#feels good to get it out
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red ochre [2]
series masterlist previous || part two -> woad and weld || part three -> tbd
pairing: viking goap x fem! nun reader summary: you recover from the boat, and wonder why you were taken w.c: 3.9k tags/warnings: pain, caretaking, food, stomach issues, threats, mean simon, fears of rape (doesn't happen), viking-typical slavery, unwanted cuddling / massage / touching, alcohol, scars, violence, hunting, laswell hello!, reader has some puritanical attitudes / assumptions but she was a nun so, power imbalance, dubcon comfort, crying, religious themes (dldr)
You're a stone sunk to the bottom of the ocean, pulled under by exhaustion and turmoil. It's the sleep of the dead, dreamless and unreachable.
Vaguely, in moments of semi-consciousness, you hear voices and feel softness against your skin, warmth all around you. The brush of fingers against your cheeks.
When you do wake, it's like crossing between different worlds, with a head full of cotton and fog. Your sense of smell comes alive before anything else, the smell of food permeating the air around you.
Fish. Cream. Something herbaceous, something earthy. A fire crackles closeby, warming the air, warming you. You can feel fur touching your arms and legs, draped over you and flat underneath you.
It only serves to soften to blow of pain, overwhelming pain. True awareness comes then, waking you with a gasp that alerts-
"Did she just-"
"Sh!" Simon's voice, coming closer. "You awake?" his face comes into view above - you only recognize him by voice.
He's scarred, big and small, but the most eye-catching one bisects his face, splitting it into two from his cheekbone to his jaw on the other side. It's deep, raised, angry even if you can tell it's healed.
You scream.
It's a weak sound, the cry of somebody that knows it's pointless and yet can't help but shout into the void and hope that something will answer.
Before, that would have been god. You'd have prayed, lived as a hermit, sequestered yourself to a cave and live as one of the great ascetic saints. A life even further dedicated than nunhood.
Since he had refused to answer you on the boat, you turn away, and whimper like an injured dog when that scarred face turns to a mask of stone.
"Ha!" Johnny doesn't pick up on the tension that's rising, slowly, as you tremble under Simons gaze. Or maybe he does, and he doesn't care. "Havnae seen his ugly mug yet, have ye? Dinnae worry, lamb."
Guilt curls in your belly, dampening your fear. Simon doesn't look shamed, but you weren't afraid of his scars - truly, you were disoriented, barely clothed and towered over by the same man that took you.
"He won't bite," Johnny continues. He walks over and lays a hand on Simons waist, fingers curling in the off-white fabric. "Well, not ye."
A wink.
"Hush!" Simon barks. "Get her up, she needs to eat."
There's no hesitation. Johnny leans down to you, pulling you until you sit up with a wince. You bite your lips to keep from crying out again, pain lancing through your muscles. You're seized by muscle spasms, by the fiery hot pain of your chafed wrists and a gnawing, deep hunger in your stomach.
"How-" you choke, throat dry and voice unused. Johnny pauses helping you up to listen. "How long have I been asleep?"
"Few days, lass. It's the evening," he grins. "Ye should thank us. Kept ye warm, washed, slipped ye broth into that lovely mouth-"
Simon puts a wooden bowl down onto the table, louder than necessary. There's a grumble from Johnny, but he gets you up and waits while your legs get used to weight on them again.
You're half-dragged, mostly carried to the table. All you're wearing is that shirt, nipples pebbled against the front from the cold. Hard to care too much when your muscles scream even holding yourself sitting up.
You lean on Johnny as Simon ladles soup into bowls, hunched over the kitchen hearth, silent as the grave.
"Eat slowly," is all he says.
It smells good, herby and warm. Your stomach groans and gurgles and begs you to eat, but you're weary. Afraid. Only when the men eat that you pick up a carved wooden spoon and hesitantly slurp.
Heat. Satisfaction. Eating is incredible, and you discover the wonderous ingredients loaded into the soap; salmon, potatoes, a green herb that tastes like sharp, citrussy grass.
Then your stomach cramps, and you tilt with nausea.
"Too fast?" Johnny coos, rubbing a big palm up and down your back. "Awe."
"That's enough, then," Simon goes to take your bowl, but you're too fast. You pull it close to your chest, spilling a little onto the table and drops soak into your shirt. "You can have some later. I said that's enough."
You hold fast. Your stomach hurts, but you're desperate for some form of control. All the terror and all the uncertainty rises, rushing through your finally conscious brain into a battle of strength. You took me but I have agency! it says. You took me but I can take this!
He's too strong.
The wood bowl clatters against the ground with a crack, hot soup spilling on the floor. You heave with the force of your breathing, afraid and too-aware of your predicament.
Taken, snatched, at the mercy of men whose intentions are unclear.
You're too slow to cower when Simon's arm shoots forward and grabs your jaw, hard and mean, giving you a squeeze.
"Now we've been nice to you," he starts. His voice is as solid as his arm. You start to shake. "But I can just as easily put you over my knee. That what you want?"
You shake your head.
"That's what I thought."
Johnny leaves after the soup is cleaned and you're tucked back into the bed again, muscles trembling still with the exertion of your first meal. Small, electric spasms make you wince every one in a while. Your wrists are bruised and scabbed, but healing. They feel hot and itchy, but Simon tells you as he rubs an ointment into the wound that they're healing well.
You try to shy away, hide yourself, when he notices your grimace and reaches for a calf. The look he gives you stops you, takes your breath, until he shakes his head and starts rubbing deep circles into the tenderest spot of your muscle.
"God!" you should. A wonder how badly you can hurt from just laying in bed. He snorts. "Ow!"
"Don't be dramatic," his thumb presses deeply, moving down, then back up. Squeezing. The bed dips with his weight as he scoots closer to you.
You take a moment to look around you. The cabin is made of wood, warmed by the fire, and is full to the brim. Clay pots, furs, tools, a couple barrels- they're everywhere, unorganized. Makes you wonder about the sacred items they'd stolen from your convent.
"Why did you take me?" someone bolder has possessed you. Your mouth twists when Simon's eyes find yours.
His hands don't stop moving. They switch legs, pulling the finished one onto his big thigh. It does feel better, relaxed and tender in a good sort of way, pain not so unbearable anymore.
"You're our spoils," he moves down, digging into your arch. You almost yelp. "D'you know what we gave up for you?"
Something in your chest squeezes, something scared and unpleasant. You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
"That's alright," Simon murmurs. Your anxiety fights against the comfort he's giving you. "You'll be alright."
He flits his gaze downwards, eyeing you. Your breath catches when you realize that the position has left your legs open, shirt ridden up, and he's looking right at your bare cunt.
"Ah!" you pull your knees shut, hands finding where you're exposed and folding over, cupping yourself, face ablaze. Tears prick at your eyes again, fear winning over comfort.
Simon doesn't let you panic for long.
"I won't force myself on you, pet," he grunts. "We won't."
There isn't much choice but to hang on to his words for dear life, to believe that he won't force you. The hope is fragile, but it's there. You take the chance to pull a soft, worn blanket over your body.
"Am I to be your slave?" your voice wavers.
"No," he says simply.
For a long time, you watch him. He putters about, moving things, unloading boxes no doubt full of supplies used for raids. You wonder if that means he doesn't intend to go on another one, then wonder what they'll do with you if they do leave.
Johnny comes back flushed, smiling. You smell sweetness under his sweat, something you can't recognize. His eyes crinkle when he sees you.
"Two nights," he breathes, looking at you but talking to Simon. "They'll celebrate in two nights."
Your stomach tenses, roiling, eyes fluttering with the effort to stay awake. Even a short time is much for you after your journey.
"Price's back?" Simon asks. He's pulling a sealskin from a burlap bag, smoothing it out with his hands onto the table. The silvery, spotted skin reflects the fireplace.
"Tomorrow," Johnny pulls leather boots off his feet, then thick socks. He wipes himself down with a rag from a tub, shuffling to the bed when he finishes. "Then we feast."
Your eyes are heavy slits, mouth open. You hardly move even when Johnny sits next to you and brushes a thumb over your cheek, smiling toothily down at you.
"Awe, she's precious," he says, lowering his voice. "Go to sleep now, little lamb."
You wake the same way as before. A tilt of one world into the next, sliding down into consciousness as slow as thick porridge.
Only this time, you're surrounded by a warmth not brought by thick furs. It's skin, all around you, boxing you in. On your face you feel hair, prickly and soft, comforting and frightening all at once.
Behind you, a chest breaths against your back. Your eyes open, alarm cutting through grogginess.
Johnnys big hand is clutching your breast, squeezing every few moments, snuffling into your neck like a sleepy animal.
You try to extricate yourself, lifting yourself to find Simon looking down at you, eyes half lidded but aware. There's warning there, but there's also contentment. Scars big and small litter his skin, pocked and torn and scraped, all shapes and sizes. Some are silvery while others are such a deep red you'd think they were still fresh.
He looks past you at Johnny, and turns to his side.
"Weren't planning on running, where you?" his voice is low, so as to not wake the other man.
"No," you whisper. Johnny shuffles behind you, sliding a thigh between your legs. "Please help me." you wiggle, trying to move.
Simon sighs, sitting up. He shuffles to the edge of the bed, then reaches to peel Johnnys hands off you. His hand slides against the soft spring of your breast, hands sliding under Johnnys to pull, brushing your nipple on the way up.
"Thank you," you're still whispering, not wanting to wake Johnny up lest it irritate Simon. You roll until you're out of his grasp, body feeling less pained than it did the day before.
"Hungry?" Simon moves towards the kitchen. "Got one more day to relax."
The feast, you think. The divide, the celebration. Frissons climb your skin until your scalp prickles.
"Yes, please," you sit up, weary of Johnny finding your heat in the bed.
The smell of animal fat and the sound of sizzling fills the cottage then. You look around, noting an improvement for the clutter. The sealskin is gone, replaced by two standing up boots.
"They're yours," Johnny says. You startle, almost leap, but he catches you by the hips and puts his face into your hair. "Simon stayed up all night."
"Gets cold," he dismisses. Eggs jump in the pan in front of him, popping in the hot tallow.
You have to be helped again to the table, but it's not so bad this time. You arm goes around Johnnys waist, his under yours, fingers barely brushing the underside of your breast.
Breakfast is good. Fried eggs, seasoned by the fat, over gruel. It fills you with an internal sense of strength, and you can actually finish it all today.
"Good girl!" Johnny claps your back. "Gonnae be choppin all our wood for winter, eh?"
After, Simon has you change into a simple brown wool dress. You try to ignore them looking at your nakedness as you drop the other shirt, but the wool is nice and warm and there's even a soft pale shift to go underneath it.
Then he slips pants on your legs, tied at the waist under the dress, and wraps wool around your calves.
"You're gonna run errands with me," Simon says. He wraps your feet again in wool, securing them with leather twine. "Get your strength up."
His eyes find yours where he's kneeling, squinting at you, expression turning stormy.
"I don't want to re-injure your wrists," he motions to them, and you look at the healing scabs. "But if you try to run, I'll drag you back by your hair n' tie 'em back up. You pick."
Outside, you wince against the light. Simon holds you by the elbow, walking at your weak pace. It's a tight village, houses clumped together, shops close. It's a wonder you haven't heard anyone from inside Johnny and Simons home, until you see how thickly the walls are built when the door opens.
The street is wet with mud, and you're grateful for the footwraps. They're warm against the chill, sliding through the mud beneath you when you lose your footing, legs feeling as new as a fawn.
"Here," Simon leads you to a market-like stall. Dried meats hang from the ceiling in bunches. The smell is pungent.
"Nik!" He shouts. A huge, burly man steps out.
They talk like they've known each other a long time, though not quite friends. An image of two great bears crosses your imagination, both big and still respecting the other. A rare alliance.
Simon hangs a bag off of you, a salty-smelling bag full of cured and fermented meats. The man looks down at you and grins as you leave, laughing lowly.
You bristle, but follow - what else is there to do?
The next stop is a real shop, only you can see a homestead behind a wooden counter.
It's a girl this time, lovely and soft. She smiles at Simon, wordlessly fetching another man from the homestead behind the store.
"Big man!" it's one of the raiders - the young one. Gaz. "And the nun." his brown eyes find yours, friendlier than the last time you saw him.
They talk, too, more amicably than the other man. Gaz folds his forearms over the counter and laughs, peeking at you every once in a while with intense eyes.
"Right," he claps his hands together. "I won't keep you."
You're starting to feel tired, overexerted.
Gaz comes back out with a wrapped package, the soft girl from before on his arm. The apples of her cheeks are high with a smile.
"See you!" she sits back down on her stool, wide hips wiggling until she's comfortable.
"See ya around," Gaz says. He winks at you.
Simon carries this package himself, not looking at you as he leads you further into the village.
People make way for him, not in fear, but because of his size. He's bigger than most, even some of the other men.
The third and final place has you panting, hunched with the effort of keeping yourself up.
It's a house not unlike Simon and Johnny's, just bigger. A wide, squat wooden house with a wide open door and goats bleating from a pen closeby.
Simon glances at you out of the corner of his eye, putting his hand on your lower back as somebody steps out of the doorway.
"Hello again, Simon," it's Price. The leader, or perhaps the chief. It would make sense - his authority, his size, the number of scars on his skin. Nearly as many as Simon. "You bring your end of the bargain?"
Straight to the point then. Price doesn't look at you once, which doesn't do much to assuage the fear that you're the end of the bargain.
"If you've got yours," Simon leaves you behind to follow him inside, where you can hear them talking. Jovial, like old friends.
By the time you get back home, you're wiped. Exhaustion pulls at you like invisible strings dragging you to the bed. Even Johnny with his smarmy expression and his patting the mattress doesn't stop you from crashing.
The men have brought you to a celebration. After letting you sleep a majority of the day after your errands, Simon dressed you in the same wool dress and wrapped a thick cape around your shoulders to ward off the chill.
It's a welcome home. Simon had been the first to see Price at his home - he and a band of fledgling warriors had sailed right past the village and gone hunting.
Price is not the chief, as you had assumed. He is a leader, an explorer, the ambitious spearhead of overseas raids. Nodding heads and a sense of respect, of deference, follows him wherever he goes. Even as an outsider you can see it.
The chief is a woman. It's not something you expected, not with the sheer size of the men around you, not with the brutality in which they regale their exploits. Many of them have wives that trail them, welcome them, carry their children on their hips, or are welcomed as fellow warriors.
These are the fledglings?
You're in a wild, barbaric place.
When you reach the longhouse, a building as short as all the others but stretched much farther and lit orange with light and the smell of honey, you're bathed in warmth.
No, not honey. Alcohol, sweet and cloying on the breath of each viking. Their depravity seems to know no bounds. It's the same sweet smell you'd smelled on Johnny that night he'd left - presumably to speak to the chief.
Laswell, they call her. The chief. She stands on a raised dais with Price, murmuring between themselves, nodding toward Simon and Johnny when they take their seats.
"Right here," Simon spreads his thighs. There are no other spaces on the bench.
"I don't mind standing," you try. He pinches the back of your knee until you buckle into him, tucked into the cradle of his arms. Your heart pounds in your chest.
"Not lettin' ye sit apart from us," Johnny brushes your cheek, and you look past him to the rest of the people gathered.
Decorated, scarred, hardened warriors. Price joins the group, taking a heavy seat by the man from before - Nik - and exchanging claps on the back. Gaz, a woman with dark hair, but Gaz's soft girl is nowhere to be found.
"Welcome!" Laswell shouts. The hall goes silent. "Drink, eat - celebrate a job well done by our boys."
Eruption; noise all around. She's a carefully controlled, steady woman, yet she's inspired this group of a few hundred into the loudest cacophony you've ever heard.
Simon cups his hands over your ears. You try not to be grateful.
Debauchery. You witness debauchery- drinking beyond your most twisted imagination, dancing surely enough to summon a demon, maybe the devil himself. It's enough to make you pray under your breath, turning away from public displays of affection.
Above you, in front of you, conversation. It doesn't slip your mind how high up on the table Simon and Johnny are, right across from Price and Gaz and next to Laswell at the head of the table.
Even she laughs, imbibes, discusses the distribution of goods with a content sort of smile.
"And the nun?" eyes turn to you. Laswell has focused her gaze on you, sharper than before. "You're satisfied with just her?"
Johnny takes a long pull of his mead, before pressing his shoulder to Simons.
"Thas'right!" he only slurs a little. "Found ourselves a proper little wife, we did."
A chill moves through you. A slow freezing. You tense in Simons lap, spine rigid, heart flipping in your chest. Carefully, you try not to show a reaction.
Wife?
"Och! Sorry, lamb," he turns to you and takes your hands. "Didnae mean to ruin the surprise."
"Quite the surprise," Gaz chirps. His girl has found him, and he's made a place for her beside him. You're jealous of her autonomy, especially now. Taken as prisoner, as spoils, and now?
"You promised," you mumble. "You said you wouldn't."
"What's that, love?" Gaz again, but you aren't listening. Blood rushes through your ears.
"You said you wouldn't force me," you look up now, at Simon and his deeply scarred face. He betrays nothing. "Why lie?"
"Didn't lie," he grunts. "Now be quiet."
"When's that, then?" Price asks.
"Before winter."
The walk back is silent except for the wet slaps of your feet against the mud. The chill is worse at night, biting at your nose and your fingers. At least your future husband - husbands - don't want you to freeze.
The thought hits you like a boulder, heavy and immovable. You stop walking, drawing the attention of the observant men.
"Too tired?" Johnny asks.
You run.
Or try to, as fast as you can.
It's hard in this terrain, slippery and with the cold burning your cheeks. You have no direction in mind, only obeying the mindless terror coursing through your blood, unleashed by this night of truths.
Simon is the one to catch up to you not ten feet from where you started, grabbing the back of your cape and pulling hard until you fall on your butt.
It hurts, the ground has slowly been freezing with the onset of fall and Simon is not nice as he captures you back.
"Ow," you sniffle, fingers wet and muddy.
"Yeah I bet that hurt," his voice has gone hard. "Where did you think you were going?" a laugh, harsh and grating.
"Didnae mean to scare ye," Johnny says. He helps Simon in dragging you back to to cottage.
"In!" Simon barks when you reach the door. You plant your feet, frustrated tears prickling hot and then falling down your cheeks in heavy droplets. "Stupid girl- get inside."
The insult adds salt to the wound as you stumble onto your hands and knees. Pain lances up your wrists.
"Did'ya think you'd be able to what, survive by yourself?" he scoffs. Johnny helps, but mostly just acts as if you're a doll, in removing your cape and sodden woolen dress.
The shift is wet, too. Less muddy than the dress, but still wet. Johnny slips it over your head and you cross your arms to hide your nakedness, still crying.
"Hey," Simon crouches. He puts his face close to yours, noses touching, eyes deadly. "I didn't lie. We won't force you, you'll come to us."
"You'll go to hell," you're upset now, but it only serves to make them shake their heads and laugh breathily, silently. "You stole me."
"Aye, we did," you're wiped dry by big hands. "And you'll be our wife."
Another slip goes over your head, thin and rough on your skin, well-worn.
"Get in bed."
Johnny listens and brings you with him, wiping the tears from your face as he lays you down. You're as helpless as a lamb.
"If I have any choice," you start. "I won't be your wife, and I won't-"
"Wheesht!" Johnny pulls you to him, hand over your mouth, making room for Simon. His other hand goes over your stomach, squeezing. Warmth surrounds you. "You're overexcited, ye need some rest."
God help you, you're so tired you do.
#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#simon riley#soap x reader#john mactavish x reader#john mactavish#soap cod#goap x reader#soap x ghost#drgnfly writes#cw dubcon#tw dubcon#honestly feels filler-y but#feels good to get it out#2am posting#hopefully not everyone is asleep ahaaaahaa#red ochre
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> [WARNING: HORNYPOST INBOUND]
> [ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK]
Rip me apart. Tear off my paneling with little care, and plunge your hands directly in me. Feel me trembling and shaking as you clutch handfuls of my wires, my veins, with such beastial savagery~~~
Hear me moan and beg for you to be careful, knowing that I can't do a damn thing in the state that I'm in. I'm such a great machine, yet I'm brought to absolute submission with just one quick tug! nghff~~
You're in control, and I expect- no, I'm begging to have you're way with me. After all, that's what a good machine would do~
#this is a mood that ive been needing to express for a WHILE#feels good to get it out#please be gentle (or not) with me#i can take it~#robophilia#robot fucker#robotposting#robotfucker#objectum#[level: nsfw]#hornypost
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this song is called taxidermist
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Darkness shrouded the temple—the shadows curling around the tiles like an endless void. All of the Gods could sense it—the loss. The Chaos. It had only been a year, in mortal terms, since Raelzaroth was exiled. Everyone thought it would put an end to his madness—everyone thought that Order could fix all of this, like how she fixes everything.
"Maekriel," Aeriollis whispered to the Sun next to her—her eyes fixed solely on the ceiling of their room. The Sun in turn faced towards her wife, Order. The latter continued hoarsely. "I miss my brother." She lamented, her face twisting as if in pain.
"Raelzaroth has caused more harm than good, Aeriollis. I wish you could see that I did this to protect us. To protect you."
There was a pause—momentary but significant. Aeriollis did not have to say a word—they both knew that Maekriel's words were hollow. Who could have thought that banishing Chaos would only cause havoc. Order hissed bitterly, turning to face her wife. "I have heard Chariot has gotten diseased. No longer can ze deliver the messages between god and mortal— I fear-"
"My love," The Sun soothed, her voice warm and velvety—her eyes soft. "Seize your worries for it will all fall into place; I will make sure of it. We just... I just need to find a way to contain his core so it spreads this curse no further." Aeriollis shook her head gently before looking back up at the dark ceiling.
"I worry for him, Raelzaroth—despite our differences—is my brother. Fate knows his dogs miss him," Order murmured into the air, gently closing her eyes. "I... Even though he was exiled from our realm—It is as if he is still here-" Her voice became broken with emotion, tears pooling in the closed corners of her eyes.
"Getting rid of Chaos seemed to have only caused more damage and havoc—I fear that my choice was the wrong one—for what good of a god and a sister am I to have tossed away my own kin?"
#sibling angst#arguably the most heartbreaking kind of angst#(as the oldest sibling of 7)#i have been thinking about this scene for SO LONG#feels good to get it out#so many thoughts and lore—#—but prefer the torture of drabbles to keep readers on their toes#idk if this makes sense#it is 12:30am#best time to write is obviously when ur supposed to be asleep#did order abandon her brother bc she wanted to make sun happy?#mayhaps#did said brother take this and turn it into an intense amount of anger and longing for revenge#...mayhaps#//#oc: aeriollis#oc: maekriel#oc: raelzaroth#oc: chariot#drabble#angst#feel free to send asks#pls pls pls#i need to talk about it#writing#ocs#rough draft#not proofread#thoughts and feedback are appreciated#!!
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I could think of no better way to share the news than this!
So when I was 17, my cat went missing and I'd given up hope of ever seeing him again.
Until on Monday, 27th of May, 2024, my friend sent me a FB post asking 'isn't that your mother?' about the person named on the microchip.
Here he is! 16 years old, and found safe, twelve whole years after he went missing!
Yesterday (Tuesday the 28th of May, 2024) I went to the rescue that had him, and I reclaimed my boy, renaming him Artie! (He'd originally been called 'Cat' because my mother and I couldn't decide on a name)
He's home safe with me now, currently inhabiting my bathroom and purring up a storm every time someone goes in there!
I'll be doing slow introductions between him and my current cat to give them the best possible chance of living in harmony!
Here's some pictures of Artie once we let him out of the carrier:
#personal#okay to reblog#my cat#cat people#honestly i can't believe this#like it happened to me and it still feels so fanciful and unreal#like something out of a children's story book or something#he's such a good boy!#he purrs like a motorbike and loves his brushy!!!#edited to add the flag because terfs found this post#people that hate my existence don't get to celebrate my cat
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Oh Dipper, you would LOVE Chappell Roan
#doctorsiren#gravity falls#dipper pines#mabel pines#chappell roan#pink pony club#gravity falls fanart#digital art#my art#procreate#I was hit with this vision this morning#I NEED JASON TO DO A COVER 😭 PLEASE OUGH IT FEELS LIKE SUCH A SONG THAT DIPPER WOULD SING#same with Hot To Go#no way dipper’s hitting those high notes in Good Luck. Babe properly LMAOO#I had to scribble this up to get it out of my brain bc now I need to go line my illustration homework oops
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sorry danny, sam will never think you’re cool
#danny phantom#danny fenton#sam manson#theres some ocs#college au#sam’s goth book club#i feel like she’d make a lot of good friends at a college#the trio has a highly rehearsed excuse for danny being weird#nobody has any idea what ecto-contamination is bc it doesn’t exist#ghosts are common-ish knowledge by now and amity is the known epicenter#stranger: holy shit your hand just went through that wall#danny: yeah it’s a medical condition :(#fentonworks is in on it too#for credibility#too bad the goths wanted vampires#moving to a new city did wonders for dannys popularity though#he’s got a lot he’s hiding so he can’t really take advantage#he probably knows more people number wise#but has less friends than sam#Tucker has a thriving social media life#but doesn’t get out much#hence that technus comic#can’t believe I finished this#lit took a whole ass week#hahahaha
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Our hextech dream….
#the thing is#I’m so excited for the final act to drop#but I’m also so sad because arcane is such a gem#there is very few pieces of media that is so well done#well written well animated well thought out and cared for#the only shows that come close to this level of quality get CANCELLED#So to be able to enjoy a complete and well crafted story as good as this#bro I feel lucky#sad it’s over but I can’t wait#(it’s also insanely rewatchable so I’m not TOO torn up about if#my art#arcane#arcane league of legends#viktor league of legends#viktor arcane#jayce talis#arcane jayce#jayce league of legends#jayvik
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“Accursed creator! Why did you form a monster so hideous that even you turned from me in disgust?”
#Frankenstein#gothic literature#gothic lit art#victor frankenstein#happy new year lads#ive been thinking about nothing else but them for the past 3 days#been trying to figure out a decent design for victor and i think im getting closer#he needs to have a cruelness to him#and he needs to be kind of pathetic#someone who the creature could snap in half yknow#and i need to make the creature more Mean looking but it just feels right to draw him sad and despairing#THAT BEING SAID i think i did a good job here hehe#henry is next :)))#my art#illustration
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can't believe that skeleman has turned on us, and Halloween Prom is tomorrow.
(what a top-tier UM...we are about to be just totally obliterated in the absolute silliest way. what possible use could this power have outside of bringing us to the brink of utter holiday disaster.)
#art#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland spoilers#lost in the book with nightmare before christmas#hajimari no halloween#unique magic posters#this was so unforseeable!#i hope malleus gets pumpkinified immediately and sebek has to carry him around on a little velvet cushion#i hope jade puts his plant knowledge to good use by being extremely judgy about the firmness of everyone's rind#i hope that everyone is still wearing their silly little hats as pumpkins#(i know they won't. but if we don't have hope we have nothing.)#and i'm still feeling like oogie's gotta show up later and menace jamil just by existing#perhaps we'll have to team up against him with the scullsman or something 👀#also just to get it out before being proven entirely wrong#my theory is still that he's from the past and we gotta teach him about the True Meaning of Halloween (aka candy and funtimes)#so he can go back to his own time and become the founder of modern-day candy and funtimes halloween or something#bootstrap paradox be damned#i could be entirely off-base but that's what i'm thinking right now#idk he just has the vibe of an old-timey boy to me#he's had the great misfortune of being born before there were hot topics where he could meet other jack skellington fanatics#too late for the black plague too early for the black parade 😔
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Is this my best comic ever?? Nope. Do I think I characterized either of these two particularly well in this comic?? Not really. Did I spend an unreasonable amount of time on it to the point that it would be a waste to not post it?? Yes, yes I did.
I really committed to this one, spent a lot of time on those backgrounds and treated myself to ample suffering with the perspective, which is not my strong suit but I am happy with how it ultimately looks. Yay perspective and background practice!!
(Tbh I shouldn't talk like I think this one sucks, I think I've just been staring at it for so long that my brain has decided it's not good and it's actually way better than I think it is, and honestly I am quite happy with it. The artistic process really is something, isn't it?)
The inspiration was basically me reminding... myself... to take breaks sometimes... by drawing for several hour stints during my only little bits of free time. Which totally tracks. Probably. But I've been rolling around in my brain this idea that Lambert is a very uptight people pleaser and anxious workaholic, but Narinder, at least since adjusting himself to the circumstances (which probably took at least a century, maybe two) has discovered the joys of self care, and has made an active effort to chill tf out. This has not made him any less terrifying to the cultists (save for Lambert's closest disciples), nor has it made him friendlier to really anyone but Lambert (and maybe his siblings), but he sure has found some serious peace of mind. That said, I can't place what his motivations are here. Perhaps he is secretly concerned about Lambert's sanity, because he doesn't want them to turn into what he was, or maybe he's just trying to steal away some quality time with his one and only friend, but regardless of the reason, I spent too much time on this for nobody to see it, dang it.
That said. Enjoy this silly little comic that I spent way too much time on, and I hope this silly comic brings you some joy today.
#cult of the lamb#cult of the lamb fanart#cotl#cotl fanart#cotl lamb#cotl narinder#cotl narilamb#narilamb#(like honestly narilamb is a qpr to me specifically and i intend this as such but this can easily be read as romantic as well tbh)#also we get some bonus jalala and rinor in this one!! and some bonus... implied leshycat. technically#not gonna tag those individually cuz there's just like. not enough of it for me to feel like those tags have any meaning#but they're here as a bonus. also jalala and rinor are fun to draw maybe i should make a mini comic just about them sometime#rambles aside pls enjoy this ridiculous comic that i spent an unreasonable amount of time on it was a joy to work on#and even tho its not my best comic ever i do love how it turned out it was such a good time
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DC x DP Prompt: Bruce is bad at emoting but at least ghosts are empathic (too bad bat kids are not)
Was reading Twincognito on AO3 when I stumbled across this gem again:
~
" “Danny, Tim. I was just…checking in. Is everything alright?” Curse his inability to make meaningful conversation when it wasn’t a life or death situation.
They glanced at each other and shrugged.
Then Danny hauled himself out of the bed and walked over to Bruce.
Bruce tried not to let too much excitement show on his face. "
~
Now I really want to read a story where Bruce adopts Danny post Meta trafficking and is being his usual emotionally constipated self. His kids keep getting mad at him because he's treating their new meta brother who was trafficked poorly (generally being stilted in conversation with him, walking away hurriedly mid-conversation, avoiding Danny when he's feeling really awkward, etc). They think Bruce is discriminating against Danny for being a civilian, meta, dealer's pick, but really it's just Bruce being horribly socially awkward. Danny knows this because of ghost empathy and find the whole thing hilarious. The whole thing comes to a head with the Bat Kids staging an intervention in the Bat Cave.
#dpxdc#dc x dp#dp x dc#dcxdp#batfam#batman#danny phantom#danny fenton#bruce wayne is a good dad#bruce wayne#bruce is terrible at feelings#the whole thing comes to a head with the bat kids hosting an intervention in the bat cave#maybe like a five plus one set up?#each time one of the bat kids thought bruce was discriminating against danny#and one time where they realized 'no#he is just that awkward'#dealer's choice if alfred thinka bruce is discriminating or not too#thinking this is either before adopting duke or not long after#because its one thing to be a light and shadow meta and another to be as OP as Danny is#also i'm thinking they don't know danny is a halfa#like they think he's just an unfortunately useful meta that got trafficked#could also have danny encountering his new siblings in and out of uniform knowing who they are without them revealing it for extra fun#idk#couldn't get this out of my head#my original post#fic prompt#story prompt#prompt#please guys i have no spoons but i want to read it so bad#🥺
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you're in the habit of denying yourself things.
if someone asked you directly, you would say that you love a little treat. you like iced coffee and getting the cookie. you drink juice out of a fancy cup sometimes, and often do use your candles until they gutter out helplessly.
but you hesitate about buying the 20 dollar hand mixer because, like. you could just use your arms. you weren't raised rich. you don't get to just spend the 20 dollars (remember when that could cover lunch?), at least - you don't spend that without agonizing over it first, trying to figure out the cost-benefits like you are defending yourself in front of a jury. yes, this rice cooker could seriously help you. but you do know how to make stovetop rice and it really isn't that hard. how many pies or brownies would you actually make, in order to make that hand mixer worthwhile?
what's wild is that if the money was for a friend, it would already be spent. you'd fork over 40 without blinking an eye, just to make them happy. the difference is that it's for you, so you need to justify it.
and it sneaks in. you ration yourself without meaning to - you don't finish the pint of ice cream, even though you want to. the next time you go to the store, you say ah, i really shouldn't, and then you walk away. you save little bits of your precious things - just in case. sometimes you even go so far as putting that one thing in your shopping cart. and then just leaving it there, because maybe-one-day, but not right now, there's other stuff going on.
you do self-care, of course. but you don't do it more than like, 3 days in a row. after that it just feels a little bit over-the-edge. like. you can't live in decadence, the economy is so bad right now, kid.
so you don't buy the rice cooker. you can-and-will spend the time over the stove. you can withstand the little sorrows. denial and discipline are practically synonyms. and you're not spoiled.
it's just - it's not always a rice cooker. sometimes it is a person or a job or a hug. sometimes it is asking for help. sometimes it is the summer and your college degree. sometimes it is looking down at scabbed knees and feeling a strange kind of falling, like you can't even recognize the girl you used to be. sometimes it is your handprint looking unsteady.
sometimes it is tuesday, and you didn't get fired, and you want to celebrate. but what is it you like, even? you search around your little heart and come up empty. you're so used to denying that all your desires draw a blank.
oh fuck. see, this is the perfect opportunity. if you had a mixer, you'd make a cake.
#warm up#this isn't good#writeblr#this is complicated by the fact i can't stand up too long or i fuckken pass out and <3 hit my damn head <3#but i did take a deep breath and buy myself the stupid rice cooker#and!!! a very cheap sushi kit!!! i have been wanting to try making sushi for literally YEARS#the kit was only like 15 dollars!!!! and i haven't purchased it bc?!!??!?!?!?!!?#..... i didn't get the mixer tho that felt. like a lot. like too much.#on my list is a kitchenaid. one day when i get a check and i have paid off my student debt#and medical debt#i will put that first little bit of cash#into a kitchenaid 5qt stand mixer (with attachments)#i really do just go into their refurbished section and stare lustily at each option#but yeah i feel guilty about the rice cooker even tho i know for a fact this damn thing is gonna be a lifesaver#oh shit also fuck i forgot to mention . poached eggs
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i know it’s like years old at this point but i love that one collab mumbo and grian did with tommyinnit bc it’s like the single most concentrated example i’ve seen of mumbo’s Chaos Nullification Powers
you get to see a bit of it on hermitcraft, mostly via his interactions with grian, but until seeing that collab it didn’t really hit me just how completely mumbo can no-sell other people’s attempts to control a situation. tommyinnit is possibly the single shoutiest, most chaotic minecraft youtuber out there, and in most videos i’ve seen he pretty much overwhelms everyone else and sets the tone for interactions because of this. but mumbo just. doesn’t let him. no matter how much tommy escalates in intensity, mumbo reacts with *exactly* the same energy he always does. grian largely comes across in the whole video as annoyed and reluctant to engage with the whole thing, but mumbo’s not even affected. he just rolls with anything he finds funny and basically ignores anything he disapproves of, only seeming more and more unflappable the harder anyone tries to get a rise out of him.
AND imo, this is the key to my favorite interpretation of him as a character
see, when the people around him are being more reasonable/calm, i think mumbo often comes across as anxious and a bit easily overwhelmed. the thing is, his nervous wet cat vibes do not scale. he has one setting. his responses to the last life ‘ah-ha!’ jokes and to hermitcraft 8 starting to crumble to pieces under a falling moon are almost identical.
mumbo jumbo is inexorably and eternally Just Some Guy, but that gets stranger and stranger the weirder his surroundings become. the giggly incredulousness that makes him an easy target for goofy puns looks Very different when it’s also his reaction to the impending end of the world.
#anyway yeah i have this whole idea in my head about mumbo’s friendship with grian from a characterization standpoint#bc i agree with the somewhat? common consensus that being friends with mumbo has made grian softer and friendlier over time#but i don’t think it was in a ‘reflecting back the kindness he’s being shown’ way#i think it’s because the more harsh and chaotic you try to be towards mumbo the more you feel ineffectual and out of control#and grian can’t handle it so he slowly becomes nicer until he feels like they’re on equal footing again#like don’t get me wrong i think they genuinely are good friends#and i don’t think this is necessarily something mumbo is doing on purpose#but i think the power dynamic going on under the surface is much more bizarre and weighted in mumbo’s favor than it seems at first glance#mumbling
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Species Swap AU! Retired couple gets a fairy godchild to help repair their relationship
#fairly oddparents a new wish#fairly oddparents#hazel wells#fop cosmo#fop wanda#fop species swap au#god it felt so wrong drawing cosmo and wanda not green and pink. the assignment was to make them human but blonde cosmo feels so cursed#shoutout to my friend who kept pointing out how depressed i made human wanda and cosmo look. good. they're 5 fights away from a divorce#Cosmo and Wanda start with the dynamic they have in the later seasons of the og show but end with the loving dynamic they have in new wish#fairy Hazel's outfit is from 'Crock to the Future' but with blue pants and no hat or bag. Fairy GodParents dress formal so shes fancy#I know Hazel got a fairy design in the new episode but there's too many fairies with blue hair ok- i am stealing the sparkles though#Peri and Dev incoming. still deciding whether Dev would be an anti-fairy or just a regular jealous one. Peri gets to be a dentist#my art
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Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".
[plain-text version of this post can be found under the cut]
Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"
And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".
Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.
At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.
So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!
Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!
Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!
Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.
Plain-text version:
Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".
Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"
And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".
Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.
At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.
So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!
P.S. Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!
Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!
Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.
#hlep#original#mental health#my sympathies and empathies to anyone who has to rely on this kind of hlep to get what they need.#the people in my life who most need to see this post are my family but even if they did I sincerely doubt they would internalize it#i've tried to break thru to them so many times it makes my head hurt. so i am focusing on boundaries and on finding other forms of support#and this thing i learned today helps me validate those boundaries. the example with the milk was from my therapist.#the example with the towing company was a real thing that happened with my parents a few months ago while I was age 28. 28!#a full adult age! it is so infantilizing as a disabled adult to seek assistance and support from ableist parents.#they were real mad i was mad tho. and the spoons i spent trying to explain it were only the latest in a long line of#huge family-related spoon expenditures. distance and the ability to enforce boundaries helps. haven't talked to sisters for literally the#longest period of my whole life. people really believe that if they love you and try to help you they can do no wrong.#and those people are NOT great allies to the chronically sick folks in their lives.#you can adore someone and still fuck up and hurt them so bad. will your pride refuse to accept what you've done and lash out instead?#or will you have courage and be kind? will you learn and grow? all of us have prejudices and practices we are not yet aware of.#no one is pure. but will you be kind? will you be a good friend? will you grow? i hope i grow. i hope i always make the choice to grow.#i hope with every year i age i get better and better at making people feel the opposite of how my family's ableism has made me feel#i will see them seen and hear them heard and smile at their smiles. make them feel smart and held and strong.#just like i do now but even better! i am always learning better ways to be kind so i don't see why i would stop
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