#Six sketch monday

[esilher]

Thank you @nicoise for the tag!

I am super busy!! Still for one big week and then i can go back to my challenge about Klaine travelling around the world, and the other collabs and ideas that are piling here! I am so looking forward to draw klaine again!!! While the wait, here some sketches, working on drawing Kurt’s face and an idea for @heartsmadeofbooks last wip. I hope i finish this one day…

I know…it’s monday, but maybe some of you still want to share some stuff? @justgleekout @porcelainvino @mdverse @twinkkurt ? And everybody else?

[harryzroze]

I think you guys know the song :,) sorta first comic yay !

[drkineildwicks]

Okay before we go any further I really need you to read through sharpened teeth by @ghostpebble it took me all day to read and involved several turns about the parlor house and had me gnawing on my coffee cup it's good but it's intense

Saying that, you should never give me even a hint of Villain Dad Obake, I will grab that and never let go and I love love LOVE how that recontextualizes the whole of Season One and what it means for Season Two (although it does make me question what happens in "Fan Friction"--Obake, my dude, how much trust did you have that Hiro would save the day you're not getting dad of the year by leaving your adoptive daughter on an island slated to explode)

Anywho, big drawing is stuff that actually happened in the fic, although Obake's described as having a tie there and I put him in his usual outfit--since Baymax sits between them on the couch I couldn't help but picture Hiro giving Obake the stink-eye like this around Baymax X'D

As for the rest...I told you don't give me this kind of AU I will tackle it like Hobbes tackles Calvin I've been having a lot of fun picturing what the implications of Obake adopting Karmi means XD

Some transcripts because I know my writing can be hard to read:

Directly beneath big art piece in the bottom left-hand corner:

Karmi: Dad stop scaring my guy friends. Obake: Who, me? Hiro: YES YOU.

Upper right-hand corner:

Karmi: Isn't it great that my dad and your aunt get along?

Below that:

Obake: No honey I'm going to be home late. Yes it's Krei Tech. Yes Krei is an idiot.

Below that:

Professor Granville: Mr. Kane this is Professor Granville, I'm leaving a message to arrange a PTA meeting-- Obake: Time to be unavailable again.

And in the bottom right-hand corner:

Karmi: Bye Dad! Off to my internship! Obake: My little baby off to destroy people.

Yes that's a Mulan reference, only really intended to do that and the big drawing but I kept thinking on this AU and I want.

In other news Obake I really need to know how you're handling the logistics of having a minor attending college because from experience the college needs to keep in touch with the parents how are you doing this when Granville would recognize you.

Also yes those are corded phones--yes they come from a tech-savvy world where everyone would be using smart phones but I come from a generation that translates corded phone as quickly reads as phone and after drawing generic-phone in the sketches I went no wait that's funny and left it.

Anywho go read this fic already why did you click on the keep reading before reading the fic seriously.

Big Hero 6 © 2014 Disney

Done in Adobe Photoshop.

[mightbeimpossiblenotto]

Silver - Oct 14 - @rosekillermicrofic - 871 words - Warnings: none

Barty loved his job at Insidious Ink. He had always loved to draw, but he had no interest in recreating landscapes or detailing a portrait of someone. He liked to draw snakes, and skulls, and unrealistic eyeballs, and all kinds of other things. When he secured an apprenticeship with his local tattoo shop, he had already had several tattoos of his own on his skin. He was thrilled — the only thing that was better than pen and paper was ink and skin, in his opinion.

It was the first thing that he excelled at that he actually wanted to continue to do well. In school, everything came easily enough to him, but he didn’t want the good grades that came with learning if it meant his father only expected more of him. But his father resented tattoos, so it was something into which Barty could throw his whole self. He quickly became the best artist at that little shop, and one of the owners encouraged him to open his own studio.

Insidious Ink was opened only six months later; when Barty put his mind to something, he was determined to finish it. He hired a few of his own artists to work for him, a gorgeous woman named Dorcas whose line work was incredible, and a sullen young man fresh out of school named Regulus who excelled in florals and other plant work. In their free time, Barty taught them everything he learned from his mentors, and they quickly grew an unbreakable bond between the three of them.

The Rosier twins came in on a rainy Monday afternoon. The shop was quiet, only one girl getting tatted from Dorcas in the very back. She had been here a few times before in the past few months. Her name was Marlene, and this time she wanted a single line tattoo of a two women almost kissing. Dorcas seemed a little too interested when she was consulting with Marlene, which is why Barty sent them to the back. He didn’t need to see lesbians flirting while trying to get his work done, as cute as it usually tended to be.

When the two blondes, one man and one woman, entered the building, Barty and Regulus had been sketching out a few designs for clients they were consulting with via email. Regulus didn’t even look up when the bell over the door indicated their arrival, but Barty was trained like a dog to react. He sprung up out of his chair to greet them, but the words died in his throat when he took sight of them.

They were the two most beautiful people he had ever seen, especially the man. The woman was stunning, with long white-blonde wavy hair down to her lower back, braids twisting the face framing pieces back away from her eyes. She had lovely dark skin and bright grey eyes. Her smile was utterly dazzling.

But the sight of the man with her — who had to be her brother with the matching features — had Barty almost falling back onto his stool. He had the same dark skin and gorgeous eyes, the same sharp cheekbones and long nose. But his blond hair was in dreads, with silver cuffs adorning them, glinting in the fluorescent lighting in the tattoo shop. He had a lip piercing, a little silver hoop in his plush lower lip. His ears were pierced, too, with silver safety pins hanging from each of them. He had a hoop in his nose, a hoop sticking off his left eyebrow, studs over right brow.

Barty had never really been interested in piercings before. He certainly never had reason to get any himself, but seeing all of the silver glinting off this man, he was dying to know if he had any other metal anywhere else.

“Barty,” Regulus hissed behind him, bringing him out of his daydream about getting the man pantless in his shop. “They’re talking to you, answer them.”

“Huh?” Barty said rather eloquently, and sure enough, the two blondes had approached the desk, and were waiting for his response. “I mean — Welcome to Insidious Tattoos. What can I help you with?”

The woman just blinked at him, unconcerned with his odd behavior, but the corners of the man’s mouth were twitching as if he were hiding a smile.

“I’m Pandora,” the woman introduced. “This is my brother, Evan. We would each like to get a tattoo today, but they will be different.”

“What exactly are you looking to get done?” Regulus asked for Barty, because he was still staring at Evan’s mouth.

“I would like three red spider lilies,” Pandora said, “to represent those close to me who have passed.”

“The death flower,” Regulus said softly, then he stepped forward to speak to Pandora directly. “My work is mostly florals. Would you like to take a look?”

Regulus led her off to a table used for consultations with clients, leaving Barty alone with Evan.

“And what are you looking for?” Barty asked, trying not to stare at the other man in front of him.

I want a jackal skull,” Evan said. “With plenty of detail.”

Barty grinned then. “That, I can do.”

[tame-the-lion-writes]

Chapter II - Conversation/Confrontation

[michael afton x reader] you -- always you

content warning: (these are implied/referenced) character death, self-harm, underage drinking

tags: GN!reader, romance, fix-it of sorts, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, domestic fluff, friends to lovers, eventual happy ending

Two months had passed since then.

Things went smoother after that first encounter with the infamous Michael Afton. First acquaintances, occasional study buddies, now friends.

Some people shot you odd looks at first, but the way you were able to talk casually with him sparked a little something amongst others. Not in a bad way, though!– not at all. He was starting to interact with more than just you, and that was nothing to be jealous of. On occasion, you’d walk into class to see a random student saying a brief hello, or as he had with you, point out an incorrect answer for someone who’d asked him to look over their math homework. Of course, this was a once-in-two-weeks sort of thing — still rare — but it was something different. Something new. It wouldn't have been far off to presume kids wanted to speak to him but were too nervous to. And now that you’d broken down their initial impression of him, they’d gathered enough courage to say hello.

“Okay, so, if y equals f(x), and f is a differential function, then the differential dx is an independent variable and the differential dy is a dependent variable.”

“What.”

“Dependent means it’s like the outcome. Independent is what you put in. Kinda like with a science experience, except we’re replacing input and output with math. Got it?”

“Kinda. Enough.”

“Alright. So you know how when you change one side of an equation, you gotta equal it out on the other side? Like say y equals x turns into y plus six equals x plus six?”

“Yes?”

“When you turn one side of an equation into a differential, you do the same to the other side.”

With a sigh, you groan and smack your head into the pile of papers that constitutes your homework. There’s a midterm on Monday, and though you’ve gotten nowhere on your own, it’s already Friday. 

“Well, yeah, I know that. We already did trigonometry differentials.”

“But do you know how it looks, visually ? When you use calculus, you’re not just figuring out the rate of change. You’re figuring out the area between points, and with a second derivative, the volume between points.”

“Okay— okay— slow down, my brain is gonna melt.”

Michael rolls his eyes and grabs your pad of graph paper this time. Within 30 seconds, he’s done sketching two models — a 2D one that shades in the space under a straight slope, and a 3D one that turns the slope into the outline of a cone.

“So you already know that a derivative is the rate of change for a slope. That’s like the basic starter for calculus. Applying it is usually in the form of taking one point—“ he places a dot near the beginning of each diagram— “and calculating the area or volume from that point to another.” He draws another dot halfway through. “Does that make a little more sense?”

You peak out from the shelter you’ve made above your head with your arms.

“Oh. Yes, actually.”

The visual representations help. A lot. And much more than your actual math teacher ever could. Still, he looks unsatisfied with how much you two have done so far.

“Look— midterm’s on Monday and we’re not even halfway through the material you need to know. Are you sure you’re gonna be fine?”

“Yeah- no,” you hiss quietly, sitting up straight to look at him. He’s perched at the edge of the library table, looking down on you with a genuinely concerned expression. Your grades weren’t everything to you, but they sure as hell were important to your parents, and he knew that. “I don’t understand how you get any of this when you’re not even in the class!”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Hey, not like I didn’t try to transfer. Apparently getting an F in your last math class means you can’t move up.”

“But you can do the work!”

“You think school counselors actually care about that?” he snickers, pushing himself off the desk before offering a slow, awkward solution. “How about this – what if you slept over?”

You don’t mind, but you hesitate, biting your tongue. “I don’t want to intrude… You work tomorrow morning, don’t you?”

“I mean, sure, but even if I have to get up early, I can still teach you tonight. Maybe even tomorrow afternoon once I get home. Hell, you could even visit the restaurant. I don’t do much other than exist there.”

“Are you sure? I thought you didn’t want me to meet your dad.”

“To be honest, I don’t think father’s coming home tonight. He’s off opening another branch of Fazbear’s. I dunno – something like that.”

** * **

A sleepover at Michael’s house.

God, it shouldn't have been such a big deal. You’ve been to sleepovers before! You just hadn’t been to a sleepover at his house before, and hell, you hadn’t even been at his house.

Michael had been insistent for the past few months that you stay away from his father. Whatever it was about William Afton that he hated, he hadn’t truly explained in detail, but it definitely had something to do with the incident all those years ago. Living with the memory on one’s own wouldn’t have been easy, but had you been the one involved, you couldn’t imagine the added pressure of facing your parents on a day to day basis.

How do you grapple with the fact that you lost a child because of another?

“Almost there.”

Michael’s voice snaps you out of a daze. You’ve been staring out the window of his station wagon for the past few minutes, having been picked up from home after you’d packed. You had to ride back to your place initially, seeing as you didn’t have your license yet, and needed to pop in to tell your parents where you’d be staying for the evening. Despite stereotypes, your dad was the one who didn’t seem to mind while your mom had to be wrestled into being convinced. It was only after you said that Michael’s mother would be there the whole time, as well as his younger sister, that she was convinced.

“Just use protection, okay?” she had muttered, peppering kisses all over your face.

The thought made you grimace.

Not that you found Michael unattractive! Not at all! But mom, stop, no–

“So what’s your mom like?” you ask Michael, slumping in the passenger seat.

“A try-hard when it comes to acting nice. At least my father’s honest when it comes to hating me.”

“But you get along with her?”

“Well enough.”

It’s not long before he’s parked the car and pulling your duffel bag of clothes out of the back seat. You take in the house before you – much bigger than yours, with a three car garage, second story, and sizable porch. Maybe that was a normal sized house elsewhere, but in the backwater town of Hurricane, it was the biggest and most well-kept around. Even the property itself is big – though there’s no sidewalk outline at the edge of town, from the plants that look well-watered, it’s at least three or four acres of land. 

Rich ass family.

Michael swings your duffel bag over his shoulder before going up to the front door. He raps the back of his knuckles on the wood twice before fishing out his keys and shoving one in the bottom lock. Before he can unlock the door, however, it’s quickly swung open by a middle school-aged girl with bright green eyes and even brighter orange locks that flare out wildly behind her.

“Michael!”

“Hey superstar,” Michael grins, holding out his hand to the girl, palm flat.

The ten year old smiles back and slides her own hand down across his, initiating a ritualistic handshake in the process. “Stop calling me that. I’m not a kid anymore!”

“Yeah? Well if you were an adult, you wouldn’t look or sound so much like a goblin,” Michael laughs, placing his hand briefly on the top of her head before he walks past to welcome you inside and introduce you. “This,” he says, gesturing to the girl, “is my little sister, Elizabeth. She’s a brat, so don’t fall for her charms.”

Elizabeth is quick to stick her tongue out at Michael. He returns it instantly and goes so far as to flick her forehead, though she stuns him without a hit.

“Are you two dating?”

The simultaneous NO that spits from you and Michael practically shakes the house.

“We’re just going to study together, that’s it,” you swear through gritted teeth.

“Mhm,” she hums skeptically, sending Michael the type of shit-eating grin only a sibling could make.

“I help you with your homework, so don’t even,” he warns.

“Yeah, but fact check, dummy: we’re siblings. It kinda comes with the job description.”

“Oh, Michael. You’re home.”

From the top of the staircase, a soft yet tired voice calls. Following the sound, you spot a middle-aged woman on the second floor landing – blonde hair pulled back into tight curls and lilac purple robe tucked over her shoulders. Like Elizabeth, her eyes are a shade of green, but it’s clear that they’ve dulled significantly over the years. Now, they’re almost as grey as the smoke wafting from the cigarette in her hand.

“Mom,” Michael begins, gesturing to you, “this is my friend–” you lift up a hand to wave– “and they’re staying overnight to study for a midterm on Monday.”

“Mm.” 

Her hum shows little interest but acknowledges you at the very least. 

“Go ahead and order some food for dinner. I’m too tired to cook.”

** * **

Michael and Elizabeth have a functional brother-sister relationship. But the rest of the family? That’s a completely different matter. From what you can tell, their dynamic goes like this: Michael and Elizabeth, good. Michael and mom, neglected. Michael and father? Let’s not even try.

There are family portraits on the wall that paint a clearer picture. A singular frame shows them all together, and it lies at the end of the hallway, hidden away. Michael stands behind his father, Elizabeth next to her mother, and there was even another brown-haired boy in Mrs. Afton’s lap – the victim of ‘83. From there, the pictures change. Elizabeth and their parents, their parents alone. Michael is absent. So is the boy.

The only other pictures with Michael are next to his bed, and they’re Kodak prints. No frame in sight. Also no ‘Mr. Afton.’

You finally got to see them after a quick dinner with Michael and Elizabeth. Perhaps at some point, they weren’t the best of siblings. Or rather, he wasn’t the best older brother (-- wonder how anyone could come to that conclusion). But his attempt to atone the past was evident from the moment you met Elizabeth. If he couldn’t make up with his brother, he’d make up with her.

Granted, Elizabeth never mentioned anything of the incident. You weren’t sure if she was ignoring it, if she didn’t take it seriously, or if she didn’t remember at all. From the family portrait, she looked around the same age as the young boy – four or five – so it was possible that she didn’t recall a life before her parents distanced themselves from Michael, or from each other. Mrs. Afton didn’t exactly look like a doting wife or mother. Maybe the type of person who does the bare minimum. But you also couldn’t blame her. Not entirely.

It’s another hour or two of calculus at the dinner table, post-Mexican food binge. You don’t understand how Michael is so patient with you, but now knowing that he also helped Elizabeth, he must’ve had lots of practice. Eventually, however, it’s you who asks to stop for the night.

“I don’t think I can take it anymore. Not today, at least. I think I need to recharge,” you whine softly, snapping your textbook shut after finishing another practice problem. “Got any mind-numbing movies?”

Michael withdraws from the position he’s in, standing over you, and looks toward the glass cabinet in the living room. “Uh– we got Raiders of the Lost Ark and The Little Mermaid.”

“Ooh, Harrison Ford.”

Your dreamy coo prompts him to wrinkle his nose. “He’s forty-seven.”

“Uh- yeah. And?”

“He’s older than my father.”

“And?”

He shoves your face away, instigating a giggle from your lips.

“What can I say?” you smile. “A man who ages like fine wine is…” You trail off, placing a hand in front of your mouth mockingly to imitate a chef’s kiss.

Michael gags and waves you off. “Just go. My room’s the first one at the top of the stairs. I’ve got a TV.”

“You got a TV in your bedroom ?”

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s my family’s old one. Not like we have family movie nights.”

That, you can’t argue with. 

The march up the stairs is brief, and soon, you’re closing the door behind you. Aside from its size, Michael’s room is a typical teenager’s room – mostly. Posters of bands and movies you’ve never heard of, a desk that clearly hasn’t been organized in months. A pile of dirty clothes (-- or clean, who knows?--) has been kicked away in a corner as well, and above an unmade bed is a string of polaroid pictures and doodles on ripped paper – probably torn off the edges of homework. There’s even a Foxy plush sitting upright against his pillow, metallic hook and plastic eye replaced by stitched cloth. In spite of his clear distaste for his father – seen in one picture where the man’s face has been covered by a silly Bonnie sketch – and the mound of childhood trauma you’ve only partially uncovered, it seems that Michael still has some affection for the characters.

The view from the room is nice, too. The sun has already begun to set, casting golden light against the walls, yet as you look out into the trees and scarlet landscape, out of the corner of your eye, a glint of light from the trash can catches your attention. Innocent curiosity gets the better of you, and you kneel by the small bin under his desk to uncover the metallic reflection. It’s covered by crumpled paper and candy wrappers, instigating a smile when you see even more doodles and new badge designs drawn on different pages. That smile drops, however, when you find the source of the reflection: not just several empty cans of beer left haphazardly tossed away – but the razor of a pencil sharpener with the faint hint of suspicious iron brown.

Ah.

“I got the VHS ta—“

He stops short when he sees you staring at the blade in silence.

“It’s…,” he begins, only to trail off and give up on explaining. All he does is kneel down,set the VHS tape aside, and start tossing the papers back into the bin – not even questioning what you were doing digging through his trash.

“... So,” you say slowly, folding your hands in your lap, “how long have you been… you know.”

He’s quiet until he finishes.

“... A while.”

“I– I don’t understand.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

“I mean, I know–”

“No, you don’t–

“And if your mom or dad or sister found--”

His eyes snap in your direction.

“Mom doesn’t care enough to go in my room. Father sees me as nothing more than the kid who killed his son. And Elizabeth–” he curses under his breath and rubs his face– “Elizabeth shouldn’t have to deal with any of our shit. But at least she knows not to snoop. ”

For the first time since you met, you find him glaring at you – only this time, not with suspicion, but denial. Denial that he has a problem. Denial that it matters. That he matters.

“Michael,” you whisper softly, looking him in the eye. “You’re not okay, and that’s okay. ”

He holds your gaze for several more seconds before his own softens and the whole of him wilts. “I– I’m sorry, I just– I didn’t think anyone would actually tell me that or– or listen–”

Michael’s voice comes out in broken stutters between shallow breaths. Your heart swells at the sound, and the realization of how alone he must have been finally sets in. It’s been fact before. Cold, hard knowledge. But now it’s tangible – palpable – and horrible, terrible, true. Without another word, you reach forward and pull him into an embrace, arms wrapped tight around a trembling body. He stays limp, hands resting at his sides, but you don’t mind. He doesn’t have to reciprocate. He just needs to have–

You.

And you whisper, again–

“It’s okay, you’re okay. You’re gonna be okay, I promise.”

** * **

It’s four thirty when you wake up.

After a quiet movie session, Michael lugged up a few couch cushions and set them on the floor. He didn’t take no for an answer when he told you to take his bed, though you weren’t sure if it was out of guilt over his outburst or day-to-day selflessness. Maybe both.

Still, you were grateful for the comfort of a mattress over the makeshift couch-cushion bed, knowing the gaps between pillows would make it difficult to sleep. His bed was soft and warm, and though tainted with the faint smell of cigarette smoke, also smelled like him. You could stay here for days.

So of course, it was a surprise when you found yourself unable to go back to bed.

You step over Michael, careful not to make any noise, and brush a stray lock of his hair into place before leaving the room. He’ll have to wake up in about half an hour to get ready for work, so you decide to get a headstart on things and make breakfast. Mrs. Afton doesn’t look like she’d have the energy to make breakfast early on the weekend, and cooking is the least you could do. Maybe something simple so you don’t take up too many ingredients either. Maybe pancakes!-- Elizabeth would probably like that.

The kitchen is large and littered with several cabinets, but you’re able to find everything you need for pancakes, plus a package of bacon and a carton of eggs you plan to fry. It’s simple but plenty, and rolling up your sleeves, you get to work right away.

The eggs and bacon are fried in succession on another pan while you get to work on the pancakes. Flour, egg, milk – they’re poured together in a large bowl, and as you wait for the griddle to heat up, you wipe down the counters to clean any bits of stray flour that’s flown out of place.

Seeing it all come together, you actually feel quite proud of yourself. This would be payment for Michael’s tutoring and make up for your intrusion. Now to pour the batter for the last pancake and—

Click.

The front door, unlocked, now comes swinging open.

There in the doorway, with a silhouette outlined by the light of the morning sun, was a man dressed neatly in a fine suit. His purple vest and the coat hanging off his shoulders reminded you of Michael in his work uniform. Everything about him screamed Michael, really, especially once he stepped forward and the kitchen lights had brightened his face. The same dark hair. The same pale bluish grey eyes. Nearly identical facial features, but paler, and darker, and cold — cold — cold–

“And who might you be?”

Same faint accent.

Uncomfortable silence permeates throughout the room as you lock eyes with the man. There’s something unusual about him, and it’s not just the way he’s an obvious genetic duplicate of his son. It’s in the way his clothes are almost too put together for an entire night of work. In the way his silver-striped hair is similarly slick and styled back. And it’s in the way he looks at you — observing, scrutinizing, flickering. Eyes drifting from the food to you, and in particular, your neck. Like he’s debating how easy it could break—

“Well, child, are you going to answer me?”

The staring contest ends abruptly when you peel your eyes away.

“I’m Michael’s friend. From school. I stayed over to study for midterms last night.”

“I see.”

“You’re awfully trusting considering he’s not here to verify.”

“Yes, and you’re certainly a burglar who stopped to make themselves pancakes. I’m terrified. ”

He tugs the suit jacket from his shoulders and hangs it on the coat rack by the front door, as if he had just come home from a regular nine to five, not five in the morning. A gulp forces itself down your throat before you pour the batter, sleepy fog now thoroughly purged from your mind. Though you no longer look directly at him, you keep him in the corner of your eye, stiffly aware of whatever space he seeks to occupy. And unsurprisingly, he seems intent on occupying the kitchen with you.

“You know, it’s good that Michael’s been making friends,” he comments, heading for the coffee maker behind you. “Boy’s had a hard time getting along with others his age.”

“I heard.”

“You know why, then?”

“I’m not a fool, Mr. Afton. Of course I know why.”

As you go to flip the now-ready pancake, he abruptly takes the sugar from your side, making you jump. Standing like this, you’re practically trapped between him and the counter. Nowhere to go. Your heart doesn’t drop so much as it begins tugging downward like a weighted stone. Seeing the look on your face and the tension in your shoulders, his amusement is audible as he speaks, voice soothing yet visible stature alarming.

“Please, don’t bother with ‘Mr. Afton.’ It’s William. And apologies, my dear. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

You shake your head and set the spatula down once done, waiting for the other side of the pancake to brown.

“It’s fine. I guess I’m just a little jumpy since it’s so early in the morning.”

“Not used to waking up early?”

“More like I couldn’t sleep.”

He nods before continuing the earlier topic. “My son… let’s just say that he’s a wounded soul. Always been a troublemaker, that boy.”

You can’t help but scoff lightly at his words. The way Michael talks about his father already has you predisposed to taking every one of Mr. Afton’s words as bullshit. It’s not like Michael would lie about his family for attention. If that was the case, he wouldn’t have self-isolated. It would just be–

“He self-sabotages, you know? My wife and I gave him so many an opportunity. We still do. We’ve encouraged every sport, every hobby – music and art and even robotics. He’s wasted them all.”

“I wouldn’t say wasted,” you defend in a softer tone. “He’s pretty good at art. And I didn’t come here to teach him anything. He’s the one who taught me .” You pause before adding on to soften the tone of the conversation. “... I mean, that’s why I’m cooking breakfast for everyone. It’s the least I could do.”

“Oh, he’s smart enough, I’ll give him that. But in terms of effort? In terms of trying to get somewhere with that brain of his? Ha–”

William’s words are bile on your tongue. A part of you knows that some part of it is true, but you also know why it’s true, and that’s what really matters. Michael hates himself. Can’t you see? Can’t you tell? Do you even give a fuck? Do you even care?--

“In any case, I’ll leave you to it. I’m sure Elizabeth will be happy when she wakes up.” He pours a teaspoon of sugar into his hot coffee before backing away.

You’re about to respond when you hear Michael’s bedroom door swing open from up the stairs. Your best friend rubs his weary eyes, halfway through a yawn when he stops in his tracks, gaze landing on his father, you, then his father again.

“You’re home.”

It’s said none too warmly.

William clicks his tongue, his strides now somewhat hurried compared to before. “It’s my house, is it not?”

Wanting to defuse the situation, you raise the pan slightly from the stove as if to show Michael. “Hey– I– uh– I made breakfast for you. And Elizabeth and your mom, too, I guess, but it might be cold by the time they wake up.”

At your feeble attempt to calm things down, Michael mutters a curse under his breath before hurrying over, instantly placing himself between you and his father. Not that he actually interacts with the older man – just gives him the cold shoulder, sticking by your side. William gets the message, but while he continues to move away, it’s not exactly in the most generous manner.

“It’s time I check on Elizabeth. I’ll wake her for you, don’t worry – I’m sure she’ll love the surprise. As for myself, I’ll get to bed. Sleep the day away before I visit the new location again.” He sends Michael a toothy grin, pearly whites shining in the dark. “Have fun, you two. Henry will be managing the pizzeria tomorrow. I’m sure things will be more… relaxed that way.”

Though you stare as William leaves, you can see Michael tense even more out of the corner of your eye and instinctively move a hand to brush his. Still, you shudder. No matter how polite William had seemed, there was something inherently unnerving about him.

“I’m sorry,” Michael whispers as soon as his father’s bedroom door has closed.

“Sorry for what? He didn’t do anything.”

“Not yet. Not yet.”

[feyd-meowtha]

Sneak Peak of 'Born Slippy' (a Curt/Ken installment in the 'Our House' universe)

He met Bucky in high school, or John as he was called back then, sometimes even Jay by some of the stoner kids he used to hang out with when he wanted to smoke for free. Joining a new school in the middle of the year was never a good look so Curt's head ticked over every eventuality on the long drive from New York to Chicago. Planning for every possible problem. Strategy, he told himself, as if making people love you was as simple as a game of Risk. Who did he want to be? He knew had it in him to be a lot of things - the fighter, the class clown, the burnout stoner-kid or the mysterious new boy. He even considered being the gay kid, holding the possibility between the tips of his fingers as if it might bite him, latch onto him like a facehugger and worm its way down his throat until he didn’t have a choice but let it out, guts and all. 

On the first day at his new school Curt walked into a classroom in chaos. A dark-haired boy in a backwards Yankees cap was at the centre of it, standing on a desk and singing an almost unrecognisable rendition of “Don’t You Want Me,” to a girl who clearly could not want him any less if she tried. When he realised that his efforts were in vain he scanned the class for a new victim, his eyes lighting up when he saw the new kid walk through the door, overstuffed backpack still on and wearing an expression that said please, god, no. 

Of course that only spurred the crazy boy on further so he dove toward Curt, taking his arm in his own and swinging him around in a circle as he belted out. 

“I was working as a waitress at a cocktail bar.”

And that was how Curt discovered that the double-role of gay class clown was already taken by a six foot two lunatic by the name of John Egan. Though it would be a lot longer before he understood that the other boy’s daily antics were a result of the fact that his father could barely stand to look at him. None of that mattered though, not who their families were or where they had come from. What they shared that day, as complete strangers at 9am on a Monday morning in front of the dismayed faces of their classmates, was something deeper.

In that moment his fate was decided, Curt settling straight into his new role as co-class-clown as John approached the chorus of the song and he thought fuck it and joined in, the two of them marching around the classroom for a painful, ecstatic few seconds before they were silenced by the arrival of the homeroom teacher. 

She frowned at the commotion before asking sheepishly. 

“Curtis Biddick?” 

“Yes, maam,” he replied, unhooking his arm from John’s as the taller boy collapsed in a heap of giggles. 

“Curty boy!” John echoed, slapping his leg and biting his lip in amusement as the homeroom teacher pointed Curt to his desk and he sat down, cheeks blazing red but unable to hide his grin.

Curt told that story many, many times in the years that came after as he and John followed one another from skate parks to sports bars to bona-fide nightclubs. He told it so many times that even he began to doubt its validity. Unsure which parts had been embellished from one blurry night to the next, the two of them taking it in turns to add the next line as if it were a scripted sketch in a comedy show. People were right to doubt it, it sounded fake as hell, but this was the story they told and therefore that was the story that mattered. When the two of them were together things just seemed to happen and besides - they were still best friends, what more proof could you want? 

[sambuckylibrary]

TFATWS Anniversary Event

The @sambuckylibrary will be holding a The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Anniversary Event! The event will start on March 19th and run until April 23rd. During that time, we will be reblogging and sharing the work you guys create here on our blog.

You can post fanfiction, art, moodboards, edits, podfics, etc. It’ll be a low-stakes event. No need to sign up. Just remember to tag @sambuckylibary in your post for each fill, and we will be tracking #tfatwsanniversaryevent2023 for reblogs.

If you are posting on AO3, please add it to TFATWS Anniversary Event 2023 Collection.

Each week will have a different theme with prompts from Monday to Friday. Each prompt will also come with a badge you may use for it when you post. The weekly themes and their prompts will be:

For the text version of the information above as well as the FAQ and rules, check the information under “keep reading”.

Pre-TFATWS Week: March 19th-March 25th

Monday: The Steering Wheel Incident Tuesday: Searching for Bucky Barnes Wednesday: On the Run Together Thursday: In the Soul Stone Friday: Six Months of Ghosting Sam

TFATWS Week: March 26th-April 1st

Monday: Plane to Germany Tuesday: Rolling in the Field Together Wednesday: A Night in Madripoor Thursday: Fixing the Boat Friday: The Cookout

AU Week: April 2nd - April 8th

Monday: Royalty AU Tuesday: Sports AU Wednesday: Angel/Demon AU Thursday: Social Media AU Friday: Vampire/Werewolf AU

Romance Tropes Week: April 9th - April 15th

Monday: Getting Together Tuesday: Enemies to Lovers Wednesday: Hurt/Comfort Thursday: Fake Dating Friday: First Time

SamBucky Week: April 16th - April 23th

Monday: Redwing Tuesday: A Couple of Guys Wednesday: I Would Be His Roommate, But Thursday: Costco Tub of Lube Friday: Best Friend's Best Friend

FAQ

What is this?

It’s a SamBucky event.

Is there any pressure?

No pressure at all. Fill one prompt. Fill all the prompts in a week. Do however many you please.

Can I fill more than one prompt with one piece of art/one fic?

Yes! You can fill one prompt with one piece of art or fic. You can try to fill all five prompts that week at once with one piece of art or fic. You can do any number in between.

Are there any prizes for making anything for this event?

Just the satisfaction that you made something cool.

Is it just SamBucky?

Yes please, just SamBucky. There can be side ships, but the main ship should be SamBucky.

How long will this event run?

It will run from March 19th and run until April 23th.

I heard there are badges I can use for each fill?

There are! They will be revealed on the Sunday of each week.

Rules and Guidelines

What are the guidelines for the bingo?

I will be borrowing some of this from the MYSU Valentine’s Day Bingo 2022 Guidelines, since they were fantastic.

For Everyone:

1. Remember to @sambuckylibrary in the post as well as #tfatwsanniversaryevent2023.

2. Please also tag the square you’re filling (for instance, if the square is “Sports AU”, use “#sports au” as one of your tags when posting about it on Tumblr).

3. If you’re uploading to AO3, please:

a ) Say somewhere which prompt you’re filling.

b ) Add it to TFATWS Anniversary Event 2023 Collection (TFATWS_Anniversary_Event_2023).

For Artists:

1. Create at least one piece of new art that can’t have been posted anywhere else before this.

2. All visual art forms are welcome:

a ) Gifsets, at least 3 gifs.

b ) Aesthetic boards or moodboards, at least 4 images each.

c ) Drawing/painting, that is not a sketch.

For Authors:

1. At least 500 words.

2. Posted on Tumblr or AO3.

3. Can be part of a series, but should work as a standalone.

For Podficcers:

1. The podfic should at least be 10 minutes long.

2. It should be posted on either Tumblr or AO3.

3. The podfic can be of a fic made for the event, a fic not made for the event while still adhering to the prompt, or a notfic.

Things to be mindful of when creating:

For Sam

Avoid framing Sam only as a caretaker or emotional support for Bucky. Be mindful of Sam acting angry or aggressive in an out-of-character way and falling into the angry/sassy Black man trope (check out the MCU source material to help with character traits).

Avoid decentering Sam as a main character and refrain from focusing entirely on Bucky.

In art: avoid whitewashing Sam’s skin and research drawing Black characters.

General disclaimer: Race affects every aspect of his life, including interacting with police/government and the white structures of the world when it comes to performing his duties as Cap and simply being a Black man that lives in the U.S.

For Bucky

Avoid phrasing “flesh/normal/human hand” to refer to the contrast between his prosthetic arm and his right arm. The phrasing is ableist. You can simply refer to his prosthesis when relevant, otherwise use “right/left arm/hand”.

Specific Tags:

Avoid tags in AO3 like “Sam Wilson is a Gift”, “Sam Wilson is a Saint”, and "Bucky Needs a Hug".

Have fun and we look forward to your TFATWS Anniversary fics!

- The Mods

[pleasantlyinsincere]

May Pang, Sunday Mirror December 14, 1980

MY LOVE AFFAIR WITH LENNON - I didn't steal her man - by Tony Frost

John Lennon's secret love has talked for the first time about her "beautiful and tender" affair with the tragic superstar.

Chinese beauty May Pang has fought back the tears and said: "I still can't believe he is dead. Now he is gone, I feel a part of me has died too." Lennon turned to May after breaking up with his Japanese wife Yoko Ono in 1973. They spent eighteen 'Idyllic' months together - living in Los Angeles for six months, then setting up a love-nest on New York's fashionable East Side, before Lennon eventually went back to Yoko.

Only a few close friends knew of Lennon's romance with May, who was once secretary to him and Yoko. The affair was deliberately concealed from fans.

May, 30 but looking ten years younger, overcame her grief at last week's assassination of the ex-Beatle to give me an exclusive interview at her Manhattan apartment. "They were such magical times", she said. "Thank God, no one can take away my precious memories. I count myself as a very lucky woman to have shared some of John's most tender moments, his private thoughts and, most of all, his love. John brought me more happiness than I could hope to find in a lifetime with another man."

May originally worked for apple, the Beatles recording company. She became very close to Yoko and helped her in women's lib campaigns. "I don't want to say anything that might be hurtful to Yoko", she said. "She was always very kind to me. I didn't steal her man - they had broken up before John and I became lovers. I know she is deeply upset, and my heart goes out to her. But I have shed as many tears as Yoko."

Last Monday night, when Mark Chapman pumped five bullets into Lennon outside his New York home, May was at a friend's flat half a mile away. "We had the radio on," said May. "The disc jockey suddenly interrupted saying 'John Lennon has been shot'. At first I thought it was some kind of a sick joke. The initial news flash said that John was wounded. A few minutes later it was announced that he was at the hospital being operated on. I began shuddering and held my breath. I prayed that it wasn't true, but the third bulletin revealed the awful truth - John was dead. I screamed hysterically for several minutes. I stayed in bed for two days, sobbing and just thinking of John. I couldn't eat or sleep - my body was so numb from shock."

TOO UPSET

"The only thing I managed to do was pull a call through to Yoko. One of her aides answered the phone, saying she was too upset to talk to me. I can understand her feelings. Perhaps she cannot forgive me for loving John as much as her, and I feel I have no right to intrude into her sorrow. I left a message that I would gladly to anything to help her or their little boy Sean."

May's flat is a shrine to Lennon. Two pictures that she took of John - one showing him shirtless on a beach in California, the other relaxing with ex-Beatles drummer Ringo Starr - take pride of place. A note that Ringo slipped through the door of their New York home is pinned on the wall. "Dear John and May, Popped round to see you. Will call again." May has all of Lennon'd records but her most treasured possession is a doodle he produced.

"He was talking about finding peace and tranquility in his twilight years," she said. "He sketched for several minutes and handed me a drawing of himself as a little old man. 'That's how I'll look, when I'm 64,' he told me."

Lennon obsessed with assassination during the early Beatlemania years, later curbed his fear of death. "His great desire was to grow old gracefully," said May. "Some people fear old age, but John actually looked forward to it."

May, who was nicknamed 'Mother superior' by Lennon because she loved to organise things at his recording sessions, now works for Rod Stewart's record company. She cuddled two pet cats as she told of the gentle side of Lennon.

"When he read about callous acts of violence throughout the world, he would take it all so personally. 'Guns are for cowboys in the movies,' he said. John wanted desperately to be accepted at the level of the ordinary man. He always shunned bodyguards, to avoid attention being drawn to him."

WITTY VERSES

In a magazine interview shortly before his death Lennon said he had sometimes beat up his women. "He was never like that with me," said May. "He was a kind, caring and gentle companion. We would often stay up until dawn discussing music and the world's problems. Sometimes as we lay in bed he would recite poetry - nothing heavy just little witty, amusing verses - or sing to me. He was a real romantic and I don't believe he was capable of hurting a fly."

Lennon's fling with May ended after he bumped into Yoko backstage at an Elton John concert in New York.

She suggested he should improve his health by cutting down on alcohol, losing weight and stopping smoking. An appointment was made for him to visit a hypnotist who treated heavy smokers. Friends say that after his first session in the hypnotist's chair Lennon walked "almost spell-bound" back to Yoko's flat. From then the two were inseperable.

"When John went back to Yoko I knew it was finished between us forever, because he was a loyal and honorable person", said May. He was faithful during our time together and since he returned to Yoko there was never any question of him looking at another woman."

The last time May spoke to Lennon was three years ago ata party at Regine's nightclub in New York. "He was very careful in his choice of words because Yoko never left his side," said May. "I believe he could sense that I had never stopped loving him. I will love him forever. There will always be a corner of my heart reserved for John Lennon.

Lennon's affair was observed by Chris Charlesworth, then American editor of Melody Maker.

Chris, 33, said in London: "He was obviously infatuated with May. Yoko thought it would be a short-lived fling while John sowed his wild oats. I don't think he could ever get Yoko out of his mind. He used to ring her every few days just to hear her voice."

Chris said: "Dying so young was something that never entered John's head. 'When I'm 64, Yoko and I will be a doddery old couple living in a tiny cottage in Ireland,' he said. "Yoko envisaged them growing all their own vegetable and milking a couple of goats every day."

Lennon gave the reason why the fab four could never perform together again.

He told Chris: "If we got our act together it wouldn't be as good as the old days. We're rusty old men." The world will now never know if he meant it.

[tomorrowusa]

Remember how Trump often whined about NATO members allegedly not paying enough for their own defense? Under President Joe Biden, over 70% of NATO members have reached their defense spending targets – a high for this century.

NATO Secretary-General Jens Stoltenberg announced on Monday that 23 of its 32 member states were expected to meet the alliance's defense spending commitments this year. That is 13 countries more compared to last year's data, and five more than an earlier estimate in February. "This is good for Europe and good for America," Stoltenberg said in a speech unveiling the newest numbers in Washington, "especially since much of this extra money is spent here in the United States."

One of the NATO members is Iceland which technically has no military. But the stats don't include Sweden, a strong investor in defense, which just joined this year.

And as Secretary-General Jens Stoltenberg reminded us above, a lot of that European defense spending benefits US industries.

Speaking to DW, Davis Ellison, a strategic analyst from the Hague Center for Strategic Studies, said that the collective recognition of NATO targets is especially noticeable when examining how much defense spending is now dedicated to new equipment. "In the past, you had a lot of focus on personnel costs, which ranges everything from pension to health care and everything else," Ellison explained. "But now you have a much greater collective investment in equipment, which is more to meet NATO targets than anything else." The security expert pointed out that this extra spending compounded NATO's military might.

Putin's invasion of Ukraine was a wake-up call for liberal democracies. It's significant that four of the top six NATO countries for defense spending share a land border with Russia.

Trump's claim that our allies respected America more during his administration is a bizarre joke. In fact, they actually made fun of him behind his back. Remember this classic SNL sketch about a NATO summit in 2019?

The only international leaders who liked Trump were dictators who found him easy to manipulate.

Former Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull of Australia called Trump "creepy".

Malcolm Turnbull says Donald Trump's 'creepy' embrace of Vladimir Putin a threat to Australian security

NATO and other liberal democracies have become stronger since Trump's departure.

[brightoakgame]

Irregular Monday Update, Edition 10

Here we gooooooooo--!

The Demo:

✨The full Act I Demo will release on Itch.io June 24th, 2023, and Steam soon afterwards.✨

That's right! This upcoming June 24th! Twelve days from now! Less than a fortnight hence! A dozen sleeps from tonight! (assuming I sleep between now and then, hahahaha...haa...)

To that effect, if you missed my earlier post, here's the demo release trailer, complete with @remnantation's excellent character art, and one of the absolutely incredible tracks John Åhlin composed for the original score:

What will the demo entail, you ask?

The full first act (of three) in the story, clocking in at roughly 40,000 words of content!

The first major story branch!

A couple potential false starts, and one early Bad Ending! ...sort of.

OpenDyslexic, Visual Sensitivity, Screen Shake Off toggles are all implemented! (thanks be for super @herotome for making sure this happened!!)

What will be missing from the demo that is planned for the final release?

CGs (for those unfamiliar with the term, these are special illustrations which pop up in response to specific story events and noteworthy dialogues). With the demo release, @remnantation and I will be turning our focus onto pinning down exactly where and what we're doing for this (and no, Rem, we cannot make them all feature Jasper)

We will be updating the demo later on to incorporate the characters blinking (once more thanks to Wudge of Herotome!). For the demo release, it felt better to have no one blink instead of only John and Marybeth, however. It is in the works, though, just to add that little bit more life and movement.

Answers to all the questions the first act conclusion will bring up. 😈

Beyond all that immediate excitement...

Backgrounds:

All sketches AND painting are 💕done💕 for the first act, with just six (+ two variations) remaining to line, scan, and implement for the demo!

For those keeping score, that leaves roughly 10 background sketches remaining for the full game!

I'm abandoning my quest to summarize how many are fully completed against a tally of how many remain, for the simple reason that I've had a great deal of success experimenting with more manual/digital hybrid work, and so my number of backgrounds has ballooned accordingly, though without a substantial increase in workload. How much more, you may ask...? Well, I'm currently clocking 64 backgrounds painted and/or complete, out of previous estimate that 60 backgrounds total, and that number will jump up further still once I'm done with the lining and can do some lighting variations.

Coding:

Wudge the Wonderful has been on an absolute tear with getting all the practical and quality-of-life assets programmed, up, and running!

Among those: moving clouds! The sky! It moves..!

We conferred last night on some exciting ✨special effects✨

I have about two chapters remaining for the demo to program expressions, sfx, and music cues, which ought to be done by the end of the week, so that next can be devoted to playtesting, playtesting, and playtesting some more!

To do next:

Figure out those CGs!

Bring back the blinks!

...backgrounds 4 life, backgrounds 5ever...

Set up Steam page!

Coding coding coding!

See everyone soon!

[esilher]

Thank you @cryscendo , @shame-is-a-wasted-emotion and @forabeatofadrum for the tag!

There is a lot on my klaine plate! And I can’t share anything from my challenge about your chosen places, because it would be instantly a spoiler for the next person! I also can’t share the wip of he next drawing from our OTP challenge with @mynonah, but I have been hit by the Bridgerton univers, the costumes, colors and atmosphere, and…i think i will do some crossover Bridgerton-Klaine (no idea if it’s how we say this…) So here, some sketch ideas:

There is so much to draw!!! Dancing, a lot of stairs or garden scenes…piano playing, reading in a nice room… and all the nice possible costumes for them. And the colors of course. This will be fun!

If you are in the mood, can you show us some sketches? @mynonah , @porcelainvino , @twinkkurt , @justgleekout , @warblercore?

[ivorydragoness44]

Maul Monday Update

Darth Maul Adult Coloring Book:

Spider!Maul Edition

I'll spare you the sight of the multi-colored sketch layers. It would look like organized chaos. Though early on, I had to color code his six spider legs so I wouldn't get confused 😆 So, if you want to imagine spider!maul with blue, pink, and green mechanical legs, go right ahead.

For his torso (not shown here), I sketched about three revisions before I was happy with it. ...but then I wasn't, and drew four more.

So up next: torso line art, including those tattoos, long horns and nails, arm wrappings, THEN clean up all of the lines 😅

Next week, there may not be a Maul Monday Update because I will be baking and preparing for my family's Thanksgiving this week. (But I might end up sharing some pictures of the cookies 👀)

~~~~ ~~~~

Thank you again for your enthusiasm and support 🥰

If you haven't already and would like to get your hands on this Darth Maul Adult Coloring Book when it is complete, check out my post here

I wish you well, and may the holiday season be kind to you ❤️

[simplegenius042]

Music Monday, WIP Wednesday, OC SMASH OR PASS & "OMG It's Blorbo Bleebus" Character Sheet

Tagged by @imogenkol

Tagging @socially-awkward-skeleton @noodlecupcakes @voidika @josephseedismyfather @aceghosts @inafieldofdaisies @icecutioner @derelictheretic @shallow-gravy @shellibisshe @direwombat @strangefable @rhettsabbott @josephslittledeputy @cloudofbutterflies92 @skoll-sun-eater @cassietrn @carlosoliveiraa @adelaidedrubman @g0dspeeed @wrathfulrook @afarcryfrommymain @strafethesesinners @turbo-virgins @raresvtm @softtidesworld @starsandskies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @florbelles @titiagls @minilev @yokobai @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @justasmolbard @alypink @thesingularityseries and @nightwingshero + anyone else who'd like to join.

Three songs for The UnTitledverse Original WIP called The Dark Awakening, the sequel to A Blast In The Past, two WIPs for Life, Despair & Monsters and A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore and character sheets for a character in Wings And Horns.

The Dark Awakening is a planned sequel to an original work of mine called A Blast In The Past in The Perfect Storm saga of The UnTitledverse. Calvin Dearing actively works to push against the purgatory he's been forced in by the Narrator, with a new obstacle to "Find The Keys" in Chapter One.

"Soon enough, you'll come round Embrace this darker art What goes up must come down Everything moves in arcs

("Gee whiz!")

You've been walking round in cycles And you've had your ups and downs (Ha-ha!) When you passed out we made contact Extremely deep underground

I've been drawing seven circles And that's where he can be found 'Cause these creatures need their sheep So he can free us from these bounds."

Chapter Two is where Calvin finds out the identity of the Narrator, and the illusion begins to crumble with another key found. So the Narrator pulls out his trump card: "The Devil's Swing".

"Dreams do come true I was deceived by karma's tune* and now I'm coming after you Who is laughing now? You thought that you could cut me out but now the ink is pouring down A trend** was created out of ink Then molded into a 3D beast You can hear him coming by his taping feet It's Me*** and the Devil's Swing

Snap back to the era when the swing was king Now the workshop fading in behind the scene There's a deep, dark secret hidden underneath It's "Bendy and the Ink Machine!"

"Oh, Terrence****, I got your message There's still a sketch on my old workdesk It might have been a bit overzealous To collect all six of these office relics

I haven't seen my peers in over thirty years But there's no one here except grinding gears And my rising fears."

"The illusion of living was only the beginning Ink incarnate that's sinning, presented in Sillyvision The illusion of living was only the beginning Ink incarnate that's sinning, presented in Sillyvision!"

[*The Narrator has no relation to Joey Drew, and neither does Calvin. **The Narrator has no relation to Bendy, and neither had the Purgatory he made. ***Note that here the Narrator would be relating the Devil's Swing to just himself, meanwhile in the fourth line of the next verse, it has quotations to "Bendy and the Ink Machine", where the Narrator playfully, in a mocking manner, relates this fic to one of it's inspirations (that being Bendy And The Ink Machine). ****Calvin has no relation to Joey Drew, as his boss is Terrence Carmine]

The last chapter is "Can't Be Erased", where Calvin's found the Keys and now must find the forgery to meld them together as the Narrator raves and does everything within his ever decreasing power to keep Calvin within his grasp.

"Can you describe the face you saw? Could it be one you recognise? We'd never harm the hand that draws Imagination cursed us all with life

Shamed and defaced Scathed and disgraced Tainted by hatred And can't be erased Creators betrayed us We've got it on tape We've written your fate And it can't be erased

I was not always a monster Once I was somebody's muse Innovation made us stronger But that power was abused The machine is thumping And the ink is pumping Now, you need to run Because the Demon's coming."

"I really need help, someone send a telegram I'm surrounded by upside-down pentagrams I don't have a guide Just a little bit of candlelight With an axe that I don't know how to handle right That Little Devil Jester's* on a lot of reels Long as he's on one, he cannot be real Stop the projections, he's** off his reel Got a feeling he and Carmine*** got a deal An unholy bargain, a demonic seal With a master plan that I must reveal Won't be long till that ink's all congealed Upon my body, head to toe, all concealed But a little bit of bleach should do the trick I'll never watch another damn cartoon, I quit!" "Look at you, you're scared of a moving pic." "Hey, how'd you get that tutu to fit?"****

"I'm blinded by this evil growing My heart is full of people-loathing With secrets that I keep from showing I am the wolf in sheepish clothing Flood the shop with ink flowing Push it to the brink of blowing We hope you don't think of going Weigh you down to keep from floating Come with me, we'll bring you joy***** You'll be kept from being lonely Kicking, screaming, sinking slowly Give your soul, it's what you owe me."

[*The projection of a cartoon character that Calvin has never made nor seen before looks like a jester. **Bendy is not a character in A Blast In The Past nor in The Dark Awakening. ***Terrence Carmine is the closest counterpart to Joey, though Terrence has no involvement in this purgatory state (though he did have a hand in Calvin's human death). ****Since Bendy doesn't exist here, Calvin is just replying to the Narrator. *****As mentioned, Joey Drew doesn't exist, and joy is the closest to to rhyming with "Joey" (not really but bear with me)]

Here's a WIP snippet of My Heart Goes Doki Doki Literature Club!, where Monika is still reeling from the fact that, from what she can tell through the facts, she is alive and is in reality. You know, typical existential musings:

Monika traverses on the concrete path at a slow pace as she passed Sayori's neighbourhood, on her way home

Or where I think home is.

One of the many oddities she's experienced in this reality was the lack of recollection of anything after she deleted the game - the files, the setting, her friends, herself, EVERYTHING - yet the unmistakable recognition of faces and scenery without knowing how or why they came to be.

It felt similar to her default programming; the personality, opinions and appearance that she was preset with before the curse of self-awareness manifested.

The relationships she had with others, the values she was meant to hold for her role as the Literature Club's president; all predetermined before she became alive, knowing what she was supposed to feel towards others without any prior real experience in the first place.

Nothing learned, just predetermined. And it was the same here.

She made the conscious effort to continue to keep one foot after the other, the hazy and pained feeling of her jello legs utilizing the muscles she now had to keep her balance and proceed forward.

Monika still wasn't over this sensation; not just of her body, but of the sounds she could hear, the words slipping past her tongue, the colors that burned into her retinas, her first taste of porridge still lingering on her tongue and almost making her teary eyed again.

Granted, the overwhelming senses had caused her to take a few sick days off last week (much to her chagrin) after that embarrassing incident in class. She was gladly over the nausea now... only feeling slightly lightheaded whenever she had to face her frie- no, clubmates.

The ones you murdered, the voice of Him said. Well... not His voice, rather MC's voice, but the tone was the what Monika could differentiate.

She shook her head, ignoring His demeaning voice. Strands of coral brown hair loosening out of the shitty bow tie she hadn't quite grasped in perfecting. At least by the standards of the game.

She blew out a huff of air, unsure what to make of Him. He was everything to her. He was the only real thing in a false reality, and she tried everything to make Him see her. To look past the A.I's of her clubmates to the only being real in a digital world.

And He had seen her. Had seen what she did for Him and was disgusted by it. Went as far as to reject her. Delete her.

And even now when she was in the same world she had yearned to be in... without Him physically here... she only had the voice He used to communicate with her, a remnant that just like Him, hated her.

She slowed down, but not out of the negative emotions that brewed when thinking of Him, to her surprise. Monika look to the small iron gate that greeted her, and gazed her green eyes to look upon the pale house.

She didn't know how, but she knew she arrived to her destination. Monika found the sensation eerily similar to how her programming worked.

She turned to face the house, uncertainty weighing down on her like an anchor.

Is there a family that awaits me here? a question invaded her mind, accompanied by, A father? A mother? Maybe siblings? Or am I an only child? How close are we? Do they leave me be... neglect me even? Or are they the overcritical type? Hovering around expecting only the best from me?

Those questions did nothing to ease the tension twisting in her stomach. Nor did the jingles of keys when she brought it out of her blazer's pocket.

Taking one uneasy breath, she unhooked the gate, and made her way to the front door. Though she knew this was home, she couldn't help but feel a cold dread fruitlessly trying to pull her from unlocking the only way inside the now intimidating house.

SMASH OR PASS

RULES: pretty self explanatory. include physical descriptions or pics, and propaganda. the “other” label can be used for “sexuality misalignment” (ie: oc is femme and you’re gay, vice versa or you aren’t into smashing but a specific thing you wanna do with them like perhaps hug or study them under a microscope idc).

MARISSA "RESS" BISHOP (A RADIOACTIVE CALAMITY OF LOVE, BOMBS & GORE [FALLOUT])

QUICK FACTS:

Height: 6ft and 2 inches

Age: 45 (but looks to be in her late twenties thanks to the rate of age between humans and Displacement/Human-Displacement hybrids, the genetics of which she received from her evil father, Arcane Urias)

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: A raging Bisexual.

PROS:

Ress is a confident and dominant woman

In spite of her popularity, once she's in a committed relationship, she's committed and will never be unfaithful.

She's actually funny.

Dating her means benefits from the Bishop Crime Family (as long as you swear not to rat them out). E.g. unlimited funds, gifts, romantic dinings, protection (though Ress is enough protection in herself).

Very into PDA.

A very reassuring girlfriend.

Ress is part basically living energy that has a fleshy body, and is extremely durable, unlikely to become exhausted (at least in most situations), and can utilize energy into an offensive/defensive weapon (can be lethal... or non-lethal, depends on her mood). You basically got a girlfriend with (all-kinds) of energy superpowers.

Easy to take care of (just leave her out in the sun or the nearest energy source to photosynthesize once her energy reserve depletes... or zap her with electricity [BEWARE: This kind of makes her libido skyrocket]).

She's open to try out all kinds of kinks and quite experienced. Also very communicative during sex, like zero misunderstanding will happen with her.

CONS:

Her confidence can be borderline arrogance if left unhumbled.

Getting into a relationship (of any kind) with her means acknowledging that one day she will outlive you (in age). You especially need to get her to acknowledge this as she might attempt to sabotage the relationship.

Ress' is a bit ignorant to the fact her comments can be outright offensive to humans, and she is very casual about it. Also likes to intentionally push any tense situation into worse (mostly to give her the opportunity to embarrass people and show off).

Very touchy.

She is part of the Bishop Crime Family. And she is very close to her family, so please take into consideration of the cons (e.g. assassination attempts since Ress being Ress will not shut up about the relationship if it's serious, there is the possibility the if the family discovers your relationship they may push you both into marriage to "officiate" you into the family, the fact her family is amoral at best and immoral at worst, etc).

Daddy issues.

May brush off your compliments because she doesn't think she really deserves them.

Can be quite possessive and jealous and will not acknowledge that she is.

Very flippant about her feelings and will likely focus on you rather than herself because the Omniscience-forbid my characters ever face and process their trauma like normal people.

Jumps the gun on "murder first, ask questions later" considering what she was taught in the Bishop Crime Family and the Wasteland.

The Arcane Urias may attempt to end your life since he will view you as a weak point to hurt Ress. [Also she and her brother Ore are very open about wanting to kill their dad so... don't be surprised about the "revenge-murder board" in the lounge one day].

XIANG BA'AL (WINGS AND HORNS)

[Image is a reference to what his appearance is most similar to: Kagetane Hiruko from Black Bullet]

[Also he's having the time of his life for a Sloth Demon whose a dad out for revenge for his adopted daughter]

You can find the template below:

Credit: the text in the insert-image box comes from this video, and the text for the top three lines (intense, complex, fruity) comes from this post. The actual image was made with the free NBOS character sheet creator, which is a sort of dated but free and solid text-layout sheet maker intended for ttrpg style character sheet creation.

[ll-but-its-random]

Five and Six as Frank James' ISTP MBTI Sketches Quotes:

Because I found out they're both ISTP and I am too so the rest are going to follow

Einar: How'd the first day at a job go? Five: The lady at the front desk said I look like I have a "case of the Mondays" more like a case of the crushing corporate rat-race. --- Six: I know you're still upset with me, but we all learned a valuable lesson today. Six: It all goes back to my Cepan's old saying: Six: "F*ck around and find out, kid". --- (At the therapist) Five: Look, I'm only here because Ran says I don't "open up" whatever that means. Five: Sounds like some hippie sh*t if you ask me. --- Six: I'm gonna be out there, throwing knives at trees as hard as I can until I feel better. Do not get in my way. You have been warned. --- Five: Statistically, flying is safer than driving, but at least if you're in a car accident, you're not falling out of the sky at 400 mi/hr. --- Six: Pain is merely mild warning screams from your body. I think I can handle it. --- Five: Wash my hands? Fine. Distance myself from other people? With pleasure. Five: But why, for the love of god... did they have to cancel sports? --- Six: I think you should leave now while your *ss and my steel heeled boots are still strangers. --- Five: You want my relationship advice? Five: ... you sure it's me you wanna talk about feelings with? --- Six: I don't know what about a holiday celebrating a beheaded saint says "love and romance" and I don't care. Six: I'm only in it for the chocolate anyway.

[pillowfriendly]

Six Sentence Sunday Monday

Thanks for the tag @anyboli ^^

Post 6 sentences from a WIP and then tag 6 people

The small section in the front contained the horrible writing practice Alphinaud insisted on checking. She flipped past it quickly. The rest held the useful records: a catalog of every fish she’d caught and how. All sketched with identifying features in detail and the tastiest parts circled. The first entries were rough, amateurish impressions with graphite smudges where her hand had dragged and pinprick holes where she’d pressed too hard. But the latest ones, drawn with the nice pencils Alphinaud used as bribes, stood sharp on the pages with crisp, clean lines.

tagging: @ferrocyan @smallest-turtle @blackbutterflypriestess uhmm you already got the other people i know write stuff i think. if i forgor u i am sorry

[whooambouttamakeanameformyself]

Beautiful Bloodshed

Otis Driftwood x Transmasc! Reader (18+)

Chapter Six

(Chapter Five can be found below)

Same warnings apply, aside from the cult activity that Y/N takes part in, and Otis invading Y/N's privacy by going through their sketch book.

(A/N: The reader has started working at Spaulding's, working under the table for some extra cash. Thankfully Spaulding needed the help.)

~~~~~~~~~~

(Monday morning, Y/N is visiting the Firefly house after work, Mama's words still echoing in his mind.)

Y/N was lost in thought again, so lost that he didn't hear Baby calling his name.

"Y/N? Y/N. Y/N! Dammit, Y/N! what the hell is up with you?! You're acting weird!" Baby yelled. She got up from her place on her bed, running to her bedroom door.

"Mama! I think Y/N is broken!" She called to Mama Firefly.

Mama appeared in the doorway, looking past Baby at Y/N.

"Y/N? Sweetie, are you okay?"

Mama asked, her voice snapping Y/N back to reality. They look over at her, nervously starting to speak.

"O-Oh, uh, y-yeah, I-I'm okay... I-I'm sorry...." they couldn't even talk right, how pathetic.

Mama just shakes her head. "Sweetie, I know you ain't okay... you gunna tell me what's wrong or am I gunna have to guess?"

It was pretty obvious that they didn't want to talk about it infront of baby so Mama told Baby to go check up on Rufus while they talked, which elicited a frustrated sigh from Baby as she walked off.

Mama sat down on the edge of Baby's bed, taking a drag off her cigarette. "Now, what's troublin' ya?" She asked, her eyes trained on Y/N with a soft look, clearly worried about them.

They took in a deep breath and started to speak. "I've been thinkin' about what you said, about me tellin' Otis?"

Mama raised an eyebrow. "Mhm, and are ya gunna tell him?"

They shook their head, looking down at their hands. "I can't tell him, he don't like me like that, and if I told him I'd just be ruining a good thing."

Mama let out a loud laugh. "Don't like you like that? Are you kiddin' me?! Have you paid any attention to how he acts around you? I know he hides it well, but every once in a while his masculine mask begins to slip." She takes a drag off her cigarette before continuing. "You know he asks Baby when you're comin' over again if you haven't been over for a few days? He is so happy after you leave he'll stay up late into the night working on his art."

Y/N shakes their head. "That don't mean nothin'...."

Mama rolls her eyes. "Then look at the way he treats you! That night you fell asleep in his room? Or him showin' you his art? He's givin' you little pieces of himself and you just ain't noticin'! Poor boy is probably thinkin' you don't feel the same way about him."

When Y/N thought back on those things it became more obvious, how could they be so damn blind?!

Y/N let out a frustrated sigh, holding their head in their hands. "I'm such a dumbass..."

Mama just nods with a giggle. "Yeah, but your my dumbass baby." She gets up and walks over to where they were seated, gently petting their hair. "I'm gunna go now, sweetie, you think on what I said, okay?"

And with that she was gone, leaving Y/N to sit in silence.

Maybe they should just tell him...

They had planned on staying for dinner, but they wanted to head home early so they made their way up to Otis's room where they had left their bag. Like usual, his bedroom door was open. He always left it open when Y/N visited, sort of an indication that they could come in at any time.

This time he'd forgotten that the door was open, and Y/N just walked right in while he was flipping through their sketchbook. They froze, watching him flip through the pages, then finally stopping at the last sketch they'd done.

The sketch they'd done of Otis.....

He stared at it, still not noticing Y/N standing in the doorway. His eyes lingered on the drawing, taking in every detail, soaking in every drop of emotion they put into it.

"Otis...?"

Their voice make him jump slightly, snapping his attention to the door.

"Leaf! I was jus' lookin' at some of the stuff you did, gotta say your art ain't half bad." He quickly tried to play it off as he closed the sketchbook.

Y/N decided to let him get away with it, letting out a soft chuckle. They grabbed their bag, taking the book from his hand.

"definitely lackin' in comparison to yours." They said, shoving their sketchbook in their bag.

Otis let out a soft chuckle. "I guess so." He watched as they slipped their bag onto their shoulder.

"Leavin' early? I figured you'd be stayin' to help out with tonight's ritual."

"I figured that was a family thing, I didn't want to get in the way or anything." They shrugged sheepishly. Otis just laughed, rolling his eyes.

"You are family, you can join in if ya want."

And so they did. They helped Baby prep the victim for slaughter, hog tieing them and laying them on the large stone altar they used for some of their lesser rituals.

~heads up for cult practices~

Once the victim was set and Otis was ready they all gathered around one side of the altar while Otis stood on the other side, the sacrificial blade in one hand, his book in the other. Since this was the first ritual they were participating in they were stood next to Otis, facing mama with a slightly worried look on their face. She gave them a reassuring smile as Otis began to recite the chant from the book, slowly raising the blade above his head.

Some parts of the chant were chanted by the whole group, Mama and Baby getting really into it. The chant soon came to an abrupt end, the blade being plunged deep into the victim's neck, eliciting a guttural scream of terror and pain as thick red blood began to pool beneath them. mama and Baby began to cheer loudly. Otis took the metal goblet from Mama, capturing the blood that began to drip off the edge of the altar. Once the goblet was half full Otis took a sip, the blood staining his lips red. He then turned to Y/N and offered the goblet to them, which they took hesitantly, looking up at Otis, aside asking for permission. Otis nodded, silently urging them to drink, which they do.

Putting the rim of the goblet to their lips, tilting it up, allowing the metallic tasting liquid to fill their mouth half way. A bit more than Otis drank, but they wanted to prove that they could handle it. They swallowed and handed the cup to Mama who took a sip then handed it to Baby.

Once each member had a sip the goblet was placed on the alter and the body was moved to the pile of brush where the second part of the ritual was preformed.

Mama and Rufus both held torches, standing on either side of the brush pile. Y/N stood next to Otis, listening as he chanted the final chant, a chant which seemed to hang in the air like a thick fog. When he finished he raised his hand to the sky and the brush pile was set ablaze, burning the sacrifice and ending the ritual.

That ritual will forever be burned into Otis's memory as the night he realized he liked having Y/N by his side, it was like an extra burst of energy making the ritual feel much more powerful. The fact that they joined in, drinking from the goblet... it was like they were an ethereal being that came to earth to share their power with him.

End of Chapter Six

~~~~~~~~~~

I know that some of the ritual stuff was taken from the other Cult Leader Otis post that I made, it was just too good not to put in here.