#five months later

[syb-la-tortue]

Hey there, has your original blog been terminated?

yeppp, terminated since last December.

[gorbeytheheretic]

I've been thinking about writing to you for a while. A friend told me at one point it would help, since I'll never get the opportunity to speak with you again. I don't know if they think it'll provide closure - it won't. But I think in some way they're right. In some way it's a method for me to pay some respect to you, maybe.

I miss you. I miss you a whole lot. You were gone way before I could've been ready for something like this; but lately, I've been figuring out that you're never really ready for anything. Things happen, and you navigate them to the best of your ability, or not, and then more things happen. I wish I could tell you all the stupid things I've done over the last six months and laugh about them with you. I wish I could see the soul in your eyes embrace mine, because it never mattered how much I fucked up. Shits been real wild since you've been gone. I've gotten some experiences (and am still experiencing things) that not even most of my friends have. It's real strange because I think we've had this idea that I was too small or too stuck in this little place to go through some of these things - but here we are. I've never wanted to leave this place more, but you beat me to the punch. I'm still planning on moving after all this blows over, I wish you could see it happen. I'll probably write to you again then, too. I thought about writing this under my writing blog, I know you were one of like 5 people who would read my stuff, but it felt too personal. I've been figuring shit out, probably owe you a big thanks, but I'd like to believe a lot of it has been on my own. I've found a group here that's like family, and I know leaving that is going to be hard too. Maybe I'll be better at keeping in touch by then. Maybe I should be writing to them like I'm writing to you now. Not maybe. Definitely. You know I've always valued memories and sentiment more than money or ego, and that's truer now than ever. I'm struggling financially more than I ever have but I think you'd be proud to know I've sold some art finally and I'll be an artist of the month at that local book store we liked. Selling originals and paintings. I'm going to put whatever I make from that towards a tattoo machine. Ian and I have been practicing with his. Passions are high, stagnant routines are low. My heart is lower. But I'll be damned if you didn't fill it up first. I guess that's what makes anything sink, eh? Too full of anything and you'll drown with it. Did you feel that way too? I wish I could've known how you were feeling and doing before you left. I wish you could tell me what to expect from here on out, but you and I both know that's not something I need. I love you so much, thanks for showing me all you did, you clairvoyant bastard. I'll see you on the flip side.

[thundergrace]

You have a crush on your wife? How embarrassing 😳

[renee-writer]

Awake Chapter 92 Five Months Later

AO3

Over the next five months, Samuel and Solomon process from walking to running. They start to talk, learning to say mommy, daddy, uncle, and aunt ( a term used for all their female and male relatives) grandpa and pappy, and of course, no.

 

Their hair grows out to the middle of their necks. They each have their own distinct personality. Samuel is outgoing, very active while Solomon is more solemn, more thoughtful.

 

They also develop their own secret language. Jake and Bella have caught them, sitting in their own cribs, babbling back and forth, pausing and responding to each other, having a conversation.

 

“It is to be expected with twins,” Carlisle tells them when they bring it up at their year checkup, “they spent their first nine months together and they have no other playmate that is close in age.”

 

“Well,” Jake replies, “we are going to try to  fix that situation real soon.”

 

“Okay, then I need to see Bella for a check up soon as you are about to start trying again.”

 

“Right,” Bella shakes her head, “they are two weeks away from being one.”

 

“Yes, come in the next day or so and we will do a complete physical.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“As for the boys, they are perfectly healthy, advanced physically, as you we’ll know, but mentally too.”

 

“Really? That is way cool.” Their daddy says.

 

“Yes, you guys are doing a great job with them.”

 

“Thanks Carlisle.” Bella says with a big grin.

 

None of them are aware that Edward has been listening on the other side of the door and that he is know aware that they are planning on trying for another baby. He slips away and heads upstairs, not speaking to any of his siblings.

 

“So, I will see you tomorrow, Bella?”

 

“Yes, thanks Carlisle for everything.”

 

They take the hands of their sons and head out the door.”

 

“Something is wrong with Edward.” Jasper reports.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“He walked right past us without a word about ten minutes ago. I feel a deep depression coming off him.”

 

“Where did he go?” Carlisle sighs, having a feeling about what has happened.

 

“Up in his room.”

 

“How long have you known?” Edward asks without turning when Carlisle arrives at his door.

 

“Six months.”

 

“Six months,” he turns now, “you have known for six months that they are planning on another child and didn’t tell me?”

 

“I had hoped she would change her mind.”

 

“But she didn’t? She is planning on having another baby with him.”

 

Carlisle sighs again. “Edward, I know it is hard but he is her husband.”

 

“Yes, her husband. But, he was only to be her husband for the boys, a temporary situation, until they are adults.  If she is planning on having another baby with him, it isn’t to be temporary!” His anger and hurt come out as a scream. At realizing it, he takes a deep breath and apologizes to his father.

 

“It is okay, Edward  I know you’re hurting. I wish I could change that. You really need to talk to Bella.”

 

“Yes, I guess I do. Not that it will make a difference.”

[young-royals-confessions]

Has your opinion changed since this poll?

[chloesimaginationthings]

So I have a sticker club now on my Patreon!

[needlepine]

you already know who it is and im HUMBLY requesting a scraggly needletail. the most r/scrunglycats version you can conjure from the wizard cauldron. godspeed

Your wish is my command

[sixoclocker]

happy pride month. here are my pride hcs LOLLLL

(just in case

ceroba - she/her, bi, trans, demiromantic/demisexual

martlet - they/she, asexual, lesbian, demigirl

starlo - he/she/they, trans, genderfluid, aroace

clover - they/them, nonbinary)

here’s additional stuff lmao

(just in case pt 2.

axis - he/it, rainbow lmao

chujin - he/she, unlabeled, trans

dalv - he/him, gay

integrity - they/them, nonbinary (technically canon to my whole canon interpretation with lucile and all but whatever)

kanako - she/her)

mifht do more. i don’t know. this was for sillies lmao

[natjennie]

I genuinely can't get over the fact that cap knew a guy for two months and imagined dick so good he died for it. and then kept imagining it for 80 years. name a man down worse than him.

[emblazons]

"This is only the beginning— the beginning of the end."

STRANGER THINGS SANS VISAGES S04E09 - The Piggyback (Part II of II)

[suffcring]

"Forgive me, sorry, sorry-- But I think you are overestimating their..." His head bounces from side to side, as if the word might simply shake loose in his mind. Copia had thought to tame his more eccentric habits, the way his thoughts churn in on themselves and become erratic movements -- how many times had Sister Imperator told him to stop fidgeting when speaking to others? But with Leila, they simply... Fall out.

And besides, he is Papa, now. It was different when he was simply Cardi, playing to the clergy and it's congregation, scraping by his nails to get the respect he was owed from years of dedicated loyalty and work. Perhaps then, he should have striven to be more in the eyes of the finnicky Sisters, with their tastes tending towards finer Emeritus blood. But those days were over, and he was the Ministry.

Let them laugh in the shadows about his eccentricities. He doesn't care.

(He does, Satan forgive him, he does.)

"Er, their together strength? You are thinking, they are like wolves. They are more like your... yotes? Living in a group, but working on their own. Fighting and feeding in solitary, or... pairs."

Copia is not so worried about the things that plague Leila's thoughts; so there are unhappy Sisters and Brothers. They leave, more come.

More are coming every day; more than they've ever had amongst the flock. So a witch is unhappy. So a demon works with small amusements in the background. So there is a ghoul hidden in secret spaces.

So what?

Slowly, he turns towards Leila, moving his body language to accommodate only her in his duo-toned vision, as have his thoughts all these years only been moved towards her. Gloved fingers collect her thin, shapely ones, hold them in warmth.

"I don't want you to worry, bella. It is all as it... should be, si?"

She would dearly love to go back to believing all is well, and that there is nothing to be wary of. She never expected to have to be wary of Rabbit. Their paths are split, and while she is angry and grieving in some ways, the full impact has lessened with time.

With the death of Secondo, something died in Rabbit and what took its place was nothing less than bad intentions and bad vibes. Others felt the same way, and she could see their expressions through rose-tinted glasses.

She was naive, not blind.

Less naive than before, but she still wanted to believe the best in people. She wanted to believe they would come around and support Papa as they had the Papas before him. She hesitated to ask for the truth of their deaths because she didn't want that last bit of innocence taken from her.

If she could keep believing Papa was innocent of murder, then she might not hate herself.

"I try not to, Papa, but wolves hunt in packs," she answers softly. She does her best to concern herself with her studies, and with her upcoming confirmation, but there is so much unrest that even innocence cannot avoid the environment.

She might be a fool if she tried to ignore it entirely. She might be a fool already.

"I miss out on much as a novitiate, but I am trying to pay attention to the things that matter to me," she adds after a moment, looking at him and catching his eye. She doesn't let her gaze stray from his.

He matters to her, and so does the church. Rabbit matters to her as well, even if they are no longer close.

"I look forward to my confirmation... and what comes after. The Ministry has given me purpose and companionship. I won't give up on it so easily."

Or you is unspoken.

[lemonisntreal]

Avoiding lineart at all costs

Also hey yeah I changed the blog aesthetic, next post's gonna be an "About Me" because I want one lmao ☝️ [edit: me when I lie]

[mmmichyyy]

if you’re still taking prompts, 53+94?

#53. "take off your shirt."

(1.6k words of ian being a lovable dumb idiot and mickey going along with it)

it was a spur of the moment decision. one minute ian's getting off his shift, the next he's pushing open the door to the tattoo studio he passes by every day just around the corner from his apartment, a sign blaring MILK in bright neon lights welcoming him.

"hey," ian greets the overly-pierced girl sitting at the front desk. "do you take walk-ins?"

the girl snaps her gum. looks him up and down. "are you looking to get pierced or inked?"

"uh, inked." ian fidgets with the hem of his sleeve. "something small, on my arm, maybe. i don't know what i want, though. i haven't really... thought it through."

"well, all our artists are busy right now," she says, unbothered, handing him an album and a clipboard. "so if you don't mind waiting, flip through our flash book and see what kind of design you want, then fill out the consent form when you're ready."

ian nods. "should i wait here or..."

she points down the hallway. "room three is empty right now. i'll send one of our artists over in a bit for a consultation."

to ian's relief, the studio isn't like the grimy tattoo shop he went to a couple years ago. from what he can see, the place is kept clean and sterile, everything neatly organized and spotless. he settles into the leather-cushioned chair and aimlessly flips through the album, eyes glossing over page after page of designs.

honestly, he has no idea what he wants. he doesn't even know why he's doing this; why he wants a tattoo memorializing someone who was barely a fleeting presence for his entire life. how do you sum up a whirlwind and a hurricane? how do you solve a problem like monica? he and his siblings always jokingly asked each other.

but there was always a hint of despair, an unsaid sliver of yearning every time monica was brought up, because... how? how?

which is the very reason why he can't talk to his siblings about any of it - everyone has their own complicated relationship with monica, but no one wants to acknowledge them out loud. their mom is dead and all she left behind are faded memories, paper cuts on their hearts, and a couple kilos of meth.

...and now ian is getting a tattoo for her. go figure.

the longer he sits, however, the more his self-doubt starts to creep in. he starts to wonder if it's too late for him to back out.

"you my seven o'clock?"

ian looks up and finds a man staring at him curiously. a man with dark slicked-back hair and pale skin and a single silver bar piercing above his right brow, framing clear blue eyes. swirling intricate designs run down his arms and disappear underneath a tight black t-shirt - one side all colour, the other black ink only.

shit. this guy is fucking hot.

immediately ian's mind goes blank.

"uh... yes?"

"cool." the man closes the door. "name's mickey. did you fill out the consent form yet?"

mickey. the synapses in ian's brain short-circuits. "not yet...?"

mickey nods, as he heads towards the sink in the corner of the room. "you can fill it out while i set everything up. is this your first time?"

"no." ian lets out a breath and picks up the pen attached to the clipboard. "i've done it before."

"really." mickey surveys him up and down. "i don't see any."

ian winces, glad mickey can't see the patriotic eagle under his shirt. one of his many regrets, unfortunately. "it's um... hidden."

mickey's brows furrow for a moment, before his eyes light up. "ah. gotcha, man."

ian's not sure what to make of mickey's reaction - but he doesn't trust his mind to not say something dumb to who just might be the hottest guy he's ever seen standing in front of him, so he keeps his trap shut and quickly fills out the form before handing the clipboard over.

"so," mickey looks down at the form, "ian. do you know which side you want it on?"

ian blinks. "side?"

mickey blinks back at him. "right or left?"

ah. which arm. "left. i need the right one for work tomorrow," ian jokes.

mickey gives him a strange look. "sure."

ian watches as mickey snaps on a pair of black disposable gloves, then sets out some needles in sealed packages on a silver tray. he didn't think mickey would be a stick and poke kind of artist instead of using a tattoo gun, but at this point ian could care less the method in which he gets inked.

"you nervous?" mickey asks, noticing ian's fidgeting fingers in his lap.

ian lets out a breath.

"kind of," he admits. "my mom... she died recently, and i wanted to get something small to remind me of her."

"you..." mickey pauses. "you're doing this for your mom?"

"why?" ian asks, getting a bit self-conscious now. maybe mickey has seen a lot of his clients regret getting tattoos for their parents. "you think i shouldn't?"

"it's your choice," mickey replies slowly. "if you want something to really remember someone by, then this will do it."

ian lets out a breath. "yeah," he nods. "let's do this."

"take off your shirt, then," mickey says, and ian's brain once again goes offline because of course it does. "i'll sterilize the area first and then we'll get started."

in hindsight, if mickey was just some average-looking guy or literally any other person at all, maybe ian would've caught on earlier. do his due diligence and change the fire alarm batteries in his head, instead of letting the warning bells beep incessantly. he might've thought to himself hey, that's weird, why do i need to be shirtless if i'm getting a tattoo on my arm? and before i confirmed what design i want? when i don't even know what i'm getting? hm? hello?????

but alas, because clearly all rational thoughts have been thrown out of his head (did he have any to begin with?), he quickly unbuttons his emt uniform shirt and tosses it over the side of the chair. subtly yet not so subtly flexes his arms a bit, because hey, why the fuck not? he works out. he's fit. sue him for wanting to show off a bit.

except nothing, absolutely nothing, could've prepared him when mickey wipes a cool, stinging alcohol wipe across his left nipple.

ian yelps. practically falls out of the chair and almost lands on his ass. mickey just stares at him, gloved hand still held up.

"i– uhhhhh– look, there must be some misunderstanding–" ian sputters, feeling his cheeks heat up. "i'm getting a tattoo on my arm, not my, uh...."

"nipple?" mickey supplies, the corners of his mouth turned slightly upwards.

ian wants to die.

blames himself for thinking with his dick. or rather, not using his brain at all.

either way, he wishes he could pass away on the spot. cut the brakes. burst into flames. end it all, right there and then.

before he can say any parting words and then forever perish from the mortal realm, he feels something drape over his shoulders. looks up to mickey a mere breath's distance away, covering his shivering back with his shirt.

is that a smile on mickey's face? or is ian being delusional once again?

delusional. definitely delusional.

"sooo,” mickey drags out the word, “i guess you're not my seven o'clock nipple piercing appointment?"

ian shakes his head as he hastily buttons up his shirt, ignoring the heat filling his cheeks. "i guess there was some kind of mix-up, the girl out front told me to go wait in room three."

mickey rolls his eyes. "i swear sandy messes up on purpose just to fuck with me. how hard is it to keep track of three rooms?"

"you didn't think it was weird someone would need their right nipple for work? or that they want to get something pierced for their mom?" ian asks, a little incredulous.

mickey, ever full of indifference, merely shrugs. "hey, i don't know your life, man."

there's an awkward lull in the air. ian's eyes dart towards the door, hoping he can make a quick exit and then, perhaps, find a cliff and walk off it. "well, i'll just go then..."

"come back tomorrow night," mickey cuts him off, to ian's surprise. "you said you wanted something small, right? mandy's the best at doing fine line shit, she can help you design whatever you're thinking of."

"sandy, mandy, mickey. what, are you all related?" ian jokes weakly.

"cousin and sister," mickey shrugs. "it's a whole family affair up in here."

"okay," ian nods slowly, watching mickey turn on the tap to wash his hands. guess he’ll postpone his cliff walk for another day. "i'll come back tomorrow then."

just as ian’s about to bolt out the door, he hears a soft hey call out to him. when he turns around, he almost gasps when mickey’s standing directly behind him, and quite nearly has an aneurism when mickey reaches out his fingertips to straighten out his collar, blue eyes directly staring into his soul.

"don't take off your shirt for her though," mickey says, and ian's breath hitches. "bitch doesn't deserve a free show."

before his brain could stop his mouth from running (seems to be a common occurrence today), ian asks, "you liked what you saw, then?"

mickey pats ian's cheek twice, then steps back. "i don't hook up with clients, as a general rule."

"well," ian can't keep the hopeful tone out of his voice. "maybe after tomorrow then, when i’m not a client anymore?"

this time, ian knows he's not being delusional.

mickey's lips are definitely curved into a smile.

“guess you’ll just have to wait and find out.”

[stephsageek]

[razberrypuck]

FIRST TEASER FOR THE FNAF 2 MOVIE❗️❗️❗️❗️❗️❗️

[arinmoss]

M I K U