#struggling to draw as per usual but I am trying my best

[madootles]

cowboy ed just makes sense to me

[darlingofvalyria]

❝You don't think I can please you?❞

part 05 | we're really in it now, darling

chapter summary:

[ Everything comes ahead at a hedge maze because. . . hedge maze. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 4,517 ] [ series masterlist ] | best friend's brother!aemond targaryen x f!reader, ft. cregan stark x f!reader, aemond x alys rivers

contains— angst, a lil smutty but no full whorishness, ya'll good - i should really put idiots in love as a tag shouldn't i - nsfw: grinding + some sexy, sexy second base lmao - no kingslayers, no rogues, no betas.

a/n— i hope ya'll forgive me. comment, reblog & like at will, mi luvs, mwa!

You don't really know what you were expecting come Sunday. Once you started to 'ehh' 'hmmm' and 'maybe's your way through random moments with Helaena after the radio silence from Aemond— your best friend put her foot down.

"Fuck him," Helaena grumbled. "You've been going to Sunday dinners before he was even born, you are not backing down now."

 You snorted. "That's wildly inaccurate."

"Point still stands. Fuck. Him. You deserve my mother's tiramisu cake. He doesn't get to take that from you." Her eyes widen as if trying to instil her determination into your system via eye contact. "You are not going to let him take that from you."

You nodded. That's at least a point to pro you can stand by. Though she can't cook to save her life— Alicent's words, not yours — the woman sure can bake. It became therapeutic for her, she once said. How measuring ingredients and kneading dough to patiently folding cream after another kept her mind quiet and her hands busy.

"My faith strongly does not advise rage shooting, you know?" Alicent once hummed.

"Did you mean 'range' shooting?"

"Oh?" she nodded absentmindedly, smiling. "Yes, that too."

"That's true," you mused. Tiramisu cake was her mother's specialty. Every Sunday, she has all attendees pack up at least one cake per person and you and Hel usually stave off bites throughout the week until the next Sunday comes.  "I deserve some tiramisu cake, gods be damned it."

"Plus, if you come with me, we'll get two cakes to take home instead of one." She wagged her finger. "We count as two separate entities with one fridge, it's our greatest privilege."

"Daeron calls it preferential treatment."

"I am her only daughter, of course I get preferential treatment."

"As you should, bestie."

Even when you've stopped struggling with choosing if you were going or not, your mind is never faraway from thinking about Aemond. You wonder if he's finally gotten back with Alys was a bad train of thought, while an even worse train of thought is how soft his lips were and how he holds your hair to pull you close when his tongue glides across your bottom lip.

You blink, shaken from the thought. Bad. Bad brain. Stop it.

And repeat. At this point, it was safer to think about Alys and Aemond.

According to previous cycles, by this point they'd be at the height of their newly blossomed relationship— all sweet kisses and heated looks, unable to stop touching each other much less act a little bit better when they're trying to leave a group function to fuck their brains out — so you wouldn't be surprised to see come Sunday that he arrives with Alys— both of them tall, gorgeous with just enough undertone of smirky, smarmy tension that would make you want to stab your own eye out — pointedly ignoring you or whatever happened between you and him.

It hurt to think about sure, but what else did you think was going to happen?

That call made a space the size of a puddle that turned into a lake, welled deep with unresolved feelings and untouched topics. More questions than answers, drawing lines both of you were too scared to tug and see.

It's big enough to notice, and both stubborn enough not to anything about it.

You tried. Well, you almost did. In the weird hours of the day when your brain and body are more physically disjointed so rationality gives way to adrenaline. Most of the time, this is during working hours. You, checking your phone, running around his profile with your thumb a few times, biting your lip as your mind blanks and your body fights to call him. Or leave a message.

Before your mind and body reconnects and you fling your phone as far away from you as possible.

It's weird. You've never fought with Aemond before. If this was considered fighting. You've been disappointed in him, gotten angry and annoyed with him, but someone always, always offers an olive branch.

Every time you think about that call, you close up, your annoyance flares, and you shove your phone away.

In your amicable defense, this was primarily his problem. You weren't truly dating. He made it clear every choice he was making was en toward the agreed conditions were of making his ex jealous enough to take him back, yada yada yada.

Even if, possibly, you wanted more, he made no actual steps to make it known that he was considering it too.

Funny stares on your lips don't count. The only sabbatical from sexual adventures Aemond got were the breakup round with Alys, and as established before, they got it on pretty frequently.

Another thought bubble about Aemond's lips pops in your head, the mint from his toothpaste and the coffee from his black with no sugar, no milk, the way he seemed to suckle on your sighs—

Gods. Damn. It.

Focus.

That last call?

You're a grown ass woman. You're allowed to do whatever you want with whomever you want, and you're not going to make Aemond Targaryen's steely silence of what— disappointment? Of your choices? Of your choice in Cregan Stark and Cregan Stark Jr? Of what you were doing? Sure he was faithful to the Seven, a good old religious boy raised by his momma, but it doesn't make him a saint. Just because he's clinging to the vestiges of first love thinking it could very well be his last doesn't make him holy, or warrant enough to judge you for getting your little you some good dick.

Life is hard. Good dick is hard to come by!

So. Yeah. Days leading up to Sunday was radio silence and way too many thoughts circling your head like vultures, eating away at logic and rationality, and stubbornly still, you refused to make contact. If it's not out of pride, it's out of hurt.

Because he could apologise, but Aemond wasn't known for his apologies.

But then you remembered the flowers, the tulips, and now you just felt sad. Moping, getting annoyed, and trying to get through work without breaking your phone speeds the week in a blur.

Come Sunday afternoon, Helaena was coming to pick you up from her shift at the vet— the beauty of having a vet bff is the Russian roulette of pictures; you never know if you're about to get cuddly new patients with big, sad eyes and pouty snouts or her newest c-section win without any attempts of a blur — so you could get to her mother's house together, you decided to go for the nines with your outfit.

A sweet summer dress later, some gold gladiator sandals half off from your favourite but largely can't afford shoe boutique that you swear you were always going to wear to make up for the insane price (thank the gods Alicent didn't have a no shoe policy because it takes fifteen minutes to get them on and you cannot be on the floor, on her house, with Aemond around, rolling around like a hot potato on the entry way trying to get a fucking shoe on), dusted and prepped in you're fancier version of makeup, and was just finishing off your hair— using the good mousse whilst blaring Disney epics — when knocking came.

You freeze.

On one hand, it could just be Helaena, forgetting her keys again somewhere as she had done so numerous times before, but there hadn't been a slew of expletives or her impression of a cool, clinical voice saying, ''Tis I, the Stranger, have come for thee soul! Open up I gotta pee, woman!' so you got a pretty good guess on the alternative, sending your heart into a stutter and get smacked with a well deep of yearning.

You miss Aemond. You miss hanging out with him, even just having him on video call whilst you prepped a late dinner and he's working out his thesis defense, too late for either of you, but catching another's eye in the tiny phone and sharing a comforted grin. You miss being called my lady in a language that means so much to him, miss bumping shoulders and smelling his crisp scent of cologne and laundry.

Miss his lips, his very soft, very delicious lips—

"Gods damnit, woman, keep it together," you murmur to yourself. Another series of knocks, ever patient, and you're moved by body not mind as breathless giddiness yanks the door open—

Only to fall flat.

"Oh." You can't hide your disappointment at the curly blond with the smirk for centuries. "Aegon. I didn't know it was you."

"Yes, the expressive disappointment in your eyes could bring a man on the edge to his downfall, I must say," he jokes hoarsely, a little hurt. "Not even a hi Aeg. I've missed you Aeg, or— hey Aeg! You look good enough to eat!"

It's Aegon. Not Aemond. Or Helaena. Helaena and Aemond's older brother, Aegon. Party rocking, cocaine hiding, sweat and someone's lipstick smelling Aegon. You like him despite his whorishness because he's funny, because he's sweet when he wants to be, and he always, always gets you a funny mug when he comes back from wherever he came from.

You blink a couple of times, laughing awkwardly as you give him a quick hug. He still smells the same, with the lightest tint of sun in him from his days at the beach not so long ago no doubt.

"Sorry, sorry. Hi Aeg, I've missed you Aeg, and yes, you do look good enough to eat, Aeg."

He hugs back tighter, smothering you in the denim jacket he's wearing and the curly edge of his white blond hair. He's got a new piercing and smells of new perfume.

"So do you, princess," he says as you step back and he appraises you appreciatively. "Those shoes can step on me any time."

"I will never."

"You will never," he says chirpily, moving back with a teasing grin. "Let me guess, you were waiting for my uglier version to come by and got too overwhelmed by the majesticness of me."

'"Majesticness isn't even a word." You snort. "And Aemond is not your uglier version, you don't look that alike."

He raises an eyebrow as you blink. Fuck. "Dear me oh my, I meant Helaena, babe. When did Aemond get into the mix?"

You shove his shoulder, huffing as you pick up your keys and bag, forcing him to step back as you lock the apartment, trying to give yourself grace from his burning, teasing stare. "As if Helaena didn't tell you." You finally turn to him, lips pursed at his faux innocent pout. "Helaena tells you everything."

"She might have mentioned a thing or two about a thing or two." He bumps your hip as you both get into the elevator. "Imagine my surprise when Lae-lae tells me of a wondrous development between her two favourite people that involved a breakup, some gift-giving shenanigans, and kissing." He gasps dramatically as you groaned. "I leave for what— a month or two and suddenly you and Aemond are making out? Babe, I must say, you're doing the tongue tango with the wrong brother."

 "He's not the wrong brother, also the tongue tango? Really?" you snap suddenly. The wrong brother comments always irk you because you understand that it's a sensitive issue to Aemond, as well as Aegon himself.

But it's a bait you realise too late because Aegon Targaryen enjoys hauling truths from people in steps and tricks, uncaring if he takes a stab or two to get there as you meet his gaze against the reflective wall, positively smirking.

"Really now?"

"Why are you even picking me up? I thought you were in Oldtown."

"Already sorted. Hel wanted to make sure you get there in time, she's going to be late... After all your earlier ride backed out didn't he?"

Your mouth pursed, annoyance prickling at your edges as the elevator pulled into the lobby. "I don't want to talk about it, where's your car?"

He whistles, languid and all the time in the world on his shoulders with just the hint of smug. "It's a thirty minute ride, babe, you're going to spill."

You shoot him a withering glare. "Not if I have say in it." For emphasis, you yank his door and slam it. Fuck his new Maserati.

"Mature!"

Thirty minutes is more than ample time for Aegon Targaryen to weed his way into your brain like the worst case of earworm (like a stupid ass commercial jingle that just. Won't. Stop) that by the time you reach his mother's, you were ranting.

"—like I get it, saying I'm going out with another guy to get some good dick after confirming that we're going to your mother's for Sunday as a date is bad, but we're not really dating! He said so himself! He pressed the issue of it not being a real thing! And he didn't attempt any—"

"— any communication at all," Aegon echoes, stretching his legs as he stood. "Not a sorry or anything."

"Anything!" you bolster, slamming his door again that is less about him and more about the aggressiveness. "I know that he's bad at apologising, or facing things that are hard, choosing to stew in it and act all shitty to people, I just... I thought he'd at least tell me. Doesn't that warrant our friendship?"

"Hm. Ever think that's precisely why he struggles with you?"

"What does that even mean?"

"That he cares about you, so he struggles more with expressing himself."

You turn to him, cocking your head. "When did you get so wise, oh Gandalf?"

"A Seven focused rehab facility can do that to you," he muses wistfully. "There was this nun that says verses when she orgasms."

You make a face. "Love the fun fact."

"You're welcome. But back to point, isn't the issue also the fact that you never tried to make contact with him either?"

"Well. Yeah. Because..."

Aegon squints at you sympathetically. "Because you're scared of rocking the boat because of how much you like him?"

"Not, well," you hesitate. "Not like that precisely..."

"How much you're capable of liking him?" Aegon smiles wryly. "You had a crush on him, I remembered that at least. When Hel first introduced you to him, you couldn't stop teasing him until he lit up like a Christmas tree. I knew you liked him since then. You called him pretty half the time, and I started to realise it was less about his reaction but how you actually see him, and speaking as the naturally cherub, pretty boy of the family, I find this highly, highly offensive."

You pinch his cheeks, wounding your arm over his shoulder. Aegon was built like a linebacker with less muscles that aren't postern, with wide shoulders and a strong body that's too easy to lean against.

"You're pretty too, Aeg," you coo. "But he's just..."

 "If you say ethereal, I will vomit right in my mother's petunias." He makes a face. "How about this. The problem is that you think Aemond doesn't like you back."

You frown at him. "I know Aemond doesn't like me back."

"Oh, sweetie," Aegon coos, sympathy and pity swirling in his smug, smug smile. "I'm so glad you're pretty."

You pinch his sides until he squirms. "Fuck you, what the hell?"

"What I'm saying is, let's test that, you know? Because that's the only variable you aren't sure with?"

You sigh. "Aeg, even if he does, I'm not going to pounce—"

The door swings open, and there he is, of pretty boy face and good boy posture because his mother raised herself a good, devout boy who doesn't know what a slouch is because he's not an ape— and is he wearing his leather jacket? Of course he's wearing the leather jacket and you know that smell, that spiced cologne with the leather and his natural scent and fuck, Aemond is looking at you, looking at his brother, and the open expression, the shock, that smidge of relief— shutters to an icy politeness.

Aegon because he's Aegon, pulls you closer, his mouth curling into a grin that only says trouble, forcing Aemond to straighten up his already perfect posture in preparation for whatever his brother has in mind and his stare is white-hot on the conjoined appendages between you and his brother— and Aegon lands a wet, smacking kiss on your cheekbone.

"Had to pick up your girl, baby bro, I mean what kind of—" his blue gaze finds his mother descending the stairs, peering out to see on who it was, and you're frozen, waiting for the bomb to drop and simultaneously unprepared for it, "— boyfriend has his brother pick up his girl? Good thing you got a good excuse, huh? Oh, hey mother dearest! Your favourite son has come back!"

As Aegon leaves your side with a cheeky little wink, you bit your lip at the frosty look on his face that makes you feel like an absolute idiot and fills you with rage all in one go. Because Aemond has never looked at you like that, like you were at fault and acting like a child, but that you also want to jut a finger against his chest.

"Did you have a nice talk with him on the drive over?" he says, jaw hard.

"I didn't tell him," you hiss, taking the hem of his leather jacket instead of his hands enough so you can pretend to kiss his cheeks because his mother is right there, eyes wide at that two of you as Aegon gave you a discreet thumbs up.

"Helaena did. Get over yourself, your mother's—"

 "Aemond?"

As he freezes and Alicent calls your name, you plaster the best smile you can make as you twine your fingertips with his.

"Smile."

"Hm."

When you leave his side to greet Alicent, you make sure to stomp on his stupid shoes.

As soon as you've finished your mandatory greetings— even with Otto Hightower, Aemond's grandfather, who merely raised his eyebrows at the apparent new status of you and his grandson, Alicent having to blink multiple times, wrangling positives as she kept shooting her son looks while he stood like a block of ice behind you — Aemond takes your hand by his own volition, tangles your fingers too tight, and starts tugging you along like a bouy.

"Are you a child?" you hiss, trying to pry your hand as insistently without outright yanking, Alicent already sending you both concerned looks at a news that she called 'oh, that is wonderful!'

"I am younger than you," he murmurs back, holding you tight.

"Oh, fuck you."

With a defeated huff, you take longer, heavier strides and stomps so you're the one dragging him.

It's all illusion of control built on pettiness because you're still being navigated, it's more just pride at this point, but you don't care, and when he scoffs right back, you felt at least a pinch of a win.

And then he, of course, matches your strides so fucking easily.

"Freaking horse-legged motherfucker," you mumble. You don't know if he catches it, or you're imaging the soft, surprised noise that's both a snort and a laugh.

He winds you around the hallway, an unbreakable trajectory to the backyard, dragging you past an easy eye view from the dramatic, floor to ceiling windows and trespassing straight into the hedge maze because of course they had one of those.

"Really? Here?"

"Do you want to be ogled up by my mother?" he says in a nauseatingly chipper voice. "Is that what you and Aegon are planning with all this, hm?"

You twist out of his grip, walking deeper on your own until your eyes are swallowed by the darkness. When you turn to him, your eyes adjust, only seeing the silver of his hair, so different from his black leather jacket and dark green jumper. You don't see his expression or his sharp gaze.

"Planned this? Seriously? Nothing since coming here had been planned, Aemond," your voice has bite and if your eyes had adjusted faster, or if you could see better, you would see the flinch he makes, "if it had been, this certainly would be the last of my fucking choices. Or do I have to remind you of the fact that we were supposed to go together? Oh right, things change when you drop a call out of fucking nowhere!"

"I—fuck." He moves around, a hand through his hair as exhales in frustration. "I didn't... think you'd want to go with me. That Sunday plans had been cancelled."

"And you didn't think to message? I mean it's not like we're friends in literally every social media." You try not to sound hurt before taking a deep breath, offering your palms up. "I didn't—don't even know what the issue is, Aemond. Were you so offended that I was sexually active that you just had to rudely drop the call and not talk—"

It's maybe the darkness, or intuition but you can bet half yours savings that Aemond Targaryen is blushing.

"It... gods, no it's not... I wasn't offended that you were sexually active," he says softly, evenly. He clears his throat. "I don't... mind that you're... sexually active. I actively... support it. Even." He coughs. Swallows. Curses.

If you don't feel like your heart is pounding in your throat you would have laughed. You had never seen the boy this flustered before that it's affecting his words, because Aemond has always been the most well spoken person you know.

"Is it about Cregan? Do you have something against Cregan?"

His eye flutter close. "No... and yes."

"I don't understand, Aemy," you whisper, defeated.

He sighs. In the dark, you notice a movement. His hands flex. It's a habit he's had since you've known him. It's instinct. The way you reach out, finding a piece of his leather jacket until you find your way to his hands, running your fingers over the bones and ridges, his sinew and skin. There are callouses from his fencing, running your thumb over his knuckles.

He's frozen first before he sighs, melting through the warmth you share with him.

 "I have nothing against Stark," he finally says. "It's the fact that you were still having sex with him that I found unfair." He steps closer until you can see his face better, the struggle in him can be told through the furrow in his brows and the press of his pillowy lips, red and wet as if he had bitten through it. "I... understand that we're not really together, but I couldn't... not feel as if it wasn't right. As if I wanted it to be me."

His hands finds your arms, eye closing and gently placing his forehead against your own. At first you panic, your body trying to make your brain decide do you like this or not but it's Aemond, and he's warm, gentle, sweet almost. It's familiar and new at the same time. It's warmth you recognise, skin you will know anywhere, but in a way that you've never felt him before.

You close your eyes and breathe with him.

You know that this is rare. That this Aemond is reserved for people he loves and cares about, but with his forehead against yours, with his hands holding you steady, rubbing a comforting thumb over your skin that felt just as for him as it was for you, breathing you in and exhaling you out. A single breath between two bodies.

"I don't know if I can agree to that, Aemy."

"What?" He pulls back, hurt pulling taunt your favourite pair of lips. "Do you like Cregan more? You don't think I can please you?"

"That's not—"

His hands closes on your face, cupping it in his palms as you stare, wide-eyed at the blue fire lit up in his eye. His breath brushes your lips, making them tingle.

"Push me away if you don't want it," he says before his eye closes and he takes your mouth against his own, swallowing your gasp then pulling you away again, eye glinting.

"Push me away, ñuha riña." His voice is so soft, words crisp while your body thrummed in a single, frantic heartbeat. When you don't move, too shock, thoughts tangled, he smirks.

With his teeth, he captures your bottom lip, grazing it. When he feels you shudder, eyes fluttering, he chuckles meanly.

"Push me away as if you don't want me." He tilts your chin up as he looks down on you, eye confident in its lust. His thumb brushes your bottom lip. "As if you don't feel everything I do."

"Fuck you," you manage to exhale as you grab the back of his head and devour him just as you did at the restaurant. He groans, using his other hand to feel your side, pass your one breast, giving it a firm squeeze that makes you gasp, tongue clashing, legs tangling as you push and push and he pulls you to him, his back hitting the prickly hedge. It's teeth and tongue, breaths twisted in one air as you used each other like lifelines, like enemies in a swords match.

It's feverish and passion, infuriating want that gives. Because when you dominate the kiss, tangling his tongue with your own, yanking him down and down as if you want him to reach every part of you inside, he bends and follows. And when he pulls you, tangles your hair and takes every gasp and breath, you surrender.

He groans when you suck on his bottom lip, pulling away just enough to spit out, "You taste so much better than my dreams." His mouth moves down and down, leaving a path of heat as he suckles at your neck, practically ripping the buttons of the top of your dress as he slides down and grunts in pain.

"A-Aemy?" Your eyes flutter. "Your back, shit—"

"Fuck that." He tugs you down until you land with an oomph! on his lap, your chest at his eye level before he drags them back to your gaze. "Tell me to stop."

You shake your head, tangling your fingers in his hair. "No."

"Good."

Your back arches, supported in his hold, as he starts sucking the skin lower and lower, another hand massaging your tit that pools hot down your core until his hand, warm and solid, sinew and bone, and Aemond Aemond Aemond, slides between your bra and cups your breast and his hand is so big, and it feels so good that you start grinding on the hard length you feel right at your—

An ear-splitting shriek freezes the both of you. You and Aemond pull back, hand still on your tit.

"Wha—"

"Ew, ew, ew! Mom said you were fighting! FIGHTING DOES NOT EQUATE FUCKING IN THE MAZE, YOU FUCKING CLICHES!"

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[brandytusk]

The following thoughts, or maybe confession, contain Arcane spoilers. Please keep that in mind should you continue. It's a long story, I apologize in advance.

Now I will say, I am no LoL player, thus unfamiliar with its lore with the exception of what I search for, or what education I get from others. I had a passing interest in Arcane due to my best friend's insistence, rambling on about its beautiful art style, symbolism, and compelling writing. It was one of those things I did in fact, try and make a habit of to sit and watch at dinner, see what all the rising hubbub was about. I'll admit, I don't know where I stopped in season one, but I didn't finish it. As I recall, the plot felt too grim. To me, it felt like it was a show getting praise for being artistically depressing. When season one's ending was spoiled for me, I was glad I hadn't got as invested as other people I knew. To have developed characters so sincerely in a season's time, just to end it the way it was done…I disapproved, and I shook my head. Forgot it all at the time.

I'm a millennial who has lived through recession, through pandemic, and I am not middle class. I'm anxious, and there are days that feel hopeless and painfully long. I want to escape into the media I consume, let characters take me on a journey with them, far away from the oppressive, hanging air of everyday life in late stage capitalism. I don't want a tragic story, no matter how much it is praised for its art direction. Moving forward every morning can be bleak enough. Maybe others like these kinds of harsh stories for its relatability, and that's fine! I am happy for those that can appreciate it in that way, but I cannot. I'm tired, and perhaps not just as a struggling individual, but as an LGBT+ person with a husband.

Mainstream, popular shows (that get shown to American audiences, at least) don't often get obvious queer representation, or when it does, the show is often cut short. I felt baited in what I did see of season one, and rolled my eyes that fanfiction writers were fed enough to work their magic and fill the holes, as per usual.

Then, the next season of Arcane releases, and my social media feeds became flooded with screenshots and spoilers. I didn't block said spoilers and told myself I was no longer invested in Arcane -- only to see the most alarming screen captures I'd ever seen.

I especially liked what I'd seen of Viktor and Jayce in the past. I enjoyed seeing two intelligent, determined male creatives share screentime and share their story of a growing, deepening friendship. As far as I was aware, Jayce and Viktor were well bonded colleagues, if not each other's 'ride or die', once mutually and deeply invested in a greater outcome to benefit the whole. Compared to the rest of what I'd seen of Arcane's first season, it still hadn't gripped me enough to stick around as I wanted to save myself from heartache. Long story short, season two's spoilers revealed to me Jayce making a frantic, truly desperate effort to revive his fallen, disabled partner Viktor after the explosion. While he's successful, this fuses Viktor with tech Jayce once swore to destroy. Jayce draws close and is just relieved Viktor, in his birthday suit at this moment mind you, is alive, while Viktor is disappointed Jayce didn't keep his promise. They go separate ways, and the scene felt like an intimate argument, a break up. Well, at this point with that much revealed to me, I was relieved to see the two of them alive after the first season's ending. I was curious again, so I continued to look at screen captures and gifsets.

Viktor develops magic skills to heal others, and in his new body things, seem to fall into place for him. He is appreciated, and maybe it's suggested he gets a following. While its unclear how 'good' the arcane is, what he's doing with it seems right for the character. It looks like a victory…until Jayce comes along and puts a hole in Viktor's chest, keeping his promise. Viktor only meant to talk to him. Jayce, who had fought so hard to revive this man, kills him, as far as I'd seen it. It felt like petty shock value. Not knowing there was more episodes to come, I thought that was it. More tragedy, more pain.

My husband knows me well. I very rarely get affected by the shows I watch, and when I do, I am reserved about it. Instead, I sobbed, the kind where you can't see passed the tears and the snot. I felt so betrayed by my curiosity, by my hopeful feelings. I spent days ranting to my friends and my husband, offended and angry. How dare these writers throw around this disabled character and give him no relief, and what was more, develop two men in such a way as to suggest one simply cannot exist without the other only to shoot down one of them, by the hand of their partner? I had let myself be baited again, and I was feeling it. It burned, it hurt, I raged. I gave up.

A day or two ago, my best friend chimed in again: I should check in on Arcane. There had been more episodes, the season had finished. Trusting they knew how sensitive I was about all of it, I did. Again, I was moved to tears, but for different, much better reasons.

What was this?

Fortiche and its writing team had bothered to weave together and tell a story of two men ultimately destined for each other through every timeline, the kind of trope reserved for romantic movies and literature? They held hands, kept each other close, were honest with each other in the starry nothing. Hand to nape, forehead to forehead, and colorfully blinked out of that current existence, together? Such intimacy didn't need a kiss or a sex scene to feel real, there was love there. Their fated, interwoven existence, their deep and complex relationship, saved the world. In the end, there was hope.

You can tell yourself that it wasn't romantic if it makes you feel better, but in all its passionate details it very much was. To this stressed, exhausted LGBT+ person in these real uncertain times, I needed to see it. I felt deep relief, satisfaction, and most of all a need to pursue the Arcane fandom, a desire to enter. To at the very least, gush about my impression of it all, and what it means to me to see two men tenderly portrayed in ways they typically aren't. Fortiche, well done. You did give the Caitvi shippers something to blatantly feast upon, you also gave lesbian characters depth and variation, but this isn't about that.

You let two male characters show dedication, affection, and softness. Thank you. Jayvik folks, I am with you. Arcane, let's start over at the first episode, I can't wait to watch all of you now.

[screentones-webcomicresources]

do you have any advice for aspiring author-artists who already work full time (40 hrs per week) day jobs?

i straight up don’t have time for anything outside of work, taking care of my pets, general housekeeping, feeding myself, and sleep. i’d have to sacrifice time for one of those categories to do anything outside of them. and i frequently do sacrifice that time. usually sleep and housekeeping.

(i am looking for part-time work that would let me bring in the same amount of income per month, but i would have to sacrifice my current health care while im in the middle of trying to address my own medical needs)

Our work-life balance episode has some good thoughts we definitely recommend you check out, because we struggle with this too! It can be tough depending on your energy levels, and sometimes the answer really is to wait for a season of your life where things are less busy before you jump into a large comic project.

But it's still possible to make progress at your own pace. Here are some things that help us:

Keep something you can draw or take notes with on you when you have a bit of downtime in your day. You can use a notes app on your phone to document an idea or edit an outline when you have something come to you, or keep a sketchbook at your desk depending on your set up. Depending on your transit options, sometimes you can also draw on a bus or train.

Team up! If you have art friends in your neighborhood, consider starting or joining a club or meet up to draw after work (this also has the much-needed benefit of social time). You may also be able to hire art assistants to help with flatting or another part of your page-making process.

Reclaim some of your time if you can. Get someone else who wants to watch the animals once a month and go on a weekend art retreat to focus (large or just hanging out in a library or someplace where you can concentrate - going to be different for different people). You may find some other ways to simplify your daily routines or multitask to get some time back in your day for comic-making.

Set realistic expectations and don’t compare your results with someone who works on a comic full time. This may mean scaling back the scope of your story, simplifying the art style, or working at a slower schedule. However you make your comic, it still matters, and it should be an activity that brings you joy, not stress!

We wish you the best of luck!

[lostmyremembrall]

🐍Happy birthday to you! We share the date it seems ^^. May I ask a 🐍date with Tom Riddle? Some informations for you to write : I am a girl small and a bit chubby. I like mythology, learning about culture, asian food. A bit shy but have character when you reach my limits. I like play on words and loves to read. If I was in the magical world my best abilities would be potions runes and metamorphosis Hope it's enough for you to write something with this?

Many thanks Enjoy your day!

🐍 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐇𝐂: 𝐓𝐨𝐦

A/N: Happy birthday to you too, then! I hope this serves as a belated birthday gift to you✨ Note: I interpreted metamorphosis as transfiguration. Hopefully, I included some HC that you enjoyed!

- You first met him on your usual visit to the library

- You were trying to reach a book above you

- You could have reached it,

- But a hand swooped into your view and snatched it away

- You turned around to acknowledge the person behind you,

- But when you saw the smug smirk playing on Tom Riddle’s lips, you instantly knew his action didn’t come from the place of chivalry.

- it took some time for you to get comfortable speaking with him,

- But once you did, he found you to be a fascinating person.

- You’re witty and naturally curious, with myriads of interesting facts

- Able to return his banter with a play on words, so a conversation with you is never boring.

- He wouldn’t burst into a fit of laughter per se, but you typically manage to draw out a suppressed smirk.

- Tom adores you and the height difference.

- He does tease you about your height.

- He likes to come up behind you and surprise you with an embrace.

- He would typically squeeze you hard against him because he finds you soft and extremely comfortable to hold

-He considers you to be a great study partner, and would prefer to be your project partner (including potions, runes, metamorphosis, and many other classes).

-It could be that you two are the golden team with guaranteed excellent grades, but it's likely that he just doesn't want to share you with anyone else.

-Who's to say it can't be both?

-Your excellent ability to read runes is especially cherished, since it means you can translate older Medieval texts with ease.

-Tom holds great respect for you, and would often come to you if his rune translation seemed a bit wrong.

-Tom finds your shy personality to be endearing.

-He would try to get you to react in all sorts of situations.

-During meals, he would wink at you from across the Great Hall.

-In class, he would blatantly stare at you and only when you start blushing, would look away with a smug smirk.

-You're an anthropologist, with a unique, open-minded perspective based on cultural relativism.

-You usually enjoy learning about cultures from the comfort of the library, but there are moments when you venture to the lake and the forbidden forest to speak directly with centaurs, merpeople, etc.

-In those cases, Tom gets somewhat anxious and tags along to offer some protection.

-"Not that I distrust other creatures," he says, "but what will I ever do if you get hurt?"

-Needless to say, you are blessed with friends inside and outside of Hogwarts, human and non-human.

-Centaurs, particularly, enjoy your company as they tell you about their traditions and mythologies based on stars and constellations. With or without Tom, your safety is guaranteed when you're meeting them.

-Unfortunately, Asian food is difficult to come by in 1940s rural Scotland. But, the talented house elves are fortunately here for you.

-They had Asian ingredients specifically imported from all sorts of Asian countries.

-Tom was certainly new to Asian cuisine, not having had the opportunity to eat much food outside Hogwarts or his orphanage.

-But, upon discovering that Asian food is important to you, he decided that he would try all your favourite dishes.

-Your typical date would include visiting the Hogwarts kitchen.

-Tom struggled with chopsticks at first.

-A heavy sigh as he, once again, picks up one of the sticks that somehow ended up on the floor.

-At one point, you decided it would just be simpler if you fed him.

-He would mumble a word of thanks, unable to look you straight in the eyes.

-His furious blush as he leans forward to take a bite.

-Before his eyes usually widen in surprise at the scrumptious food that he's tasted.

-It's not long before he learns to use the chopsticks himself so that you two can eat simultaneously.

-The date usually ends with you two, full, content, and drowsy, gazing at the warm fireplace with his possessive arm wrapped around you.

-There's nothing more blissful than listening to his steady heartbeat against your right ear, and the fire warming your cheeks.

-In rare moments when you end up falling asleep, he would try to rouse you before curfew. Head Boy duty, after all.

-In those cases, you are often too tired to walk back to your dorm, to which Tom responds by carrying you in his arms.

-His firm hands wrap around you, and you get to listen to his heartbeat for just a few more extra minutes before you reach your dorm.

A/N: I am sorry it took so long to get to it. Life's been super busy recently. But, I really hope I captured your personality! Again, happy birthday!!

[sincerely-sofie]

Hello!

I just finished reading the epilogue of TPIAG, and I would usually do something like this anonymously because the vulnerability does scare me. But for how much The Present is a Gift means to me, I just wanted to be fully myself while writing this.

Before anything else, thank you. From the bottom of my heart and with the entirety of my being, thank you. I can't even say TPIAG changed my life because that would be a massive understatement for how much impact it all had on me. I don't know how else to describe it, but this story you've created, the characters within it, everything - it's like they all walked and journeyed with me throughout everything I've been through in the last few months. For the first time in my life, I was dealing with grief - and it was a grief so strong that it would physically hurt. It was so many emotions and thoughts going on at once, and I felt so lost and overwhelmed. Yet with TPIAG, I felt so seen. It was genuinely a huge reason in why I've been learning to fully accept that grief with open arms and I cannot thank you enough for that.

Reading through TPIAG, unraveling the story chapter per chapter, and even seeing your posts about it are all experiences I cherish so much. I can recall so many times with TPIAG where I'd have the biggest most genuine smile on my face, and times where I'd feel like I could do nothing else but cry tears that were just so painful in every way, and everything in between. AGHHH i really don't know how else to describe it, but the fact that your writing was able to bring out these raw emotions in me...all I can say is that your writing just feels so...real, so genuine. And that genuine nature of it all didn't just help me connect with the story and the characters, but with myself. I'm genuinely in a much better place now than I was when I started reading TPIAG and it truly played such a huge role in that. And slight tangent, but the feeling really sank in when I took a walk the other day for no reason other than because i wanted to walk. Just appreciating what was there right then in the moment, being able to accept the past and trust the future - I cannot begin to describe how alive I felt, and just how....myself I felt. You really do have a point. The present really, genuinely, truly, is a gift.

Lastly, I just wanted to say that I've always struggled to put my gratitude into words, even now. It's a really scary thing for me for reasons I still find difficult to explain. But not at least trying wouldn't feel right, especially for something like this. The love, care, thought, and the genuine YOU that you put into what you do is evident with how genuine everything is. I know I've used the word "genuine" a lot but it really is the best way to describe everything, and I don't take its meaning and use lightly! I'm genuinely grateful I came across TPIAG that one day a few months ago. I'm genuinely grateful to have witnessed this story unfold. I'm genuinely grateful that you create and nurture these wonderful stories - not just for me, or the rest of your followers (who, from what I've seen, really care about you!), but for how you create them for you. Even though I don't personally know you, from what you've shared on your blog, i can see it hasn't been an easy life for you. But the fact that you put so much heart and soul into your work because you love it and that it helps you heal, and the fact that Twig's story of recovery mirrors your own - again I know it's strange coming from a stranger but I really am so happy for you! AGHHH again it's so hard to put into words but I really am just so grateful in so many ways! Just know that I am writing this in actual tears and with the biggest smile on my face and heart because that really is how I best show gratitude!

All in all, I truly wish you kindness, healing, and all the best with all that you do, whether that be writing, drawing, or whatever else your heart desires. Just remember that what matters most is doing the things you love because you genuinely love to do them - for you! And of course, wishing Twig and the gang all the best as well!

And in case I still haven't said it enough,

Thank you. Thank you so much.

Your willingness to be vulnerable has not gone unnoticed, and it's very touching that you were willing to share your thoughts like this!

I'm so glad that this fic could have such an impact and provide such a resource for you amidst your grief. It means so much that it was able to help get you in a better place.

The way you emphasized genuineness is deeply significant to me. TPiaG is the first time I've ever put something so personal out into the world. I've posted a few projects in the past— but even if they touched on my personal experiences, they were quick to gloss over them. This is the first time I've ever posted a project that doesn't flinch away from the things I've felt in my life, and I was terrified of people seeing it as being "cringe". It's such a dumb word, and an even dumber worldview, but I've been haunted by the idea of me or my art being embarrassing or unpleasant for others. I was so scared of how people would perceive TPiaG— especially the bits and pieces of myself that I inserted into all the individual characters. But to hear that my writing feels genuine puts that fear at ease. There's nothing more beautiful than authenticity to me, so to hear that I've achieved that means so much.

I'm so honored by your happiness— life hasn't been easy, but I've been able to take the pain and make it into art to help myself and others. It doesn't make the hurting stop, but it gives it some meaning that helps it be easier to shoulder. To hear that you're happy for me is, again, really impactful!

You said you have a hard time wording gratitude, but I wanted to let you know this is a very eloquent message you've written and I'll treasure it always. Thank you :>

[lokiiri]

An update.

Hi friends! This is Lokiiri, also known as Loki and formerly known on Twitch and elsewhere under the names LokisObservatory or LokisAdventures. A lot has happened since I kinda dropped off the face of the planet over a year ago. So, as I’m trying to ease back to things, I wanted to give y’all a little update! If you don’t want to read all of it, there’s a summary towards the end.

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

This year has been absolutely insane for me. I had SRS in January, and had a rather rough recovery from it all things considered. After a long recovery that saw me on constant pain meds for close to three months, I immediately got sucked back into tax season at my job. As soon as that was over, I finally moved halfway across the country - something I'd wanted to do for over a year at the time. 

I've been using this time of relative solitude to reflect on myself and improve on myself. I feel like I've found a lot of resources that've been just the right thing for me, and I feel more in touch with my true feelings and wants than I ever have been - and it feels incredible. I feel like I'm learning so much about the anxieties and feelings that have driven my life so far, and this learning is slowly enabling me to dismantle those things I want to overcome, and figure out who I really, really am, unfettered by them.

I'm really passionate about where my journey has taken me, and I'm excited to announce that I'll be doing a panel at Midwest FurFest, where I'll try my best to do the topic justice and share some tools I've found helpful for myself on a journey of this kind. I also plan on streaming and recording an online presentation of the panel for those who can’t make it to MFF. 

The furry fandom was instrumental in helping me find my genuine self in a world that had convinced me that life was about locking that self deep within me. I can’t express how much this means to me, and I want to do whatever I can to pay it forward. I hope I can do this topic justice and be a voice that helps others find similar happiness to that which I have found.

Speaking of streaming, I’m going to be returning to that soon as well! I retired from it last year for a number of reasons, including how crazy my life had become as well as some traumatic situations streaming had put me in that I didn’t feel equipped to handle before. But my life has stabilized now, for the most part, and I feel as though I’ve grown, faced my fears, and am ready to come back to something I’ve really missed. 

That said, I want this to be a new start for me, and for a number of reasons, I’ll be using a brand-new account going forward - I’m now Lokiiri on Twitch (https://twitch.tv/Lokiiri)! (You can still call me Loki if you prefer!) I know starting over will make things harder, but I definitely feel more comfortable starting small, with some distance from my previous identity. I have no plans to delete the old account, LokisAdventures, but I also won’t be using it anymore.

Relatedly, yes, I have a new sona now! I love how she turned out, and I’m excited to keep struggling to draw her until I eventually get good at it! I’m also excited to share lots of lore about her! She’s weird and wonderful and she feels so me :>

That said! I also have some news that, at least for the time being, is making me quite anxious. I want to be transparent about that too, because my hope is that my way forward involves the fandom.

Remember how I said I’d been getting more in touch with how I really feel? In the process of doing that, I’ve uncovered a truth that I’d been suppressing because it’s very, very inconvenient in the society I live in:

The usual 40-hour-per-week capitalism grind has a tremendously negative effect on my mental health. It really, really doesn’t work for me, and it never has, and it never will.

See, I’m autistic. I’ve always masked it very well (still haven’t been diagnosed!). The early parts of my life were all about masking, and beating myself up whenever my undiagnosed autism showed. I even had myself fooled by my masking: I operated under the assumption I was ‘normal,’ or that if I wasn’t, then I had to make myself normal in order to survive. It’s something I think a lot of us in the fandom and outside relate to.

I was willing to push myself very, very hard to this end, because I was scared of what would happen if I didn’t. I basically got used to my career requiring me to work myself to the bone to pass muster as a ‘normal,’ neurotypical, productive employee. I managed to do okay at that from time to time, in jobs that were less demanding, but even pretending to be a mediocre ‘normie’ left me totally bereft of energy for anything that I cared for. What free time I had, I could only get myself to use on idle things that ‘pass the time’ rather than being interesting to me. It made me financially comfortable, but the cost was that my life was hollow and unhappy. 

And I find, if I truly search my heart now, I don’t want to go back. And as joyful of a discovery that would normally be in a world in which I had the freedom to pursue what I want… that’s a very scary thing to realize in this world, in my position.

One of the surest signs of my healing right now is that I’m finally unearthing genuine, actual interests - things that I know I want to do, and would love to have already been doing for years. Things like art, music, writing, voice acting. But the problem is that I’m realizing I haven’t developed much in the way of skills in those things. There’s a lot of reasons for this, but probably the biggest one is that, as a former gifted kid, I was always told to stick to what I was “already good at.” If I wasn’t automatically good at something the first time I did it, then it was shameful and uncomfortable and what was the point? I hate how much time that cost me - how much time I could’ve spent getting good at something I actually love doing.

But capitalism isn’t friendly to people in my position. My interests already are more artistic in nature, which usually doesn’t ‘pay the bills’ as well, and I’m behind the skill curve on everything I actually want to do. I’ve tried looking for jobs in my new place that look more laid-back, in hopes they might give me time to build up skills, but so far the job market here in my new place has seemed much less interested in me than I anticipated. 

Combine that with a potential complication with my surgery that I may need some intervention for, and… well, I have savings enough for a few months, but that number just keeps going down.

I don’t know what to do about this, but I have one idea, and I think it’s one that makes sense to try no matter how successful it is. I want to spend a lot of time working on the various things I’m passionate about, and try to open myself up to paid opportunities in those things as soon as I can - as a way of encouraging my work and keeping myself accountable. 

I’m honestly anxious as hell about this all. I’m dealing with a ton of impostor syndrome about it. There are a ton of voices in my head saying this is a bad idea, that it’s ridiculous for me to do this so early. I know most people’s advice would be to just ‘suck it up’ and get a ‘real’ job.

But I have to try this.

I keep thinking about what Badeline tells you early on in the video game Celeste: “You’re not a mountain climber.” It’s so easy to focus on labels and have them box you into things you just ‘can’t do.’ It’s so easy for me to say to myself, “You’re not an artist, a musician, or a writer. This is stupid. You’re wasting your time on something that’s just going to end in failure.”

But I won’t ever know that unless I try. Unless I give myself permission to climb that mountain anyway, and see where it takes me.

So, yeah. I’m in the process of setting up a Ko-Fi along with my stream so that there’s at least a framework for this. I don’t know what to expect, but for now, I’m seeing where this path leads me. Notably, I do plan to make use of my professional background to offer tax and accounting services to the fandom!

Thanks so much for reading, and I hope to see you around. ♥️

Summary:

I’m back, starting fresh under a new name with a new sona! You can find me at https://twitch.tv/Lokiiri!

I took a break for a while due to a combination of real-life things and some traumatic events I didn’t feel equipped to handle, but I feel like I’ve grown a lot since then. I’m hopeful that should similar circumstances arise in the future, that I’ll be better equipped to handle them in a self-loving, respectful way that’s healthy for me and everyone.

As part of my self-discovery, I’ve come to realize the true cost of me trying to shove my autistic, square-peg self into the round hole that is capitalism. Trying to do something different is a scary proposition, but I really want to try. So, I’m trying to gradually move towards being self-employed and making money through what I create. I expect this to take time and work, so I’m trying to be patient with myself! I super super appreciate any support along this journey!

By the way, if you like long-form musings and updates on my life like this, I’ll be using this tumblr blog for that! I want to get in the habit of being more transparent and open about my feelings, but having to do so 300 characters at a time is annoying x3 So I’ll be using this space as a kind of public journal, to talk about feelings and subjects that interest me. If you like that kind of thing, feel free to tune in! (I'll have to learn how all these tags and things work though, weh xD)

Thanks so much for your time, and have a lovely timezone! 💖

[alinasartsandthings]

Tips and Tricks For Beginner Artists

I want to preface this by saying two things. Or maybe couple more.

One: This is my first ever blog post that I have written. There will be mistakes. I am still figuring out Tumblr Blogs. Deal with me. Thank you <3

Two: I am by no means a professional artist. I am still a student. I have been doing art for little over three years now and I am writing these to share my experiences as an artist that is self-taught. Also because I struggle with the mental aspect of art. I want to share and help people that are where I once was. I wish I had found somebody to give more personal, down to the bits advice to get me into the world of digital art. I am writing about what worked for me and how I did certain things. Enjoy.

(I am largely a digital artist. This is centered around digital mediums and methods. )

This blog post will be more helpful for people that are self-teaching and just starting art.

Regardless of why you want to do art, you need adequate tools to do it.

My first and current graphic tablet is One By Wacom in Small (ought to be replaced soon). I still use it and it serves just fine. It has no buttons on it, plain design. Wacom has excellent support and works smoothly. It was also a good budget decision. If you have a tablet that comes with a pen, work on that. Keep in mind, if you are intently buying a graphic pad or a tablet for purpose of art, buy something that you won't regret too much if art doesn't work out for you and it ends up collecting dust. It is easy to upgrade once your needs require it. Research what graphic tablets are out there and what would work best for you. There is a wild variety to choose from.

Now to the art program. Finding an art program to start on is not at all hard now. There are so many, each with its own quirk. I used Krita since forever. It is very professional, much like Photoshop but also easy for a beginner to grasp. And entirely free. Find an art program that you are comfortable in. Procreate, MediBang, Clip Studio Paint, Paint Tool SAI, Photoshop are only some of the choices.

Possibly in another post I will get more into Krita and how I use it as I am very fond of it.

Set Up Your Canvas

Here I am not going to go way too much into depth on this as it can vary greatly depending on what tools you use and what program but I want to stress the importance of having a workspace that works with you, not against you. Some of the best tips I have gotten for this are:

Set your canvas to a a medium gray color, somewhere in the middle of the gray value scale. Looking at a plain white canvas is daunting and quite inconvenient when you're starting off.

Pick your resolution. Usual choice is 300 dot per inch (DPI). Size of your canvas depends on your screen/machine/program. I usually go between 2000-2500 as my PC is past its prime and doesn't handle things well without sounding like a rocket about to take off. Research what your machine can do without lag.

I will give more advice on using brushes in another post but just going to say, using plain black color is usually bad idea. At least it was for me. It amplifies mistakes and leaves little room for fixing. Instead, try using a gray color somewhere between black and your canvas color. Medium value blue and red also work fine as sketch colors.

Start Comfortably

There is no point looking at all the masterpieces that ArtStation and Instagram has to offer and setting it as your short-term goal. A biggest downfall you can have is from starting too big.

Instead, focus of doing small things. Sketch a lot. Sketch basic shapes. And draw what you love. Art is a craft of heart, at least for me. Detaching yourself from that will make art will like a chore, a cold labor that you do not enjoy.

Ahem. Anyway.

One of the best exercises I have found is to just draw lines. This you can do on paper too as it is an excellent way to warm up. Try to make a straight line. Go not too fast nor slow. Make as many as you need until you get it straight. Do the same for circles. Make them as round as you can. Your hand is the biggest trickster. It does not cooperate with your mind as well as you want it to.

Sketch, sketch sketch, get yourself comfortable with it. Everyone does sketches, one way or another. Of course, you are free to try an entire piece but it can be very discouraging when it turns out nothing like you expected it to be.

I will make a post just on the ways you can practice as a beginner.

Find Inspiration

The biggest foe of artists is lack of inspiration and an artists block. I know it was mine. Finding inspiration is way easier when you are starting off as you often want to draw everything. There are plenty of places where you can get inspiration on what to draw. Pinterest in my all time favourite. You can also look at Instagram, ArtStation, your favourite shows, camera roll, world outside. Jot down what you want to draw when you get an idea and save it for later.

Find Artists You Love

This goes for everyone, but especially if you want to get into business of art. Having artists that inspire you and whose art you enjoy seeing is a must. It feeds your creativity and helps you develop your art style in the long run.

Don't compare yourself to other artists

Often, artists you see that get most views and likes have been in it for years. Do not go into art expecting that it will look perfect right away. Art takes time. A lot of it, often. Those artists whose works seem perfect have spent countless hours on sketches, studies, classes, lessons. Stressing over why your art is not good at the very start will not allow you to move on and better. Instead, appreciate and enjoy little what you created. Everyone's art journey is different and what matters is the road, not the destination

You don't have to be a natural

I never was exceptionally good at art growing up I did have an affinity for all things creative—I had passion for it, but my skills weren't out there. Majority of artists aren't naturals. In my opinion, passion and will is more important than natural skill set. Skills can be taught but without passion and will to learn, you won't get anywhere in art.

Your journey is unique

Everyone learns things at a different pace. What works for somebody, might not work for you. We all have different minds.. That is why everyone's art journey is so unique and interesting. When I started off, I was doing things exactly as I saw others do them and it resulted in frustrations because it wasn't turning out the way I imagined it would. Beginners are inclined towards this and that's alright. But it is important to realize that there is no law out there on how you have to learn the craft. Do it in a way that is most comfortable.

For example, I have quite an attention deficit. I cannot focus on a subject for longer than 15 minutes tops. So watching hour long lessons on Youtube or reading books on the subject didn't cut it for me. I either broke it up into smaller bits and only took what I needed in the moment or looked for compact, one-slide lessons, usually with examples, to tackle a subject. Rather than being told what to do, I needed to be shown how to do it. This might not be a good way for somebody, it really depends and comes down to you. You know yourself the best.

Now for the more practical tips

Outlining

This might be a controversial one out there, but I was never a strong believer in outlining. While it can be fun and it is helpful in beginning stages, it eventually stunts your growth. Instead of simply just outlining, look at how the things work and why does it look the way it does. Break down shapes and study them. Of course, there are instances where it does help to do it and I am not saying that you shouldn't do it, I just never did it. In my opinion, training your hand and mind to follow references is much better way to study and improve.

Use References

Do it. The best of artists use them or have used them for a large portion of their art journey. Do not see reference images as a cheat for artists. Drawing from mind is difficult and not something I would suggest to somebody starting off. Instead, find several references—for poses, shapes, color palette. The more references you have, more you will learn. I use Pinterest for this mostly. As I get can very easily distracted, I usually prepare them couple of hours in advance or a whole day before and store them so I can use them in the future whenever I need.

Don't just look at at the image and completely try to mirror it. Improvise. That's how you learn. Study it. Draw over the reference and then draw next to it. Do it as many times as you want and do it on several references. Sometimes it is enough to do reference thumbnails to effectively improve your art for the day.

Learn from Other Artists

I will make a special post on what artists I watched and learned from and how the self-teaching process looks for me. Regardless of how you study art (art school or not), it is important to find as many resources and sources as you can. Do not focus too much on narrowing it down to a specific thing. Look for lectures on basics that will prepare you for any course you might want to take, especially if you are self-taught.

Practice. Practice. Practice.

This advice I got from listening to my favourite art podcast from Adam Duff LUCIDPIXUL and it gives you this comparison.

If you spend a year reading fitness magazines but never go to the gym, are you going to get fit? No.

Try to make a routine and set the time when you are free to draw. More you do it, faster you will progress and develop your skill. No matter how bad it looks to you, just draw. You don't even have to complete it. Just sit down and put something on the canvas or paper. If it doesn't work, store it and move on. You learned something and will be better next time. It only looks bad if you didn't draw anything.

I hope this tips got to you and that you find them as helpful as I did. Happy drawing!

____________

I am a self-taught digital artist from Serbia. I hope to help people by sharing my art, process and advice that has and still is helping me.

[hekkoto]

Hello my darklings!

Here I come with lil post with update cause I feel like you deserve to know how things are going and why lately Im barely online

My main issue is my poor mental health, I again struggle with constant, daily suicidal thoughts. Im kinda used to this as I struggle with this since I was teen, when I was kid they werent daily at least. They stopped like 2 or 3 years ago but now they are back. Its really hard to live like this but I try to keep going, no matter how much it hurts. In case you dont know – I suffer from borderline which means Im constantly jumping between very strong emotions and my actions are often reckless. Usually you can see me being super euphoric but also very depressed. Lately those depressive moments started to be very long and harder than usually. Adding awful heatwave we had since few weeks it caused me to be on edge of giving up. Here I want to thank a lot everyone who was leaving nice comments or talking with me and trying to cheer me up, I know it might be tiring that I keep saying Im worthless and such but thats how I feel. Im not used to people being so nice to me, really thank you, you are saving my life. I would love to be able to ask for help but sadly Im not, I feel like Im burden to everyone. Its something I need to work on, it will take some time but sadly for now Im still struggling with this. But Im always super grateful for everything you do <3

In last days I sleep a lot, like up to 18 hours per day, right now Im not sure if thats cause of my chronic fatigue or depressive state. Im also wasting a lot of time watching lets plays from The Binding of Isaac: Repentance cause its my comfort game and it really helps me. So yeah, I barely do anything.

I struggle a lot with substance abuse, starting from overdosing antidepressants constantly just to survive, I also drink and such. Im aware its bad, Im aware that I cross the line but Im doing it to go through those days. I will try my best to limit this when I will feel better, when I wont need this to stay alive.

Here I want to apologize my Patrons, Im so so so sorry that in last months I dont post most of promised stuff and a lot of things are late ;-; and I want to thank you a lot for still being here, I cant express how happy I am. I promise that when I will feel better everything will be on time, I will also give you some bonus for your patience <3

Please, give me some more time to sort things out. I know that the best thing for me now would be therapy but sadly Im not able to afford this. I will ask my psychiatrist to prescribe me therapy so if in some magical way I will have money I will be able to start it. I start to consider asking my parents for this but honestly? They spend 1000PLN every month just on my meds, they also pay for my doctors, from time to time my mom goes with me to do lil shopping of hygienic stuff and home supplies and pays for everything. They also pay for my flat and all the bills. So yeah... they already spend a lot on me and I feel so bad about this and asking for more feels awful. But if this is something I need to stay alive I guess I have to...

My physical health isnt the best too, I suffer from quite bad pains of joints and muscles. I have bigger dose of meds for this but its still not perfect. Also on days when heatwave hits Im kinda trapped in my house, I cant go outside when its super hot cause its dangerous for me

Thanks to your support and my husband's help things arent super bad yet, thankfully I was able to not go back to self harm and my suicidal thoughts are just thoughts an Im not doing anything to actually kill myself. Without you... welp, I would be dead

I plan to use the best my time when Im feeling fine, I wanna draw and record a lot. So yeah, for now I cant promise any time when stuff will be there but I will do it. I will be working on one project which is very important for me, you will see it soon [I hope haha]. Right now I will focus on commissions and stuff for Patrons so if you wait for something from me – it will be there soon <3

Thank you a lot for your patience and love, you are awesome <3 I dont know how long it will take for me to get better but I will keep fighting and hopefully at some point I wont suffer so much. My past was awful and it damaged me a lot, fixing it will be very long and hard but I must stay strong. I will keep fighting and perhaps I will be able to make my dreams come true

Love ya, Hekkoto

[panzerkatzee]

Good day ya'll!

Its 11:30 and I just completed a small research session on fillipino martial arts and taking extensive notes on how my characters might move in the upcoming combat scenes. Funny enough, I always thought my larp experience would help in writing combat realistically… but oh boy… I WAS SO WRONG… its embarassing.

I am still no real expert, but maybe I can find someone to help with those scenes in particular down the line. For now I did watch some videos and read some instructions online and feel confident to get into the fight scene, I've been hyped for yesterday… but first… warm up time!!

by Electrum Photography

Then and again, he would get a flicker of red eyes, burning brightly with flashes of inert blood magic, his friend no doubt struggling to hold it back, hating crowds as it was. Dan… you are getting an ear full, for dragging her out here, he thought ruefully and picked up his pacing again. A few moments later, she stumbled free from the bodies swaying and squirming with the thrumming beats. "going to try smth new, winky face", had been the last text he received from her before getting on the tube and hot damn… she had. Only her hair was reminiscent of the timid mage, kept straight and falling down onto her shoulders, bangs freshly trimmed to end in a straight line above her brows. To cover her chest Lucille wore only a black pleather bra, the burning church tattooed across he abdomen, was on full display, showing its bell-tower ablaze, right between her breasts. She had paired it off with nothing more than a pair of latex gloves and a matching skirt, making Dan sweat just by looking at it. Clashing with the entire get up, the mad woman had forgone the use of shoes completely.

Not my best work… but after spending so much time on researching, I am a bit anxious to get writing. There is still some catching up with the long-term goal to do… soooo snaps fingers LET'S DO IT!

Okaaay… five hours later… didn't hit the word count… yet. But I am due for a food break, having ordered poké bowl from my fav restaurant.

I really underestimated how far fight scenes were out of my comfortzone… usually I am more for the whole emotional stuff… but as I am writing sci-fi about ppl doing sneaky shit and pissing off powerful other ppl, I don't think I will get away without it…

In the end… I went against the plan I had, and reshuffled my entire story a little bit.. soooo.. that just might turn into something interesting… who knows…

As of now I am at ~1400 words, so very close… aaaand the next scene coming up, will be snugly inside my comfort zone again, hence I am no tooo worried, I won't hit my mark for the day.This wraps up Chapter IV nice and neat~

I do a lot better at starting a chapter than ending it sooo...

But.. to learn from this, I will probably alter the daily warm up challenge a bit… by changing it to stuff I am not quite good at yet..

Maybe a paragraph of a battle scene or dialogue each day? Something like this.

As it stands now, I will wait for my food and write a bit more afterwards…

For now, lets continue with the Playlist, shall we?

Today's song: Faunts - M4 Pt.2

Why is this on my playlist? Those among you with an excellent taste in Video Games, might already know this one. If not by name, then from the Mass Effect I credits, as it is from the Game's OST. To be honest, it doesn't align at all with what I usually listen to, but then that's mostly everything that leads to the release of dopamine in my brain… so I can't claim any consistency there. Being a huuuuge fan of the Mass Effect Trilogy… and my alien waifu Garrus, connecting a very peaceful time in my life with these games… an age of innocence so to speak.. I have feelings about the song as well…

The lyrics just resonate with me… and I kinda always come back to it, when I have a hard time. Its not cheerful or anything.. but it holds this deepfelt wish for someone to heal… and struggling with mental illness, I just need it.

As my novel draws a lot from my personal experiences and how I see the world, this fits the story's playlist quite well… and its Mass Effect related… sooo doubly perfect~

Sooooo I will go wait for food now and play some Mahjong or whatever :D Have a lovely day~

[helliontherapscallion]

(Y/n) and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week: Monday

Tuesday     Wednesday     Thursday (Part 1)     Thursday (Part 2)     Friday     Saturday     Sunday

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Pairing: SBI x sister!reader (she/her pronouns)

Warnings: swearing, toxic friends, panic spirals/attacks, injury, taking pills for pain

Summary: you have a very bad week, how will you manage? (Characters are fully human, but based on their DSMP characters. High school AU)

Word count: 4,818

(A/N): I’ve never played volleyball or watched Haikyuu before, so I’m not 100% certain how games work. Also, I probs should’ve split this into two parts, but eh.

“(Y/n) love, you look homeless in that sweater, it’s literally so fucking ugly.”

“Haha, yeah it is. I guess I just wasn’t really trying today.”

Adrian snorted, scanning your body with his cold eyes. “Today? You don’t try at all. You always look like trash.”

“More than trash, you always look like you just rolled in dog shit.” Sammy threw her head back and cackled at her own joke.

Your friends around you erupted in laughter as you four walked down the hallways of the hell that was your public high school. You awkwardly chuckled alongside them, you didn’t really find it funny, but you didn’t want to draw more attention towards yourself. 

“Seriously, (y/n), I really don’t know why we still hang out around you anymore. You really let yourself go.”

“Yeah, now that I think about it, you did gain like five pounds in the past week.”

“Really not a good look on you, love. Then again, nothing you do can make you look good anymore.”

You tried to not let their comments get to you, you really did, but sometimes their comments just rooted themselves deep into your subconscious. You didn’t try looking good anymore, you couldn’t wear anything without them criticising it. You could never win. 

“Awe,” Adrien poked your cheeks, “stop looking so sad. We’re just trying to give you advice. You really need it.”

“Yeah, (y/n). You’re so sensitive, get a grip.”

“Guys look, I think she’s gonna cry!” 

You wiped at your welling eyes with the sleeves of your sweater. “I’m not. I just got allergies.”

Annie rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. Anyways, what are our plans for Halloween? We should totally dress up like sexy angels! I think that’d be so cool. Like, Clint’s party won’t be ready for us.”

“Oh, about that Annie…”

“God, what now (y/n)?”

“I was actually planning on spending Halloween night taking Tommy and Tubbo trick-or-treating with my brothers and dad. I won’t be able to go with you guys, I’m sorry.”

The group groaned loudly. “C’mon (y/n), you never hang out with us anymore.”

“Oh my god (y/n) you still go trick-or-treating? We’re juniors.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve just been busy with my AP classes and studying for the SAT. My team captain’s really been pushing the team hard with volleyball practice. State finals are soon and we want first this year.”

“No matter how much studying you do, you’re gonna fail. You’re stupid, so why try? Just give up and hang out with uuussss.”

“Yeah (y/n),” Adrien looked at you suspiciously, “you’ve been ignoring us lately. I thought we were friends. Do you even wanna be friends anymore?”

You felt a flare of panic flare up in your gut. “I do! I-I just have so much going on right now. It’s starting to get hard to juggle everything.”

“We’re starting to think that you don’t like us anymore, we want our (y/n) back!” Sammy whined. The others agreed with her, making you feel guilty. You were ignoring them, it was selfish in your opinion. You supposed that you could skip out on taking Tommy and Tubbo trick-or-treating, there’ll be other years you could take them. 

“I guess I can take Tommy and Tubbo another year. They’d just have to go without me this year.”

They cheered, giving you praise. You beamed at that, they seemed down lately and you loved it when they’d give you compliments. They didn’t do that much, so that made their praise more special to you. You strived to get compliments.

You four went off to your separate first classes for the day. Yours was statistics, a class you’ve been struggling in lately. You didn’t know anybody in there except for your oldest brother Techno, so you tried to stick with him. Unfortunately, the teacher’s seating chart placed you both on opposite ends of the room, probably because of your last names indicating that you’re siblings. You placed your stuff down on the table and plopped down into your seat, already drained. You had a long day ahead of you; you had a major AP world history test in your next class, you had to give a presentation in your AP english class that was worth a quarter of your final grade, and you had a semifinals volleyball match that would last until late in the night. If your team won, you would be going to state finals, so it was a lot of pressure on your shoulders. You were the main setter, so you had to really focus tonight if you were going to score your team points. 

“Alright class, pull out your homework!”

Fuck, you had homework? You looked in your folder, only to see the unfinished sheet full of equations you didn’t understand staring back at you tauntingly. Mr. Mullins walked over to your desk, took one look at your blank homework, and just walked right past you. Another big fat zero in the gradebook for you, just what you needed. At least he wasn’t in the mood to berate you today. You didn’t need any more stress piled onto your shoulders. 

The lesson felt like it dragged on forever with you frantically trying to copy down the notes on the board and trying to understand the content at the same time. Overtime, he would call students up to the board. Hopefully, he would skip over you today. “Ms. Minecraft.” Goddamn it, you spoke too soon.

Your head perked up and you looked at him. “Yes sir?”

“Come up to the board and solve this.”

Gulping, you felt panic rise up in you and stood up with shaky knees. On the board was part of the newer content he was just teaching. Something that you understood only a little bit better than the rest, and that’s not saying much. You still didn’t understand the content completely. Your writing was shaky as you wrote what you thought was right on the board. Finding the answer, you circled it and looked at Mr. Mullins. He looked disappointed. 

“That’s wrong, Ms. Minecraft. Please sit down.”

You felt like your face was on fire as you saw the entire class burning holes into you with their eyes. Though they looked dead inside, as per usual with any morning class full of tired teenagers, their effects still took hold on you. You wanted to crawl into a dark hole and die. You sat back down and stared at your note packet, you couldn’t focus on the lecture anymore. Your attention was fully on your surroundings, you were hyper aware of every little whisper and bouncing leg in your peripheral vision. You could feel yourself spiraling, usually that wouldn’t happen until after your third class. Today was going to be rough. 

The loud chime of the bell startled you out of your thoughts. You shakily put your papers back into your binder and put the binder back into your backpack. Right as you were about to walk through the door, you heard Techno catch up to you. “Hey, you good?”

“Yeah Tech, I’m just peachy.”

“Are you su-”

“Technoblade. I’m fine. Now if you excuse me, I have to get to my next class. I have an important presentation I’ve gotta prepare for.”

Without giving him any room to argue, you rushed off to your english class. You had Adrian and Annie in your class. For your presentation, you were paired up with people that you hardly knew. At least they did their part in the project, you were certain you were going to die if you got paired up with Adrian and Annie again. You loved them, but they never did any part of their portion of work. They left it to you to finish at midnight the day the project was due. To be fair, they both told you they had family emergencies, so you covered for them just that once. 

You pulled out your flashcards only to have them knocked out of your hand when someone bumped into you. You quickly crouched to pick them up so you could have them in order by time class started. “Oops, sorry love.”

It was Annie. She and Adrian towered over your crouched form smirking at you. Looking back down to rearrange your cards, you murmured “it’s ok.”

“Are you ready for this presentation, I know I am.”

You smiled a little. “Actually, I think I’m going to ace this. English is my best subject.”

“Yeah (y/n), I wasn’t asking you. I was talking to Annie. Besides, you’re probably going to fail this.” Adrian scoffed. 

“Thank you for asking, Adrian,” Annie shot a pointed look at you, “at least someone cares.”

The bell rang, signifying the start of your second block. You felt like you had a lump in your throat blocking your breathing. If Adrian, one of the smartest kids in your english class, said that you were going to fail, then you probably were going to fail. That would take a huge hit on your grade, this project was worth a quarter of your final grade after all. You were zoned out for the entirety of your classmate’s presentations putting yourself into a spiral. You jumped when Mr. Todd, your teacher, called your group up to present.

You stood stiffly in the middle of your two groupmates and clutched your flashcards with clammy hands. Luckily, your part of the presentation was not first. When it came to your part, you were stuttering and tumbling over your words. You even dropped your flashcards in front of everybody, causing half the class to snicker. Your face burned as you hurried to pick them up and your other groupmate took this as a signal to continue the presentation. You still had an important point to make that was integral for the set up to your other groupmate’s part of her presentation. You stared at your flashcards for the rest of the presentation. 

When the bell rang, you made a mad dash out of the classroom. You didn’t want to talk to anybody, especially not Adrian or Annie. It was a relief that you had your lunch period at the moment. You could hide yourself in the bathroom nobody used and let your panic attack ride itself out. 

You ducked inside a stall and sat on the toilet, bringing your knees up to bury your face in them. The tears and panic you were holding in all day let itself out with explosive effects. You started to hyperventilate as you muffled your sobs with your knee. Your chest painfully clenched so you couldn’t breathe. Your limbs felt like they weighed two tons each and they were shaking intensely. You didn’t hear the end of the lunch bell ring. By the time you calmed down slightly, you were five minutes late to AP world history. 

You packed your stuff up in a hurry, power walking through the halls. You probably looked like shit, but you didn’t care, you had a class to get to and a test that you probably wouldn’t be able to finish now. You lost ten minutes of your test time. When you tried to open the closed door, you found that it was locked. You had to knock if you wanted to get in. You raised a shaking hand to knock, but the door was opened by a less-than-impressed Ms. Osborne. She ushered you to your desk and gave you your unit test. 

You couldn’t focus. The multiple choice section was usually a breeze to you, but you couldn’t comprehend any of the questions. When you could comprehend them, you couldn’t concentrate on choosing an answer. You did your best to find the correct answers, but you were almost positive that at least half of them were wrong. Your handwriting was nearly incomprehensible and your essay topic was something you didn’t study for. When you were done with half of the body paragraphs, the bell rang and you had to turn in your unfinished test. 

You had your independent online psychology course next in the library. You usually worked alone secluded in a corner deep inside the library where nobody went. You would get some solace in being alone. Maybe you’d calm down enough so that you could ride home with your brothers and not go for a long walk so you could avoid them. 

You settled down in the comfortable chair and pulled out your laptop to get started. Psychology was your favorite class. It was easy for you to understand, it didn’t have much of a workload attached to it, and it was fun to learn about. It always calmed you down reading about the intricate workings of the brain. 

By time the day was over, you got most of your psychology work done and you were on your way to the car you shared with Technoblade and Wilbur. You took out your spare keys and slumped against the window in the backseat. You were absolutely drained after your terrible day and you still felt panic swirling deep within you, waiting for the right moment to strike. 

You stretched out your legs across the seat and leaned your back against the door. For the first time that day, you felt peaceful. You still had at least fifteen minutes to yourself until your brothers would start to make your way to the car. You felt the panic subside slightly and you fully relaxed. You closed your eyes and let yourself drift off into a light sleep. You needed your energy for tonight’s match. 

The door you were leaning on swung open and you tumbled backwards smacking the back of your head against the metal frame of the car and reverse scorpioning onto the pavement. Your entire upper back and the back of your head exploded in pain and your lower back hurt slightly from having your back bent uncomfortably. You heard laughter above you as you felt tears of pain start to slip out of your eyes. Your legs swung out from their place above your face and landed on the ground with a painful thump. 

You saw three blurry figures above you laughing at your pain. You reached up with a shaky hand to wipe at your tears and saw Adrian, Sammy, and Annie. They were cackling as you shakily stood up and sat on the comfortable seats of the car. You waited patiently for them to calm down. 

Eventually, Sammy calmed down enough to explain what happened to you through chuckles. “I’m sorry (y/n), it was just too good to resist. You should’ve seen your face.”

She and the others broke back into uncontrolled laughter as they remembered your embarrassing fall. You were used to their antics, and quite frankly it felt good to make your friends laugh, even if it were at your own expense. Just as they were calming down once again, you saw Wilbur and Techno walk out the front doors of the school laughing at something the other said. Annie and Sammy heard their laughter and quickly turned around to watch them. They had massive crushes on both of your brothers, many in the school did. 

Your brothers made their way to your shared car and stopped to look at you in slight confusion. “(Y/n), were you crying? What happened?” Wilbur asked worriedly. 

“Yea-”

“Oh Wilbur, it was terrible, (y/n) fell out of the car. I don’t think she closed the door before she leaned on it.” Annie interrupted you with a faked concerned tone, a complete contradiction to her reaction before your brothers came.

Techno hastily made his way to the driver’s side door. “Well, if she’s hurt we better get going, right Wilbur?”

“Yes! We better get going, please excuse us.” He sat in the passenger seat and closed the door without hearing Sammy and Annie’s desperate attempts to stop them so they could talk to them. Your brothers thought Sammy and Annie were annoying. They absolutely hated being around them. 

Waving apologetically at your friends, you pulled yourself into the car and closed the door. Annie and Sammy looked offended that you had let Wilbur and Techno get away from them. Avoiding their eyes, you looked down at your tightly clasped hands. They were shaking slightly. 

After pulling out of the parking lot, Techno glanced at you from the rearview mirror. “You ok (y/n)?”

“Yeah, my back just hurts and I have a headache.”

“Well, do you wanna go and get some ice cream? We still have some time left before we have to pick up Tommy and Tubbo. Dad doesn’t have to know,” Wilbur asked you.

You sighed, you wanted nothing other than to take a nap before your match. “Sorry, but I need to watch what I eat today. We have semifinals tonight and I can’t have anything sugary. I just wanna go home and take a nap.”

Your brothers were quiet for the rest of the car ride until you reached your driveway. Techno twisted his body around in his seat to look at you after he put the car in park. “Did you actually fall out of the car?”

Shit, should you tell him the truth? If you did, they would almost certainly get mad at your friends. Sammy and Annie would never forgive you if you turned your brothers against them. You decided that you would take one for the team again. “Yeah, I wasn’t paying attention.” 

Techno snorted. “Well, that was stupid,” he jokingly said. “Next time you’re gonna get run over by a parked car.”

You knew that he meant that as a joke, but it still stung. Stamping your emotions down, you laughed with him and Wilbur. It was stupid of you to do, you shouldn’t have let your guard down if you weren’t at home. 

You winced as you slung your bag on your back and walked the best you could back into your house. Your upper back was killing you. You made a beeline to the bathroom and rummaged through the medicine cabinet looking for some pain relief pills. You took some and shambled off to your room to take your well earned nap. You set your alarm’s setting to its loudest volume and passed out. 

You jolted up and gasped when you felt a wave of pain hit your upper back. You blearily looked at the time. You had a little under two hours before you had to get back to the school for your match. You groaned when you pulled yourself up, your head pounding with every turn. You pulled yourself out of bed and once again took some pain pills. You went downstairs to grab an apple or something to eat. Your dad was at the stove stirring something around in a pot. 

He turned to look at you with an excited smile. “You ready for your match tonight? You’re gonna kill it!” 

You only nodded halfheartedly and plopped yourself down at the table with your apple. Philza frowned at your lack of enthusiasm, but he figured that it was just because you just woke up from a nap. You’d bounce back eventually. 

“Wilbur told me that you fell out of the car? How’d you do that?”

You shrugged, wincing slightly as it moved your back slightly. “Dunno, must’ve not closed the door.”

Philza was at your side in a hurry, his hands hovering over your shoulders. “Did you get hurt? Show me where it hurts.”

“My back and the back of my head.”

“Can I move your shirt so I could look?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

You felt him gently pull the neck of your t-shirt away from your body to peek at your back. You heard his breath hitch as he looked. Was it that bad? “Good god (y/n),” he breathed out.

“What, is it bad?”

“Don’t you feel how bad it is? Your entire back is bruised. I think there’s some blood too.”

“Damn.���

“First, language. Second, that’s all you have to say? Aren’t you in pain?”

“Yeah, but the pain pills are gonna kick in soon. I’ll be fine.”

“Would you be able to play tonight? I really think you should sit this one out.”

“No, I’m playing tonight Dad.”

“(Y/n),” oh no, he was using his stern dad voice. “It’s not a good idea to play tonight. You’re hurt, I’m sure they’ll understand if you sit this one out.”

You felt frustration rise up in you. “We’re in the semifinals. They need me, I’m the main setter. They’d lose without me playing.”

“(Y/n), I’m serious. You’re not playing today.”

“Dad, I am playing today. Look, I’ll talk to Coach Williams to see if I could be rotated out more often. I know she’d let me.”

He stared at you for a while before sighing. He knew there was no convincing you. “...Fine. But you better talk to Coach Williams about sitting out for a bit if your back hurts too much or I swear I’ll drag you off the court myself.”

You smiled a little at the small victory. “Thank you! I promise I’ll sit out if needed.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “If needed?”

You sighed, “when needed.”

He walked over to the pot, stirring the contents slightly. “That’s better. Dinner’s almost ready, I made some pasta.”

“It smells good, but I think I’m skipping out on it for today. I already ate this apple and if I eat any more I’ll probably hurl on the court.”

He made a displeased noise in the back of his throat, “fine, but you’re eating something when we get home tonight.”

He walked off to go get your brothers and Tubbo for dinner. You could hear their booming steps racing down the stairs towards the kitchen. They raced into the kitchen and almost crashed into the back of your chair. You stood up and looked at the two excitable fifth graders. “Careful boys, don’t want you getting hurt.”

“You’re no fun (y/n),” Tommy whined.

“Sure, sorry bout that,” Tubbo beamed at you.

You chuckled, making your way upstairs to get ready for your match. You took off your clothes with great difficulty and slipped on your jersey and your spandex shorts. They were way too short for your tastes, but you couldn’t wear longer ones, they’d just get in the way. You fondly remembered how your dad flipped out when he first saw you in them, he hated them with a burning passion. He still hates how short they are.

When you were struggling with pulling your hair back into a tight, sleek ponytail, the back of your head throbbed continuously with pain. You most likely bruised your scalp. 

You slipped on your shoes that were made specifically for playing volleyball and headed downstairs. You were met with Tommy and Tubbo jumping in excitement seeing you in your uniform. They loved going to your matches, even if they would always pass out in the car after them because matches usually ended late at night. You grabbed your dad’s keys and headed to his car. Before you could lead the boys out the door, Philza’s voice stopped you.

“(Y/n), coat.”

You huffed, grabbing your coat and putting it on before tossing him his keys. You four got into the car and set out for the high school. The short drive was filled with Tommy and Tubbo asking you questions about volleyball and encouraging you. “(Y/n), you’re gonna kick their butts!”

“Yeah!” Tubbo cheered 

Despite their voices causing a spike of pain to shoot throughout your head, you laughed at their enthusiasm. It was always nice to hear your little brother and pseudo brother in the stands cheering you on, they were your and your team’s personal cheerleaders. 

Not long after you got to the school, you were stretching with your team on the gym’s floor. Your posse found their way into the stands, sitting in the front row. The away team watched your team like a hawk, analysing every single player for any weakness. It was because of them that you tried to not show any pain when you moved your back. You talked to Coach Williams before the team stretch and she was obviously sympathetic with your situation. She agreed to switching you out with the standby setter every few rotations. 

The echo of the whistles caused pain to ring in your head every time someone scored or a foul was called. Your team captain, Haley, was constantly, yet discreetly checking on you throughout the game since she was always next to you. She was the team’s main spiker after all. 

The game droned on and on before you realized that the opposing team was targeting you when they were offensive. They probably realized that you were injured a round ago. You tried your best to block every ball that was sent your way, but a few managed to slip past you when you couldn’t move fast enough. This team was good, but your team was better. 

The score during the final round was tied and the clock was on it’s last ten seconds as the ball soared your way. You dove to hit it, landing on your shoulder on the hard floor and hitting it up high enough for Haley to spike the ball down. The crowd went wild as the ball bounced off from the opposite end of the court almost simultaneously with the screeching of the referee’s whistle, signifying the end of the game and your team’s victory.

You laid on the floor in pain, you thought you must’ve pulled your tender muscles in your back and shoulder. It hurt to move it. You felt one of your teammates grab your hand to yank you up into a giant full team group hug. You yelped slightly in pain as you felt arms press against your back and hands firmly patting your bruised shoulders. You were whisked away into the locker room to change into the pajamas you brought with you. 

“(Y/n), are you alright? That was a pretty hard fall.” Haley’s soft voice asked you. You felt your heart sing in your chest. 

“Yeah Hales, I’m fine. I just pulled a few muscles.”

Her perfectly shaped eyebrows furrowed together, “are you sure? As your team captain and your friend, I’m worried about you.”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. You felt warm knowing that she cared about you. “I’m sure, worrywart.”

She rolled her eyes playfully and breathed out a soft laugh. “Sorry for asking, grump.” Her laugh sounded like music to your ears. 

Your phone vibrated in your pajama pocket, alerting you of your family waiting for you in the car and for you to hurry up. You sighed, “sorry Hales, I gotta go. Dad’s getting impatient.” 

She gave you a small smile. “Oh, well, tell your family I said hi! Good work on the court today, I wouldn’t ask for a different setter.”

You felt your cheeks warm up and you watched with wide eyes as she left the locker room. Your phone vibrated again, your dad was really starting to get impatient. 

You walked out of the school as fast as you could to find your dad’s car waiting for you up front. Jumping in and softly closing the passenger side door, you slumped against the window. “(Y/n),” Tommy’s tired voice slurred. “That. Was. Pog…”

You glanced back to see him and Tubbo snoring away in their seats. Your match was more exciting than usual, so that must’ve really tired them out. You chuckled, turning back around to lean against the window. You took care not to put any weight on your shoulder or back. 

“(Y/n), you were amazing out there, but why did you dive for that ball? That fall looked like it hurt.”

You hummed tiredly, “thanks Dad. I just did what I thought would win us the game. We’re going to finals!” You quietly sang. 

“Did you hurt your shoulder?”

“I actually don’t know, but I think I might’ve pulled a few muscles. Nothing too bad.”

“...I scheduled a doctor’s appointment for you tomorrow morning during your first and second blocks. I want you to get your back, shoulder, and head looked at. You looked miserable the entire match.”

You sighed, too tired to argue, “mmk.”

He chuckled before the car fell into a comfortable silence. The gentle bouncing of the car and the subtle hum of the engine was lulling you to sleep. Your eyelids were drooping by the time you pulled into your driveway. 

You drug yourself out of the car and into the house, leaving Philza with the sleeping boys. You walked straight to your room and plopped down on your bed, passing out instantly for the second time that day.

Series taglist (comment if you want to be added):

[duckymcdoorknob]

This is my piece for @ryesei’s Valentine’s Day confessions collab!!

This was difficult to write but nonetheless, here we go!

Read the other incredible confessions right here! Yes right here!!! Am I stalling as per usual to make the link longer?? Yes !!!

Blood On Your Hands

ships: Manjiro (Mikey) Sano x gn!reader

Warnings: Heavy descriptions of violence, blood mention, angsty! Spoilers!!!! The Person is unnamed to keep them light though.

Prompt: Mikey is a leader with a high pain tolerance. That is, for himself…

Tags: General taglist! @lisiwalker, @rebloging-everything, @fushigum, @koushismatchalatte, @sunbeamx, @evielt13, @littlebbyleesfw, @0rodi0

The leader of ToMan stood tall, almost as if he was trying to square up the leader of Valhalla. Hanma’s face was contorted into a sinister sort of grin.

“Mikey, Mikey, Mikey, what a pleasant surprise.” He cooed, a giggle following after.

“Hanma.” The blonde boy replied curtly, his tone low and venomous.

“Such formalities. Are we not friends?” He asked with faux puppy eyes, still sporting the toothy grin.

With a scoff and a twitch of his brow, Mikey cocked a hip to the side and adjusted his balance. “Let’s skip the small talk, why did you call us here?”

“Aw, this is a shame. I did want to chat for a little while.” Hanma pouted, “Oh well.”

The younger boy stayed on high alert as Valhalla’s leader pivoted to his left side, “Bring them out boys.”

Two burly guys brought forth a struggling person. They sported a busted lip and a few scratches on their face. They had a small bruise under their eye, as if they were freshly punched.

Mikey’s breath momentarily caught in his throat.

It was you…

“It appears we have a Judas in our midst.” The dual-colored haired boy noted, carding a hand through his hair.

“And why is this our problem?” Mikey spat back in response, avoiding eye contact with them.

“Because, my dear Mikey.” Hanma began in a high-octave voice, “If any of your men reveal to me that they’re a ToMan spy, I’ll have to kill them on the spot. It’s just a little check in for us…”

The ToMan leader felt his heart drop into his throat. He kept his black eyes stoic and kept his demeanor unfazed.

In reality, Mikey was terrified. He didn’t know what Hanma had planned to try to reveal you.

The truth was, no one inside of the gang knew who you were.

No one except for Mikey…

It was a match made with the devil. You would spy for him on Valhalla, if you promised to try to bring his best friend back.

Overtime, the leader found himself infatuated with you.

He had no idea how to keep himself contained.

What was Hanma planning…?

“So, I ask all of you...” The tattooed boy chimed. Within an instant, his entire demeanor dropped to a glare, his voice emitting in a low growl, “Who is this person, and are they your spy?”

A cacophony of denial and confusion washed among the crowd.

Unsatisfied with the answer, the Valhalla leader delivered a blow to your face with his knee.

“I’ll ask again. Who the hell are they?”

“We really don’t know!”

“You’re beating up an innocent person!”

“What kind of delinquent are you?”

The cries of his men fell evanescent as he fixated on one thing: Hanma had hit you.

The blonde haired captain remained completely unamused, drawing forth a monotoned “you done yet?”

“Wanna play coy with me? Fine.” He replied smugly, crossing his arms. “I guess I’ll have to draw it out of them.”

With another pang in his heart, Mikey focused on keeping himself completely expressionless.

Hanma approached your face with a sadistic smile, and whispered to you. “Say your prayers, pretty baby.” Then delivered a blow to the side of your head with his fist.

ToMan watched in agony as Valhalla’s leader brutally beat up an innocent person.

“Stop it! You know they’re innocent!”

“You’re worse than trash!”

“Is this some sort of power play?!”

The blonde boy was vibrating in place, trying so desperately to keep his composure that your screams of pain fell deadly upon his ears.

Blow after blow, Hanma painted your face with bumps and bruises. Your eye was puffed up and blood was trickling down from your mouth. Both sides of your nose were absolutely seeping the warm liquid, as your eyes were filled with reflex tears.

But you remained silent. You couldn’t abandon Mikey like that.

“Still nothing?” The dual-colored haired boy cooed, “You’re a tough cookie, cutie.”

The usage of another nickname made you sick to your stomach, or maybe it was the gut punch, you didn’t know.

Repeated hits to your abdomen had knocked your wind out, leaving you panting as Hanma finally threw you to the ground.

A clicking sound was heard, echoing through the empty parking garage the lot was standing in.

“I’ll ask you one more time. Are they your spy?” The Valhalla’s leader’s tone was sharp and demanding. In his right hand, he caressed a switchblade with his thumb.

“No. Sorry, bud.” Mikey replied coolly.

‘Please… it can’t end like this’ he thought to himself.

“Suit yourself!” Hanma absolutely beamed, bringing down the blade to make contact with your cheek.

Cheek, arms, knee, ankle, fingers, palms.

“H-Hanma.” You choked meekly.

The cutting stopped.

“Yes, my flower?” He asked excitedly.

“At least lance my eye, you motherfucker.”

A visible change in the leader’s demeanor occurred. His face dropped into a cold glare, mouth still sporting the same sadistic grin.

“Heh. As you wish.” He sliced the lid of your eye to reduce the swelling.

When your vision was no longer distorted, you saw him happily smiling over you.

“Now…?” He cooed, subsequently dropping his tone, “You get to watch yourself die.”

Mikey’s heart stopped in his chest. He sputtered “you’re wasting your time.” before turning on his heel and facing his gang.

When he locked eyes with Draken, his own filled with the tears he had been holding in. He mouthed the words “please help me.” to his best friend.

“Hanma don’t you think you’re going too far?” Draken asked with a little urgency.

But the other leader didn’t listen, he only caressed your neck with the side of the blade, preparing for a final blow.

“That’s enough, Hanma.” Mikey mumbled, sighing to fight his falling tears.

“That’s what?” Valhalla’s leader chimed, lining up to stab you with the blade.

“I SAID ENOUGH!”

Before either of them knew it, Mikey’s feet had moved on their own and he delivered a swift kick.

“So predictable…” Hanma groaned with a happy smile, holding the blonde’s ankle.

“No… but you are.” It was Mikey’s turn to wear that oh-so-familiar sadistic smile.

The ToMan leader’s right fist found itself practically through the Valhalla leader’s torso. He staggered back on his feet as Hanma went flying.

As you fell weakly into his arms, his tears finally fell.

“…Mi-key?”

“I’m here… I’m right here.” He whispered as he cradled you close to him, knees finding their way to the ground.

“Thank you.” You murmured, snuggling in close.

As Valhalla tried to make a movement toward Mikey, Baji held his palm up to them, so to tell them to wait.

In a dead silence, lay you: on death’s doorstep, and Mikey: holding you in his arms as his once stoic composure dropped.

“Someone please call for help!” He begged in a pain-struck voice. And to his surprise, delinquents on both sides started to dial for an ambulance.

“I can’t do this anymore…” he mumbled sotto voce, choking on his breath. “It’s too much.”

“Mikey… you don’t have to-“

“I can’t act like this anymore…” His voice was loud and desperate, “I CAN’T PRETEND TO NOT LOVE YOU ANYMORE.”

As Mikey broke down into loud sobs, 100+ pairs of eyes widened…

“…What?” you asked softly.

The blonde snapped his head up with wide eye, “oh god no… I just put you in so much more danger. God Hanma’s gonna kill you and it’ll be all my fau-“

You reached up and flicked his forehead, “Hey. Shut up.”

ToMan’s leader started to release watery laughs. He held you close to him as tears pelted onto your cheeks. You couldn’t help but weakly chuckle along with him. “I really… really like your stupid ass.” you managed to breathe out.

“As touching as this is.” A voice interrupted you both, “I believe two of us have unfinished business.”

“I’m not letting you touch them, Hanma. You fight m… or you go home. And you’ll be declared winner for the day.”

“Hah! You think I want to take such a pitiful victory? Not happening!” He cried, lunging for the pair of you.

Two feet rushed past the two of you, planting firmly at your side.

As Hanma hit the ground roughly once more, a low voice emitted from the ToMan side. “You really don’t have any decency, do you? Seems you’re right where you belong… on your knees with your ass handed to you.”

Surprised voices came next.

“Dude just took him out with one blow!”

“Way to go, man!”

“Woaaah! That’s our crybaby hero!”

Mikey looked up, two pairs of watery eyes meeting. He couldn’t help but smile at seeing his newest recruit standing triumphantly over his newest enemy.

“Great job, Takemitchy.”

As flashes of both red and blue, plus red and white, entered their vision from below the parking deck, Mikey perked up and made an announcement.

“Cops came too, guys. Everyone out.”

As his men began to scatter, the blonde turned toward the other gang, who were plastered to the ground.

“You guys too.” He gestures over his shoulder to Hanma, “Him too. I won’t give him the satisfaction of rotting in prison, I’ll kill him with my own hands.”

Terrified by this, Valhalla picked up their leader, and began to clear out from the facility.

“Oh Baji.”

The black haired boy turned to face his best friend, “Yeah, man?”

“Thank you… I know you kept them from rushing me.” Mikey bowed down to the ground with closed eyes.

“Of course, Mikey.” Baji turned to face the exit once more, stepping away from the two on the ground.

“And Baji,” the blonde looked at him with a happy smile, “It’s good to see you again.”

Baji walked from the scene, fighting back his tears, “You too, boss.” he whispered just for his old friend to hear.

As paramedics bustled from below, Mikey called to them. You hadn’t been losing too much blood, so he had high hopes for you to be okay. As you smiled meekly at him, the first responders found the two of you.

His mind raced as you were loaded up into the ambulance, what would happen to you? Would you be okay? Could he visit?

“What’s your relationship to the injured?” Broke him from his thoughts.

Well, boss wouldn’t exactly work…

“They’re my partner.”

The paramedic smiled at him,“Come right inside.”

As he climbed inside, he remembered all of his boys. He had a certain member to reward later, and all fifty of his boys to thank for their composure.

—————♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎—————

[copperbora]

❤️💜❤️Please check out my Ko-fi shop💜❤️💜 for my merch! I'm trying to make my art my career so that I can stay home with my cats and pursue a less stressful life as conventional employment has proven extremely difficult if not impossible for me with my neurodivergent disabilities.

Buy my merch on Redbubble! Tons of sticks, shirts, mugs, awesome fluffy comforter blankets and more!

I'm also on TeePublic now; still uploading art there!

Looking into more forms of ecommerce too. Here's my Linktree for finding me everywhere online.

______________________________________

🐺Beneath the cut I blather a bit about myself. Beware. 😂

🐺 All About Me (jump to the end if you wanna see my citation library about wolves and wildlife, arhrooo!)

- My birthdate is March 18th 1990 and I am therefore in my mid-thirties. I am therefore no longer a whippersnapper despite my youthful appearance (I get miss-aged constantly) which is due to my autism.

- I am autistic and I have ADHD but I am currently struggling far harder with the autism. Derpy short term memory and happy distractibility? Squirrel! That's my ADHD. Fundamental NEED to hyperfocus strongly on a task without interruptions of any kind whatsoever for hours upon hours upon hours? That's my autism and it is fucking up my life because I get extremely stressed extremely quickly when I have to spend all day masking/fawning (aka pretending to suck up to people who don't have my best interests at heart,) instead of passionately writing, hiking or drawing all day, often while happy as a clam and forgetting to eat. I have Pathological Demand Avoidance which explains why commissions make me extremely uncomfortable, but I'm perfectly happy selling prints! (Pleeeease buy my prints and shirts and stuff! I put a lot of heart into making them awesome!❤️)

- I am permasingle. Please don't try to convince me otherwise, as I am now in early middle age and aromantic asexual I have no capacity to imagine a life where I am devoted to another adult human. Become a mom? Maybe. I have no idea how to flirt and I would never do it if I did. I find the idea of someone looking at my body and wanting to sexualize it is incredibly disturbing to me. My body is nought but a vessel for mine powerful spirit, nothing more.

- I am a grumpy socialist (which is not the same thing as communism, mainly it means that I genuinely care about others,) who supports Universal Basic Income, wildlife advocacy, climate change education, LGBTQA+ (after all I am part of the 🏳️‍🌈 community,) Transgender🏳️‍⚧️ (learn about the biological science of transgender here,) Universal Basic Income, neurodivergence, Black Lives Matter, Every Child Matters, Children are People, Housing First/Safe, Comfy Housing as a Basic Human Right, immigration, racial diversity, animal rights (for example tail docking is cruel unless it is done for medical reasons as per the SPCA,) and medical science (trained in the veterinary field, so, y'know, fully vaxxed against all the things.)

- I am trying to base KNIFE EDGE as much as possible on actual wolf biology. I'm doing my best to veer away from the usual fictional wolf fare which is usually very mythical or scientifically inaccurate (or both.) I want KE to help people care about wildlife and the threats that they face like habitat fragmentation, loss of genetic diversity, and climate change. That being said, some artistic liberty has been taken for the sake of my sanity. Production of KE is slow right now for reasons.

I will never censor the sheathes of my male animal characters or their bumholes. The latter because bumholes are hilarious. The former because censoring a blatantly obvious bodypart is incredibly illogical and stupid.

- My favourite Cybertronian (Transformer) is Starscream!✈️ I definitely sympathize with the Decepticons. I don't draw Transformers stuff very often though because bipeds scare me (despite the fact that I can actually draw them quite well,) and I am a wuss. 😅 I sometimes write depraved little stories about Starscream and his trine (as well as other seekers,) and post them here.

- I'm obsessed with horses and I collect (and customize,) model ones so you'll see me share my collection and post customized ones from time to time! 🐎

- I freaking adore my cats and I default to talking about them when I am tired. They are my beloved surrogate children and with my repressed maternal instincts not a day went by while my mom was alive that I did not incessantly show at least one of them to my mother. ("This is my child, please appreciate my child, isn't he cute? Yes, yassss, he is cute, the cutest of the cute, I love him. Please pet him and appreciate his softness with me. Yes.")

- ���I have a 30 gallon marine reef aquarium which I call Purrling Reef II. Sometimes I write about it! I really love my fish and invertebrates just like my cats.

- I identify as not-quite-female largely because while I identify with being female in some respects, enough to use female pronouns, in many other ways I just don't. My brain is pretty male - not enough for me to call myself trans, but enough that I was extremely affronted when my chest lost its preferred parking lot-flatness of my childhood. Gender is truly a spectrum!

My Favourite Educational Youtube Channels

- 7DOS (7 Days of Science - the only news channel I need!)

- Ben G. Thomas (main channel where 7DOS originated!)

- SciShow (Youtube channel of much sciency goodness)

- PBS Eons (paleontology and evolution)

- Dr. Polaris (paleontology and evolution)

- GeologyHub (volcanoes, tsunamis, earthquakes and other tectonic plate stuff explained!)

- Knowing Better (American history and various religions explained in extremely detailed but entertaining, well-cited videos)

- The Financial Diet (much of the same content - minus the religious - as Knowing Better, just in much smaller doses)

- Second Thought (Capitalism, human rights)

- Caitlyn Doughty (facts about death and the funeral industry, how to be death positive, how to advocate for yourself in death, and truly hilarious morbid stories of famous corpses.)

- Jackson Galaxy (for domestic cat behaviour content)

- The Kitten Lady (for feral and neonate kitten care content)

- EDGE Science (for natural history, science communication, weird biology and dinosaurs.)

- Tidal Gardens (for in-depth information on individual species of coral, hosted by the owner, Than, whose soothing voice is pure ASMR.)

- Adam Ragusea (cooking and food science, occasionally fish!)

- Stephan Milo (anthropologyyy)

- Today I Found Out, Into the Shadows, Sideprojects (fascinating and often hilarious history tidbits with Simon Whistler, yes he has multiple Youtube channels)

- Trey the Explainer (fun history)

- Zoe Bee (education in the US)

- Snake Discovery (learn about reptiles!)

- Clint's Reptiles (taxonomy of species and winners like Human Children: the best pet mammal for you?)

- Sheffield Made Plants (plant keeping with humour)

- Thoughty2 (random fun facts)

- ASAP Science

- Reef Dork (saltwater aquarium keeping)

- Mad Hatter's Reef (same as Reef Dork)

- Reptiliatus (Canadian reptile keeping and especially tokay gecko keeping, tokay geckos are hilarious)

- Howe's the Hike (Hiking in the Canadian Rockies)

- Abroad in Japan (learn about Japan!)

My Favourite Podcasts

- Ologies with Alie Ward (science podcast, nerdy goodness)

- Science Versus

- Against the Odds

- Legends of the Old West

- Factually with Adam Conover

- Real Survival Stories

- Real Dictators

- A Short History Of

- Detectives Don't Sleep

- Abroad in Japan (the Youtube channel came first but both exist)

- Backpacker Radio (thruhiking, many poop discussions, no I am not kidding)

Interesting Stuff

- The Sargasso Sea (Thoughty2)

- Hilarious Snowplow Names

- How to Eat Acorns (Adam Ragusea)

- Supervolcanoes (GeologyHub)

- Meet the Most Mysterious Man to Ever Live (Thoughty2, hilarious account of Rasputin)

- Walruses are Terrifying (Henry the PaleoGuy)

- The Great Emu War of Australia (Animalogic)

- How to build a wattle-and-daub thatched medieval house! (Quantum HD)

- Why tomatoes suck now: mechanical harvesting (The History Guy)

Links I Keep For Arguments

I'm opinionated. These are the scientific sources that my opinions are based off of.

🐺Wolves & Wildlife

See the citation library here.

❤️‍🔥Human Rights & 🔥Climate Change

Includes climate change, LGBTQIA2S+, women's/uterine rights, economic survival, discrimination & weird religion/cults. Main citation list here!

- NASA: the sun isn't causing global warming, we are. (The sun is actually in a cooling trend; humans are warming up the planet so extensively that we're countering this cooling trend by over 100%.) Also see 'it's the sun, stupid!' episode of the podcast The Climate Denier's Playbook.

- How to identify a CULT (and avoid recruitment.)

- How Trump abortion bans hurt and kill women.

❤️‍🩹Human Medicine & Nutrition

See the citation library here. (Coming soon.)

- Current scientific understanding of dying, near death experiences, and the afterlife.

- Vaccines are VERY safe, they do NOT cause autism, and there's more aluminium in breast milk than there is in vaccines. GET VACCINATED!💉💉💉❤️

🐶Neurodivergence

- Struggling to Get Stuff Done? Maybe it's More than Motivation. (How to ADHD)

- Times I Should've Realized that I was Autistic (Illymation.)

- Spoon theory explained! (Washington Post)

- Comorbity with Autism - having multiple neurodivergence diagnoses - explained. (AutismBC)

- Dyspraxia/difficulty in motor movements explained - common in neurodivergent folks. (NHS)

- Job hunting strategies for autistics. (AutismBC.)

- Why High Masking Autistics Struggle (Chris and Debby) - I feel all of this so much it's painful, and I desperately wish that I could have shown it to my dad while my mom was still alive, because maybe then he would not have stressed the crap out of her so badly.😣💔

🐈Mammalian Pets (Mostly Cats)

- A global synthesis and assessment of free-ranging domestic cat diet (keep your cats inside)

- Why You Should Adopt Another Cat (Jackson Galaxy)

- How to Introduce Cats (Jackson Galaxy)

- Why kittens are adopted out in pairs (Kitten Lady Hannah Shaw.)

- The Problem with French Bulldogs (thoroughly explained by veterinarian DVMCellini!)

- How to Kill a Shelter Dog

- How to clean a wound on a dog or a cat.

- How Cats Purr

- Why cats go nuts for tuna even though it isn't natural for them to eat.

- How to Make Your Dog Puke in Emergancies

- DIY Senior Feed for Horses

- Evidence of domestication of P. bengalensis (Asian Leopard Cat) in ancient China means that cat domestication goes back earlier & that there were once two domesticated species (but not anymore - modern cats descend from Felis sylvestris lybica,) plus that the modern bengal cat isn't a new idea!

- Both dogs AND cats will eat your corpse if you die and they are desperate. (And there's actually more historical evidence of dogs doing it!)

- Domestic cats are obligate carnivores who eat meat and only meat. Hannah Shaw, aka the Kitten Lady, explains this beautifully (and adorably,) here. Do not feed them a vegan diet, doing so is cruel. Cats do not need carbohydrates in their diets; carbohydrates' only use in kibble (dry food,) is as a binder which holds all the other ingredients together. Cats have just one copy of a gene which codes for starch (carbohydrate consumption) meaning that biologically they really haven't changed from their African Wildcat ancestors.

- Dogs are not wolves and therefore are not carnivores; they are omnivores. While dogs do descend from wolves (sorry, your chihuahua does not descend from coyotes or foxes,) wolves possess just two copies of a gene that codes for an enzyme capable of digesting starches (which carbohydrates contain,) dogs can have up to 22 copies of it. Dogs who do not consume some type of grain as part of their diet can develop serious health problems which can become life threatening. (Note that legumes like lentils and peas do not count as grains. Neither do root vegetables like potatoes, yams or sweet potatoes.)

🐍Non-Mammal Pets

- Reptile and amphibian keepers are NOT an animal rights issue (and actually are developing better husbandry for these largely harmless animals, are NOT contributing to invasive species, and are even helping to save endangered ones. Most reptile and amphibian pets are captive bred and the community is constantly advocating for ALL species to be captive bred! Additionally, since most species are TROPICAL, they simply cannot survive outside in northern climates. Far more endangered reptiles are killed for their skins than are ever captured to be pets.)

- How To Treat Freshwater Fish Diseases - can apply to marine fish too but avoid copper in any tank with invertebrates (Keeping Fish Simple)

Reef Cleaners Information and How-To Database (very helpful on a miriad of topics!)

- DIY aquarium fish trap!

- Ethical keeping of ball pythons with gentle transitioning to properly mentally engaging vivariums (do NOT keep them in racks! These are sentient, emotive animals which need to be given choices in their existence such as multiple - not just two - hiding places and clutter to help them feel safe!)

- Snake Discovery Reptile Keeper Cleaning Hacks (works for aquarists too, and keepers of anything with a water dish!)

- Reptifiles - concise and well-researched reptile care sheets!

- How to safely free small animals, especially snakes, from glue traps - use mineral oil! (New England Reptile)

- AVOID deep heat projectors for reptiles, they are unsafe!

- Harmful ball python myths! (Spoiler alert: racks are bad for them.)

- How to get your snake to eat.

- Budget small scale mouse breeding!

- Safe rocks & materials (and their chemical properties/effects on PH) to use in hardscaping terrariums and aquariums (including wood too!)

- DIY Plywood Aquarium! (King of DIY)

- DIY effective Hamburg Mat Filter (King of DIY)

- DIY rear sump filter - basically DIY AIO aquarium (King of DIY) This is basically what I did with mine haha.😅

- Cheap household algae control! (King of DIY)

- DIY Reef Dry Rock! Yes, you can make your own! (Australian Aquarist)

- Scaping vivaria with concrete and foam board! (Serpa Design)

- Use pool sand in your (freshwater) aquarium instead of expensive aquarium sand or play sand! (Palmer Aquatics)

- Use medium grit blasting sand in your freshwater aquarium. (Palmer Aquatics)

- Use frameless glass picture frames for glass panels in DIY terrarium builds (Terrarium Designs - video shows how to safely cut it and everything) or Ikea UTRUSTA glass shelves for the same job (Serpa Designs) or balustrade glass for aquariums (Australian Aquarist - this glass cannot be cut but it is super strong so it is worth it to design your wooden aquarium around it!)

- Male and female bettas CAN be kept peacefully together so long as their water has tanins, tonnes of plants to block sightlines, the water is kept slightly colder, and one avoids red specimens as these are more aggressive. (Fishistory)

- Snake Body Language (a twitching tail only means 'I'm happy' in dog language!)

- Budget hacks for rats (and mice)

- Safe and dangerous foods for rats (and mice)

- Scatter feed rats and mice for foraging behaviour (never use a bowl)

- Rat diet options

- Rat and mouse-safe woods for chewing and habitat

Permaculture!🍇

- Easy DIY coddling moth traps that work just as well as pesticides for protecting tree fruit! (Alternatively: bag each fruit with a large organza bag!)

- Permaculture orchard design - far more efficient land use which equals more food and less effort in maintenance!

- Program your seeds by starting them in poor soil for two months then switching them to better soil for much stronger, more vigorous plants!

- Canadian wild plant collecting guidelines (by Garry Oak Ecosystems Recovery Team)

- Municipal rainwater reclaimation in Seattle via rain garden - brilliant, cheap, and far better for the environment!

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And no, I am never changing my banner, I don't care if my banner is ancient lol.

[meat--grindr]

Ohh your writing is wonderful... I’ve actually never requested before so I hope get this right but: could I request Billy Lenz x Gender Neutral Reader (AFAB if it’s brought up) with Billy sucking on his partner’s fingers and discovering they are really, /really/ into it but also super embarrassed about it? Bastard-ness ensues. Hope this request is ok!

Okay? This is waaay more than okay! I’ve been so excited about this prompt since I received it! I’m so sorry for not getting to it earlier. I hope like six months later is better than never though! I’m also super excited to be your first request! I hope this lives up to your expectations, whatever they may have been!

Just a few general warnings beforehand: Billy is really rough with the reader he uses some extremely degrading language as per the canon (I’ve excluded the term ‘piggy,’ though, because I am NOT A FAN™ of that aspect of his dirty talk.) I want to specifically call to attention the liberal use of the terms ‘pussy’ and ‘cunt.’ The reader is never gendered with personal pronouns, but those words are used in reference to them and their anatomy several times. I am of the opinion that Mr. Lenz would use those terms regardless of what hole he’s using, but if they make you uncomfortable, maybe give this one a miss? Furthermore, I would like to mention that Billy is not a mentally well man (obviously) who has had a rather traumatic past with abuse, both of these are discussed within this fic, so please take care of yourselves and read this work responsibly if you want to read it at all. I don’t want anyone to be hurt by my writing because I didn’t warn them properly.

Also, this is my first time writing for Billy, so please forgive me if it takes a little while for me to get completely used to him. He’s a…unique fella, let’s say.

Editing Ripper’s Note: I was just about to post this when I realized I completely misread the prompt! I read it as the reader is really into sucking on Billy’s fingers, not the other way ‘round! I’ve been looking at this prompt, literally since December and still never caught on. I feel like a total idiot. I’m really sorry about that. I’ve decided to post this anyway because A) the kink is still there in the fic, just not exactly as requested, and B) I had already finished it by the time I noticed my mistake. So much time has passed and if the original requester is still keeping tabs on this blog, I don’t want to make them wait any longer. That being said, if you’d like me to write your request properly, please send me a message and I will do my best!

Mind Your Teeth – Billy Lenz (Gender Neutral* Reader) - NSFW

· Slick with sweat, your chest slides against the surface of your desk with each cruel snap of Billy’s hips. You can feel the laboured heaving of his chest against your back as he struggles for breath. It leaves his lips in ragged, staggering puffs, heavy and hot against your shoulder blade, accompanied every so often by the slick warmth of his saliva as it drips down onto your bare skin.

· Despite his gawky build, he manages to loom over you, folding you nearly in half against the desk. He’s made himself rather comfortable, sprawled over top of you. His chest presses against your back, boney ribs grinding against the knobs of your spine through the stiff, itchy fibers of his jumper. It’s sticking to your skin, soaked through in spots with sweat—yours and his—and you can feel it peeling up from your flesh with every movement he makes.

· He’s got you pinned, holding you down against the smooth wooden surface with little more than his weight. He’s surprisingly heavy, and though he doesn’t look it, Billy is a strong man—he’s more than capable both of lifting you off of the floor and pinning you down to it. He’s strong and his hands are by no means an exception to that rule. Though they may be long and thin, and they tremble whenever they hold you, his grip is nearly unbreakable. His clumsy fingers circle your wrists like iron fetters, dirty fingernails digging into the flesh of your forearms and cutting little crescents into the skin—just deep enough to sting. You can barely move beneath him—can barely breathe—and he knows this. He has you exactly where he wants you and you’re not going anywhere until he decides to let you.

· Another bruising thrust pitches you forward, and your knees bang against the desk drawers. You cry out, though whether it was for the dull ache in your legs or the sudden stab of pleasure between them, even you couldn’t say for certain. Though if there is any concern at all in Billy for your wellbeing, he’s certainly keeping it to himself. Your outburst only seems to egg him on, as his pace begins to take on a more frantic edge.

· His thrusts are shallow as he rocks into you—it’s as though he can’t bare to withdraw from the tight heat of your body for long. Dimly, through the fog of pleasure, you struggle to feel surprised. It’s all about instant gratification with Billy. Always has been—why should he tease himself or draw things out when he could just pry open your willing mouth and drag his cock against your tongue until he cums down your throat? Still, there is a force behind those thrusts—one which throws you up against the lip of the desk hard enough that you’re sure there will be a solid line of bruising along your midsection before the night is through. Every push of those hips shoves you forward a little more, until your head is nearly knocking against the wall and your toes barely touch the ground.

· Your cheek slides against a slick patch of wood and you realize you’ve been drooling across the desktop. The little puddle at the corner of your lips only grows in size as a particularly deep thrust from Billy wrings another string of wrecked whimpers from your throat. You wish you could pull away from the puddle—longing to drag the back of your hand across your cheek and wipe away the slickness, but there’s little you can do about it with Billy still holding your arms hostage. But at the same time, something about it thrills you—to be ruined like this—held still, unable to so anything but whimper, and drool, and take what you’re given. It’s…liberating.

· “C’mon, little bitch! Take my fat cock! You can t-t-take it better than that! Take it! Take-Take-Take it good for B-B-Billy!” He babbles into your shoulder, chapped lips scraping against your shoulder as he mouths at your flushed skin. His tongue flickers out, dragging a wet stripe against your skin, scorching hot, then suddenly too cool as it begins to dry in the open air.

· “Such a pretty pusssssy,” He slurs, “Pretty, pretty pusssssy. Gonna fill it up—gonna fill it with my fat ffffffucking cock!”

· You feel him jerk behind you, his muscles going taught as a violent spasm rolls through his body. When he speaks again, the voice that comes is not his own—it’s deeper, rumbling down in his chest, belonging to a man much larger than he, “Why I outta beat that boy! Beat him up good! Beat Billy bad! Beat him good! Beat him up, up, up!”

· His hips still and your heart leaps up into your throat, your pulse pounding hard in the tight space. This can’t be good. You squirm beneath him, trying and failing to turn your head. Your eyes roll wild in their sockets, desperate to get a good look at Billy, but he remains a shadow at the edge of your vision. You remember this voice. He had so many it was difficult to keep track of them sometimes—he’d mimic almost anything he heard; the children from down the road calling to one another while they played, the weatherman making predictions on the radio, even the neighbour’s cat. It was easy to forget which voices and phrases came from where once he’d picked them up and used them enough. But this is one that predates you, and you recognize it with a chilling clarity—the father’s voice: always angry, often violent.

· It frightens you when Billy uses it, though not because of the threat Billy poses to you. Of course, you know to tread carefully when he's in one of his moods—you’ve seen first hand the destruction wrought when his directionless frustration is given direction. But, you know this voice is a far more likely indicator that Billy is an imminent threat to himself. You’ve seen him pacing the floor like a caged animal, trembling hands beating about his head, tearing at his clothes and hair as he works through the frenzy, all the while babbling to himself in that deep, rumbling voice: “Rotten boy! Teach you a fucking lesson! Beat Billy! Bad Billy! Bad, Bad, Bad!” He's blackened his eyes, split his lips and knuckles, shattered countless plates and cut his hands on the shards. He loses himself in that voice, and that scares you.

· ‘Losing himself,’ that’s what you’ve come to call these episodes—those moments when his excitement and boundless energy curdle, souring into anxiety and agitation so quickly it makes you head spin. And in this moment, he’s displaying all the tell-tale sighs you’ve come to recognize—the full-body tremors, the angry voices, self-directed violence—mere threats or otherwise…

· No, this is not good. Of course, this isn’t the first time you’ve seen him do this, and you’re sure it would not be the last, but he’s never done it while you were…playing before. And that worries you. You’re both vulnerable, half-undressed and bent over a desk. Even worse, he was behind you. You’d learned very quickly never to let him out of your sight when he got like this. He was unpredictable—prone to lashing out whether he meant to or not. But he wasn’t beyond helping. If you could just turn your head and look at him—make him see you, help him to ground himself like you practiced, you might be able to talk him down, or at least ease him through the worst of it. Maybe. If you could only get a look at him.

· You flounder for your voice and struggle to keep it steady once you find it, “Hey, B-Billy? Billy, baby, you’re okay, right?” It’s an innocent question you usually begin with when he gets like this. Sometimes he’s too worked up to even begin to answer you, sometimes he tries so damn hard to answer, but can’t—not in a way you could really understand anyhow—and sometimes you can talk it through with him. Every time you try, the reaction is different. You can only cross your fingers and pray for a positive outcome.

· This time, he coughs. It’s a horrible, a horrible, racking sound that echoes in his chest—it’s almost closer to a scream than anything else. Another spasm jitters through him, the joint in his neck snapping loud in the darkness. You feel his forehead collide with your shoulder once, twice, then he stills. His flesh is clammy against yours, and the gentle brush of his hair makes your skin prickle, but he seems calmer. He barks a laugh—his own this time—and nuzzles against your back, smearing your skin with sweat and saliva. “Fuck!” He says, as though that explains everything.

· “Billy? Are you…alright?”

· He chirps like bird, three short bursts of whistling he’d picked up last spring when a robin mad made a nest on your windowsill, “Right as rain, rain, rain!”

· You’re left with a heady rush of confusion and relief as you realize he must have pulled himself out of the hole he’d almost fallen into. A little flicker of pride sparks to life in your chest. He’s come so far.

· Your concern melts away once again into pleasure as Billy jerks his hips. Keening high in the back of his throat, he fucks himself deeper into you. He drags his cock out slow, sounding for all the world as though he’d forgotten just how good it felt to fuck you—as though he hadn’t been doing just that not sixty seconds ago. He scrapes his teeth against your shoulder, the promise of a bite that will surely come and mark you for days. His fingers flex around your wrists, blunt nails biting deeper into your flesh as he falls back into that brutal rhythm.

· Your legs begin to shake as Billy’s cock bumps up against something a bit more sensitive inside of you. Your breath fogs against the surface of the desk as it heaves from your lungs, a thin mist that barely has the time to fade before the next heavy puff of air replaces it. You find yourself struggling to swallow the moans Billy’s working so hard to pull from you. You know how much he likes to hear you—how wild it makes him—and you know there’s no real need to be quiet, not with the dorm cleared out for the long weekend. Still, something—be it a force of habit from living in close quarters with thin walls, or simply your own embarrassment—keeps you quiet.

· “Fiiiilthy whore!” A growl, caught low in his throat, tears through the air between you, “Pretty pussy! Want it full! My cock, my cum…gonna fill it full!” Never at a loss for a string of vulgarities, Billy mumbles against your skin, his words slurring into one another until you can barely decipher one though from the other.

· “Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck!” Billy jerks his hips forward, and for the first time this evening, you feel the full length of his cock stretching you out. You jerk beneath him, mewling into the desktop, squirming about as you try desperately to relax around him. You’re so full—so full you can barely breathe, but it feels so good. Your muscles contract around him, unbidden, throbbing with the sudden stretch. It makes him shudder and sigh above you, a wavering rush of air than hisses out between his teeth.

· He holds you there for a moment, trembling almost as much as you are, “Tight fffucking cunt, so fucking tiiight for Billy!” His hips stutter forward in time with his ragged breathing. Desperately, he tries to fuck himself deeper into you, even though he can’t—he’s already buried to the hilt, his hips tucked snugly against your ass. But he gives it the old college try anyhow. He begins to babble nonsensically against your neck, “Ruin it, ruin it! Never take another cock! Full, full, full! I left it in the kitchen, Jan! Not after Billy’s! A low pressure system moving in and—fuck you full, fuck you full, full, full!”

· The tops of his thighs quiver as he grinds into you, and as he shifts, the head of his cock presses against something. For a moment, your vision goes white. Your legs seem to fall away beneath you, your knees drifting south as the pleasure carries away their ability to hold you upright any longer. If it weren’t for the desk, you probably would have slid down into a boneless heap on the floor.

· You gasp, mouth gaping wide, pulling in a great, deep lungful of air. To call his name? To beg him for more? To put wordless voice to your pleasure? You aren’t sure. There is little room in your brain for thought beyond the need for more. Mercifully, Billy saves you from the struggle before you can waste too much energy on it.

· Almost as soon as he realizes your mouth is open, Billy shoves his fingers into your mouth. Two boney digits slide against your tongue, pressing and prodding against the slick muscle. The taste of dust and salt floods your mouth with the intrusion. You wrinkle your nose, and try to pull your head back, but Billy leans down into you, pressing you down further beneath his weight, grinding your ribs into the desktop.

· “No, no, no,” He chides, voice soft and light—almost cheerful. He spreads his fingers apart, rubbing over the hard bumps of your bottom teeth with a tenderness you rarely see in him. “Gotta make room,” His voice rumbles through you as he presses his lips against your flesh, “Gotta stretch it out for Billy, or he won’t fit!”

· He nuzzles his cheek against your shoulder, still rocking his hips into you, pressing against that spot that makes your brain fill with television static, “Billy’s gonna fuck your throat once he’s filled that pretty pussy!”

· Your lips are pulled taught as his fingers press against the walls of your mouth, testing its limits. “Soft and warm! Wanna fuck it! Fuck it deep!”

· His hips buck hard, shoving you another inch toward the wall. You can feel yourself drooling around his fingers—your saliva dripping down your chin in great rivulets and collecting beneath your cheek.

· His knuckles bump against the roof of your mouth as the pads of his fingers find the back of your tongue. You gag around them, struggling to breathe, but Billy just laughs and presses down harder.

· “Again,” His voice comes out in a ragged puff of breath, half-whisper, half-growl, rough as rock salt, “Pussy gets tight when it chokes.”

· You try to suck in a shocked breath, but you can’t manage it around his fingers. Your throat convulses around him as you struggle to breathe.

· You feel his cock pulse inside of you and he groans his pleasure long and low into the darkness, “Yesssss!”

· He rocks into you again, “No one fucks like Billy, huh?” He pulls back, his cock nearly slipping from your body entirely, then he slams his hips home again, “No one fucks you full like Billy can! No one! No one! No one!” The phrase becomes a litany, each sentence punctuated with a bruising snap of his hips. “Know why?” He drags his teeth along the edge of your shoulder blade, “Know why?” You can hear the grin in his voice, wide and sharp, “‘Cuz Billy fills you up from both ends!”

· You sob around Billy’s fingers, your eyes rolling back as he pushes them deeper into your mouth. If he keeps on like this, it won’t be long before you fall apart around him—you want to cum so desperately, you can hardly keep another thought in your brain. Your muscles clench up around him and he laughs, giggling to himself as he hooks his chin over your shoulder. He can feel how close you are.

· His tongue slides against the side of your face, leaving a thick, wet stripe across your cheekbone. His lips scratch rough against your jaw, “Pretty pussy’s gonna cum? Gonna cum all over Billy’s fat fucking cock? Yeah?” His simpering tone makes your cheeks burn with embarrassment, but you nod. Another peal of sick laughter bubbles up in his throat, “You’re gonna cum and Billy’s not even trying! So dirty, dirty, dirty!”

· You whine around his fingers as he babbles on, “Billy could fuck you harder, but he doesn’t need to! Stupid, greedy pussy, silly fucking cunt can cum like this!” His teeth sink into your shoulder and the rest of his diatribe is lost to you. Even so, he continues to mumble filth against the skin caught between his teeth.

· The bite stings, bright and sharp, and you sob around him, clenching your jaw, your teeth digging into his fingers. Billy releases you with a hiss, dipping his head into the crook of your neck. You think for a moment you might have hurt him, but in mere seconds, he’s giggling to himself again. “Sharp, sharp teeth! No good. No, no good. Not for Billy’s cock. Gotta tear them out, make room for Billy!”

· Though you know the threat is mostly empty, the way Billy caresses your molars with the pad of his finger makes you a little nervous. You’re sure if he could get a good grip, he could easily ‘make room,’ and there was probably not much you could do to stop him. But he pulls his fingers back, retreating from the crushing press of your back teeth.

· He presses down against your tongue again, rubbing against the slick muscle fondly. “Need to practice! Greedy cunt needs to learn! Learn to suck Billy’s fat cock properly.” He snaps his hips, as though trying to remind you just how fat it really was—as though there was any change you could forget while it was rearranging your guts for you. “Gonna teach you to take it good!”

· Your eyes roll back at the thought. You can picture yourself kneeling under the desk, Billy draped over the chair, wild hair falling over his eyes as you try to take him all the way down to the base. He’d fuck your throat until your vision goes black, his fingers tangled deep in your hair, nails digging into your scalp. Your own fingers slide desperately between your thighs, chasing your release as he chases his own and god what you wouldn’t give to make the fantasy real—to feel the length of him in your mouth, the rough denim of his pants beneath your hands, the jerk and sting against your scalp as he tugs on your hair. Your cheeks hollow around Billy’s fingers, a pretty whine sitting high in the back of your throat.

· And Billy stops—stops moving, stops talking. He hovers above you, silent and still as a statue, barely breathing. A terrible moment of clarity washes over you and the embarrassment comes rolling in. There you were, still stretched out on Billy’s cock, barely moments away from an orgasm and you were already thinking about another? Were you really that desperate? Your cheeks burn hot against the cool wood of the desktop. Shame licks at the pit of your stomach—it wasn’t unlink Billy to think this way, he was always seeking the next shot of pleasure, but it wasn’t like you. As though it wasn’t bad enough to catch yourself thinking that way…for someone else to do it? It was mortifying…and maybe a little exciting too.

· Your stomach flips as Billy shifts behind you, the burgeoning stubble on his jaw scraping across your sensitive skin. Then you feel it, a smile spreading across his face—it’s a grin you’ve come to know well, all teeth and wide enough to make his jaw pop. Even without looking at him, you know you’re fucked.

· All at once, he lurches to life again, fucking his fingers hard into your mouth, in tandem with the harsh thrusts of his hips. A filthy string of gibberish falls from his lips as he pounds into you, “Greedy! Greedy cunt! Want it in your mouth too? Filthy, greedy fucking whore!”

· You whine, and choke, and sob around Billy’s fingers. Your face is wet with sweat, with spit, with tears, you can’t tell and at this point, you’re far beyond the point of caring. The world has narrowed to a single point between your legs as you teeter on the knife’s edge of your release. You rock your hips back against Billy, meeting his thrusts, desperate for more. You’re so, so close, and Billy can feel it too—the way you tighten around him spurring his pace from wild to frantic.

· His voice is broken, his words panted out between jagged breaths and garbled moans, “Gonna be good for Billy? Gonna cum?” His face is buried in the crook of your neck. He giggles against your flesh as he splits you open, slamming into you like it’s the last fuck he’ll ever have. “C’mon, take what Billy gives you! Take it, take it, t—ta—fuuuck!”

· Your hips stutter as your orgasm throbs through you. You scream around his fingers as you cum, your muscles clamping down around Billy so hard he almost has to stop moving, rolling his hips forward quick and shallow. His howl is lost in the sound of blood rushing in your ears, but you can feel it vibrating through his chest, and down into your back. Your fingers scrabble at the wood beneath you, desperate for something to latch onto—to keep you grounded here as the pleasure threatens to carry you away.

· You sob and slump limp against the desk, letting it bear the brunt of your weight. There’s just no strength left in your body anymore. Your hands and feet tingle with the lingering aftershocks of the adrenaline as you begin to come down from your high, and your breath comes hard, as though you’ve run a great distance. Billy’s hips continue to snap against yours, brutal and quick. You sob into his fingers, the as the relentless pleasure sparks through you, nearly painful to your sparking nerves.

· Slowly, as your ears stop ringing, you realize Billy is still talking, babbling away in several voices. “Like your pussy tight like this. Wanna fuck you full while you cum again and again and again and I told you, Jan, I left it in the kitchen! Make you soaked, keep you soaking wet, make you fucking cry! Where is that cat? Where’s that cat? Where’s the…WHERE’S THE BABY, BILLY?! AGNES? WHERE’S AGNES, BILLY?! Beat that kid! Teach him a lesson! BEAT HIM UP GOOD!”

· His left hand shoots up from your arm and wraps around your throat, fingers flexing around your windpipe, not quite squeezing, yet, but the pressure is far from comfortable.

· “T-T-Teach rotten old Billy a lesson.” A spike of fear shoots through you and you choke around his fingers. This seems to bring his mind back, at least in part, to the present, or at least confuse him enough to serve as a distraction—he makes a noise caught between two voices. The fear that courses through you lends new strength to your limbs as you reach up and claw at his fingers.

· As you attempt to pry him lose, his grip only tightens, fingers locking around your windpipe, “Teach that boy a FUCKING lesson!” The knobby joints of his fingers press hard against the pulse in your throat and you’re sure he can feel it hammering beneath your skin. He’s losing himself again, you’re sure.

· But again, this time was different. He hadn’t stopped fucking his cock into you like he had before, and he’d wavered for a moment, when you’d choked on him. There might be something else you could do to help him. Desperate to keep him here with you in the present moment, you flex your tongue against his fingers. His hips stutter and your heart skips a beat in turn. “Filthy fucking c-c-cunt…”

· You bob your head, hollowing your cheeks around his fingers again. C’mon, Billy!

· “F-Fuck!” It’s not quite his voice, but it’s close, perhaps a little higher, a little more strained than usual, but it’s close. “Where’s the baby, Billy? Where’s the…c-c-cat gone to now?” His fingers begin to relax around your throat, but you keep sucking on his fingers, wanting to make sure you’re well and truly out of the woods before you even think about stopping. If this is going to work, you’re going to make damn sure of it.

· “Fucking greedy little cunt!” You could have cried with relief at the sound of his voice—his real voice. You hum around his fingers, and he laughs, the sound low and rumbly, “Still so fucking eager.” His hips buck forward, pressing deep inside of you. It’s still too much, too soon, and you sob with the overstimulation. The sudden spike of pleasure punches the air from your lungs and shakes your legs from underneath you.

· Billy groans as you pulse around him. “You want Billy to cum? Wand Billy to fucking fill you?” You nod frantically, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as he grinds into that spot, filling your vision with white hot splotches of light.

· “Suck his cock, then,” he says, shoving his fingers deeper into your mouth again. He spreads them wide, nearly matching the girth of his cock where it fucks you open. Billy jitters behind you, chasing his release with quick, cruel thrusts. Impatient as always, he pushes digs his nail into the wall of your cheek, “Fucking suck Billy’s cock!”

· You jerk into motion as though startled from a deep sleep, pressing your head down against his fingers to take them as deep as you could. Your tongue laves against the digits, prodding gently against his scarred knuckles, playing in the space between them.

· Billy throws his head back, moaning to the ceiling long and loud, “Yessss! Good little pet! Pretty, pretty pet! His fingers stroke your throat as though he’s petting a cat, feeling it work up and down as you swallow around him. “Gooood pet! Suck Billy’s cock! Suck his cock! Su—NO!”

· Suddenly, he stops, his fingers stilling. For a moment, you think you’ve done something wrong. Had your teeth caught against him? Had you hurt him? Should you pull back and ask, or carry on? Before you can make a decision one way or another, Billy thrusts his fingers back into your throat, pressing them in as deep as he could. His knuckles bump against your back molars as you gag around him, trying desperately to breathe through your nose.

· “Lick Billy’s cunt,” For a moment, you’re still, confusion slicing through the pleasure. Billy tries to press his hand forward, his fingertips brushing against the back of your throat, “Lick it! Lick Billy’s cunt! Lick it! Lick it! Tongue his fffffucking clit!” You think about it for a moment, your exhausted, lust-fogged brain struggling to put two and two together, and then suddenly you think you understand. As gingerly as you can, while Billy continues to rock you forward over the desk, you press your tongue against the soft spot between his knuckles.

· This must have been what he’d wanted because the sound he makes is like nothing you’ve ever heard before—a wail caught somewhere between human and animal. You’ve never heard a human sound like that before. Like so many things about Billy, it’s frightening, and yet it fascinates you, attracts you, arouses you. You press your tongue harder against that spot, and the frantic rocking of his hips picks up again—but this time there’s no rhythm to it. He’s close.

· “Fucking lick Billy’s clit, make him cum! Make him cum in your pretty pussy!” You lap at his flesh with quick, deliberate swipes of your tongue. He howls against your flesh, his forehead thudding against your shoulder heavy and hard. “Fuck, f-f-f-fuck, make Billy fucking cum! Billy’s gonna, he’s-he’s-he’s gonna—!”

· In the moment before he cums everything is calm. He stills, and his voice is soft and steady in your ear; “I’m going to ruin you.”

· Then the world falls back into chaos.

· His whole body shudders above you, a bag of jangling bones he couldn’t keep control of if his life had depended on it. His teeth fix themselves deep into your shoulder, slotting into the indentations they’d left not long before. You cry out around his fingers, sure he’s drawn blood this time. You can see it when you close your eyes, visions of thick red blood splattered against his dark incisors floating against the dark inside of your eyelids.

· He shudders, momentarily stilling, then kicking back into motion, seemingly unable to deicide if he’d rather pound you through his orgasm or remain still, buried to the hilt in your tight heat. You feel the heat of him inside of you pulsing against your walls as he cums. His cheek is pressed tight against your shoulder gibbering a collection nonsensical sounds and snatches of obscenities into your flesh, “Pretty pink cunt! ah, ahhhh, fuuh—fuuuh—fuck! Dripping now! Where did you leave it? Left it fucking dripping!"

· You’re sore beyond belief from the pounding you’ve taken, but there’s still a throbbing want underneath. He’d dragged you most of the way to a second orgasm, now all you needed was a little push. Before you were completely at is mercy, able only to receive the pleasure he decided to give you. But now, your hands were free and with them you could do as you pleased. You wriggle beneath him, slipping your hands down between your thighs.

· Your fingers find their prize, and you sob, your whole body jerking forward. Even though you’d cum mere moments ago, you can’t believe how sensitive you are. You’re on the verge of orgasm almost immediately. You press harder the slide of your fingers aided both Billy’s cum and your own. You shudder, whimpering around his fingers. Your muscles clamp down on him once again, throbbing and pulsing as your orgasm builds.

· He hooks his finger inside of your cheek and pulls, “Wanna cum again. Wanna cum in your mouth,” He pulls harder exposing the sides of your teeth, “Billy wants to feel them! Feel them on his cock! Sharp and hard.” He laughs, “But Billy likes it hard.” The harsh snap of his hips that follows has you seeing spots. He opens his mouth as though to gloat, as you clench around him, he loses his words. Whimpering, soft and broken sounds against your neck, he grinds into you.

· Seconds later, you clamp down around him, a second orgasm shooting through you. The sound he makes as you cum on his oversensitive cock is nothing short of feral. He bucks wildly into you, seeking more of a pleasure that sounds almost painful as he sobs into your shoulder. His cock pulses inside of you again, throbbing as he fucks his cum deeper inside of you, as though intent on giving you more.

· And you’re sure he would. Or he would have, if you hadn’t reached back and pushed against his shoulder. He was insatiable—he’d keep going for hours unless you stop him now.

· He pulls his fingers out first, a pearly string of saliva connecting your lips to his fingertips. You cough, scratchy and wet, but when you speak, there’s no pain. “I…I just need a little break, Bills. Okay?” Your chest is heaving as you struggle for air. Billy hums above you, hesitating for a moment. He’s reluctant to give up the tight heat of your body. But at last, after nearly a full minute of grumbling and mumbling to himself, he pulls out.

· There's a sticky gush of fluids against your thigh as his cum beings to leak out of you. You rest there for a moment, the pair of you breathing hard in the darkness, the comfortable weight of his body pressing down above you, the solid plane of the desktop below. Then all of a sudden, you’re being lifted up. You squeal in shock as your flipped about and placed atop the desk. The surface is still cool against your heated flesh. The difference in temperature is a shock to your system and goosebumps break out across your arms and legs.

· Before you have a moment to process what’s happening, Billy’s head is between your thighs, his tongue lapping at mess he’d made. Your eyes go wide, and you head knocks against a wall as it falls back, “Fuuuuck, Billy!” Your hips cant up against his face, thighs squeezing tight around his ears.

· “Pretty pussy came twice already,” You can feel him smirking against your inner thigh. “Still wants more? Greedy, greedy, greedy.” You catch a glimpse of his eyes, wide and wild, shining in the darkness beneath is tangled hair, “It’s okay, Billy likes you greedy.”

[rei-is-hiding]

How do you draw so fast? :3

F-fast? Me? D:

Oh boi i'm always struggling with how slow i am, but thank you! qwq

Completing a request usually takes 3-5 hours, and my own art takes even longer bc of the larger canvas size and the silly little details that probably nobody will notice but i NEED to draw them ksdhkjjh

Seeing artists with super amazing art saying they spend 2 hours to draw it omg *A* Me WHEN

Anyways, i'm trying my best to draw one request per day, so drawing regularly becomes a habit and maybe it could help work faster 🙏

[toosicktoocare]

Jason knows the second he’s pulled from sleep by a low vibration close to his head that today’s going to go down in the books as, to put it simply, a bad day. There’s a dull sense of pressure in his head, pushing lightly against the base of his skull, and his phone buzzing insistently beside his head is only heightning his overall awareness that he’s got one hell of a mirgaine trying to grow against his brain. 

He slaps his hand around blindly for his phone, squeezing his eyes shut against the drum of pressure as he clumsily presses answer on his phone with a groan. 

“Look, Dick Brain, I’ve already told you that I’m not teaming up with you lot of dumb birds tonight. I have my own shit, so you you all need to keep your shit to yourselves.” 

“Master Jason?”

Jason isn’t prepared for the polite accent on the other line, one that’s distinctly laced with an air of disappointment. He shoots up in bed, his free hand flying to push against the alarming wave of pressure that’s blooming across is forehead. “Shit, Alfred. Sorry. I didn’t realize it was you.” 

“I assumed as much. Did I wake you?”

Jason clears his throat to rid the lingering dryness from sleep that’s coating his throat. He blinks slowly at the digital clock on his bedside table until his mind finally makes sense of the numbers and orders: 10:22 AM. 

He contemplates lying for a breath of a moment only to chase the thought away with a shake of the head. Alfred will know; he always does. 

“Yeah,” he laughs quietly. “Guess I slept in a little.” 

“Are you quite alright, Master Jason? It’s unlike you to sleep past 7 AM.” 

Jason mentally supplies the words that go unsaid: ‘because of your nightmares.’ Sighing, he digs his fingers into his forehead, massaging around the blossoming pressure. “Yeah, just a headache.” 

“Not one of your migraines, I hope.”

“Nah,” Jason tries for an airy attitude, one void of any concern, and to his legitimate surprise, Alfred seems to accept his answer, though hesitantly. 

“If you’re absolutely sure...”

Deflect, Jason supplies to himself. “I assume Dick’s got you calling to do his dirty work?”

“Not quite. Master Bruce asked me to call when Dick informed him that you’ve been dodging his calls all week.”

“That’s new,” Jason mutters, swinging his legs over the bed and sliding to his feet. The sudden change in weight distribution elevates the pressure in his head. He swallows back a gasp, free hand finding the wall for support as he shuffles from his bedroom to his bathroom in search for pain killers. “What’s so important about tonight? Sounds like a standard drug bust that Dick can more than handle on his own.” 

“Master Bruce would feel better if all of his sons were present tonight.” 

Jason doesn’t understand Bruce’s mind, his logic and reasoning for his choices. He never has, and he gathers that he never will. He snags a bottle of pain killers and balances his phone between his ear and shoulder, ignoring to sudden shift of pain in his head. 

“I have my own patrol, Alfred.” 

“We’ll have all patrols covered, Master Jason. Your territory will be well looked after tonight.” 

Damn, Jason thinks. If there’s one thing Alfred is good at, it’s his verbal reassurance, something so frighteningly powerful. He dry swallows a few pills and drops against the edge of his tub with a sigh, fingers raking through his hair. 

“Fine. Will you send me the details?” He drags out each word slowly, making sure that Alfred knows he’s only agreeing because it’s Alfred asking. 

“Of course.”

***

Jason’s head feels far too heavy on his neck, the added pressure weighing it down. The pain killers chased off the edge of the migraine for a few hours, but per usual, the pain came back stronger as the pills wore off, and he’s opted not to take more, not wishing to risk being slightly sluggish. 

He walks up to see Dick, Tim, and Damian occupying a small corner down an alleyway, their odd meetup point. Tim’s seated, his back against a wall, and he’s yawning. Dick’s stood with his back against a wall across from Tim, his arms crossed, as he muffles a few light coughs into his fist. And, Damian’s standing closer to Dick with his right arm cradled close to his chest. 

Tension trickles down to Jason’s limbs, and he grips his helmet a little tighter in his hand as he approaches. “The fuck’s wrong with you all?” His own voice is a drill in his head, piercing through the pressure and re-distributing it unevenly.

It’s Tim who opts to speak around a second yawn. 

“Dick’s still recovering from the flu, and the Demon Brat hurt his wrist on patrol yesterday.” 

“My wrist is fine, Drake,” Damian spits out, drawing out words deliberately.

“I assume you haven’t slept,” Jason mutters, nodding toward Tim, who’s slow to get to his feet. 

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” Dick cuts in sharply, and Jason arches a single brow to the oldest, faintly curious. “You need sleep, Tim, or you’ll wind up sick.” 

“Funny since you’re the one who’s running a low grade fever.” 

“Grayson is competent, Drake, even while recovering from illness. He’s not so easily taken down by the flu.” 

“And what are you planning on doing tonight, Damian,” Tim drags out lowly, and Jason shifts his faint curiosity from one idiot to the other. 

“You can barely move your wrist.” 

“I’ve been trained to be ambidextrous, Drake-”

“-Okay,” Jason calls out, the curiosity from before replaced with dull, familair annoyance that’s now mixed in with a hot pain swirling in his skull. “Let’s just get this the fuck over with, yeah?” He looks to Dick, a silent question to take charge, and Dick nods and turns on his heel, leading everyone to the hinted base for the drug ring. 

“Father would tell you to watch your language,” Damian mutters at Jason’s side before he quickens his step to match Dick’s steady pace. 

Jason flips him off and shoves his helmet over his head, swallowing back a groan when the added weight pushes the pressure in different directions. Nausea starts to tumble in his stomach, and he tries his best to steady his breathing, pushing his concentration away from himself. 

“So, Timmy, what are the deets? Alfred didn’t say much.”

***

Turns out, Bruce’s hunch was correct, and all four were forced to hold their own against multiple, burly men, all of which got in numerous, painful hits before being taken down. The fight ended at the top of an apartment building across the street from the warehouse that was doubling as the drug storage, and Jason’s not sure he’s ever felt this much pain in his head, knowing that it didn’t help he let a few men get some solid hits to his face and temples. 

The others appear to be, more or less, in similar conditions. Dick’s down on one knee, panting heavily. Damian’s paler than usual, and he’s got his wrist held tightly to his chest, and Tim’s swaying on his feet, looking about ready to drop any second. 

Jason pulls a slow gaze around them, swallowing thickly around the bursting pressure that’s pushing hard against every inch of his skull now, swelling against his brain, leaving his vision fraying at the edges. He’s faintly aware that the others are talking amongst each other, but he can’t keep up with the conversation, not with the sudden roar in his ears that drowns out the voices around him. 

The pain’s... intense. It’s all he’s able to supply, most thoughts breaking against the pressure. He takes a step back, fingers clumsily slipping under his helmet. His vision is graying now, blurring, and he tries to blink around it. He can see Dick get to his feet, see the older boy frowning at him. He’s saying something to him, but Jason can’t work his mind around reading lips. No, all he wants is to get the damn helmet off his head, but his hands are shaking too hard to be of any use. 

He starts to feel hot all over despite the crisp fall air. He takes another, staggering step back, his legs struggling to hold his balance, to support the weight of his abdomen and head, and the back of his foot knocks hard into something. He only realizes that he’s bumped into the edge of the roof when he’s falling backward into open, empty space. 

His stomach plummets in time with his body, bringing back his vision, sounds, his surroundings. 

“Jason!”

He pulls his gaze from the tilting sky to see the others coming into view, and he wonders, briefly, if it’s the last thing he’ll ever see, but the thought gets josteled from his head when something small yet strong latches onto his ankle, followed by a loud, gasping cry. 

His back slams against the side of the apartment building, bringing with it bursting, white hot pain across his head, but he manages to stay present, craning his neck up to see Damian crying and holding onto his ankle with his injured hand. Dick stumbles toward them, wrapping one arm tightly around Damin to keep him up on the roof. 

“Jason! Do you think you can lean upward?”

Nodding, Jason breathes deeply around the pain and nausea, and he swings himself upward, arms flying forward until he’s grasping at the hands reaching out to him. Dick and Tim pull him up, and the second he’s upright, his vision grays until he blacks out entirely. 

***

“Come on, Jay, open your eyes for me.” 

Jason wants to be annoyed that the voice is waking him, but there’s something so soft and desperate in the tone, in the gentle touches at his face, so he decides to try and chase it. 

“Bruce is on his way.” 

That brings Jason back all at once, his mind reeling against pain, and nausea twisting so hard in his stomach. He leans to the side and vomits, mutely thankful that someone removed his helmet. 

“Shit, Jason!” 

He can feel a hand at his back, rubbing small circles, and when his stomach settles, he flops back onto his back with a groan, only faintly aware that his head is pillowed on Dick’s thigh. 

“Jay? You with us?” 

“Bruce says he’s two minutes out. He wants to know if we can make it off the roof.” 

Jason realizes slowly that there’s a voice missing, and then memories flood agaisnt the pressure in his head until he’s jerking forward to see Damian sitting across from his, tear trackes evident against his cheeks. 

“Fuck, Damian, your wrist-”

“It’s okay.” Damain’s voice is shaking, and Jason leans forward to pat Damian’s knee, unsure of what else he could do or say to properly express the heavy weight of appreciation for Damian saving his life. 

“Jason, what happened? Are you sick?” Dick’s voice is laced deep with worry at Jason’s back, two hands planted firmly to Jason’s shoulders.

Before Jason can answer, Bruce is swinging himself over the ledge of the roof, fully suited, dark eyes shifting between each son, falling on Jason. 

“Migraine,” he answers deeply for Jason. “Alfred suspected as much.” Bruce stops before him. “Can you walk?” 

Jason nods and allows Bruce to pull him to his feet. He sways for a moment, swallows back the need to dry heave, and grounds himself, faintly aware that Bruce’s hand is just inches from his elbow. He doesn’t meet Bruce’s studying gaze, doesn’t fully breathe until Bruce breaks away to assess the others. 

He watches, exhausted, as Damian argues with Bruce that he doesn’t need to be carried. He frowns when Tim stumbles into Dick, and Dick crouches down and instructs Tim to climb atop his back. He follows behind the others, listening in briefly to hear Tim grumble how Dick’s fever feels like it’s spiking, or how Bruce’s is tugging Damian tightly to his side and muttering reassurances under his breath. 

When they reach the ground floor, his knees begin to shake, but then Alfred’s at his side, worried, arm tight around his shoulders, and he’s guided into one of Bruce’s many cars, squeezing in the back beside the others. Tim’s directly to his left, and he drops his head to Jason’s shoulder almost immediately. Jason nudges him forward just enough to slip his arm around his back, and Tim curls closer into him. 

Jason decides that just for tonight, he’ll let him. He cranes his neck to see Damian similarly clinging to Dick, and he locks eyes with Dick, the two sharing a mutual, tired nod. 

Dragging his gaze slowly forward, Jason squeezes his eyes shut, focusing on the lull of the engine and not on the drum pounding in his head. 

“Shall I drop Master Jason off at his apartment?” 

“No, I want all of my sons at the manor tonight.”