#i COULD be drawing. or writing. but.. i'm not. ? ?????

[elfieafterdark]

This is one of the great flaws with The Locked Tomb in my eyes. It's greatest strength, it's most appealing draw, the thing that gets everybody obsessed with it...

Is only present in the first book. The rest of the books? Nope. No more. Now you want soup, it's soup time. Enjoy the goddamn soup. What's this? You like the soup? That's great.

No more fucking soup for you. Now we're eating breakfast sandwiches motherfucker.

I love the series, to death and back and then back to death a few more times and then back to life once more. But...

If we don't get more Griddlehark interactions in the fourth book, then I think in some small way Tasmyn will have squandered the potential of her two leads.

I'm extremely hopeful that we'll get some adventure with the two of them, not just having them apart for the entirety of Alecto only to smash them together at the very end. I want to see them dealing with their dumb bullshit, I want to see the banter, I want to see the angst machine that Gideon is.

I want to see them fight together again. I want to see them sort through their shit. I want some fucking callbacks, I want Gideon to say "we do bones motherfucker". I want to see them bumble around the universe and their feelings.

Then they can kiss and makeup. Then die or whatever I don't know how the story is going to end.

Again this is my favorite series. I have never read books that enthralled me more, but the series could have been even better in my opinion with more of what sold us all on it.

Whatever happens in Alecto, it's going to be a wild fucking ride. And I will be writing fanfiction of it for the rest of my life.

recommending The Locked Tomb to people is so funny because like okay bear with me. the first book is like this cool adventure sci-fi fantasy story about these two extremely intense lesbians from Pluto who hate each other, right. reading this first book, if it works properly, will make you 100% obsessed with the intense and deep interpersonal dynamic between these two specific people in this specific location with this specific supporting cast. anyway the moment the first book in the series ends you're never seeing any of that shit again ever

[captain-huggy-bear]

Just thinking about how clingy Jack is after a roadie. That man won’t let you do anything

Yeah, lets be real, Jack is a clingy baby. Olympic levels of clingy when he's finally back home. Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :) Writing Masterlist

Jack's always been clingy. This is only made ten times worse when he's missed you. He's under your feet every time he comes back from a roadie. He's a tactile person by nature, always reaching for you on any given day, but it's made 100 times more severe when he's been gone for a few days or worse a week. In a lot of ways it's sweet and flattering that he cares and misses you so much that he has to be on top of you the moment he’s home, has to be under your feet. In other ways? It's a bit of an inconvenience, and depending on your mood can actually make you a little grumpy.

It starts with him just being in the same room as you, whether it’s watching you cook or watching you fold laundry, Jack’s eyes follow you wherever you go. But, it never stays like that for long, maybe 5 minutes tops. Soon he’ll start physically following you around the room, not quite under your feet, but close enough that he’s in your peripheral vision, your shadow. You can feel him behind you, can sense where he is at all times even when he isn't yapping away at you. This is manageable, he’s not in the way and he’s never stopping you from doing what you need to at this point, but it never lasts long. Usually within 20 minutes of Jack being home he’s on you like the plague, arms latched around you, chest to your back, face nuzzled into your neck.

It’s sweet but impractical, you’re trying to go about your day and he refuses to let go of you, he has to be physically attached to you in some way whether it’s wrapping you in his arms and waddling behind you or putting his chin on your arm or a hand on your leg.

"Jack, I'm trying to make my lunch," You can't help but laugh as you try to cut up some veggies, arm movements somewhat restricted by the band of arms wrapping around your chest. Jack's so close to you he's practically pressing you into the counter.

"You can still make lunch like this..." He grumbles into your neck, pressing kisses to the skin there, the kisses are so light that you can't help but giggle at the ticklish sensation. This only draws an encouraged smirk from him, one that you can feel widening against your skin.

"Jack..."

"Angelllll...."

"Jackkkkkk," Nothing you say or do will get him to let go, he'll waddle around the kitchen with you, waddle to the kitchen table. Even when you sit down, he drags a chair so close to you that your legs are touching from hip down to ankle and he's got his arms wrapped around your waist, chin pressed into your shoulder the entire time you eat. You can't help but feel a mite embarrassed at him watching you so intently with those baby blues while you eat, the only thing making it bearable is the fact he's smiling the whole time like you're doing something amazing. Not just eating lunch.

Even when you try to shower, he's there, unable to detach himself from you because he's been gone so long and don't you love him? Didn't you miss him? He just wants to be around you...and Luke will more than happily confirm that Jack has been unbearable the entire roadie, nonstop talking about how he can't wait to get back home to you when he isn't talking about hockey.

“Jack, baby, I need to shower…” Your hands are pushing at Jack's shoulders in an attempt to get him to unlatch from you, but he's a hockey player. He's strong and if he doesn't want to be move then he's not moving.

“Can’t I just shower with you?”

“As if you could keep your hands to yourself..." You scoff at him trying to peel his arms off you, Jack only squeezes your waist tight. He's pouting up at you like you're being mean for wanting to have a shower without his arms attached to you for five minutes.

"I promise I can, I promise, baby..."

"No."

"Then I'm sitting in here." It's like watching a toddler sit on the floor of a supermarket refusing to get up because they can't have the thing they wanted. The way he points at the closed toilet lid to further illustrate his point, that he's not going anywhere.

"You're going to sit there and watch me shower? Like a creep?"

"Like a boyfriend who's missed his girlfriend who he loves dearly and who's girlfriend won't let him help her shower because she doesn't trust or love him." He's ultimately joking, you can see it in the twinkle in his eyes. You know if you told him that you wanted him to leave, that he was making you uncomfortable, he would. It's what makes the whole thing sweet and endearing because you don't mind him wanting to constantly be under your feet, you actually kind of love it.

"I trust you..." you pause for a second before grinning at him, "I just don't trust you to keep your hands to yourself."

"Baby..." He whines at you, almost throwing a tantrum, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. You know this phase will go soon, after a day back he'll still be clingy but not to this extent, so you find it cute and endearing rather than irritating while it lasts.

"Do you promise to help me wash my hair and not make any untoward advances?"

"Yes! Yes, I promise!"

"Okay, you can help me shower you big baby."

And he does help you wash your hair, but maybe his hands do wander a little...because he's Jack and he's missed you.

[occudo]

Scrounging around on ao3 and I somehow managed to dig up your old wizard x knight bodyguard martin stuff, and I didn't even realise until I saw the damn watermark hahaha.... I really really loveee the designs you chose !!! They're so cute!?!? And martin being Lukas' squire?! and Prentiss being some freaky lady in a big red dress that can turn into an even BIGGER worm lady!?!?! Dude. the art collection was AWESOME and I fucking looooved it !!!!! Now this is an ask so i need to ask something hmmm, have you written a narrative for it before, or is there anything like a plot attached to it? Absolutely stunning work !!!!!

Eeeeeey! Hi Cabinette! So glad you liked it ^^ (It's not that old... ah, I did started it in 2023 but I added to it this year as well :'D ) As for the story: If I could write it would start with Lord Bouchard hiring Martin as Jon's bodyguard to protect him as he is sended to investigate suspicious magical activities. (Jon has a history of getting kidnapped) They go around and find the crature previously know as Lady Prentiss, and meet other witches, lords and ladies. It's not a serious story, it doesn't have a solid end goal like GiSA, I just make it up as I go. I have 2-3 comic strip ideas with some magic and a witch coven summit but I'm not sure when will I have the stenght to actually draw those :'D Now, this is an ask, so I have to give you some art, so here is an obligatory 'Sir Blackwood and Sir Stoker after some training' sketch

[melioristicbeast]

“Sorry,” Stiles said, unsure of why he was apologizing. “I’ve never heard that song before. Did you write it?”  Derek looked uncomfortable, maybe a touch embarrassed, which was answer enough. “It’s good. I like it. It’s calming.”  The small smile he got in response melted his heart a little bit. Fucking hell, he was so gone for this asshole. Stiles didn’t know what he was going to do. He wished he’d never realized how much he loved him. Wished he’d just continued to think they were best friends and nothing more. It was slowly going to kill him being so close, and yet so fucking far. Clearing his throat, he brought the book back up to continue reading, muttering that Derek should keep playing. He did, his fingers plucking gently at the strings, filling the loft with soft music. It really was calming, and soothing. Stiles really liked it. He liked it even more when he realized Derek could honestly express himself with the guitar. It still wasn’t a voice, but it was something, at least. 

Actions Speak Louder than Words (ch18) by @isthatbloodonhisshirt

This fic is what spurred me to start doing sterek fanart back in the beginning of december - magic!stiles, cursed!derek, stiles/jackson terrifying everyone else as friends - an incredible 430K story with a completely endearing slow-burn and slowly unfolding exploration of the characters and their relationship, made complete with the perfect bow of cursed-mute-Derek because 'Derek's eyebrows have a language of their own but only Stiles is fluent' is my favorite and this author does it SO well. And gives Derek a guitar. Derek plays a guitar!!

Ella, consider this my loveletter to your works - they all, this one in particular, buoyed me through a tough time in my life and brought me back to a love of drawing that I haven't had in years and a fandom that has been so generous in their support of my silly art. Thank you for sharing your works!

And a huge thank you to everyone's support so far - the sweet comments in replies, the unhinged all-caps tags, yes-and'ing my silly ideas and headcanons, i'm just over here kicking my feet and giggling and definitely not getting teary-eyed over it no siree no lacrimal action happening here

[melercies]

imagine this...

pairing(s): nam-gyu x pinkguard!reader (specifically triangle) x thanos imagine

warning(s): gender-neutral reader(!!), slightly suggestive at the end. Read at your own risk, intended use of lowercase. my best interpretation of these two characters.

author's note: I PULLED UP BOTH OF THEIR WIKIS TO READ AND TRY GET THEIR CHARACTERS FROM THEIR PERSONALITY. i remembered that i had request this as an anon towards someone's blog (specifically midnite-c6; heavily inspired by their incredible writing), and figured to emphasize it with some ideas of my own. i'm grateful for them for writing it. I did give a subtle background for the reader too. :) Please let me know if I missed anything. Likes, Reblogs and Comments are highly appreciated!

you were simply just like any other ordinary pink guard, managing, upkeeping, and enforcing the rules of this horrendous game under the order of the Front Man. since you were given the opportunity to work as a soldier in the games due to the hopeless situation you were in before becoming a pink solider. desperate times calls for desperate measures you suppose.

all you had to do was follow the rules; never remove your masks to reveal your identity, no questioning of any command given or initiate any friendships to gain any forms of attachment. just eliminate players and make sure none of the contestants broke any of the game's guidelines. simple enough, right?

wrong. there were two particular contestants that had caught your attention. you shouldn't have been intrigued by them, you mentally scolded yourself. But it was hard not to be. they were literally acting as if these death games were the same as a children's playground. it was absurd. but it was amusing...to say the least.

after watching the purple-haired contestant who seems to go by the name, thanos, who was skipping around, killing players and having the time of his life in red light, green light along with nam-gyu following around, and partaking within the tense conflict between player 333, thanos and himself, you've made your choice.

of course, you were cautious and careful about the decisions you've made. you were as subtly as possible, if you were caught, dire consequences were to be delivered your way or, to save the effort and time, kill you.

you've made sure to ensure their safety for now, wanting to keep them alive to draw out the possibilities as to what they could do next to entertain you. even if it meant to kill other contestants unfairly as you kept a sharp eye towards their direction.

you've given them small advantages sneakily here and there, managing to slip by without a singular witness or anyone catching what you were doing. going from preventing conflicts that could get both of them killed to giving them extra food within their meals given in comparison to other players' meals.

of course, it didn't take long til one of them took notice before informing the other. the only question lingering within their minds, why? they knew you were one of the guards who were tasked to eliminate those who lose within the games, so why are you...helping them?

despite the triangular mask you wore to conceal your identity, they plan to find out who you were and confront to you. both keeping a rather particular eye on you. they knew which guard you were, often catching you taking a slight subtle glance towards their direction or they could just sense it, they just fucking knew it was you.

especially when it came to meal times, you would stand there with one hand that held a drink and the other that held the given sustenance (if you could even call it a proper nourishment for the players...) giving each player their limited ration, ignoring their complaints and noises of disbelief until it came to them.

the main dormitory was noisy, filled with the atmosphere of weary players who had just endured another brutal round. the smell of the tasteless food wafted through the air, mixing with the lingering fear and tension that never seemed to fade in this place. the players grumbled and complained about their meager rations, their voices filled with frustration, but you, as always, stood motionless behind the food station, handing out the same bland meal to each one of them.

the mask you wore, that stark triangular symbol, was meant to hide everything; your face, your emotions, your identity. to blend in with the other guards, to remain invisible. but it was becoming harder. they were starting to notice you.

as you handed out the meal to the next few contestants, you couldn't help, but feel their eyes on you. nam-gyu's calculating gaze lingered for a moment longer than necessary, though he remained silent. thanos, however, was blatant. both of them trying to figure you out despite the appearance you kept up was hard enough to get a read from.

when thanos had appeared next in line, you could feel the tension between you, thick and almost palpable. thanos was grinning, his usual cocky self, but this time there was something behind that grin, something more calculated in the way he sized you up. nam-gyu stood behind him, calm as ever, but you could see the flicker of something behind his eyes. an awareness that wasn't there before.

you moved to hand thanos his ration, a carton of milk and bread wrapped in plastic. you handed it to him with your usual blank expression, but before you could pull your hand away, you subtly slide an extra piece of bread, quickly and barely for anyone to notice.

thanos didn't flinch, didn't make any overt sign that he saw it. he simply took the rations with a slow, deliberate motion, his eyes not leaving you for a second. he stared at the food in his hands, looking back at you with a sly, knowing smile before turning around and heading back to his bunk. nam-gyu, on the other hand, stepped forward, an undeniable intensity within his eyes. he knew. they both knew. the question now was what they'd do with this knowledge.

without saying another word, you turned and moved to hand nam-gyu his rations, finding your own heart racing, but maintained the same calm demeanor as you slipped an extra piece of bread. just the same thing you've done for thanos, feeling nam-gyu's gaze on your form, sharper than ever.

his fingers had brushed against yours for moment, and you felt a brief shiver at the subtle touch before he politely thanked you. he took his rations and headed where thanos was sitting. you knew that thanos and nam-gyu would be conversing upon it, no one noticing that they were getting these advantages when the other contestants were too busy conversing upon what could possibly be ahead for them or the food in front of them.

you handed out the last of the rations with a quick, controlled motion, ignoring the lingering eyes of thanos and nam-gyu. "enjoy your meal," you stated, your voice cool, almost disinterested. then, without another word, you turned and moved away, the weight of their scrutiny following you.

it was risky. you knew it was, and yet, you still continued on. both of them were still alive. because of you.

there was at one point, where thanos had tried offering you the small pills inside his cross necklace which you were questioning as to how it managed to get within the game itself with no detection. which you declined, shaking your head while nam-gyu was poking your body, and touching your mask. you didn't know if he was doing this out of curiosity or simply for his own enjoyment, but each touch caused you to flinch and when he was about to pull your mask off, you didn't hesistate to lift your gun and point it directly at him as a warning. obviously, they backed off from that, not wanting to get killed.

questions would tend to spur towards you between both of them, but you never answered a singular question of theirs. and it certainly didn't take long til a confrontation occured during your shift of covering the bathrooms, making sure no one is causing trouble. one of your shifts would be where things would certainly take a turn for you.

the dimly lit corridor of the bathroom hallway felt strangely still, a quiet echo of the chaos that always surrounded the players. you stood with you back pressed against the cold wall, your triangular mask in place, you eyes scanning the hallway within an unblinking focus. the task was simple, stand guard, make sure no players caused trouble, and ensure no one broke the rules. as long as you kept your distance, it was easy to blend in.

but tonight was different. the air felt charged, a tense electricity crackling around you as you stood. you had a feeling something was coming, and when thanos and nam-gyu appeared, you knew the storm was finally here.

thanos strutted toward the bathroom door with his usual carefree swagger, his purple hair messy and wild. but his eyes, those sharp, calculating eyes, flicked toward you for a split second, and you could feel the weight of his gaze. he had already started to sense something.

behind him, nam-gyu walked more slowly, his posture calm, but there was a sharpness in his steps. he had always been more observant, and it didn't take long for his eyes to lock on you as well. you did your best to keep still, not giving anything away, but they were too good. they knew.

"you," thanos's voice broke the silence, teasing but with an edge of something darker. he stopped in front of you, his lips curling into a smirk as he looked you over, then glanced to nam-gyu. "i knew it was you. always watching, always giving us just enough. don't think i didn't notice, guard."

"you've been helping us," nam-gyu said, his voice low, almost cold. "extra food, extra attention...you're not just doing your job. you're playing a different game, hmm?"

thanos's grin widened, sensing the opportunity. he leaned in, close enough that his breath fanned against your triangular mask. the one thing that separated both you and him, and you somehow found yourself gripping the firearm in your hands tighter. "what's your angle, guard? what are you getting out of this? you've been pretty... generous to us, haven't you?" his voice dripped with amusement, but there was something more dangerous in the way he spoke now.

you stood there, frozen for a moment, your heart pounding under the mask. you have been careful. you have bee subtle. but here you were, both of them were standing in front of you, catching onto your quiet acts of defiance. the games weren't just about survival for them; they were about control, about manipulation and right now, they were flipping that dynamic onto you.

before you could respond or move away, thanos's hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with a sudden force that left no room for protest. "you're not going anywhere," he said, his voice low and insistent, a playful glint in his eyes as he pulled you towards a door that lead to the men's bathroom. "we've got some questions for you, guard." nam-gyu didn't need to speak; the message was clear. you weren't going to get away without giving proper answers.

the door to the men's bathroom slammed shut behind you as thanos pushed you inside, dragging you further into the dimly lit room. it was empty; just you, thanos, and nam-gyu.

thanos leaned in, his breath hot against your mask as he whispered, "you thought you could sneak by, didn't you? you thought you could just help us without anyone noticing." he took a step back, his grin growing wider, more dangerous.

nam-gyu moved closer, his movements deliberate, but a quiet power was evident in his eyes that sent a shiver through you. "you've been careful, but not careful enough," he said, his voice mockingly soft yet piercing. "we know what you've been doing. and now you're doing to explain it to us, right?"

you took a slow step back, but thanos was faster, his hand shooting out to block your retreat. his fingers brushed against you as he leaned in once more. "you've been playing both sides, haven't you? helping us, getting close. do you like it? do you like being close to us?"

the tension between the three of you was thick, the silence hanging in the air, broken only by your steady breaths underneath the mask. you had never been this close to them before, and now the weight of their scruntiny was more suffocating than you had anticipated.

thanos stepped forward, his face inches from yours, his smirk never wavering. it almost felt he and nam-gyu could see through your mask. "you're not so good at hiding, are you? i can feel it. you want something more from us, don't you?" his voice was suddenly soft, almost teasing though, as if he were savoring the moment. "maybe you just want to be seen."

nam-gyu didn't speak immediately as you felt nam-gyu suddenly holding onto your mask, almost as if he was about to lift it and reveal your identity towards them. his other hand holding onto your shoulder in a grip, rubbing it slightly. you didn't stop him, remaining completely still. "you're playing a dangerous game, y'know?" nam-gyu murmured close.

the words hung in the air, thick with tension, and just as you thought they might let you go, thanos leaned in, a final whisper of threat in his voice. "i think you like this. being caught. being trapped between us." his hand grazed your arm as he spoke, his grip tightening slightly on your wrist.

nam-gyu's eyes traced over you, intense and unwavering, his gaze heavy with unspoken meaning. a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he took a step closer. his voice was low, almost a whisper. "you'll figure it out soon enough," he murmured. "what it really means to play with us...and what happens when you finally stop pretending you're not interested." his hand then lifted up your mask.

[syndrossi]

wait we can request again? shit then what do i have to do to get a new scene from Reversal?

what about a scene in which Jon wants to attend sword lessons and Daemon, who is confused but agrees because who is he to deny his daughter a valuable skill set that their ancestor Visenya possessed? and because Viserys obviously goes “no” since she’s a girl, we get to see Daemon go “oh fine, she would’ve been taught by Cole anyway” and proceeds to secretly teach her himself. Rhaegar can join too.

that, or a scene where they pick their new names and we get to read Daemon’s POV and his thoughts on their choices. (i think this may be the easier, quicker scene to write)

also who do i have to bribe to make Jon’s name Daenerys— is it Daenerys or is it Aemma— i will fight, i will beg, i will cry, mostly beg because it’s all that i can do atm, i’m all cried out rn but i’ll do it🥺

side note: it’s thursday and i had pizza, it made me think of resonant.

Mercy! I still have 30ish NYE prompts sitting in my inbox, including at least one of yours from that time! 😂

I love your pizza Thursdays that I often live vicariously through. I'm sure you don't do it every week, but next Thursday should be a Resonant Thursday at least!

This time we are keeping it SHORT FOR REAL...ish.

x~x~x

“—nor should we be left defenseless, should someone try to take us again,” his daughter said with an edge to her voice that told Daemon she still was haunted by their captivity.

“The hunting knives our mother gave us are no child’s toy,” Rhaella added softly, gaze flicking to the clench of his jaw at the mention of his wife. “She promised that we would learn to defend ourselves.”

Daemon fully intended to be the one defending, but for all his daughters’ carefully crafted arguments, he did not object to them learning both the sword and bow. Viserys might remind him that they were princesses, not princes in skirts, but Dark Sister had been wielded by Visenya before him. The women of their family had as much right to know the sword.

“First,” Daemon said, “I would see what you are capable of.”

He did not hold high expectations, though he knew his daughters well enough to anticipate both discipline and determination. But they exchanged a joyful glance and disappeared into their bedchamber to change into their riding trousers. Daemon could not help but smile as he led them to the training yard and watched them eagerly don the padded training armor.

His nephews did not train until the afternoon, which meant the yard was blessedly free of Cole’s dour presence. His daughters’ presence did earn more than a few curious looks from the various knights and guardsmen training in the yard, and they grew more curious still as Daemon tested his daughters.

They have been taught before. 

He did not know whether to be upset or grateful. Their movements were clumsy at times, but it was a clumsiness born of disuse and growing limbs, and over the course of the hour, most of the rust had gone, revealing the deadly blades beneath.

They are far better than my brother’s sons. Better than many squires he had seen. Aemma was quick and ruthless, her eyes narrowed in concentration at all times. Rhaella was more graceful, with nigh impeccable form, though she lacked her sister’s instinct for blood.

He would have been proud of their skill, had they been sons, and his pride was no lesser for the fact that they were daughters instead. The knights in the yard lined the fences, shouting encouragement with each bout, and cheering the princesses on as they drilled against one another.

The interest did not abate when the bows were brought out. His daughters seemed more than a little disappointed at having to use Aemond’s bow for its lighter draw, but after adjusting, it became clear that their training in the Vale had included the bow as well. That was less surprising, given Rhea’s love of hunting.

After both had finished with their targets—with Rhaella edging her sister out on accuracy—Aemma called for a moving target. An apple was tossed from their audience, passing in front of the targets, and his eldest pivoted to loose an arrow at it, pinning it to the target to a roar of appreciation.

[silcoitus]

I love all your fics sm, could you possibly write reader comforting silco after his lil breakdown in s1ep6?

ngl i feel like I'm Silco in this one and I need a reader to fix me

Because this is a request, I am posting the full text. In one month, it will be converted to an AO3 link, so read it here now while you still can!

Broken

Masterlist | AO3 link

Rating: Mature

Tags: Silco x gn!reader; angst; hurt/comfort; emotional hurt/comfort; established relationship

Word count: 1.1k

Betas: @medic-simp @juniper-sunny

He told you not to come with him. To stay behind in case Jinx returned. 

You didn't like what you were seeing—the way he was starting to unravel at the ends, his perfectly manicured facade crumbling with each hour his daughter was missing. You had this feeling in your gut that it was all about to go sideways, that something awful was going to happen.

But you couldn't stop him.

So you stayed in his office, sitting in his chair and staring out the large circular window. Watching his figure striding with purpose on the streets below to disappear from your view.

Maybe you were wrong.

Maybe he would find her and bring her back home.

Maybe everything was going to be okay.

But you couldn't shake the feeling.

That this was the beginning of the end.

There's a steady thumping sound as your heel taps along the hardwood, knee bouncing erratically as you wait.

Sure, you have things you could be tending to, but your mind is elsewhere—it’s with Silco.

Will he find her?

What will happen if he does?

You could tell by how he had spoken of her recently that his grasp on her was slipping away, her attention instead on the sister she thought dead for years. Despite raising Jinx as his own, Silco could not fight the bond shared by blood—and it was driving him mad.

You don't move from your perch for a full hour. And even then, you only rise to your feet to pace the empty office, one arm barred across your stomach as the other crosses your chest, your front teeth making short, quick clicking sounds against the tip of your thumbnail. 

A nervous habit.

One Silco hated.

But he's not here to tell you to stop.

So you keep doing it.

Waiting.

Mealtime comes and goes without any change. Your stomach protests, but you ignore it. You've taken to searching Silco's desk, hands frantically rummaging through his things to see if there could be any clue as to where his daughter had disappeared to.

None of her old drawings give you any answers, a tidy pile of them in his bottommost desk drawer. And no amount of rifling through the contents of the safe (the one hidden behind the painting whose sole keepers are Silco and you) lead to any revelations.

You’re moments away from leaving to check Jinx’s workshop when the door to the office opens. Not with a bang, but with a slow, drawn-out creak.

You have one sleeve of your coat on when you look up to see Silco's figure standing in the doorway. His hair is a matted mess against his forehead, his makeup smeared with sweat, revealing the decaying, grey skin around his corrupted eye. There's dust and grime all along his coat, vest, and pants, and blood on his gold-toed boots.

“What happened?” you gasp, ditching your coat to the couchback in favor of running toward him. “Are you okay?”

He ignores you, shuffling past you. When he flops himself onto the red velvet cushions, puffs of dirt dance in the air to settle around him. Staring ahead of him, he seems devoid of light; you could almost swear that the glow of his volcanic orange eye seems dimmer.

“Silco…” you whisper, crouching to get eye-level with him.

He looks through you, the iris of his ruined eye drifting almost lazily, with none of the vigor you've come to know. 

You take both of his hands in yours, resting them on his lap as you study him. There's a tapestry of textures along his skin, dirt and grime and shimmer and blood. You squeeze his hands as your lips press together, waiting.

You never know what Silco you're going to get: the loud, snarling, erratic beast, all roars and teeth; or the silent, fuming, cold statue, impossible to read and even more impossible to crack. You've seen every side of this man, every emotion, every reaction. 

But still, sometimes, you struggle to know how to handle him. How to help him. 

It took you many years and many fights to realize that, most times, he simply wants you to listen.

So you wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Your knees are sore from where they dig into the rug, both your feet fallen asleep long ago. But you stay rooted to the spot, resolutely, dutifully holding his hands as he stares straight ahead. You wonder what thoughts are swirling in that head of his, what calculations he's running, what strategies he's testing and retesting. 

After what feels like forever, he finally speaks.

“She's gone.”

You bite your tongue, allowing him to talk.

“I've lost her.” His voice feels so far away despite being right in front of you. A ghost of a whisper. A light, almost imperceptible breeze. “And I don't know if I can get her back.”

At last, his eyes move. They almost seem to stutter as they cast slowly—so slowly—down to meet your gaze. And when they lock with your eyes, you have to hold back a small whimper from escaping your lips.

Broken.

He looks so broken.

You've never seen him this bad before. In all your years—first under his employ, then as his partner—he’s never been this far gone. You could always count on a small, stubborn spark behind his eyes.

But that little flame is gone.

Replaced with deep obsidian, heavy and impenetrable.

“Oh, Silco…” you whisper, bringing one hand up to cradle his scarred cheek. 

Your touch breaks him further, cracking the dam of his resolve.

His good eye squeezes shut and his hands come up to his head, fingers tangling in his hair as he doubles over. 

He doesn't cry—you’ve never seen him cry. Instead, he tugs at his hair, his hands shaking and his breath quickening. His whole torso seems to almost vibrate with how he shakes under the massive weight of his grief.

You rise to your feet, a soft reassuring hum at your throat as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him toward yourself. The crown of his head presses to your stomach and he feels stiff in your arms, awkward and unresponsive. Rubbing circles into his back, you make soft cooing sounds as you try to calm him down, feeling so helpless.

“It's okay,” you whisper. “I've got you.”

Finally, he releases his hold on the graying tendrils of hair, his head pressing against you earnestly as he wraps both arms around your middle tightly. You return the embrace, your eyes squeezing shut as a tear escapes them. 

How you wish you could take this grief from him, endure it for him. You would suffer this pain tenfold if it meant he didn't have to.

But as you hold him in your arms, you know this is something he must overcome himself.

And when you feel warmth against your stomach—a faint dampness to the fabric of your shirt—you wonder if you'll ever be able to bring back that spark. 

Taglist: @averagecrastinator @mazikomo @writingmysanity @insult-2-injury @constantfragmentation @ariaud @jennrosefx @steponmesilco @leave-me-alone-silco @whatisafandom @violet-19999 @juicboxd @you-never-talk @noposwe @toripandashady @sirenofzaun @22carolina08 @roxnpens @commanderblood @medic-simp @cthezaunite @verdant-onyx @ursawastricked @artwithvivien @edlix @lackofhonor @spoczkot @witchypandamonium @lotus-99 @robin-the-enby @blissfulip @all-that-we-hope-to-be @zaunite-leo @silvia-elaine-hestia @nyx2021 @cccandynecklaces @another-batkid @toogaytofunctiondangit @rinkatai @mollymauksboi @pinklunarprincess | @mutedwordz @fly-like-egyptian-musk @jennithejester @witheringblooddemon @ladymer @redlovett

[skiagraphe0]

I know exactly where it comes from: the idea all adults are evil predators who can only be in fandom spaces because they want to prey on kids. For years, people have been freaking out about adults being in the same Discord as a minor (gasp!) even though the server's topic is Animal Crossing, or been freaked out teenagers are on Reddit where adults are even though the only subreddits they have in common is r/watercolor. "Be afraid!" people scream, eyes wide in fear, "I heard a grown-up might be there and they'll unalive you or grap3 you!"

It used to be - and definitely was when I was growing up - that an adult speaking to a minor was not considered a massive risk. Adults were not seen as suspicious in hobby spaces, because it was understood that adulthood didn't mean giving up everything you'd ever liked. As the moral panic got worse, however, a sinister motive was assigned to pretty much everything. You're an adult, but you read books? Uh, books are sold at stores, and minors go to stores! You're an adult, but you play video games? Uh, minors also play games! You write fic and post it to the internet? Uh, don't you know minors are online? You're so scary!

There's also this idea a lot of Gen Z kids have that adulthood = the death of joy. When I got my master's degree, I was in classes with 18-24 year olds who were absolutely stunned that I still watch anime, play video games, read books, sew, draw, write fanfic, listen to pop music, etc. It was very odd, explaining to them that I just never thought of not doing things I like. I could tell this explanation was both confusing to them and made perfect sense. They had been told you become a husk at 30 and simply work, poop, sleep, and then one day die. They could also piece together that it wasn't logical for me to stop listening to music and drawing because I'd hit an age.

"But you're not weird about it, right?" was a question I got, often said with genuine anxiety. I would furrow my brow, confused, and ask, "I'm not sure what a 'weird' way to listen to music is? Or how to be weird about playing a game? I guess I don't, like, make room for Jesus when I make my Animal Crossing island or anything."

My dad is 84 and reads Star Trek fanfic/keeps up with the new shows.

My neighbor is 54 and loves Disney and is helping sew cosplays for her granddaughter/teaching her granddaughter how to sew.

The manager at my local Joann Fabrics is 60 and she just did her first cosplay.

Animator/artist/illustrator Tyrus Wong was still drawing and working on concept art for an idea to pitch when he died at 105.

The notion that adulthood means being miserable and sobbing in corner somewhere (if male) or tending to children (if female) and nothing else until you die is extremely recent. It's not supported by basically anything other than their own anxiety about anyone older than then being nearby. But the thing they don't seem to grasp is that their fear about someone posting someone or reading something isn't what anyone else is going to base their lives on.

If it scares you that someone has a hobby past the age you think that should be allowed, I'm sorry for you. That genuinely sounds like a lot of anxiety. Your life sounds really hard and really miserable.

But you're not my patient and I'm not a therapist. I can't help you. I can pray you get better, but that's it.

I'm not going anywhere. Neither are most people - if anything, fandom going more mainstream means we're going to see an increasingly higher number of adults getting into it, at the same time as kids into it age into being an adult.

If adults scare you, fandom isn't the hobby for you.

Fandom Problem #7211:

As someone who's almost 30, I legitimately do not understand why people on this site treat you like you're totally geriatric and incapable of having hobbies or interests. It's always "lol this person is THIRTY, they must have no life!!". I find age is weaponized most of all with censorship advocates who go, "imagine being 30 and still shipping characters on TUMBLR 💀".

[colorlessjay]

hello! may be a weird request but do you have any fanfic recommendations?

BUCKLE THE FUCK UP

OH DO I HAVE SOME RECS FOR YA'LL

Mind you, 90% are based on personal preference and fics I think about way too often than I should. A lot of them influenced the way I make characters interact

Some of them might not be your taste and that's cool!

First off, Gotta promote the fics that people wrote inspired by my art (I am truly honored)

Time Cast A Spell On You by bethefirstwhoeverdid

Cabin of Feathers by Featherpie (Izupie)

Return To The Past by faeryn

NOW FOR MY COLLECTION

Just any fic written by everandanon

I swear to you, all of their fics are worth a read. They are frustrating (In a good way for me) but the worldbuilding, comedy, dialogue, and character interactions always have me physically getting up and laughing. At one point during Quarentantion, I had to stop reading to rant to my friends about it because it made me feel so much that I went to 3 different friends about it. With Interest actually made my heart physically hurt at certain points. Expectations had me on a roller coaster ride But if you think their fics are a little overwhelming, I recommend reading Casicorn. It's the first ever fic I read from them and it solidified my love for this author. I swear I am on my hands and KNEES waiting for them to finish their newest fic

Where All My Journeys End - (a Twist and Shout alt universe) by Say_It_In_Enochian

Did reading Twist and Shout devastate you? Did it emotionally hurt your heart and make you wish there was something to make the pain lighter? READ THIS FUCKING FIC NOW I got so fucking lucky when I found it immediately after reading T&S and when I tell you the JOURNEY this fic took me? It healed my soul The struggles, the history, the relationships, the LONG fight to get to their happy ending I am FLOORED this doesn't have 1000 Kudos!

The Ed Sheeran Effect by tricia_16

It made me laugh. That's it. It's sweet and funny and really fun and just feels very campy, like it could've been a decent movie I would rewatch on days I just feel like feeling good Am I a sucker for HighSchool/College AU fics? Yes do I fucking care? No

The Best Years of Our Lives, My Ass by ireallyhatecornnuts (CharleyFoxtrot)

I. fucking. love. this. fic The story alone was so interesting but it was the DIALOGUE that hooked me in. I swear I think about this fic in the middle of drawing and go "Damn, good times" like it's a long lost friend

Slide Away by Castielslostwings

It's the TENSION that got me. I can't explain to you how much I just love their hate-pining for each other Read it, love it, in my digital bookshelf

Sleep Without You by turningthepages

Hilarious. The density is so high it could float. I swear to god I've read this fic at least three times and think about it once a week I remember reading it and cackling so much that I woke up my mom

Should've Just Asked by Annie D (scaramouche)

I wish this fic had a follow-up that was just Dean's perspective because I would LOVE to read more of it. The situation is so absurd and I binged it all in one day (I'm a very slow reader)

Pinfall by crowleyo

I'm gonna say it. I'm so actually angry this fic doesn't get enough attention. It is so so SO well-written and heart-wrenching. Am I still a sucker for highschool sweethearts? YES! I OPENLY ADMIT THIS! But COME ON

Of fuming and partaking and so on by zation

This fic and literally any fic from Zation. I absolutely love the way this author writes. It's so funny and self-aware and the dialogue and scenarios always keep me entertained and laughing They have such a large catalog of fics that I'm pretty sure I have at least 15 saved on my phone

Mr. Blue Sky by anyrei, queerwolf79

This fic specifically and literally ANYTHING from these two. I swear, a lot of their fics are certified bangers. Mr. Blue Sky is probably a personal favorite of mine cause I actually teared up

Love Me More by Saiorse_Irvyne

I'm not the biggest fan of A/B/O stuff, but MAN this has me feeling things. When a fic makes me feel strong emotions, I just gotta recommend it

Lock and Key by tricia_16

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH it's THAT good

Kind Of A Forever Deal by komodobits

It's FUN. It's FUNNY. It's so fucking campy and cute and the progression of their relationship was just AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

It's Always the End of the World Somewhere by Annie D (scaramouche)

I can sit here and recommend Annie D's fics all DAY, but I'm recommending this one specifically because of this: “Get a room, assholes,” someone mutters. “Hey!” Crowley whirls on the offender. “I could set on you on fire!” And that's one of many fantastic quotes

Cinderwings by bendingsignpost

One of the first fics I've ever read from this fandom, and I recommend it to ANYONE regardless of whether they know Destiel or not. The story is so fucking captivating it makes me want to eat my foot it's so GOOD

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

Do I have a type when it comes to fanfics? Yes

But I like gravitating towards funny dialogue and silly shenanigans. I thrive off of fun fics that sometimes take themselves seriously, but still pull me back and make me laugh

If a fic can make me feel such a strong emotion that I PHYSICALLY have to get up? Then fuck yeah it's going in my archives

I would recommend some of the darker fics I have, but this is for fun

[grinnames]

200+ FOLLOWERS SPECIAL EVENT

THE POSSESSION COLLECTION

I've decided to cook up a fun little event that is open for anyone wanting in! Inspired by @4thwallbreakerdraws2, (they're awesome go check them out) and @niramihasters's Billsona trend, I've decided that I want to draw your OCs, but with a twist...

Here's a special lore-drop about Godbox AU:

SMG4 AND SMG3 CAN POSSESS BODIES.

They do so by physically crawling into someone's body, kind of like a ghost!

Here's the plan!

You draw or write your character about to be possessed by SMG4 or SMG3! How do they get possessed? Do they get jumped and forcefully inhabited? Do they fight back? Or do they willingly let them in? Did they make a deal with the demon? Or did they even… lose a bet? Were they tricked? Bribed? Creativity is not required, but it is encouraged! Make sure to mention me (@grinnames or @smg4godboxaucollection) in the post!

This step is optional. You can draw or describe the possessed design yourself! If you're gonna submit a drawing, make sure it at least is flatly colored. Either way...

...I draw one of my boys wearing your OC’s skin like a glove in the order they were submitted! Please note that I will be taking my own creative liberties, and my design may not always line up with yours.

Window for submissions closes March 1!

Here's a rough idea of what possession looks like for the two of them:

Placement of the missing texture skin can vary, SMG3's claws are protruding from the inside of the fingers, and if you are not comfortable drawing gore, don't feel forced!

Something extra to know if you are considering making the design yourself:

SMG4 could care less about clothes. He has little to no fashion sense. As long as he's allowed to stretch, he fine with anything.

SMG3 always cares about how he looks no matter what body he inhabiting.

Do with this information as you wish.

RELEASE OF LIABILITY (joke): By joining in this game, you consent to having your OC's free will be stolen by force and their body used as a demonic tool for "silly silly fun times." Grinnames is not responsible for any injuries, trauma, or possession-induced actions that may be inflicted upon or by your characters. "Accidents" include, but are not limited to: bleeding from the head, puncture damage to the arms, wrists, and fingers, bleeding gums, bleeding back, stretched facial skin, twisted joints, and "the general feeling of being violated."

I'm looking forward to seeing how this goes! Will you kindly let my boys borrow your OC?

Again, thank you all so much for the support!

[aninipanin1]

I love your manager reader fics 💕💖💕

I'm curious about adult manager reader first interaction with the world 5 tho 👀 you only write them a bit in passing but I love to read more about em

MISS RIGHT

Notes: I am so glad you asked for this AHAHAHAH and thank you so much for the support

"You all will be staying here until the matches start, which is scheduled until the end of the second selection. You will be alerted of when this is, so as of now, you all can do whatever it is you wish, even heading out of the facility if ever."

Anri nodded her head at the five players from all over the world, trying her best to make sure her English was atleast understandable. The players did not seem to pay attention to her words all that much, just nodding off at the brief explanation. After all, they were just after the check and well, a few of their own personal agendas. Not anything serious. And well, Anri did not mind at all, leaving them the moment all was said and done.

The facility was rather big, well it was big from the outside but on the inside, it was definitely bigger. Especially since they heard it housed more than 200 teenagers, who all lived here. Well, surely it has to be really big to be comfortable, or it's not and its conditions are inhumane which would definitely get the authorities involved, especially since most of the participants were minors. So that means it was the former.

And with that, each of the 5 foreign players headed somewhere to quell their boredom.

LEONARDO LUNA

The Spanish player found himself resting in one of the lounge areas of the separated stratum for the staffs to work on to avoid any of the players seeing him and finding out the second plan for their second selection.

He scrolled through his phone mindlessly, finding it a tad bit boring since there was really nothing new about the topics that he liked in general. And he would have continued to be bored until he heard a minor 'thud' hit the floor near him. He admitted, it made his heart jump, and his head whipped in the direction immediately.

Thankfully, it was not as bad as he thought it was, seeing the thud was of a huge pile of papers instead of the person themself slipping on the floor. Like the supposed gentleman he was, he walked to yoh and helped with gathering the scattered paperwork.

"Thank you so much! Sorry for the bother!"

You said, continuously bowing her head while scampering to pick up the paper. It was in Japan's native language, so Luna had no way of understanding what the words were. However, understanding the apologetic tone and the many bows that he knows are respect of some sort in the culture of Japan, he had a vague idea at least.

'Must be something like thank you in Japanese...?'

"It's nothing, Miss-"

He cut himself off, though, when he looked down at the contents of the papers in his hands. It was printed with different japanese texts, all he could not understand, but there are drawings and sketches about some sort of strategy for a real 11 vs 11 match, probably for practice sessions.

But, the placements of the positions were definitely... interesting and even unconventional, to say the least. But, it peeked his interest enough for him to ask you about it.

"Hmm, may I ask Miss. Did you make these?"

Realizing that you were talking to THE Leonardo Luna made you nervous. Clearing your throat, you nodded and spoke in English to try and hopefully cross the language barrier.

"Yes, I did, Sir. Um, I'm the manager and a helper of Ego-san when it comes to training the players."

"Hmm."

He hummed, and that only made the nerves worse. You knew he was judging the positions of the practice sheets you made, which were all just theories you made and have yet to test out. But, here it was, being looked at by a world class player.

'Out of all my work, why this one?!' You panicked in your mind.

However, instead of the scrutiny you thought it would face, he looked to be impressed. Eyes moving about the paper and his mind seeming to run about how each scenario may work, and needless to say, he was impressed with how you formed such a creative way of arranging players with differing talents and skills.

He then looked at you. For someone who does not look like much, you exceeded his expectations. He'd give it to you, you have a creative yet logical and sound mind, a mix of opposing characteristics but meshed well in the sport.

"Is there something wrong, Mr. Luna?"

"No. Nothing's wrong. Just continue being creative, Ms. I like the way your brain works."

He said, leaning close to your face with a smirk filled with mischief and a hint of amazement. Huh, looks like this place is not that bad. He thought the people in here either ranged from crazy to idiotic, but, there are still some people here that is worth the attention.

Needless to say, your first impression on him was more than good.

ADAM BLAKE

It was a few days before the end of the second selection was set, and you were as busy as ever. Stopping by a water fountain set up around the facility, you stopped for a moment to refill your water tumbler while balancing your tablet.

It did not take long before you finished the small task, but before you left the place, you felt someone behind you, his closeness apparent from the way you felt his breath touch the nape of your skin and his body slightly against your back as if your sixth sense themselves felt the pinch of the person's presence.

"Well, well...I did not know there was a beautiful manager around here."

You stopped typing on your tablet before turning around to find yourself face to face with the infamous English player. He was almost twice the size of you, having the advantage of playing a sport professionally and all.

And that fact intimidated you, gulping at the flirtatious smirk on his face as he leaned even more to you while you pulled back to try and avoid his face as much as you could.

"Um, pardon, sir-"

"Adam is fine, sweethcheeks. Damn, you're even prettier up close."

'What is even happening...'

The proximity made you even more nervous and confused. Out of all the people, it was you that he had to approach? And besides, does he not feel shame that there are cameras around the facility or the fact that someone may just pass by and walk in on you two like this? Oh, the scandal that might ensue will ruin your whole career!

And you being quite responsible, knew that the only way to avoid that was to avoid the man himself. So you did just that, calm and sweetly letting him down as best as you can without having to anger him or potentially your and his career.

"Um, I'm so sorry, Mr. Blake, but I have to go and do my work." You tried to walk to his side and escape, only for him to slide in front of you again, the smirk on his face growing wider.

"Hey now, there's no need to be scared. I don't bite, unless you want me to."

He used the fact that he was double your size, trapping you to receiving his flirtatious words and gazes. Truthfully, before he saw you, he was starting to get bored due to the lack of entertainment in the facility. So, when he heard there was a female manager walking around the facility that was his age, he wanted to see what you were about.

And well, at first he was disappointed. You looked...plain. Not bad looking, in fact, you were pretty, but very much like a plain Jane. Maybe it was because he was used to seeing the most beautiful of actors and models that he is a bit insentivized with appearances, and that was how he felt.

But, the moment you did catch his attention was when he heard Luna start to talk about you. The Spanish player would always mention you in passing conversations about football and just general topics, he seemed to genuinely love to talk about you and about how you were supposedly smart and unique in your own ways.

At first, he was annoyed at this. He just could not shut up about you, can't he? But, he wanted to look at this from another perspective. So, here he was now, trying his best to find out what was so interesting about you in the best way he knew possible. He was bored too, so why not?

"Um please, I really have to go."

"Ah-ah, not yet, sweetheart. Why not stay here for a bit? I can-"

But to his surprise, you were not taking 'no's seriously, only your job was serious in your mind and at that current moment, you really needed to continue it. So, you crouched and ran out of his hold before scurrying away like a skittish animal.

"I'm so sorry, sir! But I really needed to go. Bye."

You kept the politeness before vanishing through the many halls of the facility, leaving him starstrucked. In all his life, there had been many instances of him being rejected. Sure, most of the time the girls were more than willing to flirt with him, but that does not mean there have been a few share who immediately turned him down.

So why was this different?

It was probably the way your eyes looked. Instead of the usual flushed expression followed by an annoyed tone, instead he was met with only a distracted haze in your eyes. Like, your mind did not even set in the fact that he was flirting with you, that you were too focused in whatever you were about to do.

Like you were close to clueless about his intentions. Or maybe, you just did not care at all, finding your job much more fulfilling and important to pay attention to.

And this ignited something in him. He always did love a bit of a challenge in everything, especially women. He'll take on the challenge of making you start to pay attention to him, to the point that you will be distracted by him.

'Hm, let's see how much you interest me even more as time passes, Miss Y/n.'

PABLO CAVAZOS

"You mean, I don't look good in green?"

The Argentinian frowned at the advice, not in a malicious way that he disregarded your opinion, but in a disappointed way that one of his main favourite colors to wear clashed with his bright hair.

"That doesn't mean you can't wear it anymore though. I think a muted green would look really good, just not neon green."

You added with a smile. Out of all the players in World 5, you became the closest with Cavazos a lot (with a few exceptions), and this was due to how in some strange way, you two had a lot in common. From your likes in food and entertainment to the love of cute things and even some of your habits.

And that all started with this certain conversation when the player walked out of his room wearing a neon green sweater, and you being you, started to talk about possible combinations of color that may fit him as well as color theory for some reason.

"But, I think monochrome fits you the best. So your eyes and hair can pop even more!"

Now, Pablo was a man who knew exactly what he wanted, and he did not care for what other people usually told him. Due to his eccentric looks, he was always the point of attention, someone people would pay attention to immediately in a large room whether it was for good or not.

He has been told most of his life how to present himself. What are the best ways to suit his features with something. To wear something that would get the attention off of his hair and eyes and instead have it mix in with the rest of his outfit, or to even cut his hair so he won't be as distracting. But, one moment, it's as if he had some sort of epiphany.

He realized that those people, were not looking out for him as he thought they initially. Instead, they wanted him to stop shining because of who he really is. They wanted to take his star quality and shine away, the things that made him unique out of everyone in the world.

So he stopped listening to what everyone said, and instead, he tried to try and stand out more, to take more space in the eyes of the people, strangers or not. To reject any type of rejection towards his true self.

Atleast, that's what he should do with you. To tell you to stop giving him opinions that just take away to who he truly is. But, instead he listens intently, nodding and even sparing a smile at some lighthearted jokes you'd mix in.

Why? He doesn't know why, either. Maybe it was the tone of your voice. One filled with happiness and genuineness, not that of condescension. You just gave genuine advice, not force them unto him, the shine in your eyes telling him there was no malice or want to suppress him, but instead a longing to find him succeed in even something so small like clothing choices.

So, he listens to you ramble about color theory and takes into mind what you were telling him, even at the expense of changing his fashion choices.

And you continued your mindless chatter, until you realized that you did not have any position to tell a man of his fame and standing what to do, when everything he currently did seemed to work.

On reflex, you tried covering your mouth, gasping a bit at the realization.

"I'm so sorry for babbling too much! I-"

But, he only cut you off. Taking your wrist in his hand, his face remaining emotionless and cool as he just shook his head.

"No, no. I like all your advice. Please continue."

DADA SILVA

"How am I even going to carry all of these?"

You mumbled as you looked at the large boxes that were in the storage room, all stacked upon each other. You can already feel the strain on your back and bones at the prospect of carrying the heavy boxes and transferring them to another room.

The current storage room was deemed a bit big to just be a storage room, so to make use of the space, everything in it will be transferred in a different and smaller room. Unfortunately for you, you were the only one currently available to make the move.

Not complaining anymore, you used your brain to make the move a bit easier. Using carts and other contraptions to move the heavy boxes. But of course, even with this, moving dozens of heavy boxes was not an easy feat for one woman.

"Ugh, just a few more...and then maybe, I can get some rest."

But to your surprise, the box in your hand that was a point of struggle for you was taken out of your hands gently. Blinking at the sudden predicament, you looked up to find a familiar figure standing tall, his arms carrying the boxes with ease as if they did not have any significant weight to them.

"Pardon for the sudden intrusion, but I can't just let a lady continue struggling."

"Oh, Sir Silva, you didn't have to-"

"It's nothing. It's only a few boxes."

He shrugged and continued the walk, you led the way, hand still pushing the rest of the boxes on the cart now that your hands were free. If you were not gonna lie, you definitely felt somewhat nervous.

Why would you not be? You let someone like THE Dada Silva help you out in something so miniscule. Sure, he offered, but he was legit being paid millions by the facility and the JFU, and you were letting him do peasant work? Oh, how the heads will kill you if they find out the stunt you pulled.

Nevertheless, you gave a bright smile filled with gratitude.

"Thank you so much for the help, Mr. Silva...I am REALLY sorry for inconveniencing you."

The man could not help the soft smile that pulled on his face. The look in your eyes, even the fidgety look in your figure, definitely showed how genuine you were about the gratitude and apology. Not that he wanted one. It was just common sense for a man to help a lady that he could see was in need.

But, it did feel a little lighter and more fun when you gave him the sweetest thank you and smile he was ever given by anyone.

You had been the talk between the rest of his fellow players. From Luna's neverending praise for your intelligence and creativity, to Cavazos' rain of appreciation and mentions of your open and kind personality, and even Blake's nonstop plans of wanting to impress you himself, and supposedly redeem himself in your eyes, whatever that meant.

So, naturally, he got curious, too. All the words they threw about you were all a jumbled mess, different perspectives of different people towards one individual. And so, due to this, he cannot really make out who you really were or what type of person you were.

So, he went to investigate himself, not wanting to rely on hearsay. He approached you, finding it a good moment to see you struggling with the boxes. It can be less awkward when he has another reason to talk with you other than his own curiousity!

And, he can safely say he can definitely see what each of them talked about. Your words carried hidden intelligence to them, your words being softly spoken yet had a sharpness to them that only someone with a deep understanding of the topic can ever hold.

He can also see that you were sweet to the core. Just your aura alone exuded that same kindness your voice did, making him ease to you. When was the last time he had a very innocent interaction with someone, especially a woman, like this again?

Now, it was not that he villainized everybody around him. No, he knew some people who were genuinely good. But most of them were only good to him due to some sort of agenda that hid deep in their hearts. Whether it is a professional relation filled with nothing but serious countenance and formal conversations, or a more give and take relationship, one that was a bit more intimate, but not something genuine. Instead, it was all about what to receive off of pretending to be in a more personal relationship, either supposed friendship or romantic relations.

But with this, it feels so much more freeing. So much more chill and flowy, like the careless waves of the ocean. One that was there just because of mutual respect towards each other as human beings who have complex emotions and feelings.

"Thank you for the small conversation, Mr. Silva! It definitely cured my boredom in moving these boxes."

"Like I said, it's nothing, Ms. Y/n. I had fun too."

For now, there was nothing much to it. Just two people having fun talking to the other, finding the difference and similarities between the other entertaining enough for the genuine laughter.

But, who's to say this moment filled with a barrage of kaleidoscope colors is a one-off thing that can never repeat in this supposed monotonous facility?

ADDITIONAL TIME!

Y/n: *Accidentally rizzing the four World 5 members.*

Meanwhile, Y/n with Loki: You're really cute. I can adopt you too like the other 300 under boys I already adopted-

Loki: ...pardon?

I hate school so much, but your girl has to keep her honour student shebang cause why not?

Blue Lock is WRITTEN by Kaneshiro Muneyuki and ILLUSTRATED by Nomura Yusuke. All credits to the both of them.

[kdpartworks]

Cloud Ganymede has a story? I mean he is the real ganymede transformed into a cloud or Zeus created him after Ganymede became a star o something like that (I don't Remember precisely now)

He has a story! A story I have actually written on A03 and I was thinking on maybe... MAYBE. Draw it. Just because I love writing, but i could do better. And I really want to try it. :D If you want to give the story a try, it's this: "I just want to be a regular cupbearer!" But two disclaimer first: 1- It's the sequel of another story, a bit sillier but still. And the story I'm speaking about is THIS, instead: "Just Gods Having fun" where Ganymede firstly appears. It's not fully necessary, but at least you'd understand better the picture. 2- It's ofc a very big retelling of the Myth. Don't take it too seriously, it's just MY Ganymede being portrayed there.

Let me know if you give it a read! I'm sorry but I'd rather not to ruin you the experience of discover it by yourself. ;)

[hemlock-dreams]

I just wanted to say like I really love your AU and I’m so impressed with your art and writing! Seriously you’re art looks like it could be the official comics and the way you wrote your au immediately sucked me in :)

Thank you so much! I really appreciate all the love and attention this AU has garnered. Honestly, without the fandom, I wouldn't be here having so much fun!

And I'm happy that people here are enjoying these blorbos as much as I am enjoying drawing them!!! <3

[bananaactivity]

Personally, as someone who loves character design ( Like regular human character design is my forte but I can bust a monster or furry design out if I lock in) all the same hair is annoying when I'm trying to distinguish them like… you can distinguish Adam, Chase, Oliver, and Kaz in live-action cause they all have different heights, and ages and wear semi-different clothes. But when you draw them you realize… they all have the same flipping hairstyle at their most interesting points. And sometimes they wear the same kinda clothes and next thing you know it all feels so repetitive to draw.

Like wtf

Are we being dead ass rn wtf is this. ( ADAM THAT WIDOWS PEAK IS NOT SAVING YOUUU)

That coupled with the fact that they all wear extremely similar clothes and it's like in an unrealistic cartoon design class ts would be fucked. All of them have worn plaid shirts so it's not a Chase or Oli thing, all of them have worn Raglan tees so it's not a Kaz or Adam thing. Like their personalities are doing all the work and those are similar too. Funny stupid man and Smart bitchless man.

There are minute differences that a locked in fan could point out, but on a surface level, they're much too close. This is especially true for art and fanfics which already kinda fuck up the character's actual personalities for headcanons or misinterpretations or whatever but it's a stupid silly decade-old show, who gives a shit what the fans create. They literally destroyed three good shows over one measly boost in views. Now look at them the whole channel is basically gone nowadays.

I haven't done the same amount of work as I have for Kickin' It, but I'm working on it. The hair has already been fixed. I think.

Oli gets curls and a mullet, Kaz keeps his hair but make it more pointy, Adam gets a more swoopy slick thing and Chase gets a more exaggerated and messy pointy thing.

I don’t really have the same issues with Kai and Jack or Rudy and Ty from Kickin it cause my AU has them being mirrors of each other. Like Ty and Rudy are mirrors for each other and then as a whole they’re mirrors for the younger duo. it’s kinda the same thing as Adam/Chase and Douglas/ Donald, that whole breaking the cycle thing.

It works in my AU cause I can’t stand to write sad shit. I’m more of a goofy goober. Anyway enough yapping from me that was just my two cents

idk if this is an unpopular opinion but i miss their silly 2010’s swoopy hair :(

[sirenedeslily]

── 𝓢weetest 𝓣orture ( jackie taylor ) ּ 𓂅 ⋆

・❥・─── 𝓢𝗬𝗡. a sugar-coated ache, golden and cruel, where longing is worship and desire feels like ruin.

( pairing ) — jackie taylor x female!reader 𝜗𝒞 ; angst & fluff ℳ. this is based off of the song lacy by liv !! 𓂃 ( 2.8k )

there's something about jackie taylor that makes the air feel thick with divinity. not a girl, not yet a woman, but something celestial—a creature so exquisite that the gods themselves must weep with envy. her skin glows like sunlight spilling over pale morning clouds, soft and warm, with a delicate fragility that reminds me of pastry crumbling beneath careful hands. she moves through spaces like she's dancing through starlight, and i'm left breathless in her wake, collecting the stardust that falls from her shoulders.

and i, a mere mortal, am cursed to know her. to see her and want her and burn under the weight of my own longing until every breath feels like inhaling fire. some days, i think i might combust from the sheer intensity of it all.

we're not supposed to feel this way about other people, are we? this kind of worship, this feverish ache that wraps itself around my ribs and refuses to let go. i am caught, tangled in her web, and every attempt to free myself only draws me closer to her light. it's a magnetic pull that defies physics, defies reason, defies every attempt i make to break free.

i remember the first day i saw her on campus. august heat made the air shimmer, and there she was, golden hair catching the sunlight like a crown. my heart stopped, then started again with a different rhythm—a rhythm that spelled out her name with every beat. jackie. jackie. jackie.

she was helping her parents unload boxes from their car, laughing at something her father said. the sound carried across the parking lot like wind chimes in a summer breeze, and i nearly dropped my own box of belongings. of all the colleges in all the world, she had to choose this one. my fresh start was over before it began.

she doesn't know. how could she? jackie moves through the world like it was made for her—head held high, eyes bright as morning dew, wearing a smile that could cut down armies and heal wounds in the same breath. she is a starlet reborn, a modern brigitte bardot, all charm and grace and effortless beauty. the kind of person who doesn't have to try to be remarkable. and she doesn't.

that's the cruelest part of all.

college was supposed to be my fresh start. after years of being tethered to my past—my mistakes, my insecurities, my endless jealousy—it was supposed to be my chance to let go, to become someone new. someone who didn't spend their nights writing poetry about unrequited love, someone who didn't feel like their skin was too tight for their body, someone who could breathe without feeling like they were drowning in want.

but then jackie chose the same school, and my carefully constructed plans unraveled like a sweater caught on a nail, leaving me exposed and raw.

she is everywhere.

in the dorm hallways, her laughter echoing off the walls like a siren's call. i've memorized the sound of her footsteps, the way they fall light and quick against the linoleum. sometimes i wait in my room, ear pressed against the door, just to hear her pass by. it's pathetic, i know, but i can't help myself. i'm addicted to even the smallest pieces of her.

in the library, she's a vision of concentrated beauty. head bent over textbooks, bottom lip caught between her teeth, the curve of her neck so perfect it makes my stomach churn with want. she twirls a strand of hair around her finger when she's deep in thought, and i've filled entire pages of my notebook just describing that simple gesture. the way the gold catches the fluorescent lights, the graceful movement of her fingers, the slight furrow in her brow as she reads.

at parties, she's ethereal. spinning under string lights in the cramped living rooms of off-campus houses, her golden hair catching the glow like it was spun from sunbeams. she dances like nobody's watching, but everyone is. how could they not? she's magnetic, drawing every eye in the room without even trying. i watch her from corners, from doorways, from behind red solo cups that i pretend to sip from. i watch her, and i burn.

and in my literature class. of all the small mercies the universe could have granted me, it denied me this one. jackie taylor sits a row ahead of me, her notebook open to pages of perfect handwriting, her pen tapping softly against her desk in a rhythm that matches my heartbeat. sometimes she wears her hair up, exposing the delicate nape of her neck, and i have to dig my nails into my palms to keep from reaching out to touch it.

she has no idea how much i hate her for it.

but hate is the wrong word.

hate implies anger, bitterness, something sharp and biting. this is different. this is the kind of loathing that curls inward, burrows into your chest, and eats you alive from the inside out. it's jealousy, yes, but more than that. it's admiration so intense it feels like a wound that refuses to heal, a constant ache that throbs with every glimpse of her.

i've started cataloging her outfits in my mind, creating a digital archive of every sweater, every skirt, every perfectly coordinated accessory. today it's a cream-colored cardigan that makes her look like she stepped out of a vintage photograph. the soft wool catches the light when she moves, creating halos around her shoulders. her hair is loose today, falling in gentle waves that make my fingers itch to run through them.

jackie is too kind, too sweet, too thoughtful in ways that make me feel like i'm unraveling thread by thread. she compliments me sometimes—offhandedly, casually, like she's not dropping bombs that explode in slow motion beneath my skin.

last week, she stopped me after class. "that point you made about symbolism in plath's work was brilliant," she said, and i nearly choked on my own tongue. she remembered something i said. she thought about it. she thought about me.

"your hair looks nice today," she'll say as we pass in the hallway, her voice carrying the warmth of summer afternoons.

and i'll nod, choking out a quick "thanks," while my pulse thrums in my throat and my stomach twists itself into elaborate nautical knots. her words shouldn't matter. they shouldn't burrow under my skin like splinters, shouldn't stay with me for hours, days, weeks. but they do. and it makes me hate her. it makes me hate myself even more.

at night, i lie awake and replay every interaction, every glimpse, every moment she's existed in my proximity. i imagine different scenarios, different endings. in some, i'm brave enough to tell her how i feel. in others, she confesses first. In most, i just watch her from afar, burning and burning and burning.

i write about her constantly. my notebooks are filled with half-finished poems and prose pieces that try to capture the essence of her. how do you describe someone who seems made of light? how do you put into words the way your chest aches when they smile? how do you explain that you're drowning in the ocean of your own wanting?

"write about longing," our professor says, her voice cutting through the comfortable silence of the classroom like a knife through butter.

the class groans collectively, a few students laughing nervously at the vulnerability the assignment demands. i barely hear them. my heart is already pounding against my ribcage like it's trying to escape, my palms slick with sweat. finally, an excuse to put this ache on a paper other than mine.

"desire," she continues, her eyes scanning the room. "the kind of want that keeps you up at night. the ache you can't ignore, even when you wish you could."

i glance at jackie before i can stop myself, a moth drawn to its inevitable destruction. she's sitting straight, her face calm, unbothered. of course she is. jackie taylor has never wanted for anything in her life. she's never had to learn to live with the kind of hunger that gnaws at your insides, that makes you forget what it feels like to be full.

but me? my longing has become a second skin, an ever-present ghost that wraps itself around my throat and pulls tight until breathing becomes an act of defiance.

the poem consumes me like wildfire.

i write it over three sleepless nights, the words pouring out of me like blood from a wound. my roommate finds me at 3 am, hunched over my desk, tears streaming down my face as i write. she asks if i’m okay. i lie and say it's just stress about midterms.

how do you explain that you're writing about the way someone's existence has become both your salvation and your destruction? how do you tell someone that you're crafting a confession that will either set you free or burn you alive?

i don't name her in the poem. i don't need to. instead, i write about angels. about cathedrals and sunlight and the soft cruelty of someone who doesn't know the damage they're causing. i write about jealousy, about the way it festers and rots and turns love into something ugly yet still beautiful in its devastation. i write about longing so deep it feels like drowning, and about the sweetness of surrendering to it anyway.

when i'm done, i sit back, my chest heaving, my eyes burning with unshed tears that refuse to fall. it's her. it's always been her. every word, every metaphor, every carefully crafted line is a love letter i never intended to send.

the day of the reading arrives, and i feel like i'm walking to my own execution, each step bringing me closer to a beautiful destruction of my own making.

our professor insists that poetry must be spoken aloud to be truly felt. i disagree. some feelings are too raw, too personal to be shared. some words are meant to stay hidden, buried in journals and password-protected files. but here i am, about to lay my soul bare in front of twenty pairs of eyes, including hers.

jackie sits in her usual seat, a row ahead of me. today, her golden hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail that catches the fluorescent lights like a halo. she's wearing that cream cardigan again, the one that makes her look like she belongs in a classical painting. she looks calm, relaxed, her notebook open in front of her like this is just another day, just another class.

my hands tremble as the professor calls my name.

i stand, clutching my notebook so tightly the pages crinkling under my fingers, and walk to the front of the room. my heart is racing, my stomach in knots, and i can't seem to catch my breath. but then i see her, and something shifts inside me. if this is my confession, my moment of truth, then let it be beautiful. let it be worthy of her.

the words pour out of me like a prayer,

the room is silent when i finish, the kind of silence that feels like holding your breath underwater. i keep my eyes fixed on the page, too afraid to look up, too afraid to see the faces of my classmates—or worse, jackie's. my hands are shaking so badly i can barely read the words anymore.

there's a polite smattering of applause, soft and distant, like i'm hearing it from underwater. i force myself to walk back to my seat, each step feeling like i'm moving through molasses. i sit down, my chest tight, my head spinning with the weight of what i've just done.

and then i feel it.

jackie's eyes on me, heavy as a physical touch.

i glance up, and she's turned completely around in her seat, staring at me with an intensity that makes my breath catch. her lips are parted slightly, and there's something in her expression i've never seen before. recognition? understanding? horror? i can't tell, and before i can analyze it further, the professor calls the next name, and the moment shatters like glass.

the rest of class passes in a blur. i don't hear a single word anyone else reads. all i can focus on is the weight of jackie's presence in front of me, the way she keeps shifting in her seat, the way her hand trembles slightly as she writes in her notebook.

when class ends, i shove my things into my bag as quickly as possible, ready to flee, to hide, to pretend this never happened. but as i step into the hallway, i hear her voice.

"wait."

i freeze, my pulse racing, my breath catching in my throat like a butterfly in a net. slowly, i turn around.

jackie stands there, bathed in the harsh fluorescent lights of the hallway, yet somehow still looking ethereal. her cheeks are flushed pink, and she's clutching her notebook to her chest like a shield.

"that was..." she trails off, searching for the right words, her eyes never leaving mine. "beautiful."

i don't know what to say. my throat is dry, my hands trembling with the weight of everything unsaid. years of longing and watching and wanting press against my ribcage, threatening to spill out.

jackie takes a step closer, then another, until she's close enough that i can smell her perfume—something light and floral that makes my head spin. her gaze is locked on mine with an intensity that makes my knees weak.

"was it..." she pauses, licks her lips nervously. "was it about someone you know?"

my heart stutters, trips, falls. for a moment, i think about lying, about brushing it off, about running until my lungs burn and my legs give out. but then i meet her eyes—those eyes that have haunted my dreams and nightmares alike—and something in me breaks wide open.

"yes," i whisper, the word falling from my lips like a prayer.

her breath hitches, a small sound that echoes in the space between us like thunder. and then, before i can think, before i can stop her, before i can do anything but exist in this moment, she steps forward and kisses me.

it’s soft at first, tentative, a question more than an answer. but then i make a small, desperate sound in the back of my throat, and something in her shifts. her hands come up to cup my face, gentle but sure, and she kisses me like she's been thinking about it as long as i have. like she's been burning too.

she tastes like cherry chapstick and possibility, and i feel myself melting into her touch like snow in spring. my hands find her waist, pulling her closer, needing to feel the solid reality of her against me. this can't be real. this has to be real.

when we finally break apart, we're both breathing heavily. jackie rests her forehead against mine, her thumbs stroking softly over my cheekbones. when i open my eyes, she's already looking at me, and what i see in her gaze makes my heart stutter.

there's wonder there, and vulnerability, and something that looks remarkably like the longing I've been carrying around all this time. she's looking at me like i'm something precious, something worth wanting, something worth burning for.

"i didn't know," she whispers, her voice trembling slightly. "i didn't know you felt it too."

and in that moment, i realize that maybe we've both been haunted all along. maybe we've both been burning, both been yearning, both been writing poems in the dark about the agony of wanting something we thought we couldn't have.

i reach up and touch her face, tracing my fingers along her jaw like i've imagined doing a thousand times. she leans into the touch, her eyes fluttering closed, and my heart feels too big for my chest.

"jackie," i breathe, and her name tastes like salvation on my tongue.

she smiles then, bright and beautiful and real, and kisses me again. and again. and again. until the fluorescent lights dim and the hallway empties and the world narrows down to just this: her lips on mine, her hands in my hair, her heart beating against my chest.

the sweetest torture has become the sweetest relief, and i surrender to it completely.

❝ 𝟐𝟐𝟐 ❞ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻, @carvedtits @et6rnalsun @wovenribbons @waitforyrlove @elizabebabe @ncm9696 @marrykisskilled @maggot3647 @ifwdominicfike @sweetestpoetic @ch6rm

[timekiller024]

Day 24

ALRIGHT, I finished drawing this Siffrin. Sorry for missing yesterday's upload, I got busy with other stuff and then it got really late and I got a little eepy. ;-;

Anyway, for this drawing I didn't do any dithering because I did some research on it, and it seems like dithering is just a way to create middle dark colors without expanding your color count, which isn't really useful to me since I'm only using about 5 colors max.

Regardless, I still kinda liked the way dithering looked on my other drawing, so I might do it again in the future. For this drawing, since it's supposed to be a bit more somber, I thought having more solids shading would look better, but please let me know what you guys prefer.

You know what, as I'm writing this I'm thinking of a way I could improve this drawing even more, so I might work on it a little bit more later and show the updated version along with whatever progress I make with the next colorful Siffrin.

But as for this drawing, I like how it's looking so far. I think the colors I chose are kinda nice, and the changes I made to the original reference don't look too out of place, I think. Obviously I made everything into shades of blue, and I added rain to the scene, and I made Siffrin look more pensive than he did in the original image, but there are still a few smaller changes I did that might not be as noticeable, but I think they improve the drawing, somewhat anyway.

That's enough yapping outta me for now. I'll see ya'll later with today's actually drawing once I get it done. Bye.

EDIT: Also, as an aside, it seems like whenever I post these drawing, I get default pfp bots with nothing on their blogs asking for commissions. I'm honestly a little curious what the point of these bots are, but so far I've just been pretending to be an A.I. language model and messing with them, before reporting them when I get bored. This has nothing to do with anything, I just wanted to share.