#and ive been drawing again. and getting better. and i just. like i stopped for YEARS

[chimkin-samich]

its kinda a stupid question, but i rlly wanted to know how tf you guys come up w such good dialogue for the comics u do :o i guess a better way to word it is whats the whole process like when making the comics? do you just go with the flow when writing & drawing or do u guys write the dialogue out before?

another question is how r u two doing? ive noticed its been quite a bit since the last art post…NO PRESSURE OFC just wondering:3

RAAAA HI HI WERE STILL ALIVE 😭

Ok question first then explain what’s been goin on for us Irl Skdkf

Our comic process is a bit… messy let’s call it lol. Typically how it goes is we get an idea on what to do wether it be angst fluff or anything, the idea can come from a meme, something that happened to us, reading something or even just a random lightbulb moment, from there we bounce it off each other to see how it could possible go and if the other has perhaps other ideas on how to build on it

After we have a solid idea on it we basically live roleplay, we set the scene and one of us starts it. The roleplay isn’t exactly what we’re going for (mainly cuz it ends up a lil goofy or really really bad) but it gives feral the base she needs on how to direct the comic, sometimes I’ll even make a write out a quick and short snippet to help her build the scene as well. Both RP and the snippet are very useful tho just depends how we’re feeling (it’s usually a RP tho cuz it also gives feral some expressions to work with as I play the boys)

It’s a messy way of doing it cuz it’s very chaotic but it helps a ton for feral to have a starting base before diving into the comic, both by giving her some dialogue to modify, expression to work with and a general direction on the story

As for the part if we’re ok.. I don’t wanna jinx it again so I’ll say that we’re alive 😭 (putting a read more cuz post is getting long)

We planned on coming back to makin art in Feb/March but things did not go as planned, in Dec our water pump broke so we had to move out for a week until that got fixed and then in late Jan our roof started leaking and we had to pack up and move out entirely in March cuz we found out the entire roof is atrocious and needs to be torn out and redone 😭

We thought we would be back home by now but they were barely able to start working on it last week cuz legal issues got in the way that took forever to resolve so we might not be back home until June, we have a place to stay tho so dw bout that! Just a lot of things have been happening and we’re really hoping we can start making art again soon, we do have comms that we need to finish first but once those are finished we plan on hopping back in cuz we really miss making content

So fingers crossed we can actually get back into it, in the mean time we do have a lot of wips, both drawing’s and writings cuz we would start em in this period and then have to stop due to issues, so there’s not only a lot in the works but also even more ideas in our head of stuff too do ✨

[heartorbit]

if we could stay connected, just like this

[xxplastic-cubexx]

I LOVE your art first of all gahh!!

And i love the way you draw Charles like, did you just make this bald old man incredibly attractive????

thank you so much !! with that i always say I Draw What I See ... charles xavier already attractive nuff said tyvm i didnt do anythin extra.....

[bmpmp3]

I NEEED to go back to making art that makes it ABUNDANTLY clear that theres something wrong with my brain BUT NOT in a cool or stylishly interesting way. i need to do it in a way that makes people say "hm." and walk away

[stabyou]

13 year old honey would think my art right now is fucking INSANE. and that makes me feel so happy. i feel eons behind everyone else, but, art is so delicate, it feels like if you aren't perfect then you aren't good -- but like. i have to see it this way: holy fuck, you DREW that!! you made that out of nothing!! your skill is on the paper!! i have to view it through that simple lens. it's not gonna be the most perfect thing you've ever seen. but ... at the end of the day, you MADE THAT!! and if you keep making it, you will get better and better...

[skrunksthatwunk]

been cleaning my dorm for like 4 hours and it somehow does not feel like it has amounted to anything

[krawdad]

I'll get back to digital art eventually

I can only imagine this incursion into brush and ink is going to benefit digital art. if not just because it's helping shake the rust off. But it's also automatically training me to hold my drawing tool more vertically. I hadn't been messing with tilt sensitive brushes much since I had sort of automatically been holding the stylus like a pencil. Now I've accidentally arrived at a comfortable and most likely more ergonomic stylus grip because that's just how I have to hold the brush pen to use it.

This wasn't originally about going "hey cross disciplinary knowledge is useful actually" but learn a skill you don't know if it will turn out useful. I can't read Japanese script but I learned what I needed to know by watching a Japanese calligraphy class. You can't see any nails if you don't give yourself the hammer first or whatever.

[yanderefarm]

May I request cuddling Emil and telling him how good of a mommy he would be

"mommy" emil

cw;; breeding kink, overstimulation, mess, feminization

this is probably poorly written but isn't everything. i have another request in the inbox of emil with a daddy kink ive been picking at. he can be your mommy or your daddy-

no one would ever expect to see the king in such a pathetic position, it was more befitting a whore than his royal highness. but here he was; cum was dripping down his thighs, a mixture of yours and his own, and his neck down to his chest were covered in bruises, itmarks, and the wet traces of your saliva. you weren't faring much better, emil had left scratch marks on your arms and back that made you look more like you got in a fight with a cat. one of your scratched up arms was wrapped around emil's waist while the other was under his firm thigh holding his leg up. you were both still panting. 

emil let out a pathetic cry when you tried to drag your cock out of his abused hole, his nails once again digging into your arm. you grimaced in pain but you were too tired to say anything opting to whine like a kicked puppy. 

"stay." emil ordered through panted breaths.

you gently released his leg, allowing emil to relax into your arms. he let out a heavy sigh as his head hit your shoulder. 

"baby... let me get you cleaned up." you could feel more of your cum leaking from where you two connected.

"how w-wuh, ngh" his presumably haughty words caught in his throat when you shifted slightly. "stay." 

you couldn't bring yourself to argue with his needy demands, how fucked out he sounded still, nor the warmth of his wet hole. so you simply shifted your bodies to a more comfortable spooning position and you wrapped yourself around him. emil's pretty pink eyes fluttered as exhaustion started to take his body. you helped him along by peppering gentle kisses along the bruises on his neck. just as your husband was starting to drift to sleep he let out a little whine and squirmed against your body. 

"you're going to leave as soon as I sleep." he said like a pouting child. 

you sighed. "i won't leave." 

"you'll pull out and clean up and I'll never get pregnant." 

you stifled a little laugh at his words before you kiss his cheek again. "ok. i promise i won't." 

"i don't trust you." his arms cross in front of his chest as he pouts. 

you let out another heavier sigh. "you're tired, emi." 

"then you should be tired too." more cute pouting. 

"i am tired. that's why we should sleep." you kiss his cheek. 

he just shakes his head, crossing his arms more aggressively to make a point. you pepper more kisses across his cheek until he turns into your kisses. you finally capture his pouting lips and he stops crossing his arms to wrap around one your neck instead. he lets out a pathetic little moan. 

"emi, you're so good for me." you keep one hand on his stomach while the other slides down to massage his thigh. 

"mmgh, you're just trying to trick me" he rolled his head back against your shoulder.

"no" you kissed the corner of his lips. "you did so good tonight."

emil finally smiled, dragging you to kiss him again. "tell me how i'm good." 

"you're so pretty. your skin looks so pretty all marked and messy," your fingers trailed up his sticky skin drawing more soft moans from him. "your moans are so pretty," you let your thumb gently brush against his soft cock causing him to shudder. "you look so pretty taking my cock."

you grunted feeling emil's hole clench around you. you moved your hand back to his stomach immediately trying to hold him still against you. emil hummed, satisfied at your reaction. 

"i am pretty. what else?" he had a cocky smile on his face at that point. 

you sighed, your head falling forward to rest against his shoulder. "you're an arrogant bastard." 

that just earned you a painful tug of your hair. 

you rubbed your hands against his stomach drawing a moan from him. "do you feel that?" 

emil looked down at the bulge in his stomach, his cheeks burning. "thats... you." 

"that's how I'm putting a baby in you." you rubbed the bulge holding back your own moan. "you're gonna be a mommy" 

emil gasped his lips just hanging open. 

"you're gonna be such a good mommy. i can't wait to see you carrying my children." you kissed his cheek as you rubbed wider circles in his stomach. "you'll be so pretty and swollen." 

"i can't." you watched in shock as tears started to brim in emil's eyes. 

"does it hurt?" you stopped your motions. 

emil touched his own stomach replacing your hands. "i can't be a good mother." 

you let out a relieved sigh before you put your hand over his own. "i would be so honored if you would mother my children." 

"i would hurt them..." he started to cry properly. 

you kissed away his tears. "no. you protect you don't hurt." 

"i kill everyone-" you caught his lips and gave him a passionate kiss. he melted into your arms, body relaxing. 

"our children will be so lucky to have you." you reassured him after your lips finally parted. 

"they'll be lucky to have you..." he nuzzled into you. "my pretty husband." 

you pulled him into another passionate kiss, his free hand desperately pulled at you. he rolled his hips purposefully causing you to moan against his mouth. the hand still on his stomach rubbed into the bulge this time causing you both to moan. 

"emi I'm tired." you whined when he finally let your lips part. 

"you're going to put a baby in me tonight." emil pushed you onto your back causing you to let out a whine. he repositioned himself to straddle your lap.

"even if it takes all night."

[inzaynety]

observation duty ⤫

➢ summary: you’ve taken an interest in some medical books he has laying around, and what better real-life, hands on specimen than your own man?

➢ content: zayne x fem!reader, 1215 words, shirtless zayne, slightly suggestive

➢ notes: imagine touching this mans serratus anterior 🤭; okay but it’s been a while since ive taken muscle physio and all i remember is that and like a few others so you’re getting my limited knowledge enjoy

Maybe you should’ve gotten into physiology sooner. It was pretty enjoyable, if you made it out to be.

It all started after a long afternoon nap. You wake up following a typical fever dream with a cold sweat and confusion. Adjusting to the initial disorientation, you look over at the digital clock, and only twenty minutes have passed. With how groggy you felt and the approaching sunset out the window, it sure didn’t feel like it. 

Swinging your legs over the bed, you walk into the hallway in hopes of finding your boyfriend. He mentioned leaving for the store for a couple of things before you knocked out, and he must have still been out while you called his name. You keep walking and decide to just wait in his office, stalking over to his desk and looking down at the contents. 

I’m mature, you think to yourself. Maybe you’re still processing the trauma of waking up.

The book Zayne has on the corner of his desk has a diagram of a man fully unclothed, and your eyes subconsciously zone in on one particular spot. You choke back a laugh before closing your eyes and composing yourself. 

You feel another laugh coming. I’m mature. 

It’s embarrassing to say that it took a good five seconds before another laugh bubbled up in your throat. Taking the defeat, you seat yourself and open the book to avoid seeing the drawing again and making no progress. The random page you find yourself on has a regular diagram you would see around his office and rooms of your routine physicals, pointing out the main muscles you were somewhat familiar with. 

You don’t realize that you’ve flipped through a good number of pages until the front door opens and his voice comes through the hallway. 

“I’m home.” He calls out, and you rush over to greet him. He’s carrying a few grocery bags, and while he’s typically against it, there’s your favorite takeout in his arms. “Sleep well?” He asks when you come into his view. Nodding, you help take the food from him, but your eyes don't meet him like they usually do. 

“I did,” you’re distracted, “welcome home.”

Zayne thinks there must be something on his shirt and goes to subconsciously rub at it with his now free hand, but you stop him in his tracks by holding onto his forearm. To your not-so surprise, it tenses at how intense your stare is. 

“My love, what are you looking at?” You let out a short breath and release him to place your takeout on the dining table, leaving him utterly bewildered by the door. Zayne’s used to your antics by now, though they never fail to surprise him. However, it’s not too long after he puts the small amount of groceries away that you take his arm again in your grasp, squeezing a little. “Darling–”

“You have such nice extensors.” You say it matter-of-factly, squeezing at the taut muscles. He’s not flexing or anything, so you take it upon yourself to move upward towards his bicep. “Flex.” He does.

Oh. Surely you’ve noticed it before, but the diagrams on those pages really make you appreciate the finer details.

After a few moments of silent squeezing, you meet his eyes with a sweet smile and pull him closer to your body. He wastes no time wrapping his arms around you, though his expression is still laced with questioning.

“Zayne?”

“Yes, my love?” He can’t say no to you, right?

“Can you take your shirt off?” He blinks. 

“Come again?” You don’t say anything and simply tug at the hem with both of your hands. There’s a look of determination on your face that intensifies when you lock eyes with him. 

Again, you never failed to surprise him, and clearly, the day would never come when you wouldn’t. Thus, for now, it seemed like he had no choice.

His skin is smooth underneath your fingertips, and the expanse of his back was much broader than you had anticipated. 

“Why are you surprised?” There’s a bit of playfulness in his tone: “You’ve seen this plenty of times before.”

“Shut up,” you pout, continuing with light pokes here and there and muttering under your breath of the different muscles you learned. He hums in his spot, hearing you name everything, and you think it’s all right as he doesn’t say anything to correct you. 

Trapezius, latissimus dorsi, rhomboid minor, rhomboid major—it was all so much clearer than you anticipated—you didn’t know if you should feel impressed or something a little more. Zayne really did do these diagrams justice.

After finishing off what you could remember, you tap his cheek, signaling for him to change his position for what remains of your studies. He complies, muscles rippling as he presses down into the couch to lift himself up to turn. Your eyes linger on his shoulders, trailing down his arms to where his hands grip the fabric. 

Ah. Nice.

“Are you almost finished?” Zayne questions you and easily accepts you into his lap when he settles down. 

“Mhm, just a few more.” Winking, you nip at the tip of his nose, and he can’t help but scrunch. How could a man like him be so cute? 

You continue on, staring at his abdomen, and you try your best to ignore the slight flinch he gives when your nail trails over the sensitive skin. He knows you’re doing it on purpose if that smirk on your face was anything to go by. 

And here was the part you were waiting for. Pectoralis major, pectoralis minor.

You spent a bit of time here, not knowing who it benefited more: you or him. And again, you keep going. 

It’s comfortable, straddling his lap as you trace over his lines of hard work. He watches quietly when you make it up his neck, sternocleidomastoid coming through your lips in a whisper, and his skin starts to create bumps. The sensation isn’t unwelcome, but he would much rather you pick up the pace because, while your focus is endearing; he really wants to kiss you. 

You trail to his face, still avoiding his eyes, and finally, finally, stop at his lips. 

“All done,” you muse, and you feel his arms twitch around your frame when you giggle. “How’d I do?” He lets out a huff, but a smile grazes his lips when he leans forward, getting that kiss he wanted for some time now. 

“Perfect.” There’s a sudden grip at your waist, and you’re flipped over, back to the couch, as he can’t wait any longer. 

Bonus:

You hum in satisfaction, bringing your arms around him as he settles himself comfortably on your chest. There’s a few breaths of silence as you trail a hand down from his tricep towards his wrist—but you stop just at his elbow. Zayne flinches against you when you lightly pinch and pull at the skin there. 

“Zayne?”

“Hm?”

“Is this a weenus?”

He doesn’t say anything, and you think he’s fallen asleep, but looking down, you see that he’s staring at you with the most scandalized look. He can’t tell if you’re serious or not. 

“A weenu—what? Where did you hear that from?”

“Rafa—“

“I think you should stop listening to him.”

©inzaynety 2024

[writtenbyan-aries]

Tangled Around You | Sam Golbach

∶ Summary: Anon request - "ok could you like make it so y/n or whatever is on sams lap, making out with him, while watching tangled, and then things escalate iykwim. ive been like NEEDING THIS."

∶ I wrote this as a Colby one shot first, and I didn't even realize it until AFTER I posted it on here, so click here if you want to read the Colby version of this request.

∶ Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, teasing, cute name calling, hair pulling, biting, fingering, unprotected sex, oral (f rec), creampie, fluff with smut

∶ Word Count: 1.5k | Not really edited, it’s like 2am lol

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

"Do we have to watch this movie again?" Sam groans as he sits down on the couch. You smirk slightly and sigh, "I love this movie, Sam." He rests his head back on the back of the couch and looks over at you, "I couldn't tell."

He instantly laughs and you laugh, hitting his shoulder as you sit down on his lap, "Will this make it better?"

His hands slides around to rest in your lap, "This does makes it better."

You reach up to grab the remote, giving him a good view. Sam's eyes move to your ass and his tilts his head as he raises his eyebrows, "Yeah, definitely better."

You look back at him over your shoulder, shaking your head slightly as you smile. You lean back, getting comfortable as the movie starts.

You hum along with the songs, singing them to Sam as he just laughs with you, singing with you, teasing you in all sorts of ways.

Sam has been paying more attention to you than the movie anyway, and almost halfway through, you look over at him, "What are you looking at?"

He reaches up slowly, brushing hair from your face and ticking it behind your ear, "Nothing.” His hand slips under your shirt and he draws small circles into you skin, “I just like looking at you."

The heat in your cheeks rising, creating a rosy blush, "Sam." He makes you nervous, but in a good way. He smiles and stops you from looking away.

He leans in, pulling you to him so he can connect his lips to yours. You give in, laying a hand on his cheek as your lips move smoothly with his.

He pulls you into him, wanting to take things more, but you lay a hand on his chest, pushing yourself away, "Sam."

"Mm." He whines slightly, "Come on."

"After the movie." You say, knowing damn well it wouldn't be after, but you put up the fight. You move around slightly trying to avoid Sam's gaze on you.

"Can I have another kiss, at least?" You look at him finally, smirking as you see him pout, “Please.”

You sigh with a smile, leaning in to peck his lips. You quickly turn your head back to the tv, but as soon as your eyes lay on the tv, your head is turned and you're now looking into sam's eyes again,

"Y/n."

"Yes baby?" You smirk slightly and he tilts his head, "Is the movie over yet?"

"It can be.." you run your hand through his hair, "What's in it for me?"

He smirks and nods, "I can show you."

You think about it for a few moments before standing up, "Okay." You run towards the stairs and Sam follows behind you.

He grabs you by the waist and you both drop down onto the steps. Sam is on his knees, in between your legs and your arms are around his neck.

“We doing this here or?” His eyes move up and down your face, waiting for you to answer

“You ever do it on the stairs?” You bite your lip as he shakes his head, “We can change that.” He pulls you in, kissing you as he hands work as pushing your sweats down.

He stands up to pull them off and quickly reassumes the position he was in before. His hands slide up the outside of your thighs as you kiss down his neck.

His hand slides into the small open space between your thighs and quickly pulls your panties the side, “I knew you couldn’t wait until the end of the movie.”

He chuckles lowly as he feels how wet you are for him. It’s like that all the time, but he always acts surprised, “Fuck, babe.”

You whimper out as his fingers slowly slip into you. He tilts his head back, watching as your eyes roll back, “That feel good or something?”

You open your eyes, wanting to fight back but you wanted Sam this whole time, you didn’t care.

He runs his hand through your hair, tangling it around as he pulls, “Need you.”

He moves down a stair or two to dip his head down to attach his lips to your clit. You lay a hand on the back of his head as you grip the stair next to you, moaning out.

He thrusts his fingers in and out of you as his tongue works your clit, groaning against you as he feels you reaching your point of orgasm.

You watch down at him, moaning and whimpering out his name as you squeeze his fingers, “Fuck, fuck. Right there.”

You arch your back, pushing your chest out as you cum, “Yes yes yes.” You gasp and look down, breathing out quiet, “Fuck.”

He moves back up, “C’mon. My knees are killing me.” You laugh as you watch him stand up, “Now you know my pain, Golbach.”

His head snaps down at you and you stand up, a little wobbly, but he picks you up bridal style and walks up the steps, “I should have known something like that was going to slip from those pretty little lips.”

You smirk at him before he tosses you onto the bed and immediately discarding his clothes. You watch him as he moves up to hover above you.

He shifts in between your legs as you spread them and you can feel the tip of his cock brushing against where you want him most, “Please.” You whimper as you move your hips.

“Oh so now you want to be nice?” He smirks as he leans down to kiss you, moving back your jaw and down your neck, “maybe if you take the rest of your clothes off too, we can finish this and watch the rest of the movie.”

You lean up slightly, pulling the shirt from your body and tossing it, “Fuck the movie.”

Sam hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls them down just enough for you to slip a leg out and he wastes no more time.

You freeze and grip his shoulders as you feel him slide into you, “Sam.” You moan out almost breathless. He buries his face into your neck, moaning along with you.

His hands have a harsh grip on your hips, “Goddamn.” He lifts his head and looks down at you only to crash his lips onto yours as he starts thrusting slow, but quickly builds up to a punishing pace.

You swallow each other’s moans as you both cling to each other. Getting so tangled up into the moment that you don’t realize you left red lines across his back.

“So close..” you whimper out, “S-Sam..”

Your back arches off the bed, pressing your chest to his as you cum around his cock. His arm slides under you, holding you against him as his thrusts bring you to that point all over again, “cum for me.”

You hang your head back, moaning out as Sam fucks you through your high. Your nails paint even more scratches on his back before sliding a hand up to the back of his head.

He rests his forehead against yours, groaning out as he’s getting ready to cum, “Fuck, y/n.” He moves his head down to push yours up as he kisses you.

His thrusts are growing sloppy, and soon after he slows his thrusts down, your legs pulling him into you more.

“Sh-Shit.” He pulls out and lays on you, breathing heavy just like you. Your hand instantly goes to play with his hair and you let out a content sigh, “Thank you.”

“For what?” He asks keeping his head rested on your chest and you try to hold in your laugh but you can’t, “For getting me to not wait until the end of the movie.”

He slowly lifts his head and looks up at you with a smirk, “Anytime, babe. Anytime.”

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Thank you for reading!

Likes and reblogs are appreciated!

[aealzx]

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Update Post

Prologue | AO3

Previous Next

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Despite not being comatose anymore, Danny’s health still wasn’t the greatest. After getting introductions for who everyone was they had started to explain to him what had happened. Only for him to fall asleep again before they got very far. After being assured by Bruce and Leslie that it was normal for those who had been in a coma to not be able to stay awake very long in the beginning, the others had found ways to entertain themselves while letting him rest more. When he woke up again hours later they let him orient himself again before trying to pick up where they’d left off. They had to repeat the same sequence again two more times before they got through the entire two months worth of events.

The hardest part of catching Danny up on everything had been admitting they didn’t know what had happened to Maddie and Jack. During the third time of being awake Danny had asked where they were, being confused why they hadn’t shown up to see him yet despite everything. And when Jazz had finally admitted it was because they weren’t there, and they didn’t even know if they were okay, Danny had panicked slightly. If he’d been in better health Jazz knew she wouldn’t have been able to stop him from running out into the city to try and find them himself. Yet at this point he couldn’t even push himself upright without help, and changing forms or even floating seemed impossible. Which had left him collapsed in Jazz’s lap, sobbing, “You don’t get it, Jazz! None of this matters at ALL if the people I care about aren’t alive! That includes mom and dad! None of this matters if they’re not okay too!”

Jazz knew that Danny really only fought to keep certain people happy. He’d protect everyone, sure. But the reason he kept going, the only real motivation he had for throwing himself in harm's way all the time, was to protect his friends and family. He did a lot of crazy heroic things, but he didn’t want to be some big time famous hero like she had learned Batman and Superman were. It was hard to not be able to tell him that he hadn’t failed. Only Sam, Tucker, and Danielle had been able to get him to calm down by reminding him how resilient Jack and Maddie were. Despite all the fights they got in, it was very rare that those two got hurt. So odds were they were still just fine after this disaster too. It had been enough to calm him down at least enough to stop crying, and allow himself to rest more. But his words still rang in Jazz’s head the next day.

Throughout the days Leslie was present more, checking Danny’s vitals, drawing a little more blood for another panel, bringing him room temperature water to sip in the afternoon. She strangely didn’t try to get Danny to eat anything until the next day. When Jazz asked about it Leslie had explained that while Danny definitely needed to eat again, there was a chance he wouldn’t be able to handle it just yet. While the cryo stasis had helped him not deteriorate as much as anyone else would have over a two month coma, he still had. He was underweight, malnourished, and easily fatigued. And that included his digestive system. She tried to help by giving Danny another vitamin IV with a slightly different formula. But even with that the first time she’d let him try eating two plain crackers he’d ended up throwing up less than an hour later.

That was when Bruce happened to come check on them. With the biggest hurdles for now having been taken care of, most of his kids had gone back to their own homes, as they usually did. It was hard to keep them around for more than a few days, and while there was still the task of getting these displaced kids back home they all knew that could wait until Danny was feeling better. Especially after learning through bits and pieces of information that there was a government team back there that would just love to hunt him down the first chance they got. So with Duke and Damian currently at school that left the house rather empty, and Bruce found himself taking charge of checking on their visitors. He had learned a lot about them in the past two days. The kids were obviously used to helping patch Danny back up, without the help of any adults. But they still relied on Danny being okay to feel secure. Danny was the one that protected them. Danny was the one they relied on being okay to judge whether or not everything else was okay. When Danny was cracking jokes the others were at ease. But when Danny couldn’t force himself to reassure them, there was a harsh spike in their anxiety. And usually Jazz was the one that took charge, trying to keep them all calm and reassured.

It was an unfair, but understandable situation that didn’t allow for Danny to truly rest. And that was what motivated Bruce to enter the room and approach the kids this time, stopping by the connected bathroom to grab a soft towel first. Jazz was once again the only one sitting on the bed while the other three hovered nearby, waiting to be directed. Her hands were on Danny’s back and arm as he was curled over the bucket Leslie had made sure was left just in case, coughing and half heaving despite there being nothing left in his stomach. Bruce couldn’t imagine how much stress it must be to have an audience, so decided the first thing he’d do would be to get the others to disperse. When he raised his hand to Tucker’s shoulder he couldn’t blame Tucker for jumping in startle.

“D’dude! You scared me,” Tucker protested shakily.

“He’ll be alright,” Bruce chose to assure instead of apologizing for inevitably sneaking up on the kids. “Can you three go work with Alfred to find a change of clothes and bedding?”

The three almost jumped on being given something to do, a series of affirmatives before they scurried from the room. Bruce sent Alfred a text to request he keep the three of them occupied for a while then knelt down next to the bed and offered the towel to Danny. It seemed his stomach had decided to stop throwing a fit for now, and as Danny took the towel and buried his face in it Bruce relocated the bucket to the nightstand. He didn’t need to wipe his entire face, but from that angle Bruce hadn’t missed the tears, and realized Danny was hiding.

“Jazz, can you join the others?” Bruce requested on Danny’s behalf. “And find Leslie to help waterproof his injuries so he can have a bath?” Not only would that give Danny some time away from the others, but he actually really needed one too. A fact Bruce realized when he’d reached up to help pull Danny’s hair out of his face. He’d probably feel a little better after getting fully cleaned up for once too.

Jazz seemed reluctant to leave, but at least seemed to know when her presence was a detriment more than comfort. She knew her brother well, and after leaning down to give Danny a peck on the head and whisper a quick ‘I love you’ she headed out the door.

“...Am I even allowed to have a bath?” Danny’s question came after he was sure Jazz was gone, raising his head and looking and sounding as miserable and pathetic as he probably felt.

“Of course you are,” Bruce assured, using his thumb to brush away another tear that escaped when Danny blinked. “We’ll just have to waterproof your injuries and IV site. But then you should be fine to take one for as long as you want.”

“...Really?”

“Yes.”

The idea of getting some time to himself was welcomed, but after realizing what he was thinking Danny’s expression crumpled again, and Bruce had to raise a little to catch him as we swayed. He was a little surprised when Danny actually curled into him then, his form shaking.

“Sorry,” Danny whimpered, and Bruce couldn’t keep himself from gathering the boy up in a tight hug. “...I’m not okay.”

That sounded like it had been incredibly hard to say, and Bruce had to wonder if it was something someone had been working on with him. He’d heard from Jason that it was relatively recent that Danny’s parents even knew what he was, let alone what he’d been going through. Perhaps one of them had been the one to talk him into letting them know when he wasn’t doing well.

“...I know,” Bruce responded quietly as he moved to sit on the bed and pull Danny into a ball. Everyone knew Danny wasn’t doing well physically. But Bruce knew he wasn’t just talking about that part of his health this time. “You’re going to be okay though.”

It felt good to be held by someone he didn’t have to protect. Someone that he didn’t have to pretend he knew what he was doing for. Act like he was just fine and nothing fazed him. It had been something he had just started getting after his parents got involved with all aspects of his life, and he hadn’t realized how much he would miss it until they weren’t there to give him that comfort. Jazz had a habit of calling out the fact that he was just a kid, but she was too, and couldn’t quite give him what he needed. But Bruce was an adult. And someone who seemed to have also lived through similar injuries. Hearing him say he’d be alright felt like a stated fact instead of just a confident reassurance.

It didn’t take long for Leslie to arrive and expertly shoo Jazz away again to help Alfred with the others. She wasn’t surprised at all to hear that Danny had thrown up, and instead just assured him he was going to be okay, and to think of it like having the stomach flu. The comparison did wonders in helping Danny calm down more, to the point he was only sniffling quietly as she took care of dressing his wounds in a waterproof covering.

“Don’t scrub too hard on the edges of the bandages when you’re washing up, okay?” Leslie directed while rubbing the said edges of the last bandage she was placing around his arm to encase the temporarily detached IV. She’d taken some time to clean the sites that would be covered so Danny would be able to feel completely clean after his bath, and was pleased to see he was healing a lot faster now that he wasn’t in some sort of stasis mode. She wouldn’t be surprised if his wounds were completely healed by the end of next week at this rate.

Danny gave a small hum in acknowledgement, understanding that he couldn’t break the seal if the bandages were going to work properly. The desire for an actual bath was strong enough that he was willing to comply with their conditions, even if it meant he had to have Bruce in the bathroom with him, just in case. It made sense considering he couldn’t go to the toilet on his own just yet, but at least Bruce had promised to stay facing towards the door as long as he could. He also had his phone with him to work on his own projects, so wouldn’t even try to get Danny to talk to him.

It was exhausting, but Danny also didn’t realize just how much it would feel good to be clean. To not have his scalp itch, and skin feel like a layer of grime was coating it. And also just to lounge in the warm water, in the silence and almost complete isolation. He was there for a little over an hour - dang fancy rich people's tubs and their ability to keep the water just right - before it became uncomfortably apparent he wasn’t just imagining the aching starting to get worse. Which led him to reluctantly using his foot to nudge the plug out to allow the water to drain and reaching out to knock his hand against Bruce’s shoulder.

“Done already?” Bruce asked easily, glancing over his shoulder halfway.

“Morphine is wearing off,” Danny admitted with a grimace, resting against the side of the tub.

“Ah,” Bruce nodded in unfortunate complete understanding, turning his phone screen off and tucking it into his pocket while grabbing the towel and soft robe to hand to Danny. “Let me know if you need help.”

Danny hummed once again to acknowledge what was said, but stubbornly took care of at least getting the bathrobe on himself on his own once the water had drained. Unfortunately he had to ask for help to get out of the tub, still too weak to lift himself up or stand. But Bruce didn’t react differently towards this than if Danny had simply asked for help opening a jar or something. It was nice.

Alfred had already brought a pair of soft pajama pants and fluffy socks when he’d returned to change the bedding as well. And once Danny was dressed Bruce had carried him back to the edge of the bed where Leslie could double check that the bandages had worked, get the IV reattached and another dose of morphine going. He found he was so worn out from the simple task, but also found that once the morphine did its job taking away the aches and pain he did feel a lot better than before. Enough that Duke pausing in the doorway while returning home from school didn’t make him feel too wary.

“Oh- First post injury bath?” Duke asked, pointing a finger at Danny as he noticed the bathrobe on the bed and Danny’s still damp hair. When Bruce nodded, Duke grinned. “Nice! Those always feel amazing somehow. You should take him to the couch next.”

“The couch?” Danny couldn’t help asking. Was it just the family room couch or something different?

“In the study. It’s quiet in there, and being stuck in bed sucks,” Duke explained. “I bet he was actually already planning on taking you there. After living here I came to find out Bruce is actually really good at helping people feel better. Even though he’s not perfect, no one is, he still makes a nice dad-”

“Duke,” Bruce interrupted, a slight scowl hiding his embarrassment. “Make sure you have enough time to finish your homework before patrol.”

Other people may have been put off by the glower, but Duke just laughed. “Sure sure. I’ll meet you in the study?”

It took Danny a moment to realize Duke was talking to him, and couldn’t keep his shoulders from drooping. He didn’t really want to entertain people yet, he was already feeling physically drained on top of emotionally.

Surprisingly Duke picked up on the mood easily. “I’ll keep quiet. Promise. But trust me when I say it’s really nice,” he offered, easily picking up Danny’s anti-social vibes.

“...Sure. We can try,” Danny accepted, figuring he could at least attempt the idea since Duke didn’t seem to want to spend the time talking.

It was just a few more minutes for Leslie to finish giving him another routine checkup and add an anti nausea patch behind his ear before allowing Bruce to pick him up again. Danny inevitably felt tiny as Bruce was able to carry him with just one arm, leaving the other free to bring the IV pole with them. But he found he didn’t mind. It had only been two days of him being awake in that bedroom, but Danny found getting to leave the room was nice. The study was quite a ways down the hall, and when they reached it Alfred was already there.

“I’ve provided the usual snacks for Master Duke and Master Damian. There’s also a thermos of warm broth that Dr. Thompkins has approved for Master Danny to try if he’s up for it. I will continue to keep the rest of the children occupied until supper,” Alfred informed, bringing their attention to the mentioned food on the low table in front of the very plush couch.

“Thank you Alfred,” Bruce responded simply, heading further in the room to get settled.

There was a fire crackling gently in the fireplace, keeping the room pleasantly warm despite the autumn chill outside. There was already a slight frost on the windows, but the glass was the only thing that reflected that cold. All the colors of the room were warm, and the faux fur blanket Bruce grabbed to help bundle Danny up in only increased the cozy feeling the room had. It was quiet, as Duke had said, and comfortable. Even when Duke and Damian joined them to work on their homework they rarely spoke. And when they did it was in low voices, and to each other about their homework or school day.

Danny had accepted being brought there with the thought that he’d have to end up asking to go back to the bedroom later. But after having spent some time quietly looking around the room his gaze had settled on watching the fire. And slowly the crackle of the wood, soft scratch of pens and pencils, rustling of paper and quiet taps of technology muddled into a soft haze. Eventually Danny’s eyes drooped closed as the soft sounds and comforting warmth became a lullaby coaxing him to sleep. 

Duke was right. The couch was pretty nice.

_____________

This entire chapter was unplanned X'DD but I ain't complaining.

Bruce was as hard to draw as Dick was 8 | my art style is too cute coded for these rugged american comic characters.

Also I am extremely distracted translating a manga that not available in english just so I can know the story |D updates might be a little slower.

_____________

Tag list: @galaxy-sharks-and-bottled-ships, @starscreamlover, @nerdynonnativenarnian, @dragongoblet, @megacharizardx99

@bellathecatastrophe, @cj-ghostemoji-destielpie, @asexual-insomniac, @wolfeyedwitch, @tkiesai, 

@fanaroff, @raven1508, @nebulainajar, @serasvictoria02, @oliocelottafanfics,

@honeysuckletook, @omniithe-deer, @wolf-under-the-stars, @gingernutcalo, @that-random-fangirl,

@op-sys-chaos, @kirasigncomics, @ehobep, @paranoid-ira

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

We got each other (and that's a lot)

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 18

Prompt: Hurt/Comfort

Rated: M

CW: Violent imagery; aftermath of injury

Tags: Steve got vecna'd (he's okay, though); Angst; Trauma; Fluff

Notes: Continued from day 3. They'll be fine, they just need to kiss some and get a lot of therapy, probably.

Wanna see these soft, broken boys sleeping? Check out the heartwrenching art by @house-of-the-moving-image

Eddie drifts.

Inky blackness surrounds him like cotton, every sound, every thought muffled. His neck and fingers and arms still hurt, but it's the dull kind that comes with exhaustion, the tingle of adrenaline finally rushing from his body. Some distant part of him is still stirring, demanding that they stay alert … but the darkness is warm and soft and alluring as it pulls him under. 

Something cold touches his hand. 

Eddie flinches awake, heart kickstarting in his chest, fear zapping into his limbs like an electric current.

He fell asleep, he realizes, and the terror of it claws its way up his throat like a slimy, rotten tangle of vines. He fell asleep and when he opens his eyes it'll be to find Steve floating under the ceiling again, to find Steve's mangled corpse on the bed, eyes sucked from their sockets, face twisted in an eternal, grotesque scream, it's too late and he fell asleep, he fucking fell asleep while- 

Steve is awake. 

Steve is awake and he's looking at him and he's alive and his hand is lying on top of Eddie’s. It's cold and there's a needle in it from the IV cord and he's ghastly pale against the sheets, but he's smiling softly and he's alive, he's alive and Eddie wants to scream, to cry, to kiss him and never stop, to hold him and never let go-

"Hey," Steve whispers. 

"Hey," Eddie croaks. "You look like shit, man."

"Aw," says Steve, and the corners of his mouth twitch and Eddie thought he'd never see his smile again and shitshitshit don't cry, Munson, don't cry. "Thought I was pulling it off real well." 

He jerks his head in the general direction of the cast on his right leg, the one on his left arm. Eddie thinks he'll hear the sound of the bones breaking in his nightmares for the rest of his life.

"Typical," is what he says. "Half dead and still worried about your looks." 

Steve hums a not-quite-laugh. His fingers caress the back of Eddie’s hand. 

"Is he …?" 

"Dead," Eddie blurts. "For real this time. It's over." 

"The kids?" Steve's fingers twitch.

"Fine," Eddie says, watches how Steve's entire form sags with relief. "Buckley and Wheeler, too. And everyone else. It's over." 

"I- good." Steve screws his eyes shut, gulps. Draws a shuddering breath. "That's good." 

Eddie watches how his shoulders start shaking. Following a sudden impulse, he flips his hand and tangles his hand with Steve's, careful not to upset the needle. Steve blinks down at their entwined fingers. 

Eddie forces himself to smile and rambles on before either of them can question the gesture. 

"El was so fucking metal, you should've seen her. Like, the way she obliterated that douchebag? Remind me to never get on that girl's bad side! Seriously, man, I don't think any of us would be here if she hadn't-" 

"Well, I don't think I would be here …" says Steve. "... if it hadn't been for you." 

Eddie’s words barrel to a stop. Steve’s fingers tighten against his, trace the callouses on his hands. Steve’s smile is small and soft, but his eyes are serious, trained stubbornly on the ugly pattern of his hospital gown. 

"I thought you hated Bon Jovi." 

Eddie huffs. "Fuck, yeah, I do. Forcing me to besmirch my Sweetheart's strings with that mainstream shit? You owe me big time, man. Better start thinking of ways to pay me back."

"Yeah?" Steve raises their tangled hands lightly. "How's this for a start?" 

And then, before Eddie can even wonder what he's about to do, he ducks his head and presses a kiss to his knuckles. His lips are soft and warm. 

Eddie blinks. Waits for the world to stop spinning. 

"For … a start?" he repeats dumbly. 

Steve's eyebrow quirks. 

"Dude, I'd like to do so much more, but I'm glad I managed to lift your hand, to be honest. We should also first talk about stuff, I guess." 

"Oh," Eddie says intelligently. "You mean … like that thing you wanted to tell me?" 

"Yeah, like tha- … that thing." Steve needs to interrupt himself for a huge yawn halfway through. Since one of his arms is in a cast and the other hand is refusing to let go of Eddie’s, it ends up open-mouthed and adorable. "Probably'll have to sleep some more b'fore that, though …"

"Sure thing," Eddie is out of his chair and fussing with the pillow before he realizes what he's doing. Steve's eyes are already drooping as he helps him settle down. "I'll … I'll be outside, tell the others you're-" 

"Eddie?" Steve's grip around his wrist is light as a feather, but he still stops like he's been tethered in place. When he turns, there's fear swimming in those pretty eyes. "Stay? I don't … I'd rather not be alone." 

Eddie is back in his chair before Steve can finish the sentence. 

"Can you…" Steve's eyes are slipping shut again and his words are slurred, so that Eddie must lean closer to catch them. "D’you think you can sing? So I can find my way back, if- … Your voice is like light."

Eddie doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t know if there's anything he could possibly say to that. So he says nothing. Just swallows around the lump in his throat and takes Steve's hand and starts singing softly. 

By the time Steve's breath evens out and his fingers go limp, Eddie’s other hand has found its way into his hair. 

Eddie keeps singing for a long while.

For as long as he's here, Steve will always have someone to guide him back.

Part 3

All my holiday drabbles

[mortish-writes]

Tendencies, What are they for?

With the last couple of polls I've realized that not everyone understands what the purpose of the tendencies are apart from unlocking choices sometimes. Which as the writer/developer is totally my fault so let's demystify them.

Tendencies are personality traits that will add shades of distinction to your MC. Apart from merely unlocking different options, I want tendencies to also be hidden in the narrative, changing details within your scenes. With the Week One update, most of the tendency choices will be open and there will be a lot more choices woven into the narrative. Once you reach Night VIII, your personality with be (almost) fixed. You'll have very few opportunities to gain new tendencies, but you will instead have dynamic scenes which change based on your tendencies. Let's have an example.

As I mentioned in the last poll, we'll likely be transitioning to opposed stats. So let's look at the opposed stat of Pious and Irreverent. Let's say your MC is 70% Pious and 30% Irreverent. Here's a random scene for her on Night VI:

"What if..." You struggle to wrap your tongue around what you're about to say. It's been an hour since you lost your faith, and already you're about to propose utter degeneracy. "Hypothetically, if I were to be indiscreet with Valdricht, would that not bother you? Seeing as how we're traveling in close quarters." Something dark passes over his eyes, but then he smirks. "I could always join the two of you in your indiscretions." You blanch. "I fear there's been a miscommunication. I am not proposing that—" "Stop with this tedium," he interjects. "You'd end up being indiscreet even if you weren't obsessed with one another. Duvkrovyr can be very... stimulating, as you might have noticed."

And now let's read that one again with a 70% Irreverent and 30% Pious MC. I'll bolden just a few of the changes that way you can reference them quickly. Note, this doesn't radically change your MC. She's still a cute priestess who is flirting with irreverence.

"What if..." You pause, aware you’re tiptoeing toward something scandalous. "Hypothetically, if I were to be indiscreet with Valdricht, would that not bother you? Seeing as how we're traveling in close quarters." Something dark passes over his eyes, but then he smirks. "I could always join the two of you in your indiscretions." You squint. "That is... a creative interpretation of my question." “Don’t act so shocked,” he says, waving a hand. “You’d end up being indiscreet whether or not you’re obsessed with each other. Duvkrovyr has that effect. You’ve felt it.”

See? Essentially the same scenes, but a different vibe and even the banter is affected a bit. Rest assured, I will not be writing the scenes differently for every 10% of personality traits. Rather, when I feel like, for example a Romantic MC may react differently in a scenario than a Practical MC, I will make some minor tweaks to the scene and create a hidden conditional link. You'll be reading as normal, not knowing that a skill check shifted you into a particular version of the scene. This way, your MC behaves in a manner which better aligns with your perception of her. One more example, this one shorter.

Here is a scene from the Heretic, Night IV:

Inside the tent, Serax has already changed into his silken small clothes. Your gaze lingers on his bare chest as you remove your boots. He stares back knowingly. "Off praying to heathen gods, Sister $name?" he asks. "I hear they cut out your tongue for that." You stiffen. "Only if you speak the blasphemy aloud." "And what do they do to vestals who fornicate?" "Depends. Usually they get sent away. Which I suspect means confinement to ensure no child will come of the union, and then..." You draw your finger across your neck. "Glory to The Merciful Mother," he says wryly. Indeed. You shrug off your coat and then fall to your knees before the fire, warming your frigid fingers. Serax asks, "Are you hungry yet?" You're not, but you aren't about to turn down the opportunity. "For blood?" He grins. "I wouldn't offend your sensibilities with anything less."

The finger over the neck? Rather cynical, no? Let's crank up the romanticism.

Inside the tent, Serax has already changed into his silken small clothes. Your eyes catch on the lines of his bare chest as you unlace your boots. He notices—and doesn’t look away. "Off praying to heathen gods, Sister $name?" he asks. "I hear they cut out your tongue for that." You stiffen. "Only if you say the blasphemy out loud." "And what do they do to vestals who fornicate?" "Depends... Usually they get sent away from the sanctum. Removed from service. It's meant to protect them... and the child, if there is one." You don’t say what else you’ve heard. You don’t want to believe that part. "Exile and silence—the cornerstones of any good faith." You peel off your coat and lower yourself beside the fire, grateful for its warmth on your fingers. It’s easier to focus on the heat than the lingering discomfort in your chest. Serax asks, "Are you hungry yet?" Hope flutters in your chest. "For blood?" He grins. "I wouldn’t offend your sensibilities with anything less."

So there you have it. Generally, the changes will be subtle and hidden, though on occasion you'll have major choices that will be dependent on certain personality traits. I hope this clears things up!

What I like about using the tendencies in a subtle manner is that it'll give me the ability to tailor chapters for different MCs, while not necessarily creating different branches/storylines. Particularly in cases where there may be an arbitrary choice, rather than writing out tons of passages just to arrive at the same conclusion, I can write your MC such that she makes the choice in a single passage, but in a way that feels natural based on her personality.

Using this kind of conditional writing will also allow me to more easily add our upcoming Week One feature, which will be Motivations. In the prologue, you'll be able to select what will motivate your character. This is a fixed stat that will subtly shift the narrative of your storyline, allowing you to focus on what most interests you, be it the sex, the pregnancy, the romance, or your own personal coming of age story. Primarily you'll see it affecting your unstructured nights. An MC motivated by having a family will have more conversations about her pregnancy, child, and the LI's in their parental roles. An MC motivated by passion will have more opportunities for spicier NSFW content. This won't bar your MC from the other content, but rather emphasize your interest in your storyline.

Lastly, my reasoning for having your MC's personality mostly fixed by the end of Week One is so that I can maintain a consistent narrative vibe. I don't want you to have a character who feels erratic, constantly changing how she speaks and reacts because of small variable shifts. Although it might be annoying to have an MC that has a static personality, there will be opportunities for changes in response to major plot events. Additionally, it'll make for great replay value. Say you want to play as a Tender and Pious MC motivated by Family and have a sweet narrative for one playthrough, then you want to be a chaos gremlin and become an Irreverent Cynic who wants to thoroughly explore her sexuality. There will be a playthrough for both!

-Mortish

[bluemoviegirl]

UNDER THE SAME SUN CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 1 HERE

joel miller x reader

tw: death (ah oh)

summary: maybe you didn’t hate Joel before, but you sure do now. And he hates you just as much.

wc: 5k

a/n: im really excited to turn this into a full story!! ive got so many ideas lined up. again, please do comment wether you liked it, what you liked etc. it makes my day!! also cant believe i got like 80 likes on chapter 1! i still have no idea how tumblr works lol

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

Chapter 2.

It’s Thursday, two days since you went on that repair job with Joel Miller. You had thought about it a handful of times, thought about the sassier replies you could’ve given to his sassy answers, rolling your eyes every time you came up with something better.

You’re sitting on your bed with your sketchbook on your lap but your pencil is just hovering over it. Your mind is everywhere but the paper. Focus, just focus and draw something you like! Easy. Easy….. Nope. Nothing.

Instead, a different idea pops into your head. As you walk into your living room, you notice how bleak it really is. Even with the sun shining in on it, it’s just not you. At least not the you that you used to be. Maybe some paint will do it some good?  Your fingers start tracing along the walls. They’re so empty. Simple plain white walls, not even a single frame hanging on them.

As if the inspiration has taken over, you start sketching on the walls. They’re simple abstract lines and shapes, simple flowers making their way through it.

After a while, you step back and look. You seem satisfied as there’s a smile on your face you can’t seem to wipe off.

You need some fresh air, you’ve been cooped up in your apartment  and it’s now around 4pm.

After the sketching, the motivation to get it done tonight is too big to ignore. So you’re headed to the Workshop where they’d probably have some unused colors laying around. You put on your boots and coat and shut the door behind you.

The feel of the outside world is different from the stillness of your apartment. A sharp chill clings to your skin, slipping through the gaps in your coat. The cold air tugs at you, waking your senses, making you all too aware of the space around you.

By the time you leave the workshop, you’re lugging three paint cans—deep blue, light blue, and a pale yellow—and your arms are already burning. You jammed a couple of brushes into your coat pockets, their handles sticking out awkwardly. The buckets knock against your legs as you walk, heavier than you anticipated. Every few minutes, you have to stop and switch arms.

What the hell were you thinking?

“Y’need any help with that?” You hear a voice behind you. It takes you a moment to register that they’re talking to you. When you turn and see who it is, relief washes over you.

“Tommy,” you exhale, dropping the buckets onto the snow-covered ground. “Yes, please.”

He huffs a laugh and steps forward, easily scooping up two of the buckets. “Damn, you weren’t kidding. These things are heavy as hell.”

“Thank you, I was seriously about to just leave ‘m there.”  You chuckle as you pick up the last bucket. “To my place, please.” You say nudging your head. You were about a street away from your apartment.

“It’s no problem, couldn’t let you bust your ass like that.” The two of you start walking, the sound of crunching snow filling the silence. He gives you a sideways glance. “Not that it’s my business, but… what exactly are you doin’ with all this paint?”

“I’m going to paint my walls.” You say, kicking a ball of snow in front of you. “Like, a mural kind of. Not just paint the whole walls.” You sounded a bit unsure, you didn’t ask anyone for permission but you figured you didn’t have to right? Now talking to Tommy has you a bit nervous.

“Oh that’s cool! A mural.. I didn’t know ya were a painter.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “I mean, I wouldn’t call myself a painter. But I like drawing. Figured I’d try.” You smirk. “Worst case, I’ll just paint over it.”

Tommy chuckles. “Well, if it turns out bad, just tell people it’s modern art. Folks’ll eat that up.”

You snort. “Noted.”

“So, is it big? Like, a whole wall kinda thing?”

“Yeah, pretty much the entire side of the living room wall.” You tuck your hair behind your ear. “I already sketched it out. Hoping to get it done today.” A pause. “Wanna see?”

“Yeah, I’m real curious.”

“It’s nothing crazy, a toddler could probably draw it.” You say, you’ve always been nervous about showing your art to others, even if it was just a sketch.

“I’m sure it’s good.” Tommy replies.

As you both enter the apartment, Tommy sets the paint buckets down inside and you remove the paint brushes from your pockets.

“Well look at that, that looks great already.” Tommy immediately says, his eyes actually lighting up a bit. You tug at your earlobe, at the little hoop earring you had in. “Really? You’re just saying that.”

He turns at you as you say that and his brows pulled a bit together with a smile at his lips. “I’m serious!” He turns back to the wall. “With the paint n’ all, I can see it lookin’ real nice.”

You smiled a bit wider, his remark giving you a bit of a confidence boost. “Thanks Tommy. Oh, would you like something to drink?” You quickly say, having forgotten he’s a guest in your apartment and also someone who just helped you carry those paint buckets.

Tommy looks at the time and back at you. “Oh no I’m okay, needda get going. Thank you though.” He makes his way to the door and turns around one more time before shutting it. “It’s gonna look great!”

You chuckle to yourself as you watch him close the door. He was being very cheerful, which influenced the way you were feeling too.

Time to bring this wall to life.

Okay, it’s been three hours. You’re covered in paint and the wall isn’t even halfway done.. You look at the wall, you’re just one woman trying to paint the entire wall and having set the deadline for yourself to today. Come on, set some realistic expectations, you literally haven’t painted since forever.

You deserve a drink. You can’t even be bothered with a change of clothes, the paint stained clothes will have to do.

As you enter the bar, the familiar mix of voices and clinking sounds of glasses immediately puts you at ease. Like it’s a little approval of you wanting to relax. You take your usual spot at the bar and Knox makes his way over to you from behind the bar.

“You’ve been painting?” He asks you as he leans his palm on the wood, glancing at your clothes.

You look down at your clothes, already forgotten you wore these clothes. “Don’t even mention it, I’ve been painting my ass off for hours and it’s not even close to finished.” You sigh and smile to Knox. Knox laughs, wiping down the bar. "Sounds like the canvas put up a hell of a fight. Want me to pour one out for your sanity?"

“Don’t have to ask me twice.” You say as you look around as to who else is here. You hadn’t realized it but Tommy and Joel were there too, sitting in a booth across from the room. They hadn’t seen you and you felt a bit silly for being covered in paint now.

Knox slides over the drink to you and you two catch up about your current ‘paint project’. “Sounds like to me you just need another set of hands.” He states.

“Ugh yeah maybe. But I don’t really know if I want to saddle anyone with this task. I want to finish it tomorrow so I just have it done. Otherwise my heads just going to keep spinning on and on about it.” You bring the glass up to your lips as you watch Knox just chuckle back at you.

“Knox, a beer and a whiskey will ya?” You hear a gruff voice a couple feet from you. It’s a recognizable voice and you look over to see Joel standing at the bar.

You’re subtly (not as subtle as you think) staring him up and down, you knew many women around here thought he was a catch. You could understand why, he doesn’t speak much, but when he does, his voice is low and rough, his jaw is strong, lined with just enough scruff to make you wonder how it’d feel against your ski-

“You’re starin’.” Joel says, without even glancing your way. Not expecting that, you choke a bit on the sip of beer you had just taken, quickly swallowing down another cough and your face immediately reddens. “I was not.” You reply quickly. You notice the smallest glance to you before his eyes turn back to Knox, who has two drinks in his hands.

You focus back on your drink, immediately starting to daydream again, you could always get so caught up in that. Your mind was thinking about the wall, and what the finished result would look like. You could picture yourself bundled up on the couch and staring at the art you’ve made.

“Here ya go, Joel.” Knox says, handing over the drinks as Joel nods and is about to walk back to Tommy.

“Actually Joel-“ Knox says as Joel stops walking and turns his head to Knox.

Joel had barely taken a sip of his whiskey when Knox leaned on the counter, smirking like he had something planned.

“You busy tomorrow?” Knox asked, way too casual.

Joel gave him a look. “Why?”

Knox shrugged, wiping down the bar like he wasn’t watching for a reaction. “Just got someone lookin’ for an extra set of hands. Figured you might be free.”

Joel exhaled, already tired of whatever Knox was up to. “What kinda work?”

“Painting.”

Joel huffed. “Pass.”

Knox grinned like he expected that. “Didn’t think you were the type to turn down a favor.”

“That depends on who’s askin’.”

Knox only smiled at that, tapping his fingers against the counter. “Well, let’s just say it ain’t anyone you gotta worry about.” He slid Joel’s drink back toward him. “And if you’re feelin’ charitable, all you gotta do is show up tomorrow.”

Joel eyed him suspiciously, but Knox had already moved on, pouring a drink for someone else like he hadn’t just set him up.

Suddenly two hands shake Joel’s shoulders. “What’s taking so long?” Tommy says.

“Knox asked me a favor.” Joel turns to Tommy, nudging his hands off of his shoulders.

“What favor?” “To help someone paint.” Joel huffed again, as if it was so crazy for Joel to paint.

“Paint? Who needs help paintin-“ Tommy’s eyes shoot to you, you were completely oblivious as you had zoned out but Tommy obviously remembered helping you carry paint, and the fact you were currently covered in paint. He grins and you could almost see a lightbulb lighting up above his head.  “You should help Knox out. Come on!” Tommy says, taking the beer from Joel’s hand.

Joel’s brows knit together. “What?” “Come onnn, I know you’re free tomorrow.” All Tommy could think about was that this could finally be the opportunity for Joel and you to tolerate each other. This way Tommy wouldn’t need to find someone else for the repairs. Plus, Joel could use some womanly influence in his life.

“Hm.”

-----

The next morning, you’re up and ready to start painting again. You didn’t bother changing out of your sleep clothes—a big sweater you cut the neckline off, some sweats and a pair of fluffy socks.— You still remember the day you found these socks two years ago, buried in the back of some abandoned store. It had felt like a gift from heaven.

You grab a paintbrush, dipping it into the soft blue before bringing it to the wall—

Knock, knock.

You weren’t expecting anyone.

When you open the door, you’re even more surprised by who standing there. And by the looks of it, he’s… also surprised?

“Joel?” You say, the paintbrush still dangling between your fingers as the cold breeze from outside makes it way in.

The cold morning air seeps into your apartment, making you shiver. Joel blinks at you, eyes flicking from your oversized sweater to the paintbrush still dangling between your fingers.

“Wrong house,” he mutters, already turning to leave.

But then his eyes catch on the paintbrush again, and something clicks. He exhales sharply, rolling his eyes. “Son of a bitch.”

You frown. “What?”

“Knox and Tommy,” he grumbles. “Set me up.”

Your confusion deepens. “Set you up for what?”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m here to help you paint.”

You blink. “To help me paint?”

“Yep.”

“I didn’t ask for help.”

“I know.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then Joel shakes his head, already stepping back. “I’ll see you Thursday.”

“Wait!” You’re not even sure why you stopped him. But something about the idea of having him here, working on this with you, doesn’t seem so bad. Maybe Joel wasn’t so terrible. And maybe—just maybe—this would make the upcoming job together more bearable.

“I could use the help,” you say quickly. “There’s… uh, some corners and edges I can’t reach.”

Bullshit, you’re tall and capable.

Joel sighs again, like he’s already regretting this, but after a moment, he steps inside and shrugs off his coat.

Now you’re standing in the middle of your living room, suddenly hyper-aware of how awkward this is.

Joel glances at the wall, then at the paint. “So?”

“Right, uhm.” You hand him some paintbrushes and point to the paint. “It’s simple, just paint over the lines.”  He nods.

"Let’s get this over with."

The room settles into silence as you both work. Minutes pass, the only sound being the soft scrape of bristles against the wall. You don’t mind the quiet, but it feels too heavy with Joel. Too thick.

So, instinctively, you start humming to yourself. Knockin’ on heavens door..

A few seconds later, Joel glances at you. “Bob Dylan?”

His voice startles you just slightly, and you glance over. “Yeah. Bob Dylan. You like him?”

He dips his brush into the paint again, nodding. “Mhm.”  After another moment of silence, Joel speaks up again. “You sketched all this?” His tone is unreadable.

“Yeah, ya like?” You smile, hoping for a tiny bit of approval.

He just grunts. “’S alright.”

“I mean, I’ll take it.”  Suddenly you feel kinda silly at the outfit you’re wearing. It’s as if he could read your mind cause he’s giving you a once-over before turning back to the wall.

You fiddle with your locket as you take a step back from the wall, checking out the way the paint is looking so far, but also quietly admiring how good Joel looks with a paint brush.

“What’s your favorite color?” You blurt out.

Joel thinks for a moment. “Green.” You both say at the same time, his eyes snapping to yours.

“I figured you’d be a green person.” You grin to yourself, feeling smart.

“What does that even mean?”

You shrug. “Nothing... Nothing at all.” You chuckle.

"You say somethin’ like that, you gotta explain it." He lowers the paintbrush, eyes meeting yours.

"Nope. You’ll just have to live with the mystery, Miller..”

"That’s ridiculous."

"Maybe." You chuckle as you continue painting. Why was this Joel Miller not that bad? It’s like his guard is let down just a little bit and he tolerated you just a bit more. And damn you enjoyed it. If it stayed like this, repair jobs would actually be fun.  

After a while, you guys are done. You can’t believe it, but you are. To your surprise the wall looks.. great. The shades of blue made a beautiful pattern across the wall, the flowers being accented with the yellow really pulling it together. This felt like it could actually be your home.

Maybe you guys hadn’t chatted a lot but it did feel like you booked some progress with this potential friendship.

You wipe your face, not realizing the blue paint you’re smearing across your cheek. “I can’t believe we finished it.” You say as you look at Joel, who’s put down the paintbrush.

“Don’t think I’ll pick up another paintbrush for a while after this.”  He says, his voice having a light huff to it. “Not exactly how I wanted to spend my morning.”

“You’ll live.” You reply, not bothered by his snarky comments.

You chuckle quietly, Joel having somewhat of a sense of humor made him come across more human instead of just the stoic guy he acted like. It was obvious to you that there was so much more behind the walls he put up, not that you would ever push him to talk about it. You barely knew the man.

Joel rubs his jaw as he turns to you. “I oughtta get goin’.”

“Oh yeah, of course.” You say as you follow him to the front door. He puts on his coat and walks onto the porch, turning to you again. You leaned against the doorframe. “…Thank you.. for today. Even though you were set up to coming here.” You grin as you look down to your feet before meeting his eyes again.

“Yeah well, had a free day. Don’t mention it.” He suddenly steps closer to you. Your breath hitches ever so slightly, which you quickly try to control again but are unable to when he raises his hand to your jaw.

His palm is warm, calloused, steady. His thumb swipes along your cheek, smearing away a streak of dried paint. It’s such a simple movement, but it knocks the breath right out of you. Your eyes widen just a little bit, Joel noticed, thinking he may have overstepped. He’s quick to retreat his hand and tuck it in his jean pocket.

“Some paint on your cheek.” He says, clearing his throat. You quickly nod.

“I’ll see you Thursday.” He says.

“Right, yeah. Thursday.” You manage to say before swallowing. Why did that just make you feel a bit flustered? Quit it, you’re desperate.

--

When Thursday finally rolls around, you find yourself lingering near the horses earlier than needed, arms crossed against the cold. Dread curls in your stomach at the thought of another trek into the woods, but—much to your own annoyance—the idea of spending the day with Joel Miller doesn’t seem quite as bad.

Which is probably why, for some unknown reason, you decided to put in extra effort today.

You had worn your hair down (something you never did when on the job). A nicer coat too, one that wasn’t as ripped, even though you’d changed four times before finally just going with it. Stupid. Dumb. And yet, here you were, tugging at the sleeves like it might somehow make a difference.

You scowl at yourself. It wasn’t for Joel. Not really. He didn’t even like you.

…Okay, maybe it was a little for Joel. But who could blame you? The world had already ended once—what harm was there in wanting to look a little nice for someone still standing in it? Even if that someone was someone who actually disliked you.

On the way to the outpost, everything was the same as last week. Not much for talking. Frankly, you didn’t know what to talk about. “The paint dried nicely.” You spoke. ‘The paint dried nicely.’ ??? Get a grip! You wanted to smack your forehead, but were able to resist. All Joel did was give you a little nod.

When you two finally arrived at the outpost, you tugged again at your sleeves. Sure, the coat looked nicer but it didn’t even fit well. It left your hands cold and you stupidly didn’t bring any gloves.

Again, as if Joel can read your mind, he throws some gloves at you.  

Your head snaps up at him and he’s just stood there, waiting for you to respond. “You don’t have to-“ You say, looking at his bare hands. “M’ fine.” Joel said before heading inside of the outpost. Your lips parted, as if searching for words, before closing again.

The repair went somewhat smoothly, now that the floorboards had been removed, it was time to put in some new planks. Joel would saw them and put them into the floor. Your duty was to hammer them down with the nails Tommy had brought by to you earlier that week.

You were doing a decent job, the nails going in smoothly. You could tell Joel was satisfied because no snarky remarks were being made.

You sat on the floor for a second, admiring your nail-skills. “Honestly, I’m doing amazing.” You say grinning. “Like, I could make this my thing. Nailing nails. The nailer.” You said, imaginging people coming to you to nail things down.

You chuckle at yourself.

Joel just rolled his eyes over to you and back to the wood. “Good luck with that. The nailer.” He mumbles as he shook his head at the fact you didn’t even realize what that sounded like.

“So what did you do before the world ended? Like, job-wise?” You say, finally wanting to start a conversation. He finishes his sawing before answering. “Contracting.”

“Contracting? No wonder Tommy wanted you for this job.” You say before ramming in another nail, completely missing it the first time as you were too busy looking at Joel. Oops.

Joel saw and just shook his head lightly. “You?”

“Oh, I was still in high school.” You felt a bit dumb saying that, like you were bringing attention to the ‘little’ age gap the two of you had. Not that it was relevant.

He scoffed and parted his lips to start another sentence before being interrupted by a noise coming from outside. His eyes snap to the door and he puts down the saw, immediately going for his rifle.

“An infected?” You whispered as you stood up, also grabbing your rifle. Ignore the fact that you’d shot a rifle maybe twice. He just brings a finger to his lips, telling you to be quiet. You quietly make your way next to him, your heart racing.

You guys step outside, the snow muffling your footsteps just a bit. The snow was falling down pretty heavily, making it harder to actually see anything.

But then Joel sees it, he holds up his hand, motioning for you to stop walking. There’s a man, just behind one of the trees, gripping a knife. He’s holding it up halfway, as if he’s unsure to surrender or not when we make eye-contact.

You and Joel both raise your rifle.

“Step out, now.” Joel raises his voice. “Now.”

The man steps out just a bit, slowly, bundled in layers of dirty clothing, fingers stiff with cold, face hollow with exhaustion. “D-don’t shoot, alright?!” The man says, his voice rough.

“You alone?” Joel’s voice was flat.

The man nodded quickly—too quickly. “Yes! I—I swear to God. I was just looking for shelter. It’s real cold!”

Joel’s rifle never wavered.

“Bullshit.”

The man’s breath hitched. “I—”

“I see your tracks,” Joel cut him off. “Heavy. Means you’ve been carrying.” He gestured his rifle toward the man’s feet. “Who were you with?”

“No one!” The man shook his head wildly, his voice rising, frantic. “I mean—I left them. They’re miles back—I swear.”

You look up at Joel as you’re not even really pointing your rifle at the man anymore. “Joel, he’s obviously alone.” You say to him.

He doesn’t reply, his eyes focused on the man.

“Joel?”  What is he going to do? The man just had a knife, he looked like he hadn’t eaten in days. He didn’t look like a threat. You furrowed your brows, Joel was ignoring you.

You inhaled sharply.

“Joel,” you repeated, quiet but firm. “He isn’t a threat.”  You plead.

He ignored you.

The man took a step forward, his eyes darting between you and Joel. “I just want some food man, a place to sleep-“ “Don’t move.” Joel said, firmly. His rifle stayed locked on the man’s chest.

You looked at Joel again and back at the man, your brows furrowing even more. Joel’s acting like you’re not even standing here.

And then—

The man shifted his weight.

Just barely.

Just enough for Joel to react.

The gunshot shattered the silence.

You flinched.

The man dropped his knife. His mouth parted—like he hadn’t fully registered it yet.

Then he collapsed, the red immediately soaking into the snow.

For a second, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Your eyes widening as it hit you. Joel just killed that man. Your voice had meant nothing to him.

You turn your head to Joel, your mouth hanging a bit open, eyes widened, brows fully furrowed. He’s just standing there, reloading his rifle as if this was the most casual case in the world.

Joel exhaled, lowering his rifle. He was already stepping toward the body, as if this was justanother chore.

Something in you just snapped.

“What the fuck is wrong with you! He was—he was dropping the knife!” You took a step closer, your breath coming hard and fast. “He was surrendering, Joel!”

Joel didn’t look at you. He crouched down near the body, reaching for the knife still clenched in the man’s lifeless fingers.

All you feel is rage. He just killed that man and now he’s taking the knife as if it’s nothing.  “What is wrong with you!” You yell again.

Joel just walked past you back into the outpost.

“He was going to surrender! It’s not like he stood a fucking chance if he would attack!” You yelled at him but he gave no reaction, just packing up his bag.

“I’m talking to you!” You’re about to shove him out of pure rage, but before doing so, he gets grip on your wrist, stopping you. His eyes finally meeting yours. Now he looked at you.

And you hated the look in his eyes.

Not cold. Not regretful.

Just unbothered.

“He was gonna lunge,” Joel muttered, standing. “You didn’t see it.”

“I saw enough, I was there!” she shot back.

Joel scoffed, shaking his head. “No. Youdidn’t.”

All you felt was anger taking you over. “You don’t fucking know that, Joel! He was alone! And you—you just fucking shot him.”

You sounded hysterical. But you didn’t care. It was wrong, Joel was wrong. How could everything escalate this quickly?

Joel’s jaw flexed. “And if I’d hesitated? If he was lying? You’d be the one bleeding out in the snow, not him.”

You let out a harsh, humorlesslaugh. “Jesus Christ—do you even hear yourself?” You gestured at the body still laying in the snow outside of the outpost, your hands shaking. “He was just a guy, Joel. He wasn’t some monster!”

“You’re naive.” Joel just replied. His hand still gripping your wrist tightly. It wasn’t the fact that he called you that, it was the way he said it. With some sort of disgust, contempt. Like he actually despised you for wanting another human being to live. “You don’t get it, you think ‘cause you’ve survived so far you actually know what it’s like out here? You don’t.”

“Fuck you.”  You spat, forcing your wrist out of his grip. He didn’t even know you.

“No, fuck you,” he growled. “You still think there’s a choice? That we can afford to wait, or talk, or hesitate?” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “That kinda thinkin’ gets people killed.”

He walked outside, packing his bag onto the horse. You followed after, you weren’t done with this conversation. The way he was giving you no emotion back whatsoever while you were here, losing it, enraged you.

“Does it even bother you?” Your voice rough. You don’t know why you’re as furious as you are. You’ve seen many people die, you’ve been the reason many people had died. Yet the way you were dismissed, the way he was so cold. It triggered your PTSD, reminding you of a man you had tried to have long forgotten.

You step closer, voice sharp: “Who was it?”

His brows pull together, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Who did you lose to make you like this?” you spit. “Your wife? Your kid? Who was it that died and turned you into a heartless asshole?” It wasn’t a long shot, everyone has lost someone in the apocalypse.

Joel goes still.

That’s when you know you hit something.

For the first time, you sees it—just a flicker, barely a second—but it’s real anger, the kind that simmers so deep it could boil over at any second.

He quickly steps closer. Too close. His voice is dangerously low. His hands fist onto your coat collar, pulling you forward.

“Watch your mouth.”

You should stop. You should back down. Reasonable you, non-triggered you, would’ve backed down.

But you don’t.

Instead, you scoff. “Guess I was right, huh?”

And that’s it.

Joel’s jaw clenches so hard you can see the muscle twitch.

“You don’t know a goddamn thing about me,” he growls. “Not a single goddamn thing.” He aggressively lets go of your collar, making you stumble back.

And then he walks off. Just leaves you standing there, the air thick with something neither of them can take back. You drag your hands across your face as you lean back against the wall, wiping away the anger-tears that fell over your cheeks.

God, you feel stupid. Stupid for thinking, even for a second, that this morning—when you stood in front of the mirror smoothing down your hair, buttoning up your nicer coat—meant something. Stupid for thinking maybe today wouldn’t be so bad.

You felt furious, furious that there was a dead man outside the outpost, furious that you had no control over the situation whatsoever. Furious that your words didn’t matter to Joel.

But mostly? You feel humiliated and awful. You know you overstepped. It was a low blow. Especially from you, knowing you’re not too different from Joel at all. But you were still furious, Joel acted in such a cold way, it had made your stomach turn.

And that’s all it took for you to really hate Joel Miller, and the feeling might just be mutual.

[arolesbianism]

My birthday is in under a week 👍

[drdemonprince]

When other people say that they do not have enough time to get something done, they (often, if they're quite healthy) mean they are taking into account the time it takes to do the laundry and arrange new pieces of furniture and cook dinner and meet up with friends to see a movie and run to the post office or the hair dresser and take the dog for walks and do the dishes and paint their nails and drive to the store and go to their cousin's wedding and go to the barbecue their friend is throwing on the weekend

they don't winnow their life down to just spending time at the computer, working from when they wake up until they cannot focus their eyes anymore, granola bars, coffee, and bottles of water all around them because of course they did not take time to have lunch or breakfast, only dragging themselves away from work when they are truly too exhausted to do any of it anymore, and then lacking the energy to do much of anything that remains of life but to eat a tiny bit more, sponge themselves off, and go to sleep.

i just saw a video of a fursuiter on their bed, legs kicked back, head propped on their hands, delightedly announcing that after many years of hard work they had finally finished their Master's degree. And some part of me, some sick withered part, thought really? you had time to do a Master's degree while also getting a fursuit done? and going to conventions, presumably? you had time in the day to research fursuit makers, have a sona designed and drawn by someone else (or to draw it yourself), to contact a maker to make a duck tape dummy of yourself, and to have a friend over to help you make it and to cut it off of you, to send it in the mail to the maker, to then get it and make videos? you had time to set up this beautiful bedroom that i see in your video, with a soft pink sham on the bed and LED lights behind your bookshelf and lamps and all kinds of stuffed toys? you had a life? you were out playing, and dancing, and pursuing your hobbies, and you did a master's degree?

because when i was working on my doctorate, there was nothing. three layers of foam on the floor with a fitted sheet over it. a folding card table from aldi that had cost $40 that my grandparents got me. no food in the fridge. no time to even get the internet installed, just stolen wi-fi when my laptop could pick it up. i woke up, got dressed, and slunk into the office. i sat alone in the dark working until my hunger made me furious and i could not write another word. and then i walked to the grocery store, got something to subsist on, went home, ate, kickboxing video, went to sleep. every day. with almost nothing breaking the routine.

and ive gotten better, so much better, but my brain still kind of works that way. i feel like i have to quit my job and stop being a writer if i want to have hobbies. to paint my bedroom. to marinate a meat for longer than fifteen minutes. to get a driver's license again. to take a trip. but i dont want to be like that any more. how do people know when to stop? i feel like i have to give everything my absolute all until there is nothing left or else i have done nothing. i feel that i would have to treat a hobby like a job to get it done. I feel that anything that takes more than two minutes is a huge waste of time i must feel guilty for. i am working on all these things. jesus i have been working on them for years at this point. but because i have been so successful at telling people to do less, i get pulled in. interview. workshop invitation. email. urgent in the subject line. call from my agent. meeting request from my boss. new book idea, better sell it now while my sales figures still look good. recording studio session. deadline. writing. can you talk about this. can you talk about that. tag. email. book idea. deadline. long heartfelt email. still so often i have to take my own damn advice.

and this is why i am getting a fursuit made!! and going to cons! and going to leather and latex events! and making socials that are separate for these things!! i am going to let myself be silly and soft and do frivolous things. i am so sick of what i do to myself, all the pursuit of seeming like a strong mature adult.