#art for art's sake‚ art for art's sake..

[mspixelpixie]

from the third image, a tweet by CurryMcSlum

"PUT UP SOME MUD HUTS IN OASIS SPRING [sic] AND STRANGERVILLE AND THERE'S YOUR AFRICAN WORLD"

like...what...even...how???? words...words fail me.

Very disappointed in the Sims community and their very vocal distain towards Black Simmers for begging for a Caribbean/African themed world, especially because they're literally SO MANY American/European themed worlds...like there's even 3 Asian/2 Latinx themed worlds and we barely have 1, EVEN THE DAMN IMAGINARY STAR WARS WORLD BUT NO...we get edges, hairs, SOME clothing, but not a world? Like the closest thing we have to anything Caribbean is the St.Feu household that Maxis created, and even then that's JUST A HOUSEHOLD ON THE GALLERY. Stop silencing BLACK Simmers, like y'all show y'all asses every time we speak our opinions or real shit. A whole account was suspended because of the mass reporting just because a Black Simmer asked to be represented...I hate how even in the big year of 2025, over 25 years of The Sims, it's never enough being a Black Simmer.

[plutonious]

wahtever I like emmie and gogo I want to talk about them.

after emmet gets to hisui ingo is verrry cheerful due to the amount of affection he recives from emmet

ingo's been basically trained out of initiating physical contact from being a part of pearl clan for so long, but that doesn't mean he doesn't like it, just that he forgets he's allowed to do so when theres someone he can do so with, so everytime emmet touches him he practially melts. emmet is latched onto ingo half the time so that's really often. something something he grew up with one million affection and then didn't realize he was missing it until he got it back. now he doesn't like being apart from his brother for too long. because it's warm and cozy to be hugged.

[linkcharacter]

As a disabled person thank you for being mindful about a “recovered Curly” design. It’s been so frustrating seeing endless designs of a guy who VERY much doesn’t look like he went through the physical trauma Curly did. People are so scared of making a character “ugly” or having to put in effort to learn to draw disabled features and it makes me GARRRAHHH. But yeah thank you

Ah of course, I'd just personally rather not go and spread guesses and ideas about a topic I'm completely uneducated on just for the sake of it. It's always better to do yo research first, it makes for better depictions and better art as a whole I think.

[kr1s-png]

Sorry if this has been asked before, but have you ever considered doing digital art, or is traditional just more comfortable and convenient?

Y’know what, I have drawn on digital, I got some small drawings Ive made.

It’s just that I’ve been working on traditional so long, I kinda find it easier and faster to do so TwT plus my laptop and art tablet aren’t exactly easy to carry around, unlike a sketchbook..

But I am trying to work more on digital, for the sake of giving yall more quality art^^

[plainclothesdisaster]

“What the hell am I looking at.”

Batman stands next to him, arms folded, appraising the same piece of plain notebook paper on the table. To the untrained eye it looks like someone has scrawled a handful of shitty doodles and notes on it. But to John Constantine’s eye? Well, he was thanking his very limited lucky stars that he didn’t have a personal encounter with whatever god or demon that had given that paper to Bats in the first place.

Batman frowns. “I don’t know. That’s what you’re here for.”

“And if I told you I don’t want to touch whatever this is with a ten foot pole?”

Batman points to a green sticky note stuck on the paper’s bottom corner.

Call the Hellblazer if you need a tutorial.

Well, fuck. So much for flying under the radar.

“So. You know what it is.” Bats says it as a statement not a question, which is, of course, accurate. John knew what it was before Batman even led him to the black table at the center of the Batcave, where the paper sat in the center like some delicate work of art. The whole cave smacked of ozone and ectoplasm from the second he walked in. It’s positively filled with potential energy on a cosmic scale, emanating from that single, annoyingly unassuming source.

“That,” John starts, resenting the no-smoking-in-the-Batcave rule now more than ever, “Is a summoning sigil. A very powerful summoning sigil. How in hell did you end up with it?”

Bats hands him yet another green sticky note. This one reads:

Use in cases of: Mind control, literal apocalypse (ONLY if my fault). That’s it. Nothing else. If you do I will know and I will permanently turn off the gravity in the Watchtower as payback.

Thought I’d save you the trouble of making my file yourself.

-D

P.S. No spoilers, John. :)

Bats re-folds his arms. “It was given to me by a coworker.”

It’s a contingency plan, John realizes. One of Batman’s trademark ideas that piss everyone off but he does anyway. Usually the League Members didn’t personally and willingly hand over their personal kryptonite, though. John certainly hadn’t. And there’s also the issue that most Leaguers kryptonite isn’t this powerful.

“Care to enlighten me which of your coworkers is on a first name basis with the Ancient of Time?”

“Hn.”

“Not ringing any bells? How about this then: which Leaguer is strong enough that their contingency plan is giving you the personal calling card of a god?”

“He knows you.”

And John is just so thrilled that two of his names showed up in the context of god-summoning. So neat for him. Not problematic in the slightest. What’s only slightly less problematic is that he doesn’t know who wrote the notes- none of the current Justice League members fit the bill. Not that he’s ever been good at keeping up with the cape parade, but he would have known if something this powerful stepped this close to his territory.

Unless…

“When you say coworker, what exactly do you mean?”

“Does it matter?”

“You don’t typically make contingency plans for non JL members.”

“He values his privacy.”

Not a member of the Justice League, then. Powerful enough to hide in plain sight and also have an Ancient on speed dial. Self aware enough to deliver this nuclear option of a contingency plan.

John knows who it is.

The only question left is why the fuck Batman has the Ancient of Space, King of all Ghosts, on his maintenance staff.

But he won’t ask that, because according to that cheeky little sticky note, Batman didn’t know. And John is not about to piss off an Ancient by spoiling his gig.

“Well Bats. If you end up needing to use it you just prick your finger, touch the circle, and say that bit of Latin there.” He waves his fingers at the scribbles, still unwilling to get any closer. “But I hope for all our sakes that you never need it.”

“And why’s that?”

John resists rolling his eyes. He doesn’t resist the urge to grab a cigarette and put it between his lips. He’s not planning on sticking around much longer anyways. “Because if you do, it means we’re fucked. Like, cosmically.”

Batman glares at the cigarette but decides not to comment.

“Look mate I don’t want to get involved in your hiring practices, but have you considered background checks?”

“I trust him.”

“I should hope so.”

John sighs. He can feel a headache coming on. Batman didn’t just hand out his trust willy-nilly, so the king in disguise must have done something to earn it. It’s not much solace, but he’ll take it.

DPxDC Mechanical Engineer Danny

Danny caught the attention of Batman while studying at Gotham University for his alternative energy projects. He’s hired right out of college to work on the Watchtower.

He shows absolutely no tell of his abilities till there’s a dire situation- Flash’s electric discharge messes with one of his projects in progress and the whole base would have lost air pressure if he hadn’t done a quick fix using telekinesis and ice.

Of course Batman notices.

Batman assumes the worst- he suspects Danny’s a rogue of some kind, someone who has infiltrated the Justice League with an ulterior motive. But he can’t just fire Danny now- he’s the only one who knows how the new Watchtower energy source works. Plus, he’s not letting Danny go anywhere until he’s figured out his true motives.

Cue Batman subtly testing Danny- tossing things at him to trigger inhuman fast reflexes, having him lift too-heavy machinery, setting up convenient opportunities to steal or snoop or otherwise be up to no good. Danny does take advantage but only once, to use a computer terminal with unlocked clearance. He didn’t plant any bugs that Barman could find, and he otherwise kept up his powerless civilian act perfectly.

Still, Batman’s not satisfied. He brings an infrasonic sound emitter to Danny’s lab one day, and that, of all things, is what gets Danny to break.

“I know what you’re doing,” Danny admits with a sigh, finally. “If you’re really that suspicious of me, I can leave, but I kinda like my job so I’d prefer not to. The benefits are insane compared to what’s standard.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure. yeah. How about you turn off the freaking noise generator and we can talk?”

“Hm.” Batman obliges, and he takes the stool next to Danny at his gesture.

“Number one, I’m not a meta. Despite all the data and conclusions you’ve probably drawn otherwise. Number two, I’m on your side. I’m here to work on the base, that’s it. I follow your rules to the letter.”

“The-“

“The classified files I looked at? Yeah that was the one exception. You already know what I looked at, I’m sure, but maybe you haven’t figured out why. It goes back to point one- I may not be a meta, but I am something that organization, the GIW, cares about. I looked at your files on them to sus out your relations. Seeing as I don’t particularly love being the victim to twelve degrees of human rights violations if I can avoid it.”

“Hm.” The Ghost Intelligence Ward was one of many government agencies that the Justice League hadn’t worked closely with. But they also hadn’t been flagged for Justice League investigation. Danny’s comments made him doubt that call.

“Any other questions?”

“If you’re not a meta, what are you?”

“I’m an engineer. A pretty decent one. And I’d really, really like it to stay that way.”

Batman considers, and ultimately lets him stay. He likes Danny (everyone likes Danny), and it would be a massive pain in the ass to replace him. He really is a good engineer.

It’s only much later that his faith in Danny is repaid in spades.

Batman finds Danny on the Watchtower command bridge. Alarms are blaring, the station has been knocked out of orbit, out the window there’s shrapnel floating everywhere as a space battle rages around them.

On the station it’s chaos. Technicians run around, shouts from the med bay, sparks from the walls.

Batman and Danny stand at the main controls, watching the battle outside, stoic, unmoving.

Wonder Woman’s harried voice crackles through on coms: “We need backup.”

“There is no more backup.” Batman replies, while looking pointedly at Danny.

“What?”

Batman doesn’t move.

“What.”

“The impact from Darkseid’s initial attack should have sent this station on a terminal trajectory toward the planet.”

“Well. We aren’t currently plummeting to our deaths, so turns out it didn’t do that.”

“You did something.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re lying.”

“Maybe Superman nudged us back on course in all the chaos.”

“I’ve been watching the trackers. No one else with the capability has come near the station.”

“Can’t you just be grateful we got lucky?”

Sounds of peril screech over the coms. Danny’s face scrunches.

“Luck had nothing to do with it. As it is now, we are going to lose this fight.”

“Isn’t there anyone else you can call?”

“I’m asking you. You can help, can’t you?”

The glare-off lasts a long moment more before Danny breaks.

“Fuck. Fuckity fuck.” Danny runs his hands through his hair. “Shit. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I’m asking you to save this and countless other worlds from a genocide. I’m also asking you to save my friends.”

Danny looks at him, hard, weary, and with a kind of deep resolve that feels far too ancient to be on the face of a supposed twenty-something.

“Fine. Fine. Okay.” He steps back and transforms. If Batman is surprised when he shakes off his human appearance like an old coat, he doesn’t show it. But what’s undeniable is the being in Danny’s place has the unmistakable presence of power.

“No one else can know.” His voice echoes in a way that’s sonically impossible, both sounding closer and further away than he should be.

He pulls a gear-shaped medallion seemingly out of thin air and puts it over his head in one motion.

“If I get in trouble for this, I’m blaming you.”

He vanishes. Outside, the shape of the battle changes instantly. The stars seem to glow brighter as the arms of the galaxy flash with the colors of the aurora. Then it’s like the void of space itself comes alive. It moves the spaceships back like they’re toys, plucking them from one side of the field to the other. It finds Darkseid at the heart of the chaos and massive arms of nothingness and darkness wrap around him. He’s screaming as it swallows him whole.

His armies scatter. The battle turns. The JL deal with the stragglers, but the air of relief is palpable.

Danny reappears next to Batman, once again donning his grease-stained coveralls. Arms folded.

“Happy?”

It took all of five minutes. Less, probably. Batman tamps down a thousand questions.

“Thank you.”

“I’m gonna need two weeks off minimum.” Danny snaps. “One to deal with the bureaucratic nightmare you’ve just caused me, and another to recover from the headache.”

Batman blanks. “Granted.”

Danny sighs. “And I’m not fixing the station until I’m back. It won’t fall out of the sky as is. Make up whatever excuse you want.”

“Done.” He considers. “I would prefer to tell them the truth. That you saved us.”

Danny glares. “I’m not supposed to save you. I made a pact not to use my power to influence the mortal realm.”

“A pact with who?”

Danny rolls his eyes. “The embodiment of Time. The concept of Justice. Among others.” He smirks at Batman’s confusion.

“And what, exactly, does that make you?”

He stands, framed by the space window, haloed by the stars. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

Batman frowns.

“Look. I like you guys. I like working on your base. I like supporting the work you do. But you can not go factoring me in to any of your plans or contingencies. This was a one time thing.

“So to answer your question again: I’m an engineer.”

[dear-sophie]

- You should do the smiting more often.

- Martin, that's murder.

(aka tma brainworms are strong for me)

[cryptonature]

This morning, I found a bluejay feather tucked like a bookmark in the pages of red and yellow leaf litter.

That book tells the story of here, where unguessable magic drifted through time like seeds on the wind, taking root where I would find my parcel of days and sip black coffee on a muddy trail.

What can we say about a universe, ancient and vast, that populates its tiniest corners with oaks and jays, impossible bits of art hidden away in a turning gallery beneath an ocean of chance and empty dark?

What is that if not kindness?

Kindness for its own sake.

[meanbossart]

I'm not sure if it's been asked before but first of all your writing skills are just incredible🤌 After reading "A Novel Experience" it was like scratching an itch that I couldn't quite reach after years of reading burnout. In summary I was genuinely interested in how have you improved and developed your writing skills? Like honestly your writing is so addictive and captivating that (respectfully) there just has to be some kind of exposure to expression through literature, or perhaps you are just simply into reading. (That's a lot of yap and sorry if it's personal in a way or another. Also thank you for inspiring me and other people alike, you are a phenomenal artist 🙏)

Oh, thank you! I am beyond flattered and I truly appreciate that you enjoy my writing so much. To be honest I am actually very dissatisfied with my work for about half of A Novel Experience - when I started it, I had no audience, I just wrote and posted the first chapter as an epilogue for the game since the canonical ending felt pretty abrupt (we didn't have the official epilogue with the extended dialogue or Wither's party back then).

Then, I just felt like I had more to say, so I kept writing and by chapter 4-5 I had this huge story plotted out. I wrote a lot of those early chapters very quickly, and often while a little drunk, and considered them rough outlines rather than a finished work. When the story and my art began picking up traction I started to put more effort into my style and presentation, which is why chapters take a LOT longer to write nowadays - but I can confidently say that I am very proud of everything that came after The Compound.

I'm not really a reader, I'd be surprised if I read more than 30 books in my entire 28 years of life, and frankly I only started to enjoy fantasy very recently through admiring many of the fromsoft games from afar, and of course by finally playing Baldur's Gate 3.

One thing I will say is that the fictional books I've read that really stuck with me - and that I would consider to have influenced the way I write - have all had very unorthodox styles. Blindness by Jose Saramago is page after page of overwhelming walls of texts that read like a slowing-down clock or an agonizingly tight turning of screws; Blood Meridian is a nearly incoherent babble written by a man who outgrew the need or patience for commas or proper sentence separation, who knowingly disregarded grammar for the sake of feel. The Consumer is a collection of borderline pornographic and horrible, horrible stories where every character is abstracted into a wider social phenomenon, point of view is irrelevant and there is no line between narrative, dissertation, or poem.

Unlike the aforementioned works and their authors, I'm not talented (or crazy) enough as a writer to COMPLETELY forego construction and grammar, but I do feel perfectly confident in prioritizing feeling and flow over what is "correct" and experimenting with text in the same way I would on a drawing. I don't think any of this makes me good at it, but hopefully it makes it interesting or unique enough to stand out. It also means that, despite disliking those first few chapters, I don't really mind having them out there, since my purpose with them was to just have fun and try to capture "a vibe" rather than show myself off as some sort of wordsmith.

Well then, I've definitely outyapped you so we're even now. Hopefully this was interesting in the slightest!

[curious-trickster]

Shoutout to all struggling artist, writers, creators, who feel like their stuff doesn't get noticed and what's the point if no one sees it?

I have read fanfictions and original works with almost no notes that stayed with me forever. My childhood self was severly influenced by books seemingly no one else knew about. I could fill a whole damn attic with the things I drew, painted, created, things I have put time and effort into, that no one but me know about and might never see the light of day again.

Even if you feel like no one sees your creation, put it out there.

Don't stop creating. If not for the fact that you're art, your work means more to other people than you can ever know, then for the joy of creating itself, for the sake of yourself.

when in doubt about whether or not to make a thing, do it for your 3 hardcore fans.

[msklassickilla]

Prada You Chapter 22

Summary:

In the summer of 1998, sparks fly between Nyeya and Jey.

Nyeya is an 18-year-old around the way girl. Jey is older, paid, and fine. He is also the leader of the infamous Prada Bois alongside his twin brother Jimmy.  The two have chemistry. However, Nyeya has plans outside of her attraction. With a birthday around the corner and dreams of living a good life, Nyeya sets her sights on enjoying the perks of Jey's money and hood celebrity.

But baby girl has no clue what it takes to really be down. Nyeya is about to learn some hard life lessons at the expense of her 'Prada' priced dreams.

Pairing: Jey Uso x Nyeya (Nye) Green (OC)

Author’s Note: This story is happening in an alternative universe. It features the current and original Bloodline members along with other WWE stars. So, the characters are themselves, but some things are switched around for the stories sake. This was originally written with all original characters, but I think it could work better this way. Hope you guys enjoy it and I actually finish it...

Warning: Please be advised that this chapter contains harsh/foul language, mentions of murder, age gap relationships, underage drinking, and mentions of roughness.

Disclaimer: This work of art is fictional in nature including the original characters created by me. I do not own any of the existing characters or lyrics from songs referenced in this story (if any). All rights belong to their respective owners with the exception of my original characters. This work is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to cause harm.

Chapter 22: Redemption

August 17th 1998

The house was still, the only sound being the steady drip of water as I lay in the bathtub, sinking deeper into the warmth. I needed this. Needed a moment where my thoughts weren’t drowning me. The steam curled around my face, but it did nothing to clear my mind.

Jey wanted me to move in with him. Jey expected me to move in with him. That was the problem. He didn’t ask. He decided. And I knew better than to think I had much of a choice. But did I really want this?

Damian’s warning was still ringing in my ears, his voice low, dark, edged with something I couldn’t place.

“You need to get out while you still can before you end up in too deep. Unable to walk away.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and forced the thought away. I wasn’t leaving Jey. I loved him. We belonged together. That was the truth. Wasn’t it? Deep down I knew no matter what the truth was, Jey wasn’t letting me leave.

The bath was growing cold when I finally stepped out, wrapping myself in a towel. I dried off quickly, slipping into a pair of shorts and a tank top before crawling into bed. Maybe sleep would silence the war in my head.

Then—

A round of knocks came.

From the front door. My breath stalled. Nobody knocked on our door this late unless it was bad news. Mama was at work. Michael was spending the night with one of his friends. For a second, I didn’t move. My heart slammed against my ribs as I slowly pushed back my covers, creeping toward the door. I didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to see who it was. But I forced myself to.

And when I did, my stomach dropped. Damian. His broad frame filled my doorway, and under the dim glow of the porch light, I saw it—blood. So much blood.

I yanked the door open, yanking him inside before anybody saw him. “Damian, what the hell? Why are you covered in blood?”

His chest rose and fell, his jaw tight as he looked down at himself. His white tee was soaked in red, streaks of it smeared along his arms and hands.

I slammed the door shut behind him. “Whose blood is that? Are you hurt?”

My eyes roamed for his head to his feet trying to understand what I was seeing.

His eyes lifted to mine, dark and unreadable. “It’s not mine, Nyeya.”

A lump formed in my throat. “Then whose is it?”

Damian exhaled through his nose, his fingers flexing at his sides. “The dude who put his hands on you. The one who pushed you down at the lounge.”

My body went cold. “What? Did you kill him?”

What he was saying wasn’t registering at the moment. Dude was dead and Damian most likely did it. I shook my head trying to come to terms with that.

“I couldn’t let that slide,” he said simply. “He couldn’t live after that..”

The room tilted for a second. I gripped the wall, my head spinning. I knew that’s what happened in the streets but this was different. Damian had killed for me. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. He did something for me I didn’t ask for, something that couldn't be undone.

But I didn’t feel scared. I should’ve. Instead, I felt something else. Something dangerous. Something I wouldn’t acknowledge.

Instead of telling him to leave, instead of screaming, instead of doing what I knew I should’ve done—I asked, “What do you need me to do?”

He had come here for a reason so any help I could offer was the least I could do.

Damian’s eyes flickered. “ A shower, mami. I gotta wash this off. I can’t drive around like this. I have a change of clothes in the car.”

A lump formed in my throat. “Jey—”

What the hell would Jey think about this? I froze. My thoughts sat on my tongue as I was afraid to say what I knew was true.

“He wouldn’t want me here,” Damian finished. “I know. He won’t know though. This stays between me and you.”

We stared at each other, a thick silence stretching between us. I hated that I wasn’t telling him to go. Hated that I was letting him in. But I couldn’t send him back into the night like this. I wouldn’t let Jey drive through the city like that either.

Wordlessly, I motioned for him to follow me. I led him down the hall, my legs weak beneath me. When we reached my room, I went straight to the bathroom, twisting the shower knob until steam filled the space. I placed clean towels on the sink's countertop.

I turned back just in time to see Damian already pulling his shirt over his head.

I spun around. “Damn, you can’t do that in the bathroom?”

A quiet chuckle left him. “My bad but it ain’t like you ain’t seen it before.”

Now was not the time for this. I rolled my eyes, ignoring the comment. “Where are your keys? I’ll go grab your bag.”

Damian dug into his pocket and tossed them on the bed. Without another word, I slipped out of the room, my nerves burning. What the hell was I doing?

Outside, I moved quickly, popping the trunk and grabbing his backpack. My eyes darted around; paranoid someone would see me near his car. I silently prayed nobody saw anything.

When I got back inside, I hesitated before pushing my bedroom door open. Damian was sitting on my bed, damp from the shower, wearing only a towel around his waist. I gulped as my eyes raked over the tattoos that covered his upper body.

Heat filled my cheeks as I shoved the backpack at him. “Here. Get dressed.”

Damian smirked but said nothing, disappearing back into the bathroom. I sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing my temples. If Jey ever found out about this… No, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. I needed no more shit popping off before my party.

Damian returned fully dressed. An awkward silence settled between us, thick and suffocating. I was the first to break it. “T-Thank you. You didn’t have to do what you did. When I put my hands on him, I accepted the consequences that would come.”

Damian stepped closer, slow and deliberate. “If I didn’t, Jey would have.”

I stiffened. “What?”

“Yea, he had plans to do it himself. But he already got heat on him. I took care of it so he wouldn’t have to,” he paused, his eyes saying something he refused to say aloud. “He gotta be there for your party, right?”

I inhaled sharply, my pulse thundering. What I was feeling from his admission left me speechless.

Damian stepped in front of me, his fingers grazing my chin, tilting it up so I had no choice but to look at him. “I did it for you too, you know. Nobody will harm you if I can stop it, mami.”

My breath hitched. A strange feeling blossomed in my belly as we stared into each other’s eyes.

He didn’t give me time to respond. He bent down and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to my forehead before pulling back. “I gotta go. I appreciate you, Nye.”

I swallowed; my voice small. “You need anything else before you go?”

Damian’s gaze darkened, his lips parting slightly before he exhaled sharply. His voice was low, almost painful. “You. But Jey already got you.”

My heart cracked open. Something broke inside me. Before I could say anything, before I could let the weight of his words settle between us, Damian made his way down the hall and slipped out the front door, disappearing into the night.

I locked the door behind him and collapsed onto the floor, my back against the wood. For the first time in a long time, I let the tears spill over. Because I didn’t know what I wanted anymore. And that was dangerous place to be.

---

August 20th 1998

It was Thursday night, and the soft hum of the fan and the radio fill the room as I took my braids down. The strands of my hair felt lighter without the extra weight, but my thoughts felt heavier. The cell phone Jey gave me started to ring. The vibration rattled against the wooden nightstand, my stomach twisting at the name flashing on the screen.

Jey.

I hesitated before answering. "Yeah?"

Jey had been calling like normal, but I was still on edge. Dread lingered as I didn’t know if one day he would call after someone told them they saw Damian here. I still felt like he had somebody watching me even though I couldn’t prove it.

His voice was smooth, low. "Meet me downstairs in an hour."

I swallowed. "Alright."

The line went dead. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, gripping my knees to keep from falling apart. Does he know?

My mind raced back to Monday night. To Damian standing in my doorway, his white shirt soaked in blood. To the way he kissed my forehead, the way his words still lingered too close to my heart. I push the memory down, forcing myself to move through the motions.

I washed my hair, blow dried it, and styled it into a sleek low bun, the familiar routine kept my hands from shaking. The hour crawled by slower than ever, every second stretching into something unbearable. Then the phone vibrated again. Jey calling back to tell me he was outside.

---

The summer air was thick with humidity as I stepped outside, spotting his car parked at the curb. The headlights cut through the darkness, the faint sound of an R&B song drifting through the open windows.

Jey popped the passenger door open for me, watching as I slid in. The second the door shut he leaned in, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss against my lips. His touch lingered, his grip firm, as if searching for something in me.

I tried not to flinch, wondering what he knew that I didn’t. I couldn’t take him going off on me again unexpectedly. When he pulled back, he looked me in the eyes, his gaze unreadable. For a while, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the soft croon of 112’s "Cupid" playing in the background.

Jey reached into the center console, pulling out a blunt. He lit it, inhaling slow, before blowing the smoke toward the cracked window. Something in me wanted me to open my mouth, confess, ready to take whatever consequences came with it because he was taking too long to get to the point of this late-night pop-up. But Jey eventually started talking.

"Damian told me what you did for him the other night."

My heart stopped. Everything inside me went still. I stared at him, my stomach twisting so tight I thought I might be sick. Damian said he wouldn’t tell. He said it would stay between us.

My throat burned. "Jey, I—"

"Nah." Jey cut in, taking another slow pull before passing me the blunt. His voice was calm. Too calm. "You did good."

My breath hitched in my lungs. "What?"

He had flipped the script on me. I had not been expecting that kind of response.

Jey smirked, his dark eyes flashing with something menacing. "You held it down. I’m proud of you for sticking to the code."

I grip the blunt tighter, my pulse thundering. "Wait. You not mad?"

Jey exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Nah, Damian told me everything. I get it. He’s my brother, I know he wouldn’t cross no boundaries. I trust him."

My stomach flopped. Damian hadn’t told him everything though. Just about Monday. Jey still didn’t know about the past. And for that I was thankful. But why did Damian change his mind? Did he feel guilty? Was this his way of protecting me? Protecting himself?

I took a slow pull from the blunt, needing something to steady myself.

Jey watched me, his fingers lightly grazing my knee. "We throwing a kickback for Damian on Saturday. Just something small to show love for what he did for Prada. And I want you there, right by my side."

I nodded before I even processed what I was agreeing to.

Jey’s voice was softer when he spoke again. "We celebrating you too, you know."

I blinked. "Why?"

He smirked, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. "For you being down for the cause. Holding me down. Holding my brothers down. Proving you built for this life."

My mouth went dry. I wasn’t built for this. I was just surviving ‘cause it seemed like I had no other options other than to get with it or get run over. Jey reached for me, his fingers curling around the side of my neck, tilting my chin up so I had no choice but to look at him.

"I’m really proud of you, baby." His grip tightened slightly. "But don’t do it again."

The warmth from his palm contrasted with the cold warning in his voice. A shiver ran down my spine.

"Next time, it won’t be a celebration." He leaned in closer, his lips brushing mine. "It’ll be a problem, you hear me."

My throat was too tight to swallow. I nodded, because what else could I do? I let him kiss me, let him mark me with his approval, let his hand linger around my neck like a silent reminder of who I belonged to.

When he finally pulled away, he grinned like everything was fine, like he hadn’t just issued a threat wrapped in praise.

"Go inside. Get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow."

I nodded, slipping out of the car, my legs feeling like jelly as I walked up the steps. When I finally made it to my room, I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. The radio softly played in the background. Mary J. Blige’s "Not Gon’ Cry."

I swallow, sliding down the side of my bed as the lyrics wrapped around me.

"Well, I'm not gon' cry... I'm not gon' cry... I'm not gon' shed no tears..."

Tears blurred my vision anyway. Because I knew better. I knew I was gonna cry. I knew that no matter how much I told myself otherwise…

---

August 21st 1998

The Friday sun hung low in the sky as I followed Kiyah, Nataya, and Natasha into a high-end dress shop downtown. The place smelled like fresh fabric and expensive perfume, racks of shimmering gowns lining the walls like a promise of something magical. The girls were buzzing with excitement, their energy infectious as they flipped through the racks, holding up dresses and twirling in front of the mirrors.

The twins seemed to have patched things up since last Saturday when Natasha found out about Nataya’s pregnancy. They moved like they had before—whispering, laughing, finishing each other’s sentences. Kiyah was in full party mode, pulling dresses off hangers and holding them up against her body with a smirk.

I tried to match their energy, but I felt like I was moving through mud.

Sixteen days.

Sixteen days until my party. Sixteen days until Jey’s carefully curated event, the one he had planned to the smallest detail. A nightclub rented, the Prada Bois all set to be there, an entire night dedicated to celebrating me—Jey’s girl. His Prada Girl.

And yet, standing in the middle of the shop, surrounded by glittering gowns and my friends’ laughter, all I could think about was how life was a trip.

I ran my hands over the delicate fabric of a dress, barely seeing it. My chest felt tight, like something was pressing against it, suffocating me.

"Alright, girl," Kiyah said, tossing a slinky black dress over her arm before turning toward me. "What’s up with you? You been moping since we got in here."

My head snapped up. "I ain’t moping," I said, forcing a small smile.

"Yes, you are," Natasha added, giving me a knowing look. "You’re usually all over this kinda thing, but today, you look like somebody just snatched your puppy."

Nataya studied me quietly, her brows pulling together. "Something on your mind?"

I hesitated, my eyes darting between them. I had been holding so much in—too much. My secrets were piling up like bricks in my chest, threatening to collapse at any moment. I wasn’t sure where to start or if I should even say anything.

The girls already knew Jey could be intense, overbearing. They understood the Prada Bois and the world that came with them, but still, what I had been keeping inside felt bigger than all of us.

Kiyah arched an eyebrow, waiting.

I inhaled slowly, my fingers tightening around the fabric in my hands. "Damian handled that dude from the lounge that put his hands on me," I finally admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

The weight of those words settled over us like a storm cloud.

Nataya’s face darkened. "What do you mean ‘handled’?" she asked, even though she already knew.

I exhaled. "He’s dead."

Kiyah muttered something under her breath, shaking her head. Natasha, however, just shrugged. "That’s what they do," she said simply.

Nataya turned to her twin, eyes wide. "So, they just… kill people they don’t like?"

"Basically," Natasha said, her tone unreadable.

The store felt too bright, too polished, for the kind of conversation we were having. I felt out of place standing there in the midst of satin and sequins, talking about death like it was just another part of life.

I licked my lips, suddenly feeling the urge to tell them everything. "That ain’t even the worst of it," I murmured.

They all turned to me, their eyes expectant.

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. "The Prada Bois killed Melo."

Silence.

The only sound was the soft hum of the store’s music playing in the background.

Nataya exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "Jimmy already told me," she admitted. "I told Natasha."

"And Jacob told me," Kiyah added. "Once I told him I was his girl, he stopped sugarcoating shit."

Natasha crossed her arms. "I mean, we already kinda knew, but what I don’t get is why." She looked at me, her expression serious. "What kind of disrespect did Melo show?"

My chest felt like it was caving in. I had been holding onto a sliver of hope—hope that maybe, just maybe, it hadn’t been Jey who made that call.

But then Nataya said, "Jimmy told me it was Jey who put out that hit."

It hit me like a punch to the gut. I didn’t react outwardly, but inside, I was falling apart. I had known, deep down, but knowing and hearing it confirmed were two different things. Jey hadn’t just been involved. He had made the decision. He had been the one to call the hit.

I felt sick.

Jey, the same man who had kissed me just last night, who had told me he was proud of me for proving I was built for this life—he had ordered the murder of a man I had once called my friend.

I wanted to throw up.

The girls kept talking, their voices blending together, but I wasn’t really hearing them anymore. I nodded when I was supposed to, made small sounds of agreement, but my mind was elsewhere.

Jey had killed Carmelo even if he hadn't pulled the trigger.

The thought replayed in my mind over and over again, like a scratched-up record. At some point, Kiyah pulled me toward a mirror, holding up a red strapless gown against my body. "This is it," she said, her eyes shining. "This dress is made for the girlfriend of the Head Prada Boi."

The dress was breathtaking—clear gems and beadwork decorating the bodice, the fabric flowing like water down to the floor. It was everything a girl like me should have wanted.

I forced a smile, nodding. "Yeah," I said, my voice hollow. "It’s perfect."

But inside, I knew the truth. No matter how expensive the dress was, no matter how many diamonds Jey wrapped around my wrist, there was no dressing up what I had become.

---

August 22nd 1998

Saturday rolled around, and I found myself curled up in my mama’s bed, wrapped in the warmth of her arms like I was a little girl again. The comfort of her embrace, the steady rise and fall of her breathing, the way she gently rubbed my back—it was the only peace I had felt in days. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to think. I just wanted to exist in this small moment, where nothing outside of these walls could touch me.

My mama’s voice was soft, full of that knowing concern only mothers have. “What’s going on, baby? You been quiet all week.”

I didn’t know how to answer. What could I say? That I had been drowning in my own thoughts? That the man I loved had taken another man’s life like it was nothing? That I had sat in a dress shop the other day pretending to be excited about my birthday while my heart shattered into pieces I wasn’t sure I could ever put back together?

I settled on something safer. “I just needed to be loved on,” I murmured, pressing my face into her shoulder.

She sighed, pulling me closer. “I always got you, baby. Always.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, breathing her in, wishing I could stay like this forever. But reality was waiting for me outside. And it had Jey’s name written all over it.

Later that night, Jey picked me up in his car, and I barely said two words to him as we drove to Tonga’s house. The air between us was thick with unspoken tension. The only sound was the faint hum of the radio and the occasional tap of his fingers against the steering wheel.

He kept glancing over at me, clearly noticing my mood, but he didn’t press me about it. Instead, he tried to lighten the silence, cracking small jokes, reaching over to squeeze my thigh like he always did. I forced a small smile, but it didn’t reach my eyes.

By the time we pulled up to the house, the party was already in full swing. Music blared through the open doors, the bass shaking the pavement. Laughter and conversation mixed with the scent of food and liquor. People were everywhere—sprawled across the porch, huddled in groups, bodies moving to the rhythm of the music. Inside, the atmosphere was thick with smoke and the low murmur of voices. The Prada Bois were posted up in their usual corners, surrounded by women who hung onto them like ornaments. I spotted Kiyah and Natasha near the drink table, laughing about something, but my gaze kept drifting elsewhere.

I didn’t want to be here.

I didn’t want to be near Jey.

And I definitely didn’t want to see Damian. But my eyes found him anyway.

He was sitting back in a chair, a drink in one hand, and her in the other. Dulce. She was practically draped over him, her manicured fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. She laughed at something he whispered to her, the sound grating against my ears. I shouldn’t have cared. I had no right to care. But something about the way he touched her, the way she looked at him, made something hot and bitter rise in my chest.

Did he treat her like Jey treated me? Did he control her? Did he press his hand around her throat, not as a lover, but as a warning? Did she ever wonder if she was truly free, or if she was just another piece in someone else’s game?

I drowned the thoughts with another drink, tilting my head back and swallowing the burn before it could settle too deep. Before I could think too much.

Jey’s voice cut through the noise, loud and commanding, demanding everyone’s attention. “Ayo! Everybody, listen up!”

The crowd quieted, heads turning. I barely had time to react before I felt Jey’s arm snake around my waist, pulling me flush against his side. I stiffened, the warmth of his grip feeling suffocating, but I forced a small smile as all eyes landed on us.

“We here to celebrate my brother,” Jey continued, nodding toward Damian. “For being a real one, for holdin�� shit down. And also—” his grip on me tightened— “my baby, Nyeya. Who been holdin’ it down like she supposed to.”

A cheer went up, glasses raised, voices blending together in approval. But my ears were ringing. My skin was burning where Jey held me. I barely remembered the rest of the toast. I barely heard whatever else was said. All I knew was that when Jey turned to kiss me, I couldn’t do it. I twisted my head at the last second, his lips barely grazing my cheek.

His grip on my waist tightened. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I turned and walked away, pushing through the crowd, heading straight for the car. I needed air. I needed out. I barely made it to the driveway before I felt his fingers wrap around my wrist, yanking me back so hard I stumbled.

His eyes were dark, his face shadowed under the glow of the streetlights. “I asked you a question, Nyeya.”

I yanked my arm away. “You killed Melo,” I said, my voice low but firm. “You had him killed.”

Jey’s expression didn’t change. Didn’t falter.

I shoved him, my hands trembling with rage. “Say something!”

He tilted his head, his jaw clenching. Then, finally, he spoke. “Yeah.”

My stomach dropped.

“I did,” he said, his voice eerily calm. “And I don’t regret that shit.”

I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

“I told yo’ ass to get over it,” he muttered, turning away like the conversation was over. Like what he had just admitted didn’t change everything.

I grabbed his arm, yanking him back. “Tell me why you would fucking do that, Jey. Huh? Why?”

Jey’s dark eyes bore into mine, something unreadable flickering in their depths. And then he said it.

“Melo died because of you.”

The words shattered something inside me.

Jey took a step closer, his voice dropping into something final. “You shouldn’t have let him have access to you that night at the skating rink. And he thought he could play with what’s mine… in my face.”

A sharp, ugly noise escaped me. Mine. He said it like I was a thing, like I was an object to be possessed.

“So that’s it?” I choked out, my voice rising. “You had him killed because you think I’m a fucking doll on a display?”

Jey’s gaze flickered with something darker. “You let him get too close,” he muttered. “You should’ve known better. This your fault.”

I should’ve known better. A sharp, painful laugh bubbled up in my throat. “So, I guess you’re gonna kill every man that breathes near me, huh? That’s your plan? You gonna take out every person who looks my way?”

Jey didn’t answer.

I shook my head, disgusted. “You so fucking foul. You foul as fuck.”

His face twisted, his anger finally rising. “You wouldn’t even be in this life if it wasn’t for me, Nyeya,” he snapped. “You think you got options? You think you can just walk away from me? I told yo’ ass ain’t no leaving. Get that through your head.”

I swallowed hard, forcing down the fear, forcing myself to stand firm.

Jey’s expression darkened. “You mine,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “The moment you said ya’ lil ass could handle me, you became mine. Ain’t no changing yo’ damn mind now.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. I looked down at the bracelet on my wrist, the one that had once felt like a promise but now felt like a shackle. My hands trembled as I unclasped it, my heart shattering into pieces.

Then, before I could think twice, I ripped it off and threw it at him. Jey caught it with ease, his fingers curling around the metal, his face blank.

“I ain’t for Prada no more,” I whispered, my voice breaking.

Jey’s entire body stiffened, his nostrils flaring, his grip on the bracelet tightening like he wanted to crush it.

I turned on my heel, my vision blurred with unshed tears, my chest feeling like it was caving in. I didn’t look back. I couldn’t look back. I wasn’t built for this.

---

Want to read from the beginning? Click Here

If you wanna join the taglist for this story, just let me know! Taglist: @theusotwinzcom @nbanenefrmdao @queeny23 @punksyeet @partypoison00 @justazzi @southernpree

[armitagehuxsleepschedule]

Top three silliest, mundane or unconventional headcanons about Hux?

help i'm so characterpilled that narrowing it down to 3 was difficult

in no particular order,

he came up with the design for the xyston-class star destroyer too (the sith fleet ones from rise of skywalker) but he was like, 13 and going through an edgy phase and just thought "wouldn't a star destroyer that can blow up planets be sooo badass?" and drew up some blueprints instead of sleeping. he scrapped those blueprints real quick and looks back on his "aerospace engineering designs that clearly prioritize destructive power over post-war usefulness" phase with embarrassment. unfortunately someone affiliated with the sith eternal / final order somehow got their hands on this concept and thought it was rad as hell, because the sith are edgelords. (he's designed a lot of things that ended up being stupid after some reflection and going straight into his datapad's trash bin.)

he's a very creative person (canon) and that creativity does extend to artistic endeavors (not as canon), he just never uses any talent he has for anything but First Order Related Purposes. including the creative talents. he draws, but all his art is either dramatic concept art of his ship designs or artistic renditions of important events. he writes, but all his writing is about politics. he's even written a few songs, but all of them were patriotic anthems or bagpipe marches. whether this is because he consciously refuses to put time and effort into an "unproductive" endeavor like creativity for its own sake, or whether it's because he actually can't think outside the context of the first order...is up for debate.

he actually has permanent brain damage after the events of the last jedi. and i don't mean that as a "ugh the spy plot twist was so stupid he must have had brain damage amirite" joke because i actually like the spy thing and i think his actions in tlj can unironically be explained by extreme sleep deprivation and stress. no, i mean that getting slammed into the bridge of the supremacy in the beginning of the movie could easily have given him a concussion, and getting thrown into the console on crait definitely gave him a concussion (and probably some broken bones and ruptured organs, frankly) (per the novelization the blow was hard enough to kill him, and in the movie itself he was unconscious for several MINUTES afterwards). so yeah, by the end of the last jedi i 100% headcanon that hux never fully physically recovered.

[thewriterowl]

Okay miss owl but I NEED jealous Din not realizing Leia is lukes sister and going silently mad. He has successfully chased away all other “suitors”--lando, wedge, Paz, Axe, Boba, Han (who he hated most of all--or at least thought he did!) but Leia, Leia is where he meets his match. None of his usual scheming works because when he growls “stay away from the jedi” she just LAUGHS and laughs. He’s beside himself because this is it…Luke will leave mandalore with her and he’s lost his chance…then the reveal that actually she’s his twin sister happens and din looks to leia so confused/bewildered and leia is just SMIRKING (and to anyone who knew them both, she never looked so much like anakin as she did in that moment)

YES. That art was so good and Din would be so jealous and upset and confused because nothing he does gets the right reaction out of this woman.

Leia is just enjoying this too much to let it stop too soon. Besides, this is a great way to test this bastard to see if he's good enough for her stupid brother. Luke can get too lovesick and easy to manipulate; it's better to ensure he gets with someone who is pathetic over him but will also kill others for his sake.

Din really does fit it well. The man has fought off tons of other suitors, he doesn't just sit back stewing in jealousy (for too long), and the man is absolutely PATHETIC over Luke. It's amazing.

Still, just a few more days before he finds out...for now, she's gonna make him need to run around like a space-chicken with its head cut off because it amuses her (and he deserves it for making jealous assumptions and even daring to insult *her*)

She also never lets him forget it once everything is out in the open.

[melfmalen]

WHAT!?!?... For the sake of a joke, I just uploaded my art to an artificial intelligence that turns pictures into a video clip...and.. I'm shocked.. It's like an anime.

[quinngefail]

Today is my birthday! Do you have any chainshipping (or pintshipping) headcanons you can share?

Okay hsks so first off, another belated happy birthday to you >:]

Then for a headcanon, I'll share one (of the many) chainshipping things that I've been sitting on lmaoo

So uhh I've had this idea for a while where Lawrence is having a pretty bad anxiety attack one night, maybe after waking from a particularly vicious nightmare. This is something that's distressing to Adam too, of course, coz I kinda feel like it goes without saying that they're both easily affected by seeing each other hurt, panicked, angry, etc... but Adam tries to keep a cool head for both of their sakes, and comes up with this impromptu sort of distraction to hopefully ease Lawrence's mind- if even just a little bit. It's a question game, where they take turns asking each other anything about one another, really- but the catch is, whatever you ask, you also have to answer yourself. So y’know, if you so choose, you could come out swinging with the “WHAT'S YOUR MOST EMBARRASSING MEMORY” question, but then that means you also have to spill your most embarrassing memory >:) !!

It starts out pretty shaky, but Adam tries to keep up the confident smile and gentle affections and encouragements. Eventually it does help with calming the nerves, and ultimately they have a fun time with it :) And in calmer states, they do cycle back to the panic attack itself and just. Talk about it, and take care of one another until they both feel alright to fall asleep again.

But, that question game sorta just becomes a recurring ‘thing’ they do. And not jut for providing distractions, but y’know… While they're laying together and about to sleep, while they're taking walks through the nearby park, while they're making food- and anything between :) and it's definitely something that I'd like to do art of 😭

So yea uh JUST SMN THAT'S BEEN ON THE MIND FOR AT LEAST A FEW MONTHS NOW....... I hope you enjoy :]

[briefeee]

everytime I see soundstar art and its Starscream biting or them being angrily married/fighting, I start kicking my feet and giggling because I always strive to write it or at least Starscream biting Soundwave

Listen, I adore them domestic/cant keep hands off my wife bc im obsessive and I'll write it forever for myself and my readers on ao3, but they need to argue more for the sake of me too... 👉👈 time to go tell my girls jajeiwiqj

//falls down stairs

[blondeaxolotl]

Not to come onto your blog and start wildly pointing at a conspiracy board with your art on it but if Vil has always kind of glowed then they probably would have never properly seen the dark

Except potentially while overblotting, experiencing full darkness for the first time ever coupled with everything else that's going on sounds like An Experience and I'm thinking about it hard, thinking about it firm and unpliable even

Oh feel free to hit me with conspiracies about my art/au anytime! Gives me the chance to talk about stuff I haven't thought of before or things I haven't gotten the chance to talk about yet hehe

Continuing on, you are right about the fact Vil has never properly seen the dark. They are aware of it, but they've never been actually LEFT in complete darkness, because their glow/halo has always been a light source that helps them see and even lights up a whole room after they walk in. Even while sleeping, if you were to enter Vil's room while they are asleep, you'd be able to see everything because of the dim light coming from them. So yeah Vil has NEVER seen the dark.

Now the overblotting, I've written in my notes that Vil's glow/halo even goes out when they overblotted (which btw doesn't harm them, they just can't see properly anymore). So their glow/halo going out, combined with everything else, I'd say that's a perfect mix of ingredients to go into a mini panic attack, believing you've gone blind because all your friends and everything around you are now suddenly harder to see. So Overblot Vil is not only filled with rage and envy, but also fear.

Though after the overblot things definitely went back to normal after Vil realised oh okay I've not gone blind, thank sevens. But it wouldn't surprise me if Vil ended up developing some kind of phobia of the dark after that, since their first introduction to it was VERY negative, I'd imagine if for whatever reason their glow/halo went out again, panic would immediately kick in thinking they're overblotting again or something else bad is going to happen. I also highly doubt Vil even told anyone about this, since a high mighty angel being scared of something simple like the dark might be a bit embarrassing (at least in Vil's eyes), Rook probably caught on though but won't say anything about it for Vil's sake.

But yeah, Vil went from never experiencing the dark before to experiencing it the worse way possible that it probably developed into an irrational fear