then the video ended.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Oh my god is he okay?!!!?!?!?!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Pff anyone who believes this

shit is an idiot

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I know this is probably fake,

but I’m scared now

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Don’t lie, who’s been a fan of

Dean since day one?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Okay, but are we gonna talk

about Gabriel???

No?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You’re not crazy Dean. I once

saw a ghost. The supernatural

is out there and Castiel can be

who you say he is. We don’t

know what the paranormal has

in store for us. Keep believing,

keep fighting!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Dudes, if he had time to edit and

upload it then he’s prbbly fine

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Should we call the police??

Is he ok???

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Dean be looking like a raccoon

and still be hella fine

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Cass talking about Jesus is such

a mood, my Christian ass can

relate

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

IS HE DEAD?? DID DEAN JUST DIE!!! HELLO??? ANSWERS PLEASE!!!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Really? After all the sweet and

loving Cas content we got, we’re

supposed to believe this??

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Get yo self a man whos willing

to make a fake docu bout you

pretending to believe youre an

actual angel

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

~

Dean was grinning as he scrolled through the comments on his latest videos. He was quite proud of it honestly and was very happy with how it had turned out and the reaction of the fans. Cas saw him smiling and asked: “So I take it, it went well.”

Looking up Dean said: “Yeah, you might have to answer some questions tomorrow, if you want those kids to trust you after ‘murdering me’.”

Cas groaned, but couldn’t suppress the smile and fond eyeroll.

Then the phone rang, Dean looked at the screen with surprise, but smiled when he saw who was calling. It was Sam, the picture of him sleeping with a plastic spoon in his mouth lighting up the screen. He picked up: “Heya, Sammy.”

Sam answered: “Dean, come save me.”

“What is it?” Dean asked, serious brother mode instantly activated.

But it was lost with Sams answer: “I know you’re trying to sell the whole ‘I got murdered by my own husband who is an angel’-stick, but you’re fans are worried and mobbing me on Twitter demanding answers.”

Dean laughed and relayed what Sam had said to Cas, who also chuckled. Then Dean turned back and said: “I’ll do something about it.”

“Somehow that’s not very comforting.” Sam said.

“Don’t worry about it, Sammy.”

“That isn’t helping.”

“I said don’t worry about it.”

“Dean? … Dean! … Dean!”

Dean hung up and turned to Cas as he asked: “Would you mind filming me?”

An hour later a video was posted on Deans Twitter and Instagram. It was off Cas walking into the living room, where an unharmed Dean was sat on the couch. Cas said: “Hello, Dean.”

Dean looked his way and smiled: “Hey, angel. What’s up? Why are you filming?”

Cas replied: “Some off your fans were worried about you after your last video, so I’m showing them you’re okay.”

Dean frowned and asked: “Why would they worry about me? It was just a dumb video doing Just Dance, not flattering, but hardly worrisome.”

“Don’t you remember your funny little video about me and some conspiracy?” Castiel asked, way too innocently.

Dean frown deepened and he looked confused and he said: “What are you even talking about?”

“Nothing, it was all just silly. Don’t worry about okay?” Cas answered, still holding onto that innocent voice.

Dean smiled at him and said: “Whatever you say, sunshine.”

Then it was over, needless to say that fans weren’t reassured, neither were the kids at school the next day, when Cas pretended he had no idea what they were talking about and shut them down the moment they tried to show him the video on their phones.

@Deanmustbeprotected posted about it on their Insta and multiple conspiracies were posted on every platform.

Dean and Cas along with everyone they’d gotten involved watched from the sidelines with amusement. Mission accomplished!

[m-ziliak]

Do you have certain materials you prefer? Like a certain type of paper, pens, etc.?

If you’re practicing, use the cheap crap! Use printer paper and ballpoint pens and RoseArt and Reeves! Always practice with the cheap stuff and save the good quality materials for when you know what you’re doing. For stuff I prefer for myself now... Paper. When working in sketchbooks I really like Canson Mix Media. It has some tooth to it and I really like that. I also work a lot with markers and it holds up to them really well. I have Strathmore Mixed Media books, too, but they’re really smooth and I’m not very fond of that. Seems like it would be better for blending, but I always feel like the pencil or ink is going to smear or feather. For comic book paper I really like Canson as well. Doesn’t bleed, doesn’t feather, I just wish it had some more layout markers. (Though I can just do that with a ruler.) Pencils! Been using Prismacolor Col-Erase for a long while now, usually in Light Blue and Carmine Red. Please note that Carmine Red doesn’t erase well and is kinda a pain in the butt. I used to draw in Non-Photo Blue, but it was too light when I was inking and I’d have a hard time seeing my sketch and scanners would still pick it up. If I’m doing warm-ups, thumbnails, or just sketches I’ll use anything. Normal pencils, ball-point pens. Anything. Pens. For inking I usually go for Sakura Micron. Comes in a bunch of sizes and I go through them like candy. They can handle a decent amount of work, have pretty durable nibs as long as you’re not stabbing the paper. I also like their brush pens for filling in. I used to use Copics as well for inking, but they were too expensive to upkeep and I  didn’t really like how they felt. (I had the metal ones that you could refill. Heavy pens.) I also used to use Stabilo and I kinda hated them. Did my first comic with them and it looks like shit. Feels like holding a pencil, though. I might try them again now that I know how to use pens better, but for now I’ll stick with Sakura. Oh! I also use Sakura Gelly Roll for white ink, but I’m not super fond of it. I just need it for fixing mistakes. I’ll look for a better white ink pen later. Markers! If you wanna get into markers, use Ohuhu. They’re cheap, they dry out in a year, and they come in a ton of colors. Good to practice with. Right now I use Copic Sketch and I like them a lot. I have some that have dried out too soon, so I might try to revive them again, but overall I like them. They blend nicely, they don’t usually feather or bleed too bad, they come in a verity of colors. I like them. I’ve also used Faber-Castell, they’re okay. I’m not really fond of them. They never seem to dry out which is nice. Don’t blend very well, but that may just be me. Sharpie I hate. Never got the hang of them. Hate the smell, hate the colors, I don’t like Sharpie. I know other people that can make them work, though, so that’s definitely me. Other art stuff! I use Mod Podge to glue things, usually paper to whatever I messed up on so I can re-draw it. Bad idea. don’t use Mod Podge to glue things. Coloring over it will also make it look weird. Get a quark-back metal ruler. Keeps the ruler from slipping around. I have a cheap glove-thing I got for free when I bought a tablet to cover my hand and keep me from smearing stuff. I used to have a SmudgeGuard brand one, but the elastic gave out on it and for some reason the woman who ran the store didn’t believe I had small hands so she sent me the wrong size with a letter that an adult can’t have hands that size. I may try to sew my own one day. But it does keep the pencil and whatnot from getting messy.  Computer stuff?? For taking photos and posting them to Insta, I use SnapSeed for fixing contrast and white-balance issues and LINE Camera for editing out stuff like eraser dust or little things like that. For digital art I use Photoshop CS6 and a really out-of-date version of GIMP. Like, so old. Super old. I don’t actually have a scanner and haven’t for a long time now, so I can’t really do any digital art. I’d like to get back into it, but I’m also VERY rusty. I never draw digitally and I should really try to get better at that. I want to try out Clip Studio Paint, but that’s a bit expensive for something I don’t know if I’ll like so maybe I’ll use their free trial. Drawing tablets I’ve used have been a Wacom Graphire3. From 2004. It was a good little tablet until it died. I have a little Wacom Intuos. It has a giant scratch on the surface, but it works fine. If I do any digital art, I usually do it with that. I also have a Huion Kamvas GT156HD. I hate it. It worked properly once and never again. The wires are a pain in the ass, setting it up is even MORE of a pain in the ass. It’s constantly running in the background for no reason, the pens can’t hold a charge, and it freaks out if you have drivers for other tablets installed. No matter how many times I uninstall and reinstall drivers it never works right. It’s a pain to change pen settings, I just hate it. Haven’t used it for two years or so, it was a huge waste of money.

[commonalex]

Broken Nose

-Oh my, a talking fox!

-Oh my, a talking fattie!

-Wait, what?

   I don’t know what else I could expect coming down here from the tower today. I had this bad feeling stepping into the woods for the first time. It was really on the nose.

-He he, “on the nose”. Never gets old!

-Huh?

   The fox keeps on giggling but maybe not on purpose. Judging by the dirty yellowish fur and the burnt patches on its weak body, you could say this creature has seen better days.

-Uhhh girl? Still here. I can hear, you know.

   Wherever this fox was (before it comes to horrify me) the fire must’ve get it just in time, but it doesn’t look like hurting. On the contrary, the fox is playfully stretching like a cat on the dirt. I guess I seem so damn funny (or pathetic) for it to dare to come so near. Not that I would mind some chit chat at the time, I haven’t spoke to a person (or whatever that is) for far too long. But the way it follows me around with this sarcastic laugh rubs me the wrong way.

-Come on now, foxxy, I’m seriously busy right now. I can’t afford spending time with you. Stay away and no one gets hurt, nosey.

“Nosey”? Ha ha! It’s like you already know!

-Whatever.

   I throw middle fingers and keep on my route putting in and out the batteries of my walkie talkie. No luck. Dad (or whoever was talking at the frequency I was catching from the tower) didn’t speak a word again and of course no one’s around here as far as I can see. So I already had my misery, but I guess I should come down here to play hide and seek besides still life. Thank god it’s still afternoon with the sun beaming through the trees so I am not scared shitless yet.

But still, the fire keeps on burning whatever is on its way and no one bothers if I’m burned alive or not one of those days. So here comes the panic again. I’m climbing a tree to see the valley burning a bit better, while screaming furiously on the walkie talkie in case signal comes up. I scream my lungs out, touch my throat, lose balance, slip of the trunk and fall face first. When I managed to get up blood was pouring off my nose like a fountain. I guess I knew better when I was staying in the watch tower picking my…

-...”nose”, huh? He he he. You are funny, but you really don’t listen.

   I turn around to stare at the fox in a way so it gets the message and run away from me but here it is with its eyes shining like it’s waiting for something. I walk slowly to a direction, here it is following me, here it is talking shit about me, here it is turning to go somewhere else, here I am trying to catch her from going towards the fire, and we’re back at the start. Fuck it, I say. I let her leave to stop worrying. And that’s how I get lost in here. You see, all this time I had the smoke as compass and with all this chasing I failed to notice that the fumes scattered all over the place. I raise my head to see the sun radiating this weird red-like colors. Why on earth am I still here?

-Does anybody listen on this channel? I know some of you do. Dad, can you hear me? I’m the fire lookout and try to find you all this time. If you hear me, tell me your location so I can get to you. Copy?

   I’d be damned if this walkie talkie thingy is even necessary at this point. They have probably gone deaf by my stupid screaming.

-Just hoping you understand how futile this is. It’s like the thousandth time I tell you that at this exact point, but I have my hopes that one day you will stop doing this. Mainly to yourself. Just like I have my hopes that you will stop wearing shorts that make your thighs look unevenly thick.

-Can you please help me with your mouth shut? All it takes is a second to become human torches. I don’t need your kind of silly attitude.

-Pardon me? What attitude. I said what I said for your own good. But I don’t judge you. Spending all this time trapped in here, no wonder why your brain got a bit rusty.

-Trapped?

   The fox’s looking at me head to toes, sighs and sits in front of me waiting for something once again. What, exactly? No idea, but I wish it would be something that would take my guilt away and leave this thing get baked. It would smell like cooked fox all over to the watch tower.

-Highly doubt you could smell anything with a nose that fucked up.

-Shut-your-god-damn-mouth.

   I get caught off guard by the walkie talkie screeching with an incomprehensible voice. I don’t get much, just small phrases like “wish you could hear me” or “one sign of life” and such. All enough to hear my dad on this. I press to reply with my hands shaking by the stress. I keep on losing him, without ever getting my voice across. Signal worsens, but if I can hear him that must mean he is somewhere around here, right? But what if he is somewhere near the fire? I’m mic screaming “DAD JUST TELL ME IF YOU’RE HERE” like a ten year old and that’s where I lose all contact.

   Trying to catch a breath on a treat I get blood in my mouth (which has got everywhere and made me look sick) and burst into tears. I feel finished. I watch the ash raining down on my from the coal black slope on my right and I’m feeling shaky once again. I don’t even know if I’m crying being here all alone or because by the next few meters I could see my dad… You know how. I don’t know what I’m going to do if I see something like that.

-Come on, girl, please, don’t say that. I’ve listened to you say that like a hundred times and every time my heart is screaming for mercy. Come, get up.

Barely even remembered the fox is there all along.

-What do you want from me?

-Dunno. Company? A little adventure? This boredom you feel all this time on that watch tower all alone, I get that too. But you only make us the favor to come down here and spend time when you catch your dad on the radio. Only then I really have something to do.

-So you have seen me up there?

-If I seen you? What else could a fox occupy it’s mind inside those fucked up woods than stalk a fire lookout in her fourties? You know, playing with the binoculars, searching up radio frequencies, drinking beer and listening to the same music all day from her cd player? Is there anything better around here?

-What forties? I’m seventeen.

-Well I’m telling you, you absolutely are in your thirties at least.

-Why do I even bother.

   But chatting with the fox really makes you forget, whatever bs you have to endure. And you have to endure a lot. And a lot of stuff the fox says are disses that don’t make much sense. However company is very much needed at this point, inside a dirt pool filling up with ash and red smoke.

-I’m not here to make your life difficult.

-I don’t even know why you’re here. And how come you talk? If that’s not too much.

-Why are you stuck on these questions by now? You do this every time. Even though that’s the first time I see fire getting that big around here. And to be fair you got lost in the woods too early this time. And to be honest I’m kinda like a baby boy right now, asking for his mama, cause I have no clue what the hell is going on.

-”Baby boy”? Are you male?

   He looks at me with the most dead and disappointed stare a fox could ever have. I don’t know why I assumed he was a girl. But since he can hear me in my head, I apologize for perpetuating those kind of stereotypes. My bad. Ok? The fox nods as agreeing. we are ok.

   During all that I forgot I had the walkie talkie on my back pocket so when it started “whistling” again I got shivers. Trying to hold it with my shaky fingers I drop it like the useless scum I am. Even the fox gave me a disappointed look.

   The signal was better this time. I could hear for about five minutes non stop before I tried (with no luck) to respond. This is for sure not my dad. Those weird fast paced accents that invade the back of my ears are definitely from my mother. She even said her catchphrase “look at your own lil princess”.

“...should we keep on putting up a show anymore, darling?”.

“I’m tired. You wanna hear me say it? I say it right now.“.

“...I don’t understand? So am I the bad one and the heartless bitch once again?”.

“...please accept the bitter reality. We really missed the boat...”.

And then silence again.

   Same attitude, same lines played out a thousand times in the kitchen or in front of people. The same arguing over and over again with dad. The reason was always dumb, but her voice here doesn’t seem so irritating. Something serious must have happened for my dead mommy to cry like a pig.

-No crying? So you’re over it?

-Don’t know.

-I get it, we’re still at the point where you adapt to all this. We have a little bit of walking left till you have to get back.

-Tell me, what’s this thing you seem to know but I don’t?

-We know the same. I’m just here as a reminder, like an alarm clock of some sort. You know, like that fox alarm clock you had besides your bed when you were younger? Do you remember? You even brought it to the watch tower. Weird to have an alarm clock if you’re waking up at noon, though. You a freaking fire lookout, woman.

   It was a while until my brain got to work again. The fox was right, he is just like that alarm clock I have since a kid. How did I not see it before? And what does that mean now? Well, we know we won’t get any further just by asking. I don’t know if what I feel about that creature is trust, intimacy or curiosity. And those enigmatic stuff he throws here and there get tiresome. We walk and chit chat without noticing the orange fog swallowing everything within a meter around us. All we see in front of us now are burnt tree trunks and melting animals. All of them teddy bears I had while being a baby potato. If my heartbeat wasn’t hitting those three digits I would get goosebumps right now.

   I’m covering mouth and nose with my hand and try to guess where the fox is, as he’s running in circles stunned. He doesn’t seem to care if we find my parents before we all get barbecued anymore. He is too busy looking somehow concerned at all this damaged landscape.

-Tell me, how long have you seen me in secret? Spent all the summer over there and I never saw a single soul besides you right now, my secret admirer.

-Are you serious? What summer? Get it together. We wasted our young years here. But what am I even saying and basically to whom. Sometimes I wish I had your luck playing in this kind of playground. You could say disconnection from the environment has its moments.

-I’m volunteering for the summer, that’s all. It was written on the papers I signed, too. I think.

-Wait… Is that it?

-After all that I’m going back home to find out if where I’m studying by September. It’s pretty much over.

-...so this was it all along? Disconnecting? -Wait, did I take the entrance exams? My brain just froze.

-Would you shut up about your exams? Something’s wrong.

-How could I forget exams, though? After all this studying?

-Oh man. We really are in deep shit and now’s the time for you to turn your nose up at what is happening.

-Oh, here we go with these nose jokes again.

-No, no. Didn’t mean it in a literal way. That was unfortun… Ah, you get it, right?

-Maybe that’s why there’s not a single soul down here. You must’ve killed them all with your crap.

-I don’t have a good feeling about this. Our routine feels off. We have done this walk so many times and something’s not quite ok right now. It seems as if we’re stuck at the same place for hours and I guess…

-”Guess” what…?

-...we’re lost. I guess.

   Oh-you-don’t-say. When you spend so much time fucking with a broken person’s nerves, you tend miss what’s happening. We’re technically blind and we just go around for hours. Are we running away from the fire? Going straight at it? Only god know, because everything turned brown around here. We’re bumping trees and get shitless when we step on those blackened teddy bear bellies. I don’t lose my chance of cursing out the fox for driving us here, but all he cares about it digging holes while “trying to find our designated course”. That’s how we spend our next hour. Or maybe more since my watch stopped.

-How much battery is left in the walkie talkie?

-One line. And I swear I had it full, just like every time.

-”Just like every time”?

-Every time I climb down the watch tower to get here.

   The fox leaves the digging on the side and looks at me with his eyes wide open. My brain gets stuck for a moment and before he gets to respond I get vertigo. When I return to normal he keeps on asking again and again if I “know”, as if I get what he is trying to say. I’m searching for the sun above us to make everything around me stop flickering, but no luck, so I have the fox right beside me irritating me with these questions while I’m throwing up.

-Oh boy, you really don’t listen. That’s it, we’re going back. Now.

-Back where? I have my parents over here!

-You play the fool all this time. We have to go back to the starting point, don’t you get it? With you at the watch tower listening to your parents on the radio, coming down to the woods and find me while breaking your nose. Dunno how more fucked up your nose can be than right now, but we might save our asses.

-You are the most irritating talking fox I’ve ever seen.

-Wow, that’s a lot. Now give me the walkie talkie.

-Stop, YOU’RE GONNA BREAK IT!

-WOULD YOU STOP THE BULLSHIT SO WE CAN SAVE OURSELVES?

-DON’T.

   The walkie talkie slips, falls upon some cracked branches and shutters to a million pieces. Our eyes are glued to the ground, scanning for every piece in case we lose it. Time suddenly hits the brake, the orange fog from before has grown to this sick deep red light from the sun that sets down the edge of the valley as if we are in literal hell. Is this it?

-Nah. Not yet at least.

-Cut it out.

-Sure.

   I’m paralysed. My head can’t get through this twisted procedure anymore; days are marching one after another as the same exact instance being copied again and again. I tried so much to resist but my “job” here stopped helping a long time ago. Every bit on me seems hurt and rough. How long was I force to see everything slowly catch fire as I try to not get burnt alive? I could never know. All I know is how much washed out I feel here. Breaking my face, getting lost and playing chase with flames while asking for my dad through a stupid walkie talkie. Not that I ever need it to hear him. I got him right beside my ear all the time.

Even now.

“Stop acting like that, you’re an old man. It’s like you think I’m not in pain myself.”.

“But is it so easy for you?”.

“You think I’m not suffering inside? We’re in the same boat and we’re sinking.”.

“And what is she stood up right now? Looking at you and asking you what were we discussing just before?”.

“Twenty years, dear. Twenty years talking ‘bout the same damn things. Our daughter is gone, don’t you listen to the doctors? Am I wasting away on my own? Am I struggling to keep up with money by myself just to keep on hoping? Why are you doing this? Why in front of others, dear?”.

“I won’t bear this. I can’t bear this.”.

“It’s time to let her rest, us too. Or whatever is left there...”.

“Don’t cry, damn it. Don’t you see I’m holding it myself?”.

   That’s my mom. Stiff as one can be at first just to breakdown in the end. Now my dad must hug her with those big ass arms until she eventually calms down. What I’d do to see them now, even though they must got so old through all those years.

   When my mother stopped sobbing I wiped my eyes and saw the fire waiting ten steps away. Clothes, shoes, all of them slowly melt and drop to the boiling ground. I take the fox in my arms and run away in case we can get saved somehow. The fox doesn’t seem to have much time left. All I see is burnt fur and burst open skin. I barely have the courage to look at his face with this bloody tongue and two concerning little eyes.

-Can you still talk?

-As much as you can run.

   He knows what he’s talking about. My body is slowing growing heavy and lags to respond. We are really dead meat.

-So nothing in here is real, huh? It’s all in my head.

-Does it matter? The point was to get a bit away from all of this. To stretch this as much as possible, until you wake up or until you… You know…

   I’m not forcing the conversation any more. I’m grateful for his stance amidst all this chaos. He looks at me and nods to seal the mutual understanding. I smile and the saltiness from the tears and the blood goes right into my mouth. Awkward yet suitable.

   When my feet start to sink from the upward sprint up the hill, the watch tower is finally revealed about a hundred meters away.

-A little bit of patience, we’re here.

-All of this is so unnecessary. We’re gonna be consumed by the fire in the end.

-I need to talk to them. Last try. Promise.

-As if we had more.

   The rusty ladder moans while I climb it with the fox on my right soldier. The door of the tower room slams by the wind and all the glass windows are shattered with dust pilling up all the way to my knee. All the beer can thrown out, all the books and cds buried; only the desk with the main radio got away through all this. I lie down the fox on a corner of the bed and I examine the completely fucked up world outside. Everything is red and everything flickers in the flames. It’s a matter of minutes now.

   I plug the radio and fix the antenna that gets dragged by the wind outside. The fox is watching me like he wants to make sure I do everything right. I make a weird gesture with my hand to reassure him during his last moments and he smiles. Then I play with the mic switch in my hands due to awkwardness. How much time do I have left? Judging the fire coming close to the window I kinda get the idea. But it seems I don’t need this kind of boogieman anymore to live and move in here; just patience. So I’m looking the frequencies one by one, calling and waiting for a response.

-I don’t know if you can hear me, maybe you escaped. Old people don’t particularly stand those situations. I just called for the sake of it. I called to say it’s ok and I understand, dad. And please tell the other not to whine and be bitter. The only thing missing right now is one last hug with you. If only I could feel a touch on my hand, damn it. Anyway, I’m tired. Be strong. I have no idea if, but I wish we meet again someday. Somewhere by the sea if it’s easy. So much desolation and so much pine, I can’t stand it anymore.

   It’s like I had it written down with the words flowing so easily. I repeated them about twenty or thirty times out loud until my mouth went completely dry. I turn off the mic and look at the flame waving me from every direction. I wave back.

-We’ve said it well, even though no one got to hear it. The most beautiful in vain gesture ever.

How poetic. Didn’t know he had it in him.

   I leave the radio in a frequency full of white noise to scratch my ears to oblivion. I don’t wanna hear my head go off until they reply back. Afterwards I give a tight hug to the fox with all power I have left to a point I think I’m strangling him. He doesn’t flinch, he understands. We sigh together and watch in slow motion the whole process. Fire knocking on the door to come in, surrounding everything, painting them all with a different color as I leave my sweat (and something more) on this cheap mattress. Maybe they didn’t get my message, I think, and I’m kinda holding a grudge at myself. Maybe if I had another chance I wouldn’t waste so much time. Maybe I could even wake up and see them, even if that meant I would die right after. Talk about bad luck, twenty years here and the alarm clock never get me out of bed once. My nerves. I have so much anger I could a person right now. I swear if someone would close my nostrils right now I’d explode from rage.

-So much for breaking your nose, I guess.

-For the love of god SHUT UP.

[robotnikfucker]

10 Questions Tag Game

I’ve been tagged by @jimbotniks​

Rules: Answer the 10 questions, ask a different 10 questions, and tag 10 people

(Small warning, I have ADHD and just took my meds so this is a little ramble-y and disjointed. I apologize, there is no way to fix this, my brain is just like that oops. For courtesy, I’ve put all the long stuff under the cut so you only have to read my monologue if you want to.)

1. What is your favorite genre of music? Why?

Probably indie-rock and indie punk. I like indie-rock largely because my favorite shows in my formative years were Chuck, Bones and a couple other “golden era” crime dramas that all featured a lot of indie-rock music in the background. Indie punk appeals to me because it’s just a good catharsis while also being pretty damn dance-able. Kiwi Jr and AJJ are both really good bands if you need to just let it all out while jamming to some bops.

2. What’s an art project you’ve made that you’re proud of?

I draw angels frequently, often depicting them as humanoid but still terrifying. This was an art theme that I’ve had going since before I was religious and I find that “angelic” imagery can sometimes leak into my other art so a lot of my favorite art is drawings of wings, gore, monsters and all kinds of Gothic themes. Right now, I have a watercolor of Virginia Madsen that I’m just in love with. I was always enchanted by her hypnotized stare in Candyman and I did my best to capture that. I even went out with my girlfriend to buy a gold gel pen so her tears would glitter. From theme to technical prowess, it’s my favorite painting right now and possibly my magnum opus. My previous best was a gore heavy, similarly angel themed, digital painting of Roger Wilco from the Space Quest games (weird special interests, I know.) I could go on about drawings I love for hours, so I’ll cut myself off here with the small post script that this is just my visual art and I also have poetry and prose that I feel similarly about.

3. Do you have a favorite album/podcast to put on in the background while you work or study?

It all really depends on my mood. My girlfriend shared a really relaxing Sovietwave playlist with me recently that I’ve been enjoying. I also listen to a lot of AJJ and Saint Motel, I don’t really think I could really pin down a specific album for either of them. The Candyman soundtrack works really well for study especially for my Gothic and Mystery class. I have a playlist titled Fuck Funk that’s specifically for writing fanfiction since I could never find a good playlist for writing smut when I needed it but I also use that playlist to work out since it’s mostly just a healthy mix of songs that I can jam to. I’ve never liked podcasts for study/work since I can’t really write and listen at the same time but I did make a podcast once for a professor that was a radio-play style parody of Scooby-Doo. I did all of the editing and I still listen back over it and pat myself on the back for turning 2 hours of raw improv into something that got us like a 98. A lot of my own music taste peaks through.

4. If you could become the protagonist/antagonist of any media franchise, which one would you pick and why?

Realistically, Animal Crossing because that’s the safest bet least likely to lead to my death. If we’re gonna get wild... probably BJ Blazkowicz from Wolfenstein so I could kick some N*zi ass or Conan Edogawa/Jimmy Kudo from Case Closed/Detective Conan so I could enjoy that sweet mid 90′s aesthetic.

5. Can you play any instruments? which ones?

I can, actually, I’ve played cello since I was 8 (I’m 18 now) although I’m a little rusty. I played piano and drums for a while and while I’m pretty useless when it comes to piano these days, I still maintain a pretty firm grip on my sense of time and rhythm thanks to the years I spent playing percussion. I played bari sax in middle and high school. I marched it for 3 years until I had a back injury but I was in jazz band all 4 years of high school so I was still playing. I was also in choir for a very long time and even spent my junior and senior years in an acapella Madrigal choir (I still have my costumes from both years) and even though it hasn’t been a whole year since I graduated, I still miss singing. I certainly don’t miss high school but I do miss that choir.

6. Do you collect anything? If so, what?

Not sure if this counts but I’ve been an achievement hunter/completionist since I played Ocarina of Time so I guess I “collect” video game achievements. I also collect lost things when I find them. I have an abandoned library card, two different gym membership cards, and a whole bunch of business cards. I have a small collection of lighters but that’s less about the joy of collecting and more about how often I burn incense. Aside from the usual stuffed animal collection that most people have from childhood, I don’t collect anything else.

7. How many songs are there in your music library?

This is kinda difficult for me to answer. I use Spotify and I don’t always download my music since I have unlimited data, but it currently says that I have 1070 “liked” songs which is likely a little conservative since I had to switch accounts last year and lost some of my music in the process. (This just got me thinkin, back in the iTunes era when songs were 99cents a pop I would have had to pay more than a thousand dollars for that kind of collection.)

8. If you could live anywhere in the world, and at any time in history, where and when would you choose?

So, by any time in history do you mean only the past or the future too? If future is an acceptable answer, I’m gonna say Star Trek. Like if Star Trek ever becomes vaguely reality, I’m going there. Even if the details are wrong, a career as a science officer on a space ship in a universe that isn’t constantly at war and is instead working towards peace and the pursuit of higher knowledge is perfect. If we’re only talking about the past, with no allowances for possible futures, then I think I’d want to live in the 80s in a metropolitan city like New York, Chicago, or Tokyo. Perhaps its misplaced nostalgia, but working as a secretary sounds nice. In the 80s you could still outright buy an apartment instead of renting it and it was actually semi-affordable (at least for the privileged) which as someone facing adulthood in the current economy, sounds like a dream come true. I guess I just want the simplicity and security of economy back then. Lookin for that yuppie life!

9. Have you ever performed live in front of an audience?

I have, several times. Although I’ve never been a headliner or anything I’ve played and sang at school concerts (even had a few solos) and my jazz band once performed for a dance hall full of people. I’ve never been paid unless you count getting a free CD but I’ve performed in front of quite a few live audiences.

Anyway, Jimbotnik didn’t write a tenth question so I guess I get an out. I’m sorry for my rambling answers, that’s just life. I’m gonna tag @jasminerobotnik @zoekrystall @rohotnik since y’all are my Sonic blog mutuals (like my header implies, I keep my main and this side blog separate for privacy’s sake) I’m also tagging @actsoflove @manicrobotnik @dusicielkusiciel @hamil-trash24 @lee-bunny @legally-immortal and @wutevrz

If you’re confused as to why I tagged you, I don’t have many mutuals so I picked followers who I’d seen some interaction from. You don’t have to play if you don’t want to and I’ll delete your tag if you’d prefer. As usual with these games, it’s also open to anyone who wants to get one of these started among their group so if you’re reading this post and wish you’d been tagged, that’s you.

My questions:

Do you wear glasses/contacts? If you wear glasses do you like how they look on you?

Do you have a playlist of music that’s just for when you’re sad? What are your favorite songs from it?

Is there a skill you consider yourself particularly good at?

If you’re the kind of person who uses a reusable water bottle, do you decorate it? If not, what is your favorite drink day to day?

Do you drink diet soda or can you not tolerate the taste?

Do you write fanfiction? What fandoms and genres? Do you share your fic with people you know in real life?

What’s your favorite scent? Do you often buy scented products like incense or candles?

Do you like scary movies? If so, what’s your favorite? If you don’t, what is your favorite genre of films?

What’s your go to movie snack when you’re watching in a theater? What about when you’re watching a movie at home?

What’s your favorite “medium” for art (sculpture, dance, music, painting, drawing, poetry etc.) and which one do you feel most adept at?

[venezolanoanimations1]

Legoshi´s stand (JJBA x beastars) ACT 1,2 & 3

I haven´t seen jojo, i mean, not a full episode but some clips, a few wikis and fan made content, but i have seen beastars (the anime, and few parts part the manga) and i was wonder what if legoshi was a stand user, with the idea that the shadow of his savage tendencys was actually his stand.

Information: the STAND born from the instints of legoshi, he unlock it when he was a pre-teenager, Posses diferent Acts that legoshi can select and switch through the battle. This is a dynamical stand meaning that it requires the user to fight by themself with the enemy user ( i mean againts the person, not the stand) and each Act have its onw abilitys

Name: Wild Side (localization name: Savage Side or primal tendency)

Stats:

 Power: Unknow

 Speed: Unknow

 Range: Unknow

Durability:Unknow

Precision: Unknow

Potencial:Unknow

 Abilitys (general):

 Predator: this can turn the tide of the battle real quick and make a [Wilde Side] one of the most powerfull stands. It allow to change the stats of [Wilde side] specific way, turnig it into the best counter for the enemy stando, and either making the user inmune to the enemy stand ability, counter the ablity, interfer or just stop the ablity. But legoshi need to know the name of the stand and have a small idea of the ability.

 Well, there´s the option of leave this to the hunting instincs of the stand with the promise of have 100% correct guess but is a huge gamble cuz it leave a big fat oportunity to the stand get out of control and go complete apeshit (like purple haze).

 Example: it make legoshi and the stand able to move in the stop time world or be fast enough to outrun made in heaven and it slow down to cancel the universe reset.

 However it can only preying on one stand at a time

Animality: Allows legoshi to gain any ability of any animal he do desire and multiply it by 50 (like speed of cheetah, strength of gorilla, etc.), and if he say a specific part of his body, only that part it going to be power up, being able so use more abilities from anothers animals and combine them. but he has to know the animal not only by name but species, and it not have to be a real animal, but it has to be considerate as one. It doesn´t changes the physical appearance, only change either the resistance, strength, density, etc.

Example: The tough back of a turtle and the ablity to fly of the eagle by using his arms. (something similar of kars ablity but with no need of grow up wings)

Stand´s User Card:

ACT 1:

                                                 Mostly for combat

It is base in the shadow that hunts legoshi mind. having the idea that is something than just escaped from a heavy containment, wearing a prison looking pants qiht the number 18 on it and classic fetter-ball, have many rusty prison chains made of combination of iron and silver. This chains represent the will, determination and struggle of legoshi to keep this side of him under lock

I added some things like the lines of legoshi beast mode, and dog-prison-collar with the word ACT and the number 1 on it.

This ACT try  often to take over control of legoshi mind to make him puppet of his instins and go in rampage, being controled by Act1 makes legoshi mostly invecible, almost inmortal, like if Lobo and Deadpool have a bab, but this is not good thing, he have no control of his actions in that stade, only able to see the horror from a loony place of his - now- controled brain and heart.

To give a idea of how screw up this situation would be: imagine if legoshi have Cartoon cat´s personality and evilness, and mulplied for 50.

 Unique abilitys:

Wild instincs: power up user´s sences, to levels that he can see the essence of the prey (enemys) throuhg walls, can hear sounds in 700 metros radio and say what makes that sound, the same thing with the smell.

Beast mode: it give to legoshi his iconic beast mode. As simple as it is, but this time - being aware of his stando- come with a insanely high pain toleracen ( can even being injured like Kakyoin and still fighting like hell) and light self-healing factor.

Act II

This one comes after legoshi meet Gohin and build a more deep relationship wiht him, since he is a doctor and help legoshi with instinct issues, making him to take control of his strengh, showing him that he can use his inner beast to protect and help others ( or in this case, his love one) but it do not mean that he accept that part of him yet, and still thinking that it must be under look and locked, but now, teh containment is less heavy that the previus one. It wear straitjacket with a gohin logo in the back, a light chains and the keys hanging in the belt of it, the sign of act II in the rigth arm and a ¨love one¨ sticker in the left arm (Lousi haru and jack)

Unique abilitys:

Containment belt: can tie up enemys (stands or users) with the belts that come out of the straitjacket with limit of 8 belts, wiht a range of 10 meters, it also can transfer information from the user mind to digital divices of any kind and to other person by using said belt.

Lobotomia or brainwash: By a deep look into the enemys eyes, allow to go inside of their minds and screw it up, making them a sorta of zombie-slave for a period of 10 minutes, this can be inflected by legoshi or act 2, but the conditions are that if stand do it, It have to look into the enemy stand eyes to be efective, meaning that i need to get the stand closer; like point blank, it takes 2 minutes to complete (givin the enemy space for try ro escape or for legoshi to being interrupted)

Bioquimical engaged: since legoshi is the grandson of a komodo dragon his front fangs have small hole in them, but legoshi posses not bag of venom (this is not canon as far as i know, is just a thing that pop my head) well, this ability allows to uses his hybrid reptilian-canine to infelct a hard bite to inject any kind of substance into targets veins. (something like harvest)

Act 3

The strongest version of the stand when it comes to abilities, but the most difficult to summon, cuz it need to be a complete balance and domination between act 1 & 2. Legoshi need be focus and calm to use it and keep through the battle.

It appears when he ate the foot of louis to save their butts, accepting that he cannot denied or ignore his carnivore status, either the upsides and downsides of being a carnivore, and he can’t change it, but it doesn´t mean than that part of him can be used for good, or to protect his friends in his full capacity at least.

Now completely free and balance, this ACT of [WILD SIDE] has total loyal at his master commands.

It has written in the back the names of the people, that mean something to legoshi, the ones that he sees as friends or care about, wears the same pants that legoshi have in that part of the manga - when he unlocks it- and it was design to look like a function between act1 & act 2

Unique abilities:

Wolfpack: this is a very but VERY unique ability, is simple, it can bring to the battlefield the other to ACTs, in cases to fight multiples enemies, allow them to use predator in two more enemies. but in need a big concentration and mind strength from the user, cuz now, it is like he was controlling 3 stand a once.

Legoshi must to be careful in his choice of abilities to use, to which enemy send the ACT and which one use, the strategy to follow, to which act pay more attention, or just let go the other two ACT on free run with the gamble of lose control over them. A least, it minimizes very much the harm that legoshi get from stands injures by distribute the pain.

Catarino spit: its more for support stuff, in a few word is like have [Crazy diamond´s] ability but it only can use through saliva, and in a limited amount with a cooldown of 30 seconds.

The name is reference to a Mexican song - I’m from Venezuela by the way- called ¨el paciente¨ on the line that said ¨quisiera ser catarino pa´ curarme con saliva¨ translated something like: I would want to be a ladybug to heal myself with saliva -yeah, do not attempt to find any sense on that- which is another reference to other Mexican musician called Erasmo Catrino.

Catarino= male version of the word Catarina, which´s mean ladybug in Spanish.

Lone wolf´s call: this is for when the satiation turns ant color (very hard) Act 3 shout a big noise howl, so high, that can kill a person with it; if them no cover their ears. This not only can alert the alleys of legoshi about unseen dangers, but also give them – the allies- the localization of the wolf by showing his aura through the walls.

it can bring for 15 minutes the essence of any stand (Even enemies) that was in that area the last 10 minutes and give them just specific command either to defend legoshi, attack the enemies or just distract them and take the user out there. The thing with this is that make legoshi very tired, so it is an only-emergency-move.

(the command cannot be changed and the stand that show up go complete auto mode and half of capacity)

Example: Legoshi is outnumber, heavy hurt and bleeding, surrounded by enemies, unable to fight any longer, take deed breath and realized ACT3 and it call the cavalry, so, Stands starts to appear from the floor, looking at legoshi, the wofl has no ideads that what shit guys do, so he choice the buy time by make a divercion.

Meanwhile in the distance: The Cherrintong gang run as faster as they can, cuz they hear and see the backup call of legoshi, they know what that means, he is in trouble and big ones.}

And in the end but not less important.

The Stand User Card:

So what ya think guys, did you like it, lads? i hope so.

 Well, i have another ideas to make a gang of stand users with the characters of beastars, like the stardust crusaders, Mama bruno squad  (passione) or Josuke´s friends.

 What ya think,did i should make it?

[gplewis]

🎨

here’s the mess I created on my easel of raw thoughts today, i post it so to relieve myself of the burden of consciousness; i am also relearning what it is to Be a Person and Post Online; I am tired of thinking and closing the gaps between thoughts and feelings, memories and concepts, and maybe it is crucial that I wring my instruments out completely every day for years ~ why? to be great? to be free? undeniable? i have stopped making sense, and the burden of all this content i’ve made becomes greater; the mess to reflect on and scroll past grows larger and more gruesome, yet something urges me on to keep using every word i know and turn it into material, i have given up every other life, every other goal, i have insisted on my silence and freedom and now i must sing the song that makes it worth it, oh god, would i tell you to click elsewhere?

https://linktr.ee/gplewis

all my other stuff is there; i don’t know how to plate myself yet, i’m insane, but i’m shipping this stuff to you for free, here, world, take it all and eat it, digest me, spit me back out as fowl feathers and rusty bone — oh, an impossible image! yes, makes sense; oh, words running into each other, colliding in patterns that aren’t mathematical; oh, more brain cycles that don’t fit, more dementia, more risks of alienation, more reason to go from imagined to real

stop making sense was the musicians’ advice i heeded

swimming in Pinterest pins before the world ends, drawing for my inner sensor directions to the promised land: surely these two co-imagine my final resting place when nestled together in this digital box birthed today, live, right here, mooing calf ~ oh no, the voice is off its hinges

oh no now it doesn’t make sense who will know how to delete this?

how to live uncontainable?

if someone dares brand my leakage;

poems from today that could use some line breaks

poetry flow 9/24/20; dare I brand? SOME MAN WITH POWER AND STATURE: COME RESCUE ME! but no, all there is is the iron hand of Sylvia Plath with a feminine mystique injected in like air flowing through veins that open up like poppies on an undisturbed hillside that looks at no calendar, measures itself according to no past

it is me who is separated from the people i love perception is the distance; not acting is the only holdup; my own choked throat locked up with not-speaking; doesn’t current want to flow? who is the wanter? need i know? knowledge is the chokepoint of course, that impossible possession

who could sort this poetry? everyone is online remembering or filming a video trying to get close to an essence

tracking the meaning, doing the acts I’ve become an expert seafarer of the void in which nothing counts and nothing lasts nothing is real except chemistry and fear and love and love and LOVE the real children we love; love’s insistence on reality an invention the camera freezes for us: we look and we believe

as the spiritual athlete’s quick but abstract ability to let go I can take a clipping from anything and continue it, continue any other human’s thought as if it were mine, intuit their situation (having consumed too many slices, glimpsed too many cracks of light emanating from broken hearts, hungry lives, fervors for success, aspiration machines seated at laptops bleating their desire, sheep hoping for rescue, to be clicked and paid enough, a slippery mountain of meaningless consequence — the powerful play goes on without us; we cling to life and our standing but it is nothing, it is water flowing down a cliff, and even being one of greats is no salvation; knowing is no escape from living. Chop wood, carry water, survive your family, interpret your connections to others, keep the act going,

if only i could share what i see and the glory of seeing, and have you understand how i’ve arrived at it; i’ve made myself a plane hard to land, impossible to land; i drive down and there’s no surface, only void — above us, only sky; no hard surface to etch into that wouldn’t suffer and lose the competition for sight against the other surfaces and screwed-up eyeballs; can a poet love anything but his silence?

seeking what’s beyond the human compass for years now a decade plus proof is there, wanna see? the picasso quotes from 2010, proof of my longing for justice and peace with the cosmos digital money permission safety won’t be hard or given, it can’t but poetry can fall from my hunger and it won’t be good enough i could die writing and refresh the pile of all below making poets great again pushing the cement block forward making it maybe possible once more to be the kind of person who observes, thinks, notices, knows how to look speaks sings paints dances do we want it? who will finance it? how could it be? how could it not be? we’re writing a cautionary tale collectively

noticing a squirrel climbing the steps with limbs like mine we both share using our bodies to rescue us to pull us up naked on the planet

doing unpaid symphonies giving music away for free for free for free for free maybe doing it is the way to make it real, make it the norm, yes don’t you wish to be rescued by normalcy?

these could be poems if someone broke down the door and defined you, brought you out or maybe they only make sense if you’re dead

what happens when you’re out of gas? thought thought endless rabbit void wandering in again nothing there, no food water shelter nothing to hold you yet you go through the door to eternity to nothingness obliteration and can’t resist? why? life is here, a woman her arms surely you can’t just sketch your way to staying away from life, resisting buying a house, housing yourself, fulfilling the proper I guess mine is a liquid war with propriety

keep going in the dark might be the only advice keep doing the mystical keep making what has to be made keep making what there is to make from your awareness, your inner voice it would be strange at first, no? this conversation with no one featuring a new person if only the whole mess could be uploaded and understood tweeting is a writing aid, writing is a tweeting aid it’s all practice, performance, conversation, metrics, measurement, discussion: but who pays the rent? is there a man working a boring job somewhere? why is that the solution? but of course the man (me) asking why the world isn’t different is alone; aloneness is the virtue; i’m at the center of my decay

waiting to be bought

posting everywhere hoping someone sees it at least i die in league with other people posting too floating heads active now, making stuff, going live putting themselves out there radiating their essence into the universe i am rebuilding my world in a way someone could read and make sense of maybe these lines endlessly tabbed down this flow, this inner music only i heard is readable, will be read, recognized, made real in the world i look at onscreen and call ‘the world’; i wonder if we’re all trying to merge our versions of the world

write as if there is no world the silence of everyone being elsewhere it’s like I woke up to a Twitter and was the last man alive, empty planet

leaking manifold fuselage falling into the sea an explosion waiting to happen and devastate the audience who's already reeling, can't bear another video of bad news bad news bad news worse news no, save them, give them something happy a clown dressed in white & red would that do?

there will be no rescue but perception and inaction, followed by actions you wish someone would understand like you do

we’re just looking for someone whose inner voice is ours; we’re looking for ourself but it’s not enough and so we find a competitor draw them close like an escaped prisoner would be drawn and quartered in Medieval times, limbs pulled apart by horses running outward from a center I join the artists who paint darkly

[langdvn]

Hell

Summary: this is basically the reader in Madison’s place/personal hell and Michael takes the offer of her blowing him.

Warnings: oral sex, dirty talk, your basic smut stuff.

A/N: after watching the episode last night I couldn’t not make this ok, it was needed! I’m a little rusty because I haven’t written in a while, but I hope you guys enjoy and request are open!

Ending up in her own personal hell was not the way she thought her life was going to go. She had big dreams and even bigger plans, and being famous meant she could actually make those dreams come true.

But then she got herself in a mess and winded up in a department store full of screaming customers and crying babies, and a boss that’s the literal devil.

Her life once had meaning, even if that meaning wasn’t the most prominent one and even if she is to blame for her untimely death, it had meaning to her. And now she had nothing. Nothing to look forward to, no one to hold a meaning conversation with besides the endless customers who were always the same snobby soccer mom or the annoyed housewife who wanted to return something used.

Her life was now a never ending hell. Literally.

She never thought she would actually miss social interaction with real people. The smell of clean air, or the sun on her skin. Even the touch of another person. Intimate or not. She craved it. But she knew it was something she could only fantasize about. There was no getting out of this place.

The worst part about this hell was when she would be sent to refold something she has folded a million times but never seemed to ever stay in it’s neat form. Or hanging clothes on the rack that never stayed on their hangers, always slipping and tumbling to the ground. If this were a normal persons real life situation, she’s sure she would have back problems from the amount of bending over and lifting she does. But sadly the only thing she feels in annoyance and frustration.

Sometimes she thinks she forgotten how to feel any other emotion. Or what it feels like to touch something other than clothes and towels and boxes, or what it feels like to touch a real life person and not a fake.

Today was no different from any other day of eternity she has spent in here.

She let out a heavy groan as she bent down to pick up the stack of linens that magically fell from the shelf she was pretty sure she fixed a few minutes ago. But time in here was non existent and at this point she could honestly be imagining things.

She sat on her knees, grabbing each one of the linens as she folded them neatly into a pile. Hoping, but knowing better, that it would stay like this, neat and pristine.

She turned to start on the other stack that had also tumbled to the floor when a pair of sleek dress shoes came to a stop in front of her. Looking up slowly as she prepared herself for some overbearing robotic costumer to yell down at her over something she may or may not have done.

But when her eyes met a beautiful pair of blue ones her eyes widened in surprise. He looked different than the rest of them. He looked real. His hair was effortlessly perfectly done, his curls looking that of beautiful waves you’d see out at sea. He was wearing a black suit that looked so sleek she doubts it’s ever had a wrinkle on it.

He was definitely not like the others here.

“Hello.” His smile is genuine, real. His hands are behind his back and his stature is cool and collected, unbothered of his surroundings. Like it’s an everyday thing that he’s in someone’s personal hell.

“Who are you?” She asks wearily from her place on the floor. “You’re not like the others..” she looks around to the miscellaneous of people who are aimlessly weaving in and out of aisles, dirty looks on their face, shooting her scowls. “You’re different.” Her eyes travel along every piece of him, studying him. Everything about him screams confidence and ‘I’m not from here can’t ya tell’ and he’s attractive beyond belief, and she’s not just saying that since she hasn’t seen a decent looking person, let alone a guy, in god knows how long. If she were to have met him before all of this she would have surely put on a show of flirting, might of even winded up going home with him. But this is hell and she doesn’t know if devil himself would even allow such pleasures of her in here. She’s here to suffer not get off.

“You can tell?” His face contorts in interest. “Interesting. I would think most souls wouldn’t have any awareness in their personal hell.” He laughs softly. “The confusion would only add to the suffering.”

“Well,” she huffs out. “I guess even in the after life I’m cursed with knowing more than I should, or anyone else. Maybe that’s a part of my never ending punishment of being in hell.” His lips pull up into a small smirk and it makes her smile slightly. Like actually smile. She doesn’t remember when she last smiled at all. She was sure you weren’t supposed to be smiling in hell.

She sighs as she turns her attention back to folding the linens in her hands. “Who are you, anyway?”

“I’m the man who’s gonna get you out of here.”

She can’t help but let out a loud laugh, it echoing throughout the store. “Yeah, right. This isn’t heaven.” She reaches for the other fallen cloths, his foot coming to land on it before she can snatch it. She looks up to him and see’s his expression is stern. Finding no humor or joking in the matter. He’s serious.

“What’s the catch?” She inquires. “There’s always a catch.” She rolls her eyes as she remembers the countless times someone offered her something, only for there to be a catch in place of it. Usually something demeaning or involving her money. “Do I have to blow you or something?”

The thought isn’t a bad one. She’s done worse for things she’s wanted in her past life. And the thought alone makes her stomach drop, a feeling she hasn’t felt since she was alive. A feeling that goes straight to her core and has her pressing her thighs together even more.

He watches her. He notices the way her pupils dilate after the words come out of her mouth. Joking or not, the air in the room shifts and he can tell that it’s no joke. Her manner completely changing. She’s eyeing him all over, her gaze traveling from his face, to his chest, to the part of him she wants most.

“Do you want to?” He asks, his voice octaves lower than it just was. He steps forward, pushing the linens to the side to come even closer to her. “Would you like that?”

She’s surprised at his question. She’s even more surprised when he steps closer to her, her face inches away from the part of his body in question. Her breath hitches and if she had a beating heart it would be hammering in her chest. But all she feels is the ache between her thighs and flutter of her stomach and the need to inch forward even more. And so she does. She inches forward to where there is no more space and she’s straining her neck to look up at him, as she replies with a needy, “Yes.”

The corner of his mouth tips up into a smirk. He doesn’t say anything, not a yes, or go for it. But she feels like begging and she’s sure he’s waiting for it, or already knows with the look he’s giving her. And god knows when she’s going to get another chance like this, if what he says is true and he’s here to take her out of her or if his words were false. She doesn’t know. But she doesn’t want to let this chance slip away from her.

Her eyes are like that of a does. Big, begging, needy, it makes the confidence within him rise, that to of a level where he feels cocky. This once so strong witch on her knees in front of him, begging to just get one touch of him. It excites him. Makes him feel even more in power. It makes him visibly hard and he swears he can see her mouth watering.

And then he hears the magic words.

“Please,” she begs. Her fingers digging into her thighs, wanting to reach out and touch him so bad, but he doesn’t seem like the type to not ask for permission first. His stance alone told her that about him. And her eyes are pleading with him as she stares up at him, hoping, praying he lets her. That he doesn’t say no and leave her high and dry.

A simple nod is all it takes, her eyes linger on his for a few short seconds to make sure he really meant it, that this was really happening and with a smirk she knows he’s given her permission.

Her eyes never leave his as as she reaches up to undo his pants. His hands coming to stop hers, shaking his head. Worry going through, maybe she read him wrong. But he’s pulling her hands back to unzip the fly of his pants.

His pants probably cost more than her life she thinks. He wouldn’t want them on the dirty floor, she is slightly disgusted at herself for being on the floor. But to be on her needs in front of someone so beautifully intriguing she doesn’t mind. She doesn’t care. And when he pulls himself from the confines of his pants every thought she had of how this may be wrong and crazy and even in death she can’t control herself, leave her mind. And all she wants, all she needs, is him.

Her hand loosely wraps around his dick, his eyes glued to hers. She wants to go for it, not to so slow, but he slows her actions down as he lets his hand come to the top of her head, running his fingers through her hair and down to her cheek, the heat of his fingers against her skin enough to make her moan. He doesn’t stop until he’s at her jaw, his hand gripping her chin, his thumb coming up to her bottom lip, the tip of it swiping across it before he slips it into her already open mouth.

He doesn’t have to ask her, or tell her what to do she already knows what he wants as she wraps her lips around his finger and sucks. She watches him swallow hard as he watches her. His eyes never leaving her mouth, never looking away from the show she’s putting on.

And after a few seconds her pulls the digit from her mouth and puts his hand on the back of her head, he doesn’t push her forward or force her head to his member. No. She does that on her own. Her mouth wet and ready for him as she leans forward and swipes the tip of her tongue across the head of his dick. Michael letting out a low hiss at the contact. It makes her smirk and soon she has her lips wrapped around his head, using her hand to stroke the area her mouth has yet to touch.

His stare edging her to slide her mouth further down his length until her mouth meets her hand. He can see her eyes water from taking all of him in her mouth and he loves it. Loves the throaty moans that are coming from her, the way the vibrate against his dick making a shiver go down his spine.

This isn’t here first rodeo, the way she skillfully works her mouth on him, the way her tongue twists around his head or jerk of her hands. She’s done this before. But never with someone like him.

She could tell you in all the times she had ever blew some guy in her past life, they never tasted of anything. Smelled like anything. But he did. He tasted sweet, like something she had never tasted before. It made her mouth water even more, saliva dripping down her chin as she worked her mouth along his length.

And he must like what she’s doing as she feels the grip in her hair tighten, the feeling of her hair being slightly pulled making her moan around him.

“You love this, don’t you?” He asks her lowly, his voice gruff. “Even in hell you can’t control yourself. Dropping to your knees, begging me to fuck your pretty mouth.” Michael groans.

She’s looking up at him with hooded eyes, his words making her ache more, making her work her mouth harder, taking him as far as she can, until his dick reaches resistance at the back of her throat. His teeth coming to sink into his bottom lip as he watches, throaty moans coming from him.

And even with him this deep in her mouth, she wants more. Wants more of him. Wants to taste more of him. The need to feel him tug at her hair, to watch his eyes roll back into his head, to feel his hips sputter up into her mouth, to hear his moans and degradings of her. She needed it all.

“You take it so good.” Michael murmurs. “You’re so good.”

Both of his hands come to either side of her face and she knows to stop moving without him asking, as he thrusts his hips up into her mouth. The noises her mouth makes and the way she gags around him, doesn’t stop him. It makes the throaty moans fall from his open mouth more, his breath coming out heavier, in fast puffs. He was close.

And the anticipation of feeling him empty himself into her mouth, the warmth of it dripping down her tongue and throat, made needy moans come from her.

But, she was left a little disappointed when he pulled himself from her mouth. One of his hands still tangled in her hair, while the other wraps itself around his dick stroking himself fast.

“Do you want it?”

She nods with a moan as she opens her mouth for him.

“Tell me how bad you want it.” He stares down at her with a slight scowl, his breath heavy. “Beg me for it.”

“Please.” She whines. “I want it so bad. Want to taste you.”

“So needy.” He groans and his eyes roll back, his hand stroking himself faster, until he’s coming with a low throaty moan, his hot seed coating her tongue and chin.

She moans at the taste. It’s sweet, sweeter than the tate of his dick against her tongue. And not like any other she has tasted before. In her past life she hardly, if ever, let men come in her mouth. The taste alone made her stomach sour. But this was different. Michael was different. Not like anyone she had ever let get this far with her.

His breathing is still heavy and he watches her with a satisfied smirk as she swipes the remaining off her chin and licks it clean off of her fingers.

She doesn’t notice that he’s already put himself back in his pants and that his demeanor is back to his cool, calm and collected. His hair still perfectly, his clothes, specifically his pants area having no proof of what just happened.

She doesn’t feel a burn in her throat from his length like she wishes she could. Her never ending, can’t feel anything status back.

“It’s time to go now.” He says cooly, a small smile on his face. He reaches out her hand to her and she takes it, standing from her knees.

He doesn’t say anything else about what just happened, and she doesn’t dare to. She almost wants to ask him if they could do this again. She wouldn’t mind. She’d love to. And when she’s out of hell the possibilities of things they could do would be endless and the thought makes her ache come back, and a smirk form across her lips.

[bobokitty]

For the past...oh, few weeks, I’ve been busy with a personal project that, admittedly, is taking me way longer than it should (my fault for being so rusty when it comes to coloring digitally). So....SO! Here’s some stuff from my first assignment in my storyboarding course. I have no idea what I’m doing! :D Also! I need to get new markers cuz wow yeah mine are mostly dried out! Yeah! I’m very tired!