#if i could paint on scars i would just draw them for real

[heartepub]

When I first sent in the request, I only ever had the image of an apocalypse au where despite the turmoil of the world, you could see someone without scars and think that they had someone who loved them, despite and through it all (or some vague but cliche metaphor about scars on the surface healed but the ones below skin deep remaining).

I DID NOT think you would take this prompt and bring it as far as you did, but I am endlessly grateful.

In return for the mile, I give you…hopefully also a mile, but more likely to be a (meter to kilometer worth's) mess of annotations, some circling around the use of kisses and breath as linked to both love and the apocalypse, and love in the midst of and despite an apocalypse (not spoiler free). As a diver (not clickbait btw I really am licensed HAHA) this suddenly made me have very strong feelings about oxygen

It isn’t until much later, until the damage is irreparable and the Rapture is imminent, that you will realize it. 

The use of "rapture" as the naming of this loss of oxygen was so so interesting, and I like how the motifs of kissing and breath are tied with the name and nature of the apocalypse in this story—rapture as associated with ecstasy, joy, love, and loss of breath (ie something that takes one's breath away). Rapture to stand for the breath that is being lost. (The experience of rapture as the price to pay to stay alive?)

The world as you know it is ending— but at least you have Seungcheol.

Fuck!!!!!!

You roll your eyes. He shouldn’t see it in the darkness, but he knows you all too well. “And don’t roll your eyes at me!” His reprimand draws a short laugh from you. Even that feels like a monumental effort, like it's a waste of good air. 

Adore adore how he just knows, an easy intimacy that's been built together as a couple; now to be tried and weathered by the world. Got distracted by the idea of cuddling w bare-chested Seungcheol, but more serious thoughts below

[COVID mention] Not necessarily in this excerpt, but the mentions of work from home, of sociopolitical and cultural tensions mentioned and painted in broad strokes, really situate this story nicely. I remember during the pandemic and mask-wearing was mandatory, that many commentaries and metaphor on breath and living became a thing, and this reminded me of that.

But, on this quote specifically, and this scene—of the scarcity of good air, and the ticking clock that "unnecessary" breath can be—love, including sex, also becomes wasteful.

Seungcheol doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about the two of you waking up in pools of your own sweat, doesn’t care that there are whole government newscasts on how to preserve oxygen in enclosed spaces.  He holds you like a lifeline and kisses you until you’re breathless. 

Insert above commentary on the irony of Rapture as the name of the apocalypse, but also, it got me thinking about how in an apocalypse where breath becomes precious, rapture would not be the worst way to go. It's also a reoccurring motif in other segments, but I just want to say that good on this couple that joy and (real) rapture are still treated as worthy of being reached and grasped amid the scarcity of what some would regard as its necessary prerequisites. Above line also links to the "Is it bad that I want you again" to "I want you all the time" + laughter bit (got me wanting to keel over)

In between giggles, he kisses every part of you. Again, and again, and again.

Tentatively, you press chaste kisses to the injuries. Seungcheol’s hands find purchase at your waist and he tilts his head back, letting you work your magic. He’s quiet as your lips trace over each gash and wound, as you take away all the hurt with the ghost of a kiss. 

Obviously not present in the POV of this fic, but I do like to think that some outsider saw the lack of scars on these two people weathering the end of the world together and understood that they loved and were loved. Also, Seungcheol as trying to ease worry through levity (and masking vulnerability with affection) makes me both swollen with love and profoundly sad

Anyway, the good stuff: Today’s sunset painted the sky purple. We snagged some still-cold cans of Sprite in an abandoned 7-Eleven. Cheol spotted a family of ducks crossing the road, pointed it out, and said “us, soon!” Us, soon. It feels dangerous to hope, but that’s all I seem to do nowadays. That and being on the run. (Cheol made me strike out that last part, but whatever.) 

US SOON?!?!!?!? YOU WANT TO JINJJA KILL ME

anyway, smth smth hope does not have feathers, she has a bloody lip and scars on her chin and dirt under her fingernails, etc—

And so here is a small list of things I took for granted:

GRRRR this got me, also cos I have chewed on the idea of lists as a sort of antithesis to narrative (not my idea specifically, but one from a review/chapter of a book that I remember discussed the white album) (I have not read any Didion work pls do not come at me)

Lists catalog; they do not impose causality (which is sort-of essential to plot, which is almost always necessary in narrative). Anyway, this list catalogs loss (also a theme I have been chewing on for a while now to insert in a story somewhere, but bears mentioning here)

May the best of my todays be the worst of my tomorrows. 

kennawt believe I was just listening to jason mraz the other day (cos his songs are roadtrip material) and THIS QUOTE comes up (never knew ppl attributed this to jay z until I did a quick search tho)

“People are dangerous when they're desperate,” he’d tell you softly— still his rational, kind self even when faced with the worst of mankind. He was with you. He was kind. He was yours.  Even when the bullet lodged itself right between his ribs. 

WHAT TEH FUKSCSDCSMJDHFS (< actual reaction reading this)

The people dispersed. The cause of the fight— a can of chicken noodle soup, once your comfort food— lay forgotten on the floor. The love of your life, staring unblinking at the sky. When you sink to the ground, you’re moving purely on instinct. Your quivering lips press over his chest, over the red blossoming and staining his shirt. 

WHAT TEH FUKSCSDCSMJDHFS (2) THE COMFORT FOOD FUKDCSDFHDSJFHSFS

A final act of tenderness—as with loss is in general there isn't really anything to say the moment it hits. And it also shows in the brief entry (kisses don't work on bullet wounds.)

But also the parallels between this final act for Seungcheol and what he has done in the past:

You kiss him. Again. And again.  And again. 

In between giggles, he kisses every part of you. Again, and again, and again. 

Not quite accurate to use enjambment here as the term, but the breaking of the lines, along with the use of periods in place of commas, brings a poetic sensibility along with hammering home the idea of an end; where enjambment is the line break that cuts a sentence in a poem, usually with no punctuation at the end of the line, here the sentence is cut, and periods indicate the end.

It is our deepest regret that the author is unnamed and that they cannot be properly credited. However, we know of two things with certainty. We know of a man named Seungcheol, and we know that he was loved. 

You mentioned in your note at the start that "i cannot say with any certainty that this is a happy ending." And honestly, I can understand a gut reaction of "no duh its not a happy ending you're both dead"

I guess the lining to all this is simply the fact that even if life did not go on, the love remains and was (is) remembered. For these characters, there is no better way to be remembered—especially in a time where love could be linked to breath, and breath was a scarcity of its own. Digressing from breath, it reminded me of the last lines of Cold Solace by Anna Belle Kaufman:

I love you.  It will end.  Leave something of sweetness  and substance  in the mouth of the world.

ALLLLL THAT TO SAY. I am so so very in love with all this and you have my whole heart, mashed to pieces as it currently is </3333 your writing is a gift I am always blessed to read. All the love and tenderness (in Chen Chen's words, despite despite despite). Pacing and emotion handled so very well and with so much sensitivity to the characters. Little bits of light amid despair that make life a little more worth it. Love as life seen whole; life seen whole only through death. Etc etc etc (I love u I love u I love u)

like real people do ☢️ seungcheol x reader.

little is known about the apocalypse of 2017. a century later, archivists are now unveiling the relics they found from those who lived through that time.

★ seungcheol x reader.  ★ word count: 2.1k ★ genre: alternate universe: apocalypse, alternate universe: soulmates (the only way for your scars to disappear is when your soulmate kisses them goodbye), angst, romance. ★ warnings: major character death. depictions of death/violence, injuries/scars. established relationship; suggestive scenes but no real smut. set in a fictional apocalyptic world. doubling down on the angst warning; i cannot say with any certainty that this is a happy ending. ★ footnotes: this is part of my follower milestone event. viv gave me an inch (a request for angsty seungcheol) and, in turn, i am giving her a mile (a whole thing instead of just a ficlet). mahal kita, @heartepub! this will be the last hozier brainrot i offer you— for now. + much thanks to @gyubakeries and @tusswrites for beta reading! love you both to the end of the world. ❤️‍🩹

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ like real people do by hozier. apocalypse by cigarettes after sex. i know the end by phoebe bridgers. fourth of july by sufjan stevens. interlude: i’m not angry anymore by paramore. atlantis by seafret. end of beginning by djo. nobody’s soldier by hozier.

When the fish started dying, you did not think: This is how the world will end.

Why would you? The decimation of marine mammals and seabirds didn’t make the news. The misguided scientific breakthrough that triggered everything was kept under wraps.

It isn’t until much later, until the damage is irreparable and the Rapture is imminent, that you will realize it. 

The world as you know it is ending— but at least you have Seungcheol.

There’s some cruelty in the timing of it all. The two of you had just moved in with each other, coasting on the honeymoon phase of a long-term couple with a new thing to share. The paint on your apartment’s walls had yet to dry when the government declared a state of national emergency.

Dozens of other countries followed suit not long after, all blaming one thing or the other. Food crises. Social unrest. Cultural collapse. 

“This is crazy,” Seungcheol grumbles. 

The television is playing clips of a hurricane tearing through the Philippines. Extreme weather conditions, the reporters are saying. Due to the rise of CO₂ levels. 

You and Seungcheol are sprawled out on the floor, watching it unfold. The furniture store meant to deliver your couch has delayed shipment until further notice. 

Seungcheol has always been the sulky type, though the expression on his face nowadays has been less of his trademark pout and more of a serious frown. You can feel his growing agitation in the stiff way he holds you, in the set of his eyebrows. 

“It’s crazy,” you agree quietly, resting your hand on his knee in a bid to calm him a bit. “But it’ll pass.” 

Your touch seems to give some sort of reprieve. He rolls his shoulders. He unclenches his jaw. 

“It’ll pass,” he echoes, reaching out to intertwine your fingers. 

Neither of you knew just how wrong you could be. 

April 8, 2017 

Weird times. Cheol knows just how anxious I get when I’m cooped up, so he encouraged me to pick up journaling. I’m not sure how much this will help, but it’s worth a try. 

It’s been a month since everything has essentially gone on ‘lockdown’. The news says that all of this started because researchers wanted to regulate harmful algae. Their genetically engineered virus ended up infecting all algae, and now the majority of phytoplankton are just... dead. 

I don’t know what to write about. Terrible oxygen levels? Seafood costing a fortune? This ‘work from home’ system everyone is trying to figure out? 

I guess I should just write about the good stuff. That way, when I look back on these entries, I can remember something good.

Today, Cheol tried to fix a leaking faucet himself instead of calling for a plumber. We flooded the kitchen floor, and ended up wet from head to toe.

I cooked pasta, called mom and dad on Skype, and watched the latest episode of Santa Clarita Diet. 

Once everything opens up again, Cheol and I have to visit my parents. (And ‘get better screwdrivers’, he claims.) 

When Seungcheol first kissed you, you did not think: This man is my soulmate. 

It had been a clumsy, shy thing, traded way back when the two of you were high schoolers still stealing away from your eagle-eyed parents. Seungcheol liked to wax poetics about how it was perfect even though you know that first kiss was more a clash of teeth than anything. 

You don’t discover the truth of everything until a couple of years into dating. Seungcheol had gotten into playing basketball, and, one evening, you absentmindedly pressed your lips to a scar he had at the bend of his elbow. 

The mark smoothed out instantly. 

Seungcheol had giggled at the development before spending the rest of the night kissing every inch of your skin that he could reach— injured or not. You still think it’s one of your best memories as a couple. 

Kisses that healed scars. You hadn’t believed in the stories yourself until it had happened to you, until you realized how fortunate you were that your soulmate wasn’t halfway across the world or something. No, you had your soulmate, and he was more than willing to kiss away all your wounds. 

You had counted yourself as lucky. You still think you are, even now, as Seungcheol strokes your hair and holds you to his chest in the pitch black darkness of your apartment. 

His voice is quiet and small when he speaks up. “I’m sorry.” 

“What for?” you mutter back. 

“I’m sure this isn’t what you imagined,” he says. “For us moving in together and everything.” 

An amused snort escapes you. Of course that would be your boyfriend’s concern. There’s the rotational power outages and the merciless prices of goods due to inflation, but Seungcheol is worried about your expectations not being met. 

You shift in his hold. The days have been getting warmer and warmer, and the evenings are no exception. Seungcheol has taken to sleeping shirtless. You’re a couple of celsius away from doing the same. 

“It’s not your fault that we decided to move in together for the end times,” you say into the skin of his bare chest. 

He gives the small of your back a light thwack. “What have I said about the apocalypse jokes?” he chides lightly. 

You roll your eyes. He shouldn’t see it in the darkness, but he knows you all too well. “And don’t roll your eyes at me!”

His reprimand draws a short laugh from you. Even that feels like a monumental effort, like it's a waste of good air. 

Seungcheol doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about the two of you waking up in pools of your own sweat, doesn’t care that there are whole government newscasts on how to preserve oxygen in enclosed spaces. 

He holds you like a lifeline and kisses you until you’re breathless. 

“Cheol,” you whine against his mouth, the protest already at the tip of your tongue. The end is near; sex should be the last thing on your mind. 

But then Seungcheol’s fingers toy with the hem of your shirt, and he sounds so, so sweet when he mumbles, “Yes, soulmate?” 

That’s always gotten to you. 

“Unfair,” you groan as you work on shucking off your own clothes. “You’re so unfair.” 

In between giggles, he kisses every part of you. Again, and again, and again. 

June 15, 2017 

Cheol and I are on the run. 

He keeps telling me not to call it that because it supposedly makes us sound like criminals. I think it’s just funny, and God knows I need something to find humor in. 

As badly as I want to say “we have gone through worse before,” that would be a lie. We’re out of our apartment and trying to make our way to some place where there’s better air quality. In the meantime, we’re living out of his car. It’s so funny to me that I’ve started laughing until I’m crying. 

Anyway, the good stuff: Today’s sunset painted the sky purple. We snagged some still-cold cans of Sprite in an abandoned 7-Eleven. Cheol spotted a family of ducks crossing the road, pointed it out, and said “us, soon!”

Us, soon. It feels dangerous to hope, but that’s all I seem to do nowadays. That and being on the run. (Cheol made me strike out that last part, but whatever.) 

When Seungcheol finally admits to you that he is scared, you did not think: This means that things are much, much worse than I thought. 

Maybe because there were bigger concerns, like the car’s blinking fuel warning light and the scratches littering Seungcheol’s arms. Like the fool that he was, he had gone against your well-meaning advice to not look for help. 

He did not return unscathed. 

Your lips are pursed in a thin line as you rip open a Band-Aid. It’s one of the few that the two of you have left, and Seungcheol seems to remember the fact. He reaches out to stop you. 

“Hey, c’mon,” he urges, obviously trying to aim for levity. “You know there’s other ways we can fix me up, right?”

The frown that tugs at your lips shows that you’re still less-than-pleased at his little stunt. 

“Maybe if you didn’t head out in the first place,” you grumble. “We wouldn’t need any of this.” 

Seungcheol looks like he might push back, but seems to decide against it at the last minute. Instead, he wraps his fingers around your wrist and gives you a gentle tug. 

“It won’t happen again.” His tone is edged with remorse, enough to almost convince you. Almost. 

“No more playing hero?” you ask. 

A corner of his lip twitches upward. “No more playing hero,” he concedes before tugging at you again. 

You let him. You move closer into his space until you’re practically in his lap, until you’ve got a better view of the angry red cuts on his skin. 

Tentatively, you press chaste kisses to the injuries. Seungcheol’s hands find purchase at your waist and he tilts his head back, letting you work your magic. He’s quiet as your lips trace over each gash and wound, as you take away all the hurt with the ghost of a kiss. 

After a moment, he mumbles, “Is it bad that I want you right now?” 

“Seungcheol.” 

“Okay, okay.” A beat. “I want you all the time, actually.” 

“Shut up!”

The sound of his laughter fills the car. It’s enough to have you forgetting his murmured confession of fear, the vulnerability that he had tried so quickly to cover up with affection. For a moment, there is nothing else in the world except this, except you, except him. 

September 23, 2017

Is it weird to say that I’m starting to forget what it was like before all of this happened? Cheol is trying to assure me that it’s to be expected, that we’ll all be back to ‘normal’ soon, but I don’t even remember what normal is like anymore. 

I can’t forget. I don’t want to forget. And so here is a small list of things I took for granted: 

The first breeze that tells you winter is coming 

The kindness of people who don’t know you 

The smallest fish in the sea

Date nights with Cheol 

Clean water 

Breakfast

My parents

Cheol says there might be some biodomes ahead. Oxygen-regulated habitats. It sounds like something only the rich can afford. We don’t have a lot left between the two of us, and it’s getting harder to jump from building to building. 

But there’s something waiting for us on the other side— right? There has to be. 

May the best of my todays be the worst of my tomorrows. 

When the gunshot rang out, you did not think: This is it.

Seungcheol never gave you any reason to think that way. He had held your hand as you raided rundown grocery stores. He had positioned himself in front of you when there were stampedes. The world might have been ending, but he was with you.

He was with you even when the strangers you ran into started getting more aggressive. He was with you even when fights would break out over necessities like water and medicine. 

“People are dangerous when they're desperate,” he’d tell you softly— still his rational, kind self even when faced with the worst of mankind.

He was with you. He was kind. He was yours. 

Even when the bullet lodged itself right between his ribs. 

There is not much that you remember after that. 

The people dispersed. The cause of the fight— a can of chicken noodle soup, once your comfort food— lay forgotten on the floor.

The love of your life, staring unblinking at the sky.

When you sink to the ground, you’re moving purely on instinct. Your quivering lips press over his chest, over the red blossoming and staining his shirt. 

You kiss him. Again.

And again. 

And again. 

December 1, 2017

The kisses don’t work on bullet wounds. 

▸ Archivist’s note: The following entries are undated and some portions had been redacted/deemed untranscribable. We are led to believe that the author struggled to cope in the aftermath of their soulmate’s death. For posterity, we have still reprinted their final entries.

You’re so unfair. 

I still want you. 

Things I took for granted: ███████, you, ███████, youyouyou. 

What now? 

My love, it’s only a matter of ███████—

▸ Archivist’s note: Nothing follows.

This concludes our transcribed logs. The full collection can be viewed at the National Museum of Remembrance.

It is our deepest regret that the author is unnamed and that they cannot be properly credited. However, we know of two things with certainty. 

We know of a man named Seungcheol, and we know that he was loved. 

[plumbwolf]

"Hey, Eddie? Eds. Look, this might sound weird . . . but have you ever made out with another guy?"

[readychilledwine]

Extramarital Escape pt 3

Summary - Being Nyx's nanny came with many perks. You just didn't expect an affair to be one of them.

Warnings - fxf smut and all the glory that comes with it, mentions of pregnancy bodies (in a good way), paint play, mess play, slightly fluffy, fated mates, slight manipulation, loose editing *if you see a mistake, no you didn't*

A/N - Happy New Year! I only have one more part planned for this, but it is the 3some you all have been waiting for.

✨️Extramarital Escape - Pt 1 Pt 2✨️

✨️Master Masterlist✨️

Feyre was thrilled when you offered to spend the day with her. Rhysand had taken Nyx to Windhaven, showing off the sweet baby illyrian to the camp leaders. He had bragged about it being a statement, something you didn't fully understand, having never left the safety of Velaris. Azriel and Cassian were beaming as you helped Rhysand get Nyx into his little flight carrier, though. They had been beyond excited for the heir’s early morning adventure.

Rhysand had taken a moment alone with you, a soft kiss on your forehead reminding you to be his good girl. And good you had been.

You had woken the High Lady up to breakfast in bed, her favorite casual painting outfit set out and ready for her. Anything Feyre asked for, you handled, giving Nuala and Cerridwen a much deserved day off, and more importantly, leaving you and Feyre home alone.

Perhaps that was why the very air seemed to cackle around you with electricity as you two worked in laying out and flattening a large canvas. She had lesrned of a new abstract painting method, one that involved losely throwing paint on a canvas without a true end goal. “Self expression and emotions,” she had smiled so brightly as she described it to you.

Every so often as you two crawled carefully along the canvas, your hands would brush, sparking nerves and heat through both of you that was well hidden with neutral faces. Feyre wasn't the first female you'd ever found yourself so attracted to, but she was the first who held a magnetic pull over your heart, tugging at ribcage without you even knowing how or why.

“Thank you for helping me,” Feyre broke the silence, hand reaching for yours. “Truly. This is such a huge canvas. It would have taken me hours by myself.”

You could only smile, “Anything for you.”

She didn't miss the flirtatious way that message rolled off your tongue, once again tugging that precious 3 way mating bond to see if you secretly knew. She saw you blinked as she tugged, eyes lighting up when she realized you felt it, just didn't realize what it was. She purposely brushed her hand against yours again, yearning for the contact only Rhysand had been spoiled enough to have.

She didn't resent her husband for having you first, only for sending him the images of you below him, the sounds of you crying out for him, and for kissing her afterwards, only letting her have the lingering faint taste of you instead of the real thing. They had hoped you experiencing him would have been enough to pull you to them naturally, but you were a fighter.

She could remember the shame you'd accidentally sent down the bond, having assumed you were just her husband's mistress. You were more, though. That third missing piece. That last part of the void in their hearts. You didn't know this yet, but Feyre was in love with you. Every freckle, every scar, every inch you criticized in the mirror, she had memorized and sketched into her drawing book that stayed on her bedside table.

Having you so close was becoming torture. The way your hair fell from its braid, strands loose in your face, the way the sun hit your cheekbones, the way it glittered in your hair, you were art. The very muse she had been chasing.

Feyre then made the first move, lacing her fingers into your own and pulling you closer to her, “You smell good.”

You felt your face heat and flush, “Thank - thank you.” Your body reacted to her touch so naturally, fingers lacing into her as your body leaned into her pull. Her scent had mixed with Rhysand's perminately, lilac and sea salt mingling with the lingering scent of the expensive paints she used daily.

A heartbeat.

A breath.

One blink.

And the dam broke.

Feyre was on you, pushing you back and lips crashing onto yours like wave eager to come back home to shore. Both of her soft hands moved to your face as she shut her end of the bond down, refusing to let Rhysand know she had broken their deal of approach you together. Refusing to admit to the weakness she felt around only two fae. Rhysand and you.

Her lips were soft and tasted faintly of the bitter tea and sweet honey you had brought to her before this project started. Her kiss was eager, hungry, aching. Feyre made sure you felt her with each movement. It should have been no surprise. The High Lady found peace in passion. She thrived off expressing it, out of letting passion flow through every movement, and kissing you would be no exception.

Her hands tangled into your hair, the two of you finally fully falling on the canvas, spilling over a near by container of purple paint. As your shirt came off a light blue one fell. Then red as you eagerly removed her soft wool sweater. One by one containers spilled over, medium meeting material as hands began to touch and truly feel soft skin.

Neither of you noticed how covered you were. How could you as she took control, nipping softly on your neck as her kisses moved lower and lower. She bit down on your collarbones, licking over each bite tenderly, murmuring a soft apology into your skin as the bruises began. Her hands held yours at your sides, “Above your head,” her eyes were glossy, drunk on the feeling of having control. “Don't move them unless I say so.” The way you wordlessly obeyed a sigh letting your mouth as you did.

She controlled her pace like her life was in the balance, taking her time to savor you instead of rushing. Each kiss seemed to follow a pattern only she knew. You gasped as her tongue swirled your left nipple before her lips wrapped around it, a hum coming from her at the sounds you were already making. Her hand went to your other breast, dragging along you as it did, covering your skin in a mix of blue and deep green paint. Every movement began to reflect on the canvas as you two slowly became covered in the think material, but she never stopped to care, worshipping your left breast then the right. She didn't want to miss a single in of skin, not when you whimpered in a way that reminded her of music.

She understood how Rhysand had become so addicted to you so quickly. The male you two shared in that rare 3 way mating bond had a love language that was fulfilled through praise. Your sighs, your moans, every noise as she shot waves of pleasure down your spine was praise. She had never been happier as she finally settled between your thighs, forcing your legs apart a little more before only tossing one over a shoulder.

That first lick was fire. The second ice. The third wave heaven. Feyre's control had gone out the window at the taste of you. It was her first time doing this, but she was a natural. She thought back Rhysand between her legs, those silent selfish desires she wanted that went unanswered. She refused to allow that to be you as she licked and sucked at every part of your core.

Her left had had been spared paint, a single finger sliding home inside of you. you felt your walls twitch instantly, “Feyre.” She hummed against you, hazy blue eyes looking up towaras your flushed face. “Please don't stop.”

“Never,” she whispered back. “Never.”

With her tongue and fingers working in time, you felt your stomach tightening, a high you normally had to beg for rushing and just seemed to arrive. Feyre knew your body in her first introduction. She knew your wants, the needs. She hummed around your clit again, a second finger gently pushing in and immediately finding your gspot.

Her pace picked up then, fingers curling up hard, tongue tracing soft half moons over then under your clit over and over teasing you. When that contact came, that first gentle push of that swollen bundle, you fell apart. She didn't stop, knowing what it felt like to finally reach your high and have your partner stop what they were doing instead of easing you back down. She slowed her movements as your walls slowed their spasms before pulling away.

“You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen,” she smiled up at you, her voice like cool silks against heated skin.

She moved back up your body, keeping thay raised leg against her chest before settling her own heat against yours.

You were both so wet, the first roll of her hips came with ease. It tested the waters, the two of you holding eye contact to see if the simple act of her core kissing yours was enough.

And Gods it was. She wasted no time setting a pace and watching as your back arched, hands still trapped where she wanted them. You felt every bump of her clit against yours, heard every slick noise. Feyre's moans were harmony to your own. The two of you had fallen into such a sync that you wondered how you had denied yourself this for so long.

Her right hand came to rest on your wrists, her strong abdominal core allowing her to keep that rhythm she had while she leaned down, long blonde hair following around the two of you like a privacy curtain.

To was truly like it was only you and her in the world. There was no one else you could imagine having this with, no other female you've ever want to share a bed, or canvas with. Rhysand was that male for you. Feyre that female.

You flipped her over when you noticed her beginning to struggle, taking over control and spreading her legs to continue the motions she had started.

Feyre had been gorgeous in her pregnancy body, but something about her faded stretch marks, her wider hips, it made your mind spin. No female should have been allowed to be so attractive. Yet, here she was, a mantra falling from her lips of your name as you worked to take her mind from this plane and to the stars.

Your own high was building, “Finish with me,” you commanded, surprised by your own tone. “Show me how good I'm making you feel.” A choked sob of bliss left her throat as your hand found it, squeezing that vital area just enough to give Feyre a rush.

And it happened.

Like the final domino falling, the High Lady of Night came below you, your own orgasm rushing over you like a wave. You forced yourself to focus on her, on that scream, on the curve of her breasts, on the panting of her chest. When you both came back down, you got off of her, pulling her to her side and into another deep kiss.

Her brand new canvas was ruined, signs of what had happened written into every fiber. Mixtures of contrasting and complimenting colors were spread, some areas loosely reflecting your bodies. It was movement. It was passion. It was what Feyre had wanted for this canvas. When you two stood, you were giggling as you looked at it, but Feyre had an unreadable expression, glancing at that drying paint even as she took you to her bathroom to bathe.

Feyre returned to her art room alone once you were asleep, once Rhysand was asleep. She worked meticulously, cutting out the exact piece of canvas she wanted and stretching it over the wooden framing she had picked.

The piece of a sign of the love she held for you, the mating bond burning bright as she smiled one last time at the final product. "Love and paint," the name much different from her realistic pieces to match the different artistry style.

She was going to give it to Rhysand, already smirking as she began to play out every possible way her husband would react.. To you, it was innocent. For her and Rhysand, it would trigger another memory, one you had never been filled in on, and Feyre could not wait to see his face.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f @mrsjna @thyellablackk @yeonalie

Feysand Taglist:

@avajustreads

Extramarital Escape taglist:

@wickedfelinaxo @sh4nn @justdreamstars @jesssicapaniagua @harrystylesfan2686 @slytherinindisguise @fxckmiup @saltedcoffeescotch @sarawritestories @yeonalie @sinarainbows @justaboredbookworm @xcarrotxs-blog @paleidiot @nayaniasworld @fyfy-world @seasonallyapril @alhaithmss @Ilovelydove @nebarious @helloevilmuffins @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @tempermentalbookworm @velarisnightsky444 @kdawgiedawg @inkedinshadows @percyjacksonspeen @velarisdusk @goldenmagnolias

[googleitlol]

False Hero AU

@rovobeam everything you've been drawing for this hurts my soul and I love it.

SO! 👏 The False Hero AU is all about what would have happened if Macaque won the fight with Wukong on the journey. After sealing Sun Wukong under Flower Fruit Mountain, Macaque continued to impersonate him for a while, travelling with the pilgrims until… well, until the journey ended prematurely. Once he no longer had to deal with that, Macaque was free to do just… whatever he wanted. However, with the Monkey King gone, the world was still in need of a hero.

It wasn't like Macaque planned this all from the start. He saved some villages because, well, he was just in the area. As he did tho, he started to be seen as more and more of a hero. People didn't have to worry about the old Monkey King coming to save them anymore, not when this new one was doing so well!

The attention and praise eventually got to his head, and Macaque began to embrace the role he'd been given. He liked being a hero, having all these people admire him. Wukong abandoned him to join those stupid monks, but now? He had the love of the people Wukong used to protect. Of course, he didn't want all this attention and praise to waiver if anyone thought to look back on what really happened during the journey. Nobody even knew what happened to Sun Wukong after the other pilgrims died, which left Macaque to shape the story and tell the tale of what happened himself.

By the time the modern age hits, everyone that heard of the Journey to the West knows about how the hero Six-Eared Macaque bravely defeated the rampaging Sun Wukong, the Corrupt Sage who thought he was equal to heaven. In this world, it's Macaque who becomes MK's mentor. Unlike Wukong tho, he is a much more active presence in the city, acting as its guardian and local hero instead of going into retirement.

Everything was going well for him! He's beloved by the city he protects, he's surrounded by friends that love and care about him, and he loved them just as much. Sure, he sometimes had to make sure people didn't catch on to the real story, there was still the rare individual that would question the facts– but there was nothing to prove his version of events were false. He even keeps his scar visible so the world can remember what Wukong did to him in their fight. There was nothing to make the majority of people question him, anyway.

…That is, until MK finds the seal keeping Sun Wukong under Flower Fruit Mountain.

It's not like Macaque told the kid about the monster under the mountain, how could he have known not to touch it? Macaque may have been angry, but he wouldn't hold it against his student. However, this newly freed Wukong posed a very big threat. No matter who got in his way, whatever attempts Wukong makes to tell the world otherwise, Macaque would have to make sure his status as the real hero remained intact. This would result in many battles between the two mystic monkeys, and with MK by his side, he often came out on top. Macaque just had to keep painting Wukong as the villain, a demon returning to lay waste to their home. He'd do anything to ensure his version of history was the right one.

And Macaque refuses to let anyone stand in his way.

[mask-of-prime]

VG: Broken Birds

Previous

Next (Coming Soon)

____

The Outlands, Years Ago:

A very young cub Vitani ran into some young jackals that neighbored the Termite Mounds, and she'd confessed to her mother that she had felt a friendship coming on, but Zira snuffed that dream right out. Lions could not be friends with mindless food like little jackals.

"Oh, quit your sniffling. It's going to get you nowhere! Get up before I give you a real reason to cry! NOW!"

"Mother, please! I won't disappoint you again, Mother!" the toddler sobbed.

The young Vitani could feel her mother grabbing her wrist. The older lioness pulled the cub closer.

Suddenly, Zira seemed to change in appearance. She was now much bigger, sported a slick, red mane, and a scar across her right eye. It was now an unknown male lion.

"You're seriously going to let a bunch of crows get to you? Are you a helpless little lower animal like them?!" he screamed.

"Father, I'm sorry-y-y!" Vitani sobbed, except… this was not her voice, nor her body.

"A real lion doesn't sit here and cry! Get up, Zira! NOW!"

The bigger lion's paw came up, looking like it was about to swipe.

Vitani jolted awake, putting a paw over her racing heart. More nightmares of Mother, of course.

Mother…

The images of Zira's sentient waterfall form came back to her vividly. No one would believe her. She didn't even believe herself the more she thought of it.

And her head… it still hurt from… something. Her friends said it had been a fall, right?

This didn't happen. No, none of this happened. She just fell… Right?

SCRATCH, SCRATCH…

The Fiercest gasped and made a small noise. Before she went to investigate, however, she looked around to make sure no one heard her pathetic sound.

Luckily, no. But, only because Tiifu wasn't around. Odd. She'd be wrapped all over Vitani.

Perhaps the watery ghost did exist. Maybe it was a little like the case of Nuka's spirit. Maybe Scar's. Kion defeated Scar's spirit. Had he seen one made of water? How would he have dealt with it? She had to find him...

SCRAPE, SCRATCH…

Vitani leapt to her feet and prowled about around the corridors of the Ponya. Her ears pointed to the noise. At the main part of the Ponya, she saw a bipedal form smearing paint onto the wall with precision.

Vitani looked all around the wall. It was a portrait of her brother and her sister-in-law. She smiled a bit, but it quickly vanished, remembering how disastrous last night went. She digressed, and cleared her throat.

"Um... that's really pretty..."

The mandrill jumped a little. Her hand made a jagged mark of paint on the wall.

"Sorry." Vitani winced, "I know that must've taken hours."

"Oh, that's okay!" the mandrill charmed, "I could make these all day!"

"I really admire the light colors and soft shapes. They really come together to create a distinct style."

"Wow, I didn't know you were so artsy!"

Vitani shrugged, "I mean, everyone makes me plot out patrol maps on the ground in the morning. I think my Guard does that just to watch me draw."

"Oh, right! You're the new Pridelands' Fiercest! What was your name again?"

"Vitani." the lioness introduced, "It's Makini, right?"

"Mmhm!"

"You're, uh... the Mjuzi for Kion and his wife, now --" Vitani rattled her head, "Uh, Kion... Have you seen him? I need to talk to him. Saw some things I can't explain."

"Oh, the Night Pride already started heading back last night. I stayed back to catch up with the Pridelanders and paint —"

Vitani blinked, "What? Why?"

"Why what?"

"W-Why did they leave?!" Vitani began to pace.

"Can't leave the Tree of Life unguarded too long, I guess."

"B-But this is — Wha — I —" the Fiercest began seething, "Dammit!"

Furious, she smacked hard at something with her paw. It had been a husk full of vermillion paint.

Leaving her cloud of rage, she could see that she had gotten the paint all over her paw, and all over Makini's masterpiece.

"I... I am so sorry, I —" Vitani stammered, "I totally ruined your painting —"

"It's okay! I can make a new one any time. I'm always improving!" Makini reassured, "In fact, this gives me an idea..."

The mandrill began to wash the the rest of the painting from the rock with a soaked leaf.

"Here! Why don't you paint how you feel on this rock and maybe I can help you figure out what it means! It's called 'art therapy.'"

Vitani stared into her paint-covered paw. She didn't like the sound of just sitting here for therapy, but Kion was already gone. Kion may have had the advantage of defeating spirits with his Roar, but Makini must've known more about the past and spirits in general. That's what Mjuzis do, right?

Makini was the best option she had, it seemed. Especially with Rafiki opting to stay in his tree more often, lately.

Vitani got a good look at the rock in deep thought of how she would convey her anxieties. She considered Makini's suggestion, and began to make her first move.

Slowly, Vitani took her paw and brought it closer to her canvas. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"Wait." she finally said, eyes open.

She tried and tried to remember the images she saw, but they kept changing and becoming unclear due to the deliberate effort to recall them.

"I… I can't remember, now." her teeth gritted, "It's fading too quickly!"

The Mjuzi frowned, "Aww, that's too bad. I forget my dreams a lot, too. I'm pretty forgetful in my waking life too, actually, and Rafiki says I need to work on that if I want to connect with the past. Which, you gotta see all the old paintings to know what paintings to make in the present so everyone in the future will know what to paint in their present -- We were talking about something else, right? What —"

"My dreams, Makini. The whole reason I was painting?"

"Oh yeah! And how you can't recollect the pa — OOOOHH! I got it!" Makini suddenly chimed, "I got just the thing!"

"You do?" Vitani's eyes widened with a slight roll, her jeering tone going unnoticed by the mandrill.

Makini removed the two gourds from her Bakora Staff, opening the lids of each, and — for once — carefully — poured something onto each palm.

"Rafiki told me that these two gourds on my staff represent the past and the future, and I think I know why, now! So, this staff I have right now wasn't originally my staff, it actually belonged to the old Mjuzi at the Tree of Life..."

Vitani nodded rigorously, anxious beyond belief.

"I found these powders left in the gourds! I asked Rafiki what they were, and he said one is called Zamani, and the other is Baadaye. One lets you see visions of your past, and the other lets you see your future! Rafiki told me he used the Baadaye powder on Scar to show him his future. But, we all know Scar didn't listen to his warning."

Vitani looked at Makini's hand. In each palm were powders of a vivid blue and orange. Mystery of its appearance and origin almost gave it a slight radiance.

"Please tell me you know which one is which…" Vitani knew Makini at this point. It would be in-character for this to be the next thing to somehow tragically and comically mess up.

"Actually I do! I remembered their colors! Colors are the one thing I know I can remember good. You need the blue one!" she then inhaled shakily, "Buuuut…"

"Noo…" Vitani whined to herself, shutting her eyes.

"I kinda… sorta… forgot how the powders are applied." Makini shrugged sheepishly.

"Great…" the Fiercest groaned, stepping away as Makini kept the blue powder in her ahand and placed the orange powder back.

"Don't know if you eat it, or — No, certainly doesn't look like you should." the mandrill thought deeper, "Or was it —"

Suddenly, the wind coming from outside swept the blue powder from Makini's hand. Vitani was unfortunately in the splash zone. The powder had blown into her eyes.

Makini bit her lip anxiously, "Or that could work."

"OW! Agghh! Makini, what the —"

"Sorry!" the mandrill winced, "Are you okay?"

The Fiercest frantically began rubbing her eyes with a paw, preparing for the stinging and burning. Oddly, there was none. Instead, however, she felt a numbness. Testing to see if it really was such, she blinked a couple of times. She felt comfortable to fully open them.

She began to see little blooms of blue specks in her view. They were like eye floaters, but they glowed, and morphed into mandala-like patterns until it filled her field of vision.

She saw her surroundings change from a dark cavern to her old termite mound home. Everything was starting to look like where she was in her dream, with a blue tint on everyone and everything.

"Makini, i-it's working!" Vitani gawked, astonished.

Suddenly, where the mandrill would be standing, was instead Zira., who towered over Vitani and was berating her, just like in her dream.

"Oh, quit your sniffling. It's going to get you nowhere! Get up before I give you a real reason to cry! NOW!"

"Mother, please! I won't disappoint you again, Mother!" the toddler sobbed.

Zira's form once again morphed into another lion. It became bulkier with a red mane, and with a scar over his left eye. His voice was raspy and scheming.

"You're seriously going to let a bunch of crows get to you? Are you a helpless little lower animal like them?!"

"I'm sorry-y-y!" the cub sobbed heavily, almost unable to breathe.

"A real lion doesn't sit here and cry! Get up, Zira! NOW!" the red-maned lion yelled.

Zira curled into a ball. She was sobbing, but she felt frustration build up too. It wasn't fair, the way she was being yelled at. But she still failed him. She shouldn't have tried to befriend those crows, as lonely as she was when she would stay over at the Outlands. She mustn't be so desperate to trust just about any animal.

The lion quickly changed his tone as to not completely terrify his little daughter. Screaming wasn't helping, he used a disarming charm that worked on her before.

"You want to be a mighty lion like me, don't you? You want to make the Pride back home proud of you to be one of them, right? I want to be one of them again. Help me, Zira, help the family come back together, and you can see your mother again. Don't you want that?"

Little Zira sniffled, "Yes."

"Yes. There's my mighty lion. Always be stronger than everyone thinks you are. Lions Over All! Lions Over All!" he chanted.

"Wait..." Vitani said aloud, "This is —"

Vitani was seeing way beyond what she recalled in the dream. She realized now that the Zamani hadn't taken her to the recent past, but the distant past.

The vision continued on, and pretty soon, she found herself in a deep, red dystopia. It was the Pridelands, but from an era she'd never known. A time where all animals took on a much more primitive appearance.

She seemed to be chasing a group of a type of animal she hadn't seen in the Pridelands before. Others of her own kind were doing the same thing, even going so far as to needlessly massacring the animals for sport, or as a punishment for existing.

Watching all this activity with a cold and callous gaze was a leonine silhouette standing atop a towering kopje. He sported a familiar mark above his right eye.

"Lions Over All!" he bellowed for all of the ancient land to hear, as if he wanted the lions in the sky to hear him.

"Lions Over All!" the fleet of pillager lions echoed. The message deeply engrained into their minds and hearts.

The visions and voices of these lions of the past had swarmed Vitani. The flashbacks all becoming one and playing back-to-back.

Just then, a gray lioness with eyes and a tuft like Vitani's appeared before her. She spoke with a kind, gentle, and timid voice.

"What's wrong, my little Moonlight?"

The mysterious lioness' appearance fizzled, and there remained Vitani's reflection on a shiny rock. Back to reality.

She yelped and hyperventilated from the bizarre visions. So taken aback by the frightening sights that she felt like she couldn't swallow nor catch her breath. She lied on the ground against the rock, staring upward.

"Vitani!" cried Makini as she bounded over to the lioness, "Vitani! Are you okay?!"

"I... I think I would like some privacy to paint, please." was all the Fiercest could muster, absolutely dazed.

____

Up in the main den lied Kiara. Her eyes filled with tears as she anticipated the future. So many changes were coming their way, and she didn't know how to tell anyone.

"Kiara, honey? May we come in?" asked Nala, who peeked into the entrance.

"It's open." Kiara said flatly.

Nala could still sense Kiara's tension from the humiliation yesterday. It was probably time to talk about it, knowing Kiara's honesty about her feelings.

"Baby, I thought you were finally ready for your coronation. Your dad and I told you we trusted you with the crown."

"I know, Mom, but... everything's changing so much. I don't know what everyone will think about... Just... what if I forget about who I am?"

Kiara was too afraid to say heavier things that were truly on her mind. No, her family wasn't ready.

"Kiara, I know change can be daunting, but sometimes it makes you who you are." Nala rubbed a brow against Kiara's.

"Your mother's right." Sarabi added as she entered the den, "In life, you will always learn about yourself, and become a refined lion. Your father most certainly did, and so did your grandfather."

Sarabi's eyes became glossy at the last part. Her husband would always be a part of her.

Sarafina followed Sarabi, as she always did in life. She had fetched a tortoise shell of fresh, cold water for her granddaughter.

"There ya go, Sweetie." she said, "To calm your nerves, a little."

"Thank you, Nanna." Kiara said sweetly, but still glum.

"Kiara, we trust that you can become a beloved and capable Queen. We've seen your cooperation with herd leaders." Nala said, "And Jasiri. You changed the Outlands forever by welcoming her to the Summit."

"See? Even you've made big changes. You're famous for it! And we can't forget you and that boy Kovu making us all one big, happy family!" Sarafina chimed.

Kiara's heart jumped for a second until she remembered what her Nanna meant. Right. That.

"You're a risktaker, but an openminded and levelheaded one." Sarabi observed.

Kiara smiled nervously, but tears still welled up.

They all saw this, and exchanged concerned looks before they all rubbed foreheads against her in unison.

"Thank you..." Kiara closed her eyes as she embraced them, "But what about Kion...? I totally wasted his time. I made him come all this way just so I could flake on him."

"Kion and Rani would come back in a heartbeat for you." Nala said, "I know Kion doesn't show it a whole lot, but he really wants to see you become Queen."

Kiara again tried to crack a smile, but she was just so touched by her mother's words.

"I need time to figure this out." the Future Queen finally said.

"Alright, we'll give you some space." assured Nala, "Just remember: You will always be yourself, even when you're Queen. The Queens of the Past will guide you, and so will we."

Nala turned away to the exit. The elders looked on at Kiara with love and still with concern before following suit.

Kiara continued sulking long after they left, but she eventually gave into her Nanna's kind gesture of water. Slowly, she dipped her nose into the shell, and lapped up the cool water.

However, as soon as the water reached her stomach, Kiara felt... strange. It's almost like she had lost consciousness, but her body was still up.

Pretty soon, she was trapped in her own body, which began to lick its chops as the water dripped from its chin. Her eyes took on a vivid azure glow as she cracked a grin to herself.

"I feel... much better, now." she said with a sinister tone, one she'd never used before.

____

Finishing her very own masterpiece after several hours of hunched-over work on few hours of sleep, Vitani finally managed to convince herself to sit up and refresh. The lioness had headed over to Lake Shangaza to clean the paint stains from her paws.

As she rinsed her paws, she caught her reflection in the water. She saw her exhausted eyes, and — under her tuft — what appeared to be her gash from last night all patched up.

She wasn't sure if it was the sleep deprivation, or if she'd still been under the effects of the Zamani powder, but when she stared into her reflection in the water long enough, she could swear she saw her mother's ghastly face appear for a moment.

Her body jerked back from the jumpscare. She glanced back to find nothing there. She was confused, and genuinely terrified, even though it may have been an illusion.

Though, this reminded her; perhaps she could contact a ghost she knew was on her side...

She lit a torch and said her summoning phrase:

"Roho ya Moto!"

A puff of fire exploded from the flame of the torch until it resembled her brother.

"What?! What's goin' on?! Where's the danger?!" Nuka whipped around, his paws chopping the air defensively.

"No danger, here." Vitani deadpanned.

"Lookie here, Vitani," he scowled, "You can't just summon me every time you break a claw!"

"Nuka..."

"You know how much energy it takes to —"

"Nuka." she snapped, "I summoned you for a reason. I have a genuine question that only you can answer."

"Fire away." he said bluntly. He'd realized his unintentional pun, and snickered to himself a bit.

"Have you... have you ever seen Mother up there, or... wherever it is you go? What does she look like?"

"Um... not recently?"

Vitani's eyes became curious, "Really? What do you mean recently? What does she look li —"

A raindrop landed on Vitani's nose. She looked up to see dark clouds she hadn't even noticed rolling over the lake.

SIZZLE

"OW!!" Nuka cried.

Vitani looked over to Nuka, and caught a worrying sight: Where there was fire around his being, there was now black, crusty spots that steamed.

"Nuka, what's happening?!"

"Ow, it's the rain! I can't be touched by rain, or I'll turn to smoke!" he cried, trying to blow fire onto himself where there wasn't.

"Well, we gotta get you out of here!" she cried, panicking.

"Ugh, come on, say the phrase!" he grunted as he waved his paws frantically.

"Okay, okay! Errr — Roho ya Moto!" Vitani said rapidly.

POOF!

The flame shrank into the stick shortly before it could be snuffed another, more permanent way.

"Well, that was brief." she muttered, not knowing at all how to feel today.

She couldn't see that in the distance stood a lioness. One who watched her entire interaction with Nuka.

The lioness turned away, back to the direction of Pride Rock.

____

Not too long later, the rain had mysteriously stopped.

Imara and Kasi muttered to each other about the events last night, expressing concern for Kiara along with the odd weather. They spotted Vitani wandering close to Pride Rock. She seemed pensive, but also dazed. After seeing her stumble a bit, they rushed their stroll.

"Hey, 'Tani." greeted Kasi, characteristically arriving first.

"We're about to head to our patrol routes." added Imara, "We split into groups, today."

"Taz and Shabs already headed out." Kasi said, "You wanna go with them, or us? Please pick us..."

Imara nudged Kasi. The smaller lioness got a better look at her tired friend.

"Hey, you good?" asked the Fastest.

"Um, yeah..." Vitani slowly shook her head, "Headache."

"Right. You probably don't wanna be out here, huh?" Imara said, "You fell pretty bad."

Vitani's memories of her interaction with her mother suddenly flashed back into her mind, along with the frustration with Nuka, and her visions she painted. This day was chaotic, and she just couldn't think of it anymore.

"Uhh, you know what?" she smirked, "I'll go. Joining Team Kasi and Imara."

The two in question exchanged looks. They eventually shrugged, and let their friend take the lead.

____

"Right this way, Rafiki! I can't wait to show you Vitani's work!" Makini beamed with delight as she took the elder's hand and guided him to the Ponya.

"Yes, yes, Makini, I'm coming." said the old monkey. It was difficult to catch up to his protege, now that he was without his staff, and for a long time, now.

"Welp, here it is! Could you believe a lion made all of this? With her paws?!"

"Hmm..."

Rafiki put a hand on his chin and looked all around the walls of the Ponya, noting many changes outside of just Vitani's work. There were detailed paintings all around made by Makini. He smiled a wrinkled and weary smile to himself, feeling proud and confident in his successor, and hoped she could frequent the Pridelands more.

"Vitani's been feeling a little stressed, lately. So I told her to paint her feelings."

“Hmm, yes. Art therapy is a good form of expression. Excellent idea, Makini.”

Rafiki’s eyes continued to follow every painting on the wall. He could see that not every painting had been finished. They were… very different from a Mjuzi’s paintings, to say the least. Not only from the shapes made from non-opposable, blunt paws, but the paintings were dark in palette and in subject matter.

Murky, grayish browns and deep reds were the main colors used in these nebulous shapes scattered on the wall. Circling everything was what seemed to be black birds swarming every picture. Attempts to draw her own kind were made with as precise shapes as one could make with their paws.

The lions caught Rafiki's eye. Some resembled Zira what with the recognizable stripe on her head, but others seemed familiar as well considering the motifs that surrounded them.

"Makini, take your staff and touch the paintings."

"Oh, o-okay."

With a tap to the wall, the finished paintings glowed a hellish red. The cub Vitani cowered below Zira, and Zira cowered below a similar-looking lion with a scar. The birds circled around them all in a terrifying storm. Rafiki's jaw dropped.

"R-Rafiki?" Makini stammered, a bit horrified at what she saw, "What is it?"

He slowly put his hand down from the wall, and finally spoke.

"That lion... I have seen him before..."

Makini dropped her staff, "Really?"

"Yes. When I made a recent journey to the Outlands to find paintings I had never seen." he said, "How did Vitani see these lions?"

"Vitani had trouble remembering her dream while painting, so I had just the thing — I gave her the Zamani powder I found in my staff! Pretty smart, right?"

"Makini!" the elder mandrill snapped, "You have to be careful with these powders. You cannot just use it all up on something like dreams. This powder is very difficult to find, and can have side effects if used too much!"

"Really?!" Makini gasped, "Ohh, I didn't think of that! I'll put it away, Rafiki! I'll put it way away!"

"Good. Now, come! I must show you something!"

"Rafiki, wait!" Makini cried, still putting the powders in a safe spot — a nook behind some vines.

However, in an attempt to grab her staff while she hurried after him, she didn't see that she'd knocked a gourd from the hiding spot. A mess of orange powder lay scattered about the ground...

____

((Author's Notes: Yeah remember when I said this would be out July 12th on that one schedule post I made? The one where I basically irreversibly printed those dates that I had to abide by? Well, I was once again a couple of days late because a bunch of ideas and revisions came up. This has to be, like, the most despised production of a chapter/episode so far because this is a very transitional (and kinda filler) installment right after getting to such a high point with the last one. I kept switching a bunch of concepts and dialogue exchange scenes around to make sense of the chronology and why and when such things would happen. I've been so concerned lately with how much everything makes sense rather than just having something jotted down like how uploading this story used to be.

On a positive note, however, Makini was super fun and therapeutic to write. It was so fun to channel informalities like run-on sentences and rambling through her because she's so ADHD-coded lol.

Artist Note: This entire episode is highkey a meta commentary on my struggles to come up with things to draw, even down to overworking an image in my head so much that I actually lose the image altogether, making me give up before the stylus touches the tablet. The struggles with composition and making sense of this story were what played into such a debilitating 9-month hiatus. That, finishing community college, and taking forever to rid myself of a perfectionist art student mindset while making art over the summer is what finally got my head out of my ass, realizing that this story doesn't need to be so overly professional. I get that I wanted to emulate a nonexistent, hypothetical PG-13 show to succeed The Lion Guard, but I'm not a studio, I'm one person jotting down ideas and putting them in a screenshot art style. That's how Vitani's Guard even started, and it's okay if it goes up and down in how refined it is.

Also, I'm thinking of adding that little border with watermarks of the VG logo and episode/chapter number on VG art so we can keep track of when in the story an illustration takes place. What's confusing is that I refer to things as "Seasons" too, like this is "Season 3", for example.

Fun Facts:

The Zamani and Baadaye powder are based on the unnamed orange powder Rafiki used on Scar during the future hallucination sequence in the Disney Villains: Scar comic. DV:S is… not my favorite TLK installment because of how disconnected it feels, kinda feels like someone didn't watch TLK for years and only wrote something based on what they can remember of it. But! There were some aspects I liked, such as the aforementioned eye powder trip scene, these selfish and greedy vultures whose motives are actually established rather than just "hunched bald bird evil haha" that Disney always does. Also, just the general idea of Rafiki and Scar having a dialogue exchange. You never see that anywhere in any other TLK works, I don't think. I love how Rafiki sees something in Scar that no one else can yet, and how much Scar is like the Anakin to Rafiki's Obi-Wan/Yoda. The concept does get ruined by Rafiki seemingly knowing way too much about Scar's intentions, though, it kinda just makes Rafiki look like he just let Scar's tyranny happen :p. Think I'll write a full review on DV:S sometime.

Vitani and Makini's dynamic are an analogy of me taking the word of much younger, passionate artists who simply love what they make and have fun.

"Broken Bird", according to TV Tropes, is a term used to describe once idealistic individuals who had their dreams crushed through tragedy or abuse. The individual's demeanor and personality permanently change and they find it hard to love or get attached in any way again. Vitani and Zira's ideologies and emotional maturity were commonly deeply affected by the actions of their predecessors. Also it just so happened to go with the crow theme.))

Nuka trying to restore his fire by blowing it is based on the visual gag of Lumiere doing the same thing to his candlesticks.

[ocelot-t]

do have any Hazbin Hotel or just RadioRose headcanons? Like Rosie being a really good painter or Alastor technically being younger than he seems or something? (I just like reading other people's ideas on their favorite characters lol)

You arrived just in time.

There will be a lot of words I have mostly a lot of disconnected thoughts in my head, which I sometimes consciously or unconsciously implement in drawings. besides, I don't remember what the canon is, and what the old fanon is, to be honest. If you would like me to, I can share not only my headcanons, but also some of the AUs I have.

I understand where the theory comes from, but I don't like the idea of Alastor being forced to smile all this time. I think he wants to keep everything under his control so much that he smiles even in death. The idea that he is just a sick man, serial killer makes his eternal smile even more unnerving. I don't want to justify him.

I think Al would have enjoyed reading H.P Lovecraft’s works. The tentacled creatures and descriptions of people as nonentities suffering defeat in a fight with chthonic creatures... btw, some of Lovecraft's stories were published during Alastor's era. I have a small headcanon about Alastor's death, and I plan to create a comic in the future (if I can actually get it done).

There are 2 possible deaths of Alastor's mother in my mind, and I’m uncertain which one I want to illustrate. maybe both continuing the theme of Alastor’s human life. I sincerely believe that even if Alastor had really had an abusive father, Al would have been cruel since childhood. Guess what? I have an unfinished little comic with a hum!Al by another artist, and I'm uncertain when I’ll manage to complete it. The headcanon that suggests Alastor’s father is an abuser already seems like a canon; however, I don’t want to portray him as a completely terrible person. I like the idea of Alastor enjoying hunting, so let's say he learned it from his father. Just like all the dad jokes. on the other hand, as for the scars on Alastor, some of them probably came from his father, since domestic violence was a common problem. Regarding art, as you might have noticed, I have a headcanon that Al understands the arts in general, whether it's painting, cinema, or music. Perhaps I think this way only because I am trying to combine things I love very much. I imagine him as a person you could have a discussion about these topics with??? It seems to me that Alastor and Rosie would often discuss these topics over a glass of wine or a cup of tea. Suddenly, Alastor would show up at Rosie's and instead of hello I READ ABOUT FRA FILIPPO LIPPI. DO YOU HAVE AN HOUR FREE? BTW I HOPE YOU WATCHED THAT DZIGA VERTOV MOVIE THAT I RECOMMENDED Rosie would love art nouveau and I don't know rococo? and Alastor would be like no art nouveau is okay, cute, but rococo is bullshit. *2-hour episode of drunken dad teaching life* Continuing on the topic of artists, I repeat myself, I have a silly unfinished series of mini-comics about Alastor and Rosie as art academy students, the plots of which are based on real life (almost). I have thought about what kind of styles they would draw in, what kind of themes they would focus on, and so on. Again, there is a lot of text here already, so I'll wrap up this topic for now. P.S. I have a strange idea in my head about how to imagine Alastor in the USSR in the 10-30s. It was quite fun there: the World War I, the revolution, the civil war, the post-revolutionary years, famines and so on, and so on. For fun, of course, but Alastor the Communist has a good reason to hate Vox the Capitalist and his MMM I mean VVV or Lucifer the emperor of hell, if you know what I mean. Instead of telling dad jokes, he would say that life under Stalin was good and quote Lenin. Of course, these are all jokes, but I did have some abstract thoughts about how his life and his family's life would be arranged. However, I don't know enough about the history of USSR to actually implement this properly. so yeah

[angeart]

Have my pre-caffeine thought that Mr Beak is a Nice Thing. He's not something they need for survival, he's just Nice to have. And they haven't had a lot of Nice Things have they? They only have what they can carry with them. And there's been a couple mentions of Scar Nice Things - the journal and the painting, but there hasn't really been much mention of Grian Nice Things.

-🎀

YES. this is a good thought. you're so right.

grian doesn't really have anything that'd be purely sentimental or a "leisure" item, instead of things needed for survival.

scar has the journal, and it's not like it's off-limits to grian; he actually does use it, but mostly just in little ways. scribbles or notes, things he hopes scar would find and laugh at, you know? he can go to a random page, write or draw something in, then wait to see how long it'll take for scar to notice. it's almost like a little game <3 but the journal is ultimately scar's, and it has limited amount of pages, and it can't be easily replaced, so... grian really tries not to take up too much of the valuable space, you know?

when they get scarfakins, a silly painting but so worth it because it makes scar happy, they also take something else out of that cabin: a soft, blue sweater (kinda seen here and here). but that's a piece of clothing, which, again, aids survival by the end of the day, no matter how nice and soft it is.

it really takes until mr beak for grian to have something like that of his own. something that is, in a way, useless. just nice to have. (and that's like, late spring i think?)

the real question is: how long will he be able to keep it... :3

vex arc is nice because another side effect of it is that, with a semblance of permanency (i wonder how that ends :3c), they slowly start thinking about things they don't need but just want. oh, maybe next time they're out and find a camp, they could look for some nice fabric to replace their ratty curtains? hey, maybe they could spend a day chopping some wood, getting materials? maybe they could fix up their little place, do some changes and adjustments? maybe they could help the other vexes with their homes, too?

and building something isn't exactly a thing to Have, as in, a physical something to hold onto. but it is a Nice Thing, too.

[wasyago]

Dear Wasyago,

Strange, I have always thought it was spelled as Wasayago. But recently I've realized, I can't read very well.

I want to send appreciation today, to you.

You've taught me a lot about art. You've taught me a lot how to draw certain things, and you have opened my eyes to new perspective of art, ever since I started following you. Colours are brighter, I experiment more, I can see a specter of visuals that was previously hidden from me. It's like gaining shrimp colors.

Your art feels like an art classroom. There's sun pouring in from the windows, and there's tree leaves in front of them. Every time you come in you see different art projects. Paints add on to the tables, that will never scrub off again. There's dirty cups with paint water, and brushes, in the sink. It's lunch break, and there's people here. Some are just doing their math homework right before class, some are working on their sculpture, some are picking out paints, some are working on their new piece, on a fresh canvas. And it is so alive.

Your art feels so alive. Like the leaves, the people, the stains. It's really nice to see, every single time you post, how lovingly you bring a character into the world (My favorite so far is that one doodle of Modern au Gillion eating noodles, I have it in my favorites gallery).

I would like to see some unfinished, maybe forever to be so, doodles that you weren't especially proud of. We'll love it all.

Respectfully,

Marcus Bloodsmith

oh, thank you so much, this is so sweet qwq

im happy to know that you feel this way about my art, and im glad i could help you with some advice! it feels a bit weird to show unfinished or scrapped art under such a nice message, but yeah why not. and its funny that you mentioned the gillion eating noodles one, because its also one of the pieces that i really didn't like and didn't want to post hdgsh. i dont have that many unfinished drawings left because i delete or redraw most of them, but i have a couple that might be fun to share... and i guess it's gonna be a long post bc i wanna tell a little about each one or at least name them.

there's this art of chip, the first time i properly tried to figure out a way to draw him back when i just started listening. redrew this piece later, kept the sketch on the left, but the right one i changed completely because i didn't like the vibe this one has.

there's this attempt at redesigning caspian after i found out he was a water genasi, plus the first version of that art of caspian, pretzel and gill. this design didn't feel "caspian" enough, it looked too soft and kind where i wanted him to be more layed back and chill and sarcastic and with a bit of an edge. redrew both pieces later. the underwater drawing also has an unfinished background in this version, i added some fishies later so it didn't feel that empty.

some random sketch of gillion to show off how the lightning scars look on his face and neck. i quite like it, but it didn't really fit in the post with three proper drawings and one sketch so i decided to scrap it.

there's this drawing where i tried to figure out how the capital of the undersea looked like. i really didn't know where i was going with it and didn't have a good idea when i started drawing, so its a mess of things with nothing to really focus on. i tried to add a character on it later to breathe some life into it, but it didn't work out since i didn't focus it on the character from the beginning. plus i don't like how the colors turned out, and the entire concept of the environment feels weak and boring to me. i still want to draw more concepts of the undersea and try a couple other ideas, but probably at a later date...

the first version of whatever try it was to design gill's armor. (fun fact, i have more armor designs scheduled for tomorrow). this one i redrew almost immediately, i really didn't like how it turned out and how the legs were cut off and it looked so messy with no real accent point or personality. plus the smaller copy of the drawing in the corner just didn't look good. im not exactly proud of the redrawn version either (that's why i did another one yesterday lol), but im glad i redrew it anyway, it looks a lot better than this one.

the first sketch of that one gillion drawing. i couldn't figure out the colors for it for so long and wanted to drop the idea entirely. but i left it to sit for a couple hours and eventually got the motivation to come back to it and finish it. for most of the illustration pieces i did for jrwi there were multiple versions, where i just didn't like the first one and redrew the whole thing with a different composition and colors. didn't save any of those drawings tho...

this drawing of jay but with green wings and a slightly different color shirt. it was actually the first version of this drawing, and i changed the colors to blue later. wanted to post both of them side by side but then decided against it. that's why this drawing survived and was properly saved and not just deleted.

more recent attempts at designing the chaingel. i like the concept, and the pose in the second sketch is pretty badass, but the execution is just not there. it doesn't feel right, doesn't have the right kind of vibe that this character gives off. so im sure i will try and draw her later when i figure out what's missing and how to show her personality in the way it feels in my head. but these two sketches were never going to see the light of day, so now they're here.

aand this is it, this is everything that wasn't deleted in the past month for one or another reason. i feel like im more chill with deleting and redrawing things, so a lot of initial sketches and concepts never get saved or seen by anyone. im also on mobile so i can attach only ten files lol. not that it matters, the last two were just random figure drawings for warm up, not much to talk about.

[palesmokeisinthevoid]

Transfem Shrimpo Doodles and doodles for a…kind of self indulgent probably ooc au based on a Pokémon nuzlocke I’m doing.

Shrimpo and Toodles are siblings to me. Nothing will change this. Shrimpo will absolutely make fun of Toodles but if anyone else does she will throw her brick at them. She also lets Toodles paint her nails.

Poppy and Shrimpo <3. Honestly starting to sort of ship it but here it’s friendship. Poppy helped her figure things out. I’m imaging that when a few of the toons were first made they kind of came to the conclusion that they weren’t the gender that was originally intended for them, so that was fun script changing for Gardenview/j, Shrimpo was made real later on due to her…personality (I imagine the toons and Gardenview came before the cartoon, mainly to explain some headcanons, so some existed before the Cartoon such as the mains, the starters, etc. and others came from the cartoon such as Shrimpo), and didn’t realize a toon could be a different gender than what they were intended.

Shelly and Shrimpo friendship is everything to me you can pry it out of my cold dead hands. Ichor is pretty malleable so toons can change their appearance if they get a hold of some extra. Sprout didn’t have top to give surgery even before he realized he was trans but he gave himself the scars anyway because he thought it was neat…and now Shrimpo is in similar circumstances/j

Just Shrimpo and Teagan having tea. Nothing much to say here I just wanted to draw them

And now the weird au I have no name for

All these designs are based vaguely off of Pokémon and random ideas I had while doing a nuzlocke (specifically of a rom hack which is why the Pokémon are so mismatched) which is still ongoing.

Basically weird stuff happened, all the toons and twisteds got thrown into another dimension that keeps having other dimensions fuse with it to the point that this is just a regular October for them…anyway due to another substance in this dimension reacting a bit weird with ichor due to their similar properties it kind of started changing the most of the toons appearances and these are some of those designs

I got a Magikarp so of course I had to make Shrimpo the pathetic fish…and then the overpowered serpent. She started out with her canon design and then got the extra shrimp features…including arms. And also the marks from her skin, because I thought that would be fun.

Toodles ended up as a Togepi and the first move she pulled from metronome was FUCKING “Snipe shot”, so now she has a sniper rifle that no one can take from her because she can just summon it back to her. Not much changed much about her physically outside of her blush marks becoming triangles. The wings are just fakes because she got a new hoodie.

Rodger will one day be a graveler so four arms, not much to say. He is wearing alpha sleeper though since his suit got kind of…destroyed. By growing a second set of arms.

Razzle and Dazzle are a Galarian Yamask. They aren’t having a great time. They got knocked out at some point, Dandy found them and then got a terrible idea and enacted the first part of the idea on whichever one of them woke up first…unfortunately for Razzle, he’s an early riser. So uh, face shattered, Dazzle got lied to about the cause and then Dandy convinced him he could fix Razzle’s head if Dazzle just helped him with something. Razzle’s fucked up physically and mentally and Dazzle is just having a bad time.

CENTIVEE!!!! She got Venipede!!!! CENTIVEEEEEEEEEEE. I just like bug looking characters. She’s got a bunch of legs and three pairs of arms.

Shelly was the starter! Totodile! She’s got some croc stuff going on, nothing too distract she’s just a little reptile.

Cosmo probably would have come out normal looking outside having his caramel skins cheeks if he didn’t look a god straight in the eye. Now he’s gained their interest and if one gains a gods interest they can end up with some…new limbs or horns. In this case Cosmo got both since he ended up as Pidove and I wanted to incorporate the weird mask thing on Unfeasant so uh…Horn going straight through his eye! Fun!

Dandy is a Budew. Weird sleeve things aren’t sleeves, they are, in fact, a part of his arms. He’s got some twisted features too since…well, twisted dandy is dandy

Finn died in game. He was a Wooper, but he’ll be back eventually…the next time I get a fish Pokémon. Once that happens he’s never getting his legs back/j. Man is stuck as a mermaid…or Mayhaps a siren. Depends on what fish I get.

[wanderingaldecaldo]

by @sidver

Every colour and every taste Every breath that whispers your name It's like emeralds on the pavement (I got your honey, baby) At the heart of some kind of flower Stuck in glitter, strands of saliva Won't you get me right where the hurt is?

Robyn, "Honey"

I am at a loss for words—metaphorically at a loss of course, as I am nothing if not a writer. I cried once before when I received a commission (this incredible piece of Val by khymeira), which incidentally was a year ago yesterday; and now today when I was blessed by this gorgeous piece.

More blubbering (and WIP Wednesday) under the cut.

For background on my request, I gave Sidver a bit of my corpo!Val story, the part where things officially go off the rails in the plan, where these two friends who are faking being in love accidentally cross a line, then deliberately cross it once more.

This picture isn't worth 1000 words. It's value is infinite. It would (will) take thousands upon thousands of words to tell this story—the way Mitch cradles her head, and the tentative possession with his other hand; how Val holds his face, caressing his scar; the way they stand together, uncertain but longing; god, the emotionsssss. Sidver took a few paragraphs of words and turned it into real art.

And now I'm going to make this long post even longer by shamelessly adding on my writing since beloved @starsandskies tagged me for WIP Wednesday; only gonna tag @ravenstrange for reasons*. Please forgive the indulgence and have ~500 of the thousands of words that I need to write to live up to this incredible picture Sidver painted.

“Long day,” Mitch says.

Rather than answer, Val leans her head against his shoulder. This casual intimacy catches in his throat. He knows he should stop it, that it’s only going to make things worse when it’s time to stop pretending and return to the family; but he can’t, doesn’t want to. Instead he wraps his cybernetic arm around her, his hand on her shoulder, and she leans into him and sighs again. He skims his hand up and down her bicep, tracing his fingers along the lean muscle before returning them to her shoulder and squeezing gently. She shivers beside him.

“Cold? Want my jacket?”

With a shake of her head, Val smiles up at him and his heart skips a beat. “Thanks.”

Silence falls between them once more. Mitch finishes his cigarette then stubs it out and flicks it into the darkness below. He wishes he could bottle this feeling and carry it back to camp with him, this comforting shared quiet. Without conscious thought Mitch turns his head and presses his lips to her forehead. He breathes deep, inhaling the unassuming scent of her shampoo. As soon as Val shifts he knows he made a mistake, and then she brings her emerald eyes up to his face.

He’s been captivated before by the white ring surrounding the green pupil, but he’s never before noticed the brown spikes that ring the iris, just like his own—central heterochromia, he remembers, though how he can think at all while she’s looking up at him like this is beyond him. As she studies his face her eyebrows draw together, a tiny line appearing between them. He can’t read her expression but it’s her, not the corpo, and his chest squeezes even tighter, the breaths harder to draw. 

Her eyes drop to his lips and her own lips part before she raises her gaze back to his, the tip of her tongue peeking out as she tilts her face to him. Blood roaring in his ears, Mitch knows it’s a lapse in judgment from the drink, from the look in her eyes when he tips his chin down and brings them closer together. Val closes the distance, pressing her soft lips against his in a hesitant kiss. After a moment she pulls back, searches his eyes while her fingers linger on his skin. She still is letting him in, even if he doesn’t know what he’s seeing. 

“Val,” Mitch murmurs, part warning, part affirmation. 

Her name on his lips makes her breath come faster and her hand moves to the back of his neck, pulling him down to her once more. His cybernetic fingers slide up her shoulder to twine in the hair at the back of her neck, searching for anything to ground him. His head spins as she deepens the kiss. He’s lost now, falling backward into the abyss and sinking into darkness, and he doesn’t care.

*️⃣ Raven, you've been an awesome friend, and I can't overstate how much better you made my life when you put the seed for this ridiculous thing in my head.

[mr-nauseam]

re: ask game

12, 25 for marcus and sejanus!

omg first I appreciate the questions very much buddy!!!!! <3

12. What's a headcanon you have for this character?

Let me think… I can quite proudly say that I got it into vicó's head that Marcus has scars <3

Some on his face, on his neck and a lot on his hands, because he keeps carving too many trees and stuff. Small wooden figures, once he made a small bear, another time a flower for his little sister, and he practiced with many hearts before making the real one in marble (which he clearly gave to Sejanus as a gift).

You know, I think they are both quite artistic in their own particular ways. I like to think that Marcus might have some sort of hobby with woodworking, so he's making some pretty nice carved chairs.

And Sejanus, I've added just about any artistic hobby I could think of. He writes poems and can recite them, he also likes to draw, and he can paint in watercolors, although I don't think he's musical. Of course he likes music but he's terrible at singing, and he can't play any instruments, but back to his drawings and paintings.

I think Sejanus can draw people, and animals but it is rare for him to do so. I think he's more into landscape painting, he's doing landscapes all the time that he remembers from his home in Two, and he's even done some doodles of the desolate landscapes of the Capitol. So brutal, so cold and imposing but he's almost always trying to capture what he remembers of the mountains, of the colorful houses of his old neighborhood, Marcus' house he draws it often, he was there many times in the past.

Btw. The only people I think he has portrayed are Marcus and Coriolanus respectively.

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

This may come as a bit of a surprise because I breath and I talk about snowjanus all day long, so it's no surprise guess that I'm obsessed with Coriolanus and Sejanus, especially Sejanus, right?

Now what the heck does that have to do with the question? Well before I saw the movie, at least after I read the book and reread it, I really disliked Coriolanus (I still despise him) and I also found him the least interesting in the book because drum roll I WAS OBSESSED WITH SEJANUS (nobody's surprise) AND MARCUS!!!!!

Sejarcus is actually my first ship I made in TBOSAS <3

So I was turning them both over in my head those weeks before the movie changed me. First things first I found them the most interesting thing about the story, as obvious, not that Snow's dramas wouldn't have been entertaining but what little information I had about Sejanus, ESPECIALLY HOW LITTLE I KNOW ABOUT MARCUS is what made me obsess over them so badly.

Sejanus first struck me as adorable and I was amazed at the multitudes he contained. He was acting like a scared rabbit most of the time, he was sad and depressed but still had the courage to speak up!!! to try to defend his opinions and really cared about people. It was written in stone I would go crazy for him.

And Marcus… So this isn't very relevant but I really like the dectives genre and this guy IS a perfect mystery.

Something that impressed me a lot - and it's something I think about to this day a normal amount - is the contrast between what everyone predicted for him and his end. As everyone keeps saying the odds are that Marcus will be the winner because he is tall and strong but he ends up being, if possible, the biggest loser of the games.

I really almost cried during that scene. And I was really intrigued by his past with Sejanus, the kind gesture, his silence, his isolation, the photograph, the marble heart, the cruelty of fate that he was Sejanus' tribute (or Strabo's cruelty, depending on your interpretation of the matter).

All we knew about Marcus were fragments! less than that! little clear data, which can tell a lot if you are delulu enough and I am delulu enough!

I don't think I've changed my opinion of them? or my perception of them. I still love them with my soul... Maybe there are things that I now see more nuanced, for example I now recognize many of Sejanus' flaws (none) but that's ok I love him more for be so full of flaws <3 and maybe I think I now have a more defined interpretation of who Marcus is in my head, I have a playlist and everything.

And that's all. Hope u like this :))

(and if anybody want ask something Im so into it!)

[shewritesinblackink]

Barney's daughter - The Expendables fanfiction

Wanted to try something new so decided to write for the Expendables fabase. I find it rather hard to find fanfictions in this universe so i decided to do it myself but here are a few that i really liked:

links: read this on ao3

masterlist

Resume: For twenty-seven years, Barney had lived without knowing he had a kid. Until the day she came to him, being her only family left alive. With just a duffle bag and a crumpled letter from her mother. 

The night sky hung heavy, the dark clouds hiding the moon from the city. She had payed and exited the taxi a few streets over, not wanting to arrive too soon. Not wanting to draw attention. If she was being honest to herself, she was giving herself an out, grasping for a few more minutes to change her mind and walk back in the other direction. Finding him had been easy, but deciding whether or not she was ready to meet him took her months.

She had read the letter her mother had written before she left her alone in that big scary world. The paper tingled against her skin in her pocket. She didn’t know if she was supposed to, but she figured whatever she had to tell him via the letter was as much her business as it was his. She was his daughter after all, and she had never met him. Her mother had told her they didn’t need him. But the little girl in her had wanted to scream that she needed a father. She always had. She had wanted to tell her so many things and in the end she did not. Keeping her mouth shut and her thoughts to herself was something she had grown used to. Something about it was even written in the damn letter. It made her roll her eyes.

The letter had felt so pathetically written, as if asking him not to reject her, or judge her. Painting her as a freak, a weird girl who used silence as her way of dealing with the world. And violence as her coping mechanism, but that her mother hadn’t been fully aware of how far it went. She never saw the big bruises on her skin, she only saw what her daughter was willing to show her. A few split lips and bruised cheeks. A nasty scar on her jaw. Violence was in her blood, she couldn’t escape it but she could hide it.

She moved slowly in the dark streets, her scribbled on Converse silent on the asphalt. The duffle bag slung over her shoulder, heavy from all the CDs and books. More entertainment content than actual clothes. A rusty beaten-up metal box hidden between her t-shirts and her service gun. Her hand in her pocket unintentionally closed on the letter, ruffling the paper, marking it with crippling lines like old fragile skin. It was dirty from the dust of the journey. One plane, two buses, one train and one taxi. A few fast food to eat on the go, because she couldn’t be bothered with eating real meals. She hated to eat. Had always been like that. And it got worse when she joined the army. Crossed two states and had to sleep in a train station once because a hotel would have been a waste of money. She could’ve landed directly in New Orlean from the base she had been deployed to, but she had some paperworks to sign and the apartment to sell, where she used to live. When her mom was still alive. She realized it wasn’t that far from where he was. With a painful throb of her heart, a cold iron fist gripped her insides– she wanted to throw up. She realized she could’ve come to visit him earlier. At least get a quick look at the myth he had been in her child’s mind.

All her life her mother had insisted none of them needed a man or his money. And it was partially true; her mother’s job had been enough to pay the bills and put food on the table, but they couldn’t afford a new car, nor could they go on vacation or buy a new tv without reducing other expanses. As soon as she had been old enough to get a job, she did. Half the money she made was used to help around at home. The other half was saved and spent on tattoos. That too, was a coping mechanism. Like a drug.

She had worked in a bunch of different places, mostly grocery stores, car wash or gas stations. Once she had turned eighteen it all changed. She left for the army. Spent years away in dusty and dry foreign countries with strangers that ended up being as close as family can get. Found family they say, but it didn’t quite feel like it to her. She had always, even before the army, felt different. Not like others. She could feel it so deeply sometimes it hurt. It made her feel lonely, because no one else seemed to be like her– to feel like her. She knew she was fucked up from the love she didn’t receive growing up. From her “bad friends” as her mom used to say. She even wrote a few words about it in the letter, asking him to keep an eye on her and her whereabouts. Pathetic. She wasn't a kid anymore. 

The bright neon sign was the first thing she saw against the black sky. The yellow and red glow blinking in a small puddle of rain at her feet. Laughter escaped the open door, some shadows dancing in the orange light coming from inside. Her steps faltered, coming to a slower pace and then to a halt. A weird feeling made its way inside her, gnawing at her stomach like a dog gnawing on a chew toy. She wasn't so sure this was a good idea anymore. She had spent the whole journey to New Orlean wondering what his reaction was going to be. She had first gone to a bar her mother had told her she would surely find him at. But she didn’t. She didn’t have to search long though, one simple question to the man owning the place, some doe-eye and a nice smile and she had her next destination delivered on a silver plate. Thoughts of living alone crossed her mind. No relatives, no friends, no family. She could live like that, it was quite peaceful. And peace she seeked. But something pushed her forward, her feets moving on their own toward the light. Like a ghost crossing to the afterlife.

She had hoped to find him alone, but her hopes were soon crushed to the ground as more laughter escaped the room. She took a few more steps, hesitation written all over her body. One hand clutching the crumpled paper in her pocket. That damn letter was burning her skin like acid. She didn’t want to give it to him. She thought what her mother had written was humiliating. She wasn’t excited about how he would react. Maybe he would throw the thing away and tell her to fuck off. She was twenty-seven for fuck’s sake, who was she to expect a warm welcome from a complete stranger? And if that was his reaction, honestly she wouldn’t fight it. She’d leave the state entirely and would never come back.

Once she walked closer to the glowing sign reading “Tool’s” she had a peek inside the room. Motorcycles were parked in front, and some more shiny-colored and brand-new ones were parked inside far from the door. It smelled of gasoline and beers. And something else she couldn’t quite tell. She spotted a few men inside, seated or pacing around the room. Green bottles of beers and empty pizza boxes were sprawled on the small makeshift table, surrounded by a few seats.

Two of the men went silent when they turned and saw the young woman entering the shop. The white floor shone under her muddy-dirty shoes. Her breathing was even and silent as the music filled her ears but she could feel her lungs starting to close up. She tried to focus on the song. It was an old rock blues. She recognized it easily because one of her brothers in arms had a small MP3 player constantly blaring his rock songs when they would be in their tents cleaning their gear and weapons. And this one was almost always on repeat.

The ongoing conversation stopped when everyone noticed her standing in the middle of the shop. A man with long dark and white hair, probably in his fifties, was the first to talk to her. His voice was warm and gentle when he said, “Sorry miss, the shop is closed. But come back tomorrow.” He threw her a charming, wide smile. Y/n didn’t move, only scanning the room with her eyes until they landed on one man in particular. She didn’t have any recent picture but she could swear it was him. She would’ve recognized it anywhere. For good measures she took the old faded photo from her back pocket. While she glanced between him and the pic, the other men in the shop moved to stand closer to the two eldest. Like would a pack of wolves, ready to protect their own.

She dropped her bag on the tiled white floor and took a deep breath before asking, “Barney Ross?”

The man could’ve been the brother or cousin of the first who had spoken, except he had shorter hair and a less friendly face. He nodded slightly, wondering why this young woman was looking for him. It wasn’t for a job, that much he was sure of. Except if she was rich and needed the service of mercenaries.

“Who’s asking?” Deep grave voice, not letting out a single emotion. Almost like a robot. As a response she clenched her fist around the letter before taking it out of her pocket and handing it to him silently. She didn’t know if she was supposed to walk over to him but she didn’t get the chance to, for one of the other men still standing in the room took it from her and gave it to Barney.

Looking around the shop, she could now spot some pictures on the far wall, a dart target with darts and blades still in it and a few posters of vintage cars. If the music wasn’t still playing, she would’ve felt even more uncomfortable than she already did. They were staring at her like preys eyeing their dinner. She was a deer in the middle of the road. But she knew to stand her ground. She just patiently waited for his reaction, watching his every move. 

Barney opened the envelope, noticing with a raised eyebrow that it was not sealed. Shoving her hands in her pants pockets, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, waiting. Everything was silent outside the shop. So silent that for one second she wondered if she wasn’t dreaming all this. Maybe she’ll wake up all tangled in her bedsheets in her hot apartment two states over. Or on base somewhere on the globe. Maybe she would go on with her day as usual, her mind wondering what it would be like to come to New Orlean and meet the legend, her father. But soft thunder echoed in the night outside, and the lights in the shops winked in fear– or delight. The scent of rain made its way to her nostrils, helping her to relax a little. This wasn’t a life or death situation, she was fine. She focused on her breathing.

She closed her eyes tightly, slightly frowning to shake the thoughts trying to crawl in her mind away. She wasn’t in some too-realistic dream induced by drugs or the lack of sleep of the nights before. She tapped lightly her foot on the floor, closed her hands in tight fists as if measuring the degree of realness of everything around her. The soft hum of the neon sign above the door, the music being turned down slightly to allow conversation to happen more calmly. Verifying even if she was real in all of this madness. Pinching herself. And she was. She didn’t know if she felt disappointed that she had finally stopped chewing over the idea of paying him a visit and the fact that she actually acted on it. Or if it was just too damn hot and humid in this foreign city, and she was so exhausted her brain only half-registered what was going on around her. She needed to sleep.

The seconds ticked by on the clock on the wall and he was still reading the buttery-yellow letter. His fingers crumpling the paper again, his eyes scanning the page line after line without emitting a single sound. He didn’t even glance up to her to check if she was still here. He knew she was. A frown appeared on his forehead and she cursed herself, her mind double talking, saying she shouldn’t have come but also yes! you did the right thing! She wanted to sit down but no one moved, no one offered her a chair. She looked at the floor quickly, realizing she was putting dirty footprints on the white shiny tiles. Half-apologies almost left her lips but she kept them sealed in time. She wasn’t good at interactions. 

Her palms started to become sweaty, hidden away in her cargo pants pockets. Hiding the nervousness-induced fidgeting. Picking at the skin around her nails, even though she swore to herself she would stop. She failed miserably every time she was nervous. And the meds didn’t help.

The air was suffocating her and she wanted to take off her sweater jacket but she remembered she might not smell of roses after multiple days traveling in buses and trains. A blink of the light above and her mind played a trick on her. What if he thinks I came only to get money and leave ? It could happen if his reaction was not what she had imagined. The air seemed to buzz around them when he exhaled loudly and ran a hand down his face. Okay, he’s not happy. This isn’t going to be a warm welcome. More like a cold Goodbye. Chewing on her bottom lip like she was seventeen again, she lifted her head up and looked him in the eyes.

“So you’re Marlene’s kid?”

She noded. He sighted.

“And so you’re… Is she certain?”

Again, a nod.

The hand that held the letter faltered to his side, limp as if he was suddenly empty of all energy. He exchanged a look with the other eldest, the one with the long hair and the cowboy hat. “What is it?” A man with a pleasant British accent asked, twirling a silvery blade between his fingers. She admired the dexterity with which he toyed the thing. The explanations had taken longer than what she had imagined. Mainly because she had to explain everything three times for the guys who were overprotective and wanted more details. She didn’t know how strong their bond was, but she had a vague idea that they shared almost everything. If I put my life in your hands, and you put yours in mine, we got no secrets for each other. The words echoed in her mind, dazzling and dangerous at the border of her sanity and ptsd.

She fought hard to block the flashes of memories flooding her mind. She couldn’t afford to appear like a crazy woman, it was too soon to reveal how the world had damaged her. But maybe they could guess, have a glimpse through the cracks on her body, the scars littering her skin. If only she was not wearing long sleeves and a pair of pants.

They all sat on the chairs around the two little makeshift tables. Slices of pizza long forgotten, now cold, half-drunk beers now warm enough to be disgusting. Barney had been silent for the most part, only asking a few questions. She would've preferred to meet him in a one-on-one setting. It was one of the most awkward experiences she had had the pleasure to live, to meet a father she had never met, in front of his close friends she had also never met. And she could only imagine how he was feeling. How were his colleagues going to react to the fact that their boss had a one night stand more than twenty years ago, and that that memorable night had gifted him with a child he had no idea existed until an hour ago. Apparently they were all as shocked as the not-so-new father.

The night promised to be long.

[littlewitchbee]

@aicasey I need to apologize for absolutely butchering this ask. It’s tumblr’s fault for not letting me edit asks but also my fault for messing up the post in the first place 😅 And thank you so much for these thoughtful questions! I really appreciate them.

I’m so happy you decided to look into him some more! His life was really interesting. I also really enjoyed that video! It was very cool to see those two portraits compared in that way. The Madame X controversy seems so silly by modern standards! Then again, my entire twitter feed today has been people upset about the “cultural value” of modern/abstract art 🙄 I guess the more things change, the more they stay the same lol

In the context of the fan art I’ve made - specifically my fandom studies of Sargent’s portraits - he’s already given me a pretty solid foundation to copy. Roy and Riza are studies of these portaits. I can copy the poses, lighting, and the look of his brushstrokes (certainly not as masterfully or efficiently, but that’s why we study). We also have a pretty solid understanding of how they look and move from the manga and anime, but translating that to a more “realistic” style is hard to do without reference. I rely on features I’ve learned through observation and years and years of life drawing. It’s like the ring in Madame X - it’s just a blob of paint up close but your brain interprets it as a ring. I draw a blonde woman with bangs, a tattoo, and scars on her back and it’s Riza Hawkeye lol

I’d say we’re limited by our skill but that isn’t true. It’s probably cliche, I think we’re more limited by our imaginations. It would definitely be easier if they were real and could sit for a portrait, though. (But I think if that were the case I would be trying to steal Riza from Roy instead of painting them lol)

Thank you so much for all of your kind words and your support! They really mean a lot to me! (And thank you for pointing out the ring on Roy in my other art - I couldn’t resist 😌) I hope you’re having a wonderful holiday and I wish you a happy, fulfilling new year!

[secretprincesskitty]

I don't think Ciri will be as hairy as Olgierd. White hair is very thin and fragile. Ciri also has elven blood, and elves don't have body hair in most cases. Ciri probably spends a lot of time to keep the hair on her head in good condition. And I think Ciri paints her eyebrows.

In the Middle Ages, men considered the hairless female body seductive and youthful. But Roche didn't care about the presence of hair on Ciri's body (but Voorhees might faint if he saw the hair on a woman's body). Nevertheless, there are other girls, Ciri has always envied them and wanted to be just as beautiful. Therefore, Ciri as a countess and Empress could remove hair on her body. In other variants, she would not care about this, because there are no possibilities and no sense.

(Also, CD Projekt RED and others are just too lazy to draw hair on the bodies of the characters.)

Ciri, in general, like most girls, is very sensitive to being beautiful. No wonder, the appearance of a scar on her face was a big blow to her self-esteem. And she considers the appearance of enchantresses to be ideal, if we recall her opinion of Margarita and Yennefer.

Your version of Ciri is just another alternative ideal.

no, not as hairy as olgierd, he was just the only character I can recall who has hair in tw3, I agree with cdpr not doing more body hair because they were lazy

blonde hair can be visible like here (I don't know about the first one but the second pic is apparently the legs of a woman)

I am no expert about medieval studies, but luckily the witcher plays in fantasy land where dragons are real and has simply been influenced by medieval Europe history and Ciri eats magic witcher mushrooms to achieve a stronger body

do you think most girls want to be pretty out of an instinctive wish to look a certain way or do they grow up in a society that has certain expectations to women and praises those who meet those standards and shunts the others, so that girls desires get affected by their wish to belong to the community around them? 🤔

Ciri also asked Trish to turn her into a boy, so genderfluid sound good to me :)

the last part is true, it is my alternative ideal for witcher Ciri (when she has to be a witcher, I definitely don't want the empress ending) I hope other people have as much fun with their perfect ending for Ciri as I have with my mutagens pumped up vigilante Ciri <3

[f1shbonez]

"You found me." (@vastayan--vigilante )

Everything that followed the mission had been a bore. 

There was no adrenaline now. No electricity. People moved like their limbs were attached to anchors, scuffing their feet, as they convened with hollowed eyes. Some of them were still crying. Eugh. Was this what happened whenever somebody didn’t come back from a mission? Jinx doubted the same rituals of grief would be extended if she’d been the one who hadn’t made it back. 

Whatever. Whilst everyone wasted time stewing on Scar’s Oh-So-Brave sacrifice, playing it over in their heads, blaming themselves and mentally replaying time, Jinx contemplated her last glimpse of the vastayan. Sevika had got him preeeeetty good. Sure, that usually was a death sentence. But how long did it take to drive a blade through somebody or shoot them in the head? You didn’t waste time binding someone’s wrists if you were gonna kill them good ‘n quick. You didn’t! Sevika didn’t. You tied someone up to play the Long Game. Jinx had seen it done more times than she could count- she’d even partaken in a few of the ventures herself. So that had to mean Scar wasn’t dead, at least not yet…right? If he was dead his body would be left in the street. Sevika and her goons never tidied up their messes. 

Jinx wandered idly past the memorial wall’s latest cluster of visitors, lighting candles and painting. Sheesh, were they that used to their friends dying that they’d already given up hope? Had nobody else picked up on the signs out there? Pausing, Jinx scanned the group, noting Ekko near the heart of it. For a moment, she hesitated before turning on her heel and heading towards the tree. 

She could dart back out there to check if Scar’s body was left in the gutter. What if his body wasn’t there and her hunch was right? Priggs? There was nowhere else they could take him. Priggs still had its old boltholes. Maybe she could find a clue. Something useful to bring back to Ekko and all the others so they stopped being so…boring. Maybe Scar was going to be kept for some questioning. The Firelights had made more of a name for themselves, so it made sense for Sevika to be closing in. What if I find him? Jinx thought to herself whilst taking pains to fill her pockets with enough fresh supplies to see her through another ugly scuffle. Safety first! 

If Scar was in there, it was good news! Jinx to the rescue! It made perfect sense. The idea was exciting. Fun. WAY more fun than blubbering and drawing Scarface next to a sea of dead guys. It wasn’t hard to slip away, not when just about everybody’s mind was a million miles away. 

The first part of the plan was easy. The streets were much quieter in the wake of everything. No Scar-shaped bodies were left bleeding out into the cobbled streets. Finding Priggs was easy too. The place was massive, after all, and not entirely unknown territory. Slipping into Priggs and digging around, eavesdropping and keeping an eye open for any familiar faces was also easy. The challenge came once Jinx had prized herself into the air vents. It was harder to listen in from here; harder to get your bearings and moving took more time and effort. The good thing was, the vent system seemed to lead to just about every room. The bad news? Priggs was huge. 

It took a long time of crawling and listening at vents to get a real heading. The mention of ‘visitors’ had seemed promising, until Jinx followed it to a Chem Baron meeting. Then she followed the voices out, took some turns in an order that felt right and paused to write her last will and testament on the inside of one of the vent panels before continuing. The whole journey was beginning to feel like a game of hide and seek that she was hours into losing until one very familiar voice sounded near the closest hatch in the vent system. Sevika. 

“How’s the guest?”

“Quiet.” Sevika’s oafish voice grunted.

Jinx strained in an effort to prize more words out of the unintelligible muttering. Nothing. But ‘guest’? That felt important. And the guest was going to be in one of the rooms in the opposite direction to where Sevika was going now. Jinx pressed forwards. After what felt like years, one of the dim holding rooms revealed the sight she was looking for. Crumpled and much smaller than Jinx remembered him, there was the unmistakable shape of Scar in a funny position on the floor. Jinx bit back a victorious squeal of excitement. 

Gotcha!

For a long moment, Jinx simply watched, fascinated by the poor state of her friend and his confinement. He was definitely alive…which was the most anyone could really ask for right now. Laying on her stomach, Jinx propped her head onto one hand, pursing her lips down to the very miserable lump that she now called a friend. 

For a moment, she considered the need to be discreet. Sound carried, after all, and compromising this good of a find wasn’t an option. So, what then? Jinx began trailing a finger absently against the grating at the mouth of the vent into the room. It only made a small noise, but maybe to a person in an empty room it would be enough to steal their attention. Jinx waited. Nope! Nothing. Okay fine. Screw being quiet. She’d tell a joke. Scar looked like he could use a good joke. Before Jinx could settle on one, her nose itched from the disrupted dust and with a half-caught breath, a sneeze sounded from the vent.

Ah well. May as well rip the baid-aid off now. Cat’s outta the bag!

“I knew I’d find you.” Unbridled pride swam in Jinx’s words. As Scar turned, Jinx grimaced at the sight of his face. Wow. Was this the right guy?

“You found me.”

“Uh. Yeah!” Jinx drawled, as though it were an obvious conclusion to the latest events. “Didya miss your old pal Jinx?”

[stargazer-sims]

15 OC Questions!

I was also tagged by @van-yangyin - thank you! I love how many times I've been tagged for this. I'll happily do as many as I get!

Anya (Baranova) Pavlenko

Are you named after anyone?

I'm not entirely sure, to be honest. My real name is Anna-Valentina Alexandrovna (The first part is pronounced like Anna from the movie "Frozen" if you're curious). "Alexandrovna" is the patronymic from my father, Alexander, so I suppose technically I'm named after him, but I don't think it really counts because all Russian names are like that. Anya is a diminutive of Anna, although it's my preferred way to be addressed.

Anyway, there's a family rumour that my father named me after his first crush which, if it's true, must've absolutely thrilled my mom. Her name's Yevgenia; Zhenya or Jenny for short.

When was the last time you cried?

I try to cry as little as possible. The last time was quite recently, though. It was a couple of weeks ago, at the airport, just before I boarded the first leg of my flight home. Kolya — you know him as Nikolai. He'd never tolerate that particular diminutive from anyone who's not close to him — came to say goodbye to me. He was trying so hard to be brave, poor thing, but he was crying a little bit and trying desperately to hide it, and that set me off. He doesn't cry often either, but it absolutely breaks my heart when he does. I had to hurry off so we didn't embarrass ourselves by giving away our weaknesses in front of each other like that. I cried my eyes out on the plane, though. I love him so much, and saying goodbye is always hard, no matter what I may claim is the "official story".

Do you have kids?

Thankfully, no. Children would definitely cramp my lifestyle. I don't think my darling Kolya wants kids either, so I'm sure that even if we do manage to settle down at some point, I'll still be able to dodge that particular bullet.

Do you use sarcasm?

I do, but not excessively.

What’s the first thing you notice about people?

I tend to notice little imperfections; asymmetry in a face, birthmarks, moles, wrinkles, scars... that sort of thing. Those are the things that make faces unique and interesting and beautiful. The little creases between Nikolai's eyebrows, for example? I love those. I'm a professional photographer, and I think I've always had an eye for fascinating physical details.

What’s your eye colour?

My eyes are blue.

Scary movies or happy endings?

I'll admit, I enjoy scary movies. Not the ones with senseless, gratuitous violence, but the ones that have the potential to be truly scary. Psychological thrillers and films that are scary enough to make me look over my shoulder for a few days afterward. When we're together, Nikolai watches them with me sometimes, but I know he doesn't like them. When the really scary or messy parts come up, he just wants to be cuddled and doesn't really want to look. I won't lie... I like scary movies for that reason, too. I'm a bit enamoured with the idea of him needing me to protect him from something. He's typically the strong one, or at least that's what he'd like everyone to think, so it's oddly nice when he lets himself be even a little vulnerable with me.

Any special talents?

Ooh... I don't think I should say what those are on a PG-13 blog. Ask my Kolya what my special talents are. Watch him blush. It'll be adorable and amusing, I promise.

Where were you born?

Brindleton Bay

What are your hobbies?

I would say photography, but that's also my job, so probably that doesn't count. My main hobby is painting and drawing. I also enjoy cooking and trying new recipes. I absolutely love to dance. I think that could be considered a hobby as well. Oh, and I like to knit.

Have you any pets?

No, I don't. My job requires a lot of travelling, and it wouldn't be fair to the pet if I constantly had to leave them with someone else while I'm away.

What sports do you play/have played?

I used to be a competitive figure skater. I also did gymnastics when I was young. One of my favourite sports is skiing, and I also enjoy weight training and yoga.

How tall are you?

165cm

Favourite subject in school?

My favourite subject in school was always art. I also liked physical education and history.

Dream job?

I'm lucky enough to have my dream job right now. I'm a professional photographer, and I specialize in sports and entertainment. My studio is called Shooting Stars, and I've gotten contracts from all over the world to do shoots for actors, musicians, athletes and performing artists. My photos have been in magazines, on the internet, and in loads of advertising and promotional materials. Between contracts, I actually do have a physical studio in Brindleton Bay, where I do both corporate and private portrait shoots for clients. It's just a little hole-in-the-wall place, but it's mine and I love it. My flat is above the studio, so it's convenient to be so close to my work when I'm at home. I can't possibly imagine anything better. Not everyone can say they're living their dream, but I'm proud to say I am.

______

I've tagged so many people already, but this time I'll tag @van-yangyin (because you tagged me), @bl-sims-anime @akitasimblr @enniewritesathing

As always, feel free to ignore if you've already done it, or don't want to do it!