#I'm not even making progress
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you guys remember olney handkerchief, right? I confess I sometimes forget about our olney handkerchief for months at a time...
anyway.
since my last update on this project (when dinosaurs roamed the earth) I have actually made some progress. today I even moved the lace up another notch - which incidentally meant it was time to free the first bit of lace from the last few of its pins! I do love unpinning. I try not to fiddle with the lace too much after it's free - must keep it clean - but... just a little won't hurt...
so cool right?
#bobbin lace#bucks point#olney handkerchief#actually you know what gonna blaze this because dangit it IS cool#and I'm proud of making progress on this#even though it is slow
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Sunday doodles, design is ER!ralsei from @lynxgriffin 's Eldritchrune AU (hope the tag is okay!)
#ralsei#ER!ralsei#deltarune#eldritchrune#doodles#sunday doodles#i think theres a lesson here to be learned about visual clarity#i showed this to three different people and nobody could make out what this was#i need to try and make things readable even to people who havent seen the thing im drawing for#these are just thirty minute doodles but I'll keep that in mind when i draw him again#uhh also ignore his horns going back farther than his head that was totally 100% on purpose and definitely NOT a mistake (lmao)#they could theoretically curve around again to meet with his head so yeah that totally works yeah yeah#haha anyway this was fun to draw... love playing with just black and white and no greys#the lack of midtones makes planning the rendering a fun challenge#i'm sorry about your wrist btw if you're seeing this! i hope you're able to get back the progress you made on it without too much trouble <3
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It's summer for you, winter for me. Warm me up with strawberry fluff! As always, my muse, your muse, the one and only, Eddie.
Midsummer's night, because I don't have a lot to inspire you with. I'm thinking something cute but weird? Maybe some human body softness where Eddie is a bit of a freak and we love him for it. And we're told our bodies are lovely, even when they're doing weird shit.
I lalalove youuuuu. xo Rhi
RHI!!!! <3 i adore you. thank you for this prompt - i had far too many ideas for it, but ended up on settling for this one, which coincidentally feels like the most subtle of them all? either way, it definitely turned out being the softest. give me an eddie munson who just wants to sniff me like a dog. this definitely got a bit long but i hope you enjoy, my dear <3
the smell of you
warnings: weirdos in love? idk. i have a skewed sense of what is actually weird i think. mentions of death and coffins jokingly. eddie 'manhandles' reader sort of. not edited.
wc: 2.2k+
come enjoy a sweet summer treat with me <3
“Eddie?”
The entire apartment is quiet – too quiet – as you drop your keys into the old crystal bowl on the counter. The clink resonates through the air, louder than the soft murmur of the stereo static you can hear from down the hall.
“You dead?” you call out again, slipping off your running shoes and tossing down your headphones onto the counter as well now, “Do I need to call the coroner?”
Your tone is lilted, teasing with airiness as you continue to wander deeper into the apartment and head straight for the room you know Eddie has to be in. Like the waves pulled by the moon, there’s an incessant string tied around one end of your soul that connects you to his, and you follow it all the way down the hallway. The bedroom door is wide open, and you can hear his mumbled yell of a response without clarity before you even cross the threshold.
You wouldn’t have even needed him to verbally respond to find him in this tiny apartment. You two could get separated on the streets of a bustling city, of a buzzing New York sidewalk, and you still wouldn’t properly lose him. It’s more than just soul ties and his gravity that keeps you pulled to him.
Something unspoken. Something homely.
“Sorry, what was that?” you hum as you spy him face-down in the bed, pillow muting him by the mouthful, “Say it one more time, and this time not into the pillow.”
When he finally properly turns over, he’s a vision. Sleep lines folded into his skin and a bit of drool in the corner of his mouth, eyes squinting in irritation not at you but the sunlight flooding in through the bedroom window. Messy hair, messy shirt, messy everything. A kind of mess you just want to collapse into currently, curling up in all that he is from the day’s exhaustion.
He’d mentioned wanting to take a nap before you’d left for the gym. Something about the summer heat draining him, trailing off as he’d rambled about how he’d probably thrive as a vampire.
“I said,” he huffs, sitting up, the frizz of his hair becoming a makeshift halo, “If you call the coroner, request the comfiest coffin possible.”
“Why do you need a comfy coffin if you’re already dead?”
“You dare deny me of being buried in tempurpedic memory foam? In my hour of need?”
You roll your eyes as you huff out a little laugh, forcing yourself to turn away from him long enough to strip out of your socks. But just as you reach down for the pieces of clothing, you catch sight of the source of that stereo static flooding the room.
Your shared record player, spinning a blood red pressing of one of your more recent vinyl purchases. The album has been played through, but the player no longer had an automatic stop mechanism, probably from years of use.
The center of the record is probably scratched, and Eddie knows it, from how sheepish he looks when you glance over your shoulder at him.
“Speaking of death,” you walk over quickly, purposefully, before carefully lifting the needle and cutting the static finally, “Care to explain why you’re burning scratches into my Momento Mori vinyl?”
“I’m sorry,” he quickly apologizes, nearly flinging himself off the bed as he scooches quickly to the end, clearly fully awake now, “I put it on and thought I’d just lay down for a quick second, but then the bed was so comfy, and I thought it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick nap, and then…” he trails off, looking up at you through his lashes with big eyes already pleading for forgiveness, “I’ll buy you a new one. Swear it.”
It’s impossible to be mad at him when he’s looking like this, inhumanely soft and easily forgiven, “You’re lucky you’re cute, or you really would be dead.”
He doesn’t respond with words, but instead the outstretch of his hands, fingers flexing as he beckons to you. The needle rests on its perch, the vinyl left behind to gather dust for a few extra moments, as you go straight to him.
When his palms slip beneath your old t-shirt and meet your skin, they’re pleasantly warm.
“You were right,” you admit as his knees spread, delegating even more room for you to stand in front of him as your hand wanders to cradle the side of his face, fingers tangling in sweaty curls from his rest. Your thumb mimics his on your own skin instinctively, tracing a large arch right up over his cheekbone, “It’s hot as balls outside.”
“Told you so,” he murmurs, smiling softly in satisfaction as he leans lazily into your touch.
“You did,” you agree quietly, half-entranced by his relaxed face, no sight of pride in the room currently.
He resembles a cat as he continues to preen under your gentle hand, and you almost expect him to start purring right before you find the strength to pull away, removing his hands from where they'd wandered to your lower back.
One swipe of his finger along your sweaty spine, and you’d remembered what your original intentions had been immediately upon getting home.
“Wai- Where are you going?” he’s seemingly brought back down to Earth the moment he loses the pattern your thumb had been tracing, the press of your fingertips into his scalp. When he reaches back out to latch onto you again, you take a step back, “Get back here-”
“I need to shower,” you laugh, shaking your head and smacking his hands away as he continues to barter, “I’m all sweaty and smelly, let me go clean up and then we can nap togeth-”
“You can shower after we nap,” he nearly whines, finally catching your shirt between his fingers and tugging, uncaring for if he stretches the fabric. A small price to pay to have you close to him, “C’mon, sweetheart. I know you’re just as exhausted as I am.”
You swear you meant to take another step backwards, but somehow, you end up back between his knees, “Did you not hear me, Munson? I stink.”
“Good.”
He doesn’t give you any time to react – in an instant, he’s throwing his face forward, burying it against your stomach as you let out a gasp and immediately try to pry him away with far too gentle of hands in his hair.
“Eddie!”
If it were anyone else, you’d probably be mortified. But Eddie just takes a dramatic deep breath in, nose buried just shy of your belly button, and when his shoulders start to shake with muted laughter, you can’t stop the smile from breaking. Your fingers are still twisted in his hair, still pulling back in an attempt to get him away from you, but he’s resilient.
And all your faux resistance is weak in comparison. Soon enough, you’re back to melting into him.
Only once you’re relaxed once more, no sign of trying to pull away again any time soon as his hands once more evade the space beneath your shirt to wander up and down your sticky skin without a care in the world, does he lift his face away from you long enough to breathe and speak, “I’ll have you know – I love your stink.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m serious.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“I’m your idiot.”
The game of banter is cut short when he goes back to pressing his nose into your clothes that surely can’t smell good. No amount of deodorant or perfume could erase that underlying stench of sweat. Hell, the shirt is still a bit moist from it all: from the walk to the gym, from your workout itself, from the walk home. It’d been through the ringer, and you’re back to tugging him away from you.
“I refuse to believe you like how gross I smell right now,” you reinforce, eyes darting towards the bathroom connected to your master bedroom, “I promise I’ll be quick with the shower.”
“Baby,” he fights back, wrapping his arms around you securely, no intention of losing this battle, “You remember that time we went to the fair, and you were complaining about how you were sweating, so I tried to lick your face?”
Your nose scrunches quickly at the memory, “I do, unfortunately.”
“You really think I’d be willing to lick the sweat off your body but be afraid of you smelling a little bad while we cuddle?” his shoulders drop as he looks up at you, head tilted, almost as if amused with the conversation, “What kind of man do you take me for?”
“The kind that gets off on annoying me.”
His jaw drops, putting on a fake look of offense before he dramatically throws himself back onto the bed, laying flat as he makes a fist to mimic stabbing his chest, “You wound me.”
You’ve heard those words a thousand times in a hundred different ridiculous voices. You’ve seen this scene enough to have it mesmerized at this point, down to the over-exaggerated pout of his lips and the lingering of the fist against his sternum.
You never grow tired of it. You never will.
“Need me to kiss it better?” you joke as you prop a knee up on the bed, following the same script as always.
And he hits his queue perfectly when he lifts his head eagerly at the expected response, wiggling his brows a bit. “Absolutely. Doctor’s orders, in fact.”
“Great,” you see an opportunity, and take it, “I’ll get right to it, after my showe-”
You don’t even get the final syllable of the word off your tongue before he’s clenching his thighs around your own, knees pressing hard before he wraps his legs the rest of the way around your waist to pull you in. A squeak of surprise leaves your lips as you begin to fall forward, but Eddie is quick to break the fall with ease. Catching you with his eager hands, maneuvering for you to half drop to the mattress while some of you still lands atop of him.
He has you right where he wants you, turning his head to be face to face with you, noses nearly brushing, “Unfortunately, the doc said you have to kiss it better now, or else you’ll be comfy coffin shopping.”
“A fatal wound?” you gasp, nearly mocking him. It doesn’t offend him – if anything, his boyish grin only grows wider, “First, I’m smelly-”
“Again, I like when you’re smelly.”
“-And then I inflict a fatal wound upon my lover? Oh, how dare I.”
Slowly, all your insecurity of how you currently smell is simply fading. The entire ordeal has become an art of childlike, whimsical jokes – and Eddie is an artist. A professional at the dance, locked and loaded with his incomparable skill set equipped for disarming you this way. The ability to make someone feel loved, imperfections and weirdness aside.
He likes you, even when you claim you don’t smell your best. And you like him, even when his hair is tangled beyond recognition and one of his socks is half-hanging off his foot from a nap.
You like him when he’s embarrassing you in public, tongue chasing after you with the threat of licking your sweat away, and he likes you when all you can do in response is a weak palm to his chest (that isn’t even making an effort to push him away) as you giggle relentlessly.
You like each other on the good days, the bad days, the weird days.
Disarmed entirely, you don’t even notice when his face conveniently slots itself far too close to your armpit as you two scooch further up into the bed. You’re more occupied with the way your legs tangle up, toeing each other’s socks off properly as he slings a heavy arm across your torso.
“We’re gonna have to wash the sheets,” you mumble, exhaustion catching up as the two of you finally settle.
He hums absentmindedly, nuzzling into your skin a bit further as he makes himself comfortable. “And wash away your sweet, sweet stink? I don’t think so, sweetheart.”
“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh, unbothered as your fingers start to trail up and down his back over the t-shirt, smoothing out wrinkles along the way, “I’m serious. We need to change them soon anyways, I think I got crumbs in the bed the other night with those crackers.”
“Bury me in the crumbs of all your midnight snacks,” he almost slurs, clearly drifting back off.
You snort in response, relaxing and letting your own eyes shut. Matching all your deep breaths with his own, a million different last words crossing your mind to whisper to the boy you’re sure is once again asleep.
I love you.
I adore you.
I would like to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll have me.
And maybe some of those unspoken thoughts slip out without you realizing, because he squeezes you just a little bit tighter, presses his face just a little bit deeper into your skin as his scruff tickles you.
The only actual thought you can know for certain that you say, though, is, “Do you think they actually make coffins with memory foam inside?”
To your surprise, even despite the almost-snores that had been escaping him, he answers in a heartbeat.
“Oh, definitely. We’ll order two.”
#ghost's stories#summertime sweetness#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson fluff#stranger things#peep me making fun of myself in there about the way i constantly like to write him doing the whole mock stabbing himself thing#i just want to find me an eddie munson to be so comfortable with that afternoons like this would be a regular thing ya know#give me a man who likes my stink#a man who offers to order us matching tempurpedic coffins#i don't think that's how you spell that word if i'm being completely honest#it's canon in my head the two of you would go 'coffin shopping' just cause you both wanna know what it's like to lay in one#also in my process of brainstorming and writing this i realized i really do not understand the concept of being weird because#halfway through writing this#i questioned if it was even weird/weird enough?#this doesn't feel weird to me this just feels like the normal progression of getting comfortable in a relationship#it was this or eddie being unbothered by sounds of indigestion or however you spell it#ANYWAYS im rambling my bad <3#i hope i made you proud rhi!! <3
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Courtship Confusion: Part One
You’ve been working with your siren partner for a couple years now. A consummate flirt, you’d initially been put off by his whole charming deal, somehow he's become your best friend. You’ve been wanting to see if he’s still interested in dating, but unfortunately he’s not picking up your hints. A pair of visiting cubi remind you of the cultural differences that come with interspecies dating. Maybe you’ve both been misunderstanding each other. Maybe it’s time you set the record straight.
Modern Fantasy, friends to lovers, siren/harpy, male monster x reader, Part 1 of 8
Ao3: Courtship Confusion Chapter 1
Part One
“Start blocking the exits, people. They’re making a run for it. Team Lure, you’re up,” the static-y voice says from your radio.
“Confirmed. Lure moving into position,” you answer for yourself and your partner before clipping the walkie talkie back onto your belt. You glance over to your partner who, per usual, looks far too unconcerned and cheerful for the mission of stopping a crew of smugglers. “Where do you want to set up?”
Morgan grins at you, sharp white teeth flashing even in this dim warehouse. “You know where.”
You stifle a grin of your own, knowing one of you needs to remain professional, and roll your eyes instead. “Wherever you can be the center of attention, right.”
He preens as he fluffs out his feathers. You only asked once how exactly his wings can go from resting comfortably and unobtrusively on his back, hardly seeming to take up any space at all, to a full wingspan that was enough to carry him. The highly technical arcane answer he’d given had been enough to serve as a reminder that, despite his carefree attitude, he was a fully licensed arcanist and make sure you never asked again. You’re the investigator and rules side of your inspector partnership—Morgan was the technical and social side. You liked it that way.
A career as an investigator of potentially illegal arcane workings isn’t nearly as glamorous or exciting as most people think it is. Most of the time it was just about handing out fines to people dabbling in things they shouldn’t and accidentally flooding their apartments or conjuring too many hamsters. But, sometimes, like today, you end up having to bust an illegal coven.
When containment spells failed and the criminals scattered, it’s your job to pull them all back. Well, mainly Morgan’s job.
From his high quality suit to his expertly applied eyeliner, he didn’t look the least bit like an inspector. Even the other department arcanists didn’t have his flare. Lively and cheerful where most were bored and weary, he breathed life wherever he went. And he loved to show off.
As you enter the large open area of the warehouse, you quickly begin setting up the broadcasting equipment—probably not needed, but protocol—while Morgan picks his spot. Within a few seconds, your carefully managed set up, ready to unfold for fieldwork in record time, is ready to go. You’re long practiced after being partnered these last couple of years.
Looking up, you find Morgan spreading his gorgeous black and white wings to alight on a stack of old pallets the cult left in this warehouse they’d been using as their base putting him several feet above everyone else.
“Careful!” you call despite knowing it's a lost cause.
Morgan flicks his wings in a careless, shrug-like gesture. “Worrywart,” he teases. You only have to give him a look to remind him of the incident with the ice for him to pout, the dark red of his lipstick making the expression obvious even with the height and distance. “That was one time! Are you set up?”
His voice is easily audible, as always, but you have to raise yours to reply, “Yeah, ready to go.”
He looks at you expectantly.
You put your hands on your hips to communicate ‘really? Do we need to do this every time?’ and he grins in response.
“Let the show begin!” you grudgingly prompt.
He’s no longer a performer by profession, but you can’t deny that's who he is in his heart. It’s hard to begrudge him the little bow he gives. Not when his eyes glitter with simple glee as he does so. “Thank you, darling.” Morgan clears his throat and closes his eyes, thankfully keeping him from noticing the effect the endearment had on you. Regrettably, the effect of him calling you “darling” to you has only gotten stronger with time.
Before you can dwell on it, Morgan makes a sort of clicking noise in the back of his throat. He’s tried to explain to you once why all of his songs started that way, but you’ve never truly understood. Not that it really matters because it’s always followed by him opening his mouth to sing.
A beautiful wordless melody begins to flow from him.
Haunting and alluring on its own, you know his siren song must be far more potent to the criminals he’s purposely luring back here. Every member of the team was introduced to Morgan before the operation began, so Morgan was able to exempt them. His control is impeccable, but they’re still liable to get distracted. Nothing magical about that. It’s hard not to when a master like Morgan sings.
Morgan primarily sings in the siren’s language when he performs spells such as this one. He says that for spellwork there’s simply more nuance and specificity in Soprety than in any other language when it comes to the subject of things such as lures, madness, lullaby and so on.
Despite knowing very little of the language, you still understand the message the song is trying to convey: where are you going? Come back, join me, this is where true happiness lies. Such is the power of a siren’s song. It’s hard to articulate the difference between the magical pull of a compulsion and the mere auditory pull of Morgan’s smooth voice. He’s never truly tried to compel you, but each time you hear him you have to put effort into focusing, into not simply basking in his voice. That’s only gotten worse the longer you’ve known him too, the more times you’ve heard him.
You don’t think it's that his singing is better, it’s only that it had seemed in the beginning, despite it’s obvious beauty even that first time, somewhat generic. Artificially or distantly beautiful. Now, his voice is so clearly entwined with who Morgan is, you can’t fathom how you thought it generic initially. His coaxing nature, always ready to persuade you to follow his lead, is woven through the words he sings as clearly as it is when he tries to convince you to take a coffee break. His promise of something better, something more fun and entertaining, if you only would listen. Of course, in this case, the outcome will only be entertaining for him. His seductive way of complimenting those he wants so that they will make the best choice by choosing him.
The music he makes is all very compelling is the point. You huff and focus back on the messages from the team—text since they’ve all got ear plugs in and don’t want to interfere with Morgan’s spell. You don’t need the plugs, as his partner he can exempt you easily and you’ve practice functioning while he sings. Besides it's always good to have someone who can hear him in case he does need help. You check again to confirm how many you are nabbing. Seven, natural for a coven, even a criminal one. That means the rest of the operation didn’t manage to catch a single member.
Usually illegal covens are more subtle, caught due to smaller disturbances or the wrong people stumbling upon them on the wrong night. This crew has been smuggling truly nasty ingredients for dark magical spells, bewitching or killing anyone who tried to interfere. They’d been making a big enough splash despite their travels and have caught major heat by now.
The National Investigatory Agency has been tracking them. They followed the trail of memory loss and death they left in their wake. That’s not even mentioning the longer term problems that would impact a community after they’d traded their illegal and dangerous wares—increases in love potions, poisoning, and general curses. You’d managed to catch a break locally. Someone had lost their nerve about this year’s shipment in your city and your department was coordinating with the NIA for this capture. Well, at least your team was—truthfully most of the local office was just providing backup.
Morgan, as always, had a habit of disrupting the usual with just his presence. His skills had been enough to catch the head NIA officer’s attention and your captain had vouched for your effectiveness. As such, while NIA coordinated a wide-spread tracking net, your team would try to simply pull them back. It was a common enough play you two ran and this was no different.
There was some worry a witch might have protection, but most aren’t prepared for a siren song, not given how rare sirens are and especially inland. Besides, you’d unclicked the safety on your tranquilizer gun, that’s why you were here to watch Morgan’s back. He’d be pissed if you let someone interrupt his song.
Movement on your left draws your attention. A woman stumbles out from between to shipping crates, her expression muddled but searching, urgent. You check for the signs she’s ensnared as she walks closer. You’re only supposed to handle the ones who weren’t, so you let her approach once you’re convinced. When she spots Morgan, high on his perch and singing his heart out, a look of joy and greed takes over. She hurries towards him.
You wait a second before nudging a fellow officer with your boot. A transfer from another precinct, he’s not been involved in one of these operations before. He shakes himself, tearing his eyes away from Morgan to look at you. You jerk your head at the coven member and he blushes. Hastily pulling out his handcuffs, the orc goes to secure her while you train your tranq gun on the man darting out from a different doorway. This time an NIA member snags him before he can press up against the base crate Morgan’s on, for which you’re grateful.
Technically, Morgan should have crafted his spell so that the listeners won’t be too desperate to get to him, despite how he was enticing them. People will still react differently than each other so there’s no guarantee when trying to pull in a group like this. Morgan said that the more people, the less control he had over anything more than the base aim of the spell. A lullaby could put ten people to sleep, but they would likely all end up sleeping for different amounts, whereas if it was just one or two, he could control how long they slept for.
Similar thing here. He can pull them in and do his best to keep them calm, but there’s more margin for error. And Morgan’s one of the best there is. Arcane workings are always more complicated and nuanced than most people assume. If they weren’t, you’d be out of a job making sure any mistakes or malicious workings didn’t hurt anyone.
There’s a text that the NIA agents caught a pair on their own, meaning three more to go. It’s not long for them to join the others. The officers who are familiar with these types of stings are efficient, cuffing the ensnared with practiced ease.
You wait for the confirmation, all using sign language to confirm the criminals are secured. That’s your cue to whistle, two fingers in your mouth and loud enough to cut through Morgan’s song—you’ve had to practice. The whistle lets Morgan know you had them all and he flips his hand to show he’s heard. He’d never just cut off the song—for specific arcane reasons, but also because he considers it poor etiquette from a musician’s perspective. He carefully and artfully wraps up and slows down, gentling the song until it fades out.
You can’t help but feel as enraptured as the criminals are, although you try to hide it. It's too hard not to when you’re in love with him.
#my writing#story part#courtship confusion#story: courtship confusion#male monster#reader#monster x reader#siren#harpy#he's more harpy than merman#terato#exophilia#osha compliant#finally making good progress on this little story#been in my head for too long#needs to be out on paper#even if i did cut this chapter in half#wasnt sure what i was going to post today but really wanted to post#so i'm glad i made it#especially with this story#i hope u like morgan#he's such a fun character
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I will never recover from the knowledge that thymoma generally has a very high survival rate, and in most cases that it becomes fatal, the patient has unknowingly lived with the cancer for years. There's a chance that Wilson was sick for half the series and didn't even know it.
#I'm just imagining House looking back at the last few years in horror thinking about the possibility that Wilson had been sick all along#I can see it leading to him feeling like all of their memories are tainted#House definitely blames himself as well even though it was never in his control#I can't imagine how much his already extreme self-hatred was amplified#And he probably looked back at all the mistakes he made and all the fights they had and realizing that -#- while they were having all these fights that now seem so trivial that Wilson was probably sick#They wasted all that time unknowingly with Wilsons cancer slowly progressing as they argued and fought#It makes me want to cry#I'm not a doctor and I know this obviously isn't always the case but from what research I've done this seems the be the standard mostly#house md#house#greg house#james wilson#gregory house#hilson#wilson#housemd#favs#favourites
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Fun fact: In Barbatos's intimacy storyline in Nightbringer he ends up living with Solomon and MC at Cocytus Hall temporarily. Here's a highlight from his 40 intimacy call:
The way he makes Solomon sit in the corner. 😭 You cannot convince me he didn't raise this man.
#+ the tonal shift when he started talking to mc again made me laugh ngl#i'm already spoiled for these calls but there's no substitution for the voice work#but yeah uhh spoilers in all of nb's intimacy calls they basically end up in a committed relationship w mc#i gotta step it up with farming so i can be annoying about it. barbatos's phone calls are SO good tbh#though now that mc and solomon aren't living at cocytus hall i question them making it so theyre living there even up to 100 intimacy?#i know whales are probably much speedier but its still a bit weird considering the devs#still won't let mc and barbatos's relationship progress in the main story practically at all in comparison to the phone calls#obey me barbatos#obey me solomon#obey me nightbringer#obey me#obey me shall we date#barbatos obey me#barbatos#solomon#also man i wish they'd spent some of this budget on routes instead considering how long it will be for anyone to really see these calls
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Buck, Eddie and The lightning mirroring the well.
#911#911edit#911hiatus2023#911 abc#911 fox#my edit#buddie#buddieedit#911 on fox#911hiatusparallels#eddiediazedit#evanbuckleyedit#otp: you don't need to pretend with me#flashing tw#usercam#okay i know we're paused#but i dont wanna wait 3 weeks to post this sorry#i need everyone to understand they are even mirrored in their places in the frame#theres the obvious with eddie being underground buck being on the sky#but they are LITERALLY on the other side of the frame#they are mirroring it hard#i had the thought before but i was making a set for the countdown and i was like#hold up hold up hold up#im not gonna leave this in my drafts for 3 weeks so you will get this#also#i might finally be feeling up to make the episodes sets#lets see how i progress for the rest of the day#i still feel like shit but i can now stay seated without feeling like I'm gonna die#no one cares anna#anyway
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wip posting just to get something out there, and it's def a mixed bag!! the only thing more inconsistent than my posting schedule is my art style RIP
#wip#yapping below#1. sinnohtrio group pic where nothing bad has happened yet... dedicated sinnoh post coming soon#2. personalizing dawn and lyra's togekisses with different coloring and markings based on region. there's lyra's omelette :]#3. timeskip red and leaf except it's just pikachu#4. top left is all the assets i made for my cs final project! a little cherrim themed browser game#then there's sprites for my champion dawn; cool concept methinks but it's definitely a work in progress. peep the giratina hairclips#some vaugely lugia/ho-oh inspired protag ideas for a hgss sequel#anddd a bunch of background doodles. goldenrod flower shop and a very saturated mt. silver#in timeskip there shall be a proper town at mt. silver's base to officially bridge kanto and johto (and make lyra's work commute easier)#5-7 is me spitballing ideas abt pokemon biology#dratini & dragonair are forever sea snakes to me!!! though i do enjoy the amphibian interpretations#also i didn't know dragonite island was already a thing from pokeani... rip wyverse dragon master lore#i think crobat looks goofy no matter how you stylize it. silver and his big bumbling bat that insists on grooming its trainer. so unserious#there's a togekiss page too but then i remembered egg groups are a thing so i'm revising parts of it#i spent so long trying to come up with a reasonable wing-to-body ratio for togekiss and crobat. literally useless when dragonite can#apparently fly around the globe in 16 hours. are you Kidding me. dragons weren't even merging with jet planes until gen 3.#OK that is all. sorry for the lack of uploads wah#i'm like a ferret hoarding all my doodles until the quantity > quality lever switches in my brain to give the 👍 to post#i did made a spam blog but who knows if i'll actually post on there lol! probably for non-pkmn related stuff
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little progress update on albus, for those interested! thoughts??? comments??? concerns???
#everytime i come back to this i'm just surprised that I'm managing to make any progress#no i will not render it#we're keeping it in whatever this style is#if i even attempt to smooth anything out i want someone to smack me out of it
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tas gale calling john “baby” makes my knees go weak
i giggled bc same. but also i hope ur knees are okay after ch7 <33
#tough and sweet fic#trying to remember to post more snippets/progress ig#the wc for this chapter is getting ridiculous tho s.o.s#also i have over 100 asks in my inbox now MY BADDD. please know i read them all and smile SO MUCH it makes my day truly 🥺💗#same with the rbs on my snippets and the tas edit omg u don't even know. i come back and reread at least twice a day i'm sooo <333 wtf#johnslittlespoon asks
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What a year it's been! Not a ton of personal work but I feel like that's starting to swing back around, at least in my head!
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#yunyinart#art progress#summary of art#summary of art meme#some months were busy and some were sparse but that's how it goes!#one thing is that I don't want to make any promises about what I'll make next year#so that I don't say I'll do a thing and then not end up doing it#even though I tried to be like 'I'm thinking of doing X' and not I WILL do X'#I still feel like I intended to do a lot and didn't wind up doing it for various reasons#it might have disappointed people but even if it didn't it disappointed me#not speaking of commissions of course#I am pleased that I drew the akuma couffaine pic this year though!
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it's like. louis attempted to tell this story to daniel the first time, broke down, and attacked him before he could finish it.
and then decades later he's convinced himself that it was leaving the story unresolved that's holding him back from living his life fully now. so he invites daniel back again. and louis is sitting poised and put together, confident in his ability to recite his history in a pretty, poignant, neat little narrative that will resolve all the guilt and yearning and emptiness inside of him. that if he can just tell a compelling, satisfying story, maybe it will actually be that, and not the life he lived through, with all the pitfalls of his own failures lurking inside.
and then season 1 ends with him once again being forced to confront that the story he wants to imagine and the life he actually lived aren't the same thing. the boundaries around his narrative are shredded and he's left exposed, and subsequently able to face his past for the first time since that original interview. and you think, you think, "well this is it. they've crossed the event horizon. there's no use hiding the truth anymore, not after it's come flooding out into the open like this"
and then season 2 opens. not only is it back to the original, practiced distance, we now have armand literally enforcing that distance. a man sitting at the table who's interjections must be disregarded, an intentional interruption to the flow of the story. he doesn't exist to aid or add detail, he exists to distract louis when he gets too deep in the story. the only time we do get louis allowing any deep truth to come out is when armand leaves the room.
it's like. louis wants a story that's true, and the truth is what he's convinced will leave him satisfied. armand wants a story that will satisfy louis, to the extent louis will accept it's true.
#genuinely THE juiciest way to tell this story#like it's SO good#there's this coy little humor behind the ep#where louis and armand are very much like 'haha okay daniel you've caught us out. you've seen behind the curtain. this is the whole truth'#meanwhile daniel's getting '8 hours on how to avoid the sun and torpedoes'#like it's a faux revelation that completely backtracks all of the progress made at the end of season 1#and even louis's (very touching) moment this episode where he tells daniel the truth#is a very digestible and ultimately non-harmful dive into his past#armand doesn't like it because it's part of a slippery slope of remembrance#but he doesn't actively get in the way of it being told because it's a revealed memory that doesn't ULTIMATELY mean that much#like i'm assuming we're all on deck as far as believing louis doesn't remember the full extent of claudia's death atm.#i could be wrong about that. but like. it is kind of the elephant in the room at the moment#so it's very much a case of armand getting to couch his own fears and attachment in 'doing the greater good for louis'#ultimately who does it serve if louis remembers everything and realizes armand's more negative role in his life?#all that will do is make him miserable. deprive him of the one person in his life who cares for him#better to have a palatable lie than a truth that could leave louis a danger to himself#('as long as you walk this earth i won't taste the fire' <- but she doesn't walk this earth and the reason why is sitting by his side)#isn't it the kinder and better thing to manufacture a world where louis can live with himself?#anyways. teehee. i missed this show so much. <3#iwtv
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worst feeling is watching yourself start to have some of the major symptoms of your mental illness come back and not being able to do anything to stop it
#and dreading the worst ones making an appearance#cause god fucking damn it i was doing so well and then it all goes away like that#please tell me this isn't a unique experience because it feels like i've lost all progress even though this situation is#is completely out of my control#tldr it just fucking sucks and i'm angry#mental health#personal
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Sylvia
Sylvia walks along the docks at the edge of the world. Her dress is the height of fashion--pleated skirts, tight sleeves, matching parasol fringed with lace, canvas sneakers in pastel pink. Stars shine like jewels in the darkness, and schools of fish glow and swirl among them like clouds of mist. The waters roar as they fall into the void, and in the far distance, she can just see the white horizon of the moon coming near.
She holds a bottle, sealed with a cork, holding a letter rolled up inside. For the hundredth time, she opens the bottle, unrolls the letter, and reads the two words written there.
Please come.
The letter needs no signature--she knows her brother's hand. It needs no address--she knows where he is. What she had never dreamed is that he would call for her.
He had gone to seek his fortune, and in doing so, cast off the family name. He married a moon maiden, settled high on some barren white cliff, raised a family of children who'd never stepped foot on Earth's soil. Never once had he sent a message to the adoring little sister he'd left behind.
The holographic image in her locket--a smiling young man in a too-small tailcoat--gives her no idea what to expect on the opposite shore. Will she find a pauper or a prince? A happy, settled man, or one bitter and lost? Does he want to see her, or just use her money and connections?
She never asked. She only came.
A ship pulls into port, its sails shining purple in the starlight. The crowds surge toward it, bustling and chattering, but though Sylvia is among them, she stands in a shell of silence. She has eyes, ears, heart and thought only for the one waiting on the opposite shore. She stands on the deck as the moon draws closer, then edges back, watching as the white mountains and spires and gardens come into view and then recede. They must make the crossing while it is near.
It is not too late. She can stay safely on land. Let the man remain a memory and a mystery, wrapped in mists of nostalgia that keep him soft and harmless and far away.
She is tired of being safe.
She stays. The ship casts off. For her brother's sake, she sails off the edge of the world.
#the bookshelf progresses#i'm sorry i had an image and had to do something with it even if there's no plot#i guess this makes it a true flash fiction
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S2E8 -> S4E4
#911 lone star#tw: flashing lights#tk strand#carlos reyes#gabriel reyes#the tk/gabriel dyanmic is so important to me and I dont even know why I love it so fuckin much but I just do#honestly just tarlos + their respective in-laws is always so good#carlos/owen dynamics are underrated imo#I also just love the progression of carlos telling his dad he's gonna like tk#to now his dad telling tk how lucky his son is to have him#good fuckin stuuuuff#my gifs#I'm sure this parallel has already been made cause they had so many good parallels to 2.08 but I just loved it so I had to make it#911ls parallel#episode: s02e08 bad call#episode: s04e04 abandoned
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why are you people allergic to drawing fat characters.... mcyt artist found making fat person into a twink fork found in kitchen
#this may or may not be about all of the gem and the scotts fanart where everyone makes impulse skinny as fuck#like. idgaf if it's an au why is it necessary to make him skinny#also completely understand that less experienced artists might struggle with drawing different body types... but at least Try#and experienced artists you have no excuse#this isn't just about impulse tho#also i'm aware he said he “doesn't view (himself) as a fat person” but his self image issues probably aren't helped by people-#trying to make his character look “better” in art by making him skinny#not even getting started on the whitewashing issue in this community ......#sorry for the rant it's just disappointing from a fandom that is mainly filled with really progressive people#horsemeatposting
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