#god i love being (kind of) able to draw because i can just sit down and make this stuff if i want to see it

[lemon-lime-behavior]

Do you have any tips for drawing noses? Sorry this is out of nowhere but I'm wanting to improve on my art, specifically the faces, and it's always the nose I find myself struggling most with.

I really struggle w making it fit the face if that makes sense? Every time I try to add it it just throws the whole face off, especially the eyes, not to mention how to make different nose types and the angles </33

I love your art style so bad, it's so smooth and satisfying to look at and the way you draw noses like it's nbd (and anatomy in general like damn) baffles me so I was just wondering if you maybe had any tricks or not, Ty either way for sharing your art in the first place <33

@extravagav Well I can try! First off thank you very much, I often feel like I still have a very long way to go in regards to proportions and anatomy so I really appreciate your kind words <3

Hokay, so, noses. I do love noses. To start off when it comes to drawing noses I'm afraid I'm going to have to give you the most annoying advice in the world which is just to practice a lot. Find a lot of pictures of noses in a bunch of different shapes from a bunch of different angles and just draw them until your brain melts out of your ears. Pay particular attention though to the nose as a 3D object!

It's of course trickier to do than I'm making it out to be but the more you practice at imagining the nose as a 3d physical form the easier it becomes to make a nose model in your mind that you can rotate like a microwave.

This is my personal very very basic understanding of the nose's construction:

it's like three circles and a taco shell.

Okay so now that you've got a basic understanding of the nose's construction, how to put it in the middle of the god-dang face??

So the funky thing about noses is that they tend to change shape the least out of all our facial features when we're making expressions. Our eyes change shape, our mouths move, our eyebrows, our cheeks, our jaws, they all go all over the place. the nose, however, tends to be pretty stationary and doesn't deform much (save in one important way I'll get to later). So because of all this, and here's my biggest piece of advice when it comes to making the nose fit in the face, I like to draw the nose first! I do a very loose head construction, draw the nose, and then sort of "hang" the rest of the features off of it:

Two very different expressions, same nose!

Now when it comes to noses interacting specifically with the eyes the greatest thing to remember is that the part of the nose that sits between the eyes sticks out farther than you might think, and will likely be obscuring one of them, the extent of which depending a lot on the angle and how pronounced the nose bridge is.

for someone with a pretty flat nose bridge you'll be able to see most of the eye except in a more extreme angle, while someone with a protruding ridge might obscure the eye entirely. but the nose will likely be interacting with at least one eye if we're not facing the character head on. Really making your brain think in 3d is gonna most helpful here.

Finally! The nose being expressive! So the main way the nose plays in to expression is by wrinkling. the muscles that pull up your top lip and the muscles that pull down the middle of your forehead are almost all connected to the nose, so the nose tends to develop a lot of wrinkles whenever brows are furrowed or teeth are bared.

Adding those wrinkles can add a lot of impact in the expression! And not just angry ones neither:

Sooooooooooooooo yeah! noses! They're weird and they come in all sorts of shapes and sizes and they can do a lot to add character to a face and they can also make you want to tear your hair out in big clumps! I'm still learning myself when it comes to noses (and most other things) and I'm faaaar from a master at it, but I hope I've been able to provide at least a little bit of help. If you do use my advice going forward please let me know! Good luck!!!!! (And here's all my nose "headcanons" for the strawhats. The ones who actually have human noses, anyway):

[whaleofatjme1920]

Creepypasta/Marble Hornets X Reader with A Small/Flat Chested F!Reader

[Warnings: NSFT/smut, size kink mention, praise, body worship, breeding kink, MINORS DNI]

[AN: sometimes I find you guys out in the wild (and what’s crazier is I get recognized sometimes??) and I go :0 in a good way!! Anyways here’s this lol. Made it while drinking canned bubble tea. Enjoy, for all my small titty goddesses]

Reblogs are appreciated!!

Jeff the Killer

Gods he’s so feral about small tits. And I mean FERAL. He has no eyelids so of course he’s going to stare. Loves seeing your nipples, clothed or not. Prefers when you don’t wear a bra in colder weather just so he can gawk at you and how they perk up.

He’s always cupping and rubbing them. When he’s able, he’s sucking on them. The way he loved your tits is raunchy and wild. Always making lewd comments about how hot you are how he loves how well you fit in his hands, how your skin is so soft and you squish just right for him.

Jeff obviously loves all parts of you, but whenever he sees you wearing a top that’s a little too thin and a little too tight and he can see the outline of your breasts, he finds himself drooling. He can TRY to be professional but good luck, his gaze always gives it away.

His kind of love for you is aggressive and possessive. If you EVER show any doubts, he’ll take offense. “Who the fuck are you to question my good fucking taste?” He doesn’t like you doubting him because how dare you? He sees your beauty, both inside and out, so why can’t you?

He’s going to show you off every chance he gets. Comes with the territory of dating him lol. He loves when people look at you but can’t touch, because you belong to him and him alone. No one else, just his. He doesn’t want to treat you like an object! You aren’t, but gods you have a gifts in your life and one is your body, don’t be shy. All that said, he loves you, truly and genuinely. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

Eyeless Jack

Size kink. Huge. Huge size kink. He loves that he’s so much bigger than you in every way possible, and something about your tits fitting into his large hands, engulfed by his clawed palm make him melt. He purrs whenever he sees you changing and you let him lovingly gaze upon your body.

I’ve always felt Jack is into art, and sketches a lot in his free time. His art is mostly based on his medical knowledge, studying anatomy and whatnot, but he draws your breasts any chance he can get. And it’s not always in a sexualized way, but a very artistic focus. You, slowly waking up and gazing out the window, a warm drink in your hands as the sheets cascade over your body… and you’re nude.

He loves you without clothes on. With clothes on, however? If you wear any necklaces or whatnot, he melts because he thinks they fall between your breasts so elegantly. Everything about you is perfect to him.

Jack goes through heats, of course, and when he goes through them, he spends special attention on your tits. Lots of bite marks, especially when he’s sucking on your perfect nipples.

He’s got a habit of sitting you down on his lap while he’s doing work and playing with your breasts like a stress toy. Or just,,, playing with them because he can. Your body is his and his alone. He says you’re perfect to him, so you better believe it. If not, don’t worry, Jack is surprisingly good at talking through more sensitive topics without overriding your feelings. He’ll always take care of you.

Tobias Rogers

He’s just like Jeff in terms of being raunchy. He prefers you to wear skimpier, form fitting clothes just to show your body off to the world. When he’s out in public with you, he likes you to be the candy on his arm. Thinks you’re drop dead gorgeous, and the way your tits sit on your chest contribute a great deal to that.

If you have nipple piercings? Lord help you, Toby can’t keep himself off of you. Not even when he tries, he’s just so into you. The moment you take your shirt off and show them to him, he’s drooling and fucking you into the floor, folding you like a lawn chair so he can watch your breasts bounce a bit as he drives you into the floor.

Toby doesn’t actually like the necklaces too much. Not the long ones. Not only do they get in the way of sex, but he likes chokers and shorter chains better. He’s kinda particular like that. Sometimes, he’ll playfully complain whenever you wear baggier clothes and hoodies (he never means it, he wants you to be comfortable).

Toby is also a huge fan of you not wearing a bra so he can gawk at you. But!! If you do fancy wearing bras, he’s especially into the cute ones that are clearly meant for adult activity. Seeing you in lingerie makes his caveman brain warp into hyperdrive.

He does understand the shadowy sides of you though. He’s dealt with body image issues himself, specifically his face. But, he’s grown confident in who he is. He won’t ever push toxic positivity on you, but he won’t let you say awful things about yourself. He says it hurts his feelings, because how could you talk so poorly about yourself when he loves you so deeply? It actually messes him up.

Masky/Tim Wright

Masky loves you so boldly. Your body really sparks some protective nature or something in his head. When he first saw your breasts once your clothes came off, all he could think about was how sweet you must taste and how soft you must be to squeeze. He wants you all to himself, your body is his to enjoy as much as he is yours to enjoy. It’s usually him somehow giving pep talks, but he’s an aggressive supporter. Loves you, refuses to let you speak like that about yourself.

Tim however, Tim is a little cuter about it. Make no mistake, he’s still a pervert but it’s sweeter, somehow. Tim loves to worship every bit of you, showing attention to your breasts because they’re his favorite part of you. He finds himself staring, blushes and tries to shake himself back into focus but can’t. Really, he can be such a nerd at times. Doesn’t mean to, but look at him. Look at him and tell me he isn’t.

There’s hickies all over your body when he’s done with you. Hickies all over your breasts and sometimes, he’ll form them in a heart because that’s cute. His large, calloused hands love how soft and small you are as he squeezes and cups. LOVES to fuck in positions that let him see your breasts, as that’s what he’s focused on outside of the way your eyes roll upwards when he pushes in extra deep.

He LOVES seeing you all dressed up but also really loves whenever you’re all comfortable. Either way, he’ll make cheesy jokes like “your clothes look better in my floor ;)” so be prepared for a lot of cheesy, horny jokes. Or if you say “my eyes are up here??” He’ll keep honing in on your tits. That’s just the kind of man he is.

Some of his favorite moments with you are the kinds where you’re all curled up in bed together, spooning and his hands are able to roam your body. He often falls asleep holding your breasts, hand spread out over them and squeezing you to his chest like you’re his squishy toy. He often falls asleep better this way! If you’re not in the mood to be bear hugged to sleep, he’ll still keep a hand resting on your chest or hips somehow.

Hoodie/Brian Thomas

Hoodie is a very silent, down to business kind of proxy. Deeply cocky and self assured, maybe a bit too hot headed. When it comes to you, he knows his taste and what he’d choose and he chose well. Whenever he sees you all dolled up, he’ll bend you over just to have his way with you before you have to go. Hoodie’s gloved hand squeeze at your tits every chance he gets before he pulls them off so his fingers can play with your nipples with no barrier in between.

Brian’s a southern gentleman. This does not apply to how he worships your body. He’s FERAL for your body and will try to get you pregnant any chance he can. There’s times you’ll come out of the shower and drop the towel, he sees your nipples, the curve of your breasts, and he’s on you, mating press, trying to get you pregnant. He can’t help himself when you look that sexy.

He’s also really fond of holding your breasts in any way he can. Makes him happy just to touch you. Cuddle? Grab titty. Doing anything on the computer? Grab titty. Has no restraint, and in the safety of your home? He doesn’t care (unless you’re overstimulated or don’t want to, of course). He’s HUGE on physical touch. Everything from your ass, your thighs, your arms, titties, everything.

Also really weak for lingerie. Wearing something sexy and lacy, maybe has his name on the waist band and he’ll fold for you. He’s really, really fond of the bras that let him have access to your nipples. He’ll squeeze your breasts as he bends your legs upwards, then press chest to chest with you to feel your heartbeat as your soft breasts bounce against him. He’s weak.

Maybe it’s just the vibe I get, but he somehow manages to make you feel really at peace with yourself, and if you aren’t, then he’s always there to let you vent and reassure you that he loves you and PREFERS YOU the way you are! Nothing about you needs to change or be bigger. He prefers your body the way you are now, and by the way he’s always staring? You’ve never a reason to doubt him.

Bonus Kate the Chaser!

She’s no better than a man with the way she stares at your tits. She’s pretty muscular and I write her as really tall now, so she LOVES how your titties fit in her hands. There are moments she will squeeze with her hands and then press her face into them, not caring if she suffocates. Kate stares so boldly. And then when she’s eating you out, her tongue buried deep in your pussy, all she can focus on is how beautiful you look. Your chest is rising and falling and your nipples are hard, and when you’re on your back she can see the little shivers. If you’re riding her face, she’s melting at the curve of your breasts, the gentle slopes that make them, and making little grabby hands to reach and play with them. When is she not playing with your breasts? Kate sometimes wears lipstick (a rarity) and covers your breasts in her kisses just to reaffirm to you how beautiful you are and how much she loves this part of your body. Make no mistake, she’s still lining your body with hickies and bite marks, but your neck, collar and titties especially. She can probably cum from just seeing you.

[lastoneout]

It's also like super fucking infuriating to see people continue to argue that generative AI is the best way for disabled and/or poor people to make art because like, you know what helps make art more accessible? Giving poor and disabled people money.

Like take me for instance, I'm disabled. I get severe migraines and intense leg/back pain if I sit at my computer for too long, my hEDS makes holding pens and pencils hard, my ADHD makes it hard for me to start certain tasks and/or stop them before I potentially hurt myself, my neck also hurts if I look down too much, my dyslexia AND my ADHD both make it difficult to keep track of a story as I write and use correct spelling and grammar, plus, I need to prioritize taking care of myself and going to appointments and keeping my house clean and that takes up a lot of my free time. All of these things make creating the kind of art I want to create difficult if not occasionally impossible.

So what do you think would solve my problems better? Giving me money so that I can have a drawing tablet and desk chair that won't hurt my neck or back, another tablet + pen and a lap table and comfortable body pillows for drawing in bed, easier transportation to my doctors appointments, effective treatment for my chronic pain and migraines, the ability hire someone to help me keep my house clean, a spelling/grammar checker that isn't complete ass, and a therapist and psychatrist who can help me manage my ADHD better?

Or an AI program that takes my input and spits out a drawing or story made of stolen content glued together that, in the case of the art, I cannot meaningfully edit without starting over, which also destroys the environment in the process?

Seems pretty obvious to me. I don't need AI, I need help to manage the things that are actually stopping me from being able to write and draw.

Or take my mom. She's had severe rhumatoid arthritis since she was a small child, her hands are deformed and she relies on her wheelchair to get around. She doesn't need AI to help her paint, she needs special paint brushes she can actually hold, a table her wheelchair will fit at, and someone to help her with personal hygiene/keep her house clean/take her to doctors appointments so she actually has free time to paint.

Does that poor kid growing up in public housing with parents who are too poor to afford art classes or supplies or to send them to college really need a computer program to draw for them, or do they need support to help them take those classes, buy drawing supplies, and money so they can go to college.

Blind people can paint, deaf musicians exist, people with missing limbs find all sorts of ways to make art, people with parkinson's paint with typewriters, my mother can't hold a normal paintbrush and she makes some of the most beautiful watercolor paintings I've ever seen, Van Gogh had bipolar disorder and only sold like one painting when he was alive, I mean for real how many different artists have you heard of who's biographies start with them being born into poverty?

This is not meant to be inspiration porn, these people are just ones who were able to find ways to make art despite their struggles. They shouldn't have had to struggle at all, but god imagine how many more artisrs and writers we could have had if none of them had to overcome those struggles. It breaks my heart to think of all the wonderful art that never got to exist because no one helped the people who could have made it actually have the time, money, support, and safety they needed to make it. AI would not have saved them because making art isn't the problem, being disadvantaged is the problem. Living in a world that refuses to make room for you is the problem. Being fucking poor is the problem. Humans have always found ways to make art despite huge barriers, the solution isn't a computer that makes art for them, it's SUPPORT AND MONEY SO THEY CAN OVERCOME THOSE BARRIERS AND MAKE THEIR OWN ART.

As a last example: I love watching dancing and I would love to be able to dance, but I'm terrible at it(I got kicked off a dance team for not being able to learn the dance at all despite spending weeks on it, idk my brain wasn't made for dancing) and my disabled body makes it more pain than pleasure if not actively dangerous, anyway. Having a robot dressed to look like me dance next to me while I get to watch would not make me feel like I'm getting to dance. It would actually be extremely fucking demoralizing and frustrating. I would hate that!!

Having an AI spit out a painting or book would not make me feel like I got to paint or write a book. It's a fucking anamatronic doll running on stolen ideas and it will never be the same as getting to actually expirience the joy of creating art first hand. AI is not the solution. Helping people who need it is the solution. And I am CONSTANTLY pissed to think about all the time and money that goes into these fucking AI programs that would be better spent helping disabled and poor people get the help they need so they can make art themselves, all while the people running the nightmare plagiarism pollution machines pretend that their horrible inventions exist to help people like me.

[starheavenly]

hiii!!! loving your locket comics!!!!!! just wanted to ask a few questions about your process, if you dont mind :D

whats your general process like?

do you do thumbnails, how do they look like?

roughly how long does it take you to complete a comic panel or page?

how detailed are your sketches? do you do multiple?

do you have any specific techniques for lineart?

do you typically use references for your comics?

generally, how much effort and focus do you put into your comics?

do you have any advice for drawing comics?

sorry for for the absolute bombardment of questions, lmao. just really enjoy your art and comics and very interested in the behind the scenes!! feel free to skip any questions (or this whole ask) well wishes and salutations!!! :D

Hello! I'm so glad you enjoy my comics, and I totally don't mind breaking down the process!

For a normal comic page, I would likely actually write a script since it's much easier to keep track of dialogue and actions. But since these are short, I just write it into my thumbnails.

Step 1: Thumbnails. Easily one of my favorite parts, since I get to throw all my ideas down. I do these comics on a 2-panel grid, so I don't have to worry about actual paneling, and it allows me to focus more on the setup of each shot. Think of it like storyboarding!

Step 2: Add cleaner thumbs if needed. I actually made 3D models of Deadlock and Ratchet's chest in Blockbench, so I often trace them to save myself some time! (It might look insane, but I promise, for me, it's not.)

Step 3: Lettering! I actually like to get the lettering out of the way right away since it can take a while. Ever since I started treating lettering as its own form of art, my skills have gotten better, but it also takes much longer.

Step 4: Clean sketch! I'm just now finding out that people think I’m doing lineart for these? I am not… these are all just clean sketches. Maybe doing the blackwork gives the illusion of lineart?

Step 5: Color! Most of these comics are in black and white to save time, but it also lets me focus on values and shot framing again. I add my glow overlay to the eyes, and boom, done!

Roughly how long does it take you to complete a comic panel or page?

It really depends on how complicated the panels are. I like to step out of my comfort zone. I know the Grimlock and Misfire one took longer because of how many panels there were and the fact that I was drawing characters I’d never drawn before, but I’d say it usually takes around 5-8 hours for a whole page.

Do you typically use references for your comics?

I'm literally the reference GOD- we all know this. But yes, I love using references and doing character studies. I have yet to do a study on LL Drift, but I have a few references of him that I’ve made.

Generally, how much effort and focus do you put into your comics?

I mean, I wouldn't say I don't put in a lot of effort? I put in enough. I don't know… there's a point in the clean sketch process where you can kind of just turn off your brain. I'm passionate about comics, but we can all agree there's a point in a drawing where you just zone out.

Do you have any advice for drawing comics?

I think being able to balance dialogue and visuals is super important. I don't know if you guys have picked up a graphic novel from Barnes & Noble recently, but if you open a page, you'll see a character sitting with the biggest bubble you've ever seen, filled with paragraphs of text. While I get it—being a novel as much as it's graphic—I personally like to visualize emotions more. If it means adding two more panels to make an interesting dialogue setup, I don't mind doing it. Another thing to remember is that not all panels need to have details or 100% effort. Sometimes you need to simplify and move on, and that's okay! Those two extra panels that are giving you a better stage setup might be the ones that need fewer details and less time. I would consider my comic page work and my 4-panel work very different. One is about paneling, setup, and visuals, while the other is very much like storyboarding. Both are skills you learn with practice and study.

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

Simon wasn't one to wear his emotions on his sleeve. Emotions weren't a strong suit of his, and he'd learned throughout the years how to keep the past buried. Throughout your relationship, he'd kept himself very reserved, only letting you in on small parts of his life and his troubled past.

He never wanted to burden you with the things he'd endured, as a small part of him worried you wouldn't love him because of it, or that you simply wouldn't be able to handle all of his baggage, so he kept it inside. That wasn't to say it didn't weigh on him though. To carry that much baggage took its toll on the man, and some nights were worse than others.

~

You heard a knock on your door late at night, drawing your attention away from the show you were watching.

You scuffled your fluffy sock covered feet to the door, and peeked through the peephole to find your boyfriend Simon on the other side.

You unlocked the door and opened it, causing Simon to turn and look at you. He looked disheveled. His mask was off displaying stubbled cheeks and dark circles under his eyes.

He started at you a long moment before engulfing you in a hug. It took you a moment to process, as it was not often he showed any sort of physical affection. You breathed in his scent, and you stood on your toes as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

You stood there for some time, Simon clearly not wanting to let you go, as his tight grip on you did not falter in the slightest.

"Are you okay?" You asked quietly, pulling away to meet his eyes.

Simon took a moment before answering. He didn't want to scare you away, but he needed you now more than ever. "No."

You nodded your head and grabbed his wrist to pull him inside. He followed you wordlessly, and proceeded to sit on the couch as you instructed.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You asked, sitting on your knees in front of him, stroking his clasped hands.

Simon said nothing, as he let his head hang down slightly, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

"Okay, you know what we are gonna do? I'm gonna go make some brownies, I'll pop open a bottle of wine, and we can watch some trashy reality show to drown out your thoughts, okay?'

He gave you a small nod as you gave him a kiss on his nose before making your way to the kitchen.

He took in his surroundings as you started the brownies, sighing deeply. There was always something comforting about being in your presence. He knew he didn't deserve you, your kind touches and gentle heart, but my God, he'd stay by your side for as long as you'd let him.

~

Later on, as the two of you fried your brains with reality TV and ate all the brownies you could handle, Simon slowly went to lay his head on your lap.

You smiled warmly down at him and started to massage his scalp gently. Simon relaxed, truly, for the first time that night, and he nuzzled his head into your legs.

He let his mind wander to you, and a warm feeling filled his insides. He turned his head to you slightly. "I love you."

You let out a silent gasp, and tears started to form in your eyes. It was the first time in your year long relationship he'd ever said those three words to you.

"I love you too, Simon Riley. Always."

Simon smiled to himself before returning his head to your thighs, as you continued to thread your fingers through his hair softly.

As he laid there, he finally was able to realize that being taken care of by someone you love, might not be such a bad thing after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just a lil blurb of Simon telling you he loves you for the first time. Thinking of making it for the rest of the gang too🙈

[darlingggdearest]

Thank you for accepting Enmu requests! Not many write about him. Can I ask for yandere Enmu headcanons please? 👉👈

YANDERE ENMU HEADCANONS

Thank you so much for requesting!!

WARNING: Yandere, Enmu being gross.

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

+ PLEASE yandere Enmu would be SO hard to get off your back. He wants to be around you all the time and won't hesitate to show it.

+ I feel as though Enmu would be very patient with his darling. Stalking them for months waiting for the *perfect* moment to snatch you away. Not to mention the patience he has for you when he does have you in his grasp. You're kicking and screaming with your limbs tied in extra tight ropes. And he'll just be sitting next to you with his head nuzzled in your neck, gently drawing shapes on your arm with his claw, of course that's not passive aggressive at all.

+ "Darling, there's no reason to be scared! I'm not going to hurt you, my love, please calm down."

+ If you were a regular human, then he would have just knocked you out with his blood demon art, however, he kind of likes it... Of course he wants you to be happy with him, but he can't deny that he doesn't get an absolute thrill of seeing you so helpless under his thumb.

+ But soon your little moment of terror peace is gone and the train is close to boarding. Enmu is a little disappointed that he never got you to calm down from your "temper tantrum", but he reminds himself that this is your first day with him. So he's not mad.

+ Enmu presses his head against yours, using his blood demon art to make you drift off into a timeless sleep. You don't, or really can't fight back that much, your energy being too used up to keep you awake. So you fall limp, right into Enmu's lap. He picks you up bridal style and carries you to the back of the train where the luggage was being kept, and sets you down gently behind a crate so you wouldn't be noticed.

+ Alright, lets have a chat. I see most of the time yandere Enmu is displayed as being in a more submissive role in most fanfiction. Of course that's fine, however I don't see him playing the same role for someone who is weaker than him (a human). As we know, Enmu is a kiss up to anyone who is more powerful than him, but when we're talking about someone weak who he's obsessed with, It would make sense if the opposite dynamic took place. He is your god. Not the other way around.

+ Does he expect worship? That depends on you. He expects you to let him do as he pleases whenever he wants, (cuddles, kisses, *zesty jazz music starts playing*) however, unless you've been bad, I don't think he would care if you downright worship him or not. But don't get me wrong, if you've done something in an act of rebellion, or have threw one to many curses at him he won't hesitate to grab you by your jaw and stare you down, scolding you for whatever you had done.

+ "My dear, you're really testing me today aren't you?"

+ he also likes to remind you he's more powerful than you in much more subtle ways too. He forces you to make direct eye contact with him. This way (because his blood demon art revolves around putting people to sleep with his eyes) you forever have a reminder of what he could do to you if he wanted to.

+ Enmu plans on turning you into a demon, soon. Maybe a year after he takes you. This way he would be able to live with you forever, like he has always wanted. And a little bonus to that is you would be by his side more often because of the threat of demon slayers.

+ Trying to escape? H. E. L. L. N. O.

+ You'd get caught within seconds. And not only that, but that is the only thing thing that makes Enmu truly angry. You don't want to see Enmu at his angriest. R.I.P. your leg.

+ Overall 8/10 on the yandere scale. Good luck.

Thank you for reading!

[thewhumpcaretaker]

🝊 Curse in Two Bodies: Yule Special 🝊

Masterlist | Summary: With the curse evenly split between them, Adelais and Ninlen struggle through their respective holiday celebrations while pretending they both just have colds. But Adelais isn't doing too well.

Note that there has been a time skip! This is a month or two after we left off. Adelais and Ninlen have learned how to split the curse partially between them, and have started to work together to some extent.

Oh Ievenar, God of Justice, who holds the scales:

Today I come to you with gratitude. For these few hours, I lost myself in the joy of the season, sitting in an easy chair to watch flames consume the yule tree piece by piece in our hearth. What’s a little pain in my body anyway? At an approximately fifty-fifty split, the curse feels, for each of us, like one of the worst sore throats we’ve ever had, but it’s bearable. And it wouldn't work any other way, with the palace festivities happening at the same time as my family's party. I think it was a pretty clever solution. The flannel buttoned up to my chin hides what lacerations there still are, wrapped twice in gauze to prevent visible bleeding. And I am with the people I love, at the little cabin in the valley outside Korsaivar City, where the smoke rises against a golden sky while the sun slowly plunges into the longest night of the year. Home sits on good land, over a humble but deep mana well. I can feel the familiar, energetic strength radiating both from the people around me and from the soil below.

I do love these people, in spite of everything. We aren’t a peaceful family. We claw at one another in our desperation to rise above the circumstances we were born into. I am, at times, tired of being their meal ticket. But they’ve been doting on me all day. They think I have a cold, as an excuse for my raspy voice and my pain on swallowing. It has meant that I can’t hold my newborn niece, Esmerelda, but still, she waves to me across the room in a conversation of curious glances. They’ve wrapped me in quilts, and given me cup after cup of steaming hot chocolate and tea. I feel so cared for… Rarely have I felt so comfortable in every part of my body except the neck. It doesn’t stop me from drawing deep inhales of cedar smoke. Every burning breath is a reminder of how possible it is to be happy even in pain. I am happy, Ievenar.

But I don’t come to you for myself. I come to you, as usual, for Adelais.

It was about three o’clock when he appeared on the television in the corner, tuned to the news broadcast of the royal celebration and national address. Immaculate, as usual, in a pure white military uniform adorned in thin lines of gold, he stood on the balcony overlooking the south courtyard, flanked by his mother and father. Neither of them looked at him even once.

He, too, had made illness his excuse for the way his voice would sound when he spoke his piece on the state of the kingdom and the decrees for the upcoming year. I doubt anyone will question it. He looked positively ashen.

He rested on the cold granite of the railing sometimes, to stop himself from swaying. Those months spent on life support are still haunting his atrophied frame. He’s dizzy, and he’s in at least as much pain as me. Even now, I swallow, and feel that knife-like jab in response, and it makes me uneasy for him.

I don’t want him to suffer so much, Ievenar. It’s as simple as that, what I have to say to you today.

I texted him, because I couldn’t contain myself. “I can see you on TV.”

He was sitting by that point, mercifully, at some kind of long, marble table set up on the balcony. The feed kept cutting to close-ups of his father, who droned on about war bonds, and in those stretches, he was able to reply, “Lovely. /s” His eyes darted across the crowd from one news team to another.

“I’m seeing the feed on your left, from KNZ Daily. And sometimes the one across from you, centered.”

He looked down at his phone, then right at the camera, his face expressionless. “Do I look as bad as I feel?”

Should I have lied? I didn’t. “It’s definitely believable that you’re sick. I don’t know why they have you up there on live news.”

“Neither do I. It’s a PR disaster waiting to happen.”

“You’re doing well so far.” A small shake of the head, and he abandoned his phone pointedly enough that I didn’t bother texting again.

He managed to get to his feet to speak. I couldn’t hear him much over the sounds of the card game going on in my own home. I redirected my attention again and again to the cards on the table and the gingerbread cookies, away from the thready, stumbling rasp of his voice, underpinned with misery even as he forced himself to smile. The warmth and laughter surrounding me seemed to mock him. Just because I was born here, and he was born there, we suffer differently. Where is the justice in that, Ievenar? If it were me, working long hours in the fields, everyone would see the injustice. But because his suffering is the suffering of guilt, no one sees it.

I looked down at my phone again when the card game was over, and at the television. He was seated once more by that time, and the sun painted pink and gold across his bloodless face. A chill wind ruffled the platinum blond fluff under his crown, and he rubbed at his temple. “Ninlen,” he had texted me (some ten minutes prior), “I think I’m actually coming down with something.”

A strange, protective jolt went through my heart. I felt the unmistakable, intoxicating uprush of my body drawing power involuntarily. “Did you feel that?” my mother asked. “Ripple in the mana.”

“Weird,” I lied, and discharged it quietly, flexing my wrists and letting the veins glow under my sleeves until I didn’t feel like I’d explode anymore.

Under control again, I managed to type, “It’s cold out there. You’ll feel better when you’re inside.”

“No. My throat hurts worse and worse. I’m getting congested. And I feel so faint.” He was visibly frowning and sniffling. Did you see him, Ievenar? Were you looking at him? You made him so miserable. Why punish him now, when he’s already in pain? He’s sick. Just lift the curse for a little while, just…

I know that’s not how it works. But it’s how it should work. I’ll say it. That’s what I see. If his throat hurts anyway, why double it?

“Come back tonight. Please. I won’t be able to sleep like this.” The please, from him…that’s really something.

“I can’t. I’ve rightfully taken my paid leave, and I promised my family. I’m so sorry. But I’ll be there first thing in the morning.” He sniffed again and left me on read.

The press conference wore on. Outside the thick lattice of my window, snowflakes started to tumble out of the sky. Heavy and thick, good for a snowman tomorrow. It had started up at the palace too. Despite the overhang above the balcony, a dusting had started to settle on Adelais’ hair and his almost bluish lips. He was shivering too violently to conceal.

“Will they let you go inside, now that your speaking part is over? If you tell them you’re sick?”

“There’s not much chance of that.” But he leaned towards his mother while the mics were cut to focus on the choir performance in the courtyard below. He whispered something to her, and she shook her head. A moment later, she whispered back, turning her whole body for it, lips drawn tight and speaking forcefully. Adelais looked away. His eyes went…a bit dead. A scolding looks the same even in the royal family.

“I’m sorry,” I texted. “This is awful.” He stared down at his lap, at my reply, his face trembling dangerously.

“It’s fine. I deserve it.” It’s lucky I was glued to my phone in a near frenzy of nerves, because the message was deleted a moment later. I looked back up and watched him take deep breath after deep breath, fighting not to cry.

When I tell you I almost drew the entire mana well into my body, Ievenar… God, such a desperation came over me, to intervene. But we were setting the table for dinner, laying out the candles and the sprigs of holly.

I did the only thing I could think to do. I texted Steward Quincy. “The Prince is genuinely sick. Get him inside if you can. If you can’t, get him a coat or a blanket or something warm.”

“In the middle of the Yule broadcast? I don’t even have the authority to do that.”

“Do you want him to pass out on live television?” It was a bit of an exaggeration, but so be it.

A minute later, a member of the PR team stepped up behind him, speaking briefly to him and setting a thick overcoat around his shoulders. I have very been grateful today, Ievenar. But I was most grateful at that moment.

Another wave of emotion seemed to go through him, by the heavy way he was breathing, but he fought it down. He looked right into the camera then, and smiled weakly at me. At me, I’m certain, because a moment later he texted, “thank you.” But I’m also certain that the whole portion of the kingdom who happened to be watching at that moment found themselves thoroughly dazzled by the fondness there.

I’m laying in my childhood bed now, and I can’t stop thinking about him. He’s trying to sleep now and probably can’t. He told me afterwards, in his formal, matter-of-fact way, “It seems I have a fever. Everything hurts. Don’t be late tomorrow morning.”

And I won’t be late. But I also won’t be early enough. So please. Nature is hurting him enough tonight, Ievenar. Can’t you just give him a break, just this once? Before I go mad with protectiveness and draw every spark of power from here to Montagleo, leave him alone.

[rezcowgirl]

December. Monday Morning. Okay.

Shiver and smile.

Be born in December. Riiiiight near the end, but not end enough that your parents get a free TV for having the Official New Years baby…Don’t worry about it. Dad will win a huge TV in a prize draw at Safeway. Eventually.  

There’s so much chocolate on sale, and I was born on this day! A month early, colicky as fuck, with a heart technically already broken. (<- Don't worry. Got that confirmed all cleared up when I had those other heart issues that I still have weird scars scars from because the electrodes made my skin melt. Need another 3 day thingy in February. Bleh.)

So, I’ll never be 34 again! Yay!

Once, my friend Unkyo pulled up for a Covid picnic on her bike, carrying 4 pounds of u-pick-it blueberries and an uncharacteristically sour expression. She was really aggravated. I had never seen it on her before. Apparently, she forgot her ID and the staff at a liquor store wouldn't let her buy anything. Her 18-year-old daughter was literally working at an ice-cream shop across the street from the park we were hunkered down in. I laughed and laughed, but she was genuinely annoyed. She was 45 at the time, and I thought it was cute and flattering. 

Obviously, we shared our wine with her. 

It’s fairly notable when I do not get ID’d buying alcohol. I almost always do. I know it’s not a huge flex given that I do not have an 18-year old daughter, but I DO have a fat baby face! I really don’t mind being ID’d - I like saying “I’m 35 :)”, and I wore a fake nose ring for the photo, so I like it.

I did NOT get ID’d on the most recent run. Aries said “Congrats - could it possibly be because there are not many 18 year olds that would be buying Moet & Chandon?”. And yeah. Probably helps. (It’s the ONLY champagne Aries likes…) I somewhat aspire to be ID’d at 45 like Unkyo, but Unkyo is an easy beauty, inside and out, and I am a rotten, crispy husk of a man, so I’m not going to worry too much about meeting this goal. My real goal is to make it to 45 and not die. So far so good!!!

I spent Friday with my old roommate and some other friends I don’t get to see very often and felt all gooey with love again. Wistful? Not quite nostalgic - she is better as a friend than a roommate. To be clear, I was the problem. I need a lot of alone time. It was hard. She forgives me my aforementioned rottenness, and she lives in New York now. I miss her so much, but we both don’t keep in touch because we suck at it. But it means a-lot-a-lot to be able to sit down and be like: “holy shit I love you tell me everything” and it’s not weird. She’s one of those rare always-sweet types, and I always want to protect it. She must not lose it. No no no. We’re having her and her husband over on the 5th, and I’m going to try really hard to NOT ask if they're going to move back to Vancouver...

Saturday we hopped around to different cocktail lounges, and I think we met some kind of trickster god. We were at our third stop, and we ended up being seated outside, which apparently most people turn down, but it was amazing. We had our own fire, we got complimentary cider, and we could converse without yelling. I wanted Aries to take some photos of us, so he did. But lurking nearby was this very friendly and relatively drunk guy, obviously also bar hopping and waiting to get in. He said “no, no, stop, you can sit down, I’ll take the photos from here”, so Aries handed my phone over and he took about 15 photos for us.

They’re basically all unsalvageable. In every single one, something is fucked up. Someone is mid-blink so their eyes are closed, but there’s still the ghost of a pupil overlaid over the eyelid, making it SUPER creepy. Or someone moved, so their face looks long. There’s one where Aries has one eye open and the other closed? There’s one photo of Ali that does not look like her at all?? It’s not like we’re all blurry in them. There’s just at least one person fucking up in each of them. I am perplexed and impressed, and now I have all these laughably terrible photos from my birthday pub crawl. But I love them anyway.

Here are the last pieces of 34. I found heart stickers on a walk. I'll stick one in my 2025 planner, and one on the wall of a goth night bathroom.

[netherfeildren]

FEAR OF GOD : Chapter VI : The indignity of suffering

Series Masterlist ; Moodboard

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Summary: Go into that dark wood, but do not lose yourself.

Content Warnings: canon typical violence; gore; angst

A/N: I just wanted to say that you all have been so fucking kind and lovely and supportive to me. I’ve read and tried to reply to every single one of your messages and cherish them so so much. I can’t even tell you what it means to me to receive this type of response to something I’ve written, my very first thing I’ve ever shared publicly, at that. I seriously thought this thing’d have two hits, me and my burner account and that’s it. I appreciate each and every single one of you to the end of the earth, and hope I can continue to write things that you all relate to and are moved by and find solace in. Thank you so so so much. I love you and I wish you all nothing but the most amazing things in the whole world.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 3.5K

Read on AO3

CHAPTER VI: The indignity of suffering

Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.  -Richard Siken, War of the Foxes

You sit now in the dark quiet of your living room, facing straight forward, unseeing, feet planted firmly on the floor, trying to ground yourself and count the sounds of your breath. Feel the inhale pass all the way into your body, deep down to your toes, back up again through your abdomen, whistle through your lungs, up your throat and out, back into the world. A repetitive exercise to try and soothe your racing heart. 

You need to leave.

You need to leave.

You need to leave.

Birdie, I love you. Birdie, Birdie, my Birdie. 

Your nails are splintered bloody, the tips of your fingers rubbed raw from the fight in the woods. It hurts, and you pick at the broken skin trying to distract from the other pain writhing within you. Something, something else has to exist in the world that can hurt more than this, than him. Please, please, let there be something else worse than this. You pick harder at the skin. You still possess enough clarity of mind to be cognizant of the fact that your thoughts are slightly unhinged. Something to hurt more? Why? For what? What good would that do you? For the girl who’s always tried to have the answers to every question that came her way, you find that there are no discernible solutions to this. No reason, no way to conceptualize it. There was no easy way to color within the lines in this moment, tuck it all away neatly into a drawer. Your edges are frayed, savaged, bloody and torn. 

He had done this to you – true. But in many ways you had also done this to yourself. You could only go on accepting the way others treated you for so long before it got to be too much. And you knew, once again, that it was all about the choices you made. What were you willing to put up with? What were you willing to let go of? What was necessary for your survival? What would you die without?

I will die without him, you think. 

Asking for things for yourself had always been excruciating. You’d gotten better at pushing that piece of yourself away – that deficit – with age. You saw it for what it was now, something to hurt you, rather than, naively considered, to protect you. And it was time now, to ask for this, to demand he love you out in the open. He could not say the words to you, fuck them into you with his body and his touch, press them into your skin – and then take them back? No. His terror at the possibility of losing you, of you getting hurt sent him over the edge, robbed him of rational thought, you could objectively understand this, but the agony of having him and not having him – of being able to only brush your fingertips along the phantom idea of him, never being able to hold on tight — dig your nails into his skin and draw blood; well that provided grounds for cowardice. Surely, it excused it, even. Because, you think: this is unendurable, unendurable. 

The two of you were made up of so much fear in equal measures. Him, afraid of his own feelings, of showing his softness, of putting that softness in someone else’s hands. And you, you, sometimes you terrified yourself. The lengths you could go to swallow your hurts, to repress the things that broke your heart – you couldn’t live like this anymore. It was too painful, abnormal – emaciating yourself in the name of being strong and stoic. 

So perhaps Joel was right, in this instance. You did. You needed to leave. As a means of self preservation, you needed to do as he’d told you. You needed to get out, away from him. From yourself. From all these people who knew you, and how much you wanted and needed and loved him and fucking prostrated yourself at the effigy of him you’d created in your mind.  You wanted to scream and thrash and gnaw your teeth through the very marrow of who and what you were, and you wanted to say that you hated him and yourself and everything, everything, everything. Why did you have to be this way? Why did he have to be this way? You felt angry and resentful with the world, with life itself. But you didn’t, you couldn’t, say or do any of those things. 

None of them were true. 

What was true was that it was not your responsibility to step between him and his daughter. To defend or protect him from her. That was not your place. Not right now, at least. The struggle between them was their own, could only be mended by them two. 

What was true was that you loved him. And he loved you. You knew this now, without doubt. What was true was that he hurt you. That he was terribly afraid. That he could not allow himself the vulnerability of being hurt again himself. 

Beth. Beth. Beth.  Where are you, sister? I need you.

You needed to go back out. Despite what had happened tonight, and your very real fear that there could be more of those men out there, that woman and her baby were out there somewhere. You needed to find them; there was something inside of you urging you out there to them – the look in her eyes, the sound of the child’s cries – and there wasn’t anything that could stop you from going. The idea of leaving the safety of Jackson’s walls without Joel, without his reassuring protection and competence, caused a fear to surge up inside you that was almost debilitating. But you had to do this. You had to find them, help them in any way you could. The desperation in the woman’s eyes – it was like a mirror of your own terror the night Beth had died. You saw yourself in her gaze in that moment, the terrified reflection of your past self. 

You’d gone straight to Maria from Joel’s. The look on your face, enough to tell her this was something you needed to do now. She’d gone straight to Noah first, then another girl in town, called Vero, both were competent trackers and hunters, and Noah was your friend. You knew he’d help you. They’d agreed to go. You’d head out tomorrow at first light, search the greater part of the day, go as far out as you could and still be able to make it back before dark.  Easy and quick. 

He wanted you gone. He wanted you to leave. Then you would. It wasn’t in your nature to be petty or lash out, but it was in your nature to hide, to swallow a hurt, to run. This was self preservation at its core. You needed to get away from the humiliation. The burning rejection of knowing that you loved him, and that even though he’d said the words, he still saw you as something apart from himself and the things he held close. Not family. 

There was a more level headed part of you that objectively knew he’d be furious to know you’d gone back out without him. That he’d lose his mind when he found out. You couldn’t bring yourself to care. The petty and hurt part, the part he’d just trampled all over, would win tonight, wanted to lash out. If Maria was letting you go you knew your plan wasn’t suicidal – at least not in terms of what you might run into out there. You both knew the three of you could take care of yourselves. Joel, though, he might just kill you himself when you returned. 

But you needed time to conceptualize your feelings. Fold things away as neatly as possible – the things he’d said to you – you needed to shut this love away in a drawer, put it to rest as best as you could. Dissociate from it if necessary, from him. 

You wished desperately for Connie in this moment. For his clear logic and calming baritone. Use your head, honey. The answer’s right there in front of you. For him to pet your hair and tell you it’d all be okay. But he wasn’t here. And neither was Beth or Ellie or Maria. No one you felt could understand, not truly. Really, you knew you wanted to talk to Joel. Knew he understood this overwhelming feeling of having absolutely nothing left to give. That he knew how someone who knows what it’s like to go without, is always willing to give more. Even if they don’t have anything left for themselves. That this feeling you were experiencing now was exactly what held him back from you. 

He understood the sentiment intimately. As hard as he’d tried to push you away, keep you at arms length, shield the softness within himself from your prying eyes and grasping fingers, you’d seen it. You’d even felt it brush up against you. And you knew, you knew, he had so, so much left to give. Even if he couldn’t see it himself. Even if he couldn’t bring himself to share it with you. He’d done it for Ellie. For that little girl all that time ago who’d needed him, and despite his reluctance, fear, trauma, his painful, painful past – he’d given himself to her entirely. 

It wasn’t in you to judge him for holding himself back from you. As much as it ripped you to shreds, you understood him with a profoundness and an empathy you surprised yourself with. Of course he was fucking scared. Of course he was terrified of the risk of pain. Of the risk of loss. 

The mistake was to assume that any person you loved would be, at all times, without fault. Never cruel. Never selfish. Would never hurt you. In love or friendship or family, you now considered, with experience, the real test of longevity to be acceptance of that occasional mistake – whether it be cruelty or selfishness or hurt – it didn’t really matter. The people you loved would hurt you sometimes. They’d say the wrong thing. Do the wrong thing. Make the wrong choice. To err was human. No one was ever perfect one hundred percent of the time, and to allow for that margin of error, was to be merciful in your love. Not only for them, for the person you loved, but for yourself, as well. The capacity – the space to make mistakes and forgive yourself for it, own it and move on – that was true mercy. That was the true promise of longevity. Especially in a world like this, one so full of cruelty and danger and casual hurts. Risk, always risk just around the corner. And Joel, he was not a man who took risks lightly. He was an animal cornered – and a threatened creature does not think of consequences. It considers only survival.

It was in the way you proceeded after your mistakes, the choices, the actions you took to make reparations, that the true test lay.  

All of this understanding, however, didn’t mean his rejection was painless. All the self awareness in the world still wasn’t enough to soothe the sting of rejection. And it stung like a bitch. 

You feel yourself start to tilt sideways onto your sofa, glassy eyes taking in the warm corners of your home. The piles of books, your tacky orange plaid throw over the armchair by the fire, the drawings Ellie’d given you to put up. A life strung together with sheer determination – a safe space. It didn’t feel as safe, as warm, in this moment, without him. Autonomy over your body lost to grief, your shoulder hits the green cushion. You turn your face into the darkness and let the hot press of tears break free. Muffled and quiet, you let all that hurt you wished you could erase, out. The pain in your throat is strangling, trying to keep yourself contained. There is a savagely broken place within you that forces you, even in this moment, to remain subdued, and you wish you could let it all out in a messy explosion of tears and howling. That your mind would allow your physical reaction to reflect the seething pain you’re feeling inside, to let go of restraint for even just a moment. 

When you’ve lost everything, how do you muster the bravery to hold onto something new?

You had it in you to run – to sneak away in the dark. This you knew. To be cowardly – even if only in his eyes. To be selfish. Even if you knew that running away, even after he’d told you to go, was the worst possible thing you could do to him. Be selfish, Birdie. Be selfish for me, just a little bit, he’d said once. Well, you would be. You needed distance and space to lick the bleeding wound your heart had become, and you had something you felt you direly needed to do. That woman was waiting for you out there – you felt it in your bones, the baby’s cry resounding in your memory over and over again.

Perhaps your anger was useless. After all, an animal cornered could only react on instinct, and Joel had cornered himself with his confession. 

But you were so, so tired. You couldn’t fight anymore. 

It’s the end of the goddamned world, Joel. Just love me like I know you do. 

-

You pull the cinch of the saddle, checking it’s secure. You’d slept like shit, the events of the night before replaying in your mind on a loop. His words clanging against your skull over and over again. The dark woods – Beth’s dying screams. The clicking. The look on Ellie’s face – so concerned, scared for you. Scared of what would become of you without him. Dawn hasn’t broken over the horizon yet, but you’re ready to get out of here. 

Sometimes you feel like he isn’t actually real. A figment you’ve created in your imagination. And really, if you’re being wholly honest with yourself, isn't that the most honest truth between the two of you? Isn't everything you think you need from him merely something born from your own yearning? Haven’t you been half-existing without him this whole time? One foot in, one foot out. If you’d never had the whole thing, had you ever really even had it at all?

Perhaps that isn’t fair, to either of you. You can’t tell what’s right or wrong anymore, real or imaginary. Your mind, blanketed by exhaustion, coherence gone out the door like an old lover.

Have I been walking in circles again?

“You ready to go?” You’re snapped from your reverie at the sound of Noah’s voice. Nausea churns in your gut on a low, threatening simmer. Everything held in a tight knot at the base of your throat. Vero’s saddled and ready to go – waiting for the two of you to mount, as well. 

Maria’s old adage, her overused one at that, sounds in your mind: The only people who can betray us are the ones we trust. How right she always is. After all, hurting someone is an act of reluctant intimacy. Who knows your soft spots, where to strike hardest, better than someone who loves you?

Leaving was probably a mistake. In the cool clarity of the damp morning, you’re worried you’re walking into something the three of you are ill prepared for, incapable of handling. But you know that baby is out there – you know the desperation in the woman’s eyes wasn’t feigned, couldn’t be. You had to find them. And Joel’d done most of the heavy lifting, killing, last night – that man’s skull crushed beneath the violent weight of his fist, the stray clickers done away with. All you had to do now was find that woman and her child, and hope nothing worse waited for you out there.

So much had happened in the span of such a few, seemingly short hours.

You mount your horse, and your belly sways with nausea you have to grit your teeth against. Concern nips at your heels, but you can’t think about that now. Not after last night, not in light of what you’re about to set out to do. Perhaps not ever. Perhaps you can ignore your anxieties and suspicions indefinitely. Perhaps then, they can’t hurt you, won’t be made real. Can’t remind you of how alone you’ll be after this is done. 

You have much to do: you must make yourself into stone, kill your memories, kill your desires, find your future. Change the very nature of your soul, if you must, learn to live without him. 

Noah settles on his mount, and you click your tongue, the three of you start to move forward. You’re afraid. A huge yawning pit of trepidation, of terror opening in your gut. This is how Joel must feel all the time. But there’s also the voice in your head, telling you this is something you need to do. No matter what. You feel so keenly, in your very marrow, that they’re waiting for you. There was no discerning evidence as to why you knew you needed to do this, why you felt you’d recognized her, but you did. 

It seemed empirically impossible that the two of you’d have met each other at that precise moment last night. In the tumult of chaos that had crashed around the two of you in that dark wood, that the night had cleared for one precise second to allow you to look at her face, to see all she needed to voice but could not say; that she was terrified, that she needed help. There had to be a reason for that.

You’d been searching for reasons in meaningless things for far too long now. You knew this. You should apply your rational mind to questioning this hair-brained plan, tell yourself that leaving without Joel, despite the things he’d said last night, was suicide. You could very well die, either out there, at the hands of some monster, or in here, after he murdered you for going out there without him. Part of you didn’t really care anymore. A blanket of numbness clouding your judgment. 

You’d always been a girl that had done as she was told, inhabited the place in life assigned to you. Perhaps now was as good a time as any to do something you weren’t supposed to. 

-

You ride for several hours before you’re attacked. The silent woods surround the three of you, moving slowly in the general direction of the clearing from last night, and then further on towards the way which she’d fled. It’s peaceful, the steady cadence of the horses hooves, the wind disturbing the stillness of the trees like a whispered song of the leaves; you think they might be telling you to turn around, to go back to him. And then, as if you’d been struck by lightning, coming to after, only to discover catastrophe of the highest order. You tell yourself you won’t regret your choice to come out here, you won’t, no matter what happens, you all can fight, this was something you had to do. There’s chaos circling you, Vero and Noah’s shouts, a gun sounding, and then you turn to see Vero’s body falling to the ground. There’s a bullet wound straight through her skull, dead center, brain matter splattering behind her in a sick mockery of strewn life. You’re shocked into utter stillness, all thought, all understanding wiped from your brain as neatly as the bullet through hers. This is your doing. 

And then fire, fire, fire, suddenly – shockingly. Pulverizing your ribs, your flesh, your very self. An inferno climbing up your chest, down your hip, and through your arm, spreading uncontrollably. You lose your seat on the horse, and then you too, are plummeting to the ground. The unyielding ground surging up towards your face like a cold wave. You feel as if you fall for centuries, and then your body is slamming sickeningly against the forest floor, your shoulder crunches and you want to howl; your head rebounding so hard you feel your very brain jostle inside your skull. Your vision flashes in and out, blurred and unfocused, and all you can discern are the mammoth figures of the trees around you. Looming over you like monsters in the dead of night, come to devour.

My secret, my secret, I never got to tell him.

You try to curl in on yourself, protect whatever remains of a body you’re not sure you possess anymore. More resounding shots of a gun, again, again, screaming and howling. Perhaps the wolves have descended. He’s going to be so angry, you think. My friends, my friends are dying because of me. Noah, where is Noah? Please, please, don’t be dead too.

You think that if you die, Joel and Ellie have to make up. They have to. He’ll need her so much. 

Birdie, I love you. Birdie, Birdie, my Birdie. 

You should have never left. You should have stayed with him. No matter what he said. What the hell did he know anyway? You should have fought harder. You should have stayed with him. 

The dark lake of unconsciousness swallows you whole. 

Chapter VII

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

[maniculum]

Welcome to another Scorpion Sunday! We're almost through all the ones from the original post, but I've still got a couple that people have sent me sitting in my inbox. This'll get more sporadic once we're through the list though -- only one left, I believe.

This one is from the Breviari d'amor, a book by 13th-century French author Matfres Eymengau (and variant spellings). I can't tell you about this particular manuscript of the Breviari d'amor, because it's Harley MS 4940 at the British Library, and... yeah, cyberattack still ongoing, you know the drill. The text itself is a bit odd; a "breviary" is a type of prayer book, and... well, in the absence of being able to access the manuscript listing or being willing to trawl through the university library's holdings just to fill out a Tumblr post, I'm going to just tell you that Wikipedia says this book's "sole purpose is the reconciliation of love for God with the erotic amours of the troubadour lyric". I think there's a 50/50 shot of that being really interesting or incredibly tedious, so I might have to check it out later.

As for the actual illustration, it's a bit of kismet that this one was slated for today. I originally mocked this scorpion for having a head that, let's be real, looks like a butt. Ever since, I've been getting occasional notes on that post telling me this is actually a pretty realistic scorpion head in outline. And just earlier today, @bogleech reblogged that post with an actual photograph of a scorpion with this head shape:

Which really calls into question how this illustration came about. How did the illustrator nail such a weirdly specific detail but otherwise draw something that only looks like a scorpion in general silhouette? Bogleech suggested they might have seen a damaged specimen with pieces missing and filled in the blanks; I think it's also possible that someone drew a scorpion from personal experience, then someone else copied that drawing and messed up a couple details, then someone copied that drawing... &c. You know, Manuscript Telephone. Or maybe it's a bit of both and this can be traced back to a damaged manuscript. Or maybe this artist was working from a description that included "head like a butt" but not "pinchy claws" for some reason.

Anyway, moving on to the points:

Small Scuttling Beaſtie? ✓

Pincers? ✘

Exoskeleton or Shell? ... hm. I honestly think we have to consider this one. Given the context of what that head looks like on an actual scorpion, maybe this one does have a carapace of some kind over its head. And there's something going on with that spinal ridge thing. On the other hand, the rest of it is clearly furry. I think i'm going to split the difference and give it ½.

Visible Stinger? ✘

Limbs? 6

As for vibes... would I like to meet this thing more or less than I would like to meet a regular real-world scorpion? Honestly, I think it balances out. I'm a little concerned that what I'm looking at here is a furry alligator with a weird head, but i do also think it has a certain charm, and i feel like it all boils down to just how large this thing is. If it's alligator-sized, I don't want it around me; if it's scorpion-sized, I think i'm cool with it. Again I will split the difference and give it the middle-of-the-road "about the same as a real scorpion" score: 3/5.

That means the scorpion with the strange-but-accurate head gets:

5.1 / 10

i'm sorry, it really does look like a butt

[leynaeithnea]

When you sit down to write something what is the kick starter that gives you the inspiration and what keeps you going while writing?

Heyo

Mmhmm, It sort of depends I think

For my originial stories (that i dont tend to be able to finish but lets ignore that for now) its usually a piece of dialogue, or an image popping up in my mind that i want to build a story around, rereading my intial notes and making pinterest boards; playlists etc etc usually helps me get interested and excited about the projects again (but instruggle with themes & worldbuilding for my og stories usually so I keep getting stuck)

However when it comes to fanfiction (which i just started again recently) its different

There I usually want to explore my favorite topics for writing (angst & hurt/comfort, dealing with trauma in some form)

And then look deeper into the characters minds

For example my Ody/Dio fic started out as simple "how does the trojan war affect ody?" As well as getting a bit inspired by the lyrics of Epic "all i hear are screams, everytime i dare to close my eyes", as well as some suggestions i got from some tumblr users (being so on edge from having to keep your guard up, that you draw a knife on a friend) and from there on it kind of developed on its own, with my only plan being there ending up being some spice for the fun of it (espeically for my iliad/odyssey fics rn like trying to stay as close to the sources as i can, within the framework of my story idea, eg. Its definitely not aligning with the iliad that dio and ody had an type of romantic/sexual relationship, but they have an interesting dynamic that is fun to explore, so in my story its not necessarily that its the type of "love" between them as would be expected today for people to have an intimate relationship like that, but its a twisted way of making it both the longing from being away from home, the shared weight of responsibility of a goddess attention on you and some more intense interpersonal feelings between them that are quite complex, i suppose i mixed odyssey odysseus and the more "emotional" odysseus we get in epic (that being said odyssey odysseus is not rly LESS emotional by any means (maybe contrary even), but theres more room for interpretation for whats going on in his head/his exact motivations for his actions are often something we can interpret, but not KNOW for sure

So i love exploring these interpretations and letting the parts i like from epic flow into them at times

So all of that kind of develops while writing and is something that then motivates me to carry on and explore another new aspect (first it was just "all i hear are screams" but in troy, then it was odysseus and diomedes "would-be" relationship, and by the end there was also a hint of "what it means to live up to the expectations of a goddess")

For my Ogygia story my desire was to have a retelling of the story that goes more into detail what happened during those 7 years that blends epic and the odyssey again (sticking more to the odyssey and adding in epic when it fits), because from the stories ive read there was always some lines in the odyssey that go unexplored or i dont like the interpretation on

For example "She pleased him no more", something that i probably adapted from your analysis on it iirc?, that initially she treated him nicely, but became more pushy over time only, or the emphasis in the odyssey that the reason ody couldnt leave was that he has no ship or crew (and calypso only helps him/gives her blessing for him to build his raft after Hermes told her so) as well as the lines between calyspo and hermes when she argues that the gods can keep themselves lovers but shes forced to give away hers, all of those (and a good bunch more) were aspects i wanted to explore there and kept motivating me to continue!

So its rly about exploring some aspects deeper through writing it, with giving them a bit of a personal flavor i suppose, those are rarely avoidable :)

Hope that answers the question and makes sense ^^"

[tongues--and--teeth]

Fuck i fucking love your art smmmm

Berserk boi

QUICK GIVE ME ALL YOUR BERSERK CACAOO HCSSS

Oh my god! Thank you so much! This totally made my day <33333

I'm so sorry this took so long, I've been really busy lately :(

(TW for gore mention)

So actually I headcanon that his berserk form is connected to his soul jam. Kind of like a little side effect. Y'know what use is a sword if not to harm others? If not to shed blood? (and also this sword hurts its owner too!) and it's the soul jam of resolution which is also dictionary definition, literally a firm decision that you're unwavering in. If Dark Cacao ever goes back on his decision to take the sword, guess what! He goes berserk until it consumes all of his life force and kills him. woo. 

He used to be able to control the berserk form a little, being able to turn partially into it to fight and stuff. He did lose the power to do so as he got older. Turning into his half-form and full form basically torturing him every time he tried to use it. It also completely removes pretty much all mental capacity for intelligent thought, so he can't use it in a "productive" way even if he wanted to. Basically just blind destruction with no distinction between friend or foe. 

(^that's actually the concept for the drawing you saw)

Personally, I have his berserk form more or less as kind of an allegory for illness, a physical manifestation of internal pain. He was making it a fuel to keep going instead of actually confronting the “bad stuff” that happened. He was taking how it hurt him and using that to keep going, instead of confronting it head-on and getting it to stop hurting him. Eventually, he couldn't keep doing this, it was destroying him and he was losing control. So now, he couldn’t use it for anything, aka, his pain isn't useful anymore. Anyway, he does still transform into his berserk form (albeit unintentionally) but only during times of extreme stress and triggers like certain sounds, textures, and tastes. It's also triggered through more physical means, if he stands too long his legs start turning to smoke, if he fights too long his eyes glow white, it's torture every time. In very special cases (Pomegranate Cookie) he goes full berserk, it usually takes him out for weeks, unable to do much, hardly able to take care of himself, much less able to make himself useful as a king or as a warrior.

Actually, after he stopped going berserk back in book 14, I think he was cut open pretty much everywhere underneath his armor. His guts were spilling out, and were barely contained by his armor. It basically cut him almost completely in half. He still managed to fight afterwards, obviously at great personal cost, but he was still able to fight. Weeks after, he could barely move, he was stuck in bed, and even small things like sitting up were a huge struggle. The only reason he's not dead is because of his soul jam, the same reason he was cursed in the first place. His immortality at the cost of eternal suffering and the like.

After book 14, he forces enough energy to attend the council of heroes (AKA Cookie Odyssey chapter 1) but the smallest things keep setting him off, turning him slightly berserk every time. He is spending every second he can lying down in his tent. It prevents his wounds from healing, and it also keeps him from thinking clearly. When he tried killing Clotted Cream the, admittedly very little, healing that was done was immediately reversed. He ended up barely functioning, with the only reason he was able to continue with the council was because Hollyberry noticed him limping and had Pure Vanilla heal him. Which only did so much, because it’s…A curse that's both caused by and stopped by his immortality, and you can't just fix that without probably killing him instantly. So, he doesn’t have a permanent solution, and he’s stuck with this until the end of time.

Thank you again for the ask. It was really fun to do! Sorry again for taking so long to finish it :(

[skeleton-mischief]

Stretch Serrif

Oh my god I've had to sit down and stare at how he was characterized in 2016-2018 and I swear I actually wanted to just grab him and shake him because all there was to him was "omg I'm so hot" and "actually I'm a horrible person teehee" Swap Papyrus, you deserved better

Hirough

(headcanons below)

- Official height 6'3

- He/Him

- Terrible smoker, he would sneak them

- Drinks Honey

- Younger brother of Powder Serrif

- Does not remember Gaster except for in his dreams and faint recollections of his existence

- Loves engineering, since he loves to tinker with things. Kinda a collaboration of what the OG UT brothers hav

- Has an outrageous sweet tooth

- Loves video games, especially ones that he can play with others

- Highly perceptive, but he'll play it off and act like he doesn't know what you're up to until you slip up

- Likes to write fantasy sometimes, small hobby

- Sells corn dogs instead of hot dogs

- Draws as his #1 hobby

- Very handy, loves to tinker with machinery

- Comfortable with touch but can grow very bashful

- Suffers with insomnia

- Impatient at times, impulsive, smooth talker, imaginative, charming, charismatic, lazy, nerdy, intuitive, over-thinker, perceptive, shy, playful, considerate, kind, and unassertive

- Sceptical of humans, but willing to trust them if they show effort to be peaceful

- More of a prankster and loves jokes over puns, but enjoys a good pun because of his older brother. He will lose it if Powder keeps going though

- Protective of his brother, but worries about him. He sees how much his brother has on his shoulders, but he feels like he can't talk to him about not only the resets but also other things because he doesn't want to burden his brother. No one can talk shit about his brother though

- Good friends with Cash, Rus, and Coffee

- Avoids fighting almost at all costs, doesn't like violence unless necessary

- Dog person, but he hates that random dog that terrorizes him from time to time. How can Powder like that thing?

- Prefers edibles over other forms of cannabis, eats it with Cash and Rus

- Hardly curses because his brother would scold him for it, however Powder lets him from time to time. "Oh sugar honey iced tea!" Dork

- Did not get along with the SF!Purple brothers at first, but eventually was able to

- Magic smells of honey and magic tastes of butterscotch

- Best friends with Cash, who helps his confidence. He helps ground Cash

- uses BIC lighter to smoke

- Enjoys fantasy stories

- loves high fives, fist bumps, and hand shakes

- Calls Chara "Goofball"

- Owns a Bumblebee Keychain and phone charm

- Hyperventilates when crying, not too loud, a lot of strained hiccupped breathing

- Would call his lover Honey/Honeybee

- Has beef with Napstaton but mainly because his "smug aura" mocks him

- wore one of those Groucho Marx glasses when meeting Chara instead of a whoopie cushion

- He's good friends with Undyne, both can bond over memes and existential anxiety together

- Asgore's friend behind the Ruins, but he never knew till later on

- Keeps his knowledge of the Resets away from everyone, even when he tried to tell them about it when it first was happening

- He doodles on paper, desks, his shorts or pants, etc, when bored

- Has a lot of visible anxiety, but he tries to keep the facade of being relaxed constantly in front of others

- Loves sweets from Muffet's, he loves going there to get some good food

- He loves eating suckers, especially ones that remind him of bees or citrus

- Wonderful at making people relax despite his own anxiety, he learned from Powder

- Likes to help people, he wants to bring others joy

- His gaster blasters act like dogs, but rather goofy ones

- He doesn't have the most amazing control of his magic, especially compared to Powder

- Likes bragging about Powder to other people

- Drives a little tikes car

- Plays the xylophone because he can make puns about it

- Chaotic neutral to chaotic good

- slouches for Powder because he likes to remember when Powder was taller than him

- He loves to hear praise and he'll get all giddy when he gets it

- He feels unworthy in the face of those that do better than him or have "more trauma" than him. He bottles up a lot of his stress

- He tends to be lighthearted and goofy with his friends

- He's not used to people being sincere about their compliments to him despite being popular Underground. Small White lies to make him feel better

- When someone actually cares about what he likes, he's unsure of himself but he actually would love to ramble if he is given the chance

Closing Notes: He's a silly goofy dork y'all not some hot sexy smoker who's actually just a terrible person. I will die on this hill because what am I to do if I just live a life of mountains and choose to do nothing with it?

[my-castles-crumbling]

hi cas! i love your blog sm, not only your blog but you as a person so much.

i hope i am not bothering you by asking this but i seriously don't know who else to ask.

so there's this girl at my school, my classmate. like we are not besties to say but she is a really good friend, sometimes when my bestfriend and her bestfriend don't show up to class we sit together and sometimes all four of us sit together. we have short convos like talking about our interests, animes, her drawing passion and all. so to say we are might not be super close but we are good friends.

today she told me that she likes me and came out to me - i am really happy for her mustering the courage to let it out, she told me how no one other than her older sister knows, not even her best friend.

on the instant she told me this, she panicked, to say. she was like "i am so sorry if it spooked you" "i just had to say it" "you can defo reject me..i didn't want to burden you" "my god why am i saying this...pls i hope our friendship doesn't change" she didn't let me say a word, she was getting so anxious. and without listening to me she left.

and now i don't know what to do, i feel really horrible ik how hard it must have been for her in first place, to come out to me, the only other person. she let her be vulnerable and confided in me.

but i am straight. no no i am not homophobic at all (i am literally in this fandom, forget about fandom i am proudly a lgbt)

but i never felt any attraction to females.

uh..man i don't want to make her sad. i can't and i don't want this to be complicated bw us. i don't want her to be heartbroken. i don't want her to regret coming out to me.

what should i do?

should i date her? (i have never been grossed out with w/w relationship but before this i never saw myself in one) i don't want her to be heartbroken..how can i ever tell her i'm straight.

i don't know... can a straight person like me date her? i really want a advice. if you say i should, i promise i won't be breaking her heart..i have always for me seen me in a single relation with someone and giving them all the love but i never saw a fem as my s/o cause im staright.

will i catch feelings overtime? will i be able to love her?

pls..guide me what should i do.

[ i hope what i meant to say was understandable. english isn't my first lang so forgive me for any mistakes ]

Hi love! <3

So it seems like you're pretty adamant that you're not attracted to girls. If you're sure about that, then:

Please, please, do not date this girl if you don't like her. That's not fair to her OR you! You can't just....find feelings that don't exist. And it's not fair to bring her hopes up.

(Now, that isn't to say that maybe you never considered dating women, and not you're considering it, and it sounds cool. But if it does NOT sound cool. If you are straight? Don't do it.)

You need to be honest with her. Sit her down and give her the respect she deserves. Tell her, "I really value our friendship, and I am so honored that you trusted me enough to come out to me. I want you to know that I don't just you at ALL for being LGBTQIA+. But I'm not, and I don't want to pretend to be, because it would just be hurtful, in the end. I think you're really cool, but I'm just not attracted to girls."

Trust me, being truthful will be much better in the long run. Sure, she'll be disappointed. But your sexuality isn't personal, and if you are kind and honest and accepting with her? That's still a much better coming-out story than a lot of people. Trust me.

And after? Try not to make it awkward. Don't treat her differently. But don't force something that isn't there. It'll just end up in someone getting hurt.

Hope that helps!

<3

[blindedguilt-archived]

[ Hi ! Did Leonard like to do art ? For example, drawing, sculpting ? If he *did,* did he try to continue with art even after establishing his pact with the faerie, even to the *smallest* degree considering his blindness ? ]

//Hi! First of all I apologise for taking so long on this, beyond just being in a slump this ask may be cursed as I've attempted it literally three different times and EACH time it ended up getting deleted for different reasons (Mobile app decided to delete my reply after changing tabs for a SECOND, computer decided to update while I was away in the middle of answering and then I accidentally closed of the tab 😭) so as much as I love the question I admit I had to fight to answer it and this answer might be shorter than I wanted it to be :,) my apologies!!!!! but anyways

//Given that Leonard seems to have come from humble startings in life, just going off the bat, I don't think many forms of art or even "hobbies" as we would consider them today were available to him, like drawing for example :( and while he might be crafty (I mean the guy built a whole house just so he could fuck off to the forest...) when the time calls for it, he ironically doesn't strike me as the type to be too willingly artistic.

//That said, I do have a few ideas of little things he may or may not have done in his younger years that could be considered that way! I dunno if you'd count his training as the kind of art you were looking for as I like to think he grew up in a smithing family and was expected to continue that legacy on until The Hermitting™ (also my explanation for why Tower's Rebuke is so..... Strange) but again, it was less of a hobby and more of a trained skill, so...

//Going off that, however, Leonard absolutely sucked at it growing up, but after committing to the bit in his teenage years in order to not let his family and village down, he became decently good at it! Not a god at metal-smithing or forging or anything, but definitely good enough to make the amenities people needed to live comfortably. :) After he hermitted himself for what I headcanon as being around six years and then was struck with blindness right after, he's VERY limited in what he can do both because of his rusty memory and lack of sight keeping him from "recalling the motions". Even so, I like to think he's capable of at least a few basic tasks like honing and refurbishing if he really puts his mind to it.

//Additionally, and this is a small thing, but as far as simple recreational things go, I like to think he widdled a bit as a kid too. Just sitting and widdling little shapes and figures from any particularly nice wood he found, and then keeping up with that whenever he found a rare moment of free time as a hermit (Though there were ALWAYS things to do, so it wasn't often). Similarly it's a lot more aimless "Fiddling with wood and a knife" now that he's blind, but he finds it a bit calming, if not meditational just to keep himself doing something when his mind tends to wander. :)

//He was pretty skilled at it, and it saved him a lot of sanity when he was living by himself in the woods.

//All in all? He's a very hands on person, able to do a LOT of handiwork, but as far as actual artistic hobbies go, he's kind of lacking. Even in Leonard's mind, he views the idea of "hobbies" themselves more as activities for the rich, and it's not something he thinks he can afford his own busy self most the time.

[localvoidcat]

I DO GIVE ME GIRLIE LORE!!!!!!!!!!!!

im going to talk mainly about julie and josie because im still figuring out werewolf gang stuff <3

oh my god. so julie. she's always grown up really close to her brother and they're basically inseparable for the first couple years of their life. but after first arc he grows very distant. stops talking to people, stops leaving his room, his entire demeanor changes after andre (supposedly) dies. and she tries to give him space at first. but days turn into weeks turn into months and she isn't sure if she can just sit by and watch him get worse, so she tries to talk to him more. tries to get him out, tries to help him but he just stays distant. as the years go by and they get older it becomes clear that he's just. not the same person he used to be, and she isn't very keen on accepting this. it's still her brother, and she still cares about him, but nothing she does seems to make him be alright. she has her own life to handle, and she figures josh has to have one of his own. he's certainly gone a lot, and she wonders if maybe he's trying to make up for lost time.

then he disappears one night, leaving all his stuff behind, as he always does, and he doesn't come back. the report about the association burning down and salvador torres' death gets out, and josh is seen as the main suspect. and everyone else seems to believe he's dead, and she watches as everyone views her brother as a murderer and she's tired of watching the town turn against him a second time. there's only so much you can do to defend a dead man though, and over time she just learns to deal with it. she's got things to do herself. talking to the grave seems to help, at least. it's a way for her to vent her frustration, and sadly, it feels like the most she's ever been able to talk to him, even though he isn't there.

her reaction to seeing him years later is. a mix between furious that he lied to her and happy that he's alive.

she has more in her character outside of his disappearance, but i'm still working part of that out. i really love her and i plan to have a lot more "screen time" for her in second arc/third arc

-

JOSIE!! she's a mortem witch/werecat that works as a mortician that performs exorcisms/spirit communications on the side. she's one of the many people andre encounters, and offers to help him find out more about his curse/whatever seems to be haunting him.

she's one of the few people that meets the wolf, and due to this tends to be. slightly distrusting around andre once they learn just how dangerous it is. they still try to help him though, and keep in touch over the years.

eventually she meets julie! either they come to amber falls or julie comes to whatever town she's in, and the two get along very well. josie doesn't mention andre and as such julie has no idea that they're tied to him at all

as i mentioned, she works as a mortician and as a result is very interested in decomposition + corpses and the like! they talk about it a lot with julie and the whole time julie's like well i cant NOT date her. them being together leads to a very strange dynamic for them + andre and josh once the four meet up in third arc 😭

-

uhhh what headcanons/canon facts do i have about them let's see

julie's a vegetarian while josie's more of a carnivore due to the werecat thing

my friend charlie came up with this but julie's a vans person

josie likes stardew valley and gets julie to play with her. josie loves the blue chickens

werecat josie is probably based off some kind of leopard....i think she's probably a leopard cat/palawan leopard. big ol eyes

josie's an unlabeled sapphic demigirl and julie's cis pansexual

they're like one of the only healthy relationships in fmr HELP

i cant think of much else but i need to draw them eventually i love them