#work gets in the way of drawing so horribly.... I wish I could quit and just draw pretty characters all day....... one day..............

[lilyinwaiting]

A rose for your lover, don't mind the thorns.

[luveline]

hey love!!!! i hope you are doing well 🫶🫶🫶 if you feel so inclined could we get another coworker frenemies james?? i loveeeee him ☹️

thank u for requesting 💌 fem, 1k

James can’t fucking stand you, but in a fun way. You feel worse about him, he’s sure. He’s sitting in his car waiting for you to get out of yours, pretending to look for something rather than have to share the elevator up to the office with you. 

He hasn’t figured out a good comeback yet for what you’d said about his rugby pictures yesterday as you left, and he hates when you win, because you smile all smug and he finds it adorable. You don’t deserve a smile like that, you’re insipid, and annoying, and you take a full day to reply to his emails. 

He digs his hand into the door handle and pushes it out. The winter cold hits him hard and immediate, makes him wish he wore his thick coat with the hood even if Remus says it makes him look like he works in the deep arctic. 

There’s less slow on the ground than there has been for the last few days, snowdrift melting in the day and turning to ice at night when the temperature drops. There’s no sun out yet to warm him. He shoves his hands into his pocket and begins a careful trek from the parking lot to the stairs leading up to the office. 

You’re taking steps slow as his further in. He’d hoped you’d be gone. He’s stupid for not looking, now you both have to do an awkward shuffle where the other can see, what if he trips? You aren’t looking his way, but he’s sure it would draw your attention. If he trips in front of you he might quit, he—

You’re about two steps away from the flat entrance to the office building when you slip. 

In honesty, it's not as bad a fall as it could’ve been, your foot slips on the step and your knee hits the stone, then the other, your hand tight on the handrail but unable to save you. Your gasp is horrible, tight and too quiet, considering the surprise. 

James pauses. 

He could pretend he didn’t see. But if you turn at any point and see him, you’ll know he’s witnessed it, and that’ll be ten times as awkward as if he were to just keep on walking. 

He can’t walk past you. He never could. You don’t get along, but James isn’t the type of guy who can leave someone kneeling on the wet ground. 

Foregoing caution, James hurries across the last stretch of slushied ground to grab you. He feels cruel at first, his hand under your armpits and yanking you up, but the ice is dead slippery and you can’t find purchase, letting out another strange gasp as he rights you.

You turn your face to identify your saviour. 

“Oh,” you say, breathing funny, “of course.” 

“Are you okay?” 

“What?” you ask.  

“Are you okay?” he frowns at your frown, though they’re of two different calibres. You look angry. James is concerned. 

“What do you think, James?” 

You yank out of his arms and turn away from him. 

He shouldn’t have grabbed you without asking. He probably hurt you a little with the force of it, but he’d thought picking you up would be best. Less humiliating, perhaps. 

You sniffle. 

“Are you alright?” he asks. He wishes he could say he spoke gently, but your annoyance churns his own, and he’s starting to sound mad too. 

“I’m fine.” 

“Listen, sit down. You have a long coat, just sit for a second.” 

Your shoulders tighten, but you sweep your coat under your thighs and struggle to sit down on one of the icy steps. He can imagine the cold of it under your bum and your palms as you begin to fold in on yourself, and it’s only then he notices the blood on your knees. “Oh,” he says. (And later, years in the future, he might admit to sounding heartbroken). “Your knees.” 

You pull at your skin. “Awesome. That’s really cool.” 

You sound upset. James finds he can’t ignore that, either. He feels like a dick standing over you and so he crouches, and that feels worse, but he stays like that, facing across from you, hand begging to touch your poor scratched knees. Your eyes widen ever so slightly in response, their waterlines heavy with tears, shimmery and waiting to fall. 

“The last time I fell up here I thought I broke my arm.” 

A tear breaks free from your lashes, streaking heavy and slow down your cheek. “What?” 

“I smashed my arm coming down. It hurt for days, and I had a bruise in a line.” He raises his arm to draw a line across his sleeve. “Right here.” 

“I thought you were better coordinated than that.” 

“That’s not what you said yesterday about my photos,” he reminds you. 

You laugh under your breath. A second tear tips down the other cheek. 

“It’s easily done. The ice is pretty bad.” 

“Don’t patronise me,” you say. Your voice is missing its usual disdain. You just sound sad. 

“I’m not patronising you! You just take everything I say the wrong way.” 

“Then don’t say it the wrong way.” 

“Maybe we should go inside and find the first aid kit. How does it feel?” 

“I slipped,” you say hotly. “I’m fine.” 

Then why are you crying? Floods of tears on your cheeks, your hot breath a cloud that kisses your nose. If it were Remus sitting here in tears, James would already be hugging him. If it were Sirius, he’d have patted him on the back by now. It is so, so odd to see you crying. So weird. It makes his chest twist. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“I’m fine! Just go upstairs and tell everybody already.” 

“Tell them what?” 

“I don’t know. That I’m a baby.” 

He tilts his head, can’t help it, leaning in mildly too close. “You’re a baby?” he asks, fondness leaking into his tone. “Because you fell? Everybody falls.” 

“‘Cos I’m crying,” you mumble. 

“I’m not going to tell anyone. Then you’ll tell everybody I cried when I nearly broke my arm, it’s a lose-lose situation.” 

He’s stupid for talking to you like this. Like you’re friends, and like you can stand to be near him. You don’t look disgusted as his finger brushes your leg, just below your sore cut, and you’re not mad anymore. The ferocity drains from your face and leaves behind a sniffly, embarrassed frown. 

“Won’t tell anyone,” he says quietly.

“Thank you.” 

James didn’t fall up the stairs the last time it snowed. He didn’t hurt his arm or cry, he’s too remarkably coordinated for that. He lied, and he’ll lie to Remus when he asks why it took you both as long as it did to get upstairs. You slipped and he helped you. There were no heart-hurting tears. It’s a secret he doesn’t mind keeping for you. 

[luxurychristmaspudding]

tommy's party (tommy's party pt. ii)

summary: you and frankie work things out. it just might be that actions speak louder than words.

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. roommate!frankie, stoner!frankie and stoner!reader. mentions of drinking and smoking weed - they're still having a good time! friends to lovers, massive idiots in love, split pov, little bit of fluff, a whole lotta sexual tension and actual sex this time. thighriding, m masturbation, unprotected p in v (wrap it, y'all), oral, creampie. use of pet names (good girl, baby, etc. (not platonic!))

song is tagged at end of fic - header does not represent reader, only the album!

wc: 12.3k

an: happy frankie friday, y'all <3

part i - you and your friends

Tasha leaves early the next morning. 

Frankie offers to make her coffee, but she politely declines, saying she should probably get home. He’s surprised at how quick and easy it is for her to cut her losses. He’s surprised at how little he cares about seeing her again. 

He’s surprised at how quickly all of last night is eaten up by thoughts of you.

You and how much you’d heard. You and how you’d left. You and where you’d gone. 

Frankie tries to keep his mind occupied as the hours tick by. He texts you again, just wanting to know if you’re safe, adding to the string of unanswered messages from the night before. He has a horrible, sour feeling that he’s upset you. And a deeper, nasty feeling that he can’t quite place. 

He hates the fact you have this hold over him, hates the fact that he felt nothing as he fucked Tasha last night, the fact that he had to bite his tongue so he wouldn’t moan your name. Hates the fact that when he shut his eyes he could only see you, only wanted to feel and hear you, and that it’s those thoughts that made him do it. The fact that you care so much you’d left the apartment, but not for the reasons he wants. 

His mood has soured so much by late morning that he wishes you won’t come home. He hopes he won’t have to see you, hopes he won’t have to talk to you until he solves the broiling mess swirling in his head. But it’s still bubbling when the front door opens and you step through it, in the same clothes you left in, hair wet and eyes tired.

Frankie’s stomach rolls as though he already knows, can already sense where you’ve been, who you were with.

You fix each other with a stare as you kick off your trainers and take off your hoodie. You hang it next to your jacket and turn to face Frankie at the kitchen counter. You hope he can tell you’re not wearing a bra. You hope he can see from there the bruises that are forming on your neck and collarbone from Benny last night. 

And this morning.

As you step into the kitchen, Frankie’s eyes sweep over you. The marks, the way you now avoid his gaze. You try to busy yourself with making coffee, but Frankie won’t move. Because now you’re this close, he can smell it. The faint, fresh scent of Benny’s body wash.

‘Where the fuck have you been?’ He spits.

You purse your lips as though you’re trying not to smile, and Frankie feels himself drawing to his full height, incensed.

‘Benny’s.’ You say, and Frankie stares at you, hot and angry.

‘Benny’s?’ he asks, and you throw him a look.

‘Yes, Frankie. I was with Benny.’

Frankie’s jaw grinds, a hand flexing at his side.

‘What - what were you doing at -’

You turn to him, quick as a whip, a kind of disgust on your face.

‘What do you think we were doing, Frankie?’

You stare him down, heart beating hard in your chest, daring him. You’ve never been this angry with him, never felt the hot, heady lurch of it between you until now. But then he’s never hurt you like this, so deep and quick you didn’t even know what was happening until you’d washed his buddy from your skin this morning. 

Frankie’s nostrils flare as he looks down at you, face unreadable.

‘Knock it off.’ He seethes.

‘Knock what off, asshole?’

‘Whatever that is,’ he says, waving a hand over your shoulder. ‘Whatever that thing you have with Benny is.’

You sneer at him, stepping closer. He doesn’t move, just watches you with something molten in his eyes. 

‘Why do you want me to knock it off, Frankie? Hm?’

‘I don’t want you sleeping with my friends.’ 

His words sting, and you reel backwards as though he’s actually hit you. A well of something flourishes in your chest, at once cooling, at once stoking your anger. Your cheeks colour as you feel the embarrassment grow. Because he’s made it sound so out of proportion - he’s making this something it’s not.

‘What the fuck, Fish? What the fuck?’ You laugh, cruel and disbelieving. You turn from him, making your way back through the hallway. You shout over your shoulder, Frankie following you - ‘Seriously? You know if I hadn’t slept with your friend you wouldn’t be living here, right? You know you’d still be couch surfing, or living in some fucking bedsit somewhere -’

‘Fuck you -’

‘No, fuck you, asshole.’ You say, pulling your jacket on. ‘What is this really about, huh? You pissed off that I interrupted you last night? Or are you pissed off that I fucked Benny? Whatever kind of bullshit you’ve got going on here, it’s not gonna fly. And if it’s not something you can fix, you’re out.’

Frankie freezes. But you can’t stop, carried away now.

‘I’m - what?’

‘You’re out, y’hear me? You tell me to leave Benny alone again without giving me a good fuckin’ reason why, you’re out. Especially when I know who you had here last night.’

Frankie baulks at you. You laugh again, high pitched and thrilled as you stomp one of your boots on.

‘What, you really don’t think I know, Frankie? We work together. I’ve heard her laugh, and I know she gave you her number. So quit tryna be sly, too.’ You whirl around to him once you’ve stomped your last boot on and poke your finger in his face, chest heaving, the words barely scraping through your teeth.

‘And I’ve heard she’s a shit lay, baby. So congratu-fuckin’-lations. Enjoy.’

Frankie rocks as the door slams behind you. The silence left in the wake of the argument is deafening.

A prickling feeling works its way up Frankie’s torso, becoming hot as it floods his chest and neck. His breathing is shallow, his head swims. He fumbles in his pocket for his phone, dials the only number he can think of.

‘Are you free right now?’

—

When you return later that evening, a little drunk, the flat is dark and empty. 

You toe your boots off by the door, and stand in the shadows, breathing them in. Streetlight and stars slant through the living room and kitchen windows, and the door to Frankie’s room is firmly shut. There’s not a snore, not a rustle of bedclothes, not a whisper of music floating from beneath the door. The tears you’ve been fighting to keep at bay all night prick in your eyes, and you whistle a breath out through your mouth, blinking up at the ceiling. 

If he’s gone to Tasha’s, if that’s who he’s turned to, you think you might be sick.

If she’s what Frankie wants, you will leave. This home you’ve made doesn’t mean enough to just sit by and watch him fall in love with someone else. 

The sound shocks you so much you freeze in the hallway, standing in dazed silence just long enough to realise what you’d heard was your own crying. Your face is wet to the touch, and your hands travel down your throat, to the burning in your chest. Fuck. This had been a bad idea from the start. His curls at the party, the shy smiles. You knew. You had known then, and you’d still let it happen. You’d gotten yourself attached, even convinced yourself it could work, and now you stood in its smouldering ashes. 

You rush into your bedroom, the door banging behind you as you claw at your chest. It hurts. It hurts so much, and there's nothing you can do to fix it, to stop it. The only thing in the world which could mend it is probably in the arms of another woman, memorising her smile, the flecks of colour in her eyes, the lilt in her voice when she speaks -

You bundle your fists into your blanket and cry hoarsely into your pillow. It doesn’t help. It does nothing to dissolve this cataclysmic feeling of loving him, of understanding him, of wanting him and knowing you won’t have it. You wish you could feel less stupid, less angry. You wish you could feel less.

You don’t know when you stop crying, but you welcome it. You welcome the silence, the blur and spin. You welcome the crackle in your throat. And finally, you welcome sleep.

You awake with your face still buried in your pillow, your temples pounding. You pull yourself up from the bed, stripping off the day’s clothes with mechanical movements, dumping them in your laundry basket before pulling on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. You dig around in your duvet for your phone, pulling it out to find it empty - not a single text, nothing from Frankie to tell you where he is, to say he’s left his keys again, to ask you to wait up for him. 

Your throat burns, and you rub your eyes, pissed off now at the crying, at still being upset when it's so obvious he doesn’t want you. 

Even after all you’d heard through the bedroom wall. 

You open your door to the still flat and head to the kitchen through the black. You take a glass from the top cupboard and fill it with water, and painkillers from the drawer to your left. You gulp both down and refill your glass before padding back down the hall. 

When you return to your room, you swaddle yourself in blankets again and turn on the TV. The apartment is too quiet without any noise from Frankie’s room, no indication that it’s not just you in here. You doze to the drone of whatever movie is playing, and some time after midnight you hear the swish of the front door opening, and the click of it slipping shut. 

Your heart freezes in your chest, clamouring in your ears as you strain for noise, for whispers, for the sound of someone else with him. 

But there is nothing but the dull thud of his boots on the floorboards, and then nothing above the sound of your TV. You clutch the softest part of the blanket you have tucked around you and pull it towards you to bury your face in it. When you inhale, it smells like Frankie. 

There is a soft rap at the door, and you cringe away from it. 

You can’t bear to look at him, can’t bear to hear him say whatever it is he wants to say, but you can’t bear to turn him away either. 

When Frankie gets no response, your door swings slowly open.

He stands there in the doorway, one hand on the handle, unsure whether to come in or not. That easy familiarity gone in the space of ten minutes. He’s still wearing his clothes from this morning, his cap pressed down firmly over his curls. His eyes take a moment to adjust before he spots you wrapped up in your bed, and he swallows.

‘Hey.’ He says, so softly that it makes your eyes water again.

‘Hey.’ You say back, voice muffled, cracking and heavy at the end.

As though he can’t stop himself, as though nothing could keep him from you, Frankie steps into the room. You blink up at him with red, wet eyes and damp cheeks.

‘Hey, what’s wrong?’ He asks, worried, coming to the side of the bed - like he’s forgotten, like he doesn't know - ‘What’s happened?’

You shake your head, try to turn your face away from him, the tears coming faster. He says your name gently, a little firmer, reaching with both hands to cup your cheeks.

‘What’s going on?’

‘I’m sorry,’ you croak out. ‘I’m sorry.’ Before your throat seizes and you can’t say anymore, that burning in your chest returning.

‘Hey,’ Frankie coos again, lifting from his knees to join you on the bed, wrapping his arms around you. ‘What happened?’ he asks again, ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m okay,’ you croak, ‘I’m just sorry. I hate fighting with you. I don’t know what that was this morning.’

Frankie squeezes you tighter but says nothing, and that scares you more. Maybe you’ve already said too much, maybe it’s already changed everything you’ve shared. The late nights and the lazy mornings, the meals, the conversations you’ve had at all hours, the beds you’ve shared. 

‘I’m sorry,’ you sob, everything catching up with you too quickly. What if you’ve done it? What if you’ve finally pushed him away like you should have done at the start? ‘I’m sorry, Frankie. Are we still friends? Please can we still be friends?’

‘Of course we’re still friends, hermosa.’ He says into your hair, his own voice tight. He angles his head down so his lips brush the top of your head at every word. ‘Of course we're still friends.’ He repeats, but whatever else he goes to say dies in his throat. You try to take deep breaths, try to muffle your crying.

‘God,’ you hiccup, ‘This is so stupid. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cry -’ but when you pull away from his chest, Frankie quickly wipes his face with his hands, trying to smother the evidence of his own tears. ‘Frankie -’ you breathe.

‘No, no,’ he says, waving away your concern, ‘I’m fine. I just - I don’t like seeing you upset. Not over me. And - I’m sorry, too. I don’t know where that came from this morning -’ he takes a deep breath, and your heart swoops with a strange disappointment - ‘But I won’t do it again. It was a weird thing for me to do.’

You stay sat up, staring at him as his chin wobbles in the faint lamplight of your room. He looks at you again with big ol’ baby cow eyes, the ones you always giggle about but can’t bring yourself to now.

‘I keep thinking about what I said,’ he whispers, voice thick, ‘And I know it’s too late, but I want to take it all back. I hate it. I hate that I said it. You can see whoever you want - that’s none of my business. And - and I’d hate for you to think that I thought you were some kind of - I dunno - slut for sleeping with him. Because you’re not. I just -’ he swallows, ‘It’s so lame, it’s such a bad excuse. I got jealous. You’re my best friend, we live together. I don’t like the idea of Benny being that for you.’

It’s only as it hangs in the silence between you that Frankie realises just how bad of an excuse it is. How blatantly obvious of a lie, a half truth. You’re my best friend, we live together, and I think I’m in love with you. I don’t like the idea of Benny being something I’m not. I hate the idea of him having his hands on you, making you feel good, when that’s all I can think about. I got jealous because I want you. I want you to myself.

‘It’s only happened twice,’ you breathe, ‘Only twice, and he has never come close to the kind of person you’ve been for me.’

Frankie nods, looks away. He twists his hands in your blanket. He doesn’t want to hear you say it’s okay or I forgive you. He doesn't feel like he deserves it.

‘Did you see her tonight?’ You ask, and Frankie glances back at you. Your voice sounds foreign, too loud in the room.

‘Who?’ He asks.

‘Tasha.’ You whisper, ashamed at your transparency. Frankie stares at you before speaking.

‘I’ve been - I was with Santi.’

You nod, staring down at your hands. 

‘Okay.’

Frankie doesn’t ask you anything else. You don’t ask him, either. Instead, you lie back down, tucking your face into a pillow, unsure of what to do. There’s still a jealous little fire burning in your belly, something he won’t be able to fix overnight. But you don’t want to tell him about it. 

‘You can stay here, if you like,’ you say, voice small. ‘Like a sleepover.’

‘Are you sure?’ Frankie says. You nod.

‘’Course I’m sure.’

And Frankie doesn’t let you think anymore, just pulls you into him, still in his jeans. You breathe him in deeply, wrapping your arms around his waist, and that’s how you sleep. 

—

Tasha doesn't come round to yours again. In fact, Frankie doesn’t even mention her. You try not to think about it too much, and you hardly see her at work. When she greets you at changeover, she’s pretty sheepish, but doesn’t seem at all upset. 

At least that’s one bullet you’ve managed to dodge. If she’d been crying on your shoulder, demanding to know why he hadn’t called, it would have led to a long conversation about feelings you weren’t ready to have with a coworker.

Things settle back into their normal rhythm around the flat, and you almost forget about the fight and the half truths told between the two of you that night. Frankie brings you your favourite flowers and you keep the cupboards stocked with his favourite snacks. He picks you up from work when he’s home, and you cook dinner for him if you get in first. Some evenings you smoke together and watch a film or holler at him playing air guitar in the kitchen to Peach Pit. It's easy. It feels right. And you find yourself slipping into daydreams again.

On a rare Friday night when you’re not working, Frankie packs you up in his truck and you head round to Pope’s. 

Santi’s not keen on throwing the kind of parties Will does, so it takes a fair bit of bribery on his end to keep it to watching a film and sinking some beers with the boys. You’ve become a regular fixture, and tonight you spend it sunk into Frankie’s side, leant against him as the movie plays, listening to the rumble of his chest as he laughs, the bass as he says something to one of the other men. When the movie’s finished, you sit around and dissect it, each of you drinking more and more as though your directorial expertise will improve with alcohol. By the time the tequila is passed around, the five of you have largely lost the sense of the direction the conversation was going in.

Pope tells you you and Frankie can stay. You graciously accept his offer before Frankie can protest, and you wait to wave Benny and Will goodbye before Santi leads you upstairs.

He leads you both to a room along the hallway, opening the door and flicking the light on for you. A huge double bed sits in the middle of the space, and its pillows and duvets look so soft and welcoming you think you could actually cry. 

‘Pope,’ you breathe, ‘This is wonderful.’

He chuckles and rolls his eyes at you.

‘Yeah, yeah, too many beers for you,’ he says, and you swat his arm. ‘I’m gonna get you guys some water. I’ll be back up in a bit.’

The room is quiet again as Santi turns and treads down the hall. You turn to find Frankie stood close by.

‘Whaddya think?’ You ask him. He smiles softly at you through lowered lashes.

‘Looks good to me.’ He says, bending to press a kiss to your hair. You close your eyes and smile, scrunching your face a little. Frankie runs a finger under your chin, and you blink up at him. He is so pretty. ‘C’mon,’ he murmurs, ‘Get ready for bed.’

The two of you split off to other sides of the room, backs turned to each other. You pull your arms into your t-shirt so you can loop yourself out of your bra, undoing the clasp and pulling it out of your top before laying it on the floor. You unbutton your jeans and pull them off next, folding them neatly and using them to cover the lace you’d just stripped yourself of. 

‘I’m gonna get into bed.’ You say softly, giving Frankie the chance to cover himself or get in before you.

‘Go ahead.’ He says, and you turn to find him already tucked up, his jeans slung on the floor a couple of feet away. You gasp in mock horror.

‘Did you watch me?’ You say, slipping in beside him. He laughs. 

‘Only for like, the twelfth time since I moved in.’

You giggle, pressing your face into a pillow to hide your blush. Frankie watches you, his own eyes crinkled and warm.

‘Like what you see?’ You grin. A pretty pink flush spreads across Frankie’s cheeks.

‘Always, hermosa.’ He says.

The quiet moment that follows is only interrupted by Pope appearing in the doorway, carrying two glasses of water. He pauses at the threshold, laughing at the sight of you both tucked in together. 

‘’S like I’m babysitting.’ He chuckles, placing a glass on Frankie’s bedside table before coming round to set one on yours.

‘Are we your favourite children?’ You ask, looking up at him. He strokes your hair.

‘Aw, nena,’ he coos, ‘I don't have favourites.’ 

He laughs when you pout, moving away to grab the cushions from the chair by the window. ‘But,’ he continues, ‘I do have least favourites.’

Santi begins to place the cushions between you and Frankie, creating some kind of barrier. You watch him, confused. He moves to Frankie’s side of the bed to place the last one between your heads, and you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him.

‘And my least favourite,’ he says, running a thumb along Frankie’s cheek, ‘Is you.’ He whispers, bringing his thumb and finger to Frankie’s nipple, twisting it roughly. Frankie howls, almost leaping off the bed as Pope cackles at him, laughter tumbling from your lips before you can stop yourself.

‘Fuck you,’ Frankie pants, a smile splitting his face even as he still clutches his chest. ‘And what the fuck is this?’ He asks, gesturing to the cushions.

Santi begins to back away to the door.

‘It’s a pillow wall,’ he says, ‘To make sure you two don’t touch each other.’

‘Touch each other?’ Frankie asks. Pope mm-hms.

‘No touching. No funny business.’ 

You scoff at him, unable to help the chuckle that escapes. You look between Santi and Frankie, baffled, wanting to see your roommates reaction.

‘I’m on my best behaviour,’ Frankie laughs, ‘I always keep my hands to myself.’ 

Santi waves him off, turning in the doorway to face you both. He places a finger on the light switch.

‘It’s not you I’m worried about.’ He says to him, turning his face and playfully narrowing his eyes at you. Your arms come flying out from the covers, protesting your innocence.

‘What the fuck?!’ You cry. ‘It was just Benny, one time.’

Santi waits, raising an eyebrow. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose.

‘Okay, twice, but that does not mean - we are not going to fuck in your house.’

Santi points a finger at you.

‘In my house - interesting. That leaves other possibilities. I’ll ask you about that again tomorrow morning.’

‘Santiago -’ you hiss, but Santi has already flicked the room into darkness, pulling the door softly closed behind him.

‘Sweet dreams,’ he coos, ‘And no fucking.’

Frankie can’t help the disbelieving little chuckle which bubbles out of his throat, but when he turns his face from the ceiling to look at you, he finds you turned with your back to him.

The amusement is gone in a moment. He breathes your name.

‘You okay?’

‘M fine,’ you say, ‘Just gonna sleep. I’m tired.’ 

Frankie turns on his side to face you, trying to make you out in the low light.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’ You say again, and he frowns.

‘Was it what Pope said about Be-’

‘No.’ 

Frankie reaches a hand over the cushions between you to touch your shoulder.

‘Hermosa,’ he says, pulling to turn you over. You go easily. ‘What is it?’

In the halflight, he can see you cringe. He waits, leaning over the cushions to see you properly.

‘Does it… isn’t it weird for you, to have the boys joke like that?’

He props himself up more, arms folded over the pillows.

‘Like what?’ He says.

‘Like… they know about Benny. And then they joke about you and me. I mean - if it makes you uncomfortable I can -’

Frankie shakes his head at you.

‘It’s never been weird,’ he murmurs, reaching out to take your hand. ‘Really. God, the jokes we’ve made over the years - we’re getting away with it lightly.’ He smiles at you, and you smile a little back.

‘Okay.’ You whisper. It’s quiet for a moment.

‘It’s a compliment,’ he murmurs, ‘That they think I could get with you,’ You frown at him, at the tinge of sadness in his eyes - wrong - ‘But if it makes you feel uncomfortable, I can tell them to stop.’

You look up to the ceiling, shaking your head. 

‘No,’ you breathe, ‘No, it’s okay. It’s - funny.’ 

What you want to say is that you like it. You like the way the boys have put you together, you like how you come as a pair. You like how the two of you fit.

Frankie moves to kick off the cushions between your legs and reaches to throw off the ones between your bodies and heads. He pulls the hand he was holding towards him so you’re as close as possible, and wraps his arms around you. You do the same. 

‘Don’t worry about it,’ he says, breathing in your smell, feeling your warmth seep through the layers between you. ‘Get some sleep.’ 

You nod against him, clutching his t-shirt in your fists.

‘Okay. Night, Frankie.’

‘G’night, baby.’

In your dream, underneath it all, there is a deep, dark sense of panic.

Even as you chase your orgasm, even as you watch Frankie below you, covered in sweat, hands on your hips, blissed and fucked out, you have the sense that something is wrong. There is a noise pulling at the fibres of your dreamscape, and once you tug on it, it sucks you out of the darkness and into the halflight of Santi’s bedroom.

Your own moaning has woken you, along with the heavy breaths and quiet groans Frankie releases against your head. You rear back from him in horror, realising now what had been happening - the way you had been rutting against his leg in your sleep like a dog, the way you had been moaning, how wet you are -

‘Frankie -’ You begin, but you don’t even know what to say. Shame bursts hot and ripe through your gut. You can barely see him in the dusky room, can barely think through the fog of arousal. 

‘S’okay,’ he pants, hands scrabbling to find you. He takes ahold of your bare thighs. ‘C’mere,’ he says, and you move with him, willing, confused, on fire. ‘D’you wanna finish?’ He whispers.

Every sensible thought you’d had flees, and your mouth replies of its own accord.

‘Yes.’ You moan, feeling your pussy clench as he runs his fingers over your skin. 

It happens in such a fever that you don’t even process what’s happening until you’re already straddled across one of his thighs. Frankie pulls you firmly down onto the muscle and moves your hips so your swollen clit can graze against him. You moan so loudly at the contact that he cups a strong hand around your mouth.

‘Shh,’ he says, ‘Gotta be quiet. Be a good girl.’ Your moan is barely muffled as your eyes roll back. At his words, your hips begin to move of almost their own accord, delirious in your pleasure, his proximity. Frankie helps guide you steadily, pulling you back and forth over him, groaning and breathing deeply as he watches you, eyes molten in the shadows. 

‘So pretty, baby,’ he murmurs as you whine against him, hands scrabbling for purchase in his t-shirt, bunching it above his ribs. Your face burns, and you duck your head down to avoid his gaze. He halts your movements, a hand leaving your hip to touch beneath your chin. Gently, he pulls you back up to meet his gaze

‘Look at me, hermosa,’ he says, and you do, goosebumps flaring over your skin at the fire you find, the way he devours you, undresses you with his eyes. ‘That’s it.’ he groans, allowing you to move again.

You can feel your wetness seeping through your panties, your body jelly, surrendering control to him completely.

‘Frankie,’ you whisper, desperate, begging -

‘Not gonna fuck ya,’ He grits out, throwing his head back as he squeezes the flesh of your bare thighs. ‘Just want you to use me. Show me. Show me how you make yourself come, baby.’

You moan again, loudly, but he doesn't quieten you this time. He lets you grind down on him harder, faster, and you watch the muscles in his neck strain, watch the way his stomach tightens. You watch the way he fists his cock over his boxers, the way he fixes you with his burning eyes.

‘Can I?’ He chokes out, and it doesn’t even sound like him. Breaking, desperate. You nod, frantically, and he slips a hand beneath the material. You watch the way he moves his arm, can only imagine the way his cock looks, the girth you can just about see the outline of, the pearls of precum that would be leaking from the tip. You work yourself up and down his thigh faster, sweat dripping down your temples. He goads you on, murmuring praises, cooing at you, so pretty, so needy, so wet.

‘You gonna come, hermosa?’ He says, and you bite your lip as you whine, the knot so tight you think you might break. Your cunt pulses and clenches as you try to breathe through it, gather some control so you don’t wake up the whole house. ‘C’mon, baby,’ Frankie breathes under you, squeezing and twisting and pulling. ‘Be a good girl. Come for me.’

Your movements turn broken, jerky, as you come. Your blood roars in your ears as you let out a stream of moans and curses, whispers of his name. You can feel that you have soaked through to Frankie’s thigh, and in the moonlight you can see the trail of slick you’ve left. You whimper, your eyes flicking up to Frankie’s as he throws his head back, muscles straining, vein throbbing in his temple as he comes all over his hand in his boxers. You moan at the sight, the way he comes undone underneath you, the way he pants as he soaks in the sight of you a little longer.

Your head still fuzzy, he pulls you down into his arms, giving you no time to panic.

‘That’s it,’ he whispers, kissing your hair. ‘Go back to sleep. It’s all okay. Don’t worry about it. Let’s sleep.’ 

And as easily he had given his command, you shut your eyes, and succumb.

When Santi wakes you both for breakfast the next day, he says nothing about the cushions on the floor. He says nothing of the way you and Frankie avoid looking at each other, and pretends to be oblivious to the permanent blush on your cheeks. He pretends he doesn’t notice something has changed. And he lets you go home believing no one else could guess, either.

—

The flat is quiet for the rest of the week. 

It’s not like you're trying to avoid your roommate, but your schedules have worked out at opposite times, and there’s always something going on. You text each other so neither of you have to worry about where you are. Frankie out with the boys, you out with your friends, a regular’s birthday, a job interview for Frankie.

At the end of the week you finish your shift a little earlier than expected, stumbling through the door, exhausted, a little after eleven. You take a quick, blisteringly hot shower and pull on Frankie’s t-shirt which had gotten mixed up in your washing, a pair of boyshorts on underneath. You roll a joint cross-legged on your bed, Adventure Time humming away in the background, moving to open the window when you’re ready to smoke. You flick the lighter and the joint burns to life, the orange reflecting your face in the glass. 

The front door swoops open in the hallway, and you hear it shut. Hear Frankie go into his room, hear him throw a few things around before he exits and knocks on your door. He pushes it open in his pyjamas.

‘Hey.’ He says.

‘Hey.’ 

He closes the door behind him, coming to join you at the window. He presses a kiss to your temple, a hand on your shoulder as he takes the space next to you on the sill.

You offer him the joint silently. He takes it from you, pinches it between two fingers, takes a couple of draws, and hands it back. 

When you’ve finished sharing it, he turns Adventure Time off and plays Peach Pit through your speaker quietly before crawling into your bed. You stare at him for a moment, unsure, before he holds open the other side of the duvet for you. You come forward on heavy feet before bundling yourself down and snuggling into his side without thinking too hard. It’s pretty easy to do with your smoke-riddled brain.

‘Still friends?’ He rumbles into your hair. You squeeze him tighter.

‘’Course we are.’ You mumble back. 

You don’t get to the end of the first song before slipping into the depths of sleep.

---

The next morning, sun still burning off the nighttime clouds, a text buzzes through to both your phones at the same time.

Y’all coming to Tommy’s party tonight?

You groan at the sight of it, having completely forgotten about the promise you’d made to Will about going to his friend’s birthday party. You smush your face back into your pillow as Frankie kicks your door open, holding two mugs of coffee. 

He chuckles at your bedhead, and you sit up and take your cup, thanking him. Once he’s back beneath the duvet, you remind him about the party. He grumbles, sinking back down onto the mattress, leaving his coffee on your bedside table. You do the same, and he curls up into your side. 

The minutes tick by, warm and quiet. 

‘’M not going.’ You mumble.

‘What do you mean you’re not going?’ Frankie says, drawing his head up from where it’s lodged near your neck, speaking directly into your ear.

You pull a face and pinch your thumb and forefinger together, twisting them like a dial. 

‘Too loud, buddy.’ You say, and he relaxes, murmurs a sorry against your shoulder.

‘Too tired. Ain’t going,’ you say, stretching, ‘And you can’t make me.’

Frankie chuckles.

‘Alright, ya grump.’

You pull him by the forearm, bringing him in closer. He rests his head on your stomach, just below your breasts. He breathes you in, and you run your fingers through his hair, enjoying the silken feel of it. A small ache stretches in your heart. A wish that this be the way every day starts. A small ache over the fact that, even after everything at Santi’s, nothing seems to have changed that much. Nothing has granted that wish.

You get split off from Frankie pretty quick at Tommy’s party. 

He’s not worried about it - he’s used to it. Even despite your protests this morning, he knew you’d be charming your way around the house as soon as you walked through the door. He stands with Pope in the kitchen, a couple beers deep, catching glimpses of you in the hallway making a group of girls laugh.

‘So it’s happened, then?’ Pope says.

Frankie shoots his eyes back to him and cocks his head.

‘What?’ he asks. Pope frowns.

‘You two,’ he says, gesturing towards you with his bottle. ‘You’ve finally, y’know, explored your feelings for each other.’

Frankie’s jaw drops.

‘We - what?’

Santi pulls a face at him.

‘Frankie, it’s okay. It’s fuckin’ obvious to all of us. Even to Benny. You don’t have to dance around it anymore -’ But Frankie is still staring at him, open mouthed, stunned. Realisation folds Santi’s features. ‘Jesus Christ.’ He whispers.

He grabs Frankie’s elbow and hauls him into the pantry, shutting the door behind them. 

‘What are you talking about, Pope -’ Frankie rushes out.

‘Nothing’s happened between you two?’ The man asks, fixing Frankie with his eyes. He squirms.

‘Only one thing,’ he says, ‘But nothing serious. It’s not like we’re in love or anything -’

‘You seriously -’ Pope breaks off, looking around the cupboard, exasperated. ‘Really?’

Frankie frowns at him, barely getting out a yeah- before Santi groans, face in his hands.

He takes Frankie by the shoulders, and shakes him, hard.

‘Are you in love with her, yes or no?’ 

Frankie swallows.

‘Yes.’ 

‘Okay, good. And she’s clearly got it bad for you, Fi-’

‘She doesn’t, Pope, c’mon man -’

Pope grunts at him, knocking his head against Frankie’s shoulder.

‘Stop it,’ he says. ‘I can’t do this, Fish. It’s impossible. You two need to have a conversation. I thought Benny was slow,’ he says, shaking his head, ‘But you… Jesus Christ. Go on, get lost. Go and find her.’

Pope takes him by the shoulders again, pushing him out the pantry.

Frankie stumbles into the kitchen, sets his beer down in a daze. And without quite knowing why, he sets off to find you.

You’re close to the same spot you were in last time he saw you, but sat on the bottom step of the stairs instead, making friends with the pretty, dark-haired girl sat next to you. Frankie leans against the bannister awkwardly and clears his throat. When you look up, your eyes go wide, delighted.

‘Hey sugar,’ you say, reaching out to grab his hand. You turn to the girl beside you, and say - ‘This is Frankie,’ like you’ve been telling her about him. ‘Frankie, this is Sakura.’

Frankie nods tightly to the girl, and she smiles brightly back at him. To his surprise, she stands and slips past him. 

‘I’ll leave you guys to chat,’ she says, winking at you. ‘Catch you later.’

Frankie looks back at you, questioningly. You shrug.

‘Everything okay?’ You ask. Frankie squeezes your hand.

‘Can we talk?’

Frankie leads you into the bedroom furthest away from the top of the staircase, and locks the door. You sit down on the edge of the mattress as he turns the bedside lamp on, bathing the room in a sweet, pink-orange glow.

‘What d’you wanna talk about, baby?’ You ask, laying back and closing your eyes. Frankie can feel himself panicking, can feel the walls getting a little closer. Why was he doing this? 

He closes his eyes for a moment. 

‘I’m gettin’ to it.’ He says, and you hum, lips quirking a little.

The room is quiet for far too long. It’s warm, and the sounds of the party are muffled, close. The bass slinking through the floorboards, the chatter - it’s not unlike the night you met.

Frankie pinches the inside of his arm, trying to will himself to think of something, to say something, but -

‘We should fuck. Like, actually fuck.’

Your eyes are still closed when you say it, and you miss the way Frankie’s jaw falls slack, the way the muscle in his cheek ticks when he wrenches it shut. Frankie watches you, serene, laid out on the bed like an angel. He swallows.

‘You’re drunk.’ He says, soft but firm. He tries to lean against the wall in an unfazed way, and slips a hand into his pocket to will his cock to stop twitching.

‘I’m not drunk,’ you pout, eyes still closed. ‘Unfair how you always think I’m drunk off a few beers. Did you ever think I might just be having a good time?’

Frankie shifts his weight and watches your face; tries to ignore how fast, how hard his heart is beating.

‘Sure. But you’ve had a few beers tonight.’

You crack an eye open at him, a devastating grin growing across your lips.

‘So?’ You purr, ‘Still not drunk.’

Frankie breathes out heavily through his nose, his control of the situation slipping, his mind clamouring at your suggestion. He tries to look away, anywhere around the room, chest pounding. The desk, the wardrobe, the fireplace, the cupboard. But he can’t. His eyes are glued to your body, the way your feet dangle just off the floor, your bare legs, the bunched up skirt which only just covers your thighs. He tries not to let his mind linger on what he can and can’t see in the low light, instead letting his eyes travel to the curve of your hips, the soft swell of your belly, your tits, your glistening neck, your hair splayed out over the duvet, your arms stretching up above your head. Your wanton smile.

‘You don’t mean it. You’d regret it in the morning.’

You suck a breath in through your teeth and open your other eye, rolling them up to the ceiling. You arch your back like a cat, and Frankie barely contains a moan at the stretch, your skirt climbing higher, a slither of skin exposed on your midriff. Your grin fades, a pained little smirk. You swipe a hand over your face. 

Frankie waits. Your eyes slide to his again.

‘I wouldn’t.’ You say. 

Frankie shakes his head.

‘You would.’

You sit up suddenly, hands gripping the sheets.

‘I wouldn’t, Frankie.’ Your eyes are fierce, burning. Frankie swallows.

You duck your head to look at your toes, swinging them just above the carpet.

‘I’ve thought about it a lot,’ you say softly.

Frankie’s mouth goes dry. He tries to work some moisture into his throat to make some kind of noise, something to convey his surprise, but he’s frozen in place. His heart drops to the floor and then picks up at a pace that he can feel hammering in his neck. 

‘Long before that night at Pope’s. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the walls in our apartment are pretty thin.’ You look up at him through your eyelashes, all darkness and mischief. You bite your lip as you wait for the penny to drop.

Fuck. Fuck.

Frankie’s mouth works open as his stomach swoops, knees loose and heavy. His hands are unbearably clammy in his pockets. He brings them to his front, crossing his thick arms over his pounding chest. He says your name quietly.

‘’S’okay,’ you whisper. And then you giggle, face briefly turned to the ceiling, slightly more illuminated. You are so beautiful. 

‘I heard you,’ you murmur, and Frankie wants to beg you to stop, to not say what you’re about to say. He’d rather drop dead. He’d rather leave this house and walk forever if it meant he didn’t have to hear how you’d listened to him moan your name through the drywall. But he can’t. He can only look at you with wide, brown eyes, and hope you’ll grant him this small mercy. 

You cock your head at him, furrowing your brow, looking at him shyly.  

‘Did you really want me, Frankie?’

He’s going to pass out. His blood roars through his ears, straight down to his cock. Frankie can only nod, try and breathe out a yes.

You smile a little, trailing a couple of fingers up your thighs.

‘Did you ever hear me?’ You ask him. His breath catches in his throat.

‘Hear you?’ He whispers.

‘Yeah,’ you breathe. ‘Did you ever hear me, baby?’

Frankie’s throat works as he stares at you. He thinks of the gasps and whimpers he’s heard, the groans and breathy curses. The high pitched noises you breathe out when someone or something fucks into you, your moans when you’re getting close. Your wet body in the shower, the shake of your legs, the grip you had on your own breast, your head thrown back in ecstasy -

Yeah, he’s heard you. But he’s not sure if that's what you’re really asking.

He nods, and you smile, all feline and pleased.

You lower your feet to the floor, and stand from the bed. You pad towards him, every muscle in his body wound impossibly tight. 

‘Did you hear me say your name?’ You ask, your breath fanning against his chin. Frankie fights to keep his arms crossed, to not reach out and touch you. He fixes his gaze on an eyelash cradled on your cheek.

‘My name?’ He croaks. He’s fighting a losing battle, his hard cock betraying him in his jeans.

‘Yeah, Frankie,’ you whisper, ‘I could never think of anyone else.’ 

Your confession hangs in the air between you, and to gauge its truth, Frankie’s eyes dart up to meet yours. His resolve crumbles immediately. You stare up at him, eyes big and wide and clear. The realisation is crushing - not drunk, not high, honest and wanting and hopeful -

Frankie’s hands drop to his sides, twitching to reach for you, grab your tiny skirt in both fists, hold to your thighs -

‘Can I kiss you?’ You murmur against his jaw.

‘Please.’ He whimpers.

Your hands make their slow journey from your sides to his stomach, and Frankie flinches at the contact. You pause, looking up at him. He swallows and nods, and you continue. You push both palms over his stomach, over his chest, resting them on his shoulders. You admire every plane of his body, even through clothes, before reaching up on your tiptoes, wrapping both your hands around the nape of his neck, tangling them in the curls there.

Frankie breathes heavily, watching you, eyes tracking all over your face as you go. He traces every freckle, every mole. Each colour in your eyes, the shape of your nose, the bow of your lips. He lets his hands drift towards you, lets both of them rest on your hips to pull you closer, squeezing your soft flesh before bringing one up to cup your cheek. He inclines his head, and your eyes flutter shut.

The first meeting of your lips is soft. It’s warm and gentle and everything you had wanted it to be. It should have been the quiet kiss you had over coffee in the morning, the kind of kiss you shared after a first date. But here, it’s perfect. 

Frankie brushes his thumb over your cheek before dipping his hand lower, hinging your jaw to open your mouth to him. He licks your bottom lip and you grant him access, moaning into the kiss. His grip on your hip tightens.

The movement of your mouths is slow, languid. There is no rush. Just gentle pressure, acknowledgement as it all falls into place. The feeling that this is what the two of you were made for. This is what you’ve avoided for too long. 

Frankie’s tongue swipes against yours, and you tug on his hair. He groans into your mouth, the hand on your jaw dropping to your waist, pulling you closer. 

You press your chest against him, kiss him back harder, slipping a hand down past his shoulder to scrape at the skin under his t-shirt. Frankie shudders against you, the hand on your hip moving to grab a handful of your ass, the one on your waist inching up to your breast. You breathe against his lips as he feels you, moaning as he palms you over your top, as your nipples tense, flicking one with his thumb. 

He nips and kisses at your jaw as your hands travel back to his chest, one catching on his belt, stroking his hip as you whine, your whole body warm and sensitive. You step closer to him again as he drops the hand on your ass, bringing it to cradle the back of your neck as he continues to work on your jaw, your tits. 

‘Frankie,’ you breathe, and he returns his mouth to yours for a slow, deep kiss. He bites your bottom lip as you pull away to slip a hand lower to palm him through his jeans. He’s so hard already, you can feel him straining against the zipper, and it seems to match the dry heat you feel for him, something which burns its way down your throat and straight to your cunt. It aches, and your lace beneath your skirt is so wet that the only thing you want to do is take them off. 

Frankie groans loudly against you, both hands coming to cup your face so he can kiss your forehead slowly, tenderly.

He pulls your face back so he can look you in the eye. The intensity there stops your movements, stills your hands.

‘I love you.’ He says. 

The noise from the party below fades to an almost nothing as something bright and white fills the room. Joy, relief blooms in your chest.

‘What?’ You say.

Frankie’s eyes crinkle at the corners.

‘I love you.’ He repeats.

You giggle as the feeling overtakes you, sway in his arms as you become lightheaded.

‘I love you, too.’ You whisper, and Frankie breaks out into a grin. It all seems so simple now, all seems so easy. It all makes sense. All the bullshit, the touching, the looks. Frankie kisses you again, all tongue and teeth and smiles before he chuckles.

‘Fucks sake,’ he mumbles.

‘What?’ You ask, still grinning.

‘Now I have to tell Pope he was right. That you do like me.’

You laugh at him, pulling him close by the hip, a hand tangled in his hair again. 

‘I do like you,’ you say. ‘I like you quite a lot.’

You dip your hand back to the front of his jeans, palming his cock in earnest. His hips buck against you as he groans into your mouth, as he slips his hands down to your tits again, this time yanking your top up to expose them. Frankie moans at the sight of the lace you’re wearing, thumbing and twisting and pinching your nipples again.

‘You’re gonna kill me,’ he whines as you begin to undo his belt.

‘Panties match.’ You breathe into his collarbone, and he moans, ducking his head to your neck, sucking at your pulse point, biting and then licking to soothe the mark he’s made.

You pant against him, growing frustrated with your sloppy fingers on his buckle. He chuckles at you, guiding your hands away before replacing them with his own. He whips it off and throws it down by his feet. You lick your lips. Hungry, impatient.

‘Come to bed, Frankie. Please.’

‘Be patient, baby,’ he coos. ‘We have so much time.’

You pout at him, and he smirks.

But an idea is already forming. If he's not going to come to bed, you’re going to go to him.

You smile sweetly as you step back towards him, reaching a hand up to his cheek to draw him in for a kiss again. Frankie lets you, and you take the moment to pop open his button and undo his zipper. He breathes out shakily against your lips, but you suck on his bottom lip, licking, nipping, until he regains his focus. When you slip your hand beneath the waistband of his boxers, he shudders, gasping against you. You smile into his mouth before tipping his head back and sucking marks into his neck. Deep and hard so they bruise, licking into the hollow of his throat as you finally wrap your hand around his cock. Your fingers don’t meet, and you moan at this realisation, eager to feel the stretch, the burn as you take him. You grip him tighter, running your fist along his shaft, pulling at the soft skin until you reach his tip, thumbing the precum over the rest of his length. When you’re satisfied he’s been teased enough, you drop down to your knees. 

He watches you, one hand pressed to your cheek, your temple, your hair as you look up at him all doe-eyed, pulling his jeans and boxers down so that his length can spring free. When Frankie’s cock lurches out from his underwear, you loose a gasp and a groan. He’s beautiful. So thick, so soft-looking as he twitches under your gaze, tip deeply flushed and oozing precum, his balls heavy beneath.

‘Fuck, baby,’ you breathe. Frankie inhales deeply through his nose, his hand still tangled in your hair as he says, quietly -

‘You don’t have to do this.’

‘I know,’ you say, ‘But I want to.’ 

Frankie’s grip in your hair tightens imperceptibly, and you hum quietly, licking your lips before curling over your palm and spitting into it. Frankie groans above you, full lower lip caught behind his teeth, his head cocked to the side. His broad chest rises and falls quickly, flushed.

His breath catches harshly in his throat when you reach out and touch him. He throbs in your hand, and you smile delightedly up at him when again your fingers don’t meet around him. You lean forward to mouth at his hip, and his hips buck towards you as you lick, kiss, suck, and bite. You want to leave marks everywhere, want him to remember this for days, to feel your teeth on him for weeks. You stroke him slowly and tightly all the time, moving down to his thighs, coating his skin in your saliva, nipping at the soft flesh there, moving your mouth up, up, up, reaching out with your tongue to kitten-lick his balls.

Frankie’s fist balls in your hair as he lets out a whimper, and you smirk into him, nudging forward to breathe in his musky scent. 

‘Please,’ he whispers, ‘Please, hermosa -’

‘Be patient, baby,’ you say, mocking him. ‘We have so much time.’

He doesn’t answer with words, but he uses the fist in your hair to move you further out from his body so your mouth sits so pretty, a little open, in front of his weeping cock. You grin up at him, clearly enjoying the tease.

Holding his eye, you pull your top and bra down to just below your tits, exposing your pebbled nipples. You rock back on your heels to play with them a little, twisting and pinching and moaning before Frankie tries to push you a little closer.

‘Fuck, put me in your mouth,’ he growls. ‘Put me in your mouth while you play with yourself like that, baby. Lemme fuck your throat.’

You moan lewdly back up at him, giving your tits one last squeeze before you take his tip between your lips, swirling your tongue over the tight skin, fluttering it over his frenulum. Frankie throws his head back in a choked moan, his whole body rigid as he tries his best not to thrust all the way into your mouth. You bring your hands to his thighs and scrape your nails along them gently before pressing forward. You loosen your jaw and take him as far as you can, satisfied when you feel him hit the back of your throat, when he hisses through his teeth.

‘Fuck,’ he grits, ‘Fuck, so good - your mouth feels so good, cielo - can you feel me all the way back there? Can you -’

He cuts himself off as you swallow around him, tasting the salt of his precum as he lets out a pained sound, his cock achingly swollen. You pull off him slowly.

‘Keep talking,’ you rasp, ‘It’s sexy.’

His cock is already so wet from your throat that he slides back in easily. Frankie rocks as you hum around him at the taste, the feel, the weight of it. Salt pools in your mouth when he whimpers again, as you swirl circles on his pulsating head, as you lick long stripes up him and cup his balls.

‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ he says, louder this time. ‘Never knew you had such a mouth, babygirl. All those smart things and - fuck - this is what it was made for - made for me, made for my cock - shit - aren’t you?’ 

You move faster as Frankie babbles, as you feel the drips from his cock warm the heat in your belly further, take him deeper. His hips begin to move almost beyond his will, not harsh, not pressing, but like he just can’t help himself. Tears well in your eyes and begin to drip down your cheeks, flushed, hungry, proud. You hum again and swallow around him, reaching between your legs, hiking your skirt up so you can push your ruined panties aside. Your pussy is soaked, embarrassingly so, and you moan around him again, losing focus for a second at the first fingertip you press to your aching clit.

‘Wanna fuck you,’ Frankie pants out, ‘Please, wanna fuck you baby - let me out your mouth, come on now - please, baby, please, baby - fuck - fuck -’

You flick your eyelashes up at him as you bob at the same pace as your fingers, and Frankie damn near loses it at the sight of your hand disappearing up towards your cunt.

‘Get off - get off, lemme fuck you like you need, baby - fuck, fuck - shit -’

You smirk around him, enjoying this, enjoying seeing him strung out, begging, throbbing in your mouth as he tries desperately to keep from coming.

‘Stop,’ he moans. You hollow your cheeks and whine again, but this time he pulls you off quickly, strong with his hand in your hair, and the sting of it feels delicious. Frankie stands half ruined above you, panting, closing his eyes at the sight of the string of spit connecting your mouth to his twitching cock. ‘Please, baby,’ he says, ‘Be good. I don’t want to come down your throat in five minutes the first time we do this.’

You blink up at him through your tears, and he makes a low noise in the back of his throat.

‘Come here,’ he murmurs, pulling you gently back up to your feet. He sits you down on the bed, and you haul yourself further back on your elbows. He watches you, stepping out of his shoes, his pants and underwear, throwing off his shirt to some dark corner of the room as he sets a knee on the bed and comes crawling towards you. The sight reminds you of another night, him on your bed, you at the window - 

‘Let me undress you,’ he murmurs against your neck, his cock heavy and wet against your thigh You arch your back up into him, too hot, aching, too wet -

‘Please,’ you gasp.

Frankie pulls you forwards by your jaw, tugging your shirt over your chin as you sit up, hands reaching greedily for his skin. He lets you as he unfastens your bra, whipping it away from your chest, moaning as he takes you in. His lips latch to your collarbones as he shuffles away from you, and your hands fly to his hair. He bites and licks and sucks and kisses in the same way you did, moaning against you as you tug on his curls, as you buck your hips up to bump at his cock. He makes his way lower, pressing feather light kisses to your sternum, to the top of each breast, before closing his lips around your nipple, sucking and biting and swirling. You gasp, pressing yourself as close to him as possible, the ache in your pussy almost painful now. Frankie plants a hand by your head to hold himself up, letting the other one fall to your thigh, dancing on your feverish skin.

‘Frankie -’ you plead, but it’s useless, useless as he releases your nipple with a pop, only to give the other the same attention.

Grunting, you shift your hips, wiggling your hands down to your skirt, pushing it down and halfway off.

‘Hey,’ Frankie grunts, stopping his ministrations altogether to pin both of your hands above your head. You arch your chest and Frankie nips at the mound of flesh you present to him, his acknowledgement of you continuing to play dirty. He breathes your soft skin in, slow and deep, before looking up at you. His eyes are hot, molten, and you whine and twist in his grip as his nostrils flair. ‘Keep your hands up here, y’hear me?’ He says. You nod furiously, and he squeezes your wrists again before slowly letting you go.

Before slowly backing down the bed, slowly kissing your chest, your belly, before slowly spreading your thighs, before burying his face in your lace-covered pussy, mouthing at you behind the fabric, breathing in and groaning out.

‘Soaked through, baby,’ he breathes. ‘That all for me?’

Yes, you think, as his fingers hook around the waistband, as he begins to pull them down and off. Feeling the cool air meet your hot, slick centre and hearing the sound of his breath hitch at the visual. All for you. He opens you up wider once your underwear is off, and looks up at you through his eyelashes, flushed, fucked out already.

‘You look so - fucking good like this.’ He says.

You nudge your hips gently up to his face, and he finally, finally indulges, flicking his tongue out to scoop up your arousal, to swallow it down, to groan as he laps at your clit. 

It almost hurts, how good it feels. This slow, hot, velvet texture licking at you, pointed where it needs to be, soft wherever else, as he delves and dives and slurps and draws every imaginable sound from you. You’re past the point of coherent words, just bucking hips and fingers that scrape through his curls, muffled pleases and Frankies as he works you out in circles and figure eights. As he spreads your lips with his fingers for better, more sensitive access, as he sucks your clit into his mouth, as he slips a finger in. And then another.

The stretch is delicious, even if you know it’s not a patch on what’s coming.

Frankie hums deeply in the back of his throat, his eyes closed and face wet with slick. You watch him, amazed. Your best friend who you’ve seen in almost any scenario. Sharing dinner, out for walks, changing batteries, below you as you ground out an orgasm on his thick thigh - but nothing, nothing can compare to the blissed out, sweaty sight of him between your thighs. Brow furrowed and curved in pleasure and concentration, mouth working over you. Thick curls falling over his forehead, his fingertips pressed into your thighs, the other hand pressed deep inside you.

This is heaven. This is fucking heaven, laying here as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, curved up towards that spot you can never quite reach yourself. The band of heat, of light which has been bunched up at the apex of your thighs is tightening, tightening, and you can feel it inside you as your muscles clench, turn solid. 

‘Frankie - Frankie - Frankie -’ you gasp, trying to warn him as a molten high tide rises in your body, as your hips lift, as you work yourself further onto him, as your hands twist and clutch at the bed, at your tits.

He doesn’t pull his mouth away to hum an mmhmm in encouragement against your clit, and you squeeze your eyes shut tight, the pressure unbearable.

‘Gonna come - fuck - I’m gonna come Frankie, fuck -’

It’s fucking devastating. The rip and heat which tears through you, your body erupting in ecstasy, as something hot, heavy, and destructive sears through you. 

Your back arches and the darkness behind your eyes contracts to red, limbs rigid as you shatter in his mouth, as he continues to lick and suck and take every drip which floods itself out of you, grunting and gasping as he chuckles, as he tells you -

‘Good girl, baby, good girl. Fuckin’ delicious. You look so good baby, squeezing my fingers so tight. God, what’d I do, what’d I do to deserve this.’

You feel yourself radiate across the room, illuminating every corner before banding back into yourself. For a while, there is only the pant of your breath and Frankie’s muffled voice and something hot and wet moving against your pulsing clit. You don’t know how long you’ve been gripping his hair for, or how hard, but you slowly let go, teasing your fingers from his curls as you breathe. Frankie pulls his fingers out of you and you groan at the loss, eyes fluttering shut, head rolling to your shoulder. He sucks your clit into his mouth one more time, and you jerk away from the overstimulation.

Frankie crawls back up the bed again, and you open his eyes when his warm hand presses to your cheek. He’s grinning at you, thrilled as he holds his used fingers out in front of your lips. Wordlessly, you pull them into your mouth, tongue working to clean him of your taste. He swoops a breath out, removing his fingers gently when you’re done before leaning in to kiss you. He tastes salty sweet, beard heavy with the smell of you as he ghosts his hands all over your body. He swallows.

‘How do you want me, querida?’ He whispers.

You want him in every position, and you seem to tell him as much. He laughs as he plants more kisses to your lips, tongue darting out to find yours, to trace the line of your throat. You watch, delirious, as he settles between your thighs, thumbing over your clit so you twitch again. 

‘Want you on your back, like this,’ he murmurs, ‘Wanna watch you take me.’

You nod at him, utter something like a please, a thank you, a Frankie as he notches himself at your entrance, the fat head of his cock already bruising, already stretching. Frankie sees it, flicks his eyes to yours.

‘Are you sure you’re ready?’ he asks, kindly, softly. You hook your legs around his hips by way of answer, pulling him closer, toppling him forward. A big, bright smile blossoms over his cheeks, creasing his crows feet. You can’t help but mirror him, pressing a hand to his chest, the other tangling in the nape of his neck.

‘I love you,’ you breathe against his teeth. He lays his forehead against yours.

‘I love you,’ he murmurs.

Frankie cants his hips forward, and the bruising feeling gives way to something which is almost sharply painful as it pulls through you. The pain quickly dulls to a full ache as Franlie slides a little further forwards, watching you, tracing every part of your features. You hook your legs higher around his waist and wrap your arms around the back of his neck, keeping him close as you breathe, as you whine and leak around him. Frankie drinks it all in, giving soft praises, pushing back from you so he can take it in. Your slick, puffy cunt split open and stretched around him, and your body, glowing, sweaty, layed out lazily, knees spread and dropped either side of your chest as you watch him, brow furrowed, lip bitten. 

He’s going too slow. 

Far, far too slow for the pressure already rebuilding in your gut, for the way he presses against every place inside your body. You move your hips to fuck yourself down his cock a little more, and one of his big hands shoots out to stop you. 

‘Easy, baby, easy. Take it slow. Doin’ so good for me, look at you.’

You whine, back arching again, and he groans low and full.

‘Stop doing that,’ he says, ‘Making yourself look so good. I’m tryna make this good. I’m tryna make this last.’

Frankie latches his mouth back to your skin, forming bruises as he bottoms out, as he waits for you to beg him.

‘Wanna feel you tomorrow,’ you huff, warm against him. ‘Wanna remember, wanna be sore. God, Frankie, please - please move. I need you to, you have to -’ words fail at the slow drag of his cock, heavy against your walls. Your throat constricts as he pauses and begins to push back in, picking up the pace every time. Your noises are  keening and needy, and he brushes the hair back from your face.

‘I know, baby, I know,’ He coos.

You make a breathless, high-pitched noise at every punch of his hips, and Frankie lifts his head to swallow them as they fall from your lips. And it’s unfair. Unfair that a word like ‘fucking’ is what has to be used for this, for how tightly you have to cling to him to make sure you’re not flung into outer space. You grip his biceps as you watch him, legs wrapped around his waist again so he can drive in deeper, deeper, deeper, as you get louder, louder, louder -

‘Benny fuck you like this, baby?’

The question takes you by surprise, though perhaps it shouldn’t. It riles something in your gut, a satisfaction, a delight, because he knows. Already knows as he fucks you, as he cages you in and stares at you, your body, the way you fit together and move, the noises you’re making, the look on your face, the way you choke him tighter and tighter -

‘Fuck no, Frankie. God, fucking - no -’

Frankie grunts deep, accentuating your response with a particularly sharp thrust which makes you cry out and see stars. You grit your teeth, feeling the coil tighten further, craning to meet his lips.

He pecks them as he thrusts, sucking your lips, biting when he can.

‘You asked if I heard you,’ he pants, and you hold your breath. ‘I heard you - fuck - so many times, baby. Fucked my fist to you so many times. Couldn’t think of anything else but your little moans and noises.’

You clench excruciatingly around him, and he makes that same pained noise from before.

‘And I saw you, too,’ he gasps. Your eyes lock, his black and earnest, like he could devour you and the universe whole. You feel something loosen and pull inside of you. ‘Once, in the shower. And I couldn’t look away, couldn’t forget - but I wished I could, you were just -’ He swallows into your neck as you begin to pulsate, his words pushing you closer. You know what he’s talking about, had wondered for weeks, had had fantasies and hoped for months, fuck - ‘And then at Santi’s, feeling you lose yourself on top of me, feeling you come, god -’ he grits out. ‘I could live with loving you, just about. I could, if I wasn’t what you needed. But when I heard you say my name like that in your sleep, baby, when I felt you push it out on me, I had to know, I had to know - you feel so goddamn good. Nothing should ever feel this good. Nothing ever has.’

And then, because you can’t help it, because you need to hear it, you choke out -

‘Tasha?’ And he shakes his head, breathing raggedly.

‘Nothing,’ he says, ‘Fucking - nothing.’

You eyes spin back in their sockets, and you claw at him, something white hot just within your grasp, your pussy throbbing -

‘Frankie,’ you cry, ‘Frankiefrankiefrankiefrankiefrankie -’ in a warning, a prayer, a promise; and he answers you, the aquiline curve of his nose pressing into your cheek as he coaxes you, begs you, tells you to come for him. 

It’s too much, the movement of him, the size, the weight. He doesn’t need to touch you anywhere else as you splinter apart beneath him, shards of light splashing across the walls as you heat and combust, as you tighten and tighten and then burst, wet against his lap, against the sheets, as you cling on to him, as you shake and gasp and gasp out any noise you can. Your pussy flutters and contracts around him, and Frankie grunts and moans in your ear, breath hot, cock twitching and so hard inside your body.

‘Where -?’ He chokes out.

‘Inside.’

And fresh dizziness laps at your temples as you feel him pump inside your body, as you feel his cock jump with his spend, as he softly fucks it in to you. The squelch, the wetness, is obscene. You want to be full like this all the time. 

You lay there for sometime, wrapped up in each other, his cock still keeping you plugged, as you breathe in each other’s air and whisper your thoughts and confessions. Frankie keeps you close, legs tangled, softening, tracing shapes on your bare shoulders in the glow of the lamp as the sounds of the party slowly begin to filter back through the crack under the door.

‘Hope Tommy doesn’t mind us using the bedroom.’ You murmur, and he snorts.

‘Bit late now,’ he says. ‘Hope Will doesn’t like him too much.’

You laugh, knocking his shoulder with your fist. He makes to bite at it, clicking his teeth together as you pull it away. You grin at each other, eyes gleaming and full.

‘I love you.’ He says again.

You hum into his shoulder, stifling a yawn. ‘Love you, too.’

There’s quiet for a moment, your head clear, before Frankie shifts beside you.

‘We’re still friends though, right?’ He says into your hair, and watches as you laugh, loud, tucking your face into his neck.

‘You asshole,’ you giggle, glancing up into his eyes. ‘’Course we are.’

He hums into your scalp, tangling his legs with yours further. You run your feet up his calves.

His thumb strokes along the back of your knuckles, and his breath tangles in your hair. Soft kisses are pressed to any inch of skin he can find, and you bury your face in his neck, nipping and soothing, smiling like an idiot.

You don’t think you’ll ever be friends again. But maybe that’s a good thing.

[notebooks-and-laptops]

Hi!! I absolutely love your analysis on Veilguard, and I also love Sten, so how do you think he would fit in the game? What would his presence change? Like you said, it could give us a sympathetic point of view on the Qun (and maybe some Taash and Sten interactions?)

HELLO its been a while since you sent this but please know I've been thinking about it near constantly and have finally pulled my thoughts together into something coherent. I have a couple of 'options'; one involves the game basically maintaining the same quality but being a tad better rounded for the qunari, the other is if they actually took Sten and all he represents seriously.

Option one: Faction Leader

Look so here is the thing. There is no reason why the game, as is, could not incorporate a 'Qun' faction. It would actually be really fun; I've wanted to play as a member of the Qun since DA2 and I know so many of us have Qun headcanons for our Adaar or their parents. Unlike the other backgrounds that seem to be more suited to particular races, the Qun is literally a state/religion/philosophy and thus any race could be a member (we know for certain plenty of elves defect to the qun and I'm sure humans and dwarfs do as well). (I do think this faction would need to seriously consider whether or not it allows for a 'mage' class, because it would be a lot of work to explain why a Saraabas is allowed to just be walking about. They could pose it as their mage came into their powers late and when they were found out immediately left with Varric, but thats the only way I could see it not being a potential pressure point)

Sten thus slots into the game here as a faction leader; he is the Arishock. We see a different side to the Qun; those antam who did not leave it behind. We get to hang out with some Ben'Hassrath as well. In my ideally world the other faction leader in this scenrio would be Tallis, who has regained her place within the Qun (but I'm biased because I'm in love with Tallis). But you could also have Gatt because I think he's quite an interesting character, would call Neve out on being Tevinter, wouldn't let you easily look away from slavery AND I feel his bitterness, anger...its so fun, I wish we'd gotten more of him, I want him back.

The thing is....this game wants to treat the qun better, I think. But in doing so they ignore parts of the qun that genuinely were interesting culturally (Saarabas - god that one da2 quest kills me every time) and also...we don't MEET anyone who is really representaitve of the qun. Taash is there, but her questline of 'I can accept non-binary but I draw the line at multicultural' is...questionable to say the least, and from the stats it seems most people push her towards Rivan anyway. Shathann is from the qun and still holds it as important, but she feels more of a plot device to tell Taash's story than anything else. We've got the Qunari on the beach who tells the weather, but again, its not the Qun as a whole.

And to replace the 'evil' Qun we just get the 'evil' Antam. Who are now equipped with growling and turning into horrible beasts so. That's uh. something.

So actually having a qun faction, maybe letting us see Par Vollon, letting us interact with people there who actually live under the qun, letting us see Sten...it would be really interesting. And further, Sten being involved in this game makes perfect sense. Who is the Qunari going to send when it realises that they have a double blight on their hands? Probably the guy who actually fought in the fifth blight and helped finish it. You can also easily retcon any Sten death by saying he somehow got out of the cage and made his way on his own - its not perfect but it'll do considering the same is done with Isabela for DA2.

And Sten links us to DAO. In da2 we had Anders, Lothering, Flemeth, Merrill, Isabella...a lot linked us back to Fereden and DAO. In Dai we had Varric and Cassandra back from DA2 (as well as Hawke) and we had Leliana and Morrigan and potentially Loghain/Alistair back from DAO. Morrigan IS in DATV as a kinda link back to dao but she's not really around in that capacity here. Sten could talk about Ferelden, the blight, all of that stuff.

AND are the qun really just...standing by and letting the antam do whatever? they haven't sent ANYONE after them? Haven't tried to stop them in any way? There's no Antam who didn't defect? I don't know man, I really dislike the way the Antam are portrayed in this game. It really just feels it was done the way it is so the writers could pull a 'well we aren't saying ALL qunari are like this, just these ones'.

So just. Give us a qun faction. Let me play it out. I'm sure they'd handle it about as well as any other faction, but it would at least I think allow them to explore the Qun better than the Lords of Fortune do.

I also think this would mean Taash has a qun presense that isn't demonised and isn't their mother, which would really help them. They could go talk to the shadow dragons AND they could go talk to Sten. Bonus points if Sten assumes their a man to start with because they fight. BONUS BONUS points if we can get more on the qunari and gender.

The Better Option: Butcher, the Dragon King, The Qunari, and The Blight

OKAY SO the Butcher. I want Sten to be the Butchers like, narrative foil.

Because here me out, the Butcher should be SO MUCH MORE INVOLVED IN DATV. Other than Ghilian'han and Isseya (and maaaaybe Illario) he's the interesting villian this game gives us and he's just GONE SO QUICKLY. He's the opposite of the Arishock; he came to this city and instead of dispising it he FELL IN LOVE WITH IT. How fun!

Meanwhile, the Dragon King SUCKS. I wrote a whole post on that which you can find here but basically bleh, he's poorly written and poorly thought out. So lets just get rid of the Dragon King, and have the Butcher be our main Qunari/antam antagonist. Then lets have Sten here as someone who ALSO fell in love with a different place (Ferelden) but went home anyway, who went back to duty, who worries in the privacy of his own mind, about what it would mean if Ferelden fell to the Qun.

But also....as the Butcher is becoming less and less a follower of the Qun while believing hes doing right by the anatam...have sten ACTUALLY follow the Qun. I want to know more about Kosslon the prohet I really thought this game would give us that and it never did. I want to know about the Qun from someone who yeah has been travelling but who never really left it like Bull does.

I think this would also allow the crows to breathe a bit more because we could get some questioning around if the crows really ARE a good option for Treviso. Is the qun? Are both bad? Maybe both are bad? Annnnddddd now I'm thinking about how nicely this could dove-tail into a Zev cameo with Sten bringing him in.

I think Sten would also be really important for the blight as detailed above, but equally...I think having Sten react to the blight being basically the fault of a bunch of powerful mages? Thats an important perspective here! God, DAI goes out of its way to be like 'can mages be trusted' and even makes the alternative future of a pro mage character become anti-mage (leliana from the alternaitve future my beloved). But in DATV there is absolutely NOBODY who says mages are fucking things up - not even Varric who canonically is absolutely sick of mages and templars.

So Sten can do that for us because Qunari don't trust magic. And Sten can also play of Davrin for blight stuff (I think Davrin would have so many questions).

And like most legacy characters, if taken seriously...Sten offers us a chance to get rid of all this sanitisation because Sten is a complex character who has complex opinions on mages, who literally killed a whole family, who loves his homeland and the qun but has a soft spot for ferelden. Sten who will encourage you to get rid of all the mages in the mage tower, and who will see a lot of your do-goodery as a waste of time against the larger goal, but who also likes order and will defer to you as the leader.

Anyway thank you for the ask! Sorry for the long response. I love Sten though and think he should have been here.

[mjrtaurus]

I like to think Urpi’s always a really artistic, creative soul, but with nowhere to put all the energy cause there is just nooo way she’d do it when she was still up in Skypiea! Not when there is so much work to do, she wouldn’t let herself get distracted by some wayward desire to doodle!

(Still, when the nights were still and quiet she’d spent some of her precious few sleeping hours doing that same exact thing. She had no real answer as to why, the weight of everything just felt a little lighter when she did. She’s never share this with anyone naturally and would deny it to her last breath if/when Nina caught her.)

When she found herself at the mercy of those horrible pirates so many thoughts consumed her, all raging in her head like a swarm of locusts but strangely drawing still came back to her mind. She wished she hadn’t been so cowardly about something she liked, she wished she would have done it more. Maybe her people would more to remember by than just sure to fade memories.

A couple of months after her rescue she ended making a single request to the ever accommodating Vice Admiral: a pencil and some paper. She’d lock herself in her room and draw the curtains tight before delving into that notepad. She drew everything about home, every person she knew, every familiar curve of cloud she could recall. She refused to forget, she’d draw until the pencil snapped again and again. There was no point in drawing anything else anyway.

Until, she began noticing. And once she started she couldn’t stop. The Blue Sea, the islands that inhabit it…they were all quite beautiful.

So she slowly began to draw those too. Just a little at first, a nondescript piece of ocean, the sandy duned deserts of Alabasta, the glorious architecture of Water 7, had this world always been this way? How had she never truly seen it before?

The more she bonded with the crew of that Marine ship the more she began to draw them too. She usually (carefully) ripped them out and handed it over to whoever her muse was and my how they would fawn over their drawn selves, she always thought they were being a little exaggerative but the praise and encouragement was…nice. The Vice Admiral had even gifted a couple sketchbooks and some charcoals which even she had to admit was pretty sweet of him to do.

One of those sketchbooks and most of that charcoal get used for..something, she never clarifies it to anyone.

(It’s drawings of Garp. The crush, her very first one mind you, hit her ass hard and she needed an outlet. What are the contents of those sketches you ask? Well that’s between her, Nika and the lighter she definitely didn’t steal.)

Those… questionable drawings are somewhere locked up tighter than the gates of Mary Geoise. Possibly under a loose floorboard, or a false backing in a bookshelf. Garp accidentally happened upon them once and didn’t say anything about it. He was tickled pink for days on end, but he didn’t say anything about it.

Urpi knew.

There is a sketch right in the middle of one of her earlier sketchbooks that is unfinished. Elbaf, as seen from the deck of an approaching ship. It was some of her finest work, and yet… it felt like it should remain unfinished.

Later that day, Garp proposed to her.

Over the years they were together, she filled many other sketchbooks. Drawings of the inside of their home, the streets of Goa and the high walls, the uncomfortable magnetism of Gray Terminal, the cozy cottage they eventually moved to after Dragon was born (the boy needed room to grow, she and Garp had readily agreed), the garden outside, the jungles of Dawn and the distant peak of My. Colubo…

And Dragon. Dragon, Dragon, Dragon. Her darling boy. His little wings that both made her so proud and so worried. And then Dadan. And then Kuzan. And then all three together. Garp and the kids. Self portraits with the help of a looking glass. The snails Dragon would bring home to show everyone. The penguin that just appeared out of nowhere and had been with Kuzan ever since. The ragtag group of boys that Dadan bossed around. The kids throughout their lives. Dragon- newly appointed Admiral at the time- in his dress uniform, looking adorably uncomfortable, Kuzan snoozing during an award ceremony, Dadan sitting front and center with Garp before the newly built hideout…

And then she had to run.

None of her sketchbooks came with her.

The cottage had been ransacked.

She never had the heart to draw again.

Not until she saw a face she hadn’t seen in a good thirty years. Same nose, same eyes, same mouth as her own, but his shaggy hair and the sharp cut of his jaw were all his father’s. And that tattoo. The same patterning she always knitted into the scarves she used to wrap around his neck when he was just a boy ready to go out and play in the snow.

[its-hai-time]

Apollo Justice 2 AU dialogue

For three years now I've had dialogue moments from the "game" written out in my notes app and I've never shared them. I planned to draw them eventually but I'm horrifically inconsistent so it never happened lol.

Here they are!

(Case AJ2-2, in the defense lobby before the first trial)

???: Excuse me,

Apollo: Ack! (TALL)

???: I presume you're the one they call Justice?

A: Ah! Justice! Um, yep that's me! (She's glaring so intensely, my palms are clamming up already)

Destiny: So then you're the rat I'd heard word of on my crime scene. I'm Prosecutor Atlas, your opponent today.

A: (Rat!??)

Trucy: I think I can see your tail, Apollo!

(more under the cut)

(Case AJ2-3, day 2 of investigation)

Apollo: So you're.... Married to Prosecutor Atlas?

London: Yep!

A: But you're still her personal assistant?

L: Ah! There's no weird motive behind it!

L: We met right before we started.... Working together. When we started dating she didn't want me to lose my job, so we agreed to keep it professional.

A: Couldn't that have gone horribly wrong?!

L: Haha... Yeah, I guess it could have. But spending every day at her side is more than I could have ever asked for.

Phoenix: That's.... Wonderful.....

A: (Mr. Wright looks weird.... wait, are those tears in his eyes?!)

(Case AJ2-3, first investigation, forensics mini-game)

Phoenix: Oh, this feels familiar.

Ema: Feels like the good old days, doesn't it, old guy?

P: Oh come on, I'm not old yet!

E: Yeah yeah, keep telling yourself that, Gramps.

Apollo: (I really wish they wouldn't banter while I'm trying to focus.)

(Case AJ2-3, Right after the end of the TL comic, Klavier has just accepted Apollo's offer to defend him)

Phoenix: You're doing good, Apollo.

Apollo: Mr. Wright?

P: I've been doing a lot of hiding. Should have known you'd know exactly how to drag the truth out of me.

P: You've been a real good sport through all of this.

A: What do you mean?

P: After my... Memorable first impression, I expected you to abandon ship. Run away from my nonsense, from the card.

A: (The card.... He's talking about the forged evidence from my very first trial..... I didn't think he still thought about that moment.)

P: I guess..... I wanted to say thanks.

A: .....With all due respect, sir, where is this coming from?

P: Ah....... I guess this case is just making me sappy.

A: (I guess his talk with Prosecutor Gavin earlier got him thinking about the past...)

(Case AJ2-4, directly after the murder attempt on Trucy. They're in the hospital while she lays on the bed unconscious.)

Phoenix (at her bedside, facing away from Apollo): Trucy.... I never got to give her a stable life to grow up in...

P: I think she could tell I didn't know what to do. But I just kept bluffing. I guess that's all I've ever been good at.

Apollo: Mr. Wright.... Trucy's going to be okay...... She has to be.

P: ..........

P: I know she will be. She's a strong girl.

A: (there's a familiar feeling gripping my wrist...)

A: *sigh* Mr. Wright, you should stay with Trucy. Look after her.

P: !

P: But what about your investigation?

A: I can manage by myself. I know my way around a crime scene by now.

P: ...... Thanks, Apollo.

A: Right, I'll get down to investigating. Tell me if her condition changes.

P: Will do. Good luck.

>move

>hospital hallway

A: *big frustrated sigh*

???: Forgive me for overhearing-

A: Wha-

A: Prosecutor Gavin?!

Klavier: You need help in the investigation, ja?

A: ...What?

K: I want to help you.

A: (What????)

A: Gavin, what brought this on? Why are you here?

K: I was in the crowd for the whole event. I wanted to see how the fraulein was doing.

A: And now you want to help... Me?

K: Fraulein Atlas has already taken the case. I assure you, Forehead, I really do wish to help.

A: But I-

K: You would have been investigating alone this time around, no? It never hurts to have an extra pair of eyes, and you would know mine are quite sharp.

A: I guess but-

K: Perfect! I can drive us back.

A: (Something tells me he isn't going to take no for an answer.)

A: Alright, Gavin. Let's go then.

K: Ah, I was hoping you'd say that!

[epickiya722]

I'm gonna be honest, ppl are seriously exaggerating abt that epilogue and it's full of misinterpretation and misinformation. But also the way it was written and framed was seriously really poor and quite frankly i understand why ppl are getting angry with or without it.

For exemple, the way it seems like only after Izuku gets a mecha suit and goes back to being a hero Ochako coincidentaly gets her crush triggered back on and starts dreaming of Toga telling her to move on. "Well but that is because they are talking more" ok, but what exactly made it all papear NOW? For what reason? Didn't they have other times to talk? Did she not visit him AT ALL in the last 8 years? Not in HS?? Where was her crush at that time? Why is she still repressing her feelings? Didn't she progress at ALL during everything??

And this lack of explanation (even acknowledged by Ochako herself) leaves a weird impression because it just keep making up questions and not answering them properly with actual answers that isn't just reader speculations.

Like i would've liked to know, not just wonder aimlessly.

Doesn't justify ppl calling her a gold digger or something horrible like that, but by god was the narrative bad.

It's both. It's really both, 50/50.

With just leaks, the fandom was very quick to make assumptions and have final thoughts. Not surprised, some people stay disappointing me but that's okay because I'll just move on.

At the same time, this epilogue was framed kind of weird. I know some people want to completely blame Horikoshi but look, I don't know the man. But I'm not saying he is solely at fault.

Let's not forget MHA is published in Shonen Jump and I know some people are going to be like "what about this manga and this manga" and all that, but stop. Just stop it.

It is not up for debate that whoever works at SJ knows how marketing works and no doubt have skimmed through what people in the fandom post about.

I said it before, 431 feels like a combo of fanon. And yeah, you can say a bad one if you want.

It did shape some of the characters weirdly here and I'm not putting that on the characters.

It did seem as if Ochako was pushed towards Izuku by Toga. Now, romantically? If you see it so. Platonically? If you see it so.

It's weird. But I wouldn't say it ruined Ochako for me. I still enjoy her character. As such...

I hate that some people even put "Ochako" and "gold digger" in the same sentence. They really did take "I want to help my parents" to "I only care about money".

Which, again, nothing new.

Regardless of 431's inclusion or not, the fandom isn't doing anything different than before. They were already making cold takes before 431, 430, 429, 428, 427, 426, 425, 424, 423, 422, 421, 420 and so on.

MHA can be the best written manga out there and there will still be people who will fanonize and mischaracterize.

Yeah, 431 is missing some things. Yes, there are some things left to wonder about and I know some people don't want to do that.

Now, for me, just me... I don't mind wondering about what could have been. It just helps for me with being more creative and engaged. Yes, there are questions that I have and I do wish I was given the answer. But sometimes, I don't want everything in a story handed to me. Stories will do that. They will allow the readers to interpret the "What if's" and it's not a bad thing because sometimes the writer does have faith in the audience to understand and draw conclusions on their own.

However, it's clear that some people in this fandom and many, many others want the story to just cater to their every single demand.

431 can just be ignored, that's why I'm not too hung up on it (or even at all, to be frank). It's a bonus chapter of sorts. And yeah, people have every right to feel how they want to about it and I'm not stopping them.

I just know that 431's existence isn't going to change my mind about how I feel about certain ships or the characters, or even the overall story. What I'm not going to do is add to the chaos and attack people.

[after-nine-at-the-oasis]

something's gone horribly wrong here

I wrote this in a trance last night and then vaguely edited it this morning. it just took over my brain okay <3? enjoy :)

-

“Success!” Grian cries desperately.

Just a few more steps. He runs forward, reaching his hand around his shield-

A wither skull slams into him, sending shockwaves through his entire body. And everything goes black.

“No!” he screams in frustration, and a hint of ironic laughter.

He draws breath to scream again, into the darkness, but it catches in his throat. He pauses. He’s still here.

“Wait- what?” Grian manages to get out. He should’ve respawned by now.

There is silence for a moment. Then-

“WRONG.”

Grian would reach up to cover his ears, if he could. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have a body, so he just suffers the grating shout. And then it registers. They’re here. And They want to talk to him.

“No, no, no!” he yells. Block them out until he respawns, that’s what he should do.

Blessedly, the world starts to come back into view. The grass, the torches, the Secret Keeper. But when he tries to stumble back to the battle, away from Them, he realizes two things: no one is around, and he can’t move. Then Grian sees the gray haze hanging over everything, and he wishes desperately to respawn.

But he doesn’t respawn. And they keep talking.

“SHE DIED FIRST.”

“Agh- that wasn’t my fault,” he responds, head aching. If he had a body, every muscle would be tensed to the point of cramping. And every fiber of him wants to Look.

“THE CURSE THINS.”

Grian doesn’t dignify it with a response. He didn’t know why in the moment, but he felt a vicious gladness when Timmy died second. Sure, he brought Lizzie to Red and Mumbo died directly after him (during quite a destructive event), but he lived.

“HE IS LEFT. HE IS WITH HIM. WHERE IS HE.”

His mind aches, it aches, it’s all-consuming–

“HE HIDES FROM OUR WRATH.”

They’re talking about Martyn, he thinks. He made the right choice – ran as soon as the wither showed up, just like Timmy and Mumbo should’ve done.

Timmy and Mumbo. The grief hits him like a wave. There are still so many Greens left, and they’re gone.

“THERE. WHERE THE OTHER IS. WHERE IS HE. WHERE IS HE.”

“I don’t know!” Grian yells angrily. “I don’t know where he is!”

“HIDING AWAY FROM US ALL THE DAY.”

Martyn doesn’t hide, his brain sluggishly supplies. Not all the time. But everything’s starting to feel fuzzy, and he’s not quite sure on the significance of that.

“WHERE IS HE.”

“I don’t know,” mumbles Grian. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know what you want.”

He can feel Them, seething, gnashing Their teeth. They hate this. They hate him. A small grim smile works its way onto what would be his face.

“And I wouldn’t tell you if I did.”

A growling like noise fills the void, but Grian thinks (hopes They don’t have long before he’s back in his body. He hopes They’re not holding onto him too hard. But Their presence grates on his brain, squeezes his lungs, and he wants out, he wants out-

“Ẅ̷̧̳̼̣̫̜̖͈̙̹̹̼̞̲́̍͂̅̾͝H̷͔͖̗̜̳͎̯̻͇͖̜̣̜͖̻̗̩̀̊͑̔̊͌̍̏̾̒͌͐͘̚̕͝͝É̷̡̞͓̫̹͚̱̖̲̬̽̃͋͜͝ͅͅR̷̢̺͇͚̭͖̪͕̞̙̎͌͆́̈͑Ë̷̻͎̦̭̱͉̓͑̑̎͛ ̶̨̛̦̙̲̥̮̥͇̗̖̣͂͗̉͗̈̍̕ͅĮ̸̣̺͖̮̭̠͇̥̩̩̼̦̯͓̈̅̽̄̂͊̽̇̃̇͒̊̇͌͂̕ͅS̷̪̜͈̻̥̈́́̈�� ̴̢̧̮̠̟̘͚̼̼̖̙̲̜̰̃̑̓̇̓̍͒̏̓̒͆̕͘̚͠͠Ḥ̶̨̢͉̖̙̺̠̩͆̀̊́͂͊̌̎̌̽̕͠Ę̴̛̛͔̪͚͓̰̻̼̫̱̺͍̩̫̼͇̓̿̂́̔̆̒̆̈́͊͘͘͝͠.”

Grian screams. He tries to curl in on himself, tries to get away, but the noise is all around him. Pressing down, pushing the air out of his body. It fades after an indiscernible amount of time, but is replaced with a loud static.

“I don’t know,” he repeats with a gasp. He nearly has to shout over the static, and it only gets louder after he speaks. Another growl joins the crescendo, and the pressure increases and he wants to scream but he can’t, he can’t-

Grian gasps a breath as his feet hit the ground.

Immediately, the sharp stab of wither makes itself known. Before he can regain his breath (it feels like he’s fallen a hundred blocks, like Joel weeks ago, like his soulmate but with no water, like-), he’s moving. Running away from the Secret Keeper, away from the explosions and yelling of the battle. Running away from Them.

“I- wait, what?” he pants. He can feel it. “I’m yellow.”

Etho runs up to him, bleeding from several burn-like marks and covered in dirt.

“Why are you still poisoned?” he calls.

“I- something-,” he tries. “I died as I hit the button and I think it broke, so badly.”

Etho laughs. “Oh, no.”

Grian hit the button, and he can feel his health fluctuating, but after- what was it? After the pause, the break in the battle, he respawned and ran. Something like that. His health should settle soon.

And a few moments later, just after Cleo joins them on the sidelines, before he runs back into battle, it does. Everything’s faded now. He doesn’t remember details of the glitch, so it must have been small.

But somewhere, deep in the back of his mind, there is a scratching echo of a phrase.

Where is he.

[roboyomo]

yomo, yomo.

I finally finished reading all your posts about your creatures, in this case, the posts that are in your pinned post.

AND MY GOD, I LOVE THEM— Yaku, Azrael and Kenix. I don't even know which of these 3 is my favorite, probably Azrael due to his personality, but. Even so. Kenix is ​​extremely problematic and I love it. And I wish I could hug Yaku. Seriously, he looks adorable. anyway, I'm not the best drawer in the world (my drawings are still pretty bad), but at some point I need to doodle something from at least one of these 3. i really want to do that.

Now there are two things I wanted to get to you. Is there any other post in particular that you recommend about your little creatures? And could you give a brief introduction about the others in the Sins Crew for me? I'm very very very very interested.

FJWDHWJEGSH!!!! MYGOD THAMK YOU EVE ; ; WEHFJDG you really don't have to draw them!! i'm just glad that you're enjoying their stories!! :']

As for post reccommendations, i shrimply don't have many oc rantposts that aren't like. Severely outdated. Most of the rantposts in the pinned post index Are Outdated too which is Unfortunate but i do have some updated stuff in the works! So that's that ^_^ however i have. Quite a few posts introducing or talking more about the general deals of the characters so i'm gonna list them here with links \o/

1.The Sins crew and their narrative foil counterparts in the Order, 2. The deal between Kenix and Artemis/Sora, 3. Short introduction of B7E and Yi Ha-neul, 4. Maude and Aridam introduction post, 5. Kenix, Ken and Prometheus/Ephai relationship charts, 6. Long Prometheus post, 7. Prometheus and Kenix from Prometheus's perspective, 8. Long Prometheus askpost and 9. Little descriptions of the Sinners' cursed forms

Pretty sure that's all the ones i'd recommend? :'3 most aren't really That long as the posts in my pinned post index so hopefully it isn't a problem that there's 9 posts linked orz. Anyways! Short explanation of the Sinners under the cut per your request o7

I'm pretty sure i have explained them as a concept but i'll do a brief intro one again for Some Context ^_^

The Deadly Seven Sins, or as i call them Sins crew or the Sinners, are thematically an antithesis to the Order, or the Company crew. Of course since there is only 7 of them they only foil 7 other members of the Order but the gimmick is still like an opposite to them. The Sinners, unlike the Order who wield their powers given as a blessing from their god, wield powers related to their sin as a curse.

They are cursed in a literal way too - while the Order have been those "chosen by the divine", the Sinners live in the Afterlife as yk. Sinners. Living the rest of their already miserable existence being bound to a singular purpose and left to rot in by the Gods. They are from an alternative timeline, so they and the Order don't know each other until Later in the story. They are to be damned for all eternity until their curses turn them into horribly disfigured creatures until it consumes their entire existence and ends them. This is a punishment for them committing the sins - left alone until they meet death yet again. The only active correlation they have with the Order throughout the story is that they're also heavily influenced by the existence of Prometheus, who are keeping an eye on the sinners. Despite being just a 3rd party concept and not a physical entity since their death, they Can sometimes communicate with the Sinners, albeit in a very limited way and only being able to reach them before they're about to go insane and turn into Something Else.

The list of the Sinners and their sins + very Very short explanation of their deals in the order of who first joined

Kenix - The Sin of Lust. It is more of an immoral lust for power and authority, that has been rooted in his problems with inferiority complex, and being treated as nothing but a servant to the "higher-ups". This is an example of the desire to be treated as equal and like a human being that has corrupted, letting him getting advantage of by Prometheus out of desperation for help

Agatha - The Sin of Greed. It is a desire for material and spiritual goods through being part of government that left her to die as a common folk in the first place. What was once a wish to survive as a person out in the streets and the desire to know what it is to be like the higher-ups has corrupted into a never-ending greed for more of that sweet authority she wanted, despite her soul slowly withering with regret.

Azrael - The Sin of Envy. The unstoppable force of a man envious of everyone around him and the desire for revenge. What was once an attempt to mourn his only friend and avenge her has corrupted into a rampage of killing everybody in sight fueled by hatred. An attempt to justify, just so he could excuse his actions rooted in bitterness and hatred

Liliosa - The Sin of Gluttony. A desire to know what was true love and what it is like to honestly appreciated by someone has turned into an endless hunger for love. Through what she perceives is what true love is, she forces it upon others. She may be taking on her designated role of a "Cupid", but this desire has long been corrupted to the point where she fails to realize her mistakes and the fact that she hurts others through this.

Maude - The Sin of Wrath. A person who only knew what it is like to degraded into nothing and being dehumanized. It is a desire to fend off, to stop being treated like a wild animal and be free from being degraded. A simple wish to be left alone has been turned into a desire to wreck havoc. As long as there will be no one left, and no more noise

Aridam - The Sin of Pride. A wish to be acknowledged and understood more as a person has turned into a desire to be endlessly loved and worshipped like a celestial. What was once compassion has turned to arrogance, putting ego above everything else - including others' and his own wellbeing

Artemis/Sora - The Sin of Sloth. A child who was so scared at the thought of growing up and stepping further into future that her one wish was to stagnate time. It is a refusal to face her fears, therefore embracing her inability to grow out of being a child

this about how i would describe them in short 💥💥 there's, Of course, some more very short stuff about them in their respective name tags on my blog (sora's tag being #artemis/sora and others are just their names) so you can check that out too if you wanna!! this goes for all of my characters that have been mentioned on here btw :]

[ryuichirou]

Hello!! I'm too shy to send you this out of anon, but I wanted to let you know how much I admire you. I'm a TWST artist myself, and I like certain problematic tropes and pairings. I also want to draw nsfw of my favorite ships, but I'm too afraid of doing it. The anti movement in fandoms is too overwhelming and I'm scared of people going after me. I don't mind kids yelling at me for drawing teens doing what most teens do nowadays (like sex) but everything has escalated so far that people are willing to doxx you and ruin your life over what you ship or draw, and that's what I'm scared of. I know that you probably get nasty messages and people bothering you, but seeing you and Katsu continue creating regardless of what people might say gives me encouragement to post whatever I want. And you seem to be a sunshine of a person, not to mention that your art is amazing. I wish I could post daily as you but sometimes I'm a little bit lazy and I yet need more confidence even if I've been drawing since I was a teen. Anyways, sorry if this got longer, but thank you for contributing amazing art to the TWST fandom. (I'm also into Hetalia and SnK!!! Seeing that you like DenNor made my day haha)

Sending you and Katsu my best regards!

First of all, thank you so much for your support and for your kindness, Anon. And thank you for messaging us at all about this topic, even if anonymously. I think this is a very important thing to talk about, and your message honestly made us kind of emotional. It was a bad idea to read it before going to bed lol

Just like you said, the anti movement is honestly psychotic. I feel like a lot of people who participate in it simply don’t realise the weight of their actions and words, which make sense, because the majority of them are very young; and the ones that are adults are usually quite deranged and dangerous. It’s not rare for their actions to lead to horrible consequences, but I guess this is nothing new. It used to be overbearing conservative parents, now it’s some kids with too much free time. That being said, these days we see more and more people who ignore, criticize or ridicule the antis for their hypocrisy, and this is very nice to see.

We really do get quite a lot of hate, but honestly, we used to get even more stupid comments, even though we haven’t been hated with such passion before. But still, the support we’re getting now is also much more impactful and vocal than what we used to get. There also are people who aren’t even into our ships, but would defend us just because of what this whole thing represents: their own right to do whatever they want when it comes to fiction.

Our personal thing is that we’re just way too spoiled and self-indulgent with stuff that we like. Even if it meant that we’d never get hate, we would be miserable if we had to restrict ourselves for the sake of others; and I know that because we tried. So the worst thing that could happen is that we’ll stop posting, but we’ll still continue creating, because it gives us too much joy to give it up just because someone has no friends at school and wants to impress other antis with their sick (moronic) post when they completely miss the point of our content and ignore our 18+ warnings.

So yeah, I hope you’ll remember what you love about drawing and keep doing whatever you want, even if you don’t post it. But I also think that, if you’re comfortable at any point, you should also post it. You can create an account with no link to your regular acc and your personal info whatsoever and post whatever you want there. You could still get hate, but at least it will be safer and without any high stakes, although I understand you might feel fear because people could recognise your artstyle and connect the dots.

Also preventive bans work wonderfully. If we stumble upon a post that has certain aggressive messages (you know the ones), we simply block everyone who interacted with that post. It takes time, but it’s worth it, I think. Hell, people use “call-out” (because there is nothing to call out, we’ve stated everything plainly ourselves) posts with us to block people.

Also also, ironically, ignoring the hate also kind of helps… I know it’s easy to say, and it’s not a 100% guarantee, but we just think that people are more prone to attacking you if you react to hate in any way. So the best thing is literally to just block and delete it. Oh, and always report it if it gets aggressive – this could do nothing, but it could also bitchslap them out of nowhere lol

Anyways… I am very grateful and glad if we could give you any type of reassurance and comfort with our posts. I hope to see your stuff one day, and I hope there’ll be more people who post whatever they want, so fandoms can become healthier again.

And I’m very happy you like Hetalia and SnK too, especially DenNor! <3

Thank you again from both of us, and I hope you’re having a good day.

[grimescum]

kind of a rant/vent? posting this in the "hellsing ocs" tag because there's quite a bit about my oc claudine here that i dont think i've mentioned before

in very simple terms i am currently thinking about her and how difficult it feels to make content for her

theres like. SO much i wanna draw with her that i just dont have the energy to. her over the top cartoony mannerisms, the fact that she is essentially genderfluid like alucard and can present as any gender she wishes, the fact that she has no particular weapon that isn't a fake or a gag weapon (like those bang guns), her horribly tacky vintage mom fashion sense,

she's so much fun in my head but i don't know how to convey that in art outside of stupid vaguely romantic drawings of her and walter and its so damn annoying. i can never string together enough coherent thoughts talk about her in any situations or scenarios or whatever. comics take a lot of energy, motivation and dedication that i fear i might not have. i get anxious writing dialogue for her because i worry about it being corny in a bad way. i feel like i can't write fanfic anymore because of my brain fog as well as, like, everything else i listed

i actually had an idea for a ""comic"", or more like a series of pictures with her and walter based on "you're at the party" by lemon demon that was gonna show off a LOT of things, like how her worm-parasites work to induce delusions and how she initially used it to lure in walter with the prospect of no longer feeling like an outsider and a tool

heres a few panels from that (started on may 5th 2024)

i've only done 7 sketches, technically i could still finish. i think the fact that it might take a while to do so might be part of it.

ALSO not to mention the fact that their relationship, in my head, is very interesting and something that brings me a lot of comfort to think about!!!!! but i cant verbalize it or make it physical through my art and jusg. ough

i guess i should just start small or at the very least try to work on how i feel when it comes to my art taking a while

shes not the best but i genuinely love her a lot. she embodies my favorite character tropes and she's a mix of a lot of characters i enjoy. i do admit i get a little jealous seeing other peoples hellsing ocs gaining traction (for good reason btw!!) as if the major difference between mine and other peoples is the amount of content for them. weh. wah wah wah wah

looking through my art of her makes me feel a bit better though. i think her personality shows well even in my sketches and doodles. wegh

[warden-melli]

Not pokemon related but fuck these last few years have been tough. Been trying to distract myself all night but I think I need to vent for a sec

Trigger warning after the cut

I don’t want to get into details, but my uncle killed himself this morning. I knew something was wrong straight away when my mother randomly turned up with that look on her face. My grandmother was diagnosed with dementia last year, and my grandfather is in kidney failure, so at first I thought something bad and happened to them, but no. It was my uncle.

I spent a lot of today with my dad. My uncle was his little brother, and quite frankly as sad as I am for what happened to my uncle, I’m most worried about my dad right now. Not only did he lose both his father and older sister within the last year or so, but he’s been in pretty poor health himself. He was involved in an accident at work earlier this year involving a chainsaw, and honestly he’s lucky to be alive. PPE did it’s job, but even so he still ended up losing a tooth, and he’s had to have dental/implant surgeries to repair the damage. The last few weeks he’s also been extremely ill having caught Ross River fever from a job site. I have never seen him this sick in my entire life, and it has been extremely distressing seeing him in so much pain. He’s recovering from being sick, but he’s had an absolutely terrible run of luck, and that’s not even all of it. His best friend/brother in law has lung cancer, his sister just had a heart attack after contracting covid, and another of his sisters was just in a major car accident (he’s one of 10 kids btw). Also his pet budgie died last week. I feel horrible for him and I wish I could do something to make it better.

The last few weeks have been really tough. I broke my wisdom tooth, and because I am really bad at telling if/where I’m in pain I kinda tried to live with an exposed nerve for a few weeks before realising that it was serious. I knew something was wrong, but I have tmjd so I just kinda thought it was a chronic pain flare up at first. Like a really bad one, but I tried to ignore it. I had the back of my knee tattooed while dealing with a cracked wisdom tooth oof. After I figured out it wasn’t going to go away I eventually went to the dentist and had it extracted, but that was really hard for me to deal with. I was happy that the sharp pain had gone, but my jaw has been extremely sore since, and I really struggled sensory wise during the healing period. Then I broke my guitar and my fridge broke, so that’s over $1000 on top of the dental bills -_-

Idk life feels really hard lately. Haven’t been able to draw much, and have just been feeling flat in general. And now my uncle has passed and I just feel terrible. I’ll be okay. My sister is due to have a baby within weeks, and I’ve got some good concerts to look forward to, so it’s not all bad. One of my little sisters has been a twenty one pilots fan since she was literally an infant, and she’s finally old enough to see them live and I was able to get her really good tickets. She’s autistic too and has been working on her outfit and making stickers, and every time I see her that’s all she can talk about. I’m so happy for her and that I get to take her. There is good stuff, and good people and as silly as it sounds Melli/Pokemon really helps. He’s so so special to me. I’m glad I have him to focus on

I just needed to get stuff off of my chest, so if you’ve made it this far thanks for listening. Even if no one reads this just typing it out made me feel a bit better. May be a bit less active for a while, might be way more active. Idk how my brain wants to handle this lol

[nahalism]

i was wondering, how did you get to develop your art? im currently in a process where i am trying to experiment and go beyond the need to create art that is realistic (as in "objectively like reality as it is", like I was being told by both school and family). i feel like I struggle a lot to follow my inspiration because of this, and I am also trying to learn how to draw scenes from my own ordinary life, but unfortunately I am quite impatient and frustrated with my inability to create what I wish to create + perfectionism in general makes me scared of using colour as well 😭 I really admire your art so much, both your sketches and finished pieces, and I have always wondered your own learning process throughout the years. please feel free to not reply if you feel uncomfortable cause I know it is a very personal process as well, and above all I hope you are doing well and I am sending you endless love <333

🥺🥺 this is so lovely to receive because if im completely honest there are multiple moments where i feel exactly as you've just described and despite pushing through it, a message like this is very validating that ive progressed in some way

i dont mind sharing at all. i started drawing/painting when i was 21/22 which is relatively late and i was so fearful because despite having a vision for what i wanted to create i lacked any skill that could help me bring what was in my minds eye to fruition. i was also insanely depressed and in the middle of getting my degree at uni (so felt like i had no time to pursue art, at least not to the extent i wanted to). — my plan to get better consisted of multiple things. id draw everyday. i had/have two styles i'd practice, one realism, and the other 'freestyle'? basically draw only from my head and from the rhythms that came naturally to my hand, no references. by doing that, or drawing the human figure/portraits/cars/buildings from my imagination, not only was i reinforcing what id actually learned from my study of the fundamentals, but i was learning to incorporate my own creativity into the rigid structure that sometimes comes from only drawing from reference. by doing that and drawing studies every day i began to build a library in my head of images/poses/character archetypes i could pull from which made drawing from my imagination easier, but also had the structural knowledge of forms/perspective/anatomy to make them look credible. id do this whenever i had free time, and once i left uni began practicing anywhere from 6-9 hours daily. a bit extreme but i felt like i had time to make up for since i started drawing relatively late in life. only tip there is to balance practice with making finished pieces. finished pieces will show you which fundamentals you still need to work on & how much progress you've made. they also show the completion of a thought whereas practice only gives you the tools to bring that thought to reality

just so u know, ur practice of the fundaments is not in vain. you just need to revive your own capacity to draw from your imagination/subconscious. the main thing is knowing your going to find your work horrible for a long time before it gets better. the joy has to come from the process of creating rather than the end product. by the time it gets better, your eye will also have improved, so you still wont be satisfied. thats where growth comes in. being your biggest critic is what will make you great, as long as you remember where you came from (date and keep your work so you can look back on it) and the role criticism plays. separate your skill from your self worth.

something helpful i was once told is along the lines of 'perfectionism is a lie we tell ourselves to justify our procrastination. no one is ever perfect, so the only way to gain skill is to practice. you cant grow if you dont begin. so if your really a perfectionist, your only solution is to start'

i would love to see your work someday and hope i will. wishing you luck and sending you all the courage to begin and be great. you got this <3

[kazscrows]

Six of Crows Reread🪶

Chapter 45: Kaz

The deal is the deal

Unfortunately everyone is a bloody liar

Why had he believed Van Eck had the blessing of the Merchant Council? Because he was a rich, upstanding mercher? Because he’d dressed his own servants and soldiers in the purple uniforms of the stadwatch? Kaz had met with Van Eck in a quarantined mercher’s house, not a government building, but he’d been taken in by a little set dressing. It was Hertzoon and his coffeehouse all over again, only now Kaz was old enough to know better.

Ouch

“Chaos will come, and I will be its master. Its very wealthy master.”

Could’ve been a banger of a line if it wasn’t from Van Eck

The little freak

Oh look we finally get to learn just how horrible a father he is

Van Eck began to laugh – a warm, almost jovial chuckle, but its edges were jagged and bitter.

“Let me tell you about my son.” He spat the word as if it were poison on his lips. “He was meant to be heir to one of the greatest fortunes in all of Kerch, an empire with shipping lines that reach all over the globe, one built by my father, and my father’s father. But my son, the boy meant to rule this grand empire, cannot do what a child of seven years can. He can solve an equation. He can paint and play the flute most prettily. What my son cannot do, Mister Brekker, is read. He cannot write. I have hired the best tutors from every corner of the world. I’ve tried specialists, tonics, beatings, hypnotism. But he refused to be taught. I finally had to accept that Ghezen saw fit to curse me with a moron for a child. Wylan is a boy who will never grow to be a man. He is a disgrace to my house.”

“The letters …” said Jesper, and Kaz could see the anger in his face. “You weren’t pleading with him to come back. You were mocking him.”

I volunteer to punch Jan Van Eck in the face!!

After Jesper and Wylan get the first swings in of course

Leverage number one doesn’t work out quite like Kaz had imagined

But of course he has a backup plan

If you’re reading this, then you know how much I wish to have you home. Every letter had been a slap in the face to Wylan, a kind of cruel joke.

“He’s your son,” Jesper said.

“No, he is a mistake. One soon to be corrected.”

So so cruel

Doesn’t he have any love inside of him?

“You’re the fool,” Jesper snarled. “He’s smarter than most of us put together, and he deserves a better father than you.”

YEAH YOU TELL HIM JESPER!!

The Tidemakers didn’t hesitate. Before anyone could draw breath to protest, two huge walls of water rose and shot towards the Ferolind. They crushed the ship between them with a resonant boom, sending debris flying.

Jesper screamed in rage and raised his guns.

“Jesper!” Kaz commanded. “Stand down!”

“He killed them,” Jesper said, face contorted. “He killed Wylan and Nina!”

Poor Jesper…

This scene will be so intense in the spin-off

Please

I need it—

Jesper looked back at the rocking waves, at the broken bits of mast and torn sail where a ship had been only seconds before. “I don’t … I don’t understand.”

“I confess to being a bit shocked, too, Mister Brekker,” said Van Eck. “No tears? No righteous protests for your lost crew? They raise you cold in the Barrel.”

“Cold and cautious,” said Kaz.

Even more cautious than you realize

I can’t remember my initial reaction to this part exactly but I’m pretty sure I figured Kaz would have tricks up his sleeve

Like there was no way Nina and “Wylan” were killed off after everything and with only a chapter to go

Plus I knew there was a second book

“I don’t need to take him from you. You never had him. That’s not Kuwei Yul-Bo.”

“A sorry bluff at best.”

“I’m not big on bluffing, am I, Inej?”

“Not as a rule.”

Van Eck’s lip curled. “And why is that?”

“Because he’d rather cheat,” said the boy who was not Kuwei Yul-Bo in perfect, unaccented Kerch.

Van Eck startled at the sound of his voice, and Jesper flinched.

The Shu boy held out a hand. “Pay up, Kaz.”

Kaz sighed. “I do hate to lose a wager. You see, Van Eck, Wylan bet me that you would have no qualms about ending his life. Call me sentimental, but I didn’t believe a father could be so callous.”

Please I forget they literally bet on this 😂😭😭

Also the fact that Kaz asked Inej and the fact that she knows he actually is big on bluffing

He trusts her so much!

She knows all his secrets

And she’ll never betray him

I mean he uses this trick at least three times in this series

Bluffing/lying/cheating to scare someone is Kaz’s favorite tactic

Oh… oh but this makes Jesper flinching at the reveal super painful

Kaz trusted Inej to know about Wylan and Kuwei swapping places, but he didn’t trust Jesper….

He probably did it to get a genuine reaction from Jesper as well but the trust issue thing is definitely there too

Kaz could see the fear and hurt in his golden eyes – Wylan’s surprising courage, too.

After the battle in the Djerholm harbour, the merchling had come to Kaz to warn him that he couldn’t be used as leverage against his father. Wylan had been red-faced, barely able to speak the words of his supposed ‘affliction’. Kaz had only shrugged. Some men were poets. Some were farmers. Some were rich merchers. Wylan could draw a perfect elevation. He’d made a drill that could cut through Grisha glass from parts of a gate and scavenged bits of jewellery. So what if he couldn’t read?”

It’s been said before but I’ll say it again

It’s really beautiful how Kaz doesn’t judge others on their flaws

“There could be no judgment from a boy known as Dirtyhands” -chapter 20

He looks for the best part of every individual and makes that part of them shine

Or he finds some way for them to be useful at least

Kaz shrugged. “Kill us, and you’ll never find Kuwei.”

Van Eck appeared to consider this. Then he stepped back. “Guards to me!” he shouted. “Kill everyone but Brekker!”

Kaz knew the instant he made his mistake. They’d all known it might come to this. He should have trusted his crew. His eyes should have stayed trained on Van Eck. Instead, in that moment of threat, when he should have thought only of the fight, he looked at Inej.

This line oh my gosh—

KaNej—

And Van Eck saw it. He blew on his whistle. “Leave the others! Get the money and the girl.”

Do you hear that?

No?

Well it’s me screaming

He tries to run to protect her!!

Please I am SOBBING 😭

“The Tidemakers reached her first, vanishing into mist, then reappearing at her side. But only a fool would to try to take Inej in close combat. The Tidemakers were fast – vanishing and reappearing, grabbing at her. But she was the Wraith, and her knives found heart, throat, spleen. Blood spilled over the sand as the Tidemakers collapsed in two very solid heaps.

She’s so cool

Oh my gosh

they had to face the sun to shoot and not even Jesper could aim blind.

Hmm.. this is interesting

I don’t think the show follows this statement

Jesper has literally shot without looking several times

The Squaller barrelled into Inej and sped upwards with her into the sky.

Stay still, Kaz urged her silently, his pistol drawn.

Something about Kaz with a gun just make me so…

So…. Hnnnnnnngh

It’s hot, okay?

AND THEN SHE’S FALLING

AND HE TRIES TO RUN TO HER AGAIN!!

Ashjfssfhjvsadh—

A third Squaller swooped down, snatching her up seconds before impact and dealing her a vicious blow to the skull. Kaz saw Inej’s body go limp.

“Bring him down!” roared Matthias.

“No!” shouted Kaz. “Shoot him and she falls, too!”

He can’t watch her fall…

It terrifies him

…. “Why the net, Kaz?”

Some hints for later I see??

But now she’s gone-

There was nothing they could do but stand there like fools and watch her shape get smaller in the sky – a distant moon, a fading star, then gone.

There and then gone…

Just like the magic trick

Just like Jordie..

But he can get her back!

Vengeance for Jordie, all Kaz had worked for, was slipping away. He didn’t care…

…“Kaz, I can make the shot,” said Jesper, rifle to his shoulder. “Van Eck is still in range.”

And all would be lost – Inej, the money, everything.

“No,” Kaz said. “Let them go.”

Inej is his first thought

He values her more than his revenge

He felt as he had looking into the darkened windows of the house on Zelverstraat. Helpless once more. He’d prayed to the wrong god.

It hurts 😭

Kaz marvelled at his own stupidity. Dumber than a pigeon fresh off the boat and looking to make a fortune on East Stave. His greatest vulnerability had been right beside him. And now she was gone.

Poor Kaz

He’s so hard on himself

Love isn’t a weakness!!

😭😭😭

The idea of “there and then gone” keeps coming up though and I love and hate it!

“That’s why you disappeared during the journey,” said Jesper. “You weren’t helping Matthias care for Nina. You were hiding.”

“I didn’t hide.”

“You … how many times was it you standing beside me on the deck at night when I thought it was Kuwei?”

“Every time.”

“Nina might not be able to put you back, you know. Not without another dose of parem. You could be stuck like this.”

“Why does it matter?”

“I don’t know!” Jesper said angrily. “Maybe I liked your stupid face.”

See I told you it was Wylan

I say this like I haven’t read these books like five times already

I’m actually here for angry Jesper??

I want more strong emotions from him in the show

He turned to Matthias. “You knew. Wylan knew. Inej knew. Everyone but me.”

“Ask me why, Jesper,” Kaz said, his patience at an end.

Here comes pain

It hurts because it was an accident

Jesper would never willfully betray the other crows

This echos the opening scene of the book with Big Bolliger a little

Just this time the betrayal wasn’t on purpose

“You told one of the Dime Lions you were leaving Kerch, but that you’d be coming into big money, didn’t you?”

Jesper swallowed. “I had to. They were leaning on me hard. My father’s farm—”

“I told you not to tell anyone you were leaving the country. I warned you to keep your mouth shut.”

“I didn’t have a choice! You had me locked up in the Crow Club before we left. If you’d let me—”

Kaz turned on him. “Let you what? Play a few hands of Three Man Bramble? Dig yourself deeper in with every boss in the Barrel stupid enough to extend you credit? You told a member of Pekka’s gang you were about to be flush.”

“I didn’t know he’d go to Pekka. Or that Pekka knew about parem. I was just trying to buy myself some time.”

“Saints, Jesper, you really haven’t learned anything in the Dregs, have you? You’re still the same dumb farm boy who stepped off the boat.”

Is he talking about Jesper here or himself…

Hmmmmmmmm…?

“Kaz would always remember that moment, when he’d seen greed take hold of his brother, an invisible hand guiding him onward, the lever at work.”

Remember that quote from chapter 18?

Yeah.

Kaz is definitely thinking about Jordie when he looks at Jesper and his gambling problem

Jesper lunged for him, and Kaz felt a surge of giddy violence. Finally, a fight he could win. But Matthias stepped between them, holding them each back with a massive hand. “Stop. Stop this.”Kaz didn’t want to stop. He wanted to beat them all bloody and then brawl his way through the Barrel.

This man does have a tendency to get into fights a lot

He’s always coming back bloody during their heists and schemes

Anyways-

They’re so brothers

Kaz wants to see Jesper as his big brother but he keeps letting him down…

Just like Jordie did—

For now, there was nothing but the flat grey of the sky and the dead rock of this miserable excuse for an island. And Inej’s absence. Kaz wanted to hit someone. He wanted someone to hit him.

I’m sure Jesper would happily deck you if you let him

If Kaz was their leader, then Inej had been their lodestone, pulling them together when they seemed most likely to drift apart.

I love this comparison

Inej holds them all together!!

According to that deleted scene we got today she’s their heart!! 💕

Nina had disguised Kaz’s crow-and-cup tattoo before they’d entered the Ice Court, but he hadn’t let her near the R on his bicep. Now he touched his gloved fingers to where the sleeve of his coat covered that mark. Without meaning to, he’d let Kaz Rietveld return.

He didn’t know if it had begun with Inej’s injury or that hideous ride in the prison wagon, but somehow he’d let it happen and it had cost him dearly.

I think he started coming back even sooner than that…

I want him to let Rietveld free but at least he’s making a plan

Also give us Kaz’s tattoos netflix!!!!

“Scheming face,” murmured Jesper.

“Definitely,” agreed Wylan.

Matthias folded his arms. “Digging in your bag of tricks, demjin?”

I love it

Kaz wants to go after Inej alone!

But he knows he’ll need help

“I’ll need the right crew.”

“Wylan got to his feet. “For the Wraith.”

Jesper followed, still not meeting Kaz’s eyes. “For Inej,” he said quietly.

Matthias gave a single sharp nod.

They all love Inej so much 🥹

Inej had wanted Kaz to become someone else, a better person, a gentler thief. But that boy had no place here. That boy ended up starving in an alley. He ended up dead. That boy couldn’t get her back.

No!

He can survive now!!

He has friends! A family!!!

Though… I guess he does need Dirtyhands Brekker for what comes next..

I’m going to get my money, Kaz vowed. And I’m going to get my girl.

YEAH YOU ARE

THAT’S MY MAN!!!

WRECK HIS PLANS—

Inej could never be his, not really, but he would find a way to give her the freedom he’d promised her so long ago.

He really loves her

Enough to let her go 🥹

It’s heartbreaking

Dirtyhands had come to see the rough work done.

Aaaannnd that wraps it for the Crows! Just Pekka’s chapter left!!

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[im-the-j-in-anthony-j-crowley]

Social structure from hell's perspective

1.- Demons/Angels

2.- Humans

As with heaven, defining humans as the inferior beings is not the hard part. We've seen how they refer to Crowley as a product of all the years he's been on earth. They don't see humans as being on the same level as them.

It is when we talk about the relationship of the demons with the angels when I expand more, the conclusion of everything that goes now is that the demons see the angels as beings at their same level, and that they hate them. And that they wish they could see them as inferior, but currently they can't.

There are three options for how demons can see angels, and here is the why I conclude that they see them as equals and my reasons for ruling out the other two

First, the three options:

Lower

Equal

Superior

The easiest one to rule out is the idea that they see them as inferior, and I would say that this is immediately ruled out when you get the idea that demons were taken out of heaven. They fought and lost. Yes, they usually say it was a draw and that it will be defined in the final battle. But in the practical terms, they were cast out of heaven and they ended up working in horrible conditions, in a pretty horrible place, they suffered. And an environment that is getting worse and worse.

I think the demons want to see the angels as inferior. But they have nothing that can confirm that for them. That's why Armageddon was such a big deal. The final fight between angels and demons was the chance for them to prove that being cast out was unfair. That they were better, that they deserved to be there.

So I think the demons don't see the angels as inferior, but that's what they're looking for going forward. They hope that one day they will be able to prove that they are better and should not have been expelled.

Then there is the part of accepting angels as superior beings, and this is one that is discarded I would say as soon as you accept the previous one. If you believed they were superior, you would have no confidence in being able to defeat them. If you believe they are something completely different from you, you would have no hope of overcoming them.

And there is also the fact that, after all, demons were once angels. I feel that one of the ways of looking at them is simply...the demons were removed from the home they had and exciliated. And I feel like that creates a lot of resentment, justified. But I don't think it can ever make you see them as superior to the people who drove you out. Especially when in practical terms you still have things in common with them.

You're both immortal, you're both miracle workers, and so on.

And they were angels before, I think deep down, the demons never saw themselves as the bad guys. Or at least not at the beginning. Yes, they talk about that many times. But at the same time... do they really want to have a horrible life? We've seen Beelzebub questioning the ways things work in the underworld. And I definitely don't think they're the only demon that's done that in 6000 years. And a lot of times I feel like they do things with a sense of mockery. Yes, the series is supposed to be comedic. But the jokes about "that things will go well" and that means they would go wrong, and then changing them to they will go horribly to express that they will go according to their plans...

6000 years, and they still have these jokes? I feel that the idea of the underworld is something that was built on an outside source calling them evil, and forcing them to do horrible jobs. And that that idea became more and more present because they had no choice. The only option the underworld has to change its conditions is by winning Armageddon. Because heaven are the ones in control, and the only thing they do there is repeat how disgusting they think the demons are.

Demons try to separate themselves from heaven, but in the end, they cannot. I feel this is quite noticeable in the last (and only) interaction we have with multiple characters from both sides.

All that time the angels act as if the demons are one level below them, grimacing in disgust, pretending to be unable to hear them. Basically what they've been doing since they fought them 6000 years ago.

On the other hand, the demons mock, yes. But I feel that what they mock most is the fact that heaven despises them. What they use most against the angels is the fact that they couldn't get rid of them completely. And they demand that they hand over Beelzebub and Gabriel. Demand.

You don't make demands if you think you are inferior to someone, nor do you mock them when they make disgusted faces. It is because of this interaction that I believe demons seen themselves as equal to angels. And they are fully aware that angels don't agree, so they use that to irritate them whenever they can.

[yellowtiebite]

Hey!

I saw your comments on the AI post and sorry if this is annoying lol, I just wanted to say if AI art brings you joy then obviously you should have at it,

but I also wanted to say, as an artist, you left an impression on me. One I’m sure I’ll think about often from here on out.

I covet the “early” stages of art… learning a skill is difficult, but you can make anything of yourself in that window. There is no objectivity in art — no good, no bad, not even ugly. That is all opinion and mentality.

There were times I abandoned art, too, so I understand you. There were times I simply thought I was no longer going to be an artist. But eventually, by doodle or by the human need to create, I came back. And art block is also very real… but there are so many mediums to dig into, as well. Why not carve, sculpt, or even write? Your writing skills are quite nice, from what I read.

To conclude my message…After a long time (critical detail here:) studying and imitating art I *did* like that was made by others who inspired me, I had a breakthrough, and I’m now happy with what I can create. Still, I keep pushing myself. This doesn’t even mean my art is good (especially not in any objective sense), I am simply satisfied with it. I accept and love it. It is my mark on the world that I have every right to make.

I encourage you to read up a little on things like “naive art” — such raw self expression is innately human. Even if it doesn’t make you want to create again, perhaps you will find some beauty in it.

I don’t mean to proselytize. Simply put, from one member of our species to another, I’d like to impart you some anonymous encouragement.

Don’t let the glass be half empty when the whole of all art is sprawling endlessly and calling to you. Take up the space you have the right to, make a horrible mess on paper if that’s what it comes to. It is healing. It is necessary. It may not feel good immediately, but we all need some way to empty out our feelings. It’s like stretching out a stiff muscle until it can really work again.

I learned a long time ago to ignore the devil on my shoulder that said my work is meaningless.

I wish you the very best and much optimism for all that lies ahead, whatever it may be… and above all, peace! 🫂

First of thanks for making such a long, detailed and heartfelt comment. I appreciate and respect that. I never had art blocks myself. It was just my art was terrible but I get what you mean. I also pretty much quit writting. More recently realised not just drawing but all art I do is terrible and awful and plan to stop it all soon enough. I don't actually use AI art but wanted to say I could if I wanted to. Sorry for putting it poorly in that text. I just should not draw. I think I knew that since the start but little white lies I told myself put the truth away. I prob won't be doing any other creative art forms. They are just misserable amalgamations of my incompetance and stupidity. Hell who knows I maybe will finally be able to take my life. We can hope.

Peace🫂