#i’m trying a thing

[mr-hoodie]

Alright…lets do this one last time.

I’m Mr. Hoodie,

I’ve been drawing art for the last year or so and a lot of it is OC and random things I take interest in, from recent

And older works, I’ll have to grab another time. I’m still gonna be drawing, and making attempts to keep up on here and a few other sites, but I’m really looking forward to it.

[prompt-prose]

“You killed my mother!” I slam my sword into his. “My father!” I slash for his side, but his blade blocks mine. “My brother! My lover! My friend!” With each person I list, I attack. Stab for his shoulder, slash at his arm, angle my blade to run him through. Each time, our weapons clash as he meets my attacks. As their faces fill my mind, each person I have lost, I continue to attack. He continues to defend. I do not land a single blow, and my energy wanes. He can tell, and he is amused. The next time our swords meet, I hold the position, our swords crossed between us as I push against him and try to gain an upper hand, and he smiles at me. If looks could kill, the glare on my face would win me this fight. I spit in his face “How many? How many others have you slain? Stolen from those who loved them? How many people have died to achieve this world domination of yours?”

“769.”

I am shocked, and my sword slips. Before I can right my footing, I feel my shoulder slide against his sword, feel the edge cut into my skin. I step back, before too much damage can be done.

“What?”

“769 people have died for me to achieve my plans. I counted them, and had each of their names etched on my throne so I never forget what my victory cost the world.” He gestures behind him, to the throne standing on the dias before the stained glass. Now that the sun has risen, and the light is cast onto the stones, I can see the textures carved into the stone. The elegant designs looping all around and over the surface. And looking closer, I see there do seem to be words woven through the designs. Could he be telling the truth? Could the words be the names of his victims? Memorialized and honored for the blood they gave for his kingdom, for some the only memorial they would receive. My focus is interrupted as he steps in front of me, knocking my sword from my hands as he grasps the collar of my leather armor and pulls me closer, til I am mere inches from his face. “Now tell me, how many have you killed to see me dead?”

The questions shocks me, yet again, as does the fire that lights his cold eyes. He uses his grip on my collar to throw me to the ground, closer to the throne. My knee hits the stone edge of the dias, but I do not pay the pain any heed. I can see the words clearer now. They are indeed names.

“Your mother.” He points to one line of text looping through the patterned vines. He is right. There, her name. “Your father.” He points again. “Your brother. Your lover. Your friend.” Each time, he moves his finger and finds their name. Each time, something in my chest caves in a little more.

“How did you know their names?” The words are barely a whisper out of my mouth. I don’t believe he heard me. His foot finds my side and pushes me onto my back, so I am now looking up at him, as he stands over me.

“How many. Have you killed. To see me dead.” His sword point comes to a rest at the hollow of my throat. “Do you know? Can you even guess?” New faces fill my mind. The guards and henchmen I cut down. Tortured for information. Poisoned. Tricked into an alley and stabbed in the back. All in the name of bringing this man before me down. “MY friends.” His sword point leaves me throat, slashing into my left arm, before it returns to the hollow. “My employees.” This time, he slashes into my right arm, and the sword finds its home against my throat again. “…My love.” His voice breaks, and I wonder who it was. Which of my kills was his lover. If I even remembered their face, or if they hadn’t even warranted that much memory from me.

“Say something.” He presses the point into my skin, and I feel the smallest trickle of blood begin. “Moments ago, you were so vocal about my crimes. Yet, when faced with your own, you refuse to answer for them.” He looks away, but I dare not move. Not with the steadiness of his hand, holding his sword so surely. He looks at his throne. “I have built a monument to my sins. Etched their names into stone as surely as they are etched on my soul.” He looks down, and I find his eyes full of disdain, and am shocked to feel myself ashamed. “You can’t even remember yours. You never knew their names. Never tried to. Content to kill in the name of what you believed was right, and trust that there was nothing to atone for, to answer for. You trusted that the blood on your hands would be washed clean without you ever paying it any mind.”

“Tell me their names.” He stared down at me, unblinking. I tried again. “Tell me who they were. Grant me the burden of the knowledge. Let me carry their names with me. Let me know. Let me learn from you, how to carry the burden of blood spilled for a cause. Let me be better.”

I meet his eyes. Cold, but burning. I feel a matching fire light in my chest, and I make a silent swear that for each name he tells me, I will find a way to atone. I swear that while learning the names, I will learn this man. I realize I never knew why he wanted dominion. If the names on his throne are any indication, maybe there are better reasons than I was lead to believe. I swear that I will not fight blindly in the name of a kingdom anymore, but instead that I will fight for the betterment of the world, whatever side that puts me on. I silently swear all this, and more, in the moments we stare at each other. Once I have finished swearing, I simply pray he sees the resolve burning in my eyes, that answering flame to the burning in his own. Finally, he answers.

“No.”

I don’t have time to feel the shock of his answer before I feel his sword slice through my throat. I lay on the steps of his dias, choking on my blood, dying. He steps over me, and pulls a chisel from the ground near his throne. The last thing I see is him. Carving my name into the stone, entwined with all the others. 770 names, now.

“How many people have died to achieve this world domination of yours?” “769.” “…What?” “769 people died to achieve my plans. I counted them, and had each of their names etched on my throne so I never forget what my victory cost the world. Now tell me, how many have you killed to see me dead?”

[pangur-and-grim]

every time I say “starting nooooow I won’t have any major expenses” something HAPPENS! there’s raw sewage backing up from my drains, and apparently the plumbers will need to break the floor and the wall to get to the pipes and fix it.

if the cat stuff hadn’t wiped out my bank account, this would be annoying but manageable. as it is…..I’m going to try to get everything up in the store for Friday.

[stuckinapril]

Honestly the cliche advice is true. If you fill your life w things you’re passionate about, if you challenge yourself every day, if you give your own opinion of yourself more weight than you do other people’s opinions of you, you will actually thrive. Like no one can tell u anything

[prompt-prose]

I turn down the aisle and find the spot I’m looking for on the shelves. I start unloading the stack of books in my arms, lining them carefully on the shelf, exactly where they are meant to go. I walk back to my desk, collect the next stack, and start walking to that aisle.

I am not a known God, and I am content in that. In all of the depictions of the Underworld, no one has ever mentioned my Library. Here, I store an objective, accurate account of every soul’s life. Every soul. All that ever has been, or is currently (the works in progress are stored in the back room, but the Fates have ordered me to leave them alone until the story is done). No one tells of me because they do not care about my work. They care about the prophecies of the future, they care about the embellished and edited stories of the past, but an absolutely accurate unembellished biography? There are other things to amuse them.

But still, I exist, and I tend to my library. Cataloging the finished stories. Checking out the books anyone may request to borrow (no one has, in centuries). Reorganizing the books when I decide to try a new system (currently, the books are arranged in major categories reflecting where in the Underworld the soul is placed, Isles of the Blessed, Elysium, Asphodel Meadows, Tartarus). Occasionally, I will choose a book at random from the shelves and find a chair to sit in while reading it.

It is while I am reading he shows up. I am alerted immediately, as it has been centuries since another soul walked these aisles and I know the sound of footsteps is out of place. I set down the book I had selected (an account of a satyr’s life) and stood to find my guest. When I found him, he was in the Tartarus section, fingers skimming over the spines of the books there. I cleared my throat and he turned to face me.

“Oh! There you are! I’m so sorry, I went to look for you but I got distracted.” He smiles and starts towards me.

“Did you need help finding something?” I ask reflexively, confused why someone would be looking for me. Why someone would be here at all.

“Actually, I wanted to ask what you needed help with. I’m your new intern. I just need to know what my duties will be.”

He explains to me that he was a demigod, who had died on a quest given to him by Hades, his last mortal act being completing his mission. As a reward. Hades offered him a position in the Underworld. Any open position he desired. He had seen my library, asked Hades what it was, and requested a position here.

Not one to go against my king, I explain the organization system to him, and hand him a stack of newly finished books, and send him on his way to shelve them. As he walks away, I let myself feel my anger. This is MY place. Having someone else working here? It felt like a violation. But it was Hades’ doing, and though I may be the God of this library, I still answer to the King of the Underworld.

He learns quickly, works hard, and is content to sit quietly and read when the mood strikes me. As the years pass, I grow accustomed to his presence, his footsteps sound as familiar as my own.

One day, it dawns on me that I have not seen his book. I search the shelves, but to no avail. I use my internal connection to the library to try and find it, but as best I can tell, it does not exist. I wonder if it may be an error, or if maybe he took it. I ask him, if he would want to read his own book, and his eyes darken as he tells me that he lived his life, he does not need to do so again on the pages of a book.

I tell him I would like to reorganize the books, and we start, working from one side of the library to the other. I look at each and every book, but still I do not find his. An idea occurs to me, and while he is distracted by the reorganization, I find myself drifting towards the door in the back of the library. Where the Fates keep the stories still being written, where they have asked me not to tread, lest I disturb the stories. For eons I have kept this library, and heeded their words. Now, a desperate curiosity urges me to open the doors, slide into the room, and look.

As I open the door, I am met with a sprawling room, full of work tables and rows of desks. Each desk with a book open on it’s surface and a pen writing in it, accounting each life’s events as they happen. Each work table covered in materials for binding books, making them before they are placed on the desks, to be filled. I walk the room, careful not to touch any of the desks, careful not to disturb the stories, and search for his. Eventually, I find it. Discarded in a pile of scrap parchment.

I leave it there, at first. Sure that if I were to take it, the Fates would take offense. More years pass, and I find myself continually drawn to the back room, to that scrap pile, to his book sitting there.

Finally, my curiosity wins out, and I take the book.

I open it, only to find that it is not a book at all. On the pages, instead of the clean lines of story I expected, I find a scribbled outline. Notes of ideas, but no actual account of his life. “Demigod - which God?” Reads one note. “Quest for Hades!” Reads another. “Tragedy?”, “Tragedy!”, “Doomed love?”, “Hero’s death.”

Pages and pages of this. All of it considered, nothing truly written.

I take the book, and search for him through the shelves. When I find him, I shove the book at him.

“You said you lived your life. What happened? Why does your book look like this? Your loved your life! Why is nothing written?”

He walks away from me, but I follow. It takes only minutes for me to realize that he is not trying to escape, he is only leading me to chairs, so we can sit to talk. Once seated, he tells me that he did live his life, but it was just as disorganized and incomplete as the notes before me. He had parents, but each day he woke they would be different people. Each day, it would be a different home. They died, but no one could agree whether it had been a fire, or a robbery, or a tragic accident at sea. Even when he took his quest for Hades, the objective and locations changed with each person he talked to, every point of progress he tried to make.

“The Fates never could decide what they wanted my life to be, so everything changed, all the time. I had to navigate a world without ever knowing my place in it, where I came from, or where I was going.”

When he finishes, I walk away. For the first time, I leave my library. I march across the Underworld, right up to Hades’ castle, and demand an audience with him when the Furies try to halt my progress. Hades has them lead me to his throne room, where I throw the book at his feet.

“Let him go back. Give this book to the Fates, make them write him a proper story, and let him go back to live an actual life.”

Hades looks at me, and I am surprised to find a softness in his eyes.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to find his book, to demand this of me.” Hades gestures with his hand, and the book floats up to him. “It is unprecedented. All of this is. The Fates not finishing a story. You, leaving your library. A soul being allowed to properly live again, instead of just being reincarnated.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“I will. I had always planned to.” Hades stood from his throne and walked towards me. “I simply wanted to take the opportunity to give you some company and a test of your dedication to your Library. I suppose now that both are complete.” He reaches me and lays a hand on my shoulder. “The Fates are working on his story. When you return to the Library he will be gone. But I assure you, his fate is that of a hero, and I am certain he will find his way to you and the Library again.”

I walked slowly back to my Library. When I opened the doors, I found Hades was right. He was gone. I sit for a while, but for the first time the silence and solitude feel heavy. So I stand. Walk to the counter and grab a stack of finished stories. Start down the isles to place them where they belong. And find myself wondering how long it would be until I finally saw his book on the counter, his story finished.

Text: Between life and death there is the Library, where I shelve the knowledge of those who pass on. I am content as the sole soul, the only librarian, until a boy arrives claiming to be my intern.

[chloesimaginationthings]

Vanny can’t explain everything in the FNAF pizzaplex..

[boysborntodie]

TUA S4 proved that Netflix cancelling their shows after the first season is actually a good thing

[acetier]

i'm So Normal about him

((close ups under cut bc idk he's pretty asdsfksdf))

[the-kreechur-featurr]

Funny little comic I made while trying to figure out how to draw these queers

[prompt-prose]

Villain: “yeah? Do you not already have that?”

Hero: “…no? How could I? You’re always scheming and commiting your crimes, and..”

Villain: “I have never committed a crime before 10 am or after 5 pm? You should absolutely be able to manage a healthy sleep schedule? Don’t pin that on me.”

Hero: “….fuck. You’re right. You haven’t. Then why have I spent all those late hours researching? Staking out your operations?”

Villain: “Maybe look to your current employers for that answer.”

Hero: “and the manipulation?”

Villain: “You’ve gotta be more specific than that. Sometimes what people call ‘manipulation’ is actually just a difference in point of view. Some people would call this conversation manipulation. I wouldn’t. I’m just answering your questions and offering you a position.”

Hero: “……controlling emotions? Planting thoughts or motivations in people’s minds that weren’t there before?”

Villain: “I can’t do that. If I could, my operations would be going much more smoothly, don’t you think?”

Hero: “Lying to me, tricking me.”

Villain: “I only lie to people I don’t trust. And I only trick people I’m stealing from. If you were one of my employees, I would *have* to trust you, because you’d be involved in my operations; and stealing from you would be pointless because I would pay you, so it’d be like stealing from myself. Neither of those would be an issue if you came to work for me.l

Hero: “You make some good points.”

Villain: “So, will you do it?”

Villian: "I can give you anything you want! Just join me and it could all be yours!"

Hero: "Can you give me a healthy sleep schedule? Oh what about a healthy work environment where you don't manipulate me?"

Villian: "uhhh."

[blitzy-blitzwing]

Accidental kisses. 😎

Part 1 | ?

[dailyhatsune]

Miku's hair defying her

how much do you think her hair might weigh

[hollytree33]

Hi so I might’ve made a painting of my Inquisitor while trying to mimic Solas’s style so I can pretend he made it

[prompt-prose]

“Nothing.”

The creature blinks at me. It’s claws loosen some, in its’ shock, but it doesn’t let me go. Then it growls, a menacing noise I feel in my bones.

“This is trickery.”

“It’s not.” I meet its gaze directly. It’s black eyes, with golden irises, set into a face I’d only seen in books and paintings before today. Had never dared to imagine existed until the diagnosis.

Stories of wish-granting dragons have existed for millennia. All the tales say the same, they are more likely to eat you out of insult of what you offer than to actually grant your wish. I can’t take that chance.

“I’m not offering you anything. I want you to name your price, I will do what I can to meet it.” It blinks again, and I feel my feet meet the earth again as it sets me down, but it still does not let me go. “I also am not here to bargain for my own life. I am here to bargain for my brother’s.”

The creature finally releases it’s hold on me, but I am not free yet. It’s tail still circles me, a few feet away, but holding me here as surely as the claws did. It states at me, unblinking, and in silence. I wait.

“Why do you bargain for your brother’s life?”

“He’s sick. The doctors say he won’t make it another week. It’s my job to take care of him, to give him the best life he can have. How can I do that if he does not live?”

We enter another period of silence. Staring, and waiting.

I blink, and in that moment, the creature whips its head towards me and, with inches between us, roars. The deepest, loudest noise I have ever heard, that I never want to hear again. I stand my ground.

It…smiles? I’m not sure that’s the right description for the expression on its’ face, but it’s the closest I have. Then it leans back, and draws its tail back up to its body.

“Most humans are the same. They come here to make their wish, and as soon as they feel threatened they abandon their wish and beg for their own life instead. Start naming anything they can think of, any price they can pay, to only be left alive. They don’t understand that their lack of conviction is what leads to their death. If they don’t have a wish they believe in enough to face death for it, it’s not a wish that deserves to come true.” The creature draws back further, straightening to its full height. “Before you, I would have said all humans were like that. You are unique, and you have impressed me.”

“So you will save him?”

“We have not discussed price.”

My stomach drops. I didn’t think I’d get this far, I thought I’d die like all the others I’d read about. I thought maybe with impressing him, it’d be enough to convince him.

“I have nothing I can use to pay you.”

“You have your life.”

So, he will kill me anyways.

“If it means my brother can live, my life is yours.”

“It’s not so simple.” The dragon snakes around me again, moving to behind me, and I see two more come from behind it. I am surrounded by not just the one dragon I came here to face, but now three. “You will give us all your life.”

“I am not sure how one life can be split between three beings.”

“We are the three wishing dragons. There are no more, whatever your silly stories tell you. If ever a human has encountered a wishing dragon, it is one of us. We have performed this duty for eons. And we grow weary.”

“Take our place” one of the new dragons chimes in. “Swear that you will fill the duty of wish granting, that you will fill whatever gap we leave behind, and our last granted wish will be yours, and your brother will be healed.”

“How could I take the place of all three of you? I am one man.”

“And we grant each man one wish. Now instead of three dragons and one wish, it will be one man and three wishes.” The first dragon answers me.

I look at the three of them. Three sets of black and gold eyes stare back at me. I picture my brother, in his sick bed, and I strengthen my resolve.

“I will do it.”

And so, the first genie was made

The beast hissed, its claws enveloping you, “Many humans have tried to bargain with me. Some offered gold for their life, others companionship…. even love. What useless thing will you try to offer me for yours?”

[my-autism-adhd-blog]

The Hidden Cost of Being an Autistic Adult

Neurodivergent_lou

[chloesimaginationthings]

Who do you want FNAF to collab with?..