#personal stuff yee haw

[toomanywordsnllines]

Sometimes... the world can be a little too much.

[art]

Meet the Artist: @erindrawsstuff

Hi, I’m Erin, and I draw stuff! I’m an illustrator and 2D animator based in Austin, Texas (yee-haw). I’ve been in and out of the animation/entertainment industry for about 3 years, working many different roles like character designer for Rooster Teeth, animator for The Daytripper (a Texas-based PBS special), and character and prop designer for Lowbrow Studios (Adam Ruins Everything, etc.). Most of my work is now in personal projects like my webcomic “SUBSIX” (I promise I’m coming back to it!) and working with friends and colleagues within indie spaces, all while working my day job and returning to school for a degree in 3D animation! Most of my inspiration can likely be traced back to my cringe anime roots and the more obscure 2D animated movies from Disney while looking to new inspirations like Into the Spider-verse and Delicious in Dungeon. I think my main goal has been to create compelling stories with enticing characters while trying to navigate the complexities of life and the people in it (both in the media I create and irl). In the meantime, I explore this through reading works like The Locked Tomb, listening to Philosophy Tube, playing disaster lesbians in our DnD campaign of nearly 4 years, playing video games that make me cry and question things, and challenging myself to grow and improve in all aspects. I hope someday I’m able to return to being a full-time artist, but for now, I’m rediscovering why I create and how to maintain a reasonable work/life balance. I’m truly grateful that people enjoy my work, regardless of how big or small my following is or becomes in the future. I hope one day I’m able to be an inspiration to someone as many have for me! Thank you for this opportunity to introduce myself!

Nice to meet you, Erin! Below are some pieces they have shared with you all.

Check out more of Erin's work over at their Tumblr, @erindrawsstuff!

[effy-writes]

Addict (Blitz x Reader)

8: Harvest Moon Festival: Stimulants

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

Your body rested on top of Blitz, you were able to hear his heart beat since your head was on his chest. With his free hand he played with your hair. Rubbing the scalp, twirling the strands of your hair.

"Was I too rough?" He said, bringing the cigarette to his mouth.

"I liked it, Blitzy~" Stolas chimed. 

"Not you, her."

"It was fine." You said with a sleepy tone due to Blitz giving you an half assed scalp massage.

The two of them talked about the arrangement and why Stolas had to move it early. You didn't mind doing it early, you're actually starting to enjoy these encounters.

Blitz was about to get up but you held on him tighter, not wanting him to leave.

Stolas continued, "The Harvest Moon is a very special occasion! It's been my annual duty to showcase it in the Ring of Wrath. It's celebrated by a very charming little festival with the locals."

"Wrath, huh? My employees are from there. I've never really been. I hear it's full of inbred chucklefucks."

"Oh! Why don't you all join me at the festival? I can guarantee you all..." Stolas got up and trailed his fingers along your naked back. "special access~"

"Look, I told you, we're not bodyguards. Okay? That was a one-time thing we did badly."

"I'm simply offering a work-free day of fun! I feel quite safe at the Harvest Festival. It's the same every year."

"Then why do you want us to go?" You mumbled, falling in and out of sleep.

"Because! I enjoy hanging out with you two."

"Well if you promise this isn't some fuck fest invite, it does sound like it could be a blast and a half. Plus, it's not like we can do jack shit without your book anyway." Blitz scoffed.

~~~

"Hey, hope I didn't wake ya, Mox! How would you and Mils like to visit the Wrath Ring for some harvest bullshit this year?" Blitz called Moxxie.

"We're already here, couldn't we just tell them in person?" You whispered, Blitz quickly hushed you.

"The Harvest Moon Festival?! Yee-fuckin'-haw!" Millie squealed.

"Well, Millie likes the idea. Wait... Where are you calling from?"

The two of you lost balance and fell on top of the couple.

"Y/n? I was expecting Blitz, but really? You joined in on the stalking?" Moxxie huffed.

"He begged me, sorry."

~~~

"Mama! Daddy!" Millie ran to hug her parents. The 3 talked for a bit before Millie grabbed Moxxie, "y'all remember my husband Moxxie?"

"Greetings, Lin! Joe! How have you been, uh, with all the... flaming twisters and stuff around here?" He nervously said.

Blitz turned his attention to you, "You know I barely saw your parents."

You stiffened, "Yeah, what a shame, nice people."

"I don't do compliments but you look pretty good in a cowgirl outfit.”

You snickered, "Thanks."

You looked back over at M&M and her parents, "Oh, crumbs. My bad! I am so sorry. I- I didn't mean to open that wound... sir." Moxxie said to Joe.

"Hey, watch it! I'm the "sir" here, bucko!" Blitz yelled.

"Oh yeah! Y'all haven't met my boss Blitz! This is Y/n!" Millie got closer to her dad, "I think they're dating. And his hellhound!"

"I'm not just his hellhound." Loona argued.

"Yeah, she's my daughter!" Blitz replied.

"Only on paper." She walked away.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet the sperm and egg factory that popped out this little gem of an assassin. You two raised a sturdy bitch!" Blitz greeted her parents.

"That we did! So... Blitz, is it? Heh heh. That's a fine name." Joe shook his hand.

You awkwardly stood there, turning your head and saw Loona sitting in the van. You opened up the drivers side and sat with her.

"How have you been?" You asked.

Loona shrugged, "It's been whatever. What are you and Blitz anyway?"

"What do you mean?"

"Dating? Friends with benefits? What is it?"

"I actually don't know. And sorta don't care."

There was some silence.

"I know we barely talk other than superficial shit, but why were you in rehab?"

You were lost for words, "Stimulants addiction."

"Just wondering." Loona continued to type on her phone.

You looked out the window and laughed, grabbing Loona’s attention, “Moxxie is wrestling a hog and is losing.”

The two of you got out and Loona hit record on her phone, “This is fucking beautiful.”

"Ow...my clavicle" Moxxie rubbed his neck and left the pin.

"Don't worry, little one... You never stood a chance." Striker said as he noticed you rewatching the video that Loona took. "I didn't meet you yet, what's your name, pretty thang." Striker smirked.

"Y/n."

"Names Striker." He winked and walked away with the dead hog over his shoulder. "Hey, boss man! You wanna help the men skin this thing for dinner?"

Blitz clapped, "Oh, I am always down to skin the manly meat with the manly men!"

~~~

Millie’s parents didn’t have any room for you and Blitz, so you had to sleep together. You offered to sleep on the couch or with Loona so he can have a bed to himself for once but Blitz didn’t want to leave you out of sight.

“You really think that I’m gonna get drugs? From where!”

“I don’t fucking know! You brought this on your own.” He crossed his arms.

“Blitz please get off of my ass for ONCE!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP.” Loona yelled from across the hall.

You aggressively ran your fingers through your hair. “and you’re making it worse by keep reminding me i’m a fucking drug addict.”

Blitz sat on the bed and rested his elbows on his knees as he rubbed his temples. “Let’s just go to sleep. We gotta do this shit tomorrow.”

You paced back and forth as you bit your nails. Blitz looked up at you and noticed you were stressed or about to have a panic attack. He called out your name in a soft tone, “Come here.”

You shook your head as your breaths increased. The only thoughts running in your mind is that you don’t want Blitz to only see you as a drug addict and if that’s all he’s gonna see in the future. Blitz stood up and placed his hands on your shoulders to prevent you from pacing back and forth, “Lay down, okay? You’re freaking yourself out.”

Blitz took your hand into his and led you to the bed. He helped you lay underneath the covers as he made his way in as well. The moon shined through the country-looking-ass room and he could see your glossy eyes. Blitz gently caressed your face, “You need sleep. Do you want to be little spoon? I know how you like to be held.” He chuckled.

You deadpanned, “You just want my ass against your dick.”

“Maybe.”

“Ugh..fine.” You playfully rolled your eyes and smiled as you turned the other way. And you were right, you felt Blitz’s clothed dick against your ass.

~~~~

The next day everyone gathered for the Harvest Moon Festival.

Moxxie, Blitz, Striker, and you decided to join in on the game. Originally you weren't going to do it, but Striker gave you some "pick me ups" which is just adderal. Thank youuu, Striker.

Stolas walked onto the stage, "Greetings, tiny... Wrath Ring Imps! I hereby welcome you all to another year of celebrating the spoils of your labor that continue to feed the citizens of Hell! I'm happy to kick off the start of these games that will challenge the toughest Imps to show their skill in dominance. Good luck to you all! Especially those sexy little imps down there... Yoo-hoo! Blitzy! Y/n!"

"Ugh. Fuck me." Blitz cringed, but you on the other hand bursted out laughing.

The gun noise pierced the air and everyone sprinted. Moxxie kept getting trampled, Striker and Blitz was in the lead. You were so cracked out that you jumped over so many imps, stepped on their backs and jumped right in front of Blitz.

"Oh that fucker is definitely on drugs." He grunted.

"What? Your plaything? Jealous because she’s beatin' you?" Striker teased.

"Not jealous, disappointed."

Striker, Blitz, Moxxie and you teamed up for tug of war. The adderal was slowly leaving your body, including the strength and stamina, but luckily you made it past tug of war.

However, when wrestling came you lost to a very angry Blitz. "How the FUCK did you get stimulants?" He pinned your arms down. You kept kicking and thrashing, trying to get Blitz off.

"Can't believe you think I'm doing drugs again when I'm actually trying my hardest you dick." You spat.

Blitz got off and you aggressively walked away, "Fuck, Y/n, Im…FUCK!"

Without turning around you flipped him off. You're not mad at him, he's right, you did take drugs, but you can't help to be mad at everyone and everything. It's your fault, isn't it? Letting Striker talk to you, letting him talk about "natural" medicine, buying some from him. You could've stopped but you didn't.

Wally started speaking, "I say, I say, for the first year ever, we have a tie for winner of the Harvest Moon Pain Games!"

Stolas took his microphone, "The winners are... Striker, aaaaand my darling Blitzy!"

"Just say my name RIGHT! Fuckin' dick." Blitz and Striker made their way up onto the stage.

You sat down beside of Millie, resting your head in your hands.

"You okay, hun?" Millie rubbed your back.

"Yeah...just tired."

"I bet." She chuckled, "You were goin' hard!"

Millie expected you to laugh but sense that something is wrong because you two are always goofing off. She soften her look, "You can tell me anythin', you know that, right?"

You lifted up your head and gave Millie a reassuring smile, "I'm fine, Mills. Thank you."

Blitz arrived with a hotdog in his mouth, "Isn't this guy great? It's gonna be nice workin' with him."

"Working with him...? WHAT?!" Moxxie stammered.

"Yeaaaah! I asked him if he wants to join I.M.P."

"Mox, I think you've had enough, for now. Let's head back to the house and get you clean." Millie kissed his cheek.

Blitz looked over at you. You felt him staring at you but didn't acknowledge him.

~~~

"Where's M&M?" You asked Blitz, shutting the front door of Millie's parent's house.

"I don't know, go check upstairs."

As you made your way upstairs you got a hunch that something was wrong. You turned to your left and picked up a hiking stick that was hung up on the wall. Holding it like a baseball bat, Godamn, me and these stupid wooden rods.

You peaked in the rooms and saw Striker with a gun, pointing it out the window. Your eyes widened and placed your back against the wall, exhaling and peaked back in.

You walked in the room and as you was about to hit Striker he turned around and pointed his gun.

"Y/n? Why are you here." He smirked. "Coming to get more adderal?"

You gulped, feeling your body shake.

"Guess not." His finger was on the trigger. You jumped and swung the hiking stick but Striker caught it, swinging it to hit your face.

"Fuck!" You yelled, falling down on your side. Before you could react Striker put his foot on your chest. You flung your legs trying to fight back but he was much stronger than you.

"Bet you need drugs to make you stronger, right?" He mocked.

"How did you know that." You struggled to say.

"I overheard you and ‘Blitzy’ arguing like teen skanks last night. Why did you think I gave you adderal in the first place?"

“You gave them to me on purpose because you know that I was addict? You bitch!”

Striker cocked the gun and pointed it at you. You still thrashed around trying to get out of his grip before he shot you but the fatigued was hindering you. A click was heard from a different gun.

The two of you turned heads.

"Uh excuse me, but what the FUCK?"

"Blitz!" You felt relief.

"Blitz, nice to see you here."

"First you were going to off the only gateway we have to get to the living world AND off her? And I was going to let you join our business." He scoffed in disbelief.

Striker didn't move, his foot was still pinning you to the ground. "Why struggle to run a business that is rigged against you? When you could partner up with me and kill... the unkillable?"  Striker pressed harder onto you, resulting in you groaning due to the pressure.

Blitz clenched his teeth.

"You scared that I'm going to hurt her? You care about her don't you?"

You looked over at Blitz teary eyed.

"Did you know that she got stimulants from me?"

Blitz lowered his gun, "What?"

"Blitz I-"

Striker put his foot over your neck, cutting off some air.

"Oh, you daddy fucker!"

Blitz sprinted and tackled Striker, you gasped for air and grabbed the hiking stick, swinging it and hit Strikers head. He yelped in pain and stumbled back.

Blitz whistled for Loona and waited, but she didn't come. "Fuckin dammit Loona." He groaned.

Striker pushed you out the way and pinned Blitz down on the ground, "I'm getting kinda horny right now." Blitz joked.

"Huh?"

You swung and hit Striker repeatedly on the head and his back. Every swing you hit him harder and harder. Getting your anger out, mainly angry at yourself for getting adderal. Angry because you feel like you can't do anything unless you have stimulants. Angry that your parents forced you to take them to perform better, angry that you ended up getting hooked, angry that you left the circus, angry that you left Blitz.

Striker was lying on the ground, groaning in pain. Blitz was astounded, he stared at your watered eyes and flushed face. You threw the hiking stick and sat down in the corner of the room with your head in your hands.

"Kay, Im here." Loona walked in and noticed the scenery. "Nevermind." She left.

Striker got up from the floor and shoved Blitz aside before getting on top of the window seal. "Maybe you'll get me next time... Blitzy." He escaped through.

Blitz panted, turned his attention towards you and kneeled down.

"You sure do know how to wack." He joked, but felt heart heavy. "I'm not angry."

"It's not only that," Your voice cracked, "Its other things."

"Hey, hey it's okay. Come on." He helped you up. "I know you're sorry, I'm not even mad about it, 'kay? So don't worry."

You looked around the room and realized this was the room you and Blitz slept last night. “Striker overheard our conversation last night. He purposely gave me adderal and-”

“Stop..okay? Just stop. I’ll let this one go because you didn’t actively searched for it, you were tempted to it so..don’t worry.” Blitz reassured but you could tell that he was still pissed off with a hint of disappointment.

[vermilionsun]

Time to yee the haw

Boothill

aka Pom-Pom

➢ Braids Boothill is surprisingly good at it. Since he decided on growing his hair, he had to find ways to keep it out of his face, and braiding was one of them—well, not something he thought of himself, but friends and family liked to do it for him and it just stuck. Now, he occasionally braids his own hair, though his metallic hands make it increasingly difficult.

➢ Hair His hair in general is a topic of its own and it needs to be talked about. Originally, his hair was raven black, but when he was undergoing the lab tests and maintenance, due to different factors, most of his hair turned white. He once looked at a mirror and aside from the dysphoria caused by the metal, the thought that he kinda resembled his dads flashed in his mind. He never looked in a mirror again.

➢ Kids He’s so good with kids. They just love him and no one knows why. Boothill, as the type of guy he is, will try to pretend to be annoyed, yet failing miserably as small hands would cling onto him. (If he could shed tears he would.)

➢ Swearing He actually doesn’t like to swear, thus the weird alternatives he uses. It’s a habit he picked up from having many younger siblings and friends—not wanting to swear in front of them—and one that he kept, no matter how ridiculous it might seem to others. When he adopted his little girl, he would barely not kill anyone who would swear in front of her, despite her being too young to understand.

➢ Nicknames If he happens to form any kind of bond with anyone, he will give them a nickname. They range from random words, a characteristic of the person, to inside jokes, to sweet pet names. And every person has multiple different ones. The only one who remembers them all is the one responsible for them.

➢ Flirting He isn’t the type of guy who will hit on anything that moves under the sun, but he does enjoy some casual flirting and bantering. It’s also his weak spot. If he gets back a more–than–equally flirty response he’s gone. In improbable cases he might even actually faint—if all his remaining blood leaves his brain to reside in his cheeks (a good smack will bring him back) (if you dare).

➢ Stars He and his family used to stargaze together, pointing out constellations and sharing stories. Now, he finds solace in the familiar twinkling lights above, feeling a sense of connection to his loved ones despite them being gone—a bittersweet comfort nestling in his lonely heart.

➢ Zoning out Sometimes his mind is just… elsewhere. He gets lost in thought easily, often planning stuff. Other times, he's simply reminiscing about days lost. It's like he's constantly searching for something that he can't quite grasp, leaving him feeling disconnected from the present moment.

➢ God He had always believed in justice and righteousness and that a higher being was watching over him and his loved ones, yet the destruction of his home shattered his faith in the universe's inherent goodness. He struggled to make sense of the chaos and devastation surrounding him, questioning how such tragedy could be part of a greater plan. Now, he finds himself grappling with the concept of fate and whether his life was truly guided by a divine force or simply subject to random chance. He sometimes prays, not for himself, but for the ones he lost, hoping that somehow his prayers may reach them in the afterlife, and the ones he still has.

➢ Skills Despite popular belief, Boothill is quite skilled in many areas. He is particularly adept at problem-solving and has a keen eye for detail. He can recognize disease and illness in animals with just a quick glance. As a cowboy, his experience working with livestock has honed his resourcefulness. Plus, he's a talented craftsman. The bullet earring of his? That's a real bullet casing that he fashioned into jewelry himself.

➢ Touch Boothill always adored physical touch. He thrived on hugs, cuddles, and any form of affectionate contact. Even a simple pat on the back could make his day brighter. With the only thing remaining of his original body now being his face, he craves the sensation of touch more than ever. The memories of warm embraces and gentle caresses are all he has left to hold onto.

➢ Songs If he hears anywhere a song that reminds him of home, he will subconsciously murmur it, maybe tap along to the beat. If he hears someone he knows singing it, then KABOOM! It’s karaoke night and some bring him a fudging guitar already—

➢ Wheat He likes to munch on it like gum. It's a strange habit, but it seems to satisfy his cravings for something chewy and subtly sweet. Sometimes he even chews on it while…ehm, working to help him concentrate.

➢ Hat When Boothill was young, Nick had promised to give him his hat one day. The day he did was the day Boothill found his girl. The hat was destroyed in the explosion, but Boothill made a replica, going as far as damaging it to have the same tears and bumps as the original.

➢ Survivor's guilt. Wishes he was with his family.

[suzy-queued]

A Gallavich tale, told 100 words at a time.

**This story is now complete!**

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

A man jumped into the back seat of Ian’s car.

“You a driver?” Dark hair, one small piece of luggage.

“Yeah, only if you’re registered on the app.”

“Screw the app. Take me to Nashville.”

Ian choked on his Gatorade. “That’s eight hours from here.”

“So?”

“You gotta plan these things out. Get matched with the right driver.”

“It’s not like I knew that my fucking boyfriend was gonna run off to fucking Yee-Haw Land to elope with my sworn enemy.”

Ian checked the rearview and saw pain behind those angry blue eyes. He switched his app status to OCCUPIED.

---

Ian took the entrance ramp onto I-90. They should arrive in Nashville around … oh, 3:37 AM.

“I have an emergency kit.” Ian nodded with his chin. “Under the seat. A few comforts in case you need ’em.”

The passenger shuffled through the insulated bag. “Boxed juice. Granola bars. Fucking gummy bears, man? This is childhood stuff. You got any Jack Daniels?”

Ian felt a spark of disobedience. “I’ve got a few joints in the glove box.” This was definitely off-book behavior, but it felt right. “They come with a price.”

“What’s that, Jeeves?”

“You’ve gotta tell me your whole story.”

---

The dark-haired passenger scoffed. “You don’t look like you’ve got the stomach to get caught up on my bullshit.”

“Try me.”

“Whatever. Fuckin’ sadist.” He settled into his seat. “You ain’t wearing a wire, right?”

“Not today.”

“All right, so, you ever heard of Berry Buds?”

“Those stuffed animals in the shape of fruit? Don’t people use those to smuggle coke?”

The guy raised an eyebrow. “You too delicate to hear about crime, pumpkin? There’s murder, too. Betrayal. And a pair of pink flamingos.”

“Wait, back up. You forgot the most important part. What’s your name?”

The passenger only smiled.

---

Man, this passenger could talk. Ian heard an hour’s worth of Milkovich family crimes.

Milkovich.

Ian didn’t know the guy’s first name. Only how passionate he was, the excitement in his voice.

“So Iggy launched the box of M-80s into the river, right, and this long-legged yahoo waltzes up.” Milkovich paused. “Wait, did you just yawn? If it’s such a chore to listen, I can fuckin’ stop.”

Ian made eye contact in the rearview mirror. “I was promised murder. A boyfriend.”

Milkovich slunk in his seat. “Keith.” All his passion faded to pain. “Yeah … guess I can talk about him.”

---

“Keith is …” Milkovich seeped with defeat and anger. “He’s the first person who saw me as more than a thug. We met at the liquor store. Been together seventeen months. I thought we were long-term, you know? Then he starts spending time at clubs. Digging into the scene. I don’t give a fuck if he does coke to let off steam. But he keeps getting it from the same guy. Real tall motherfucker. White-blond hair. Wears sweater vests.”

“Northside prick.”

“Oh, you know this guy?”

Ian had seen plenty of club action. He hardened in solidarity. “I know the type.”

---

“Anyways, that’s how I realized my piece-of-shit boyfriend is marrying fancy-pants Logan Covington, the motherfucker who snipes our business and has led the biggest anti-Milkovich smear campaign this side of Michigan.” The passenger let out a sigh. He slowed for the first time in an hour. “Shoulda known by that haircut. He came home looking like a walking Ken doll.”

“So, wait.” Ian sorted through the complicated story threads. “Are you going to kill your boyfriend?”

“No, man, keep up. I want to get him back.” He leaned forward, laying his hand on Ian’s shoulder. “And you’re gonna help me.”

---

Ian scoffed. “Don’t rope me into your drama.”

“Come on, man. We show up at the chapel, tell Keith I’m dating you now, let the jealousy unfold.”

Unbelievable. Ian shouldn’t even consider the offer. He had a ton to do this weekend. But Milkovich was obviously hurting.

Ian scratched his chin. “And I’d be on the clock the whole time?”

“What, you scared to do it? You a homophobe or something?”

“I’m gay.”

Milkovich stared, hard. He looked Ian up and down. “You never mentioned that.” He gave a coy smirk.

Ian felt a shot of electricity. “You never asked.”

---

The Silver Diner in Lafayette, Indiana bustled with activity.

Milkovich talked over the sizzling grill. “Still don’t know why we stopped here.”

“Can’t think on an empty stomach.” Ian flagged the waitress.

Jolene smiled, leaned into the booth. “Order’s coming right up, sugarpot.” She touched Ian’s arm as she left.

Milkovich frowned. “That shit happen to you a lot?”

“What?”

“Chicks waving their boobs in your face.”

“I don’t really notice.” But Milkovich noticed. Interesting.

“It’s good, actually. We can use it in our plan. People find you attractive.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

He rolled his eyes. “Didn’t say me.”

---

Milkovich rolled a coin across the diner table. “You see that? Table's tilted by a degree-and-a-half. Cheap off-balance pedestal leg. I’d have used a trestle instead.”

Huh. This guy’s shoulders relaxed when he talked about normal stuff.

“The key with builds like this…” The guy was smart. Layered. Funny. And his eyes twinkled when he geeked out about construction, apparently.

Ian was finding new ways to be awed each minute.

“…at least shim the motherfucker because…”

Ian interrupted. “I’m in.”

“Huh?”

“Your plan? I guess can pretend to like you.”

Ian’s stomach swooped. Pretend might not be the right word.

---

“Seriously, you’ll do it?” Milkovich raised an eyebrow. “Okay, lay it on me. Tell me everything about you.”

Ian enjoyed sharing his details. “I’m one of six kids. Two sisters, three brothers. Wait, you’re not writing this down? You’re gonna memorize all this shit?”

The guy leaned forward, intense, piercing. He traced his finger around Ian’s wrist. “We’re chained now. I’ll remember everything about you.”

This was absurd, but the guy seemed dead serious.

Ian felt goosebumps. He took charge and matched the guy’s intensity. “Then tell me your first name.”

A quick tongue flick. The guy nodded. “It’s Mickey.”

---

Turns out, scheming and joking with Mickey was easier than breathing. Ian drummed on the table. “Okay, how’d we meet? I gave you a ride somewhere?”

“And then I rode you.” Mickey laughed. “Simple enough. How about second date?”

Ian’s inner romantic spun into action. “A rooftop picnic. You brought snacks and whiskey.”

“Hm. Doesn’t sound like me.”

“I brought a tire iron and gun because I didn’t trust you.”

Mickey smirked, like these lies were becoming reality in his head. “Wise man.”

Ian swelled. His weekend suddenly had purpose. He’d be the best fake boyfriend in the goddamn world.

---

They hit the john before they got back on the road. Pissed in outdated urinals, washed their hands.

Ian watched Mickey closely. Every turn, every strut, every smirk. That’s how he noticed that Mickey flinched when the hand dryer shot to life.

“Mickey Milkovich.” Ian laughed. “You can dump a mob boss in the Chicago River but you’re afraid of a little hot air?”

“It’s fucking startling.”

Mickey paused in the doorway. Tilted his head. Looked up at Ian. “Keith … he never noticed that about me.”

Ian elbowed him, defusing his sadness. “I’m going to learn all your secrets, boyfriend.”

---

Around midnight, the rhythm of repeating street lights on Interstate 65 lulled Ian toward sleep.

“Can I ask you a question?” Mickey looked damn relaxed, too. Seat leaned back. Legs stretched out. Talking in a low voice. “Let’s say I blew this.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Say I end up alone. Do I deserve that?”

Ian could certainly judge. He’d heard about Mickey’s crimes, his family, his dating history.

He wanted to hold Mickey’s hand. He wanted to find the right words to remedy this hurt.

“Mickey, you are the most –”

A bang. A crash. Ian’s face smashed into the airbag.

---

Ian took inventory. He was conscious. Neck pain. Bleeding nose.

He scrambled to unfasten his seatbelt. To wave away the airbag dust.

He pawed at Mickey’s leg, arm, chest. “Are you okay?”

“I’m scraped up.” Mickey coughed. “What happened?”

“Someone clipped our bumper. We spun out. Hit the guardrail. I was out of control.”

“Why are you pulling on my eye?”

Ian lowered his hand. “Checking for a concussion.” He tried to steady his breath, calm his panic. “I’m sorry. I let you down.”

Mickey set his injured hand on Ian’s, offering shaky reassurance. “Better than being worm food, man.”

---

The cops had come and gone. Reality settled in. Ian’s car was undriveable. They were stranded.

Mickey’s anxiety spiked. “How the hell am I getting to the wedding now?” He paced along the shoulder, pointing at Ian. “Who drives for a fucking living and doesn’t have roadside assistance?”

Ian spoke via speakerphone to a random tow company they’d Googled. “It’s a silver Camry. Near exit 130.”

Mickey yelled into the phone. “Just look for the goddamn ring of fire lighting up I-65.”

Ian prayed for strength. “Ignore him. There’s no fire.” Unless you counted the flames rising from Mickey’s nostrils.

---

Ian talked to Mickey in the crammed cab of the tow truck. “I told you I’d get you there. I’ll think of something.”

The mechanic pulled into a repair shop. “Car can stay here. Hank opens at 7:00 tomorrow.”

Mickey exploded. “It’s not open 24 hours?”

“This is Indianapolis, not L.A.”

“How are we supposed—"

Ian held up a hand to stop him. He could feel Mickey’s desperation, his impatience and heartbreak. “Is there a hotel nearby?”

The mechanic pointed across the street. To a run-down motel called King Richard’s Royal Inn.

Mickey glared. “Well, long live the fuckin’ king.”

---

Josie at the front desk didn’t even look at her computer. “I’m sorry. It’s race week. We don’t have room for more guests.”

Mickey glared at Ian. “Come on, Gingerbread. You’re taking me to the Motel 6.”

Josie snorted. “You’ll be lucky to find a campground in this town with a vacancy.”

“Guess I’m sleeping in your fucking lobby, then.”

As if Ian didn’t feel bad enough about this situation.

A chime sounded on the computer.

“Hey, now.” Josie smiled. “We’ve just had a cancellation.” She looked between them. “It’s a single. One full-sized bed.”

Mickey didn’t hesitate. “We’ll take it.”

---

“Door’s flimsy enough to kick open.” Ian unlocked the motel room.

Mickey groaned. “No TV. No closet. They better have hot water.”

“Jesus, the bed’s small.” Ian’s neck ached. This was officially hell.

“You gonna be all right, Red? We’ve got to get used to touching each other.”

Ian grabbed him and pulled him close, roughly. “Think we’ll be able to fool Keith?”

And, damn, Mickey’s face was right fucking there, looking tired. Cranky. Kissable. “We should do it bareback in the middle of the chapel just to piss him off.”

Oof.

Ian was not going to survive this night.

---

Mickey cracked the bathroom door as he showered, fogging up the motel room.

Ian sat on the bed, still for the first time tonight. He felt warmth. Pain. Adrenaline let-down.

Mickey’s silhouette moved behind the curtain. A hint. A tease. An invitation.

What if … Ian pulled the curtain back?

He could feel those sturdy shoulders, that smooth skin. Trace his tongue along the water droplets. Grab that thick … hair.

What if Mickey dropped his guy and took Ian on? Then what?

Would Mickey get tired of him?

Desire. Curiosity. Potential. Ian’s thoughts swirled like water.

… then the shower clicked off.

---

“Jesus!” Mickey pulled the curtain back. “Damn water turned to ice.” He jumped from the shower, lunging for a towel.

And of course Ian had been staring and saw everything. Mickey’s dripping body. The toned muscles in his legs. His stomach. A quick flash of his anatomy.

Ian turned away.

“Fucking freezing, man.” Mickey’s wet feet slapped on the floor. “This is on you, Gallagher.”

Ian peeked. The towel did nothing to hide the curve of Mickey’s ass.

God, Ian had to tamp down his infatuation. Maybe cockiness would work instead. “I hear skin-to-skin contact gets you warm the fastest.”

---

Mickey huffed at Ian’s joke. “You tryin’ to see me naked?”

“It’s for science. Research.”

Mickey shrugged and reached for the knot of his towel. The world moved in slow motion now, a tattooed hand tugging white cotton.

The fabric fell away, sliding down his leg. Dark hairs matted against skin. Body with the right balance of definition and softness.

Ian’s heart beat fast. He felt it getting stronger and stronger and stronger.

He glanced up and fell into Mickey’s eyes.

One touch could overcome the silence. One touch could reveal Ian’s crush.

Mickey smiled, all confidence. “Your turn, Loverboy.”

---

In this game of chicken, Mickey was winning.

Ian gulped. It was only fair, right? Mickey needed to see his body for their boyfriend charade to work.

Ian peeled off his jeans. His t-shirt, going slow and begging all his parts to stay chill.

Mickey never broke eye contact.

Ian slid his boxers down, breathless.

“Patriot tattoo. Boobs tattoo.” Mickey nodded. “Carpet matches the drapes. Uh-huh.”

How could Mickey stay so calm when he was tearing Ian’s nerves to pieces?

Mickey stepped within touching distance. “Only one more question, hot shot.”

“What’s that?”

“How good of an actor are you?”

---

Ian held his ground. “I’m a great actor.”

“Could you kiss me right now?” Mickey’s gaze raked down Ian’s body. “Kiss me and not get hard?” Mickey spoke oh-so-slowly. “We’re together, right? So we supposedly kiss all the time. Can you control yourself?”

A song burst through the tension. A silly cartoon voice repeating, You are my cute-cumber. You are my cute-cumber.

Mickey’s eyes widened. “Fuck, my phone.”

He scrambled, but the sound went silent before he got there.

Ian laughed. “Seriously? That’s the cheesiest alert.”

“You don’t understand.” Mickey looked up with pain in his eyes. “That’s Keith’s ringtone.”

---

Keith’s call shifted Mickey's vibe from flirty to flustered.

Ian slid on his boxers and jeans. Being naked suddenly seemed wrong.

“Why the fuck was he calling?” Mickey threw the towel over his lap. “He didn’t leave a voicemail. Is he having second thoughts about the wedding? Should I call back?”

Ian had no clue how to help. “Just take a minute. Breathe.”

“My brain’s turning to mush here, Gallagher. I’m exhausted. I’m confused. We haven’t eaten in hours. And now this? Tell me what the fuck to do.”

Ian didn’t think. He yanked Mickey’s head back and kissed him.

---

The kiss was overwhelming. Tinged with panic. Wonderful. Scary. Exciting. Over too soon.

Mickey touched his own lips. “That’s good. I … needed that.”

“This trip’ll be stressful enough without you freaking out. When the anxiety ratchets up in that head of yours, I’ll take care of you, all right?”

Mickey nodded. Took a second. Smirked. “Knew you couldn’t do it.”

“What?”

“Knew you couldn’t kiss me without getting hard.”

“You’re an asshole.”

But the intensity on Mickey’s face told Ian not to push. The bright blue eyes. The absolute relief at being taken care of.

Ian let the moment simmer.

---

Ian needed to be supportive. A bodyguard. A wingman, offering safety pins and pep talks.

He pulled two joints from his pocket. “You weren’t meant to face this weekend sober.”

“Fuck, man, you always know what I need.”

“Snagged ’em from my glove box after the crash.” Ian lit up and offered one to Mickey. “I know everything seems fuckin’ hopeless, like your life is wrecked. You ain’t wrong.”

“This supposed to make me feel better?”

“The point is, it’s okay to be who you are.”

“What’s that, big guy?”

Ian threaded their fingers together. “A loser, just like me.”

---

The wee hours passed in a purple haze of weed and exhaustion.

They didn’t sleep. They lay beside each other in that tiny bed, clothes on, joking and mumbling.

They bumped elbows, knocked knees, held hands.

Ian ached for more touch. For a kiss that meant more than comfort.

Mickey’s icy blue eyes held him at bay. I can’t face that yet. Please let me hover outside of reality a little longer.

In the orange glow of sunrise, Ian gathered his nerve. He asked the question he’d been pondering all night. “You still want to go to this wedding, Milkovich?”

---

Mickey sat too far away on the motel bed. “Why wouldn’t I go? Keith is my boyfriend. We live together.”

“How’s that gonna work out once the newlyweds get home?”

“I still want to go.”

This wasn’t right, goddammit. In the movies, a kiss leads to a romantic finale, not this stubborn insistence to stay on course.

Ian grasped at one last hope. “To win Keith back?”

Mickey inched closer. He held Ian’s chin. Broke into a smile. “To show him what a big mistake he made.”

This time, the kiss was only about the two of them. Fuckin’ finally.

--- * --- * --- * --- * ---

Hey. Is this thing on?

Gallagher’s been doing an okay job telling this story, but now it’s my turn. And none of that past-tense, passive bullshit. I’ll tell you everything the moment it happens, okay?

You’re gonna witness every mile, every pit stop, every tacky decision my ex makes for this wedding. His abysmal choice in groom. Some godawful silver balloon arch. Those lime-flavored vodka Jell-o squares he loves so much.

Damn, I can’t wait to see the scowl on Keith’s face when Ian and I start playing tonsil hockey on the dance floor.

We’re gonna fuck some shit up.

---

It’s seven AM. I’m camped outside Hank’s Body Shop drinking coffee-colored swill.

Ian’s beside me, giving me bedroom eyes, running his fingers up my arm. He’s tempting as fuck.

Hank unlocks the door and lets us in. “Knew you’d be waitin’.”

I spot Ian’s car, nod toward it. “What’s the damage?”

“Her bones are good, but you’re looking at three grand in parts and labor. I have an opening on October first.”

“October? That’s six weeks from now.”

Hank shrugs. “You can tow her somewhere else. No skin off my teeth.”

Ian eyes darken, and not in a sexy way.  

---

Look, I’ve learned a lot about Gallagher in the past day. If he says he’s gonna do something, he will.

We’re definitely getting to Nashville.

He’s got about eighty tabs up on his phone. “Ubering is ridiculously expensive. A rental car’ll surcharge me because I’m not twenty-five.”

“You’re not?”

“Not until next May.” Ian doesn’t even look up. “Greyhound leaves at 11:30. What time’s the wedding?”

“Six.”

“Guess we’re taking the bus.”

I fucking hate this idea. Ian can tell. He grabs me by the waist. “We can cuddle the whole way there.”

Okay, maybe I fucking love this idea.

---

We leave the car behind. Leave the body shop behind. Check out of the motel, leave it behind.

All I’ve been doing lately is letting things go. Releasing the goddamn trapeze wire and falling without a net.

My ex is the hardest fucking thing to let go.

Ian and I sit in the back seat of a cab, on our way to the bus station. He holds my hand, simply. “This is the first time I’ve seen your shoulders relax.”

He's a six-foot-high, freckly-armed godsend. It's easier to let go when a motherfucker like that is waiting to catch you.

---

The bus trip passes in a blur. I’m lost in a tangle of Gallagher limbs. He touches my forehead, cups my cheek, kisses me every minute on the minute.

After all the shit we’ve gone through, the ride feels too easy. Roadblocks are easy to rally against. But when the path is clear, doubt creeps in.

We pull into Nashville Station at four o’clock. It’s sunny. The air smells like Keith.

He’s probably putting on his tux and double-checking the flowers right now.

I’ve been obsessed. I haven’t taken a moment to breathe.

Fuck.

Am I doing the right thing?

---

I shove down my hesitation, because fuck Keith. If I want to crash his party, I’ll do it with a wrecking ball.

Ian and I step out of an Uber, bleary-eyed. The white chapel sits in a commercial strip, bathed in neon.

There’s two pink birds dressed in tuxedos mounted out front. I rip one from the grass. “Goddamn flamingos, man. That was supposed to be our thing.”

A man greets guests at the chapel steps. “Thank you for coming, thank you ah-very much.” Rhinestones. Bell bottoms. Sunglasses.

I can’t handle this shit. “He’s having fucking Elvis officiate his wedding?!”

---

I’m ready to find out what kinda froufrou shindig my ex is throwing. I’m gonna bust in his skull the second he vows himself to that prick Logan Covington.  

Only … I haven’t moved yet.

Ian sets his hand on my neck. He touches a muscle that calms my whole goddamn body. “Hey, there’s a pizza place around the block. You up for it?”

I blink. “Bustin’ this up isn’t going to help anything, is it?”

He shakes his head.

Fuck. That voice of reason finally takes hold. “Pizza it is, then.”

The moment we turn, I hear a voice. “Mickey?”

---

Keith’s tux is perfect. His hair is perfect. “What’re you doing here? H-how are you?”

“Me? I don’t have a care in the goddamn world.”

He’s got candles in one hand and hideous flowers in the other. He pauses, like there’s no fucking sense hiding what’s going on. “I’m dying to know what you’re thinking.”

Well, fuck, I am, too. Because I didn’t plan this far. This whole trip’s been fueled by spitfire and rage. Now here we stand, face-to-face, and I’m torn between revenge and the strong freckled hands of my Uber driver.

I open my mouth to speak.

---

I can’t find the right words. My mouth works on autopilot. I turn my head and lay the biggest goddamn kiss on Ian. His body tenses, then he melts into it like we’ve been doing this shit for years.

I forget that Keith’s there. Elvis fades away. The chords of the practicing organist fade away.

I pull back slowly, staring at Ian.

“Um, hello?” Keith waves.

“Ian and I are gonna grab some grub. Maybe check out that haunted Nashville tour. Have fun with whatever bullshit you’re doing today.”

I don’t care how petty I sound.

I’m finally fuckin’ free.

---

I hear Keith stammering behind me. I don’t care what he has to say or what a clusterfuck this’ll be after the dust settles and we return home.

Ian and I shuffle down the sidewalk arm-in-arm.

The pizza ain’t Chicago style, but it tastes amazing. The hotel Ian picks for us ain’t fancy, but the sheets are clean.

We kiss against the wall. He peels off my clothes.

25 hours. 475 miles. One motherfucking Elvis. One round of drowsy sex.

I’m comfortable tangled in Ian’s gangly arms.

We do the thing I’ve been dying to do for an eternity … sleep.

---

Ian hands our key to the hotel clerk. “My friend and I enjoyed our stay.”

I nudge Ian as we walk outside. “Why’d you call me that?”

“Because you’re my friend.”

I pinch my eyes. I need more.

Ian slinks against me. “You’re my… lover.” Now he’s getting it. “Wanna bite you. Wanna nibble on you the whole way home.”

Better, but I still need more. “When we get back, will you be my—”

“Yes.” For Ian, it’s as simple as that.

We got no car. No plan. We only have each other.

And that’s all I fuckin’ need.

---*---*---*---*---

ONE YEAR LATER

Ian threw a receipt onto the kitchen table. “Finally paid the last toll. Got all the Camry repairs done.”

Mickey smirked. “We never got to show off our fake dating skills on that trip.”

“There’s one last souvenir I gotta deal with.” Ian got down on one knee, holding a small black box. “You’re in this house – this home – all the time. Might as well make it official.”

“You sayin’ you wanna get hitched?”

“You up for it? No flamingoes, I promise.”

Mickey pulled him into a kiss. “Pretty wise choice, hopping in your car that day.”

[doctorsiren]

I literally love your style. I wish I had enough confidence to wear something more than just jeans and a T-shirt :')

Alas, social anxiety makes me want to look bland. Yee haw.

I was talking to my mom on the phone a few weeks back and she was saying how I’m an interesting person in it that I will wear what I want and not care what others think, and yet I have so much trouble putting myself into situations. I’m pretty much a contradiction. I want to be noticed, I want to be seen, but I fear being perceived and therefore studied and judged. I guess that’s what happens when quirky unaware ADHD mixes with constantly aware anxiety.

But here at my university, there’s a guy who just straight up wears a spider-man suit and will sometimes skateboard, so I’ve decided that it’s okay if I want to wear a cape or my Grian wings or borderline Luigi cosplay, or quite literally my Spider-Man Noir cosplay (minus the mask)

One of my animation teachers last year said that I looked like an artist, and I really like being seen as that. An artist. And also I feel like it’s a waste if I can only use my costume piece stuff for cons or Halloween bc that’s not nearly enough use for me to have them, y’know?

Idk I just like being able to show to others that I’m a nerd (but also I don’t dress like that all the time. Graphic tees, jean shorts, leggings, high-tops, and a hoodie are my typical go-tos, but I like to throw some fun outfits in a couple times a week just to spice it up hehe)

Sometimes it can be hard to get over that initial feeling of being looked at. Sometimes I’ll hold off on an outfit because I feel like it would bring too much attention in a bad way. Or I’ll be in an outfit and I’ll feel like I’m suuuper out of place

But when you’re dressed the geeky way you want to be, you’ll get noticed by people who appreciate the outfits and who recognize the geeky stuff, and that’s a great feeling. Somewhere along the way, the fear of people judging me for my outfits became outweighed by the joy I feel when I get to dress the way I want and the happiness I get when someone compliments me on my style

Anyways, all of that is to say thank you and that I totally understand where you’re coming from. If you want to try wearing more fun things, start small. Fun socks, fun shoes, blah blah blah. Working your way up can really help.

But also I bet you still slay in jeans and a t-shirt ✨

[ichorblossoms]

first wip wednesday of the year yee. haw

yaaaay violence. a bit. i want to write more action-y scenes but i haven't figured out. the Context so i'm sitting here with like. two and a half actually-written scenes and a desire to write more. anyways

this is half-edited first draft stuff like usual. early p1 scene that might be subject to some changes as all this stuff is. i'm trying to figure out. just a reminder the stuff [in brackets] is like. comic panel shit but you gotta use your imagination until i draw pictures about it

---

[P3- Grimm POV, they/them for Grimm, he/him for Yarrow]

One of them dismounted from their horse with a heavy noise, this person clinked as they walked a few yards to the entrance and instead of barging right in, had the decency to knock on the closed bulkhead door with a lazy, “Hullo?”

“Gimme a sec,” Grimm called and stood, looking to Yarrow and nodding, hoping he understood how it meant act normal, but be ready for a fight. 

The afternoon sun was bright, Grimm squinted as they looked out into the desert. 

[shot of the two bounty hunters from grimm’s view. the man's at the door, the girl is closer to their horses]

“Y’all need directions or somethin’?”

“Nah, just passing through, this looked like a good place to take a breather,” The taller man with the mustache said nonchalantly.

Grimm had heard that one before, “There’s a shady riverbed over that way ‘bout a mile,” they pointed to the northwest, not actually lying, “Y’all can get some peace and quiet over there. Lots of shade, too.”

“This place seems plenty big for two more people. We’ll only be half an hour or so before we saddle back up and ride out.”

No one with a lick of common sense would try to stay with strangers in the middle of the desert unless they were looking for trouble. Either you’re new at this, or just plain stupid.

“Ya seem awfully insistent, I promise this place ain’t any better.”

“We’re—we’re tired, we’ve been riding since before the sun came up.”

Bullshit. Grimm had seen their two horses, “Alright, leave your guns at the door though.”

To Grimm’s surprise, the man complied, shucking the shotgun off his back and propping it up against the closed door. He called back to his partner, a girl in her early twenties, from the looks of it, “Come in when you’re finished with the horses, and bring in my bag!

“Gotta keep the young ones in their place, y’know?” He gave a grimy smile at that, the man had ten or so years on Yarrow and them. As he crossed the threshold, the man betrayed none of the relief a weary traveler would have after being out in the sun for hours, winter or not. Grimm was ready for a fight.

And a fight they received.

Grimm noticed the tendon twitch in the man’s neck a split second before he lunged.

[Grimm steps back just far enough for the guy to overshoot. Knocks away his hand, then re-enters to elbow his face]

The crunch of cartilage echoed out in the near-empty metal shipping container. The man staggered, clutching his now-bleeding nose, all the time Grimm needed to bring a knee to his stomach.

He went down heavily, the air knocked out of him but not the lights. 

Yarrow came up from behind Grimm and delivered a kick to the man’s side for good measure, making him curl in on himself even further.

Grimm turned to him, “Stay—”

[Yarrow snarls at the man, mandibles open and terrifying and furious. Then looks to Grimm, bewildered and only half-snarling]

Horrifying, then, beautiful.

Another moment passed, the man’s pathetic gasping filling the silence. He made a move and Grimm noticed the glint of something in their periphery.

They immediately brought their heel down heavy on the man’s thigh, deadlegging him before reaching down and snatching the pocket knife out of his boot. Saw that from a mile away—

Yarrow shouted something in time for Grimm to look up.

[the outlaw’s companion points a gun at the two of them. Yarrow grabbed Grimm’s gun from where it was sitting and has it trained on the companion.]

Yarrow shot first, without a breath’s hesitation. The bullet missed the girl, but was enough to make her drop the bag she was holding and the gun. Oh you’re really new at this.

“Run, and you’ll keep your life,” Yarrow’s voice was unlike anything Grimm had ever heard out of his mouth, stripped of every bit of warmth down to unforgiving bedrock, simultaneously Yarrow and not.

For what she was worth, the girl booked it, leaving the gun on the ground. It hadn’t gone off when they dropped it. Kid must’ve been too scared to even load it.

“You’re a better shot with this,” Yarrow handed the gun to Grimm, before turning his attention to the man on the floor, who had partially re-learned how to fill his lungs with air. The blood pouring from his nose made him sputter all over the floor. He glared at the two of them. Grimm glared back, aimed the gun at his head.

Yarrow spoke again before Grimm could pull the trigger, “Why are you here?”

Another glare. The man’s face had begun swelling, turning an ugly purple, and Grimm only felt a cold satisfaction. Yarrow's not injured, that’s all that mattered.

“Can you tie him up?” Yarrow didn’t look away from the man gasping on the ground. Are you struggling with this? Does it hurt you to be on the other end of it?

Halfway to grabbing the rope from their supplies it occurred to them how Yarrow didn’t say “please,” how he wasn’t commanding Grimm, but genuinely asking them. The answer was yes either way.

The man began thrashing weakly as Grimm approached. Give up already. If Yarrow hadn’t wanted to talk, his brains would’ve been splattered out in the desert by now.

They started with his legs, binding his feet together. Yarrow, probably trying to find some way to help Grimm without being in the way, put one of his heels in the back of the man’s knee. Not very threatening, but not the dumbest thing he could have done.

Yarrow stood after the man’s legs were bound, watching as Grimm moved to his arms. They firmly held one of his wrists behind his back when he slipped out and tried to roll over.

[Yarrow crunches the man’s fingers below his boot. He cries out in pain once more. Yarrow looks menacing.]

[prismaticpichu]

Zack & Sephiroth Floofcanon #…! I have no idea I lost track when the Trojan war began.

(This is still Weenie Hut Jrs I didn’t forget!)

~~

Due to his english skills capping at the 7th grade, as he skedaddled off to join SOLDIER, Zack’s mission reports weren’t allllwaayys in squeaky-clean condition. Yessir, he could absolutely recap the events of the missions—almost telling stories of how he obliterated that horde of Ahriman or how he caught that Wutai spy masquerading as a crossing guard. But when it comes to the nitty-gritty stuff… yeahhh those things were littered with typos, grammatical errors, and very colloquial yee-haw language (like me! *clears throat* sorry). Not exactly what Lazard was hoping for, in terms of his elite SOLDIERs.

Luckily, Zack’s got someone who had his back.

Sephiroth was pretty appalled upon first reading Zack’s reports, in the early stages of their friendship. “Gonna?” He was seriously using “gonna”?? Angeal should have taught him better…! But it wasn’t long until he came to realize that only Firsts were required to write up reports, and Zack was only promoted once Angeal was gone. Couple that with his severed education and it really wasn’t the pupper’s fault. And how would it look if one of the men under his command was sending lousy reports…? He needed to help in some way. And so he did!

Over time, as their bond budded and blossomed, the two developed a system: Zack would go on missions, writing up his reports in vivid detail in his little tent. And then, instead of sending them to Lazard, bleeding with all sorts of red underlines, he sent them off to Sephiroth; there the man would grammarly-scan the pages and manually fix any errors himself. Hallelujah!! Some might say it’s mundane, or tedious, or just adding to the already mountainous pile of work he already had��� but in actuality. It’s one of Sephiroth’s favorite things to do: he loved reading Zack’s colorful descriptions, seeing the world through his kaleidoscope of a lens; he loved being able to experience that childlike, wondrous perspective and have it be shared with him. To experience it himself. A million missions he went on over the years, and sometimes the most exciting ones are right from his desk <33

(Ofc, it’s more than jusssst the free editing service.)

As their buddiness became even stronger, more additions were sprinkled into the system. Most notably, now that the reports were being sent to Sephiroth first, Zack began tagging on little messages at the end for Seph and only Seph to see. Tiny little notes and reminders like the thingies someone might write on their kid’s napkin for lunch. They’re one of the only things that brings a smile to his face when the pupper is gone.

Hey pal! :D I miss you so much! Don’t forget to eat again!

Hey Seph! I know I’m not there right now, but I’m thinking of you!

I really wish you were here, Seph :))) Missions are never the same without ya. And guess what???? I completely took down Ifrit this time! You didn’t need to save my butt! :DD (though I slipped on a rock and fell on it afterwards).

And when the pupper eventually came home, after a day or week or two, Sephiroth was there waiting for him. Nothing could beat hugging seeing his best friend in person, spewing his wonderful colloquial slang and all <333

[oonajaeadira]

Hello my Kindred!

Whats a fabric/texture that’s nostalgic for you?

What’s something you want to create soon?

What are you proudest of? (You can decide if it's overall or in some area of your life)

💚

HELLO, MY SOUTHERN BELLE. YEE HAW SHOOT-EM-UP TEXAS GIRL and, of course, mermaid at heart. (Cowgirl mermaid? It's a thing now.)

Whats a fabric/texture that’s nostalgic for you?

Corduroy. I had corduroy overalls when I was little and then I never wore it for many many years. Now I'm drawn to it. Big fat cords like on my couch. Teddy bears made out of it. I have been shopping for corduroy pants since I grew out of my last pair. They are really good comfy clothes for winter--while jeans will block the wind, they'll get cold on your skin and cords tend to trap warmth. Also, I am a fidget baby and I like to run my nails over the thinner stuff and scratch at the wider stuff.

.

What’s something you want to create soon?

I mean, *sweeping gesture to my wip list*.

But I'm also planning a show for this summer about Hilma Af Klint and her group of lady theosophists. If I can land in the theater I want for it, I plan to have an artist painting live on stage...ON the stage, not like on a canvas on a easel on a stage, but as in, on a canvas tarp that covers the floor of the stage. Like the whole stage. And if I don't get the theater I want, then I'm going to look into using light projected through glass that's being painted. And two-way mirrors. And gestural movement and 5-part harmonics. You know. Something with just a little challenge in it.

.

What are you proudest of?

It depends what context we’re talking. I’m proud that the SO chose me and him being so handsome and talented and all. I’m proud of the artists I serve who come out of the woodwork and produce their first show and get awards for them. I’m proud of any show I make where the cast has a good time and lots of good praise and the audience feels deeply and learns something new and is engaged and having fun with us. I am proud of having found a path that works for me and a life that is not glamorous but is exactly what I need to be happy. I’m proud that I like who I am and what I stand for and that I choose kindness every day. I’m proud of my tarot deck collection and all my death plushies and the fact that I have never once voted for a republican. I reduced my gum shrinkage last year and that was pretty good. A few years back I did the best thing for myself and got on meds; that’s total pride worthy. I’m proud of my state (this should not be a surprise ‘cause if you follow me you know exactly where I’m from) in its policies, its arts and education funding, its safe-haven status, its natural wonders, and proud of my ability to find beauty in its extreme winters. I’m proud of my tumblr community for being the nicest fandom folks and creating joyfully and interacting joyfully and loving Pedro with their whole, soft and horny hearts. I’m proud of every single person here who is Dealing With It™ and keeps going, even when there’s a bad day, even if they have to come to tumbletown to ask for hugs or animal pictures or Pedros in their inbox. I just have a lot to smile about. It took me a long time to learn to look out over the wall of depression and see all of it out there, but I did learn it, and I’m proud of that too.

.

soft asks

[kayskardkingdom]

alright like i said i would lets do the big intro thing

heya im Cinderella or Cin but i also go by Brick, Mock, Cici, Kay (something new lol), Noelle, Lucy- the point is i have a lot of names lol call me whatever you want ill probably end up liking it and adopting it as my own

i don’t really have a flair for the dramatic like my friends on here seem to have so don’t expect like super fancy high quality posts about stuff i love im relatively blunt as well so if i end up crossing wires or hurting feelings much apologies its just how i am i try and tone it down sometimes :)

The fandoms im into is like wildly varied but the main ones you’ll find here are:

Percy Jackson

Undertale (and Undertale Yellow but i leave that more up to spencer)

Helluva Boss (less so Hazbin cuz eh)

My Hero Academia

Deltarune

TADC

Dungeons and Dragons

Now for my actual interests outside of pop culture cuz i got a couple of those too:

The process of writing and creating art (im not an artist myself but i personally thing its a super cool skill to have loll)

Movie-making and filming

Rigging and animation

Music and singing (i suck haha)

lets do the social listy things!

i dont own this discord but im a co-owner and we need more people so WHY NOT LETS DO IT: https://discord.gg/G2gGjkbT

I don’t have a personal twitter because why would i go on twitter???

I got a blusky though (its for my vtuber stuff heheheheheheheheehheheeheh): https://bsky.app/profile/cincon01.bsky.social

i also run Ask!Soulstale with a couple friends so go check that out if you can it’d be much appreciated: https://www.tumblr.com/soulstaleask/758700021803876352/welcome-to-asksoulstale

Moving on

smore fun facts for you particularly nosy mfs cuz i need an ego inflation for the day (no i dont its big enough):

swear words flow from me like water

im a trans girl i prolly dont pass but honestly i dont give a damn suck a dick im a girl 🗣️🔥

im a cowboy baby yee haw (im texan)

i love me a good history fact every once in a while

i sleep a lot

thats about it thanks for reading or if you just scrolled down to the end good on you for being lazy im proud of you

aubergine btw

[hermesserpent-stuff]

Hello! I am Hermes Serpent, leader of the Serpentine Empire. On this blog, I doodle and post about my stories on AO3. My name over there is HermesSerpent. If you want to ask about any part of those stories, feel free. I enjoy writing and love talking about current and past stories!

I'm also pretty open to non-story-related asks.

I really like to talk and make new friends and am a pretty open book!!

How I tag my personal posts:

text posts by me are #hermes speaks

art is #hermes art

asks are #ask hermes

I run a YouTube channel: Hermes Serpent. Which has some animations and drawing

Heres a link to a doc with fanart links. I love when people draw things from my stories and want to show my appreciation. Please please dont be afraid to tag meeee!! Fanart for Hermes Serpent

Art requests are open for things I have drawn before (or from the same show/universe), things from my stories, and ocs of mine. Up to two characters per request. No nsfw, no shipping. I’m also down to discuss art trades!! Just dm me!!

Major aus!!

How to train you dragon aus:

#stolen heir au

#claws and calls au

MLP:

#flying skies au

#tssm mlp

Freakazoid aus:

#star wars au

#pirate au

DC aus:

#chilly batson au

          #yee haw family au

Marvel:

#spider nephew au

          #seidr au

#mysterios apprentice au

#of tombstones and timetravel au

Spidersona stuff:

#Tobacco Beetle au

Hope you enjoy your time here!

~Valete~

(This is pretty much a sfw blog.)

[toomanywordsnllines]

Hi welcome to art college where we,,, checks notes- Draw with broom sticks and charcoal on the floor

[teknikolor-walters]

WOE.BEGONE ocs masterlist!!

Decided to make one of these finally because there's a lot of them

MIKELIJAH CONSOLIDATIONS

Cicada Walters (they/he/she bird/wing)- Consolidation between Mikey Walters and Eli Mayfield. My self insert! And my favorite disaster bisexual. They're one of the founders of H1VE. In a romantic relationship with PR1ZE and Jessica.

C.W. (they/he/she bird/wing)- Cicada iteration from the future. They came back to the present to help out with the H1VE and Elijah conflict. After that, they pop in for individual missions and corrections, but mostly stay in their own time.

Scarab Walters-Baker (they/she yee/haw)- Cicada's older, cooler, and sadder cowboy iteration! They're about 10 years older, give or take. Used to be a flinchite boot but rebelled and helped Cicada escape the compound. Married and in a qpr with B0UNTY and Jessie. Part of H1VE.

Timema Walters (she/he)- Iteration of Cicada still playing WOE.BEGONE. She works at OI and is still doing missions for them. She keeps surveillance over H1VE and protects them in the ways that he can, but doesn't interact with them outside of that.

Viceroy Walters (he/xhey)- Iteration of Cicada, iterated off at the same time Timema was. He works at OI and goes to OVER occasionally. Part of a separate base inside of OI, run by a different OI worker, Facade. (Heshemikey's oc) Xhey're part of the Elijah council.

Rove Walters (he/him)- Iteration of Timema that she created to try and help escape from WOE.BEGONE. Rove ran off and met M3DAL, a PR1ZE iteration, and now they live their stupid little hippie lives on the beach. He's filled with paranoia about WOE.BEGONE finding him and kills any iteration he sees of himself on sight.

Mantis Walters (he/they)- Mikelijah consolidation, not a Cicada iteration. Basically just the came back wrong trope. I love him. He's so angry all the time and at everyone. Most iterations of them are compound torture subjects but there are a couple running around on the outside. One of their iterations is part of H1VE.

Hornet King-Walters (he/they xe/xet)- Consolidation of Cicada and Damian (also a two person consolidation). Has a small council but they don't do much except for steal stuff from OVER. Has a bunch of medical issues because of their consolidation. Coowned by @ltacryptid. Xe's also in a weird polyam relationship with xet's other iterations and Ana and Hyde.

H2 (he/him)- Hornet iteration. Very much the quietest and softest iteration, but still ruthless.

H3 (she/they/he)- Hornet iteration. Literally Will Just Kill You.

H4 (he/it)- Hornet iteration. Quietly angry and sad all the time.

H5 (he/she)- Consolidation between two Hornet iterations. Completely immobile. His body is always falling apart. The only reason he's still alive is because Ty wants to see how long it takes her to die.

Tracker King-Walters (they/them)- Hornet's cowboy iteration. Originally wasn't part of the council but got roped into it. Also will just kill you.

MISCELLANEOUS

Elijah Alexander Mayfield (he/she/they)- Hoo boy. Where do I even start. The council of elijahs are probably the most powerful ocs I have. They have their grubby little fingers in every time travel org out there except Walters Base. They all consider themselves they same person even though the aren't so they all use the same pronouns. They're all bastards. ESPECIALLY Eli.

Oliver Newton (prns vary between iterations)- The Elijah's rival council. Just as powerful, a little less ruthless. They and Elijah used to be friends, before Eli coerced (read: threatened) Cicada into doing a connectivity strike on them.

Aaron Fowler (he/him)- Elijah's boyfriend and ex WOE.BEGONE player. Used to work at OVER, but then he tried to start his own version of Base and got killed for his efforts. Elijah brought him back, but now he lives in hiding.

Anaphora Lawson (she/they)- Tier 1 OVER worker. Knows a bit of what's going on but wants nothing to do with it. Lives with her partners, the hornet council and Hyde, and just tries to keep them safe. Accompanies the Hornets on their OVER missions anyway.

Brair Campbell (she/her)- Consolidation between Anne and an unnamed OI worker. May's (Elijah's OI iteration) pet project. OI made her forget she's a consolidation and she's just living a normal life. Now and again the Elijahs use her for something and then she gets her memory back, but it's rare.

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

What's one Napoleonic pairing you like but don't get much chance to talk about?

oh man, this is a hard question. Mostly because I will just talk about whatever it is I want to about regardless of whether people interact with the posts/me/etc lol especially when it comes to pairings and fun stuff like that

If I had to choose, I think I would go for Napoleon/Talleyrand. It's such a perfect mutual-respect-but-also-mutual-dislike To annoyed-with-each-other-still-don't-necessarily-like-each-other-mutual-respect-also-dwindling To ???? To BETRAYAL

which is a very unique set of circumstances.

also it means I can frame Talleyrand (apocryphally, allegedly) making snarky comments about Napoleon and Bourienne's close friendship as pure, unadulterated jealousy.

it really does hit all of my favourite dynamics, too. Two very smart people at odds with each other, age difference, Repression (tm), Strong Opposing Personalities, [insert relevant John le Carre quote about betrayal], both are melodramatic and Stupid, Talleyrand is a SURVIVOR and Napoleon is YEE HAWING OFF A CLIFF, mutual exasperation, oh man those insults they traded, they make each other worse! but have a slim/slight potential to make each other better but neither would take it, they're Tumblr's Favourite Mountain Goats song (N: I hope you die. T: I hope we both die) etc.

Talleyrand: babe. have you thought about.. , not? doing that?

Napoleon: t o o l a t e.

I want a story with them being forced to work together after Talleyrand's first "fuck this I'm out" leaving of Napoleon's service and it's again idk think something like el Coco but worse.

I am a sucker for things that are shaped as shadows and hunt within the shadows and vanish people (children traditionally, but let's broaden it) to eat or whatever.

Anyway, it'd be great.

My two close runner ups: Napoleon/Metternich and Talleyrand/Metternich.

You might be noticing a trend, here.

thank you for the ask!! <3 <3 <3

[anastasiadalia]

I wrote NUMEROUS extremely long comments when it ended about all the ways in which I love this comic, so I see no need to repeat myself, except to say that your resilience and determination to work this thing for so long and FINISH it is truly spectacular and a huge inspiration for me personally, in all my creative endeavors. Happy birthday Handplates! It’s been one hell of a road, and you’ll always have a special place in my heart. Thank you Zarla, and congratulations, and I’m looking forward to what you will be creating in the future!

And DO NOT feel guilty about moving on! You finished what we came here to see, you brought it to its conclusion which is the best thing you could’ve done. Beating a dead horse only ruins what was once beloved. It’s run it’s course and it’s still there for people to enjoy. So, Yee Haw, keep creating, if not for us then for yourself, because creating stuff is awesome like that.

We move forward, 'cause we can't go back...

It's the EIGHTH anniversary of Handplates, and the first one after I finished the comic back in July! I decided to dig up a very old wip that I never finished and finally do it. I've always loved WeMoveForward by The Midnight, and I think it applies not only to the comic itself but also this period after it... there's no way to go back to when I was doing it, only moving forward after it's done.

Even more appropriately, since I did this wip, these characters all moved forward even further... even as this sat in my files, they moved forward, in a sense. I don't know, the song gives me a sort of plaintive, longing, bittersweet feeling... it's hard to explain.

I had a very insistent voice in my head that always made me do a Handplates page over the years I was working on it, no matter what happened. I wasn't sure if that voice would ever stop, even when it's done, but it has! It's gotten quieter now, mostly only nagging me about other projects I should be working on (Defrag, the Ace Attorney/Frozen fic, web design, fic ideas, art ideas...) whenever I'm doing something, much like it did before I started the comic.

How I feel about Handplates finishing though is strange. At times it doesn't feel like it's over, even if I don't feel like I need to do another page. At other times I get sad thinking about it and I miss it, and other times I look back on it with amazement that I was able to do it. Sometimes I look back on it and think about what was happening in my life at that time, and sometimes when I look at it it's unreal and it's hard to believe I even did it, like someone else did the whole thing. It's like it's there but it's not, it's present but it isn't. It's a very strange feeling, it's hard to describe or pin down. I know it'll always be with me in some way, but it is strange to be able to focus so much attention on other things without that feeling of having to set aside a few days to do a page every two weeks... not bad or anything, but I'm not used to it still.

I don't know! When I read the comments on the last page a lot of them made me cry, especially those talking about how the comic had been their childhood, and now their childhood is over. It was sad to think that I had a part in something like that ending... but it ends for everyone, no matter what you do. We, you and me, everyone... we move forward, 'cause we can't go back. That line was so evocative for me that I even used it as a chapter title for the penultimate chapter on Comicfury.

I don't know, just nostalgic thoughts! I don't know if that's the right word for it... but thank you to all of you who read it and enjoyed it. Even now I hear from new people coming to it and reading through it again now that it's done. Even if it's finished, it's still new to people just finding it. It's still "living" in a sense. And thanks to those of you who stuck around even though it's done, I appreciate it. |D

(As a note, the Gaster ukagaka has a surprise if you boot him on the anniversary after seeing the brothers, if you haven't done that)

[index] [patreon]

[textingtroublesanswers]

(Idk who it is who normally does stuff for the lil engies but I like to think they kinda pour out of every nook and cranny in engineer's workshop and congregate around Dell and Tala, various yee's and haws can be heard as they dance, awaiting instructions and bacon bits)

-🦖

Mod B: the mini engie person hasn't been around for a while, honestly. Let's just say the mini engies have already swarmed off into the desert to pick up the car 😉