#this is a few days old i remember i was having a tough art day on my day off and suddenyl got hit by art inspo at like 2 am

[kieranthropy]

had trouble sleeping the other night and drew the sona over a pic of burt reynolds i found on pinterest, as one does. would you invite this wolverine to your bbq yes or no?

[ask-october-fox]

Hey OctoberFox! Welcome back! I've been a spirit viewing from afar ever since my partner introduced me to your existence a few years ago, so happy to see you're doing well! We always make sure to stock up on apple cider frycakes when we can (and apples, of course), so if you'd like an offering we can set some aside at a shrine.

I wanted to ask you a question... well, maybe advice is the better word to choose here. I've been diving into a lot of things over the past couple of years: voice acting, blender/3D art, and coding to name a few. However, I often find myself either losing all confidence or interest in these things (that I find myself loving to do) after a few weeks of investment. As an entity that has continued to push forward and return with dedication year after year, do you have any words of wisdom you could offer this lost spirit? I apologize if I'm asking for too much, but different perspectives makes a complete picture and I feel like knowing yours would be helpful.

Hello dear spirit! I am so glad that you could join me this year! Also a an extended "thank you" to your partner for introducing my little corner of the world to you. I hope you have been enjoying it. As for your question, that is a tough one I would have to say, but do know that the feelings that you have are very normal. Im not too sure what to tell you in terms of you losing interest- unless losing interest is part of the losing confidence, but either way please dont be hard on yourself for having a fleeting passion for one project before moving to another. I suppose that inspiration is a finicky thing like that! As for the losing confidence, please know that this happens to literally everyone. I think part of that can be how we see others around us, social media has a tendency to show usually the best of someone's work all while hiding the mistakes, trials, and errors to get where they are now. To be honest, it is very hard to be where we want to be with the hobbies and passions that we love, because for most of us, there is no true ceiling. Once we reach one step, we're already looking ahead trying to get to the next, and then the next, and so on. Its a want to be better, to strive for more, and its a beautiful and frustrating thing. If it helps at all, when I first started as a spirit guide I was... not very good at it. I had no idea what I was doing or what I was supposed to do! I made so many mistakes, its almost embarrassing to admit. But I kept going, because for all the mistakes I made, there were times when I could help someone, and when I could help one person.. I could help two.. or three. Each person I helped has become a memory that I keep close to my heart, and when I feel like maybe I cant do this, I try and remember those times. If I can make one person smile, or offer some words of comfort; if I can do one good thing for someone, then I know im going in the right direction. Its because of you spirits is what has kept my own fire alive for all these years, and because of that I want to be better not just for myself, but for all of you as well. Also another thing to keep in mind is that projects and hobbies are meant to be fun! If they start to become work, or a drag, step away from it. Dont turn something that you love into something that you hate all due to some imaginary pressure to be perfect from the get go. After all life is short, yes? Why spend that time not enjoying yourself? So keep going! Keep trying! Keep making mistakes and keep learning! Try new things and try old things! After all, if you feel like youve hit rock bottom.. then the only other way to go is up. I hope that wasnt too lengthy, but if they helped you-even a little, then know that will be another memory that I will carry with me for the rest of my days. Take care, spirit. Be kind to yourself 🤍🖤🧡🕯️

.....are those treats still available...? 👀

[colleendoran]

OK, so you are looking at a comic I did back in 1990 that changed my life in so many ways. Not the way you’re thinking of.

It taught me some very important lessons about the comics business, fame, and more importantly, how fame doesn’t rub off. And how having reasonable expectations will keep you centered and on the right path.

Many people don’t internalize this lesson. And now that our industry is no longer just Fandom Culture but is now Celebrity Culture, we see more and more creators with incredibly unrealistic expectations getting into comics, expecting the sun and moon to rise out of whatever they do, and being disappointed and frustrated when they don't.

I got occasional mainstream comics work in the early 1980’s, but I was still looking for my big break years later, especially since a major gig I was working on got shelved forever. I cannot even begin to tell you just how much being out of the eyes of the market for YEARS at a time while you work on a gig - and then the gig never coming out - can absolutely sink your brand.

Nowadays we have social media. Back then, you had no way to be seen if your work wasn’t being published. People forgot about you in about 15 minutes.

So when I got a gig working on Amazing Spider-Man, you bet I was thrilled. And even more thrilled when the darned thing sold like crazy. This issue of Amazing Spider-Man outsold previous Todd MacFarlane issues. And I knew Marvel was looking for a new artist. Huzzah! I outsold Todd! Maybe the new artist should be me!

You can imagine how pleased and excited I was to go to conventions and sign copies of a book that hundreds of thousands of fans bought. It was fun getting my first big lines of fans. I thought it would be a perfect opportunity to push my other works to them as well.

But few Spider-Man fans were interested in my other books. They could not possibly care less about Amethyst: Princess of Gemworld, that’s for sure.

The Spider-Man glow was gone in no time. And Marvel picked Erik Larsen to be the regular artist.

I might as well have never worked on Spider-Man for all the long term good it did. Were it not for that one brief shining moment of royalty check (which was darned good,) it had no effect on my prospects.

While I got more work at Marvel, I was scrambling to make a living and took on too much, doing sub-par art that didn’t please anyone.

I realized pretty quickly that Spider-Man’s fans weren’t my fans. I might as well have been a spark plug on that issue. Fans lined up, got me to sign a book, and forgot about me the next day. 

(Yeah I know some people say they love that comic, but I often hear from people who tell me how much they hated my art back then and how much they grew to love it later. Thank you, I’ll take it.)

Anyway, it was all a very tough lesson. But I appreciate that I learned it early before I got to the point where I could never learn it.

Fame isn’t transitive. It doesn’t rub off.

The public needs more than your proximity to something they know to transfer their attention to you and your work.

A lot of people got a taste of this in the early 1990’s. For a while, self-publishing was The Big Thing. I self published A Distant Soil and did well for some years, at one point making more than I could in mainstream comics, until the market crashed in 1996. A lot of creators thought if they just went to Image Comics, they’d all be millionaires.

That didn’t happen for almost all of them.

An old frenemy saw how well I was doing self publishing and assumed that if they just transferred their mainstream comics fan base to their creator owned work, they’d get rich.

But that didn’t happen. Their self-published work sold a fraction of what mine did. Their project died in the red. I never got my art back, including work from an unpublished future issue of the project. I remember being with this creator at a show and enduring their fury at how fans weren’t paying attention to them and their project. 

How could this happen? They were a star mainstream creator!

The mainstream cred did not transfer to the other work. The fans wanted the famous characters, not the indie project they were trying to push.

There was no point in explaining this either. I’d learned this lesson myself, but this person never learned it.

Most people never learn it.

How is it that I work on Famous This or with Famous Person and why am I not famous Too?

Because fame isn’t transitive.

I’ve worked on projects that got a lot (and I mean a lot) of buzz, but there are projects that didn’t necessarily set the world on fire that did more for me as an artist and for my finances than “big” projects did. 

Reign of the Zodiac and The Book of Lost Souls, both early/mid 2000’s comics with mediocre sales set me on a solid financial footing because they are two of the few regular monthly gigs I’ve done in all my years working in comics. That monthly paycheck paid more than the projects I’d done before them. The financial and emotional stability was beyond price. I loved everything about those projects. 

Except for their premature demise.

The one and only famous project that had a major transformative afterglow effect re: me and my work was Sandman. I met Neil Gaiman years before I worked on Sandman, before he was famous. I only worked on two issues. Many other artists were far more important to the project than me, of course. Then I went for nearly twenty years solid without working with Neil at all except on a pinup and short story adaptation of Troll Bridge that almost no one remembers. 

I started working with Neil again when he saw some art I did for a book for Tori Amos back in 2008. Tori Amos fans didn’t flock to my side when they saw it, yet another example of how Famous People Fame Doesn’t Rub Off. But I lavished time and attention on the project, did the art on spec with a completely new style and process, and showed it to Neil. I asked Neil if he’d take a chance at working with me again after lo, these many years and let me have a go again at adapting the story Troll Bridge that I’d botched in 1998. Neil said yes.

After The Book of Lost Souls got killed back in 2006, I could barely get arrested in comics and I wasn’t sure I had a future. I was shocked that Neil said yes. 

That Tori Amos job reestablished my working relationship with Neil and brought me to Dark Horse Comics, a publisher which had shown little prior interest in my stuff.

It took me years to complete Troll Bridge and during that time, Peter David contacted me to ask if I’d work on Stan Lee’s autobiography. That came out of the blue, and boy did I appreciate it. It sold like crazy, which was unexpected, really.

So I went from Not Being Able to Get Arrested in Comics in 2008, doing 1$ sketch cards and working for page rates I worked for in 1986, to Not Being Able to Remember What I am Doing Because I have Too Much To Do in 2022. I mean literally couldn’t remember I did a pinup for a gig back in February, and I not only forgot about it, I didn’t know it was published last June.

It looks like I had a super fast and fun run up if you’re just looking at my highlight reel. But it wasn’t. I’ve had peaks and valleys, (a few very fine peaks, the best being around 1993 and the other now), and sometimes the “big time” projects I thought would make my career held me back worse than the “small time” ones. “Big time” projects got shelved or came and went, quickly forgotten, and I said no to other projects while I was busy, and the one that got away ended up getting made into a multi-million dollar film franchise that would have set me up for life.

Ow.

If just being next to a famous person or working on a famous project was a guarantor of success, than I’d have been hugely successful every day of my adult life. 

That is not how it works.

Even the famous people are not as all that as you think, otherwise you wouldn’t see so many actors with haunted looks on their faces at conventions.

I met Neil before he was famous, but it took over thirty years for me to establish a solid working relationship with him.

Thirty. 

Years.

I’ve worked with famous wrestlers, actors, musicians, politicians, a Pulitzer Prize winning author, and on almost every single major licensed character there is. And I’m not super-famous or rich. I mean, I never wanted to be famous in the first place, but I’m not completely unknown in my field, and I’m not poor (anymore). Still, seriously, folks. I’m not going to movie premieres and living in Hollywood. 

I actually get asked about that, and I think it’s so funny.

I was watching some recent art auctions, and I was absolutely shocked to see original pages by an Eisner-nominated creator go for rock bottom prices, mainstream interiors at around $50 per page. I could not believe it. This artist is over 40 years old. I wonder if things will turn around for them.

Time will tell.

In the end, it’s not all about the people you’re standing next to. Or the character. Or the company. Or the award. And it's certainly not all about you.

Fans are here for you one minute, and forget about you tomorrow. Then you get $50 for your Eisner nominated art.

Art either takes off or it doesn’t. You either take off or you don’t. 

And then you can fly too close to the sun and fall.

Worse yet…you just fade and no one even notices that you crashed beautifully into the surf.

If people knew what the magic formula was, they’d be selling it and everyone would have what they want out of their art life.

But there is no magic formula. There just isn’t.

Everyone wants to be special to someone. Especially artists. Everything you create is special to you.

But it is extremely rare that what you create is as special to others as it is to you. Sometimes artists are just like everyone else. 

Here and gone.

Fame and success is not transitive. And they're not forever.

That’s the lesson.

I'm working on Good Omens right now. The Kickstarter pre-sign up news is here. No, it's not an icky newsletter, it will just let you know when the Kickstarter launches.

I have a Patreon. I'm funding the final volume of my space opera A DISTANT SOIL with it, but I won't be working on it again until Good Omens is complete. I have one of the most active and productive Patreons on the site.

I'm also on Twitter and Facebook and Instagram. Not too much though, they are distraction pits.

Make art because you love it. Because the rest...well, good luck. If it happens for you...it happens. And I hope it does.

[peepeedrip]

my miles quaritch hc's (sfw & nsfw)

a/n: this is the first time i've written something since i was 14 and if u know me from my harry potter phase no u don't 💀 NE ways im so scared to post this and if u have any criticism pls lmk ok bye bye

reader is afab if you would like me to make it gender neutral lmk 💪

here we go 🤯:

im sorry but the first thing i'm gonna talk about is those damn arms 😭 like imagine na'vi reader looking at him and being intrigued by his fingers and shit (like this fic on ao3 u already know) and then asking about his tattoo because ur totally not checking out his arms you're just really intrigued by the art on his skin ofc haha

he's not sure if you're checking him out or just genuinely curious about his different culture but he lets u come closer and touch him and stuff

he doesn't stop u until he can feel himself blushing getting uncomfortable at how close u are to him and he's like "ok ugh get off me 🙄" so that u don't see how his cheeks are tinted purple I MEAN UH yea he's totally disgusted by u lol haha /j

slow burn slow burn slow burn

he'll act all tough and scary around you, but doesn't let u see that he gets more fond of your presence with each passing day

eventually you can see him slowly warming up to you after a few weeks, always offering to carry stuff for you that really isn't that heavy, or when you're out in the forests of pandora telling you to "give me that fruit right there" so he can peel it for you and hand it over with his head turned away and a curt "welcome." on his lips after you thank him

you find his new behavior odd, but you aren't going to question why his tail flicks faster when you're near or why he always finds some way to be in your general proximity, especially with all the help he's been giving you recently

look at me. i know this man is a commander and he takes charge and whatnot but u know DAMN well he gets nervous around you. like

it doesn't matter if ur a human or na'vi or an avatar THIS MAN WILL FIND U HOT ASF 💀💀💀 like he's checking u out n shi behind ur back and lyle is looking at him like. dude. be so fucking fr

and lyle gets on his ass for it too 😭😭😭 like miles will be doing some daily ass task and lyle will come tease him about u

miles: licking some envelope to send papers to someone

lyle: damn i bet u wish that was y/n's-

miles: 👊💥

lyle: 😵😵‍💫😴 (he died) (jk but miles wishes he was fr 😭)

this man will try so hard to be suave and make the first move but he gets negative rizz around you 😭 u make him nervous lmao and he especially doesn't want to mess this up because of who he used to be so he goes into it way more gently than he would have in his past life

eventually once u realize u got a crush on this man ur gonna try to flirt too but he's TOO HOT ur gonna fumble and it just ends up in y'all having the perfect moments to kiss or make out or SOMETHING and y'all are just like "haha.... crazy weather we're having lol"

lyle and z-dog are punching y'all in their heads rn

i feel like eventually it would culminate in him leaving for a big mission like the one to capture jake and when he's telling u goodbye and turns around to leave u grab his hand and say "come back safe, please"

he looks at you surprised, but he regains his composure and grabs ur hand to bring it to his lips. "i will, cupcake. promise." SCREAMING CRYING PUNCHKNG MY WINDOW 🥊🥊💥💥

i can't remember who headcanoned that he calls u cupcake but he calls his ikran cupcake so he calls u cupcake AND WHOEVER CAME UP WITH THAT UR A GENUIS blessing the miles fandom fr

he definitely takes it slow because like i said, he knows who he used to be in his past life and wants to be a different man from that

and all the helping u out shit that he was doing before doesn't go away, in actuality it probably gets more frequent cause he always wants to be around u now

however when y'all kiss for the first time.... 🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯

im just saying in his past life he got to an old age, old age = experience. new young body = 😏

and this full on extends to the bedroom 🤭🤭

NSFW ahead warning 😟😱🤯‼️⚠️🔞

he is very gentle and doesn't pressure u AT ALL. however being gentle doesn't mean that he doesn't give u the most mind blowing show stopping sex you ever had your first time

def into oral. he goes down on u and i mean he goes down. holding your legs and hips down while his tongue flicks and runs over your cooter cat like it was the indy 500 bitch 😭 he is not playing around

he also enjoys having his dick in ur mouth ofc. he loves kissing ur lips so what better thing than to have them wrapped around his cock and balls?

he'll enjoy it if you fight back a little bit. he'll enjoy it if you submit to him completely. he'll enjoy it. just let this man cook 🤝

if u DO like to fight back 😼😼 ohh girl u already know his colonel side is coming out

overstims your pussy if ur into that, cause you wouldn't listen to him earlier so now he has to make u listen his way

"you like that, you little brat?" he asks with a gentle smack to your cheek. you're clenching around him HARD. "fuuuckkkk.. you just had to make trouble for yourself, didn't 'ya cupcake?" he's breathing into your ear, half moaning, half speaking cause girl that pussy got him in a CHOKEHOLD

won't stop until u tell him "sorry, sir" and apologize for acting against him. he's used to disciplining people from the army and he knows how to deal with people who get outta line

however if ur more on the submissive side MMMMHMMM u know he's gonna eat that up

like if he tells you to do something and u follow it no question..... mhmm u getting dicked down good tonight is all i'm saying 🕺🕺🕺

"god baby, so good for me.." he's peppering kisses all over your face and neck, thrusting into your pussy just the way you like it. "gonna fuck you so good baby.. fuck.. this pussy is gonna be good for me yeah?" yes sir 💂‍♀️😝🫡

sometimes he'll see just how far he can go with it, asking you to bend in absurd positions or follow absurd asks, and once he sees you do it without hesitation he feels a flame of possessiveness rise in him, hands and arms wrapping around you and praising how good you are for him

he will treasure u fr no matter what you're like for him, sometimes he just be mid-fucking u and he just looks at u like 'damn, i love u wtf' HES SO DOWN BAD GRRRRR

and sometimes you'll do the same where you'll just look up at him and you can't help but put a hand on the side of his face and breathe out, "i love you, miles" IM SOBBING CRYING

he love love loves u and u love love love him GRRRRR *blocks u two* GET A ROOM YUCK GROSSSSSS

this was the most heinous gut wrenching vomit inducing thing i've ever written if u read this far U A TROOPER FR🫡ok i gtg now it's 1 am now bye bye 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

also s/o to @nqify and @cuethediscoandthedrinks for making me want to get back into writing again go read their stuff rn OR ELSE 🤯🤯😡😡👊👊💥💥🥊🥊

[docwritesshit]

The Chains that Bind us (HuskerDust)

Summary: Angel Dusts had another tough day at work, so Husk distracts him with a quick lesson on the art of poker

Authors note: Let me just say, I have only played Texas Holdem consistently so that's what you are getting here. Also, the capitalization on certain words is very intentional. You'll see what I mean while you read

Warnings: Abuse mention, alcohol, gambling/poker, sexual mentions but nothing vulgarly described

There were days few and far between Angel wouldn't come home with a new bruise with makeup caked in it, or a new already closed scab of some sort.

Husk knew. He fucking knew and it killed him seeing that spider still going back, under no control of his own and out of fear for his own life, his own soul.

He knew the feeling though. He was on a leash hunself. Alastor made sure Husk was aware of the thin ice he slid on, always quick to brandish more of his sharp teeth when talking with the little cat. The ghost of the shackle he had around his neck squeezed more when Alastor was around, reminding him puppet strings that encircled the bartender, making him dance around like a fucking show pony.

Husk huffed when Angel came back from another day at work, rubbing his eyelids as the spider all but collapsed onto the bar stool, resting his head on the bar top while his hands held the back of his head.

Husk sighed, tapping the bar top right next to the pornstars’ ear. The spider looked up, bags under his eyes heavier than Adam’s head that had to carry all his ego.

”You good, Angel?” The cat asked. The spider sighed low in response, head back down on the counter.

”Val had me do stripper shots right after a few gang bangs, and I'm sore all over.” Angel Dust responded. Husk sighed, pouring the dude his usual, sliding it over to him. Angel looked at the glass, and took a sip, sitting up in his stool a bit more.

“Thanks, kitty.” Angel said. Husk scoffed at the nickname Angel gave him, forcing the small lift of his lips back down.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s my job.” He replied. The actor smirked, leaning his cheek into his palm with his elbow anchored to the counter.

”Y’know… You never told me how things were when you were an overlord.”

Husk bristled at the sudden comment, looking away and reorganizing the shelves for the upteenth time that day.

”Yeah, what about it?” He asked, tone a bit more snappy. Angel chuckled, eyelids drooping a bit.

”Aww~ c’mon, can’t a few friends share some old stories?” The spider smirked more, leaning forward more. “I wanna know what’s under that wall of steel you have over your heart. It’s only fair.”

Husk rolled his eyes, his wings tensing around him as he glared at the sinner on the other side of the bar top.

”Oh yeah, what’s in it for me?”

”Weeelll~”

”Other than the way you usually… provide for other people.”

Angel huffed, tapping his fingertips to the rim of his glass as he thought. Husk folded his arms over his chest, tail beating against the wall behind him in a soft rhythm in tune with Angels incessant fidgeting. The spider finally smiled, snapping his fingers at the cat.

”I’ll take you up on that offer to teach me poker.”

Husk raised an eyebrow. He vaguely remembered shit talking about Angel poker skill when Charlie brought out exercises with board games. Something about humility and sportsmanship, he wasn’t entirely sure. He does recall how even Sir Pentious bested the poor spider, though it may have had something to do with his egg minions sneaking cards into his deck when he thought no one was looking. He did say he would teach the spider the basics of it, but nothing really happened.

”… fine. Let me get tipsy first though, I’m too sober for this.” the cat relented. The spider whooped, taking his drink and going over to the couch in the lobby as Husk made his own drink, rifling through the tables drawers and pulling out a deck of cards.

Husk trudged over to the couch, drinking the whiskey and sighing in content as the sting went down his throat, the familiar burn now settling on his tongue. God, the things that would be so much better in his life if he only ever felt that feeling…

Angel flicked the cat's wing, making Husk hiss and recoil. The spider smiled, sitting on the other side of the table, tossing the deck to Husk. Husk narrowed his eyes.

”We both know I can’t shuffle for shit. Besides, I like seeing your hands at work~” Angel said. Husk clicked his tongue, setting his drink down and shuffling the cards, trying extra hard not to fall on bad habits and count them.

The cards were mixed up as good as they were gonna get, and he started to deal with them.

”In poker, there are a lot of things at play, most only at the mercy of fate itself and probability.” He started to explain, sliding Angel two cards and taking two cards for himself.

”First is Texas Hold’Em. Cause it’s honestly the easiest game for me to explain the hierarchy of the combinations of the ways you could win for me.” Husk said, snapping his fingers and stacks of different colored chips appeared before him and Angel. The spider jumped, and looked at him with raised eyebrows.

”You can summon that on a whim?? How come this only just came up?” He asked, smirking.

Husk shrugged, separating the stacks and sliding Angels over to him. “Did you ever ask before?”

Angel chuckled, running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t… he hadn’t asked a lot about the cat, honestly.

Why hadn’t he?

The spider shook his head of those thoughts, and tilted his head as Husk told him the different chips' value.

“White is one buck, blue is two, red is five, and black is ten. Got it?”

Angel hummed in acknowledgement, listening closely as Husk explained how the rules worked, how he would be the big blind and have to start the ante up with only one or a few more chips, depending on how far into the game you are and how many people are playing.

Husk took a sip of his drink, throwing two white chips in, and knocked on the table

”That means a check. Meaning I ain’t got shit and don’t want to raise the ante. Now, if you have something like a high card or a high pair, you would typically raise but I like to see what the deck has to offer before I do anything.” The bartender took a card off the pile and put it to the side.

”You always burn a card before you pull the three cards,” he explained, taking three more cards one at a time and setting them one by one on the table. Angel nodded, taking a quick glance at his cards and leaning forward to get a better look at the cards on the table.

Angel hesitantly threw in a red chip, and Husk lips tilted up, his eyebrows raised a bit.

”Big spender, huh? That shows confidence. Or arrogance. With you, could be one or the other.” He commented, and matched Angels bet with a red chip of his own. Angel huffed.

Was this how he was back when he gambled a lot?

…

The slander spider got his answer after six rounds of the game. Husk was one to get under one’s skin, pull at their faults as they played. He taught Angel Dust as they played, and even folded once and let Angel win a round. But he… To put it bluntly, was a bit of an ass.

Angel snapped a bit after losing for the third time in a row, glaring at the cat.

“Aw… is the little actor mad the only thing he’s good at here is bluffing?” He teased, tail swishing behind him. Angel snarled,

”Oh yeah? Big talk for someone who lost their-“ Angel’s lips sealed themselves, and shook his head. Husk stiffened, his tail stopped swishing. Angel grimaced.

”Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed that-“

Husk held up a hand to silence the rambling, and sighed.

”No, no. I was asking for it. Sorry. Old habits die hard, eh?”

Angel sighed, going over to sit next to Husk, leaving space between them.

“Still, that was shitty of me to say.” he said. Husk hummed, rapping his knuckled under his chin.

”Yeah, no. You see why nobody missed me when good ol’ Al put the collar on me and pulled harshly. I was a dick back then.”

Angel scoffed, and rolled his eyes.

”Yeah, we’re in hell. I’ve seen dicks, of both variety’s, more than I see my own room daily. You’re not the only asshole here.” Angel said. Husk grunted, his wings shuffling a bit.

”That’s not the whole thing… I was a nuisance. The only reason I wasn’t dealt with before Al came is because no one wanted to deal with my cocky ass.”

Angel snorted, and Husk shot him a look, before smiling a bit.

“Alright, poor word choice on my part. Point is, no one wanted to waste their energy on me. I wasn’t feared, or respected. My presence was tolerated and annoying to deal with so they just didn’t bother.”

Angel pulled his lips in a tight line, eyes narrowing as Husk described his experience.

”Oh please, most of the overlords are annoying nowadays. Have you seen the Vs lately?”

Husk barked a laugh, looking at the spider next to him.

”I have… and I have a desire to maul one of them,” he said. Angel chuckled, placing a dainty hand on his shoulder.

”If you do get the chance, make sure it sticks.” Angel responded. Husk smiled lazily, placing a claw over Angel's hand.

”Will do, angel.”

Husk ignored the way he saw Angel's makeup smeared, exposing the fresh bruise on his shoulder. He would talk about it when he needed to.

Being under the thumb of an overlord who treats others like a plaything or a pawn would be demoralizing for anyone. Being the plaything is a whole different story. Husk could feel the ebbs of the phantom metal hanging from his neck. He wouldn’t pretend to know the extent of what that sleazy moth makes Angel go through. He won’t push about how he saw the way his shoulders sagged more today, and knowing the weight had more to it than just tiredness.

Angel had his own struggles, his special hell tailored for him by the one who owned his soul. His own chains made be of the same smoke that fucker breaths, but they held more weight than Hush could comprehend.

The least he could do was to distract him from the weight of his own chains, even if it meant that Husk helped him carry the weight of it. He lessened his load, why not return the favor?

[smilingformoney]

Rickmas 2023: Day 9. Missing Star | Alexander/Reader

Read now on Ao3 or below the cut:

The knocking on the door was incessant, and Alexander rolled his eyes when he heard a voice calling through the door.

“Sir Alexander! The panel started five minutes ago, they’re waiting for you —“

With a huff, he picked himself up from the couch and stomped over to the door, opening it so suddenly he caught the poor event steward on the other side by surprise.

“I’m not bloody coming, clearly,” he hissed.

“But, Mr Dane, the fans are expecting you —“

“I. Don’t. Care. Tell them I’m sick or dying, I don’t care, just piss off and leave me alone!”

He slammed the door closed on the shocked steward’s face, and you peered up at him over the back of the couch.

“That poor steward was only doing his job, Alex.”

Alexander waved his hand dismissively and pulled his robe tighter around his torso.

“If his job’s to disturb me when I’m with you, he needs a new career.”

He returned to the couch where you had previously been cuddling and watching TV, and you slipped easily back into his arms.

“You’ll have to show your face at some point. They didn’t pay for this hotel room so you could sit in it all day.”

“Trying to get rid of me?” Alexander snarked, and you shoved him playfully.

“You know I’m not. You can get away with skipping the group panel, but you’ll have to make it to your solo panel. Else they might send Jason to drag you out.”

Alexander scoffed. “I’d like to see him try. He acts like he’s so tough, but I can tell you, his fight scenes are almost entirely done by stunt doubles.”

“And yours aren’t?”

“Of course not,” Alexander said proudly. “I’m a real actor. I do all my own scenes.”

“Well, good thing you do all your own sex scenes too, else we’d never have met,” you said, grinning up at him cheekily.

He smirked and held you in tighter, remembering the day you’d met on set for a film of his, he the lead actor and you the intimacy coordinator for the sex scene he’d filmed. Somehow, with a stunning Hollywood actress nude on the bed with him, it had been plain old you the acting legend had had eyes for.

“Really, I just don’t want to put that bloody thing on my head today,” Alexander admitted. “Honestly, do they think people won’t recognise me without it? I do have other roles I’m known for without the stupid chicken head.”

You laughed, knowing full well that your boyfriend would set fire to that key part of his costume if he could, yet he’d chosen to participate in the Galaxy Quest reboot. Secretly, he liked the role and even the people he worked with, but he’d never admit it.

“Oh, but think of the applause you’ll get when you step out onto the stage! All those people there to see you. I know you love it, Alex.”

He scoffed, but he didn’t correct you. You leaned in closer to him, resting your head on his chest, and he placed a kiss to the top of your head (which had fortunately never been the victim of chicken head, although he had threatened you with it a few times).

“I’ll go to the solo panel, I suppose,” he sighed. “Only so I can talk about Death to Secrets coming out next month.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, good luck getting a bunch of sci-fi nerds to care about a depressing drama about a dying old man. Hey, kids, come see my exciting new film where I spend two hours staring out a window dramatically - ow!”

It hadn’t hurt, but you were more surprised than anything when he reached around and slapped your arse.

“Disrespect my art and you disrespect me, you know that, [Y/n].”

“Oh, sorry, sir,” you said teasingly. You sat up slightly and kissed him, which immediately softened the hard stare he was giving you.

“Hmm… good thing I love you, isn’t it?” he said.

Even after so long together, it still made your heart leap when you heard those words from him. He was such a grumpy old man, yet for you he was soft.

“Yes,” you agreed. “It is a very good thing.”

[tithnamath]

What I would do with Each Member from Thorin and Co for a Day

Hello dwarflings (and wandering travellers)! Today's post is influenced by a few imagines/oneshots I've come across. Enjoy :) (sorry for any spelling/grammar mistakes in advance)

Balin - Deep conversations with history of each other's worlds. I would love to hear the history of dwarves and personal stories from Balin, and I would love to tell him history of the ancient world and the golden age of piracy.

Dwalin - OMG I would be so shy to be in a room with him haha. Definitely make cookies and brownies with him, although most of the dough and batter would be eaten by him before it goes into the oven. A tough, tattooed warrior-dwarf baking cookies is something I can see.

Thorin - Take him to therapy, the guy needs it. Jks, but he does need a lot of therapy. I'm not too sure of him as he isn't the best to have a conversation with. I think, I would like to show him my gecko, and talk about reptiles, especially dragons (this will sound mean). I really like dragons, to his confusion, so it would be a nice icebreaker to 'bond' together with.

Oin - Honestly, Oin low-key scares me. But as he is a healer, I would love to learn natural medicine and herbology. Middle-aged peasants would want me BURNED!

Gloin - I think he will just be yapping and me listening; mostly talking about his wife and Gimli which I would find super sweet. I read somewhere that Gloin fought in a war when he was super young, like 14 year old in human age. So, again war stories til the 'morrow.

Bifur - Despite a language barrier, we would be able to communicate through art as cringy as it sounds. I would like to do a workshop with him with making wooden trinkets.

Bombur - Anything to do with food haha. Have a cooking day were we cook our favourite foods for each other and rate them. Same with desserts as well. He's got to try my family's death by chocolate pie.

Bofur - KARAOKE! I'd be singing abba songs while Bofur is playing some filthy flute riffs haha. And after go to one of those public play area, but for adults, and get absolutely smashed while trying to climb through the rope webs.

Dori - I think naturally being a bit of a fashionista would come hand in hand with it for him. If we're not going to go clothes shopping I would like to go fabric shopping with him, and design and make a dwarven outfit.

Nori - I read on a oneshot/imagine (I can remember where, I'm sorry) that Nori loves cats, and I can see that. We can go to a cat cafe and play with the cats. As Nori is a bit of a *bad boi* and steals from time to time, I may or may not pay him to steal a cat or two for me. No ones going to know.

Ori - definitely a drawing day - perhaps a sketch day out somewhere. I feel like taking him to a nature reserve or a conservation zoo would be nice as he would get to see animals that wouldn't exist in Middle-Earth. The others won't believe him at - like a giraffe??? That's got to be made up.

Fili - cheeky flirt 1.0. Either binge watching forged in fire, or chilling in the woods. Yes, I'm 21 years old, but if I see a good stick or two, I will duel someone in a sword fight. And I feel like Fili would willingly participate.

Kili - cheeky flirt 2.0. Movie marathon - every Shrek movie and me having to explain every fairy tale beforehand so he would get the references. Shrek AND pizza! Icould see Fili, Ori and Bofur could join as well.

Bilbo - eat, read and eat some more. I feel like Bilbo would love the hear what you are reading/ have read, and recommend books for you. I think it would be great to explain genres that he hasn't heard of in the shire. Just keep him away from the smut booktok, he won't handle it at all!

Gandalf - He's such an instigator for drama and lives for it, so I'd be scared to bring him out in public haha. I think he would defo love to hear about online drama like stuff in gorl world. So, I would bring out a massive white board, print of photos and cut string as if its a detective board and explain the history of gorl world while Gandalf drinks tea (for red wine with a fruity bouquet).

That's all for now, love you all!

Tith Namath X

[squirrelofcelestialintent]

Coming this October to @deancashorrorfest

ROUGH TRADE

Art by @alicetallula

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10,000

Major Archive Warnings: Non-con

Dean is used to doing what he has to in order to get by, especially whenever his tough, temperamental father kicks him out during one of his rages. Even if it means getting on his knees for a little extra cash. He can take care of himself.

He always knew the dangers of a trick going sideways, and he accepted it. What he didn’t expect was for someone to burst out of the darkness and save his sorry ass. Least of all a weird, nerdy little dude who seems to have just as many secrets as Dean and doesn’t know how to use a vending machine.

Dean has street smarts and Castiel has (a little) cash. They’re both headed for the west coast to find their families. Teaming up seems like a safe bet.

But the more time Dean spends with Cas, the weirder he seems. And the more he suspects that what he saw Cas do to his attacker on the day that he saved him - the terrible, inhuman thing - wasn’t a trauma induced hallucination after all.

Screw it. With someone on their tail, Dean’s going to find out who his real enemies are soon enough.

….

The next time Dean comes to, he feels much more alive, which is good, but also means everything hurts.

It’s dark, but there’s enough light filtering in through a window for him to blink the world into focus. He’s in a bed, if the blankets around him are any indication. Not a nice bed, but a hell of a lot better than the ground. Slowly, he picks out the typical accoutrement of a shitty hotel spread out around him: boxy tv, cheap plywood furniture, rattling A/C unit.

And an old, threadbare armchair with a man sitting in it.

Dean gasps, startled, before he abruptly remembers how he got here.

That must be Blue Eyes. He’s wearing slacks and a white button-down, looking too put-together for a dive like this (or even a middle-of-nowhere town like this). There’s a tan, blood-spattered trench coat draped over the chair behind him, and he seems to be asleep.

Panic begins to rise in Dean’s chest. He doesn’t think this man is a threat to him, not really. But he was half-numb through everything before, and it feels like all the panic he couldn’t feel then is catching up to him now.

He can hear a raspy, gagging sound for a few seconds before he realizes it’s the sound of him trying to breathe. His chest is heaving, and it feels like his heart is in a slowly-tightening vice. The panic rises higher and higher in his heavy body until it feels like he’s going to choke on it.

It only takes a few seconds for the noise he’s making to wake his rescuer. The man opens his eyes, looks around and then sits bolt upright, going from passed out to fully-aware in a half a second.

“It’s okay, you’re safe now,” the man says, moving to sit at the end of the bed. He looks at Dean with sympathetic eyes, but he doesn’t make a move to touch him, and Dean is incredibly grateful for that. “Just breathe. Everything is okay. Breathe.”

The man gestures to himself and models breathing - in and out, slow and deep - as Dean tries to copy. It feels like it takes forever, but gradually Dean manages to take full breaths, feeling the oxygen return to his limbs and no longer sounding like an animal caught in a trap. His body relaxes back into the mattress incrementally.

“How do you feel?”

“Okay, I guess, all things considered.” His voice is raspy as fuck, but it works. “Why did you save me?” The words are out of his mouth before he realizes he was thinking them.

The man tilts his head and frowns. He’s looking at Dean like he just spoke in a foreign language, but it seems like a reasonable question. There’s a long pause before either of them knows what to say.

Eventually, the man takes a deep breath and frowns even more.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

[andythelemon]

2022 Reflections

Hi everyone! Given the recent Twitter debacle, I’m glad I quietly keep my Tumblr active even if I don’t speak much. I wanted to thank you all for the support and kindness in another tough year - whether it’s sharing/buying my art or just putting up with my incessant fandom hopping and random posts (World Cup blogging in 2022, man…).

This account turned 10 this year which is terrifying to think about; I’ve gone through many a phase and fandom and whilst I try to clear out old art I’m embarrassed by, I know some of you remember it and if anything it makes me happy I could create work that stays in people’s minds so vividly! Even if I cringe now at XYZ, I’ll always be grateful for something that spurred me to draw. Inspiration can be hard to come by in these times, as we all know. I also have that Atsumu x Hinata story from 2020 in a word doc… I swear I’ll finish my first proper fic and share it one day!

Life has kept me busy, and my late 20s just get crazier, but I’ll find time to continue drawing and making self-indulgent book projects in 2023. Hopefully a few more cons too… I say I’ll retire every year and then never do 😩. I started One Piece and Bungo Stray Dogs among other things recently so god knows what kind of shit I’ll be sharing in the near future (really enjoying both, plus the multitude of other series I’m keeping up with!) and I also want to dedicate more time to original art and OCs. Please hold me accountable for that, I’m terribly shy at sharing my characters and stories! 😣

That aside, I hope life is treating you all kindly and please feel free to yell in my inbox about whatever series or thing I might also be into! Thank you again for your continued support, whether you’ve been following for a decade or a week. Till next time!

[stellewriites]

questions about books! thanks for the tag @mikichko @pricegouge 🫂

1. the last book I read

i’m glad my mom died by jennette mccurdy

so fucking tough but i really enjoyed it

2. a book I recommend

the martian by andy weir

i’d previously struggled with first person in books and i was never into science but this changed my whole view on both,, mark is so funny and down to earth (badum tss!) you can’t help but get invested and the science is so easily explained - also i liked that a lot of it could genuinely be done except the initial sandstorm like it wasn’t bullshit for the plot. if you’ve seen the film then still give the book a go bc it goes a different way and it’s worth it imo

3. a book I couldn't put down

the book thief by markus zusak

it’s been a fair few years since i read this (ten i think? shit) but i remember coming back from college and reading it every day as soon as i got home and absolutely bawling all the way through. it’s on my reread list

4. a book l've read twice or more

despite watching things over and over i struggle reading things twice even when i really want to - but!! if graphic novels/comics count then ive read the watchmen a few times

5. a book on my tbr

my family and other animals by gerald durrell

one my grandma recommended years ago that i never got around to but im determined to read at some point. only short but it’s meant to be funny

6. a book l've put down

the first harry potter - tried before all of the author’s bullshit but i really struggled to enjoy it as much as people said i would. didnt even get halfway

8. a favorite book from childhood

a lot of these have been from my childhood lmao that’s when i did most of my reading but ill go further back into my niche zombie phase as a young teen and say world war z by max brooks (also loved his zombie survival guide,, it was like a special interest pls don’t ask)

9. a book I would give to a friend

i don’t really read anything similar to my friends? they either like practical craft books or band biographies,, i recced im glad my mom died to a co worker if that counts?

10. a fiction book I own

my best friend’s exorcism - i couldn’t tell you if it’s any good, ive not yet read it. a lot of my books are bought for me and it takes me like at least five years to get around to them

11. a nonfiction book I own

battersea’s a cat a day

a book where this pet charity has put together 365 tiny true stories about different cats to read every day 🥲🥲 it’s very cute

12. what I am currently reading

none atm - need to get on one i’ve been recommended soon

13. what l am planning on reading next

the one i’ve been recommended as mentioned above! it’s a romcom so a lil new to me for books,, i usually stick to fics for this type of thing and go more sci-fi/horror in published books but i think ill enjoy it

14. my shelfie

not an accurate shelfie on the left because it’s about 5 years old but i wanted to include my cat here

the covers are so sun bleached now in comparison on the right ahsjajkls - got maybe three shelves for books and one for art books/comics?

no pressure tags: @jackrabbitem @sentientcave @madstronaut @valkyri @boolger @noicedog @w00lgathering @xxdrixx @ohlawdthebirds

[corrie-zodori]

21 and 28

OOO tough call on the second one but I can mention a few!! 21: When did you start considering yourself a writer/artist? I started taking art at least seriously when I was about 13 years old. I'd been drawing for as long as I could remember but I remember the moment I decided "I want to do this. This is my calling, my niche, and hopefully someday my job". I was on neopets and I remember seeing some really cool art from an artist called Zintora/silverhoot and thinking, "Man I wanna draw like this someday." I still have that art saved to my PC to this day as a little piece of history. 28: Favourite songs at the moment? HARD TO SAY but here's a list!!

Affections across time - Wolf and Raven

Hey Lady by Skogsra

Automagic by Televisor (an old and constant favorite of mine)

Still Feel by Half Alive

and lastly but DEFINITELY not least, Louder Than Words by Pendulum + Hybrid Minds

[its-wabby-stuff]

I made a piece of art.

The year is 2024 during the Krang invasion. Having settled most of the resources and remaining New Yorkers within the Hidden City, Leonardo takes on an important role in the refugee camps: preparing the next generation for the apocalypse. His brothers hope that he can train them and perhaps show them how to have a bit of fun even through the bitter times. Perhaps, the kids might teach him a thing or two as well.

I’m writing an apocalypse fic, and I made some OCs. Description under the break.

From Left to Right:

Dai: 8 years old. Orphaned. After a terrible accident in which his mother died, he was left with an awful scar and damaged vocal cords, making him mute. He finds his own ways to communicate, but he never really had the chance to learn how to write. He doesn’t try to communicate very much at all and prefers to observe. He is a very sweet kid. He is always carrying his Bunny stuffie, Patches, as it brings him a lot of comfort and helps calm him down. It is the last thing he got from his mother. He sticks very close to Leo. Was saved by Michelangelo.

Oliver: 5 years old. Has his father. Oliver has no recollection of anything before Krang. His innocence and curious nature causes him to ask a lot of questions. He is hyperactive and loves running around, and one of the only ways to calm him down is to hold him. He likes to trace different patterns on people, like the lines in the palm of hands or Leo’s stripes. He was put in the class as a way to drain his energy while his father takes the adult class with Cassandra.

Auryn: 10 year old. Has both parents. Auryn is a Yokai from a well known Yokai family in the hidden city. Her life hasn’t really changed since the invasion, although the presence of humans and the overcrowded parts of town are new. Her parents are against humans, but Auryns not so sure. She is one of the few Yokai in the class, and had to join when she discovered her favorite two time Battle nexus champ was going to be teaching. She has a huge celebrity crush on Leo that makes it hard for her to look him in the eyes. She has a shining intelligence and a special gift that may prove useful in these trying times.

Jace: Age unknown. Believed to be around 10-12 years old. Orphaned. Raph found him wandering around the surface about a year ago. He won’t tell anyone what happened before. Jace is a bright kid, despite his horrors, and has this dream of becoming a hero. He isn’t very good at learning though, and most of the lessons Leo teaches go straight over his head, so he finds way to make it fun and disrupt class. He loves pulling pranks, especially on Auryn, and Oliver is his partner in crime. He will not split with the scarf wrapped around his neck. He gets on Leo’s nerves the most despite all their similarities.

Nora: 14 years old. Has her mother. Nora has only ever had her and her mother. She remembers the most about life before the Krang and has a fighting spirit. She’s the oldest in the class and hates to be stuck with all the babies, believing she could handle much more. She mostly keeps to herself and can usually be found leaning against the wall giving judgemental looks. She’s tough and strong and ready to throw hands with anyone whose looking for a fight. Only one person has been able to loosen her from her shell.

Renet: 13 years old. Orphaned. She/them. Renet was orphaned king before the events of the Krang. Her mother (a Yokai) and her father (a human) were persecuted for their forbidden romance and it caused both to abandon them. Deemed too human for Yokai and too Yokai for humans they were left to fend for themselves until word of their hidden talent was heard by Big Mama herself. She’s been living with Big Mama ever since, not in the best living conditions but it was a home nonetheless. She has a natural talent for mystics, and an ability they keep all to themselves. She makes an effort to get along with everyone in the class, and is seen as kind, calm, and wise beyond her years.

Additional shots. Background and Art all done by me. Thanks for reading! Likes and Reblogs appreciated.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

[Hermann Hesse]

* * * *

"At one time, the regularly laid out pleasure garden had been a rigorous work of art. But a time came when people grew tired of arduous waiting and tending and pruning, and no one cared about laboriously planted grounds, and the trees were left to fend for themselves. They had struck up friendships with one another, they had forgotten their artificially isolated roles, they had remembered in their crisis their old forest homeland, leaned on one another, flung their arms around one another for support. They had covered the paths straight as arrows with thick foliage and drawn those paths to themselves, with their long, grasping roots, transforming them into nourishing forest floor; their crowns had clasped one another and grown tightly intertwined; and they saw an eagerly upward-striving population of new trees grow under their protection, filling the emptiness with smoother trunks and lighter-colored leaves, conquering the fallow soil, making the earth black and soft and rich with their shade and fallen leaves, so that mosses and grass could now thrive more easily too, and little shrubs.

[Now] the people whose grandfathers had planted the plane trees in ramrod-straight lines, and pruned and shaped them with judgment and discretion, now visited those trees with their own children and were happy that the long period of desolation had turned the allées into a forest, where sun and wind could linger and birds could sing and people could indulge in their thoughts and dreams and desires."

It always delighted and impressed me how stubbornly my little beech held on to its leaves. When everything else was long since bare, it still stood clad in its withered leaves — through December, January, February; storms tore at it, snow fell on it and dripped off again, and the dry leaves, at first dark brown, grew ever paler, thinner, silkier, but still the tree would not let them go, they were needed to shield the young buds. Then at some point or another every spring — and every time it was later than you expected — the tree would one day have changed. It would have lost its old foliage and instead put out tender new buds dabbed with moisture. This time, I was witness to the transformation. It was an afternoon hour around mid-April, soon after the rain had made the landscape fresh and green; I had still not heard the cuckoo that year, not seen any daffodils in the meadow. Only a few days earlier I had stood there in a hard north wind, shivering, raising my collar, and watched with amazement as the beech stood indifferent in the wrenching wind, dropping barely a leaf. Tough and brave, hard and stubborn, it kept hold of its old bleached leaves. And now, today, as I broke pieces of wood by my fire in the gentle calm warm air, I saw it happen: a soft breeze blew up, just a breath really, and the leaves saved for so long simply drifted off, by the hundreds and thousands — noiselessly, easily, willingly, tired from their long perseverance, tired of their stubbornness and fortitude. What had resisted and endured for five or six months now succumbed to a puff of air, a nothing, because the time had come and their furious persistence was no longer needed. Away they flew and fluttered, smiling, without a struggle, ready. The tiny wind was much too weak to carry the little leaves far no matter how light and thin they were, so they drizzled down like a light rain and covered the path and the grass at the foot of the little tree, which was now showing a few buds already broken open and green.

Intuiting what we now know — that trees are Earth’s emissaries of immortality, and that their wintering is our blueprint of resilience — he sees in the little tree the same lens on the meaning of life that Rachel Carson saw in the ocean, and adds:

What had this surprising and touching performance revealed to me? Was it death: the easy, willingly undergone death of the winter leaves? Was it life: the urgently striving, celebratory youth of the buds making space for themselves with a suddenly roused will? Was the performance sad or cheering? Was it a sign that I, an old man, should let myself flutter and fall as well, a warning that I might be taking up space needed by the younger and stronger? Or was it a call to hold on, like the beech leaves — to stay on my feet and brace myself and defend myself as tenaciously and as long as I could, because then, at the right moment, my farewell would be easy, serene, and joyful? No, like everything we see it was the great and eternal made visible: a confluence of opposites, their fusing together in the fire of reality. It meant nothing, was a call to nothing; or, rather, it meant everything — it meant the mystery of existence and it was beautiful, it was happiness and meaning, a gift and a discovery for anyone who saw it, like an earful of Bach or an eyeful of Cézanne. These names and these interpretations were not part of the experience, they came later: the experience itself was nothing but appearance, miracle, mystery, as beautiful as it was serious, as fair and propitious as it was unrelenting and merciless.

And then he realizes that he is only rediscovering a truth he had discovered long ago, in one the poems he penned in the summer of life:

FLOWERING BRANCH Constantly this way and that The flowering branch flails in the wind, Constantly up and down My heart flails like a child Between bright days and dark, Between wanting and renouncing. Until the flowers have blown away And the branch is covered in fruit; Until the heart, sated with childhood, Has its rest And confesses: it was full of pleasure, not for nothing, This restless game of life.

[The Marginalian]

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

ARI MLL IM SO SORRY THAT THIS IS SENT OUT SO LATE HSJSJS. I FEEL SO BAD FOR NOT REPLYING EARLIER 😭 it was assessment week and istg everyday was just filled with assignments/exams/pracs etc. i just wanna go back to high school already!! i’m not mentally prepared for this ☹️☹️

UR SO REAL ABT THE JJK DILFS THO. like they’ve raised my standards up for men so high haksjsj. i so badly want, no, NEED a college bf! geto in my life to make my very own uni life a lil more bearable. HES SO BF CODED OMG 😻 okok but hear me out. geto playing guitar?? i repeat. GETO PLAYING GUITAR??? more specifically ELECTRIC GUITAR PHEWWW. i’m sorry it’s been plaguing my mind for the past few days but i so believe that geto can play guitar w ease. hsjsjsj guitarist! geto has me melting icl 😭✋ with his piercings nd tattoos nd the reading glasses he wears at home hshshshs. its not a want, it’s a need 😔

AHHH UR SO RIGHT ABT STEM GIRLIES AND LIBERAL ARTS GIRLIES HOLDING HANDS HSJJSJ. us stem girlies have sm respect for you guys 🙇‍♀️ from what i’ve heard, lit is a pretty tough major (i took lit as an atar subject back in hs and i FAILED LMAOO). plus lit girlies are so knowledgeable it js blows my mind away. like give me ur brain please 🙏

i’ve tried getting out of my reading slump (WE’RE GETTING THERE WOOHOO!!) like i’ve recently started little woman by louis may alcott (a classic ik idk why i’m even referencing it shshs) and so far it’s pretty good! sometimes the dialogue throws me off a little since it was written so long ago and my mind just goes blank as soon as i read anything that’s not modern day english (i’m talking anything published before the 2000s 😭). i watched the movie a while ago so i’m kinda excited to see if there’s any major differences between the books and the movies. apparently there are a few but i didnt listen in further bc i didn’t wanna spoil myself hahah. welp ig i’ll k when i commit to actually finishing the book.

i haven’t heard abt the travelling cat chronicles yet but i’ll sure be adding it to my tbr 🫡 I LOVE LOVE LOVE CATS SMMM!! ive always just preferred cats more than dogs idkk. speaking abt cats, i have two ragdoll cats hsjsjs. funnily enough, someone pointed out that they somewhat remind them of gojo 😹😹 whelp i fear that i might as well grow up to be an old cat lady hsjsj. not that i’m complaining tho 🤭 really out of the blue question but dy have any pets? 👀 i’m just curious hahah.

also thank u so so so much for the advice ari! i’ll definitely be checking out the summaries + quotes for any future books i wanna read. and nooo ur not incompetent at all, don’t worry!! and thank u sm for being so supportive bby i have sm love for you 💗 AND YEAH I AGREE, READING IS SM FUN WHEN YOU’RE NOT BEING FORCED INTO IT.

and aww the tags were absolutely no problem at all! ur geto drabble was written SO WELL. like ari bby you are so talented and i cannot emphasise that enough. you have a way with words and it’s so admirable!! ++ you nailed geto’s characterisation so well, i was genuinely in awe while reading it. ahhh i still think abt it even to this day!! cult leader geto plagues my mind once a week istg. SAME W HIM AND HIS DYNAMIC W SATORU. like hello?? every time i hear abt satosugu i wanna BAWL MY EYES OUT. they’re soulmates (both platonically and somewhat romantically?? idk if you can have both hahah). but omigosh they’re so tragic shskajsjs. brb i’m not crying, i’m chopping up onions!! !! !! 😃

OMG THAT RESEMBLANCE BETWEEN GOJO AND RHE KITTY CAT OMFDDHDH. someone tell me they’re twins and i’ll believe every. single. word. thank u sm for the treat ari, i hope ur day/night is going well!! i’m so sorry that this is long overdue but i genuinely LOVE talking to you bby <333 remember to take care of urself too! ilysm 💞🥹

p.s hes so fine i swearrrr 😍 i saw this on twitter and it’s been my roman empire ever since

UKIIIII MY BELOVED PLS FORGIVE ME FOR THE WAIT 😔😔😔 i’m finally here !!!!!!

first of alllll i hope your studies n work have gone well!!!!!! 🥺🥺 you know i’m always cheering you on hehe. i just have a month left n then i’m free but i’m not sure how it is for you :’3 i hope you’ll get to rest properly soon!!!!

ANDDDDDDDD GUITARIST!SUGU. GOOD GOD 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 your hcs of him made me LOSE it i hope you know that…… he’s literally so bf…… PLSSS PIERCINGS AND TATTOOS AND READING GLASSES ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 OUGHHH UKI I NEED HIM SO BAD….. he would strum his pretty guitar for you on nights you couldn’t sleep 🥺🥺 i just know he would!!!!! he’s such a loverboy…..

LIBERAL ARTS GIRLIES 🤝 STEM GIRLIES FR….. from my perspective stem subjects are a LOT more difficult i rlly can’t overstate how impressed i am by how much you guys study …… 😭😭 i’ve heard . horror stories abt it LMAO…..

AND THE BOOKSSSSS i’m so proud of you for trying to get out of your reading slump uki!!!!!! i actually haven’t read little women yet hehe, pls tell me if it ends up being good!!!!! i’ve heard great things abt it….. AND AND ANDDD i get you!!!! i think it’s important to pick books that are written in ways that you like!!! it’s easy to think that older books are like . harder to read and relate to but that’s usually more bc of the author than the time period!!! i prefer mine to be from around the 1800s-1900s and they aren’t difficult to understand at all!! some classics are super hard to get into bc of how just. Heavy they are writing wise (side eyeing shakespeare n dostoevsky rn) but others aren’t!!! one classic i absolutely adore is the stranger by albert camus, idk if you’re interested in existentialism but!!! the writing is very pretty :3

anyway anyway…. FELLOW CAT PERSONNNN i knew i could trust you!!!! and you have ragdolls!!! 🥺🥺 my current housemate has four of them LMAO and they all look like gojo ngl …. act like him too……. this little guy just follows me around n sleeps in my lap and yaps <33333

BUT YES i think you’d really love the travelling cat chronicles!!!! i read it so quickly bc it’s just. so lovely!!!! and pretty!!!!! and cute n sweet :(((( i love it lots!!!!! but it made me sob so much… so pls make sure you have tissues close by if you read it……

ANDDDD again 🥺🥺🥺 thank you sooooo much for being so sweet …. you rlly are too kind!!!!! i’m so happy you like my geto, i loveloveloveee yours too <33333 AND . YES. i cry over stsg all the time too…. sniffle……. they’re soulmates both platonically and romantically imo :’3 they just . belong together no matter what!!!!!! wish they weren’t so doomed by the narrative tho…..

THANK YOU SO MUCHHH FOR CHATTING W ME SWEETIE <33333 i hope you’re doing soso well!!!!! and i rlly am sorry abt how long you’ve had to wait for this response 😭😭 my brain has Not been braining correctly recently. but i adore you sb 🥺

[mollymagician]

I actually finished the second chapter of my weird little street artist!Dream AU

I am so proud of myself. Like, so proud, guys.

*************************

A week passed. Slowly the sunflowers faded from the New Inn’s bricks, distorted and worn away by rain and curious fingers.

Hob had spent a good amount of time scrolling through the various social media accounts run by enthusiasts dedicated to cataloging Dream’s work and any bits of personal information that they could gather about the artist in question, which was: nothing. Zero.

Well, aside from one blogger who claimed to have seen a shadowy figure lurking around one of the murals at two in the morning and described them as…tall.

Yes, tall, Hob thought. Legs for days. And the hair’s got to add at least two inches.

Matthew was right, he had been out of touch lately, but this sort of thing wasn’t normally in his wheelhouse anyway. He appreciated art and what it meant to the world but he had enough personal artistic ability to fill the tip of his pinky finger. Literally. He’d broken the ice with more than one tough group of students by illustrating his lecture on the fly with horribly drawn graphs and chaotic stick figures. Still, he could recognize talent when he saw it.

He had a few favorites saved on his phone. On the side of a building just off Richmond Green, an expanse of blue and white, shot through with swirling figures in every earthy shade—children, it took Hob a moment to realize. Children running against a vibrant blue sky. Tucked just out of sight of the bustling crowds at the Tower of London was a flowing mass of sunset hues shot through with streaking dark figures that could only be ravens.

On the side of the old derelict White Horse Tavern, where Hob had spent a good chunk of his youth faffing about with his mates, a white figure leaping against emerald green, rampaging, like it had escaped it’s hill in Uffington and didn’t plan on being caught again.

The talent was obvious…but that wasn’t all it was. Hob remembered reading a line somewhere—it’s not what a horse looks like, it’s what a horse IS. It’s what they all were, these weird works of art, weren’t they? Things distilled down to the essence. Yes, the artwork was arresting. Yes, the man who made it was just as striking. But Hob couldn’t explain the feeling that there was something there beyond what he was seeing, like a magic eye painting with a third hidden layer, and just as frustrating.

Or maybe month and a half into his sabbatical from what he jokingly referred to as his ‘side hustle’ was long enough for his brain to be going a little stir-crazy.

Then one morning, it happened again.

“Woah,” Matthew said. “That sure is…something.”

They stood staring at the new mural spanning the Inn’s northern wall. Radiating tongues of yellow and orange emerging from a peculiar dark background. The wall was smooth here, and the image had less of the feel of stained-glass and instead was a tumult of swirling line and color.

“I can’t tell if this means you shouldn’t take any more flirting advice from me, or my flirting advice is 100% on point.”

Hob slanted him a look. “I didn’t take any flirting advice from you, if it makes you feel better,” he said.

“That’s probably your best bet, actually.”

“Even if I had, I don’t think he’d threaten to burn down the place because I used the worlds worst pickup line on him.” Hob stepped up to the wall, reaching up to trace the shape of the image carefully without touching the easily-smeared strokes. “Look, here. The way the light curves here…the mantle. It’s a—a hearth, a fireplace. Like the one back in the old White Horse. See?”

“Oh,” Matthew said. “Huh.”

This strange offering was on a side of the building hidden mostly from public view, between the glorified storage crate they called Dar’s Gardening Shed and a stacked pile of unused planters. He didn’t think there’d be any gawkers this time, Hob himself had only happened upon it that morning by chance. Of course, Dream seemed to favor out-of-the-way locations, were there were swaths of empty wall and not many observers around to interfere. But this felt different. This felt…personal.

As Matthew lifted his phone to snap a shot, Hob said, “Hey. Uh. Maybe don’t post this one.”

“What?” he squawked. “It’s free advertising, dude. Why not?” At Matthews perplexed look, Hob could only shrug.

He didn’t have to wait long for it to click “Oooohhh. I see.”

“Matt.”

“Aww.” Matthew followed him back around the front of the building and through the main entrance. For all he looked broad and soft-edged, once he latched his brain on something, he was relentless. It was like being pecked to death by ducks. Pecked to death by something, anyway. “Oh come on, man, it’s adorable.”

“Matthew, zip it.” Hob ducked past the bar, hoping he could make a quick exit into the kitchen. This wasn’t a conversation they could have out here, not if he wanted his dignity intact. Any moment now—

“Not that I’m not a fan of anyone telling Matt to zip it, but why are we telling Matt to zip it this time in particular?”

Hob sighed. Too late, he was doomed.

Dar’s russet head poked through the kitchen doors, followed by the rest of her, busily tying on an apron. They’d just opened for the day and only a few regulars had so far trickled in, at least, which meant there would be minimal witnesses to what he was about to endure.

“Our resident mysterious artist left him a token of affection on the wall in the alley and he wants to keep it all to himself.”

“Ooh!” Dar said brightly. “Tall Dark and Spooky strikes again!?” Matthew handed her his phone where the photo of the yellow and gold flames swirled in miniature. She gave a little whistle. “Oh my!”

Hob dragged a hand over his face. “It’s not a token of affection.”

“Wanna bet?” Matthew pulled out his wallet and waggled it. “Bet you ten bucks. Pounds. Whatever. Shit. What country am I in?”

“—and he’s not our mysterious artist,” Hob continued, undeterred.

“He’s decorating your pub and he likes my tea,” Dar said decisively. “That means he’s ours. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”

“Actually I’m pretty sure most of the time you do.”

Hob wondered if noon really was too early to start drinking.

“I’m sure he’d be fine with the attention,” Matthew said, “considering that he’s dropping this stuff all over town.”

“No one knows anything about this dude, Matt,” Hob argued. But. You do, a little voice whispered in the back of his mind. You know how he likes his tea, you know his hands look cold, you know his eyes are the bluest thing you’ve ever seen— Hob shook it off and plucked the phone from Dar’s hand, closing the screen and poking it back into the front pocket of Matthew’s shirt. “You didn’t see the look he gave me last time he was here. Maybe he doesn’t actually want any kind of attention at all.”

“Well,” Dar said, flipping a dishtowel over one shoulder. “I can guess at least one type of attention he wants.” She looked past Hob and jutted her chin towards the door. Slowly, trying to be nonchalant and failing, Hob turned to glance behind him.

…you know his eyes are the bluest thing you’ve ever seen and he keeps looking at you with them…

Dream edged in through the door of the pub, cautiously, and headed straight for his usual table. He moved, Hob thought, as though the space around him was packed with rickety shelves covered in teacups. Slow and precise. Or, as Matthew would say, like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. As soon as his eyes met Hob’s he glanced quickly away and busied himself with pulling the ever-present sketch book from his satchel.

“WELP I should be—“

“Oh look, I’m just gonna head—“

Hob watched in resigned amusement as Matthew and Dar both suddenly discovered they had somewhere else to be and nearly ran into each other trying to get there. He sighed, and set about making a cup of tea.

He didn’t know what possessed him, this time, to make a second. Or to sit down, easy as you please in the chair across from his stranger, as though they had a standing date. Maybe a little of his old confidence was coming back from wherever it had been banished to over this past exceptionally shitty year.

Dream, who had been very studiously ignoring him for the last five minutes, actually gave a startled jump when a mug appeared in front of him, followed by a whole other human. He watched Hob with an expression of guarded surprise as he settled into his seat, cleared his throat, and extended a hand across the table. “Robert Gadling. I, er, hope you don’t mind me being wildly presumptuous.” To his delight, Dream reached out, slowly as though he was expecting to be bitten, and met his hand. His grip was firm, but cold. Hob resisted the sudden fierce urge to take his hands and wrap them around the mug of tea he’d just set down.

“I don’t mind, Mr. Gadling. I. Was.” He looked down at the blank page open in front of him, seemingly at a loss for words.

“I’m sorry for interrupting you,” Hob said. “I just wanted to come over and thank you, I suppose.”

Dreams eyebrows crept up. “Thank me?”

“For the—“ Hob gestured over Dream’s shoulder. “Artwork. It’s remarkable, really.”

Dream opened his mouth to speak, closed it. Tried again. “You don’t mind,” he finally stated, not quite a question.

Hob huffed a laugh. “Do I—? No I don’t mind at all. It’s brilliant. I needed something to brighten up this bastard of a winter and you’ve done a spectacular job of it.” Dream glanced away with what appeared to be a blush coloring his worryingly pale face. “I just had one question, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“No. Please.”

“Why us?”

Dreams head tipped questioningly to one side and Hob hastened on. “I wondered how you choose your…locations. There’s always some inspiration, isn’t there? Was just curious what it was about this old place that inspired you twice.”

Dream stared at him for a moment, a parade of emotions flickering across his face so quickly, it was impossible to parse them. His eyes dropped back to the table. “I came by chance. I was out looking for. Inspiration, as you said, I suppose.” He spoke like someone who hadn’t in so long that he’d lost the knack, Hob thought. A crying shame, with that voice. “I saw you, and your employees. Laughing together. Often. I was…interested in your experience.”

“Friends,” Hob said. Dreams eyes flicked up to meet his briefly and he smiled. “I inherited the place. Been in the family for generations. Doesn’t really feel like mine, you know? It belongs to the community at this point, I’m just here to keep the paperwork in order. Knew I’d be taking it over one day, but if I didn’t have friends helping me out here who knew what they were doing I’d have made a complete mess of it.” Hob realized he was prattling on, as he was wont to do, and took a gulp of tea in an effort to rein in his mouth. “I’m sorry. You said you were interested in our…experience?”

Hob watched Dream move his fingertips over the surface of the blank sketchbook page, producing a gentle rhythmic susurrus. “Yes…I…have had precious few of my own. I find inspiration in watching other’s appreciation for life and this place…there’s so much life to appreciate here.” Oh. He was blushing. It was fucking delightful. “I hope you don’t find that. Intrusive.”

“Of course not,” he said. “It’s literally what we’re here for.”

Dream said, “You were very kind, Mr. Gadling. The last time we spoke. It was…it’s own kind of inspiration.”

Ohhhh dear. Oh good grief. He was in trouble. Hob had no idea what his face was doing. He couldn’t even imagine. He coughed to clear the sudden tightness in his throat. “Call me Hob,” he said. “Everyone else does. No one uses my proper name unless I’m in trouble for something.”

“Hob.” Dream said. His mouth curved into the smallest of smiles. Something in Hob’s gut gave a little delighted jump and warmth bloomed, down beneath his breastbone. “My name—is—“ He paused and swallowed. Hob could see him battling forward through something, some wall, and had the irrational urge to cheer for him. “Dream” he finally managed. “You may call me Dream.”

The warmth in Hob’s belly grew, filling his chest. Knowing the name was nothing compared to being gifted the name. “Well, Dream, you’re welcome to come back anytime. Avail yourself of the blank wall space.” Hob grinned, hopeful. “And the experience.”

Dream was silent for a moment, then took a quiet breath. “The tea is also very good.”

It startled a laugh out of Hob. “That’s Dar’s doing, she blends it. Grows some of the herbs herself out there in the spring. She’s got a terrific hangover remedy if you ever need it.”

“I don’t often drink alcohol but I will keep that in mind.”

From the corner of his eye, Hob had noticed the steady motion of Dream’s fingers against the paper turning jerky and irregular. Now he’d abandoned it altogether in favor of twisting them together over and over. His shoulders were tensing, rounding a bit. Ah. It was time, Hob thought, to let him experience his inspiration from afar. But they’d made a start. He thought it was a good start.

Hob picked up his half-drunk mug and lifted it in a little salute. “Right then, I’ll…just leave you to the—the creative processes.”

Dream wrapped his hands around the mug in front of him, just as Hob had imagined, though without his own curved over top of them. “Until next time, then.” And there it was again, that faint smile.

Hob beat a retreat back to his flat. He was only halfway up the stairs when his phone began buzzing its way out of his pocket. Dar, as expected.

Okay we want the story. Spill!

Goddammit. I think I owe Matt a tenner

Told you

…………………..

Next time came later that week, when Dream appeared with his sketchbook and awkward smile and absurdly sexy voice, which Hob coaxed out of him for ten whole minutes before it was obvious he needed a break from human interaction. Hob gathered his small victories where he could.

The warm feeling in his gut, it stayed with him. It was gentle, soothing, some invisible softness blanketing all the rough-edged hurts he’d collected over the past year. It was…striking.

Which was why it was so profoundly obvious to him the moment it was gone.

The day started off wrong-footed in a dozen small and frustrating ways. It was one of those bloody wretched freezing winter days, devoid of snow or any kind of charm, with a biting wind that seemed hell-bent on causing as much trouble as possible. The Inn was busy with customers who mostly just seemed fed up with the outdoors and wanted to forget it existed for awhile.

Hob was helping out behind the bar, pulling orders for a surprisingly rowdy pre-dinner crowd and keeping an eye on one customer in particular—red sweater, surly expression, toeing Matthew’s cut-off line for acceptable drunkenness. He just caught Dream stepping in, huddled in a coat that didn’t look near heavy enough and looking even more like a frozen scarecrow than usual. Quickly he threw together Dream’s usual order, with the addition of a large muffin on a plate, and hurried over. “My friend, hello. I have a job for you today.”

Dream’s brows lifted slightly as Hob set it all down in front of him. “A job involving…muffins?”

Hob grinned. “We started bringing things in from that new bakery down the street, Gilbert’s, maybe help give them a boost. Matthew’s idea.” He nudged the muffin forward and grinned. “Taste test for me, give me a report later.”

Dream opened his mouth, but a crash and raised voices in the direction of the bar drowned out whatever it was he was about to say. Hob looked over his shoulder and swore. “Excuse me, I’ll be back.”

It was Anita, a friend of Dar’s, only two weeks on the job. She stood frozen in the middle of a circle of broken glass from a dropped tray and bystanders who were half out of their seats with the look of folks obviously ready to start throwing punches but unsure how to go about it. The man in the red sweater had one hand locked around her wrist and what could only be described as a leer on his face.

Coming up on them, Hob heard her furious “…I said shove off.”

Red Sweater slurred, “I see you talkin’ but ‘m not hearing anything worth listenin to, yet.”

“Oooh, bad idea mate,” she said. And then Hob’s hand was coming down on his forearm, fingers digging, and he released her with a pained shout.

“Out. Now.,” Hob said.

“Fuck you arsehole, what, you own the place?”

“Actually, yeah,” Matthew said, stepping up to Anita and gently pulling her out of range.

“He does.”

Hob leaned in close and growled, “It’s not that loud in here, I know you heard me.” He shifted his grip to grab a handful of red wool at the back of the man’s neck and pulled. “You can leave now, or I can walk into the back and just let the regulars decide how to sort you out.”

The man wrenched himself out of Hob’s grasp and honked a few more drunken obscenities around at no one in particular grabbing his coat and staggering off. Hob watched him go, resisting the urge to fling him bodily through the door. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Dream, his head bent over his sketchbook, pencil moving intently.

It was pure dumb luck that he saw what followed, it happened so quickly.

The man was stalking unsteadily towards the exit, which took him directly past Dream’s table. As he neared it, Dream looked up and made the most peculiar gesture with his hand—Hob nearly missed it—as though he were lifting something from the table in front of him and flicking it away.

The banana peel hit the floor just as Red Sweater came parallel with Dream’s table. His shoe hit the peel, and in true slapstick fashion, his foot shot out from under him and he landed flat on his arse.

A wave of snickering passed through the crowd. Someone in the back hooted, “OH SMOOTH.”

Red Sweater scrambled to his feet, gave the room in general the finger, and slapped his way out the doors. The usual buzz of the Inn resumed as everyone went back to their conversations. As though an absolutely impossible thing had not just occurred right in front of them.

“What a dick,” Matthew said, appearing at Hob’s side with a broom. “Hey, you okay, boss?”

“What? I— yeah.” Hob shook his head. Nodded his head. Dragged his fingers through his hair. “Is Nita okay?”

“She’ll be okay, I think, she’s taking a break. You sure you are? Because you look like someone just slapped you with a fish. Hey! You know, there’s a word for that? It’s—“

“Hold that thought, Matt,” Hob said, reaching out to pat him absently on the shoulder. Feeling cold prickling across his skin, he made his way over to Dream’s table.

The table was empty. The tea sat untouched. The muffin was missing. Dream was gone.

Hob bent and picked up the banana peel, staring at the thing dangling limply in his hand. It was. A banana peel. Slightly squashed from being tread on. He didn’t know exactly what he’d expected, but that’s what he had. Feeling slow and stupid, he looked down at his feet and there on the floor—a steak of yellow, like chalk ground across the wood.

“What the hell?” he muttered.

Standing there by the door, he felt the cold rushing in, chilling him for the first time in what seemed like days.

Suddenly he was moving, ducking into the kitchen and through the back employee door. Turning the corner, he skirted around the odds and ends that littered the narrow space and pulled back to look at the wall where the orange flames had swirled.

They were…gone.

“What the bloody hell?”

The piece was still there, mostly, a little worse for wear. Hob could see the framing background details, but the flames themselves were gone. Instead there was nothing but empty space, clean bare wall, not even traces of clinging pigment left behind.

The wind blew sharply down the alley, and Hob shivered.

[butcherlarry]

Exercise Fic Rec 10

This is my tenth week doing this!  And still going strong!  I though as a special treat, I would rec some of my favorite fics from the first fandom I got into, Hannibal.  But first, exercise fic recs!  I finished up my reread of “the cost of being a good dad” but then a *new* Superbat fic by Mawiiish was dropped.  I was Very Excited.  In the new fic, both Bruce and Clark are so dumb about their feelings.  So, so dumb.  It was great!  The third fic “end of the line” was written in the point of view of a drunk person who tried to get in a fight with Clark Kent.  Bruce is there to try to sooth things out.  Shenanigans ensue.  The next two fics are still in progress, but the updates were fun to read as I was exercising!

the cost of being a good dad by Mawiiish

Sure Thing by Mawiiish

end of the line by TheResurrectionist

Patroclus by LilyFlowerBat

Just A Little Bit... by HaleHathNoFury

Like I mentioned above, Hannibal was the first fandom I got into and started reading fan fics.  I remember reading the books as a teen and enjoyed them (I was a weird kid, don’t judge me), so when I heard there was a TV show, I was intrigued.  I think I watched the first couple episodes then stopped, but I kept on seeing gif sets, fan art, and memes on Tumblr, so I started watching again.  Then I started reading all the fan fic people were recommending on Tumblr.  It soon went all downhill from there for me, lol.

As someone with a meat science background, I always found the Hannibal books and TV show so interesting.  I remember when Hannibal and Will were discussing meat tasting “frightened”, and my meat sci brain perked up.  Short-term stress in hogs can cause a meat quality issue called PSE (pale, soft, and exudative (watery)).  Long-term stress can cause another meat quality issue in hogs and cattle called DFD (dark, firm, and dry).  I feel like if Hannibal was going to run into meat quality issues with his uhhh, preferred protein, it would probably be PSE, since what he’s hunting is undergoing short term stress.  Well, unless he decides to play with his food for a few days, then maybe he would get DFD meat.  If I remember correctly, he does reference a “metallic taste”, and that’s more prevalent in DFD meat.  PSE meat would be so dry and tough to eat, and not have a nice reddish-pink color.  He would probably have to grind and mix it with other proteins to make something tasty.  

All of these fics are Hannigram, except for “He Who Pours Out Vengeance”, but you can read that one as Hannigram (I think the second story in the series is slash, but it’s uncompleted).  Not going to lie, after going through my old bookmarks to find these, I’m really tempted to reread a few (and by few, I mean all, haha).

Anyway, here are some of my favorite Hannibal Fics!

Ladders series by emungere

What Dreams series by emungere

Blackbird by emungere

Page Six by ThisBeautifulDrowning

Pattern Break by ThisBeautifulDrowning

He Who Pours Out Vengeance by Underground

Shark Tank by xzombiexkittenx

Overcoming by purefoysgirl (I may or may not have this one in book form when the author published it. (I totally do.  They hold a special place on my book shelf))

There are plenty more favorites that I have, but these are just a few.  My AO3 page has all of my fan fic bookmarks, just sort for Hannibal if you want to check them out 😄

My obligatory coffee and pastry photo:

Spring is showing up at the arboretum! 

I just really like this tree that was along the river:

The moss along the path was kinda neat:

This is my favorite spot along the path and I always take pictures here:

A nice picture of a white-breasted nuthatch:

I also stopped by the local plant nursery and got some more flowers to feed my plant addiction.  I almost got a citrus tree, but I was strong and resisted (No I wasn’t, the only reason why I didn’t buy one because they were 60 dollars 😔)