#the colors are so luch

[8pxl]

my pixel art vs it recreated as a sticker by number kit

[copperbadge]

So, turns out Mum saved out one Christmas gift to give to me the day I fly home: my grandfather's wristwatch.

Yep, definitely a Watch Guy now.

The band is new, obviously (the old band was badly damaged), but the watch itself is a Soviet-made Luch from the 70s. My grandfather worked in the US aerospace industry and Mum says he always said this was a gift from a colleague who was a Soviet "expat", which in that time and place probably meant someone who had fled the USSR. Mum didn't know much about what my grandfather did for a living or why he was given it -- we didn't even know where it was until she dug around a little after I expressed interest in it when she gave me a Luch from the 90s. This being the case, I'm going to pretend it was a gift from a defecting space-program scientist he helped get out of Russia. It's not actually a non-zero chance Granddad was a spy.

You can see the crystal is a little scuffed and the face is slightly worn, but it runs fine when you wind it and it looks sexy as hell. Those nylon straps with the single stripe are popular as replacement bands and very comfortable (plus you can swap them out easily) so I'm beyond thrilled to have a new-old heirloom for my collection.

[ID: a photo of my wrist, showing a watch with a thick nylon band in blue and cream. The watch has a gold colored bezel, with gold hatching on a black ring to represent numbers around a gold center, and brighter gold hour and minute hands. There is a very faint logo engraving near the top of the face.]

[imagines--galore]

Hello!

could I get number 13 on the prompt list with Edmund Pevensie?

Summary: He was a King. You were no Royal. You were his friend, as he was yours. And despite the fact the people kept saying there was something more, you denied it. For a King could never love a commoner. Could he? Pairing: Edmund Pevensie x Reader Rating || Genres || Warnings: T. Romance. A/N: Yay! First request for Edmund!

"Really, Your Majesty! This is just too much!" You said, running your hand over the fabric of the dress the youngest Queen of Narnia had forced you to put on.

"It is not." The Queen stated with the stubbornness of a teenager, which she was. "And how many times I've told you to call me Lucy."

"Multiple times, Your Majesty." You responded with a cheeky grin, prompting Lucy to roll her eyes in a rather un-queenly manner.

Luch walked up to straighten the thin satin belt that rested around your waist. The dress truly was a work of art. Made of a material that you were sure cost more then the wages you received, it was soft and delicate to the touch. Not to mention the work down the front of the dress seemed to sparkle in a way that made you feel like a princess. And the color? A grey that almost appeared silver. A rather unusual color but somehow familiar.

You were sure you had seen that color before, just not sure where.

"The seamstress made a few mistakes with the measurements, and I don't want it to sit in the back of my wardrobe. It is simply too stunning to never see the light of day." You let out a small hum of agreement as you allowed yourself a moment of admiration. The mirror in front of you showed a figure dressed in a gown that was surely out of a fairy tale.

Then again, you had seen grander and more beautiful gowns, and the one you wore was rather simple in comparison. But in your eyes, it was perfect. You twisted where you stood, hoping to catch a glimpse of the details that adorned the back. Lucy smiled at your obvious admiration.

"Maybe if you wore it to the ball next week, Edmund will finally notice you."

The words jolted you out of your little haze of admiration.

Turning your gaze towards the now smiling Queen, you blinked. "Notice me?" You asked, though you knew the answer before it came. Had heard it one too many times from so many people and creatures you knew.

"As in confess that he loves you, just as much as you love him." You blinked. The effect of her words were immediate as a blush turned your cheeks a bright red. The sight of which had Lucy smiling even wider.

"I-I do-don-" You were cut off by Queen Susan, who had been sitting at a nearby writing table and going over the final preparations for the Winter Ball.

"Lucy, you mustn't assume such things, it is rather rude." Her younger sister pursed her lips in a stubborn line. "Though I must admit Y/n." The Gentle Queen continued, now looking towards you. "Edmund does seem to show more affection towards you then he does anyone. Even us."

Annoyance had being told off forgotten, Lucy chimed in. "And we're his siblings!"

You shook your head as you reached behind you to undo the dress, anything to occupy her hands and hide her face lest the two Queens see the blush on your cheeks. "Your Majesties are mistaken. King Edmund and I are simply friends. And even that is a miracle given how I'm a simply maid and he is a King."

Lucy frowned. "And what does that matter? Love should not have anything to do with it." Having stepped out of the gorgeous gown and into your everyday clothes, you shook your head. "No, but that is it, Your Majesty." Your words sounded unconvincing, even to your own ears. "I am not in love with your brother."

A lie.

                                          ————————–

You were in love with King Edmund.

Had been in love with him since the moment you had seen him.

Of course, you hadn't realized it then. Had not picked up on the fact that perhaps your heart raced because he was so near. How your heart leaped in your chest when he smiled at you. Or even how everything just seemed a little more magical when he was around.

You had met him by chance. Having finished your duties for the day, you had chosen to go down to the beach and collect some shells. You already had quite the collection but you always found new beautiful pieces to add to your collection. You had just straightened up from picking a rather pretty pink shell when the sound of an approaching horse had you looking to your left.

There he was, sitting atop a horse, with no saddle or rein, no entourage or crown adorning his forehead to show his status. The speed at which he rode his horse had you stepping back before he was even near you.

For reasons known only to Aslan, he came to a halt as he neared you. You had returned to your little expedition and was already digging through a small patch of sand where you had spied a star shaped shell. The sight of it had a bright smile forming on your lips, your eyes alight with joy at such a small, insignificant yet beautiful creation.

And Edmund had felt his heart clench at the sight of your sweet smile. A strange urgency bubbled in his chest. One he had never known before. One that compelled him to dismount from his horse and approach you. Though he stood a good few feet away as he watched you straighten and place the shell in your basket.

It was then that you became aware of him. You stood there as well, your basket tucked at the side.

He had stopped at the sight of you. And the both of you had simply looked at each other.

It was rather strange looking at a complete stranger in the eye. Normally you kept your head down and went about your work. But there was just something about him that had you meeting his gaze.

Him in his simple breeches, shirt and shoes, black hair swept away from his forehead, blowing gently in the salty air. Eyes alight with a light that you would see for months to come whenever you would run into him.

He knew it was not proper to stare, but he could not help himself.

You in your simple dress, with the hem wet from the waves that kept tickling your bare toes. The braid you kept your hair in, hardly able to keep the strands in place given how hard the wind was blowing. Your cheeks were flushed from being out in the sun for so long.

And yet Edmund had never seen a more prettier sight in all of Narnia.

Slowly, you smiled at him in a friendly manner. "Is there something that you needed?" You asked.

He shook his head. "I apologize for disturbing you on your outing My Lady, I was just curious why a young maiden would venture so far away from Cair. Assuming, you are from there." He quickly added, not wanting to make any false assumptions.

Giving a small nod, you confirmed his suspicions. "Yes, I'm from Cair. I work as a maid there." The both of you glanced down the length of the beach to where the castle shone brightly in the light of the slowly setting sun. "You're a little far out aren't you?" He asked with a smile to which you gave a sheepish one in return.

"To tell you the truth, I love to collect shells." You held up your basket to show the small collection you had gathered in the hour you had been at the beach. "And there aren't quite that many close to the castle, so I have to venture a little further ahead."

Meeting his eyes once more, you allowed yourself to admire how handsome he was. Surely he was a lord or something of the sort. Perhaps a visiting noble from Archenland? Edmund's line of sight shifted to the setting sun just behind you.

"May I escort you back to Cair? It is near sunset and the tide will be coming in." He offered, not wanting to leave your presence just yet. You glanced over your shoulder as well, before turning to give him a nod. "That would be appreciated thank you." You paused. "I do not believe you told me your name."

Edmund's smile faltered a little. He knew if he told you his name you would recognize him. Clearing his throat he decided on a little white lie. Or rather half-truth. "My name is Ed. And may I ask you for your name, My Lady?" You waved a hand in a dismissive manner. "I am hardly a Lady, but you may call me Y/n, Ed." It was a rather strange name, but then who was she to say anything.

With the horse following after the both of you at a slow pace, you and Ed began the walk back to the castle.

                                          ————————–

It took you longer then normal to return to the castle. Probably because the both of you were so lost in your conversation. You hardly noticed when his horse actually bypassed you and reached the back entrance of the castle by himself. You didn't care that you were late.

It wasn't everyday you met someone you could talk to like you were with Ed. It was strange. You wanted to tell him everything. And for someone who was very private with their thoughts, this was a huge surprise.

And you weren't the only one doing the talking. Edmund had always felt a little alone, even in his family. Before going to war, his father had been the only one to understand him. After coming to Narnia his siblings had begun to understand him too, but it just wasn't the same.

But then here you were. Someone he had just met, and he had never felt so understood in all his life. It was a little scary, how you were so inquisitive and were able to pick up on cues and read between the lines of every word that came out of him. You were sharp, clever and smart.

Yes, he knew all three words were synonymous, but he didn't care. They described you perfectly.

"Well I should head back inside." You finally said, once there was a brief lull in the conversation. You really didn't want to, but you had to get to sleep so you could work the next day. Ed gave a small nod. And was it your imagination, or did he look a little disappointed as well.

"I had a lovely time talking to you." You admitted with a bright smile. "And I shall be surely on the lookout for the book you mentioned. Perhaps I may find it in the local library." You had begun to climb up the stairs leading towards the backdoor. He would have to enter from the other side where the stables were.

Edmund continued to look at you as you ascended the stairs. You walked backwards so you could look at him even as you departed. Suddenly, he realized he didn't want you to leave. A burst of courage, one that would make his younger sister proud, had him bounding up a couple of stairs, reaching out and taking your hand in his.

A startled gasp left your lips as you looked down at him. He was still a few steps away, but even that distance felt intimate.

"Will I see you again?" He asked. The young King had no idea where this new side of him was coming from. He had always preferred solitude, and he was sure that the moment he left your presence he would revert back to his old self.

But for now, he would act on every impulse he could.

Just so he could be in your company again in the future.

You stopped short, a surprised look crossing your features as you blinked at him. Your gaze dropped from his face, to the hand that gripped yours. And though you were cautious around people you just met, something in you reassured you. Had you believing that you could trust him.

So you nodded, and the smile that lit up the entirety of his face was one that stayed with you till the next time you met.

                                          ————————–

It didn't take long for you to become aware of Ed, or rather King Edmund's true status. And though it did shock and embarrass you, not being able to recognize one of the Monarchs of your beloved country, the only thing that changed in your friendship were the titles. You began to call him Your Majesty, or King Edmund, whatever the situation asked for. And him, out of spite and knowing how much you hated it, called you My Lady.

Everything else stayed the same.

Your friendship. Your ability to know what was bothering one another. The fact that the both of you knew when the other was going through a hard time. He with his duties as a King, and you with your own problems.

The whole castle slowly became aware of your friendship, especially when Edmund would seek you out and would speak to you about the most recent book the both of you had read. He, like you, was an avid reader. Any book would do really.

Sometimes you would stop in the middle of your task, and simply stand with the King in the middle of the hallway, as the both of you discussed some new scientific theory being proposed by some cranky old centaur.

Other times you would burst into his study, frantically gesturing as you let out your frustrations concerning a character in whatever adventurous tale you were reading. He would put aside his work and just listen to you with that knowing smirk on his face.

Once he had let you rant for nearly ten minutes before handing you the second book and saying that hadn't been the ending. You had once thrown a book at his head for that.

He'd learned to not test you when it came to books after that.

Still, over the months your friendship had grown stronger. You had even gotten to know his siblings. And while you were friends with them as well, the level of intimacy you shared with Edmund, was one you could never reach with anyone else.

It was not surprising when the residents of Cair Paravel began to assume that the King of Narnia was courting a simple maid.

And though no one ever said it outright, everyone thought the same.

                                          ————————–

The Winter Ball was a grand affair.

Since the defeat of the White Witch Queen Susan had taken every step to ensure that the Winter Ball was the grandest of celebrations. Not only because it was Christmas but because she wanted to wipe away any negative memories the Narnians had when it came to winter.

As a half-dryad, partial to spring and summer, even you could not help enjoying the festivities.

But from afar.

You were keeping to the shadows, hiding in an alcove that overlooked the beach you and Edmund had walked along for hours at a time. Queen Lucy had gotten what she wanted. You attending the Ball. She'd actually dragged her brother into the conversation. And when he had asked if you were going to attend, you knew you were trapped.

He had looked so hopeful that all you could do was say yes.

You never could say no to him. A weakness he exploited sometimes when it came to getting away from Cair Paravel, during work hours, and just wandering around in the Woods or walking along the beach. Your Supervisor knew of your getaways, but since you had always been an efficient worker, she never complained.

At the moment, you were dressed in the same dress Lucy had given you, with your hair in an elegant braid, adorned with flowers you had picked from garden earlier that day.

You wore a necklace with the gown, a piece of jewelry that had been gifted to you by a certain King. Your fingers lifted to the gorgeous piece, lightly tracing the outline of the necklace, a small smile pulling at your lips as your mind wandered to the one who had gifted it to you.

"Lady Y/n?"

Speaking of which.

You spun on your heel, having forgotten that there was a side entrance to the alcove you were hiding in.

"King Edmund." You responded with a quick curtsy. You smiled at him as you straightened up. Silence followed, one where your smile slowly faltered, and your cheeks to grow red under his unwavering gaze. You adjusted the skirts of your dress nervously as you cleared your throat.

"Queen Lucy was gracious enough to lend me the dress, though I insist in returning it once I am done attending the Ball." You said as a way to start the conversation.

It was then, when your eyes dropped to his chest, that you suddenly realized why the color of your dress had been so familiar.

Every Monarch had their color. For King Peter, it was gold and blue. For Queen Susan it was two different shades of blue. For Queen Lucy it was red and blue. And for King Edmund, it was silver and blue.

The exact shade of the dress you currently wore.

If it didn't mean treason, you would surely kill Queen Lucy for playing such a hand.

"You look beautiful." His words prompted you to meet his gaze, which still hadn't left your face. Skin flushing, you reached up to push a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Th-thank you. You look good too. Did your sister threaten you into coming in proper attire?"

Edmund rolled his eyes. "She said she would lock me out of the library if I wasn't dressed right." You couldn't help but giggle at his expression.

"May I ask, why you're not out there, dancing?" He asked, moving to stand next to you so that the both of you could look out at the various dancing pairs. You shrugged. "I prefer the company of a select few." He nudged you playfully with his elbow. "I hope I'm included in that list."

You hummed in contemplation. "I believe you are number three. After your sisters." You responded, to which he pressed a hand over his heart. "Your words wound my My Lady. How shall I ever survive your cruel intentions."

This was what you loved liked about Edmund. He was always ready with a joke of some sort. It was rather refreshing, to have a friend who made one laugh.

A comfortable silence settled between the both of you, as you stood there and just watched everyone dance and enjoy themselves.

"Do you remember that day when I found out you were a King?" You suddenly spoke up, your gaze just as soft as your voice as the memory of that day rose to the front of your mind.

Edmund chuckled beside you. "Oh yes, I remember. I was talking to Peter about something, and you saw me." You nodded. "And I came over and ask how close of a friendship you shared with him because you punched him on the shoulder."

Turning your head slightly, you looked at him out of the corner of your eyes. "You decided to have some fun, saying you were quite close. And when I asked how close, you said he was your brother."

Edmund couldn't help himself. He burst out laughing, while you blushed furiously at the remembrance of your embarrassment in that moment. "Your expression was hilarious." He said once he paused for breath. "And then you said but that would make me King. Though I was rather offended you knew that Peter was King."

You scowled at his grinning face. "Thats because I had seen him give a speech in public before. It is hardly my fault that you barely leave your library or your office to go out and meet people."

He made a face. "Now why would I want to do that?" You rolled your eyes at him. "One would think as King, you would prefer to at least show yourself in public sometimes." You reprimanded, prompting Edmund to point a finger at you. "Did Susan tell you to say that? She's always going on and on about how I should spend some time with people so that I don't forget how to talk."

A teasing smile pulled at your lips as you flicked his finger away with your own. "Well she's not wrong. I love reading books just as much as you do, but at least I go out and talk to people."

Edmund rolled his eyes. "I talk plenty. At least with the people who matter." As he said that, his gaze flicked towards you and you smiled, reaching out to loosely loop your arm through his. "I am truly honored to be one of those people."

He smiled, his fingers intertwining with the hand that wrapped around his arm.

"You have no idea how much."

So saying, he brought up the hand he held, and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of your hand. And since you'd forgone gloves for the night, you could feel the press of his warm lips against your skin.

Your heart beat rapidly against your chest, and you were sure your cheeks were a permanent shade of pink with how much you were blushing.

Suddenly his eyes lit up, as if he had just remembered something.

And he had.

"I almost forgot! I went down to the beach a few days ago." So saying he reached inside his pocket and pulled out a rather pretty shell. "I found this while I was down there, thought you might like it."

With your free hand you took the shell, examining the pretty colors that nature had painted it with. It was truly beautiful. But that wasn't what you were focusing on.

He'd been at the beach for his own purpose, whatever it had been. But he had thought of you. You were on his mind when he saw the shell. You were who he remembered when he picked it up knowing you would like it.

How could he be so sweet and kind at the same time?

And how, oh how could you not fall in love with him if he were to keep showing you such sweet gestures?

The sight of the shell, and the aftereffects of the conversation you had just had with him, was what compelled you to do what you did next.

It was a simple maneuver really. One that required you to push yourself up on your toes, and tilt you head forward a little bit.

A simple series of movements.

And yet the outcome of it had Edmund's eyes widening as he felt the result of your gesture against his mouth. But it didn't stop there. His entire body stiffened for a brief moment, before he relaxed and tilted his head a little to better return the gesture. The hand that was not gripping yours, came up to rest the tips of his fingers under your chin.

Slowly you pulled back, your eyes opening so you could look at him. He was smiling. He was smiling at you so tenderly that you were sure your heart wouldn't be able to recover from the beauty of it.

Of him.

And his eyes. You actually had to look away because of how intense they were, as if he could see to the very inner most corner of your heart.

The fingers on your chin pressed lightly against your skin, coaxing you to turn your head back.

Edmund couldn't help it. He couldn't help himself and not look at you. He had to look at you.

You with your kind smile and gorgeous eyes. The way your hair would dance in the breeze and your whole face would light up when you talked about something you were passionate about.

Finally, after a few moments of simply looking at one another, he spoke. "You know there have been rumors going around. Rumors saying that I'm courting you."

You pursed your lips to suppress a smile. "I've heard about them, and I don't understand how people would think that." Even as you said it, you couldn't help but smile, knowing exactly why people would think that. He grinned as well, knowing exactly what you were thinking.

"Well how about, we add wood to that fire and play a little game by giving them a little hint every now and then?" He asked, his eyes alight with that spark he got whenever he was thinking of some clever plan that would outwit anyone involved.

Luckily for Edmund, you shared his love of deception and pranks, so you smiled. "I think I would enjoy that."

He laughed softly, before leaning down to press his lips to yours in a brief kiss.

"Though I want you to know, that whatever hint or gesture I may show you, they come from my heart and hold true." He whispered against your lips, prompting you to nod.

"As will mine."

Suffice to say, the next morning, when Edmund kissed you in the open courtyard where a lot of creatures had gathered to clean up after the Ball the night before, the entire castle buzzed with gossip and speculation.

Though one thing was for sure.

In Mrs Beaver's words, the both of you were truly meant to be.

[mysunshinetemptress]

Luch

(Lil McCabe Universe)

Katie McCabe x Lil McCabe

Warnings: Part of the unseen series this part focuses more on Katie, it’s got angst and is like a little background and a way to go forward with Katie and Lil McCabes relationship

Katie didn't quite know when you fell through the cracks and faded into the back. She could still remember you being born, though. She was seven, a whirlwind of freckles and laughter, so excited to have a new baby in the family. It had become a tradition in their house, this older sibling adoption. The eldest would take the youngest, showering them with attention, teaching them everything they knew. A miniature mentorship program, filled with scraped knees, shared secrets, and an unwavering bond.

For Katie, it was her turn. She was going to be the best big sister ever. A boy or a girl, it didn’t matter. She’d teach them everything, from the best hiding spots in the garden to the correct way to tackle a football. She’d introduce them to her friends, share her toys, and protect them from the world.

She remembered the day you arrived, a tiny, wrinkled bundle. You fit perfectly in the palm of her hand. She was careful, so careful, as she held you, her heart pounding with a mixture of love and responsibility. She’d named you ‘Squishy’ that day, a name that stuck for a few weeks before you graduated to something more...permanent.

What was it, why can't she remeber it now, its the only thing she called you, the only thing SHE called you.

There are gaps in her memory now, like pieces of a puzzle missing. You were there, a constant in the chaotic tapestry of her childhood, and then you weren’t. It’s as if someone had gently peeled you away, leaving an indistinct shape where you once were.

She remembers your laughter, a clear bell-like sound that would fill the house. She remembers the way your eyes would light up when she read you stories. And she remembers the day you took your first steps, holding onto her finger for dear life.

She dressed you in tiny football jerseys, her favorite team’s colors blazing against your soft skin. She taught you the alphabet with the help of her toy animals, her patience endless as you struggled to pronounce the letters. Weekends were spent at the park, Katie pushing you on the swings, her laughter mingling with yours as you soared through the air.

But then, the memories start to blur. There are fragments, snapshots, like a photo album with missing pages. You’re there, but you’re also not. You morph into Ella and Lauryn, She starts being unable to tell what memories are with you and what memories are with them.

Cheeky, no thats what she called Ella

Sometimes, late at night, when the house is quiet, Katie will close her eyes and try to remember you. She’ll see a small figure, a blur of color, a sound. But then, the image fades, and she’s left with an aching emptiness.

Munchkin, no thats what she called Lauryn

The name was on the tip of her tongue, a phantom word dancing just beyond her grasp. It was a small thing, a trivial detail, but in the grand scheme of her fading memories, it was a cornerstone. Squishy was a placeholder, a temporary label for a child who had become an integral part of her life. The real name, the one that fit perfectly, was buried beneath layers of time and confusion.

It was a name whispered in countless bedtime stories, shouted in shared laughter, and softly murmured in moments of comfort. A name that held the weight of a world, a universe contained within a single syllable. Now, it was a ghost, haunting the corridors of her mind.

The blurring of memories was a cruel thief, stealing the clarity of childhood. Ella and Lauryn, the subsequent additions to the family, had cast long shadows, their presences eclipsing you. Yet, there was a part of Katie that refused to accept this erasure.

The name was a whisper in the wind, a phantom echo in the chambers of her mind. Katie clutched at the edges of her memory, desperate to grasp the elusive word. It was a puzzle piece, missing from the grand tapestry of her childhood, a void that gnawed at her with an insistent hunger.

Days turned into weeks as she delved deeper into the recesses of her mind. She revisited old photo albums, the glossy pages filled with smiling faces. There you were, standing at the back sometimes only the top of your head only visible, a tiny speck in a sea of laughter, your eyes holding a spark of mischief that mirrored her own. But the name remained out of reach, a tantalizing mirage in the desert of her recollection.

She tried talk to your parents, hoping they might remember. But your mam still refusued to talk to her and your da was no help not even remembering if her himself had given you a nickname like he had the rest of his kids. She tried your siblings but they were no use each either shouting out random names or asking "Wait Y/n had a nickname, i thought it was just Ella and Lauren." It was as if it had been erased from the family history, a forgotten chapter in a well-loved story.

Desperation crept into her heart. She was losing you, she had lost you. Katie remembered, the fearless, protective big sister role she used to proudly play, but your part was fading if not already gone.

One evening, as she sat alone in the quiet of her living room, a flicker of memory ignited within her. She closed her eyes, focusing on the sensation of warmth, the smell of baby powder, the sound of soft giggles. And then, it came to her, as clear as day.

"Luch."

The word slipped out of her lips, a whisper in the still air. It was perfect, simple, and utterly fitting. Luch it was mouse in Irish something she had just learned in school and it fit you perfectly you were as quite as a mouse even as a baby and she used to laugh at the way you scrunched your nose just before you cried. It was the name she had given you, the name that had defined your place in her heart.

You were her baby sister. Her first responsibility, her first love. And somewhere along the way she had failed to even notice you slip through the cracks, she had turned into the person she had sworn to protect you from at just seven years old and she didn't know how to fix it.

[i-donthaveanygoodidea]

Take a break

Watch a movie, doom scroll, go on Pinterest

Just take a break

When you have deemed your break sufficient, do some studies of either something you like or something you're not familiar with (I do animals or poses)

Start simple and use fun art supplies, I do my studies with colored ballpoint pens and highlighters

Do a good one or two pages of that

At this point you'll probably hate what you've done (I usually do) but it's the art block talking

Take another break

After that find something that'll make you draw without thinking too much

Adapt stuff in your style, a painting, a fanart, a dtiys, anything, the point is to do without thinking, you don't have to come up with an idea, you don't have to come up with a pose, you don't have to come up with a color palette, you just have to do

By this point you might still be in art block and it is normal, art block doesn't vanish that quickly usually (but if it's gone good for you)

It'll go away slowly, so while it's slowly draining out of your body, use that time to try new stuff, use a technique you've never done, or haven't in a while or even pick up a new skill, sewing, sculpting, knitting (yeah these examples aren't varied but that's what i personally do)

The point of that advice is to work on where the art block may be from, you might be in the plateau phase where you're not improving anymore with your art but your expectations of what you're capable of are still rising, you might be drained creatively or it might be something else, I'm not in your head so I can't know but I try to give advice and I hope that this was at least a tiny bit useful

The Artblock has infected me, eating my rotting body from the inside out to the point where I am unable to pick up a pencil without convulsing and frothing at the mouth.

If anyone has a cure please send a vial by pigeon mail as soon as possible if convenient.

Kind regards,

A Suffering Artist.

[lotusmi]

GUYS!!! I entered the void!! after few months of trying i actually did it. i was shocked because i did the practice, felt all the symptoms and realized that i entered the void, affirmed few times. after that I immediately fell asleep without opening my eyes and not thinking about whether i enter the void. i set my alarm for 7 am and woke up exactly at that time. when i opened my eyes i saw my desired tattoos on my desired arms, also another few things (desired face, body) AND my parents, who discussed in the kitchen where they are going to move (very rich street) and later they wanna buy me a new iphone and lot of desired things. so, i manifested by using the void - desired face, desired body and tattoos, clear skin, very rich parents, new iphone, cancellation of school and univesity, healthy hair and black color of hair. also cool stuff with sanrio for my new room! i listened to subliminal from slade (𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐃 induce the void state / epsilon waves) and entered the void with it!!

VOID SUCCESS STORRYYY!! omgg babyyy congratss!! 🥺💗💐

OMGGG BABYY i love it?? your aesthetic tho!! i love black hair and with tattoooos?? you must look so cool stopp 🥺💐 and sanrioo thoo ur aesthetic is similar to mine - i love sanrio too!! I am so happy and pround of you!! I wish u the best and I really hope you have sm fun!! Tysm for sharing your success story with me! Again, congrats! also good luch moving to your pretty new house!

ps: i love slade subs!

💐🥂����

[pochipop]

＃OVERWATCH !! ♡ — LION TAMING (MOIRA X READER).

#. synopsis! — here you are again. there she is. but at what cost? and just who has she become while she's been so far away? and worse yet, what happens if it just doesn't seem to matter?

#. characters! — moira .

#. warnings! — angst, explicit and substantial age gap, mentions of bodily wounds + war .

#. word count! — 4.4k .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw), @hhoneypop (moodboards) .

It’s been a long time since you last saw Moira, —before the fall of Overwatch, before the world divulged into more madness than anyone knew what to do with. It’s been years since you were taken off duty, but not a day has gone by that you haven’t felt like a soldier. Wherever you go, the memories linger, and they tie you down like cinder blocks always trapped around your feet. You’ve tried therapy and medications, yoga and meditation; even flew out to some tropical island unmarred by the vestiges of war for a while, only to find that it wasn’t a matter of where you were or what you were surrounding yourself with.

No, in the bitter end, the truth was that it was you.

You and your mountain of feelings that no psychologist could shave down, because you didn’t know where to begin. You and the itch that lingered during times of peace, because you yearned for conflict, even if you’d spent too much of your life now trying to snuff it out. You and your incessant inability to thrive without feeling like a time bomb.

Now, the scientist you first met when you were both younger and a bit less wise, stands before you. . . Or, above you anyway, leering down at your form, taking your face in as if she’s trying to recall where she knows you from. She’s as intimidating as ever, those sharp, dual-colored eyes and that scarily pointed stare directed right at you. Once upon a time, it felt nice to be the center of her attention. You were fresh faced and newly twenty one, and she was a few years over forty, though she didn’t look it. You stood with your back painfully straight, posture perfect, eyes directly ahead, and she’d seen right through all the training and the uniform you wore with such a stupid amount of pride.

Her tone is much the same as it was back then as she leans down now, crouching at your side.

“Long time no see, luch beag.”

You can’t help but scowl at the nickname. You never protested it before, content to be her precious, foolish little mouse when the barracks got too full for your liking and you’d shack up with her in the Overwatch laboratories. She’d go on and on about new discoveries and shimmering breakthroughs, —and you’d sit there on the edge of her desk, just listening and nodding along. Your skills were in reconnaissance, mostly, though you had an okay eye for sniping if it came down to the wire, and your close combat was acceptable in spite of its mediocrity. A few times, you’d even done espionage missions with varying degrees of success. All of that to say: Moira’s work was above your pay grade.

Still, you never minded giving her an audience. She was good at putting on a show, so endlessly enthusiastic about her work and all the ways she was bending the world around her. You wish she’d have been even half as enthusiastic about the way she wore you down.

“Talon?” You question, venom in your tone. “Really?”

You’re disappointed, but can’t say you’re surprised. Moira always had an uncanny ability to move through the world like it was hers to mold and snap and kiss just right under dim computer lights—

“Spare me the lecture,” she answers bluntly. “You’re hardly in any position to be passing judgement.”

Her eyes trail from your face to the wound you’re clutching on your abdomen. When the first of many explosions had gone off, you’d been separated from the rest of your group. It was some stupid vigilante sector working to take back control of Oasis. A pointless pipedream, and you knew it, but you needed the rush, needed to be out on the field again, working, doing something. Discharge had left you stir crazy, and you were done trying to find yourself in tattered self-help books that insisted drinking more water and spending more time with the friends you didn’t have would make you happy enough to leave this life behind you.

That was the problem, really. . . You didn’t want to leave it behind. You liked the adrenaline and the thrill of knowing your life was on the line, and even now, with some big chunk of metal embedded in your stomach, you enjoyed this. In some strange, twisted way, this was where you felt at home.

“You never did know when to quit,” she tells you, a smirk pulling at the edge of her lips.

“Oh, and you do?” You retort.

Her smirk fades, and you almost wish you hadn’t said that.

“I at the very least have a sense of self-preservation,” she answers plainly. “Something you still seem to lack. Severely.”

“Whatever, Moira,” you mutter, letting your tired head drop back onto the rubble behind you.

“Very mature,” she says, sarcasm dripping from her tongue.

Even now, a part of you wants to lick it off.

“On a scale of one to ten, how much pain are you in?”

You huff a little, staring up at the late evening sky. Stars have timidly begun to emerge from behind whisping clouds, and you’re reminded that this little unit you traveled here with couldn’t have cared less about you. They held no loyalty to you. You were expendable. . . And worst of all, you don’t even have the energy to be upset about it.

“Like a six,” you shrug.

You’ve definitely been through worse.

She raises a brow, reaching out to gently pull your hand away. The jostling, slight as it may be, makes you wince.

“Okay, Jesus, maybe a seven,” you correct, taking a sharp breath in.

The air is chilly against your skin, and especially so against the jagged gash in your clothing that gives way to the explosion’s cruel momento lodged in your skin. Moira’s nimble fingers gently explore the area, making use of whatever shreds of daylight are left. A sizable piece of metal is embedded in your stomach, roughly an inch above your belly button. The wound is angry and inflamed with dry blood crusting around the edges. She doesn’t ask how long you’ve been stuck here, and you’re trying not to think about it.

Moira sighs in both frustration and what you can only assume is concern. Maybe it’s all frustration and you’re just holding onto the past, —but either way, she looks toward your face again to speak.

“It’s obviously not fatal, but I can’t imagine it feels very nice,” she states.

“No, it feels like there’s metal in my stomach,” you answer sarcastically.

“Lovely to see your sense of humor hasn’t gotten any better since we last spoke,” she comments.

“Oh, so sorry,” you roll your eyes, “it’s just that if I laugh, I think this fucking thing might puncture one of my kidneys.”

“Small intestine would be more likely.”

You have to bite your lip to stop yourself from giggling, and once again you’d really like to think there’s something just short of fondness flashing in her eyes.

She moves with clinical precision, checking you over, trying to do as little damage as possible in the process.

“You always did have a knack for finding trouble,” she comments, tone a curious blend of amusement and camaraderie.

For a minute, it’s almost too easy to pretend like you’re still that young recruit seeking shelter from your training and the gossip of the barracks in her lab, or the corporal who snuck away to lie in her bed at night. Those were really the glory days, —when your life was always in the balance, hanging by a thread, waiting to be snapped by either an enemy bullet or a quick slice from one of Moira’s long, pointed nails.

“Trouble has a way of finding me,” you muse, offering a half-hearted shrug that sends a twinge of pain bursting through your abdomen.

You grimace, then find your voice again.

“I’m just trying to keep it entertained.”

She laughs, low and from the chest, shaking her head.

“You’ve certainly excelled at that,” she remarks.

There’s a brief silence as she continues to check you over, assessing the damage. As she so gracefully pointed out just a bit ago, it’s not fatal. It’s not deep enough to leave you bleeding out, —but it damn sure doesn’t feel nice. Aside from that, you’re no doctor, but you’re pretty certain a wound like this open in a war-torn city is just a recipe for utter disaster, especially given its placement.

“So then,” she muses, “how’d you get yourself in this position?”

“Take a wild guess,” you reply, gesturing to the blown up buildings and roadways around you.

“That much is obvious,” she answers. “I’m asking why you’re even here in the first place. You must know how dangerous this area is. I’d like to think you’re not naive enough to have been working with that ragtag bunch of so-called rebels.” 

You frown. It’s hard not to when you know she’s right. You’re better than this, —better than putting your neck (and apparently your abdomen) on the line for people who would leave you behind without a second thought. Nobody came back for you. Either they all failed and were blown to pieces in record time, or they’d gone on without you and couldn’t have cared less about the person they left sifting through the wreckage to survive.

“We all make choices,” you mumble bitterly.

“Clearly. I just never pegged you as someone who’d make such a stupid one.”

You don’t answer.

“Did you really miss all of this so horribly? Enough to come out here, underprepared with a pack of morons who don’t have two braincells to rub together between them?” She questions.

“I needed something,” you snap a little. “I was losing my mind. Call me what you like, but I’d rather be here with this shit stuffed in my gut than be back home doing nothing. It doesn’t even matter what I’m fighting for anymore, just as long as it scratches the itch. I thought the chaos might give me some goddamn purpose, and I feel like you of all people should be able to understand that.”

She looks unimpressed by the reply.

“And now?” She presses. “Found your purpose, or just more chaos?”

You purse your lips into a tight line for a moment.

“Definitely more chaos, and not even the good kind,” you admit. “At this point, I’m less of a person and more of a walking disaster. Just a casualty of my own recklessness.”

Moira seems almost sympathetic as she regards you now, for whatever that’s worth coming from her.

“You’re not the first to fall for the high of it hook, line, and sinker, and you won’t be the last,” she says. “War has a dastardly way of distorting motivations. You’ve turned your personal desires into misguided ideals. But. . .” she pauses, offering you the slightest hint of a smile, “you’re still alive and breathing. That has to count for something.”

“Can’t say it feels like much right now,” you answer honestly. “Just look at me. A heartbeat away from strung out, left for dead by the same people I knew along would turn and run with their tails between their legs from the start. Some accomplishment.”

“Yes, well. . . I’m not sure I’m the right person to be offering you any comfort,” she stands to her full height again.

“I get it,” you reply. “You’re disappointed in the person I turned out to be. That makes two of us.”

Moira shakes her head.

“Let’s get you up.”

“Huh?” You utter, dumbfounded by the mere insinuation. “Up? Do I really look like I’m in any condition to be going anywhere?”

“Well I can’t very well kneel here and pull that thing out with my bare hands and no medical equipment, can I?” Moira questions in return.

“You could.”

“It would be foolish,” she states plainly. “In any case, will you be taking your chances here on your own, like this, or would you rather give yourself a fighting chance and come with me?”

“To where?”

“My laboratory,” she replies.

You’d have laughed if you’d been certain it wouldn’t drive that piece of metal into your small intestine.

“Talon gave you a laboratory?” You question. “And just what have you been up to for you to have worked your way into their good graces like that?”

“Nothing that proves to be of any concern to you,” she answers coldly.

Well then.

That’s certainly a far cry from the woman who used to enthusiastically usher you into her little realm in the late hours of the night to have you perch on the corner of her desk and listen as she rattled on and on about anything. It’s a far cry from the Moira who used to sneak her hands beneath your shirts just to feel the warmth of your skin beneath her palms.

“Are you coming with me, or would you prefer I leave you alone to lament in the rubble?”

The choice was easy. She helped you to your feet, let you lean on her slender (but surprisingly sturdy) shoulder, and by the skin of your teeth, you managed to make it back with her before that so-called seven rose to a ten. At the very least she had the decency to try and numb the area before carefully pulling the shrapnel from your gut and cleaning the unpleasant wound it left behind. You knew that look she wore on her pretty face and kept your mouth shut as she worked.

This new lab of hers is sterile, —a stark bit of contrast to the chaos outside. It’s hidden underground, but it was easy to forget that once you stepped inside with all the sharp, fluorescent lights that shone in the halls. The tech and machinery is wildly different to the type Overwatch had provided her with. You couldn’t be sure, but you were definitely willing to bet it was something close to state of the art. The air smells heavily of antiseptic now as she sits you up slowly, pausing when you wince as pain shoots through your abdomen.

Looking up at her now, there’s a clinical detachment that wasn’t there before, and you can’t say you like it.

Lost in the motions, she doesn’t seem to notice the way you stare, and you’re thankful for it. Her hands move with practiced precision, but you can’t shake the memories that have wriggled back up to swallow you whole, feasting like maggots on whatever rot she’s claimed inside you. You’re both different now, but this proximity, this touch, —her eyes raking over your skin. . . It all feels strangely familiar.

For the briefest of moments her eyes met yours, and you could almost swear you caught a glimpse of something beyond the stiff exterior she was presenting you with. Whether it was regret or desire, well, that was still up in the air. As quickly as it was there, it was gone, replaced by the mask of composure she chose to don like armor, even in your presence.

“Try not to move too much,” she murmurs, those nimble fingers adorned by prettily painted nails tracing the edges of your jagged injury as she wound bandages around your waist.

The contact was cold and dispassionate, but you couldn’t shake the lingering sense of intimacy that persisted, dancing between what was and what could have been. Maybe if she’d stayed a little longer after Overwatch fell, things wouldn’t have ended up like this. Maybe if you’d been less destroyed by the disbandment, had perked up earlier, —things would have been different. But here you are, Moira nursing you back to health again. . . And it feels nice. As nice as it can be to have a woman you loved once (and quite possibly still do, albeit differently now) taking metal from your gash and patching you up in the wake of it.

There was tension now between yourself and her that just didn’t feel quite right. You felt the weight of all the loose ends you never thought you’d have the opportunity to tie up, and it made the silence all the more palpable.

“Do you ever miss it?” You inquire, though you’re not sure if it was spurred more by curiosity or by the desire to put a cap on the quiet. “The time before Overwatch fell.”

She pauses, in the midst of winding some unused bandage wrap back around itself to store it away.

“You know my opinion on that organization quite well,” she answers markedly.

She’s right. You do. Overwatch had provided you with an outlet, had awoken something difficult to manage inside you, —but something they fed so deliciously everytime they sent you out into the field. For Moira, though, she felt they stunted scientific progress and refused to let her ideas thrive, skimping on resources for the research and experimentation teams. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say she loathed Overwatch, and you always knew she wasn’t sad to see it go.

“So no,” she adds. “I can’t say that I do.”

It’s probably not as personal as you’re taking it, but hearing her say that really throws a wrench in the whole ‘I think I’m still in love with you’ thing you’ve got going on.

“Still,” you say, voice cautiously casual, “do you ever think about it?”

In the time it took you to find the nerve to speak again, she’d finished wrapping the bandage and had begun reaching for the kit she claimed it from.

“Nostalgia is a luxury we can seldom afford in times like this,” she comments. “And I prefer my conversations more to the point. Just what is it you’re trying so hard to ask without asking?”

Her response leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. The time before was far from perfect, but it was such a delicate mix of pain and pleasure. Now, it just feels far too much like Moira is determined to bury both beneath the rubble of the present.

“Just. . .” you hesitate, feeling the words die in your throat the minute she meets your eyes.

You swallow their corpses like bile and try again.

“What we had. . . Did it mean anything to you?”

Oh, joy. Now you’re fairly certain that you’re just coming across like some lovesick little girl who never got over her first crush. It’s embarrassing enough to make your insides churn a little, although thankfully only in a metaphorical sense, because you’re pretty sure that would have hurt fairly badly on its own, and that pain would only be amplified by the wound on your stomach.

“What we had?” She echoes, one of her thin brows arching.

A part of you is almost expecting her to laugh at you, but she doesn’t.

“It served its purpose,” she shrugs, tone even.

“And that’s all?” You press, even though sirens are going off in your brain, begging you to reel the conversation back in or try to steer it in another direction entirely.

There just has to be something more beneath the surface.

“We both got what we needed, did we not?” Moira questions. “You got to rest your weary head on a warm body, and I had someone to speak with, —even someone to take some frustration out on. Nothing more, nothing less.”

What she said was true, but it still made your chest ache to hear it out loud.

“And now?”

“Now what?” She inquires.

“What’s our relationship now?”

Moira pauses, her gaze lingering on your face as if she’s weighing her options in real time. The sterile air of the lab seems to thicken with your anticipation, and you brace yourself for her reply. 

“Now?” She muses, tone cool and detached. “We’re. . . Acquaintances, of a sort.”

“And that’s all?”

“That’s all.”

Acquaintances. It’s a word that feels more distant than the war-torn landscape outside, and it shreds your stupid little heart like it's been raked over a cheese grater. It fucking stings. A woman you used to run to seeking solace and what always felt like protection is now something less than even a friend. You’ve been reduced to some kind of footnote in her life story.

At this point, all your pride has gone out the window. Or, it would have done so if this place had any, but being underground, that wasn’t exactly a reasonable ask. Instead, it’s wilting in front of you like a discarded rose, shriveling up all the more when you decide to open your mouth again.

“Do you ever think about it? About me?”

Moira stills for a moment, as if the question caught her off guard.

“What’s there to think about?” She answered your question with one of her own.

“Us. What we had. How it felt.”

Silence lingers, stretching into uncomfortable territory before she finally fixes her tongue to say: “I try not to dwell on the past.”

She’s diplomatic, even in her evasivness.

“Dwell on me then,” you dare. “I’m here now, aren’t I? That’s hardly what I’d consider a thing of the past.” 

She busies her hands with something on a table nearby.

“I try not to dwell on any one thing for too long,” she revises. “Lots of things require my attention. Stagnancy is hardly a luxury I can afford.”

You can’t help it that her vague replies make you well up in frustration,

“You can’t just pretend like it didn’t happen.”

“I could,” she states, letting her gaze rise to snag yours. “But I didn’t. I told you; what happened between us served its purpose. Now, it’s time to adapt and move forward.”

“Adapt and forget?” You challenge.

“Adapt and survive,” she corrects.

“Neither of us are exactly the type to just want to survive and leave it at that,” you remind her. 

Moira drops the tool in her hand and looks at you pointedly. You flinch at the noise it makes as it clangs against the table.

“What exactly are you fishing for?” She questions, frustration seeping into her tone. “Some kind of senseless confirmation that you were more than just something familiar?”

“I don’t know. Maybe something like that,” you admit, and immediately a part of you wishes you hadn’t, and yet you continue. “Maybe I just wanna know that it meant something to you beyond serving a purpose.”

“You want to hear me say that I loved you.”

Your blood sort of runs cold, but you don’t bother to deny it. That is what you’ve been clawing for this whole conversation, —you just hadn’t expected her to put it so bluntly, even if that’s just within her nature. Still, there’s a vulnerability on her face that you hadn’t quite expected.

“Love. . . Love is a complicated word. It carries weight, and expectations, and a host of things we never explored. What we had was different. But in saying it’s different, I don’t diminish the significance. It’s a differentiation, but not one I feel matters more than the facts at hand. It was mutually beneficial, and I have a great deal of fondness for you as a result.”

“A deal great enough to think of me as an acquaintance,” you say.

“At the moment,” she states. “But in the past, which I’m still not keen to be dwelling on, —we were something more. I don’t let mere acquaintances sleep in my bed.”

“In the past,” you echo, seeming almost disenchanted by it all now.

“Things change,” she tells you. “You and I know that better than most. Circumstances evolve. I’m not negating or denying what we shared, —I’m telling you that the present demands a different perspective.”

That’s a hard pill to swallow, to say the least of it.

“So what now then?” You ask. “You stay here in this lab alone, and I go back out there? Maybe we cross paths every once in a blue moon, and we stay acquaintances forever?”

“If that’s what you need to give yourself some closure on the matter, then I suppose so,” Moira replies.

“I don’t need closure,” you tell her. “I don’t want it. What I want is. . .”

You pause. What exactly do you want? Something close to what you shared with her those few years ago? Something more, something less? Maybe it’s just that you miss the way she’d kiss you, because nobody has done it since then. Maybe you’re just touch starved and feening for the only woman who ever knew how to push all your buttons in all the right ways.

You swallow, steeling yourself to finish.

“What I want is you.”

Moira’s lips twitch into a small smile.

“You always were stubborn,” she notes.

“Only when it matters,” you reply, not bothering to bite back a grin.

“And you think it matters now?” She asks.

“I think it matters now more than ever,” you answer, tone earnest. “I miss what we had, Moira. I miss you.”

She studies you for a moment, as if she’s weighing the sincerity of your words. Finally, she breaks the silence.

“You do realize that things won’t be the same, correct?” She questions. “I don’t know where you’ve been or who you’ve become in the time we’ve spent apart. Not that I’m unwilling to learn, —just to say that it won’t be exactly how it was. Not now, not for quite a while, and perhaps maybe never.”

“I know things won’t be the same,” you confirm. “But maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Maybe this can be something better.”

Moira can’t deny that the possibility intrigues her. She loves a good hypothesis, after all. Her analytical mind seems to weigh the pros and cons, calculating the risks involved and the potential for something grander than what it once was at its inception. Something more than a stifled set of hookups and entangled nights. A hint of a smile graces her lips.

“I’m willing to take the risk if you are,” she concedes. “But I make no promises about the end result.”

You remove yourself from the table, feet hitting the cold floor of the lab, emboldened by the diluted pain and the urge to be closer to her now more than ever. She nearly opens her mouth to advise you to sit back down, but doesn’t in the end.

“I don’t need promises,” you insist, reaching out to take her hand. “I just need a chance.”

She smiles honestly, and it’s like watching all her sharp edges soften. Her free hand cups your cheek, cold to the touch even as it warms your heart. Her thumb caresses your skin gingerly as she leans down slightly, speaking softly.

“Granted.”

[amber-tortoiseshell]

is amber (or light amber) plus golden a thing? I've only seen it with silver thus far.

Pawpeds doesn't give me any '*ty' cats, but there are several '*ts 11' - amber silver shaded ones: these cats do carry both amber and golden (wide band). One of them, Bella Luchs Skien (NFO ats 11 - light amber silver shaded tabby) even had a picture uploaded:

She theoretically could have amber golden kittens.

My (amateur and personal) opinion: you won't find any, because even if a cat is genetically amber golden, it won't be pedigreed like that. Wide band is overall quite rare among norwegians, and there isn't much active breeding for goldens. Maybe i'm biased, because i specifically seek out the latter, but according to my impressions at the moment amber is far more common. (Silver on the other hand is very popular.) So amber goldens maybe exist, but they are very rare.

Amber and golden are phenotypically quite similar, and i wouldn't be surprised if it was increasingly difficult to differentiate between an amber and an amber golden. This could mean cats will be pedigreed as one or the orther, but not really both. (Historically, ambers and amber carriers were sometimes writted down as goldens, especially when the color was not yet recognised.)

A case study, which probably doesn't have any amber goldens, but at least illustrates the confusion of the situation:

Thuraya's Aurélie Bhakti is a black tabby as per pawpeds, golden on her breeder's website:

She carries amber, and looks like this:

These are her parents:

Her father (on the left) is very clearly not golden. Her mother is amber.

Aurélie had two litters, without any overly obviously golden kittens (but these lines have lots of ambers, dilution, white spotting and different kind of tabbies, so i can't say negative confidently).

So is Aurélie just a very warm amber-carrier, and without any (other) wide band present whatsoever, or is her mother amber golden? (Or this is a recessive wide band situation, which is honestly absolutely possible.) I'm leaning toward the former, but can't say I'm 100% sure. (Sidenote: carrying amber is another very tricky thing, some cats become almost as warm as a real amber, some show literally no sign being anything else but a regular black or blue tabby.)

[brattylikestoeat]

If you're trigered by mentions of teenage sa, please erase this ask.

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

Okay, could I ask you something? Or anyone who would like to chime in. So, we've been having a lot of teenage prostitution cases in my country. One of them is very unfortunately going to let the guy off easy and I am pissed beyond belief. The one I was hearing about today on the news is starting out. What I want to ask is, how do older people of color -mostly women- react to cases like that. I am white, so is my entire family, and I am here losing my shit because my grandma is all like 'Well, those girls should know better, they are stupid.'

Paired with how my mother reacted to a murder where the husband had been GROOMING his wife since she was a young teen (my mom said after the case was solved that she should not have married him) and how she talkes about older women dating younger men (why are they going after should young partners), how all my family got mad at me for ruinning luch when I said her stance is hypocritical because these women date ADULT men at least, I don't know what to think.

I can only speak from my experience but older black women tend to blame the victim. Take the R.Kelly situation for example, while some of those women were clout chasing most were minors when they meet Kelly. And Kelly and the parents groomed them for him.

You can’t excuse a man showing up to a high school to pick girls out. But older black women called them girls everything but children of god.

My grandma knew about my sexual assault and never said anything to me about it.

I always hear how black girls are “fast” and it’s mostly from older black women. They will do anything to excuse the man from his behavior/crimes.

[kichimiangra]

Going into the new year batching and complaining about something I like (because I play digimon world next order on my switch during holidays when I get stressed or tired and just want to pass time)

-Koromon's forward facing eyes upset me. This tiny predator will eat me in my sleep I know it...

-Tyranomon needs bigger eyes on his model. Make him kawaii.

-I should not be allowed to recruit Grapleomon as early as chapter 2. I should not be allowed to just go to him and lock out all other evolution options except the one I want that early in the game. That should be a "Just before the final boss" kind of service.

-Himari I love the outfit but where the fuck were you going dressed like that¿?¿?

-(Too used to Guilmon's elmo voice from the dub to get used to Yukimura's deep intelligent sounding voice)

-okay so we doing a "pushed your digimon too far dark evolution" plot with Kouta and Yukimura and though I appreciate trying to be unique by not using Megidramon you just used Skullgreymon again. Clearly the only evil dinosaur you could ever use.

-Himari, it's nice to know your backstory of having no mom and two 2nd grade twin sisters that you are basically substitute mom for and that's why your worried and wanna go home, and imagining them hungry makes you sad but like you never said you didn't have a dad. I'm sure he's at least leaving saltiness crackers out for the ankle biters while worrying about your disappearance?

-(So used to the pronunciation "Machine'DRUH'mon" that I get angry everytime Jijimon called it "Machine'DRAY'mon")

-there is a pc port of this game and like zero modding scene. Like most of the mods are just changing the title song "Accentier" and switching it with "Brave Heart". I was hoping for like model swapping digimon using models ripped from Cyber Slueth and adding them over other models or like custom outfit mods for your player character but at best it's like a color pallet swap and I know mods are hard but still... disappointment.

-speaking of the player costumes why are they dressed like that? Mostly the girl. Ur hood isn't attached to you clothes. Your wearing a onsie with wierd panties that look like a skirt but they're so tight they're crawling up your ass. WHERE WERE YOU GOING DRESSED LIKE THIS?? Is this like Adventure 02 where the digital world gives you new clothes, which would explain Himarri but if so why is Kouta dressed like he's going to chess club?

-in some of the artwork for the girl player she's shown with Palmon and Biyomon as her partners and though superfluous it would have been a nice touch if that carried over into the game instead of both players starting with Omnimon's parts.

-I like the carnevoir vs herbevoir storyline in Oguino Wastelands but it's kinda wierd that you learn Rosemon was being sweet talked into leveling the wastelands by Myotismon because he's a real-estate guy and then the two upon recruitment are stationed right next to eachother and there's no dialogue to follow that up. Infact you recruited a LOT of digimon from both factions and there could have been a 'Two Spiderman pointing at eachother' event right in the city.

-I hate how the upgraded Floatia looks. I miss DW1's restaurant that was literally walking into a toaster oven. Now I'm just walking into a restaurant.

-Stardew valley style daily "Request board" would not be out of place or unwelcome in Floatia.

-I hate the name "Floatia."

-devs, putting big batteries and circuit board patterns everwhere doesn't make it feel digital worldy :(

-people complaining when their two digimon get out of sync are strait up fools as being a day or two out of sync is OPTIMAL statgrinding! Let the Mega carry the fresh baby through hard fights and get them stats! You'll have a rookie with Mega stats in no (ingame) time!

-Spoiler: Luche's Identity as the leftover data of the possessed kid's digimon partner is cool and I like it but Luche seems to care more about the player being their ONNI-SAAAAN than reuniting with their tamer and that feels like wasted drama for such a good set up.

-I don't want to send a townie digimon on an adventure to bring back items I WANT TO GO ON AN ADVENTURE AND BRING BACK ITEMS! What I mean is, more minigames plz.

[powerpolyculeshowdown]

[Greater Hawkins Polycule] Most of the differences aren't necessarily about the relationships in question so much as the exact Nature of the relationships, if that makes sense? My maps got different colors for Romantic & Sexual & Combined & Queerplatonic, as well as like.... Committed metamours, if that makes sense?

Obviously everyone's a metamour somewhere but there's a difference between "you are my metamour because we're dating the same person" & "we are in a Relationship and the nature of that relationship is as metamours" is the best way I can describe it.

& then I do have Steve/Nancy/Jonathan as something past-but-amicable but that's just a personal preference. Like, I'd have liked them to give each other a better shot & they were cute together but I don't actually like it as endgame without a fic really selling it to me, at this point in time?

Aside from that the other major difference is that some non-protagonist teen characters have snuck into the margins as well either as background flavoring or past relationships/feelings or out of a personal fondness for the background character in question. (So like, Heather, Eden, Tommy/Carol, etc)

oh yeah that makes sense actually i havent thought too luch about the details im kinda working them out while i write, cause im doing small stories for the different relationships and i might post them under a Greater Hawkins Polycule series hdjsgjshsj im not sure yet cause im Shy

i did post a Fruity Four fic that kinda stopped gaining traction which made me lose motivation/inspiration so i want to finish the stories before i post them this time

i dont like what they did to jonathan in season 4 and sometimes i dont include him in the polycue directly, i like to think he and eddie would be friends, in which case if jonathan isnt in the polycule hes just adjacent to it dating argyle and both of them are good friends w eddie. but nancy is a girlboss i think she deserves 2 boyfriends and 2 girlfriends. also in my au jonathan didnt lie to her about uni so im not mad at him hsjsgsjs

[iffoundreturntosea]

September 7, Day 250/251

Day 250 2015

#mybaby #catnap #kitty #cat #catsofinstagram #mouse #furbaby #meow #beautiful #love #purrfect #purr #picoftheday #project365 #day250

Day 251 2016

Niece feet are so tiny!!! 🤗

#footprints #niece #preemie #tiny #blackandwhite #shadesofblackandwhite #september #picoftheday #project365 #day251

Day 250 2017

My blue eyed boy.

#kitty #cat #leo #furbaby #love #catsofinstagram #blueeyes #art #crete #inspire #blackandwhite #color #colorsplash #september #picoftheday #project365 #day250

It was interesting to watch how his eye color changed over the years. They were always blue and always beautiful but different.

Day 250 2018

Flying Solo

#airplane #flyingmachine #flight #goingplaces #propplane #sky #openspaces #stormy #stormclouds #cloudy #negativespace #picoftheday #project365 #day250

Day 250 2019

Sunny

#sun #texas #summer #sunny #blueskies #bright #color #whirly #art #sculpture #nationalneithersnownorrainday #september #september7 #2019 #nationalday #nationaldaycalendar #picoftheday #project365 #day250

Day 251 2020

Sometimes it pays to chase clouds

#nature #outdoors #sunset #sunrays #blue #orange #contrast #beautiful #water #lake #lakepatcleburne #sky #reflection #clouds #september #september7 #2020 #picoftheday #project365 #day251

Yes, it does! If I could get paid to photograph sunsets, I would do that for a lifetime.

Day 250 2021

Today was long. Wish us luch for the rest of the week!

#library #newcarpet #books #shelves #longday #longweek #september #september7 #2021 #picoftheday #project365 #day250

Day 250 2022

I just had to post these together because they were happening at the same time just on opposite ends! Storm front, lightning, rain, sunset!

#galveston #beach #gulf #storm #stormfront #lightning #water #clouds #rain #sunset #nature #wow #september #september7 #2022 #picoftheday #project365 #day250

Day 250 2023

I'm beginning to think these are fake 🙃

#flowers #bold #color #shadow #roughweek #somethingpretty #ivegotshingles #september #september7 #2023 #picoftheday #project365 #day250

The beginning of one of the hardest and painful years of my life. How has it been a year already and I'm still dealing with this??

Day 251 2024

Abandoned supplies from abandoned projects.

#abandoned #dailytheme #artsupplies #september #september7 #2024 #picoftheday #project365 #day251

[nightiingaled]

death drabble | @lastglaivestanding [Luche]

"Are you sure about this Luche?"

The Glaive was sorting through his pack one last time, methodically checking each and every pouch to ensure everything was in it's place. "Captain's orders." He sounded solemn when truly he was afraid. He couldn't let on to a fellow Glaive as much though.

They gave him a sideways look. "Yeah captain's orders--But..." They're voice dropped low, "Luche last time you almost didn't come back."

Luche froze. The terror that had already crawled it's way under his skin flared to life like a cold flame. "I remember." He didn't mean to sound so abrasive with his tone, but he had no other recourse to avoid giving away his true feelings. Of course he remembered his capture, but the Captain said jump and Luche said 'how high'.

A cleared throat and the other Glaive changed the subject. They reached for a lovely jeweled hairpin that Luche was checking off into the bag. "Oh yes, this is absolutely your color."

Luche's features burned bright red and he coughed, shaking his head. "It's a gift...for the princess," he said softly, "But keep that to yourself."

"The princess!"

Luche gave them a stern look and they subsided. "Please...promise me you'll come back."

"You know I can't."

"Just this once."

"I promise."

. . .

The taxi dropped him off outside the city, a motorcycle waiting exactly where mission parameters stated it would be. He was watching the area closely as the taxi drove off, casting his eyes around to see if he'd been followed. Nearby movement grabbed his attention as another van turned the corner, dark grey in color it turned at the stop sign and started down towards Luche.

He stiffened in preparation for a fight, but the van drove on past and disappeared into the horizon. Luche gave himself a wry chuckle, shaking his head. Paranoid...

The sound was barely seconds ahead of the pain, a loud noise that echoed in the empty expanse. The pain tore through his back, not once, but two more times as the bullets struck home. Luche collapsed over the bike in agony, feeling someone grab his collar and toss him to the ground.

He met death with his eyes open - staring his killer down as one final bullet took his life.

[skiasurveys]

Do you have the right time set on your microwave?: yes but its always 2 minutes ahead or behind, no matter how many times i change it

Do you have any old newspaper articles? Why?: only from memories.

Do you have a flat screen tv or just a regular box?: flat

Do you have a radar detector for your car?: nope

Have you ever been arrested? For what?: no haha

Do you know how to change the oil in your car?: i feel like I could figure it out...but no

Have you taken your shower yet?: yes i did an hour ago

Do you like Tootsie Rolls?: nope. i never did

Do you have a printer? What kind?: Canon Pixma

Are you seeing anybody currently?: No :(

Do you or have you ever smoked cigarettes?: noooo

Do you like it when it snows?: i HATE snow. It snows usually from nov-march fml.

Are your ears pierced?: no but ive been meaning to get them done again

Where do you do most of your shopping?: amazon

Who do you live with?: mom and sister

What is your most expensive bill?: credit card

Do you have a big yard?: somewhat

Do you live in the country or the city?: City.

Do you sleep alone or with someone every night?: alone

Did you have a treehouse as a child?: yes! my dad made one for me and my sister

At what age did you obtain your driver license?: when i was 20

Do you look in the newspaper for coupons?: no i only ever get coupons from the mail if they send them but i hardly look at the newspaper

Did you get a big tax refund from last year?: not rly

Do you like Slim Jim’s?: never had

Is there someone you would love to punch right now?: not rly

Did you grow up fast?: yeah i had too :(

What are you favorite kind of chips?: ketchup

Have you taken any medicine recently? For what?: I took my zoloft today, and will take my sleeping pills soon

What have you eaten today?: I had an egg wrap for breakfast, some scalloped potatoes for luch and left overs for dinner.

Did you or are you going to wash your hair today?: tomorrow

Does the water in your shower take a long time to get warm?: No

Where did you go today?: No where. I hardly leave the house since I work from home

Are you sleepy right now?: not yet

What color is your mousepad?: white

Should you be doing something else at the moment?: no

Do you like your neighbors?: theyre nice, but i dont talk to them rly

Do you have bedroom shoes?: do u mean..slippers?? nope

Do you get your eyebrows waxed?: I used too but now I just use a wax thing on myself

Has anyone given you flowers recently?: yes! My friend Ren gave me some <3

Do you work Monday thru Friday?: Monday-Wednesday. Thursday off, and friday I only have class in the am.

Is there anything you are looking forward to tomorrow?: Nah. Just working :(

How many miles does your car have on it?: -- Noooo idea, I forget.

Is your alarm clock set to radio or beep?: i only use my iphone

Do you like to go fishing?: Never been

Has anyone you know been arrested recently?: I don’t think so.

Do you have more than 1 email address?: I have SOOOO many

Do you think you will have the same job 2 years from now?: -- i better lol

Do you have central heating and air?: Yes.

Do you speed while driving?: -- not intentionally

Is there someplace you would rather be right now?: i think La would be cool

Did you build the computer you are using?: nope

Do you have good computer speakers?: sure.

Are you waiting on anything at the moment?: nah

Where is your favorite person?: i dont have one..anymore

Do you keep track of your debit purchases?: not really, I usually check my bank statement on my phone or check my balance to see if anything looks wrong or off.

Do you ever shop at Harris Teeter? never heard of that

Do you like to burn incense?: I used too

Are there any plants in your house?: a few!

How long does it take you to get to work?: I work from home

[hamelin-born]

@sparklecryptid

To be fair, most of my 'choreography' is essentially trying to figure out who would sing what - what songs, which verses, would fit with your characters. And I've mainly been considering 'Wicked Girls'. Here are my thoughts - still somewhat incomplete.

I've bee selecting which character goes with which 'verse on a half-made up set of criteria. Which is essentially what I think resonates with them, and if said 'verse has - a theme that fits to the individual. A reminder specifically for them. Yes, I'm aware that I'm leaving some of said characters out - mainly because they don't need the reminder. They can help with the chorus or make an appearance in the last 'verse.

First verse (The Wendy One). I'm actually torn between Mercury and Jules for this one. Because Mercury is - such a creature of impulse who prizes her freedom and advocacy - 'got her feet on the ground, got her life on its track' and 'she died on the ground' is - well, the nightmare scenario for her. As I tend to picture her fighting style as extremely aerial in nature, that's also something of a tongue-in-cheek reference as well. Whereas with Jules - Jules does play by the rules, most of the time. 'She played by the rules that they gave her' - she's a lot less directly confrontational than the rest of her siblings. From that point of view - for her, singing that 'verse could be a reminder about what happens if she goes too far, if she follows the rules too closely and lets them bind her, lets them strip her of her self-advocacy and rob her of the chance to fly free.

Second'verse (The Dorothy One). I actually think this is broken!ice!Luche. Because it does describe her surprisingly well. Luche does want something to believe in, for all that she's seemingly resigned to the path laid out before her by prophecy and the Sight. She - if she thought that free will was an option for her, she'd - well, have a nervous breakdown and be absolutely desperate for it. She wants to be something more than what fate has made of her. She want an escape - 'She made her escape, went from gray into green'. And perhaps she could escape, by letting herself go mad, but- she won't. She wouldn't. She'll play by the prophecy, by the sight, because it is all she has. 'she chose to be good and go back to the gray Kansas sky/Where color's a fable and freedom's a fairy tale lie.'

If she ever breaks free, Luche needs to remember that she is free. And she does not, is under no obligation, to let 'duty' drag her under.

Third verse (The Alice One). This is Sel. This is totally Sel. Yes, the emphasis on madness there would seem to link it to Luche, but consider: Luche would rather cut off her arm then sing something that even peripherally seems to justify her mother's life choices. So Sel - Sel, who makes her living with lies, who is the daughter of the trickster - it's a reminder to her not to get lost in them. ('They say she got tangled and tied in the lies that became her.') And Sel certainly lives her life unconstrained by society and what other people think of her - so that resonates. ('There's peace of a kind in a life unconstrained.') But perhaps - a reminder for balance? Not sure. 'And she'll never be free, but she's won herself safe for a while.'

Fourth verse (The Susan and Lucy One). Persephone sings this. Because - Persephone is a lady. Is a princess, is a Queen. She would be a ruling Queen as of old, sitting under an oak tree with a crown of laurels in her hair - but she chose otherwise. She chose to be a wife, to be, eventually, a mother - but it was her choice. And yes, there would be those who would seek to strip her of her choices, to make her nothing less then 'children and chattel and mothers and wives' - there would be those who would make the choice for her. It's a reminder and it's a warning, a lesson that her Uncle (father, whisper a corner of her heart) learned a long time since and taught them all, and it's up to Luche will step forward to sing-scream 'I am not a toy!' as Persephone draws the end of the verse into a circle once again.

Jupiter is a pirate, and Jules weaves stories for faeries, Persephone will pour you red wine pressed from sweet poisoned berries. Merc, Bard and Sel dance the edge of the blade While Luche marches forward on paths yet unmade - And the rules that we live by are simple and clear: Be wicked and lovely and don't live in fear...

Help, I’m listening to Seanan McGuire songs again and plotting AtB choreography!

OHHHHH

Now I’m curious as to what your thoughts are on how songs would related and be choreographed and such

*chinhands*

@hamelin-born

[isaspsp]

💋💫Crimson Lips 💫💋

A Lady never leaves a mark.

Unless she wants to ~

Edit: I found the original comment I had along with this piece!!! So under the cut it goes. Enjoy the reding, if you dare.

This piece is fanart for Monochromatic's "Crimson Lips"

I have a lot to say about this piece. Firstly, I have a hard time picking favourites most of the time. I don't have a favourite food. I don't have a favourite color. I don't have a favourite music genre. I don't have a football team. I do have a favourite number! I don't have a favourite author. But I believe that last part has been surely rectified by now. I guess I can say that I've dedicated so luch time to doing fanart for this one author, that they can, indeed, be considered my favourite author. Then we are taken to this piece. One more fanart. Of an ABSURDLY amazing story. It might be the bias that it is from my favourite author, and someone I have the honor to call friend even. (Mono, btw is the author of the books for my two AMVs, so I'm quite the fan) But really, it's an amazingly written story I urge you to read. Reminder that the fic is rated teen, but it deals with sensitive topics.

Now onto the piece: This piece took an ABSURD amount of time. Like. I think it officially topples any of my previous records. But I don't know exacly how long it took. If it were up to me (and it is), I'd say it took like, maybe 6 hours? (It didn't, it was a lot more) I really wonder what sort of trance this piece had over me. I finished it in about 5 days-ish? I made the rough thumbnail on day one; 40% of the frame on day two; finished the frame, sketched the characters and blocked in all of them in day three; Rendered 75% of the characters day four; Finished rendering and other details on the morning of day 5. Today! That might seem reasonable enough. But here's the thing. I worked day 3 and 4 all day solely on this piece. From 8am to 11pm. ALL DAY. AND I DIDNT NOTICE I SPENT ALL DAY WORKING ON THIS ONE PIECE. I didn't even open another drawing's file. If you're familiar with csp's time-lapse feature, know that a two character portrait usually amounts to a 2 minute video. A piece that I'd usually spend 4 hours on, amounts to 2 minutes. This piece has a ten minute time-lapse. So I'd wager that I spent… at least 20 hours on this piece. Which feels so wrong. It's a beautiful piece sure. I love it immensely. But it feels wrong. It doesn't feel like it would need that much time to be completed? It doesn't have a conplex background, it doesn't have challenging Lighting, the characters don't interact directly, there isn't so.e frame perspective going on. So I don't know what made this piece take this long.

Let's gather what could've made this such a long piece.

I didn't rush A SINGLE PART OF THIS PIECE. Which contributes to why It took so long. I ALWAYS rush some part of a piece. Not necessarily in big ways, but maybe a rushed element. In this piece, the only thing I settled for was the border/frame/background. And even then, I say "settled" for because I did put a lot of care in it, but it was okay with it not being perfect.

I'm not THAT used to drawing and consequently painting humans. Or humanoid creatures. The reason why I draw more antro than human is because I'm SO terribly horrible with faces. Now, you don't see all the thrown away sketches from years past. I think a lot of that stemed from me not knowing how I wanted to go about stylizing them. When I started drawing pony, I had a very small pool of inspirations, and I did a shit ton of tracing (much before I ever started posting on the internet), so I didn't have much - or any at all -pressure to find a style. Now it's different. I'm very proud of my art. I've convinced myself that I don't have time for self doubt. This is the one and only hobby I'll not ever allow myself to drop. I've dropped knitting, soap carving, reading, swimming (which I couldn't to much in the first place), but art has been the one consistent hobby I've had. My self doubt will have the rip my heart away before it gets rid of my love for my own art. But then humans. I love my art, but then again, I can dislike my work still. And because my horizons are so much broader than they were when I started, I have so many options… too many options. Humans are difficult to draw because they are so fundamentaly different from all the animals I've drawn. They are us. Humans, there is so much more nuance that you have to capture to make them feel real. It's a hard balance to achieve. There are so so so many ways to stylized humans, from more goofy, to more simple and concise, to graphic to hyper realistic (aka barely any stylization). And again, I' bad at picking favourites. So then come furries, anthros. The nice middle ground of humanoid, but still familiar with the animal bits. And with anthro, you can choose how humanoid they'll be, so they were a good way to ease myself into drawing humans! And it worked. But I fear it might've worked too fast. Or at least too pointedly. Too concentrated in this one piece.

It feels like someone else drew this piece.

I think the best way to analyse your art looking for ways to improve it is by imagining you didn't draw it. It's easier to pick out the weaknesses of something you don't have emotional connection with. After I'm done with analyzing, I can switch back to myself and love a piece for what it is. Again, I need to be proud of my art.

But this piece is almost foreign in quality.

It's supposed to be heavily inspired by the art nouveau movement. I think that is pretty clear, so naturally, it's a far reach from my usual style. I don't thing that the realism is the characters' proportions is a staple of that style, more so the rendering, shape language and background style are what clue you into that style. So I could've done any stylization for the characters and it's work. At least it would've been good enough for me. But then again. Humans are a pain to draw. And making them anywhere other than human would destroy the intent of the original text, so that wanst an option. So I started drawing. I honetsly don't remember most of my sketching process nor decisions. Only by looking at the time-lapse that I see what decisions I took. Again. Foreign. I think the only piece of human art I have similar in style tot his one is those humans portraits I drew of my OCs, Beau and Bishop. But even then, this feels… different. Not to count that the rendering technique is something I, again, have never done before! This was mostly a combination of hard pencils smoothened out my blender brushes. I usually just bland with the painting brushes themselves, so that was a new technique for me. Again foreign.

In conclusion. I don't know if it's a good thing that this piece feels that foreign. But I know I drew this and that I'm proud and completely in love with it, and I hope you all are too 💖