#Other's OCs March 2022

[incalotlarts]

A couple of commissions for use in my GM’s Wednesday Pathfinder game!

#Dungeons and Dragons #pathfinder #completed work #march 2022 #other's OCs

[hockeyshmockey]

Little White Chapel - Daniel Ricciardo

summary: in which Daniel does the damn thing. Daniel Ricciardo x reader

warnings: none! Does include my OC from familial ties briefly :)

January 2023

location monaco

liked by gerrihaliwell, maxverstapppen and 1,230,289 others

ynusername 5 years after we met in the city we both called home, he asked me to be his forever 🤭

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maxverstappen called this about 5 years ago

maxverstappen in all seriousness im happy for you both!

user SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP

landonorris mom and dad officially 🫶🏻

chloestroll this will be the party of the century

Isaricciardo no bc I’m so excited you’re finally going to be my sister

march 2023

twitter

f1gridgoss

photo posted on yn’s story of her and Daniel in Lake Como… wedding venue touring perhaps??

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honeybadger4l

No bc an Italian wedding is so them fr

july 2023

liked by maxverstappen, redbullracing, and 969,482 others

tagged ynbestfriend, ynsister, chloestroll, isaricciardo, michellericciardo

ynusername last fling before the bling

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daniellericciardo that’s me done partying for 20 years

user no bc I know this was wild

chloestroll I’m not sure how I’m still standing

scottyjames it’s bc I’m holding you up

maxverstappen please don’t ever take my wife out again

November 2023

liked by littlewhitechapel, carmenmundt and 1,528,294 others

Location Las Vegas

Tagged danielricciardo

yourusername we did the damn thing

view 295,280 comments

user JQNDOSJW

maxverstappen so happy for you guys

maxverstappen also no I didn’t know this was happening when I mentioned Daniel during grill the grid

liked by christianhorner, lewishamilton and 1,928,389 others

tagged yourusername

danielricciardo fea 💒

view 528,290 comments

landonorris so happy you chose me as your best man🥰

maxverstappen yeah right

scottyjames you’re both delusional

yourusername it was actually @ christianhorner , soz

Sebastianvettel so happy for your Daniel, I know you’ll both be very happy!

user I’m crying almost the whole grid was there😭

user and most of the team principles 😭😭

user Daniel married and back racing with a potential future with RBR? He really said fuck 2022

I’ve had this idea in the drafts for months this is so fun

#f1 #formula one imagine #formula one #f1 imagine #f1 driver #f1 driver imagine #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 driver #imagine #daniel ricciardo instagram #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo #formula one driver imagine #f1 driver imagines #f1 drivers imagine #f1 drivers #daniel ricciardo x reader

[couch-house]

2023 baybeeeee. havent done an art summary in a while since i basically stopped drawing early 2020 and didn't get back on the horse until mid-2022 (i wonder... what could have caused that!) i dont feel like my art has really changed this year, only in the ways that I draw specific sonic characters (looking through my archive is fun bc i can see the progression of the diseases known as Giving Them Big Eyebrows and Drawing The Monoeye) and--more exciting 4 me--my practice with paneling comics! :)

i think the progression is much more noticeably when you line it up with last year's sonic art... i can see all the Milestones.. more talking abt that under the cut

May: couch gets into sonic. June: Yucky Sonic 1.0. this was also the month when i Heard Of fleetway super. July: couch comes back from brazil, having read stc. this is also when i start dong actual short comics. compare may -> june -> july. (also please forgive whatever tf i was doing with skintones. i needed some practice)

august: merger au takes shape. dog invented. also i just really like that speed racer sonic mspaint picture. its fun :) september: deep in the fleet mines. october: i lose a lot of steam and mostly just doodle. another comic comparison for those three months:

november: frontiers comes out. i go crazy mode and make that sonic + knuckles comic with the pretty backgrounds and LOTS OF TINY TEXT. december: winter break AND im tired. january 2023 i come back insane crazy mode and write some fanfiction?? still havent finished that LOL. made some nice cover art :) february: i shift into knuckles mode fora month. make another comic. this one is much better i think :) november -> february

march: i shift into transfem metal sonic mode. also just stick to a lot of doodling. also write more fanfiction. crazy. april: transitory period as i shift back into stc/exit: sonic mode. may: more fanfiction. more comics. i really like how both of these turned out :) while the last two were definitely taking a lot more notes from stc, i think around here i start paying attention to and trying to learn from more creative panelling from artists i admire. like @/superemeralds THOAM and @/starrjoy's pandora au.

june: i play sa2 and it's good. july: i play unleashed and it is both miserable and good. i get in kind of an artistic frustration zone and wiggle my way out. august: idk i think im just chillin. super react dot jpeg happens. it's not even named that, it's named after the other image on the canvas, which was maria holding baby shadow. more comics.

september: i burn out for a bit. get real tired. eventually get back up and make more comics. the goal here and last month has become "try to make more interesting panel shapes. I've noticed other artists don't just use rectangles--try playing with irregular polygons and see where it gets you." well it gets you mixed results as you learn :) also i think after that pause i accept the monoeye into my life. sigh...

october: oc showdown starts and @/neurotypical-sonic asks me to make some halloweeny art :) feels like i dont do much this month bc i focus on those. november: A LOT OF ART?? INSANE. more oc showdown stuff. i play shadow the hedgehog (2005). it's good and i love it. i draw a ton of shit on one canvas for it. Fucking Dember: i have shifted back into stc/EXIT mode. motivation's a little weird bc work's a little weird. doing commissions also makes it weird. well im having fun and being myself :) a final handful of comics from this month:

idk maybe ill do something sicko crazy b4 the end of the year. mayb i'll follow exit sonic's example and #GetWorse. who knows :) well this is fun i love looking at my art and seeing and noticing things. thank u all for your support and I hope we all have a great 2024!

#id in alt text #partially descriptive... i put the details i figured were relevant #art summary #i have WPRDS to SAY. i like thinking abt my art #okayvwell this was supposed to stay a draft but WHATEVER

[builtbybrokenbells]

belladonna | i

Too beautiful to resist, and too deadly to survive; the tragic tale of belladonna in all its glory.

Masterlist | Taglist

Pairing: Danny Wagner x f!reader, f!reader x OC

Word Count: 12.5k

Warnings: mentions of toxic/abusive parents, mentions of/toxic relationships, mentions of criminal activity/criminal records, poverty, mentions of physical violence, mentions of blood, mentions of AA/NA, addictions, use of/mentions of drugs, mentions of drinking, mentions of hookups/sex, smoking, depression/anxiety, mental health struggles, swearing, sorry if I miss any!!

hi everyone! I’m so so excited for this one. I will forewarn you that this series will touch on some pretty heavy topics. i’ve been using this as therapy to avoid paying actual therapy bills 🤭 i hope that you enjoy this as much as I do, and I really hope that this series does for you what it does for me 🤍 as always, enjoy, be kind, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes!

March 31st, 2022

The sound of the radio hummed through the air, wrapping you in a blanket of comfort as you wiped crumbs from another dirty diner table. Your tattered converse were covered in spills and specs of food and your apron was stained so completely that the baby blue color no longer existed. The line cook in the back was whistling every time you bent over one of the booths, causing a blush and a slight smile to pull at your lips. Every so often, he’d make an obscene comment, just to see if you’d turn around to face him so he might be able to catch a glimpse of your cleavage underneath your black v-neck. Derek knew his limits, but he loved to push them.

“Don’t you have a job to do?” You glanced back at him over your shoulder, pushing your hips out slightly to entice him even further. He would never have the chance, but it was fun to let him believe it, sometimes.

“Yeah, actually. Why don’t you come back here and keep me company?” He sent a wink your way, causing you to chuckle. He was around your age, and undeniably attractive. His neck was littered with the peek of tattoos from his chest, and a gold chain hung around them to accentuate the detail. He looked permanently stoned, but he had a killer smile and a certain charm despite his vulgarity. His arms were strong and despite his constant flirting, you knew he would never make an unwanted advance. The only reason you refused to indulge in him was because of his very extensive criminal record, but even then, the temptation grew stronger every day. He loved poking fun only because you seemed to enjoy it so much.

“You’d like that too much.” You rolled your eyes, chucking a dishcloth through the kitchen window at him. He caught it midair, giving you a cocky smirk.

“Anything else you’d like to throw my way?”

“Leave the poor girl alone, Dylan.” The second line cook gave him a shove, pushing him out of view and popping into your line of sight. “Give me a chance, would you?” Not long after the words left his mouth, a playful wrestling match ensued on the other side of the wall. Instead of engaging in their antics, you turned and cleared the dishes of the last table of the night.

“Vincent!” You scolded, watching them battle for your affection. “If you guys break anything else back there tonight, I swear to god I will not cover for your asses!” Just as you spoke, the wrestling came to an abrupt halt, and Vincent’s head peeked up from the window. He raised an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side slightly. His loose brown curls hung down over his forehead, and the veins in his forehead were protruding slightly, showing you how much energy he’d put into getting Dylan to the ground. His skin was flushed red, partially due to the heat of the grills, but mostly because his blood pressure was always peaked. His emotions got the best of him, no matter good or bad, and his heart was ready to give out at the ripe age of 22.

“You wouldn’t do that to me, would you sweetheart?” He flashed you a smile, his eyes softening the longer he looked at your face. Your heart gave a small flutter at the expression. Dylan was attractive, but Vincent was completely captivating. You wish you could say that you had enough strength to abstain from both of them, but it just wasn’t true. Way back in the beginning, you’d fallen victim to Vincent’s intoxicating charm and fell into bed with him. You blamed it on being new to the city and lonely, but you knew it was all because of him. You were certain that Dylan did not know of this, because if he did, it would crush him. Also, you had cut it off pretty quickly after it started once learning about all of Vincent’s baggage. Save for a few drunken nights, the two of you were nothing but friends.

It was easy to tell yourself that, but every so often, when your eyes lingered on each other for too long, you could feel the energy in the air.

Although it was clear that Dylan’s only intent was to get in your pants, sometimes you had to question if Vincent actually felt more for you than physical attraction, or if you were just making it up in your own head. Then again, you knew he looked that way at every girl who stood before him, and you wouldn’t allow yourself to feel special (again). Also, upon learning about his aggravated assault charge from a bar fight in his late teens, you found it much easier to keep your distance after the initial hookups.

Although you hadn’t seen the criminal side of either of the boys, you knew that they hadn’t learned the right lessons from their brief stays in jail; they just got better at avoiding the cops. You made it a point to stay straight when you moved to the city, and you were intent on keeping the promise to yourself. Involving yourself with those two would be nothing but trouble, and you had grown to hate trouble with a passion.

Besides the painful flirting, they were good company to pass the time, and when you all spent so much time working together, it was impossible not to form some kind of bond.

The Foxhole was a fabled place, and after decades in business (albeit, with many changes), it was still one of the most popular diners in the surrounding area. It sat just outside of city limits, drawing in attraction from travelers and all of the concrete jungle dwellers, too. New York was a large place with many different types of people, and after a year and six months of living there, you were still trying to find your place in the world. When you moved, you had little money in your pocket and lots of hope in your heart. You had a backpack full of clothes and personal items and nothing else but a dream, running as fast as you could to get away from the curse of being your mothers daughter.

Eighteen months later, it felt like you were still running.

You went to a public library and printed off a million copies of your resume (which was incredibly bleak, with only one previous job and a reference stated previous employer, but was really your best friend from high school) and you applied at every bar, restaurant and corner store within walking distance of your low income rental. The Foxhole, although not your dream job, responded within days to schedule an interview. You showed up with a smile and kindness, but quickly realized that not even friendliness was a requirement to be a server there. John, the (third) owner, asked if you had a criminal record (with a follow up question of ‘if you do, how extensive is it?’). Not ten minutes later, you had an apron in hand and you were scheduled for the upcoming week.

Not long after starting, you quickly gauged the environment of your new workplace. The Foxhole, although popular with the public, was an absolute shithole (You soon learned that this was actually the nickname your fellow employees referred to it as). In the seventies, it started as an old tavern. It was popular with middle aged men who hated their families, but not many others. It ran for just under a decade before the original owner stopped paying his mortgage and filed for bankruptcy, and the whole establishment flopped. It was then purchased by a younger couple in an estate sale from the bank in the early eighties, who decided to keep the bar theme. Instead of marketing themselves to middle aged, miserable men, they painted it bright colors and added a dance floor, trying to push the disco theme. To nobody’s surprise, they followed in the same footsteps as the original owner.

Although they did try a bit harder, and the proof remained to this day. You could see bolts in the floor of the old dancing area, signifying a stripper pole was once installed. They put in some more booths and tried to push a menu, but eventually, it went belly-up. Before the banks could foreclose a second time, John stepped in and made the purchase, which ended up changing his life. From the stories you’d heard, you could not gauge if it was for better or for worse. John gutted the whole place and painted over the abhorrent neon colors, placed an old jukebox in the corner and refinished the interior. He named it Foxhole, and seemed to strike gold despite the building causing nothing but shit for previous owners. With a small menu and cheap food, he’d been milking the success for over thirty years.

Success meant little when it equated to making only enough money to keep the doors open, though.

Employed at the Foxhole was four female waitresses who were older than the building itself, five line cooks (three who had a criminal record), two busboys, and four young women who waitressed the overnights (including you). John worked nearly 24/7, and his wife sat in the office and yelled at him all day. They capitalized off employing older women who had nowhere else to go, struggling students, and ex-convicts and addicts. That way, they could offer employment to the desperate and still pay them much less than anyone else. Plus, shared tips were a great selling point. Besides, how else would you find staff for the only 24-hour diner in the area?

You took the Thursday-Sunday overnights with a girl named Katie, while the other young waitresses took the rest of the nights. The older waitresses split the days, and the line cooks worked according to a similar schedule. Vinny and Dylan almost always worked with you, and a part of you was grateful for it. Although they had their flaws, you had grown to enjoy their company, and could honestly say that they were the only real friends you’d made since moving to the city.

“You gonna go home and write your silly little poems?” Vinny asked, his Brooklyn accent nearly grating as he hoisted himself up on the counter. As he waited for a response, he gave you a smirk. You rolled your eyes, dunking your hands into the steaming water in the industrial sinks. It was nearing 5, which meant you only had an hour left to go.

“Yeah, all about me.” Dylan cut in, leaning against the door of the walk-in freezer.

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart.” You could only manage a half-smile as you spoke, the thought of writing nearly tearing your heart in two.

“What’s wrong, dollface?” Vincent asked, picking up on your withdrawal. “You better still be writing. That’s the whole reason you came here. That’s your ticket out of here.” His lips turned down into a frown.

“I… I am, yeah.” You nodded, drying your hands on your apron. You didn’t have the heart to look him in the eyes, nor could you admit that writing was the last thing you wanted to do. Inspiration had run dry, and now you were stuck wondering if this really was the end of the road, or if your mother was right and you would come home with your tail between your legs. For the last year and a half, you wrote about everything; the way the trees looked in the sunlight, the skyscrapers, the way the birds chirped, and even the cracks in the sidewalk. You found inspiration in your own sadness and fear, and your own happiness when it came along (even if it was rare). You wrote about failed relationships and lost friendships, and most of all, you wrote about the broken kinship between you and the woman who gave birth to you.

Writing was your safe space, but now that the motivation had passed, you were left feeling unsecure and lost. You feared that you had written every single thing that your brain could come up with, and that the desire would never return. Since the decline began, you’d been desperately searching for something to give you that spark back. You sat at the grocery store for hours, overlooking the produce, brightly coloured yet blemished. You looked between the cracks in the city stone, finding moss rooted and peeking out from the concrete. You looked at the sprouts of weeds in the sidewalk, and the crying babies and laughing children as they passed you on the street.

You searched everywhere for just a hint of an idea, but you were left with nothing. The feeling was gutting, and you feared that you did not know how to live without your pen pressed to paper.

You’d heard stories of writers block, and lately, even found yourself reading articles about it, but you had come to one, horrible realization; you had never experienced it before, and you were unsure if it was truly just a bout of writers block, or if it was a permanent, more serious issue. After twenty three years, you had never felt this way, and you were beginning to believe that it was just the way life was, now. You went home after work, sleeping for hours instead of your usual routine of writing until your eyes forced themselves shut. You couldn’t look at your laptop, and your journal was a stranger.

You came to New York to write a book, but you feared that you were now stuck in New York with nothing but a wasted dream and crushed hope.

“I’m definitely no palaeontologist, but I think you might be lying.” Vinny raised an eyebrow, pointing a finger at you.

“P-palaeontologist?” You asked, stifling a laugh. “Do you by any chance mean… a psychologist?”

“Oh, fuck off with all your fancy words.” He snipped, getting defensive. For a moment, you could see the vein in his forehead pop out again in frustration. “Clearly you know what I fuckin’ meant. You know I didn’t graduate.”

“No, no, I think you have me misunderstood. I’m actually quite impressed you know that word.” You assured him.

“Yeah, but I don’t really know what it means.” He calmed down, laughing at his own stupidity.

“That’s okay, darlin’.” You reached out, giving him a pat on the shoulder. “I guess I am lying.” You shrugged, looking towards the floor. “I haven’t really been writing much at all, lately.”

“Why not?” Dylan joined, immersed in the conversation now that the laughter died down.

“I don’t know,” you sigh “guess I just haven’t had much inspiration. Hard to write something meaningful when I know nobody is ever going to read it… or fucking care about it.” You grumbled.

“Listen, I know we can’t read very well, but I’m sure the two of us could piece it together.” Dylan gave Vinny a pat on the shoulder, smiling over at him. Vincent nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, we care, sweetheart. Don’t we count?”

“Of course you do.” You chuckle, finding your cheeks heat with a blush. “It’s just… weird, right now. I usually want to write about everything, no matter what. Emotions, memories, places I’ve visited, but now I don’t feel like anything is worth writing about. I don’t feel like it’s interesting enough.” You tried to explain it. “Feels like I’m just putting words on a paper, and nothing more. Think maybe I’ve been in my head a little too much. Sad and angry, and all of that… fuck, I don’t know.” You groan, running a hand through your hair.

“Why don’t you write about that, then?” Vincent offered. You looked up at him for a moment, contemplating his words. “If you’re feeling all of that stuff, then maybe it’ll mean something more.”

“Yeah,” Dylan agreed. “Go home tonight and write about not wanting to write. Maybe it’ll help you figure your shit out.” You looked between the two, giving a soft smile. After a few moments, you gave a slow nod.

“Yeah, maybe I will. Think you guys might finally be right for once.” You teased, trying to keep the conversation light. Vincent’s face lit up with a grin, happy that you thought it was a good idea.

“What can I say? I’m more than just a pretty face.”

April 3rd, 2022

You stood, top half leaned out the back door of the building as a cigarette smoldered in your hand. The night was darker than usual, and the city was much quieter, even for a Sunday. You took a long inhale of smoke, puffing your cheeks out and pursing your lips as you blew it outside in the direction of the dumpsters. As you did so, you felt a hand on your lower back as someone reached to open the door a little more. Vincent leaned his head out beside you, just over your shoulder as he gave you a cheeky smile and raised an eyebrow. Without any words exchanged, you rolled your eyes but brought the cigarette to his lips. His eyes fluttered closed as he took a drag, waiting a moment before he exhaled through his nose. His hand remained on the small of your back, the gentle touch sending a shiver down your spine.

“You can use your words, you know.” You tried to sound stern, but there was a smile on your face as you continued holding the cigarette to his lips.

“Why should I? You already know what I want, sweetheart.” He shot back, taking another haul.

“I do,” you chuckled. “For some reason, I don’t think it’s a cigarette, though.” His grip on you tightened for a moment as he shot you a sideways glance.

“What do you think I want then, Miss know it all?”

“An excuse to talk to me?” You raised an eyebrow, offering the idea. He stayed silent for a moment, but eventually gave a slow nod. A smile began to break out on his lips, knowing he’d been caught.

“So what? You have a problem with that, sugar?” His body was closer to you than it had been in a long time, and you wondered if he was taking his shot while Dylan was preoccupied with the freezer inventory.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “Unless I should have a problem?”

“Nope,” he popped the p, shaking his head. His head was still turned to face you, his lips unbearably close to your own. He watched as your gaze flickered down towards them, but he didn’t move any further. “Goin’ to the Pony after this, if you’re interested?”

“Are you actually, or is it just an excuse for me to let you sleep at my place?” You questioned. The Pony was a bar just around the corner from your apartment complex, and it was in just as poor shape as the Foxhole. The drinks were strong and cheap, but it didn’t have much else to offer (except for smoking inside, which was a rare thing to stumble upon). There were a few old slot machines in the back, and they played blackjack in the main room on Tuesday’s.

It was mostly occupied by gangbangers who were looking for a new client to sell to, and 70 year old men who chose drinking over starting a family. Vincent went quite often, but you feared that it was for one of two reasons; he was still caught up in his old habits, or he was trying to find an excuse to wiggle his way back into your life. He lived on the other side of town, and once he had a few beers into him, the drunk calling started, and you were never one to let him drink and drive. He knew this well, and he used it to his advantage.

There had been many nights where he came knocking on your door, or when you stumbled out into the darkness to find him drunk, leaning against his car with a grin but no intent to drive. His brown eyes would sparkle in the moonlight, and his soft lips would invite you in. He wouldn’t have to speak a word to get you to open your arms, inviting him in for a hug before you inevitably invited him upstairs. He spent many nights on your couch, but a few in your bed. As much as you wanted to scold him for pushing his luck, you knew you were the only one to blame; you invited him in every time, and you woke in the morning with a sense of freedom and happiness, like you’d just broken free from the chains you had placed so tightly around your own wrists.

You wanted him, and somehow even after convincing yourself that he was bad for you, you never felt a shred of regret for what you did with him. He wasn’t all that bad, but you knew that distance was your best option; he did not seem to outgrow the bad habits you had tried so hard to keep yourself away from. That did not make him a bad person, nor did it make him any less important to you, but you knew that if you wanted to keep yourself on the right path, a relationship with him was out of the question.

“If I wanted to come over, I would ask, and you’d say yes.” The cockiness radiated from him, and you hated that it only seemed to entice you further.

“Vincent…” you warned, giving him a sad stare.

“Oh, would you cut that shit, y/n?” He snapped, the withdrawal seeming to sting him. “You make it seem like I’m a monster.”

“That’s not… that’s not what I meant, and you know that.” You felt the fire burning in your chest, but you managed to swallow it back.

That was another reason to stay away from Vincent; he always seemed to bring out the worst of your emotions at the drop of a dime.

“Then what do you mean, doll? ‘Cause I don’t seem to be understanding.”

“Fine, Vin. You want me so bad, get clean.” You snapped, just the thought of it irritating you. “I’m not going through rehab all over again ‘cause you want to fuck me.” The words seemed to hurt him, but you were unsure of the reason. Part of you wanted to believe it was because he was appalled that you would ever think that he would let you backslide, but the more logical part of you knew it was because he hated your rejection. He had a taste of the sweetness you had to offer, and he couldn’t stand the idea of never having it again, but it came between you and his lifestyle, you knew what the priority was. “The Pony’s a shithole anyway. Wouldn’t want to waste my morning there.”

He looked like he wanted to fight, but instead his lips turned into a tight frown as he gave a curt nod of his head. “Once an addict, always an addict, right?” He said, moving back from you completely.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” You rolled your eyes, turning to face him.

“It means,” he said, narrowing his gaze at you. “That’s all you’ll ever fuckin’ see me as.” You swallowed the sour taste in your mouth, scowling at him as his chest heaved with his hurt. Vincent’s biggest flaw was not the addictions, nor his history with the law, but how every emotion he felt always seemed to dissolve into anger, and his ability to turn every conversation into a fight. “At least getting high never makes me feel the same way you do.” With that, he turned on his heel, storming off to join Dylan in the freezer. You tried to hide the look of hurt on your face as you tossed the cigarette butt in the bucket, slamming the door with enough force to shake the walls. You threw your lighter down next to the pack of smokes sitting on the metal shelving unit, walking back out into the main area to keep cleaning.

When you walked out the swinging half-door, the other waitress, Katie, leaned against the counter while scrolling her phone. She looked up at you just for long enough to give you an expression of distaste, almost biting her tongue hard enough to hold back a snide comment.

“You planning on working tonight, or are you just going to make the whole place smell like cigarettes?”

“Yeah, ‘cause you sure look like you’re fucking hard at work.” You grumbled, kicking the rolling mop bucket out from behind the counter. The dirty mop water sloshed from the sides, spilling over onto the floor and inevitably pissing you off even further.

“You have another fight with your boyfriend?” She smirked, the sneer in her tone making your skin crawl.

“Do you ever take a night off from being insufferable, or is that a permanent kind of thing?” You grabbed the blue metal handle, ringing the head of the mop out before swinging it over the side. It landed on the tile floor with a squelch, and you wasted no time in cleaning up the mess you made. She didn’t respond to your jab, instead making a move to restock the jam holders at all of the tables. You worked hard scrubbing the grime from the floor while she took her time making sure the single-serve condiments were organized. Every so often, you shot a piercing glare at the back of her head, wondering what it would be like if you threw the whole mop and bucket at her.

Katie was undoubtedly the worst part of working at the Foxhole, and you considered it a victory when she called in sick for her shifts. It was a regular occurrence, and since you were hired, you’d heard that it only became more common. Your distaste for being around each other was shared, and you knew hers stemmed from your ability to get along with Vincent and Dylan. Or, perhaps, their ability to get along with you.

From the beginning, it had been clear that you were not the only one who’d fallen victim to Vincent’s charm, yet you seemed to be the only victor when it came to his heart.

When you first arrived, Katie did not seem all that miserable. She was timid, but smiled at you and taught you the ropes. You would have to be blind to miss the nervous stutters and blushing cheeks when she was around Vincent, and it made you think the two of them had something beyond what it looked on the surface. You quickly learned that was not the case, and her schoolgirl crush resulted from a lazy hookup in his car after a long night shift, and after that, his interest in her greatly declined. When you both walked in the front door of the Fox one day, standing a little too closely with matching hickeys on your neck, her smiles became scarce and her desire to get to know you fled.

You did not know the history between the two when you first hooked up with Vincent, nor did you know much of anything else. It did not take long for her to do whatever she could to make you miserable, starting with explaining Vincent’s criminal record and (required by parole guidelines) his AA/NA meeting combination. Instead of jumping the gun and shutting him out, you approached him with the new found information looking for an answer, and after some heavy avoidance, he admitted to all of it. It was a long night shift with many conflicting emotions, but you eventually came to the conclusion that you had to stay away for your own sake, despite already falling for him beyond anything you’d felt before.

Even after you ended things, Vincent and you remained close friends, and every so often, broke the boundaries you had set in place. Katie still hated you, despite your efforts to apologize and make amends, and Vincent seemed like he struggled to comprehend the fact the two of you could not be together. It was a shitshow, yet it was oddly comforting. You weren’t sure if you could handle it if something were to suddenly change. Even when your misery got the best of you, you knew that Katie would always hate you and her snide remarks would keep you on your toes, that Vincent would always trip over himself to flatter you (which would eventually lead to a fight), and Dylan would never know the true extent of the situation and serve as comedic relief.

As you finished mopping the corner tiles, relieved that most of the dirt was lifted from the floor, something light struck you in the back of the head. You furrowed your eyebrows, letting out a small huff as you turned in the direction it was thrown from, first looking at the floor to find a balled up piece of receipt paper. Then, you saw Vincent looking at you, a playful smile on his face, but regret in his eyes. You placed the mop back in the bucket, using the handle to wheel it along with you as you walked towards the back. Vincent’s eyes followed you as you moved towards him, but he didn’t speak. When you joined him in the kitchen, wheeling the bucket towards the mop closet, he followed close behind.

“You have something to say?” You grumbled, opening the closet door as you flipped the bucket upside down on top of the grate covering the drain. You were still upset, and he could see that. His words, like always, had a huge impact on you. You wished he would think before he spoke rather than speaking out of anger and trying to apologize ten minutes after the fact. For someone who claimed he cared, he wasn’t very good at showing it.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, looking down at his feet. “Shouldn’t have said that.” You held back a scoff as you let the closet door fall shut, not straining yourself to soften the slam. “Do you ever think that maybe, instead of turning straight to insults, you should bite your tongue for a second and fucking think about what you’re saying?” You brushed past him, grabbing the spray disinfect and a new rag. This time, he didn’t respond, which only seemed to piss you off more. “I’m not out to get you, Vincent. I’m protecting myself.”

“From what, y/n? You keep saying that, and I don’t get it.”

“I moved here to purse my dream of being an author, but I also came here to get away from the life I made for myself at home. I spent six months in rehab, and the minute they let me go, I packed my stuff and I ran. I thought that once I got here, I could start over.” You paused for a moment, spraying down the metal countertops. You took a long breath before speaking again. “I like you, but I don’t like that lifestyle, Vin. I’ve already fucked up too many times, and I’m scared that if I do it again, there’s no going back. Besides, I can’t pay for another detox at the hospital.” You chuckled at the thought, knowing that the seven days of torture was not worth the thousands of dollars, even with insurance coverage (which the Foxhole definitely did not provide).

“Okay,” he gave a slow nod, looking across the kitchen to gather his thoughts. “So… if I get clean, you say you’ll give me a shot?”

“Sure, yeah.” You forced out the words, the pained look on your face clear. In a perfect world, that’s how it would be, but you knew that he’d never stick to the promise. You couldn’t force him sober, and he didn’t really want to recover. Even if he did, you weren’t sure if you could trust him enough to believe he would stick with it. The conversation went the same way every time, and clearly no progress was made, hence why you were sitting in front of him explaining the same things for the millionth time. You could not allow yourself to get your hopes up, and you could not trust him while knowing that making a promise to stay sober for any person other than yourself is a terrible idea.

“I think… do you think that I don’t care?” You stopped for a moment, your whole body freezing as you wiped the lemony-smelling cleaner from the countertop.

“What?” You asked, looking back over your shoulder at him. His brown eyes looked sad beneath the tough exterior he’d built up. His cheeks were red, irritated from the cold of the freezer. He was only a couple inches taller than you, but in the moment of high emotion, It felt like he was towering over you. For once, anger did not seem present in his face.

“I know… I’m not the best at the whole emotions thing, and I say shit I don’t mean, but I care if you’re sober too, doll. I mean, your last detox was… it was hell. I don’t want you to go through that again.” You swallowed hard at the thought of the relapse, and the thought of his concern.

“You just hated working without me.” You forced a smile, trying to lighten the mood. When focusing on your own addictions, you began to panic. The fact that he knew that part of you so well scared the shit out of you, but also made you feel like he should understand why you were setting the boundaries. There were many things you didn’t understand about Vincent, the biggest one being his long list of red flags, yet his huge heart that cared about everyone so deeply. You knew that it was not entirely his fault; he had no guidance growing up, nor did he have anyone to help him correct his mistakes, but that did not change the fact that he was a 22 year old man that did not know how to hold himself accountable for anything.

Vincent was many things; a son born into a family who did not care if he lived or died, a child who was never loved the way a child should be, and a hurt little kid who grew into a man that was angry, lost, and trying to bargain with his crushing disappointment over his own failures. He struggled with the law, but more than anything, he struggled with his own demons. He had an addiction he could not face up to and overcome, and monsters in the closet that all looked like his father with a belt in his hand. He had a criminal record which stopped him from pursuing the things he once dreamed of, and was destined to be stuck working at the Foxhole until he could either clean himself up, or he died.

He was vindictive, sly, arrogant, and naive. He was raised by drug dealers who taught him all of the wrong morals, and who always made it a point to show anger before any other emotion. He was taught how to evade the law, and how to use fists instead of words. He picked himself up off the ground every time he fell, and grew a nasty amount of independence. He relied on nobody but himself, and would not let anyone take that away from him. He did not know how to trust, nor did he know how to love, but god did he want to. He felt like he needed to, especially when his eyes landed on you.

Despite his struggles, he was not a bad person. He cared deeply for the people that were important to him, and he would die for them on any given day. He was funny, and he was goofy, and he was great company. He was easy to fall in love with, but that was the danger. Although all of those things were true, down to the core, what he said earlier was correct; he was an addict, and worse than that, an active addict. Nothing was more important than a fix, and it turned him into the worst version of himself. You were no stranger to the evils of substance, but now that you were sober and intent to stay that way, you could finally see the monsters it created. His irritability and his lack of control over his emotions was staggering, and his inability to understand the harm he was putting on to others was catastrophic. He was selfish, and so much so that it constantly hurt others in the crossfire.

You could not judge him too harshly, because you knew all too well that it would take little for you to become that person again, too.

Even though you saw him for all of his flaws, you saw him as a human being, too. You saw him as the charming man who only had to smile in order to make your stomach fill with butterflies. You knew him as the boy who would drive you around as needed, or would lend you his car if he needed to be elsewhere. You saw the man who showed up at your front door with a wrench and a smile when your pipes burst in the kitchen sink and your landlord did not care enough to fix it. He was your friend, and he was someone you cared deeply about. His addiction was not who he was, but rather what made him be so hard to digest sometimes. You knew that if he managed to get clean and stay that way, he could be that person all of the time.

Unfortunately, you did not have the courage nor the ability to help him get there, and the thought of that alone nearly killed you.

Helping him was all you wanted to do, but you knew better than anyone that the only person who could help Vincent was himself.

“Don’t look so sad, sweetheart.” He said, reaching out and laying a gentle hand on your arm. You looked down as his fingers connected with your skin, the touch sending jolts of electricity through your whole body. You caught his eye, your lips turned down into a frown. You wished so bad for it to be easy, but after twenty three years, you knew that this lifetime was never meant to be kind to you.

Before you could speak, you heard the familiar chime of the bell above the door. You looked between Vincent and the empty dining room. As if she knew, Katie peeked her head back into the kitchen, giving you a look and a raised eyebrow.

“They’re in your section.” You could hear the distaste in her voice. Unlike usual, you didn’t have a witty comment or a sarcastic response to shoot back at her.

“You… you can have it. Take the tip, too. Don’t care.” You muttered. “I’ll finish cleaning.” For a second, you thought you saw a shred of humanity in her eyes when she caught sight of your pained expression. Without any further words, she turned and left the two of you alone again. Before Vincent could continue your earlier conversation, Dylan pushed open the door of the freezer and stepped out, shuddering at the sudden rush of warmth on his skin. The tip of his nose was burning red and his teeth were chattering together.

“Cold enough for you, dumbass?” Vincent asked, baffled and Dylan’s refusal to wear anything other than a t-shirt while he did inventory.

“Keeps me awake.” He said, doing a couple small jumps in his spot to get the blood rushing through him again.

“No, makes you look stupid.” You corrected, wiping at the counter again. “Is that grill on? We’ve got a customer.” You nodded towards the blackstone grill that looked awfully cool. No billows of black smoke were filtering into the air, telling you they definitely turned it off in anticipation of having no more customers for the night. Dylan rolled his eyes, but flicked on the heat to the max, hoping to get it hot before Katie brought back the order.

“Who the fuck goes out to eat at,” he paused, looking at his watch “two in the morning on a Sunday?”

“Obviously them, and enough people that John decided to keep us open 24 hours.” You sighed, knowing you would have to clean the dining room all over again.

“Okay, miss know it all.” Dylan put on a mocking smile as he walked to the window to grab the order slip. Once you deemed the kitchen clean enough, you sat atop one of the counters you’d just scrubbed clean. Vincent seemed to be keeping his distance, now. You weren’t sure if it was because you had hurt his feelings, or he was too afraid to show his emotions around Dylan. Katie hung out by the window, using the soda machine just underneath to pour the customers their drinks. “You write about not wanting to write, yet?” Dylan asked, throwing a veggie burger on the grill.

“No, not really.” You chuckled, looking down at your hands. “I mean, I did, but it was terrible.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad, doll.” Vincent said, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Yeah, no, it definitely was.” You gave a slow nod. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Feels like I can’t write anything anymore.” You sighed. “I’m trying to find inspiration in anything, but it all just seems… bleak.”

“It’ll come, always does.” Dylan assured you, flipping the food with the thin metal spatula.

“Yeah,” you noded, trying to believe it. You ran your hands over the hem of your apron, pondering your lack of a muse, when suddenly it seemed like the universe was laughing at you.

No, it wasn’t the universe laughing; it was something far more beautiful and melodic than something that was normally so sinister.

Your head snapped up and your heart pounded against your chest. The sound was so powerful that it seemed to shake the whole building, making the rotten foundation quiver and threaten to give way. More than powerful, it was breathtaking, and you were desperate to know where it was coming from. You looked out the window, peeking into the dining room to see what the commotion was, and why it was so striking that it made your heart skip a beat. Your eyes soon landed on the corner booth, taken by the only two customers in the entire store. Sat in the very corner, shoulder pressed against the window that onlooked the road dimly lit by street lamps, was a man who was certainly the most beautiful you had ever seen.

The smile was still lingering on his lips and the ghost of his laugh hung thick in the air. His hair, long and curly, hung down over his broad shoulders to frame his beautiful crafted face. A tattered band shirt with the sleeves cut off and a worn out logo magnified his strong arms. His jawline was sharp, angling down into a soft chin, and although large, his nose was stunning. His eyes, even from far away, managed to make your stomach flutter with curiosity.

Whoever he was, he had turned your entire world upside down in an instant. The warm embrace of his presence was more profound than anything you had ever felt before, and as you sat staring at him, you were aching to know him. His beauty was blinding, and his laugh seemed to strike more inspiration in your heart than you even thought was possible.

It was in that moment that you realized a muse was not something you could search for, but rather something that finds you when the time is right.

After weeks of feeling defeated, wondering if your entire life had lead to nothing but disappointment, or spending hours in bars and coffee shops trying to find inspiration yet met with nothing, it only took a split second for your hands to beg to be wrapped around a pen. You needed your notebook, or your laptop, because the sight of his face prompted enough emotion for you to write entire novels about the feeling.

Dylan served the two plates in the window, and you watched as Katie walked it to the boy and his company. Whatever his friend said prompted another laugh that blossomed straight from his chest, echoing off the walls and making home in your heart. His friend seemed loud, definitely more talkative than the curly haired boy. He was facing away from you, his long brown hair falling down his back. You did not even truly care what he looked like, because you were certain he would pale in comparison to the boy who already managed to steal your heart. You sat, completely immersed in the sight with no shame about your staring. You hung on to every small detail and miniscule expression, hoping to sear it into your memory for the rest of time. Every time a laugh fell from his lips, butterflied erupted in your stomach.

He did not notice you, but god did you notice him, and so much so that it was hard to see anything else.

When you finally broke from the trance and looked back into the kitchen, Dylan and Vincent’s eyes were both burning into you. Dylan was smirking, like he already knew what was running through your head without you having to say a word. Vincent, on the other hand, was definitely not even close to smiling. His jaw was hard set, the vein in his forehead protruding slightly as he clenched his teeth together. He knew exactly what you were thinking, and it absolutely gutted him. Your cheeks tinged red as if it were the cherry on top of an already catastrophic disaster, and you wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. Instead of speaking, Vincent grabbed the pack of cigarettes the three of you shared and walked out the back door, making sure to slam it for extra salt in the wound.

You swallowed hard, looking back at Dylan with a flicker of anxiety in your eyes. He shrugged it off, clearly not understanding the extent of the situation and leaned against the counter beside you.

“So, are you gonna go talk to him?” He asked, giving you a goofy smile as he gazed out at the man in question. You looked back towards the dining room too, your eyes shining with wonder at the two unnamed men. You have a slow shake of your head, knowing that you would never, but wishing that you would.

April 4th, 2022

You woke with a start, your head pounding as the sun shined brightly through your large panel windows. You shifted in your position, immediately wincing from the aches and pains that ravished your body. You blinked a few times, trying to focus your eyes as you took in your surroundings. You were on your living room floor, head propped up against the couch with your journal still laying atop of you. You must have fallen asleep writing, as your pen was still clutched tightly in your hand.

You quickly located the source of the disturbance, seeing your phone ringing loudly and irritatingly beside you. You picked it up, focusing your eyes on the screen to see who could be calling. When you saw John’s name on the screen, you felt your stomach drop for a moment. You swiped across the screen, accepting the call as you hit the speaker button.

“Hello?”

“Hey, y/n.” He said, almost sounding pained to be calling you.

“What’s up, John?” You asked, stretching your limbs out to rid yourself of the pain lingering in your joints. Sleeping on the floor was definitely a bad call, even if it was only for a few hours.

“I hate to ask this, but could you come in and cover the lunch rush? I know you worked overnight last night, but Linda had to leave; her husband fell and she had to take him to the emergency room.” Linda was one of the older ladies who worked the mornings. You quite liked her, even if you did think she smelled like the basement of an old Catholic Church. “I’ll pay you time and a half.” He offered, hoping to bribe you with the extra pay.

“Yeah, that’s no problem.” You would have agreed anyway, but the offering was not something you were willing to refuse. “Give me about thirty minutes and I’ll be down.”

“Thank you, darlin’. You’re a lifesaver.” You could hear his relief through the phone.

“Love you too, John.” You chuckled, ending the call and making a move to stand. You quickly ran to the bathroom, jumping in the shower and washing away the night shift that was still lingering on your skin. You washed your hair and took an extra minute to condition it and sit under the warm water, then rinsed off and jumped out. You blow dried your hair and styled it slightly, dusting on some light makeup. You always made sure to look nice for a busy serving shift, because it made the older men much more generous with their tips.

You ran to your bedroom, pulling out a pair of black leggings and an old Zeppelin shirt that once belonged to your brother. One thing you liked about the Fox was that the dress code was nonexistent. You could show up in your pajamas and John would just be relieved that you showed up at all. You stuffed your purse full of the necessities and grabbed your phone from the couch as you passed by. You locked the door as you made your way into the hallway, throwing your keys in your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. As you walked down the stairs of the creaky old apartment building, the sun already began to hurt your eyes before you even reached the door. You pushed open the front door and took a long breath of air, the coldness filling your lungs and making your chest ache for a moment. Spring was just around the corner, but winter still seemed like it was trying to hang on.

As you slipped your headphones in your ears and hit shuffle on your playlist, your eyes noticed something familiar across the street. You furrowed your eyebrows, your lips turning into a frown as you recognized the rusted out body of the 80’s model car. As you walked a little closer, you noticed the silhouette of Vincent, sleeping soundly in the driver's seat. You approached the vehicle, raising your fist and rapping it against the glass with force. It only took a second for him to shoot awake, looking around to try and figure out where he was. With a defensive stance, his head whipped towards the window. As always, he looked ready for a fight, but when his eyes landed on you, his expression softened. As you pulled your jacket closer to your body, he rolled the window down.

“What are you doing sleeping in your car, Vin?” You asked, clearly displeased with his actions. “You know what type of people hang out around here.”

“Drank too much last night,” he grumbled, rubbing his face in his hands as he squinted at the sunlight. “Knew it was best not to drive.”

“You could have called.”

“Thought you didn’t like it when I did that, doll?” He cleared his throat, the rasp of cigarettes still heavy in his tone.

“I…” you paused, shifting your weight between your legs. “I'd rather you be safe.”

“I’m safe, don’t worry sweetheart.” He chuckled, his cockiness peeking through. Vincent loved framing himself as unafraid of anything, but it simply was not true. He thought he was invincible, even if you knew he was just a man. “What are you doing, anyway?”

“John called me in, something about Linda’s husband falling. She had to leave.” You explained.

“That guys always fucking falling. Should get him one of those little stair elevators, you know? Like in the commercials?” You laughed at his idea, nodding in agreement.

“They probably would if they weren’t poor.” You reminded him.

“Yeah, aren’t we all?” He leaned his head against the headrest, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to keep the hangover at bay. “You want a drive over?”

“Sure, if you’re headed that way.” You agreed, walking around to jump in the passenger seat. He started the car, the old engine turning over a few times before eventually sputtering into a slow start. The interior immediately began to smell like gasoline, but you ignored it. It was one of the most charming quirks about the vehicle.

“You sleep last night? It’s awfully early to be going back in.” He noted, looking down at his watch. The radio system in his car no longer worked, including the digital clock (it read the wrong time when it did work anyway, so it did not really matter).

“A little, fell asleep on the floor of all fucking places.” You chuckled, pulling your jacket closer to your body again. He rolled the window up, noticing your small shiver. “I’m only going in for a few hours, so it doesn’t matter much anyway.” He did not respond to this, instead pulling the car around and driving out onto the highway. The rattle of the engine filled the stale air, and you looked out the window as he drove.

“You’re going to miss NA.” He stated, glancing over at you for only a second. “You didn’t go last week, either.”

“I know, I know.” You sighed. “I’ll catch the Wednesday meeting instead.”

“You promise?” He pushed, not willing to let it go. You bit your tongue, knowing he was the last person in the world who should be scolding you about missing your meetings.

“Yeah. Are you going today, or do you want to come with me on Wednesday?”

“I’ll come with you.” He said without hesitation. You were the only thing that made the meetings bearable for him. You did notice he was slightly withdrawn, and he did not even attempt to reach over and put his hand on your thigh.

When you turned your head to look at him, you finally noticed the details you managed to overlooked before. His eyes had dark circles underneath, and the whites were bloodshot. His pupils were blown, nearly engulfing his irises, and if you squinted hard enough, you could see the red ring of blood lining his nostril. He was still coming down from the high the night before, and the thought almost made you sick to the stomach. The emotion was not because he chose to do drugs, but because in the moment of seeing him like that, you could remember what it felt like so vividly that it made your head spin. Your hands went clammy and your fingers began to tremble as you bargained with yourself to just make it to the diner.

He clicked on his turn signal, cutting sharply into the parking lot and pulling up to the door so you wouldn’t have to walk through the parking lot. “Thanks, Vincent.” You choked out, still trying to distract yourself from the idea of his endeavors the night prior.

“I’ll see you Wednesday.” He said, forcing a smile. The come down had hit him hard, and you could tell his whole body felt like lead. His eyelids were heavy, and he would likely park in the empty lot next to the diner for a while to get some more sleep.

“Yeah,” you nodded, forcing him a smile, too. You jumped out of the car, pulling a half smoked cigarette from your pack to smoke before you went inside. You stood a few feet away from the door, and finished it as fast as you could. You crushed the butt beneath your old ratty converse and took two large strides to the entrance, pulling the door open and stepping inside.

The chatter in the room was immediately overwhelming, and the smell of the deep fryer hit your nose almost instantly. You rushed behind the counter and through to the kitchen, grabbing a clean apron and an order pad. You shoved the book and a pen in your front pocket, and knocked on the door of the office to grab a cash float. You heard John tell you to come in, and as you opened the door he sent you a smile. He already counted the cash and had it waiting on the desk for you, which you shoved in the second pocket.

“Thanks again, darlin’. You only have to stay for the rush.”

“Don’t mention it.” You smiled, closing the door behind you. You moved back out to the dining room after punching in a time card. John had not yet moved to an updated system, because computers were not his forte. Nobody complained, because you got paid all the same. Betty gave you a wave as she dropped off some order tickets at the window, relieved to see you there.

“Linda has the back section, and there’s a couple people who haven’t been served yet. You mind starting there?”

“No problem.” You assured her, grabbing a stack of menus to bring over with you. You stopped first at a booth with a family. They had two small kids with them who seemed to be getting impatient. The mother held the baby in her lap while the little boy sat next to his dad. You handed out the menus and took drink orders, stopping to crouch down and talk to the boy who looked to be only five.

“And how old are you, baby?” You asked, giving him a warm smile as he played with his tiny model car on the table.

“Four and three quarters!” He grinned, looking over at you.

“Three quarters?” You exclaimed, matching his excitement. “That means your birthday is coming up soon?” He gave an eager nod. “That also means,” you stopped and checked the front of the menu to make sure of the policy before saying the wrong thing. “You get to eat for free today!” You glanced up at the mom, sending her a gentle wink. Not often did you serve kids, because you usually only worked at night. According to the menus, kids under 6 ate for free. “So you can have all of the Dino nuggets you can eat.” The prospect seemed to excite him even more as he looked to his dad, hoping he would verify if you were telling the truth. “I’ll be back in a few to take your orders and bring your drinks.” You told the woman, who was smiling at you while bouncing the baby in her lap.

You moved on to the next table, an older couple who was sweet and already knew what they wanted without even having to look over the options. You wrote it down, knowing they were likely regulars. You assured them it wouldn’t be long before moving to the last table. You barely looked up as you made your way towards the corner booth, but when you did, your heart nearly jumped straight from your chest. The curly hair was unmistakable, and the outline of the big nose made your stomach twist with anxiety. You hated to admit that he noticed you and spoke long before your brain could formulate a word, ultimately leaving you looking like an idiot.

“Hey, mind if I have one of those?” As if it were some sick trick from the universe, his voice was just as heavenly as his laugh was the night before, and his eyes were just as soft and warm, inviting you in even further. His teeth were white and impossibly straight as he smiled at you, and it made your heart thud dramatically against your chest.

The boy that you’d spent all hours of the morning writing about was in front of you, sitting in the exact same seat he was when you had seen him for the first time.

“Y-yeah, f’course.” You forced a smile, your cheeks burning red as you handed him a menu from the dwindling stack in your hand. “You, uh… what brings you here?” You asked, internally facepalming at the stupid nature of your question. It was a diner; obviously he was there to eat.

“Uh… food?” He raised an eyebrow, smiling at you as he answered. He didn’t seem concerned about your nervousness, and if anything, it sparked an intrigue in him.

“Yeah, obviously, sorry.” You chuckled, shaking your head as you tried to straighten your thoughts. “I mean, you were here late last night, too. I know the food’s not that good, so it has to be something else bringing you here.” You flashed a real smile, your wit seeming to find its way back to you.

“Oh, yeah.” He laughed, nodding. “I’m not from here, actually. My friend and I are traveling. We booked an Airbnb for a few months, so it gives us some time to explore New York. Our flight came in late, and this was the closest spot last night…. And this morning.” He explained.

“The truth comes out,” you chuckled, cocking your head to the side. “Where you from?”

“Michigan.” He replied, trying to read over the menu, but his attention seemed to only want to be on you. “What about you? You definitely don’t have the accent like the rest of the city does.”

“Utah,” you grinned, surprised he picked up on it.

“So how the hell did you end up here?” He smirked, seemingly very interested in the conversation and uncaring that you were working amidst a lunch rush.

“Long story, sweetheart.” You laughed, brushing it off. He didn’t really want to know, and you didn’t want to bore him.

“I’ve got all the time in the world.” He shrugged, motioning to the empty both. You pondered his words for a moment, biting the inside of your lip. He was completely enamouring, and you barely even knew him. From the twenty seconds of conversation, you felt compelled to keep talking to him, wanting to know everything you could.

“Why don’t I take your order, and if you still want to know, we can make that happen.” You offered. He thought about it for a moment, finally seeming to realize you were working. He was so enthralled in your face and your words that the whole world around him seemed to disappear.

“Yeah, that’s probably a better idea.” He nodded. “Any recommendations?” He asked, completely ignoring the menu in his hand in hopes that you would keep talking.

“Breakfast or lunch?”

“Breakfast.” He confirmed.

“Omelet is good, vegetarian or not. Can never fuck up one of those.” You explained, smiling down at him.

“Sure, one of those, however you like it.” He said, his brown eyes lingering over your face. “And a coffee, please.”

“Sure thing.” You gave a soft smile, reaching down to pick up the menu again. “I’ll be back.”

“Can’t wait.” He shot back, keeping his eyes glued to you as you walked away. As you went to drop off the order tickets and collect the drinks for your tables, your cheeks were burning and your chest was filled with curious excitement. You didn’t know him, but you wanted to, and it was almost hard to believe that he seemed to want to know you, too.

You did not want to get your hopes up, because men had always let you down, even if they had ample amounts of promise. Then again, he seemed different than anyone you’d ever spoken to before. He didn’t seem creepy, nor did his eyes travel anywhere other than your face. He was friendly, soft spoken, and kind. He didn’t think your anxiety was strange, and he didn’t even mention it in efforts to keep you comfortable. You didn’t know him at all, but he seemed better than anyone you’d ever laid eyes on, looks and personality-wise.

You never know unless you try, and try was the only thing you knew how to do. You were determined to know him, and only then you could truly judge his character. Even if he turned out to be an asshole or disappointing in some way, he would at least be nice to look at in the meantime.

You dropped off drinks at your other two tables, then doubled back to brew his coffee. You tapped your foot against the floor in anticipation, hoping it would speed up the process. When the coffee maker sputtered the last pathetic spurt of liquid, it let out a tired groan as the button and lights clicked off. You poured a mug and grabbed a milk and cream dish. You carefully walked it over to his booth, setting it down in front of him with a sigh of relief. You were known as the coffee spiller amongst the staff, and you finally seemed to deliver one successfully.

“Thank you,” he smiled up at you, the sight nearly taking your breath away. “I’m Danny, by the way.”

“Danny…” you pondered, the corners of your lips tugging onwards. “I like it. I’m y/n.”

“Pretty name for a pretty girl.” He smirked, tearing open a sugar packet and dumping it into the steaming cup. Your cheeks dusted red again, your entire body heating at the compliment. “So you said you were here last night, but you definitely weren’t the one who served me. She seemed a bit…” he trailed off, trying to find the proper words.

“Bitchy?” You offered, raising an eyebrow. He let out a laugh, so similar to the one you heard last night. It nearly made you weak in the knees.

“Sure, yeah.” He nodded. “That’s not how I would word it, but that’s probably the best way to say it.”

“I shouldn’t be so mean,” you sympathized with the girl, even if she wasn’t standing there to hear it. “She’s not the worst person in the world, but she is hard to get along with sometimes.”

“Yeah, I can see that. She was giving Sam dirty looks the whole time.” He chuckled at the memory. “I get it, though. Sam’s loud, and he’s a lot to take in. I’m sure you guys weren’t expecting that at two in the morning.”

“We’re usually a bit busier at night, but last night was super slow. Think she was just doing it because technically you were sitting in my area, and I was busy.”

“Busy, but still concerned with who was sitting out here?” He questioned. You prayed your cheeks would stop rushing with blood as you tried to think of a proper response.

“I’m nosy, what can I say?” You shrugged.

“I must have left an impact, cause you recognized me today.” He pointed out, taking another sip of coffee. You gave a slow nod, a smile pulling at your lips.

“Yeah, well, we definitely don’t get too many cute boys in here. Usually just drunkards from the old tavern and teenagers who snuck out.” You explained.

“Cute?” He pressed, liking the sound of the term. You rolled your eyes, playful but sweet.

“Yeah, yeah, get over yourself.” You gave a soft laugh.

“No, actually.” He shook his head. “I’m sure I’ll be thinking about that for a while, especially coming from someone as beautiful as you.” You smiled, biting down on the inside of your lip again. Instead of continuing the conversation, you decided to play hard to get.

“Your food shouldn’t be too much longer.” You gave a smirk, adding a little pep to your step as you turned and walked away. Again, he watched as you disappeared behind the counter, waiting for your plates to be served.

Soon enough, the meals for the family of four were served on the windowsill. You grabbed the ticket and brought them their food, letting them know to just give a holler if they needed anything else. You went back and retrieved the plates for the older couple and dropped them off to them just the same. Eventually, Danny’s meal was served and you had to stop for a moment, regaining your composure before you brought it over to him. You picked up the omelet, carting it close to your body as you walked to the corner booth, being mindful of your steps so you did not trip over anything. When you reached his table, he gave you a smile as you placed it down in front of him.

“Looks good,” he commented, happy with the recommendation.

“Definitely not a Michelin starred restaurant, but we know how to make an omelet.” You grinned.

“Seems so,” he gave a nod of approval.

“Let me know if you need anything else, sweetheart.” You said, looking over your shoulder as more customers filled up the seats in your section.

“I will for sure.” He promised. “Thank you.” You didn’t respond, but gave another smile as you walked to greet the new customers.

After a while, the buzz began to die down. People were leaving with smiles on their faces and full bellies, and the tips were flowing generously. You brought the debit machine from table to table, allowing people to pay so they could make their way home. Every time you saw a customer out, you checked to see if Danny was ready. He seemed to be taking his sweet time, but you didn’t mind at all; it saved from another person replacing him in his seat, and it gave you something pretty to look at. If you could have it your way, you’d never let him leave.

He was intriguing, and you seemed to like every exchange of words more than the last. He was someone you wanted to keep talking to, and someone you wanted to share things with. He was interested in everything you had to say, and you hung onto every word that fell from his mouth. He was the most interesting person to ever sit in the diner, in the best way possible. You wanted to ask for more, to see him again, but your fear was stopping you. Rejection terrified you, and embarrassment was not any better. Instead, you stole glances at him and hoped that he would ask first, or that he would at least come back once he decided it was time to leave.

When most of the crowd filtered out, John let you know that you could head home, and that he convinced the night waitresses to come in a little early to cover the dinner rush. You nodded, letting him know you had one more customer to see through and then you’d be on your way. He thanked you again, wasting no time returning to the office. You liked John quite a lot; he was friendly, nice, and didn’t really care much about what you did during your shift as long as the job got done. He was old, and he was tired. The diner had given him a run for his money, and he was excited to retire, but realistically he knew it would never happen. You felt bad for him, but at the same time, you were happy to know he would be running the show for the foreseeable future.

You walked over to Danny, hoping to catch another quick conversation with him. He seemed to be pleased with your decision to join him again, smiling as you advanced towards him. “Back again?” He asked once you were in earshot.

“Just couldn’t stay away,” you smirked. “You all finished?”

“Yeah, think so.” He nodded, draining the last of the coffee from his mug. “Trying to get me out of here?” He asked.

“No, but the sooner you leave, the sooner I get to go home.” You explained. He gave a slow nod, picking up on the situation, now.

“If that’s the case, I’ll get out of your hair.”

“No need to rush.” You assured him, hoping you didn’t come off as rude. You’d stay all day if it meant you got to talk to him.

“I know, I know,” he chuckled. “But Sam’s probably wondering where I am, so I probably should get back.”

“Yeah, no problem. I can grab your bill?” You offered.

“Sure,” he nodded. “Mind if I borrow your pen for a second?” You grabbed it from your pocket, handing it over to him before running to the counter to print off his receipt. You brought it back over to him, placing it face down on the table.

“Shit, do you need the debit machine?” You asked, remembering that you hadn’t asked him yet. You were too caught up in the beauty of his smiling face.

“No, cash is fine.” He promised, flipping over the bill. You mindlessly watched out the window as he pulled some money out of his wallet, leaving it on the table as he made a move to stand.

“Oh, hold on.” You stopped him, eyeing the fifty dollar bill with unease. For a second, you thought you might have charged him wrong. “I’ll get your change.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he smiled. “I’ll see you again sometime?”

“Danny, that’s way too much-“

“Ah,” he cut you off, shaking his head. “Whatever happened to the customer is always right?” He raised an eyebrow. You let out a sigh, knowing that it was best not to argue with him.

“Thank you,” you said, feeling guilty for accepting such a large gesture. The tip was nearly four times his bill total.

“No need for thanks, the service was excellent.” He assured you. “You said you work the overnights here, right?”

“Yeah, usually.” You nodded. “Thursday to Sunday.”

“I’ll have to stop by sometime.” He noted, slipping on his jacket. Your eyes lingered over the muscles of his arms shown off under the sleeves of his t-shirt. You swallowed hard, trying to push the thought away.

“Guess so,” you agreed, nodding slightly. “Have a good rest of your day.”

“You, too.” He said, his shoulder gently brushing with your own as he passed by. The contact sent a shiver down your spine, and you turned to watch as he walked out the front door, wishing that you had the courage to follow after him or ask him to stay. Instead, you saw him disappear from view, and you were left with a sinking feeling in your stomach and regret looming overhead.

You turned to the table, grabbing the cash he’d left and your copy of the receipt. He’d penciled in the tip total, but what caught your eye was a napkin laying underneath that had black pen scribbled on it. You picked it up, bringing it closer so you could read the messy handwriting. As your eyes drifted over the words, your stomach filled with butterflies and your cheeks began to ache from the smile that took hold.

It was fantastic meeting you. If you ever have the time, I’d love to hear about Utah.

Below that, he left his phone number and a series of X’s and O’s. You bit down on your lip, slipping the note in your pocket to save for later, turning away to count your tips. As you went to the register, you couldn’t help but notice the excitement filling you, and how eager you were to get home and use the number he’d left, even if it was just to tell him about Utah. For the first time in eighteen months—no, for the first time in years, your happiness was genuine and you were eager to see what the next day would bring.

TAGLIST: @imleavingyoufornewyork @itsafullmoon @bladenotblaze @jessicafg03 @dont-go-home-without-me @peaceloveunitygvf

#gvf #greta van fleet #danny wagner #danny gvf #jake kiszka #sam kiszka #jake gvf #sam gvf #josh gvf #gvf fic #daniel gvf #gvf fanfiction #gvf smut #gvf fluff #gvf angst #gvf series #danny wagner series #danny wagner angst #danny wagner fluff #danny wagner fic #danny wagner smut #danny wagner x reader #daniel wagner #greta van fleet angst #greta van fleet fluff #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fanfic #greta van fleet smut #builtbybrokenbells #belladonna

[arofili]

Tolkien Fandom Event Calendar

Recently I’ve received some asks about events/weeks in the Tolkien fandom, so I thought I’d compile a list of those that I know about. This is not exhaustive, and dates are subject to change by the organizers of these events!

Other blogs you can check out are @tolkieneventsblog and @tolkienfandomevents, though I’m not sure how active those are. The @silmarillionwritersguild Discord also has a channel dedicated to signal boosts for all sorts of Tolkien-related & general fandom happenings, which is another excellent way to keep up with fandom goings-on.

Want to run your own event? Here’s some of my tips!

If your event is not on here and you’d like it to be, let me know and I can add it :) Note: I will only add events that have announced dates!

~

JANUARY Screw Yule My Slashy Valentine @myslashyvalentine — work time Lord of the Rings Secret Santa @lotr-sesa — reveals Thorin’s Spring Forge @thorinsspringforge — signups Second Age Week @secondageweek

FEBRUARY Hidden Paths My Slashy Valentine — reveals Thorin’s Spring Forge — claims Maedhros and Maglor Week @maedhrosmaglorweek

MARCH Back to Middle-earth Month @spring-into-arda Thorin’s Spring Forge — work time Fëanorian Week Fun with Fanon Fest Round 1 @funwithfanon

APRIL Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang @tolkienrsb — signups Silm Remix @tolkienremix — signups & assignments Thorin’s Spring Forge — reveals  Aralas Week @aralas-week Barduil Month @bi-widower-dads All of Arda is Autistic @all-of-arda-is-autistic F3: Focus on Friendship & Family, Phase I @spring-into-arda

MAY Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang — claims Silm Remix — reveals Aspec Arda Week @aspecardaweek Angbang Week @angbangweek Gondolin Week @gondolinweek F3: Focus on Friendship & Family, Phase II

JUNE Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang — work time Scribbles and Drabbles @fall-for-tolkien — signups Tolkien Ekphrasis Week @tolkienekphrasisweek F3: Focus on Friendship & Family, Phase III

JULY Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang — work time Scribbles and Drabbles — claims Tolkien Gen Week @tolkiengenweek LotR Ladies Week @lotrladiessource Tolkien Appreciation Week @tolkienweek Tolkien Latin American & Caribbean Week @tolkienlatamandcaribbeanweek

AUGUST Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang — deadlines Scribbles and Drabbles — art reveals Innumerable Stars Exchange @innumerable-stars — nominations & signups Tolkien of Colour Week @tolkienofcolourweek Silvergifting Week @silvergiftingweek Tolkien OC Week @tolkienocweek

SEPTEMBER Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang — reveals Scribbles and Drabbles — work time Innumerable Stars Exchange — signups & assignments Sindar Week @sindarweek Dor Cúarthol Week @dorcuartholweek Finwëan Ladies Week @finweanladiesweek

OCTOBER Innumerable Stars Exchange — reveals Scribbles and Drabbles — work time Half-elven Week @halfelvenweek

NOVEMBER Tolkien Secret Santa @officialtolkiensecretsanta — signups & assignments Scribbles and Drabbles — fic reveals Nolofinwean Week @nolofinweanweek

DECEMBER Tolkien Secret Santa — advent calendar & reveals My Slashy Valentine @myslashyvalentine — signups & assignments Lord of the Rings Secret Santa — claims Khazad Week @khazadweek

MONTHLY EVENTS: These events have prompts/challenges occurring every month. Teitho Contest Tolkien Short Fanworks Silmarillion Writers’ Guild @silmarillionwritersguild

(this list was last updated 5/4/23)

LEGACY EVENTS: These events used to occur, but have not happened within the last year. Arda Needs More Pride @ardaneedsmorepride (bimonthly; last run 2020) Kiliel Week @kilielweek (timing variable; last run 2021) @oneringnet monthly events (last run 2021) Atani Week @ataniweek (January; last run 2021) Legendarium Ladies April @legendariumladiesapril (April; last run 2020) Gates of Summer Exchange @gatesofsummerexchange (May-June, last run 2022) Tolkien South Asian Week, run by @arwenindomiel (June; last run 2022) Arafinwëan Week @arafinweanweek (July; last run 2019) Fëanturi Week (August; last run 2019; no official blog and the creator has deactivated) Imladrim Week @imladrimweek (November; last run 2019) Doriath Week @doriathweek (November; last run 2020) Tolkien Family Week @tolkienfamilyweek (November; last run 2021)

#tolkien #tolkien fandom #the silm #the silmarillion #silm fandom #silmarillion #silm #lotr #lord of the rings #lotr fandom #the hobbit #hobbit fandom #tefain nin #tolkien fandom event calendar #tolkien fandom events #save

[muniimyg]

nonsense // pjm

competitive auras, drunken confessions, and shamelessness lead to sober decisions

+

jimin and oc know each others secrets. they’re virgins and make a deal to lose it to one another. after that, they keep hooking up and everyone can’t believe their eyes when they catch glimpses of the two getting along

navi | m. list | ask me ! | send an ask to be on the taglist ! i will not be responding to taglist requests anywhere else !

pairings:

student council president // campus crush!jimin + exchange student // competitive!oc

au/genre:

enemies with benefits 

situationship / mini sneaky link vibe 

uni au

smut, crack, angst

social media au + written

warnings:

implied + actual smut

virginity topic/sexual tension

name calling, jealousy/possessiveness, academic competitiveness

parts:

20/20 ( completed 11/18/2022 )

note

this is a surprise series ! i couldn’t sleep one night and thought abt this dynamic after rewatching student!bangtan content .

+ this fic goes through time skips without specifics.

parts 1-12 are nov-march

parts 13-19 are april-june

part 20 is 1 year later

playlist  available only on spotify !

index # nonesense jm

01 | pitch 02 | tuesdays 03 | skirrrt skkkkkiiirrrt 04 | skinny dipping pt 1 // pt 2 🖋️ 05 | dreams 06 | eat me  07 | make it make sense 08 | chem  09 | exclusive  10 | red flag 11 | valedictorian 12 | pyjamas 13 | photobooth 🖋️ 14 | romeo and juliet  15 | distraction 16 | home pt 1 // pt 2 🖋️ 17 | what happens now 18 | miscommunication 19 | congrads pt 1 // pt 2 🖋️ 20 | do u love mi

end.

+ a nonsense christmas

#bts fic #jimin smau #jimin smut #jimin e2l #jimin fwb #jimin scenario #jimin imagine #bts imagine #bts scenario #bts smau #fic rec #bts series #bts edits #bts uni au #bts completed series

[missmaywemeetagain]

Broken Glass (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x OC Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis Presley - Elvis (2022)

Read More Here - Broken Glass Masterlist! (Coming Soon)

Prompt: You are Dolores Cannava, a young Italian-American nurse desperate to make her own way in the world and break free of her dysfunctional mafia-connected family and traumatic past. Elvis Presley is just returning home from his two-year stint in the Army, looking more handsome than ever, but feeling the pressure to successfully find his way back to the stratospheric career he was forced to leave behind. In a twisted turn of fate, Elvis finds himself in the hospital where your paths cross. Forced to harbor his potentially career-ending secret and needing to escape a terrifying future in New York, you are pulled into his unusual world and must endure a begrudging fake relationship with Elvis in order to protect his reputation (and his life). 

TW: Hospitals, illness, allusions to abuse. Some historical inaccuracies.

Tags: Fake relationship. Slow burn. Angst. (Sort of) enemies to lovers.

Rating: PG (ish?) (but this story will eventually be Mature/NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)   ||     Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: It’s good to be back, my lil’ darlin’s! I’ve missed y’all! Broken Glass has a decidedly different feel than Pink Scarf, and I really hope that you enjoy it. This will be more of a slow burn and not quite as smut heavy as PS, but we’ll get there eventually! The original character of Dolores can also be read as Reader, but her back story needed to be pretty specific so I decided to go the OC route. I’m excited to dive into some of my favorite tropes with this one, and hopefully I can do them justice.

Delicious 1960 Post-Army E has me in almost as much of a chokehold as ’69 E, so it was only right that I give him the attention he deserves! 

As always, I love and live for your reactions, comments, asks, and reblogs, so thank you in advance for both reading and giving another one of my stories a chance! 

I imagined it with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat.

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

I’ve used the tag list from Pink Scarf, so please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

Story is cross-posted to my Wattpad and AO3, if you prefer those reading experiences! 

Bellevue Hospital

New York City, New York

March 1960

“Nurse Cannava!”

The shrill call of Charge Nurse Irma Hunt grates on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard, but you don’t dare show it on your face. Instead, you take a deep breath through your nose and hurry over to the severe woman.

“Yes, Nurse Hunt?” you say as evenly as possible. You’ve only been an official Registered Nurse for a few months and cannot afford to make a wrong step with this drill sergeant of a woman. You’d rather be extra deferential and placating than looking for a new job, no matter how much you want to run in the opposite direction any time she calls your name.

She looks at you critically, peering down over her glasses with her sharp stare. “Nurse Calhoun was pulled away to surgery before she was able to finish her other duties. I need you to change the sheets for our VIP patient while he’s upstairs for x-rays. I need you to be quick. In and out, no funny business, you understand me?”

“Of course, Nurse Hunt,” you nod frantically. It’s the middle of the night, so it is strange for the patient to be doing tests at this hour. Though if they are trying to keep his identity under wraps, it makes sense that they would choose an hour where less people were involved.

“And absolutely no telling anyone about our patient. We must uphold the strictest confidentiality, now more than ever,” she adds with a glare.

The threat is clear:

Don’t mess this up.

“I understand.” Curiosity of who it could be itches at the edge of your mind, wondering about this VIP that has the woman in more of a harsh mood than usual.

Maybe it’s Ricky Nelson or Mario Lanza or Marlon Brando, your mind titters, but it’s probably just some stuffy politician. You figure it’s better to have low expectations and be pleasantly surprised than to have high ones and be disappointed.

Ever the realist.

Regardless of who might be, you don’t have time for silly schoolgirl fantasies. There is a job to do, and you best be getting to it before getting into trouble.

You scurry away to gather fresh linens, then make your way back to one of the few private rooms on the floor. Most patients are relegated to the open wards here in Manhattan’s biggest hospital, but there are special cases, such as this, it seems, where a more private setting is needed.

There’s a large man at the door, keeping watch, and he looks you up and down with narrowed eyes longer than you’d like, sending a chill into your gut. But this is nothing new. You hold your ground, straightening your spine and lifting your chin.

“Nurse Hunt asked me to change the sheets,” you say, clipped. He smiles, as if in on a joke you’re not privy to, then opens the door.

At 20, you are the youngest nurse on the ward. People, especially men, tend to underestimate you, but you have something to prove and no time for nonsense. Graduating high school early, you were thrilled to be accepted to Bellevue School of Nursing, one of the best programs in the country. The four-year experience had been grueling, but since you had to live in the dormitory, it got you out of the house and away from your damned father and his cronies.

In the process, you discovered that helping people truly is your calling. So, while young, you are good at your job and take it seriously.

This is why you hurry in and start stripping the bed as quickly as possible. As curious as you are as to who this mysterious man might be, getting the job done is much more important than snooping around the room.

You tug and pull the sheets as taut as possible, perfect hospital corners making the bed crisp and neat. Your attention to detail and cleanliness are a sense of pride, so spending a little more time than necessary making sure the bed is perfect is worth it. The intention isn’t to linger, but if this VIP is as important as everyone is making him out to be, you want to make sure everything is done right.

Finally, after inspection, you gather up the dirty sheets and make your way around the bed, just as the door opens to the room.

Damn. You weren’t fast enough.

Your gaze cannot help but drop to the man in the wheelchair. A bandage is stuck at the edge of his thick chestnut locks. Although he is obviously ill, his sapphire eyes rimmed with dark circles and his pallor pale, there is absolutely no mistaking who the VIP is.

America’s biggest rebel-turned-G.I., the one and only Elvis Presley.

You are not a fan, but your heart unwillingly kerthunks against your ribcage anyway because he’s still one of the most famous men on the planet, and you are shocked at how pictures barely do the man justice.

Dear lord, even sick, he is wildly gorgeous in person, you catch yourself thinking. His essence seems to fill the room, pushing all the oxygen out, because suddenly you can’t catch your breath. Suddenly, you understand why millions of ladies fall faint at his feet.

Surprised to see someone in his room, his eyes rake up your body from your toes to your little white nurse’s cap. You hold back a shiver as those famous bedroom eyes finally land on yours.

“Well, hello there, little bird.”

Little bird? You know you shouldn’t let it bother you, but the pet name rankles you in its familiarity. You’ve been called all manner of things by all manner of men, both in and out of this hospital, but this is a new one, and though certainly not the worst, it bothers you all the same. Perhaps it’s because he acts as though he is owed this familiarity and expects you to be grateful for it.

His lilting Southern drawl is creaky and hoarse from illness, making him a little less mystical, which allows you to quickly recover your wits. Trying not to show annoyance on your face, you straighten your posture while moving aside to let the orderly push Elvis into the room and help him onto the bed.

“Goodnight, sir,” you say politely, as pissing off this VIP will do you no favors, but your eyes harden at the way his gaze openly lingers on you. You attempt to skirt around him as quickly as possible, but the room, though private, is not large, and the wheelchair and the two men take up much of the space.

“Hey, little bird, wait!” he calls out before you even reach the door.

Stopping in your tracks, your infernal heart continues to pound in your ears. All you want is to get out of this suffocating room, but you inhale and turn around instead. The orderly gives a wink before sliding out of the room behind you. You resist the urge to huff.

“It’s Nurse Cannava, sir,” you say firmly, trying to take the edge out of your voice, albeit unsuccessfully. “Is there something I can help you with?”

That sly, signature grin spreads almost bashfully across his face and if you weren’t so perturbed by the suggestiveness of it, you might keel over from its brilliance filling the small space.

“Call me Elvis, little birdy,” he drawls, blatantly ignoring using your given name, as requested. “Could ya be so kind as to get me some water? Please?” he asks kindly, which is far more than you expect.

“Yes, certainly, sir,” you reply, equally ignoring his request to call him Elvis. You turn on your heel and escape as quickly as possible before he can ask any more of you.

A breath shudders through you once you’re out in the hallway. You hadn’t realized you were holding it. You are as bothered by this reaction as by the fact that you must get this man water and go back in there without showing him that you are in any way affected by the fact that he’s Elvis Presley or that his behavior has you decidedly on edge.

He’s a patient, you remind myself silently, and this is part of my job. A job I desperately need to keep if I want to get out of that nightmare of a house...

This thought steadies you more than anything. You’ll do almost anything to be in a position to permanently leave home and to do so without having to marry that mook Gianni. And hell, you’ve dealt with much worse in terms of patient behavior. Getting Elvis water is objectively the easiest thing you’ve had to do all shift.

You can’t seem to help straightening your starched white apron before taking a deep breath and marching back into the room, pitcher of water and a glass in hand.

“Here you are, sir,” you say, trying not to sound terse, trying not to look directly at him. It’s almost like the feeling that you shouldn’t be looking at the sun, yet your eyes want to do it anyway. Even without looking at him, you can sense his heavy gaze lingering over you. You blush involuntarily, the blooming warmth a betrayal of your modesty. In response, you place the pitcher and water down on the table near him and turn to flee as quickly as possible without making it seem like that’s what you are doing.

“Hey, now, little bird,” Elvis says, catching the hem of your skirt, halting your exit. “Why ya tryin’ to fly away so fast?”

“Oh Madone,” you mumble under your breath, your Italian heritage making an appearance as you roll your eyes to the heavens before turning back around and pulling the fabric from his long fingers. Heat washes over you in an angry wave, turning your blush a deeper shade of red.

“I have other patients to tend to, sir.” It’s not a lie but sure feels like one with the strained way it falls off your tongue. Your lips press into a thin line of a smile, desperately trying not to glare at him but catching his eyes with your unamused ones all the same.

“Elvis,” he corrects me, maddingly, that smirk playing on his lips, a playfulness in his glassy, feverish eyes. “And I was just wonderin’ if ya could pour me a cup, since it’s all the way over d’ere?”

The water is on the table right next to the bed, and he certainly looks able to pour it himself, and you both know it, but he just smiles, playing this infuriating game, wasting your time.

Finally, you sigh and relent. It’ll be faster to just do it than to try an argue about it. He’s a patient, after all.

You still feel his eyes on you as you turn sideways and dutifully pour the water out. His presence, especially when focused on you alone, feels incredibly overwhelming, mixing a healthy dose of trepidation in with your irritation. You keep your face as neutral as possible and hand over the glass.

What you don’t expect is for him to touch you, his fingers circling over yours, blazing hot from the fever he looks to have. You loathe the way your heart flips in your chest when he looks up at you through impossibly long, feathering lashes, those gemstone eyes of his expressive beyond imagining and conveying more than just playfulness.

“Thank you, little bird,” he whispers. The sound swirls up your spine, breaking through your annoyance just enough to see the blithe, handsome boyishness of him. It promises an unfamiliar temptation, one you’ve seen only in movies and never willingly and truthfully experienced for yourself. Your mouth goes bone dry.

He is dangerous, you think, but not because you are afraid of him in a physical sense (and lord knows you’ve feared too many men already in your short lifetime). No, his is a danger of an entirely different sort. He makes you want to trust him, and in your experience, men are never, ever to be trusted.

“Nurse Cannava! What are you doing in here?” Nurse Hunt’s shrill admonishment startles you out of the hypnotizing stare of the teen idol, causing you to jump back as though he was on fire. You let go of the glass, slipping your hands out of his, but he does the same, and the glass spills water all over the newly changed sheets before tumbling to the floor where it shatters with a crash.

The tinkling of the glass explodes in your head, and a latent and all-too-familiar fear associated with the sound freezes you to the spot. Try as you might, you cannot stop the involuntary trembling that rushes through your limbs. Air attempts to fill your lungs, but the breaths are too short and shallow to do any good. The wave of panic threatens to undo you, right here, in front of both your superior and the most famous man in the world.

It's just broken glass. I’m safe. I’m at work. He can’t hurt me here. The mantra plays in your head over and over as you clasp your shaking hands in front of you, trying to pull yourself together before anyone notices anything amiss.

“I told you to be quick and quiet, not go around cavorting with our patient!” Hunt hisses harshly, glowering, but it snaps you out of the trance-like state that has overtaken you.

Now, instead of fearing things that cannot hurt you here, you are suddenly afraid for your job. Nurse Hunt is a terrifying and formidable leader and being on her bad side means a world of hurt going forward. Your heart feels like a hummingbird’s, fueled by anger, embarrassment, and lingering panic. You resist the urge to give Elvis a scathing look, knowing it will likely just result in more trouble. Instead, you quickly raise your eyes and catch a strangely curious yet concerned look from the man.

“I-I’m s-so sorry, Head Nurse,” you finally stammer out, realizing she is waiting for you to say something. “I’ll clean that up right away.” You start for the bed but are stopped by the crunching glass beneath your practical white nurse’s shoes.

“Ma’am?” Elvis croaks out suddenly, gently, capturing the older woman’s attention. “I’m sorry ma’am, I don’t mean to be a bother, but it wasn’t the young lady’s fault at all. I asked her for the water. She was just doin’ her job, and I distracted her. It’s my fault.” His bedroom eyes widen with an almost childlike deference as he looks at her through those long lashes.

Elvis oozes an effusive charm that makes the formidable woman’s hardened veneer crack. It might not be obvious to one who doesn’t know her, but her gaze softens ever so slightly.

You almost want to roll your eyes and scoff, but the strange thing is that it doesn’t feel at all like a put-on. It first strikes you as some sort of malevolent manipulation, like he wants to impress you somehow by getting you out of the mess he got you into, but he seems nothing but honest. He looks truly sorry.

You stand stock still, hands still clasped in front of your apron, needing to know your fate before moving. Nurse Hunt finally sighs, having weighed her options of denying her VIP’s puppy dog eyes or making your life miserable.

“Alright, Mr. Presley. Nurse Cannava will help you move to that chair there so she can change your sheets again and clean up this mess,” she says through pursed lips. “And you let her be and do her job, you hear? You’re not the only patient on the ward, young man.”

“Of course, ma’am. I really am sorry about the mess,” he says softly, seriously, nodding.

“Quickly, Nurse!” Nurse Hunt barks. Picking your jaw off the ground, you hustle to the other side of the bed, still amazed he was able to soften the old goat in any way.

It’s not until your arm is around his waist while the other steadies him in a well-practiced and trained move that you realize that you are holding a barely clothed Elvis Presley. A brief but decidedly improper and embarrassing thought flirts in the back of your mind as you help him into the chair in the corner. His skin is hot with fever, easily felt where your skin touches his and it radiates through his thin hospital gown. It burns into you, through you, melding with the unnerving, angry fire that already consumes you. You can feel his eyes on you but don’t dare to look at him, not with Hunt watching, making sure you don’t drop the prize patient.

You suppose you are glad for the fact that your cheeks were already on fire from humiliation, so neither can see just how uncomfortable and ashamed you feel right now. The way emotions flash rapidly through you, you’re amazed you can concentrate at all, but you manage to deposit the singer in the chair, unscathed.

Nurse Hunt huffs a little, but seems satisfied, and takes her leave, on to the next crisis.

A relieved but shuddering breath releases from you and without looking at the man in the chair that has caused so much trouble tonight, you jump to removing the sheets you made so perfectly not minutes ago.

“Hey, little b—Nurse Cannava,” Elvis catches himself, “I-I-I meant what I said—I really am sorry I made things harder on ya.”

You refuse to look at him. Instead, you grit your teeth and yank the sheets off, furious. Storming out of the room, you quickly retrieve a new set of sheets and a broom and dustpan for the glass on the floor.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” he mutters as you stomp back in the room, dutifully ignoring his presence. You busy yourself with the glass first, sweeping it into a pile, then bending over to sweep it into the dustpan. You realize too late that you’ve just effectively but unwittingly shown Elvis your rear end. You can practically hear the smirk on his face, which is confirmed once you flit your eyes over to him.

A new wave of heat flushes over your cheeks, but you pretend you don’t notice his leering. Nothing good has come tonight from you paying any sort of mind to what Elvis is doing. You go about your business as swiftly as possible, counting the seconds before you can remove yourself from his suffocating presence.

“You just gonna ignore me now, honey? Come on, I-I-I said I-I was sorry,” he stutters petulantly after another minute of silence.

Your response is to tug the sheets as tight as you can. You move around the other side, hating that your behind will be in his face while you finish the bed, but it can’t be helped. You grit your teeth and focus on smoothing the sheets instead of the hole Elvis is burning through your backside.

“Well, at least I got a nice view in the room…of the city, I mean,” he chuckles. The innuendo is crystal clear.

You whirl around and want to slap that stupid grin right off his pretty face. You’ve never felt so unprofessional or off the rails as you do with this man.

He’s a patient, he’s a patient, he’s a VIP patient, you remind yourself, trying to take calming breaths. But try as you might, you can’t seem to keep your damn mouth shut, that Italian temper flaring, boiling your blood.

“Eyes up!” you snap your fingers at him. “I have work to do and a job to keep, and talking with you only gets me in trouble, so leave me be!” Blood throbs in your ears as you attempt unsuccessfully to keep your fury at bay.

“Ooh, I heard New York cherries were feisty, but I hadn’t the occasion to see it for m’self,” he muses, thinking he’s just about the funniest thing since Lenny Bruce.

“Oh, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” you mutter under your breath, fuming, turning around to finish the bed. Once it’s done, you breathe a sigh of relief and make to leave.

“Hey, little bird, you want an autograph or somethin’?” Elvis asks, still vying for your attention for whatever reason.

God, the ego on this one. “I don’t want anything from you.” You can’t help but turn towards him, even though you know you should leave as fast as your legs will carry you.

“Not a fan, huh? Bet I can change your mind,” he says, his left eyebrow quirking up suggestively. The man is as gorgeous as he is infuriating.

“I prefer Ricky Nelson, so no thanks,” you shoot back at him.

He fully laughs at that, a big, hiccupping, musical sound that under any other circumstance might be attractive and endearing, but now it just seeks to make you angrier. Your seething seems to amuse him all the more, however, as he erupts into more peals of laughter.

“You’re somethin’ else, lil’ bird,” he wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes. But his face suddenly turns alarmed as he can’t seem to catch his breath, the laughter turning into gasps.

“Elvis, enough of that. Let’s get you into bed.” Your training immediately overrides whatever negative feelings you might have towards the man. “Try to take slow, deep breaths,” you say calmly, crossing the room quickly.

His face turns red and panic starts to bloom in his darkening, churning eyes as he wheezes. You help him up and out of the chair, and he shudders, leaning all his weight on you. His breathing is too labored and he’s burning up, and you’re not sure he’ll make it the short way to the bed.

Indeed, the two of you only make it a single step before his long legs give way, and it’s all you can do to brace his tall, lean body and keep him from hitting the tile floor hard. Instead, you slide down together, and you make sure to cradle his head as he collapses.

You don’t panic. In fact, you are the calmest you’ve been since meeting the superstar because this you know you can handle. This is what you were born to do.

“We need some help in here!” you shout out to the ward before turning your attention back to Elvis, now sprawled on his back on the floor. You quickly grab the oxygen mask from his bedside and turn the nozzle to get the air flowing.

“Elvis, you’re going to be okay. I need you to try and breathe deep for me, as deep as you can,” you say, fitting the mask over his mouth. He coughs, struggling to get the air in his lungs. He seems in and out of consciousness, those panicked eyes of his now a stormy, glassy gray as they try to focus on you.

“That’s it, just breathe now,” you coo at him, taking his vitals. His pulse is too fast and thready. You give him a small smile, trying to keep him calm.

An orderly, a doctor, and another nurse rush in. You quickly rattle off numbers and facts regarding his respiratory distress.

“Let’s get him on the bed,” the doctor orders, and the four of you lift him on a count of three.

Elvis flails his hand, gripping your arm. It’s certainly not the first time a patient has grabbed you out of fear, but it is the first time you’ve ever felt a jolt of electricity running through you from it. Looking in his eyes, the terror you see there gives you pause.

He’s just a man, you think. A very frightened young man.

And he wants comfort. Care. So, despite wanting to throttle him earlier, you hold his hand. He clings to you as the team tries to stabilize him. Your touch seems to settle him a little, despite the way his eyes flutter and he still gasps for breath.  

You all manage to get him breathing better, but he won’t let go of you. He starts to panic again every time you try to move away, throwing his vitals into a tailspin. As weak as he may be, that strong guitar-playing hand of his has you in a vise-like grip. The doctor looks at you judgmentally, and you make it clear that you have no idea why this is happening, that you’d rather not be relegated to hand-holding duty. But since his vitals are better holding your hand, the doctor nods his okay.

Give the VIP patient what he needs, is the clear message.

Elvis stabilizes. The room clears, and you stand at his bedside, waiting for him to fall asleep, to relax, to release you—anything that will allow you to leave and get back to work and forget the last half an hour ever happened. His eyes are closed, but every time you try to slip away, he just pulls you back. You try not to sigh audibly, to let your frustration show. You are usually much more compassionate and professional, rarely letting patients get under your skin. But Elvis…well, he seems to bring out an unwanted side of your normally mild and shy self.

He’s not consciously trying to be bothersome like he was earlier; he’s much too scared and out of it for that, you reason.

And at least this is better than cleaning bedpans, you chuckle, finally deciding to sit on the edge of the bed and make yourself a little more comfortable. You take this somewhat surreal moment to really look at him.

He is truly beautiful. There is an almost angelic innocence about him with his pale skin and high cheekbones, the way his cheeks are somehow both full and soft, but his jaw chiseled at the same time. His lips are pillowy and full, though nearly colorless now due to the lack of oxygen. His hair gleams, a deep, golden chestnut—a far cry from the rebellious black locks he was known for at the height of his fame a few years ago. With his straight nose and fanning, long lashes, it seems as though he was carved in stone by the masters and brought to life somehow.

Your heart skips, quite involuntarily.

Of course, there are imperfections. He’s got a day’s worth of dark stubble growing and you can see places where his skin is mottled from what was probably youthful acne. The circles around his eyes are too dark and…

I am really reaching here, you think. No, you are quite at a loss because even his “imperfections” add to his beauty.

Okay, so objectively, he’s pretty—when he’s quiet and sleeping. It’s just when he opens his big mouth that he becomes less attractive. This reminder makes you feel better and less like a fawning teenager.

Finally, his hand relaxes, and you slip out of his grasp without him reaching for you. As if trying not to wake a sleeping baby, you very slowly and quietly raise yourself off the bed. But curiosity gets the better of you, halting your leave, and you quietly open his chart at the end of the bed.

Your eyes scan the pages quickly, widening, hardly containing your disbelief. They glance up at the unrealistically beautiful young man in the hospital bed. Though you barely know him, and what you do know of him has already driven you mad, you can’t help but feel a sense of sadness and dread.

It’s the thing all his bravado and beauty distracted you from.

Elvis Presley is a very, very ill man.

*

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[mutantthedark]

OC: Halia "Sigma" Connors

Name: Halia Connors

Age: 23 (As of 2022)

Alias(es): Halie (by her aunt), Lia, Raven, Sigma, Corporal, Bravo 7 - 3

Gender: Female

Birthday: March 7th, 1999

Nationality: American

Place of birth: San Diego, California, USA

Languages: English (her mother language), Spanish.

Occupation/Rank: Senior Airman/Corporal

Affiliation: U.S Air Force (formerly), associate member of Task Force 141, JTF - Ghost Team

Hair color: Natural black

Eye color: Bright blue

Scars: None

Piercings: 1 (belly piercing)

Face claim: Emily Rudd

Height: 5’5 (165 cm)

Weight: 120 lbs (54 kg)

Build: Toned

Blood type: O+

Family: Unnamed mother (deceased), Unnamed father (deceased), Lala Connors (aunt), Ruby (German Shepherd dog)

Siblings: none

Personality: ENTJ-A, a quick thinker and has high intelligence, not wasting any time, gets a job done.

Friendly: not afraid to start conversation, likes to chat with people when not on the missions.

Serious: Serious, yet logical, she's beauty, she's grace, she'll break your knees.

Strong-willed: has a lot of determination and always tries to do what she can. FAVOURITES

Color: Toriquise

Season: Autumn

Food: Macaroni with cheese

Drink: Black tea with lemon, hot coffee and kiwi lemonade

Dessert: Coconut Yogurt

Hobbies: Singing, hiking, play tennis, spending free time with Ruby ABILITIES

Fighting style: Can rely on strength, speed, intelligence and stealth, but she's more into stealth type, can sneak attack enemies from behind, but she's brutal too while in combat.

Weapons: she's mastered firearms mastery, also very proficient with knives and in-field crafts.

Planes: a safe flyer, she only flies for air support if needed.

TRIVIA

Sigma is a dog person.

While Halia is left to train in the Air Force, her aunt felt lonely. But in 2 years (2020) Lala bought a female German Shepherd to prevent loneliness. After Hassan's death, Sigma came back home to her aunt and she was greeted by Ruby in surprise, then she began to love her.

The "Sigma" callsign not only mean the eighteen letter of the alphabet, but also an cosmology. A property of galaxies used when trying to work out the mystery of galaxies and their supermassive black holes.

Sigma sometimes wears darkers gears and clothes on a missions. (stealth type)

She can drive. She started her driving lessons when she was 18, but still was in high school. Missed most of her classes, but did her school work in time.

Used to have a long hair. HATES PONYTAILS. Uncomfortable, tight, hurts her scalp, because it gives her a headache. While being in U.S. Air Force, she used a fishbraid.

Sigma never dyed her hair, because she wants to keep her natural black hair healthy.

Sigma is allergic to sunflower seeds.

Had a boyfriend once in high school, but it didn't worked out well.

Sigma is ambidextrous. Can work with both hands well.

BIOGRAPHY

Born and raised in San Diego, Halia’s parents were killed by the secret organization when she was 10 years old, they destroyed their home while Halia managed to run away safely. Until then, Lala, her aunt found her and adopted her.

Years passed by, when she finished high school when she was 19, Halia decided to join the U.S Air Force, living up to her father’s legacy, then she found her code name "Sigma" in the first place, passed every training with flying colors. Halia was intelligent and very active all those days while in training. She left her aunt too to live her normal and peaceful life.

Other than being in Air Force, Halia rarely contacted her, writing letters, had no time to rest for the training. She build her relationship with her aunt very well for years. Until then, she made her allies in U.S Air Force who could trust them.

When became an Senior Airman/Corporal, General Shepherd and Kate Laswell contacted her that she has a mission in Las Almas, in close air, to help Ghost, Alejandro and Soap to capture Hassan and work with Graves and his Shadow mercanaries.

#art #myart #oc #call of duty oc #cod oc #call of duty #cod mwii #original character #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare ii #Halia Sigma Connors #cod mw22 #call of duty modern warfare #Call of duty modern warfare 2022 #oc profile #artist on tumblr

[chaos-chloe]

MIND GAMES

PLANTONIC! SETH X OC

“You want to play mind games on your older brother?” Who can say no to that question……

On January 28, 2022, Adeline arrived at The Dome at America's Center in St. Louis, Missouri as an undercover security guard making sure everything was going as planned. Only Seth and Triple H knew she was here but nowhere in sight, till they heard a knock on his temporary office door. 

“Sierra”

“Hotel”

“Inda”

“Echo” 

“Lima”

“Delta”

“Shield” 

I’m backstage pumping myself up by bouncing back and forth on my feet, as I am watching Seth march the way we used to many many years ago. Feeling nostalgia and power at the same time seeing my brother's face drop when he hears that music. 

Oh, the worst is yet to come “Tribal Chief.”

As Seth is rolling over the barricade laughing, my brother is trying not to show any emotion. Now, Seth just needs to give me my que to come out. Seth asks for the microphone that Ms. Sammatha is holding hopefully nicely, she hands it over no problem while stepping back towards the ropes. 

“Now I know that I shouldn't be doing this buuttt, it needs to happen. Roman, I think you are missing a special someone from your bloodline, aren’t ya?” The crowd goes absolutely feral while Roman is trying completely stone faced.

“And I said Hello Satan, ah.”

I strut around that corner with fans going more feral than when my dear cousin The Rock came back earlier. I smile and soak in all the fans that missed me, I see one poster in the crowd stating “I MISS HECATE” I point and smile at it, while shaking my head up and down confirming it was me. I am dressed in an updated version of my old shield gear, making a statement that I was on Seth's side. High waisted black cargo pants being held up with a black utility belt, with a slightly cropped black long sleeve shirt with a vest on, with mid-calf black and gray combat boots and a black mask making me look like a ninja. Going for a slightly old Seth look since he was the high-flying ninja back then. I continue my way down to the ring on beat with my music, slapping a few hands of fans. When I hit those steel stairs, I knew in a way I was gonna interfere with this match, even if it meant I took a hit for Seth. Seth sat on the second rope letting me get into the ring, marching my way up to Roman; taking down the mask and questioning his way of running WWE.

“o le a la le manatu o tina i lenei mea?” I inquired about him while walking away to Seths’ corner of the ring. The crowd “ooh” and “ahh” watching Roman and I interact with each other for over 8 years. (“so, what does mom think about this?”) 

“Trust me, Mom isn't happy with you at all, especially with the FULL bloodline dear brother!” I yelled over the crowd to Roman. Front row definitely heard that and laughed. 

“Now you beat his ass in any way shape or form, just don't let him win. I got your back, so keep an eye out for me.” while patting Seth's shoulder ducking under the ropes, jumping from the apron to the floor. I put my elbows on the apron crossing my arms doing a signature move from a coworker Hook looking bored and unamused. 

“As in for pinfall for the Universal Championship. Introducing the challenger, being accompanied by Hecate Reigns, from Buffalo, Iowa; weighing in at 217 pounds SETH FREAKIN’ ROLLINS.” 

“Now introducing the from Pensacola, Florida, weighing in at 265 pounds, he is the undisputed WWE Universal Champion, ROMAN REIGNS” as roman walked up to Seth all cocky with the title raised up in his right hand.

“You ain't shit without your family, oh wait your goons!” I snapped at my older brother that I don't want to claim. 

The bell rings and they size each other up. ”Oh my god, let's get it going boys.” just being annoying but Seth laughs at me. Seth taunts Roman and Roman charges but Seth ducks and goes behind. Roman escapes. They go at it and Seth nails right hands to the face. Roman launches Seth into the corner and unloads with big forearms. Seth quickly turns it right back around and beats Roman down, then stomps away. Seth goes on and hits a Sling blade.

Seth sends Roman over the top rope and into the barrier. “Come on Roman, you’re letting him toss you around like a little ragdoll. Jeez, it's like you need your goons by your side.” I sighed in fake disappointment to taunt him.

Seth runs the ropes and nails a suicide dive, sending Roman back into the barrier. Seth returns to the ring, plays to the crowd for a pop, and nails another big suicide dive. 

“WOOO let's go Seth!” “Show him again!” “Come on, no wasting time!” I screamed encouragement at Seth.

Seth keeps control and rolls Roman back in. Seth laughs at me while waiting on the apron for Roman to get up. Seth springboards in with the flying knee but Roman 

knocks him out of the air with a big right hand. “Now how's that for your boy toy, huh?!?” Roman tries to rile me up but I shake my head in disappointment.  “OH, NOW YOU ARE WANTING TO PUT SOME WORK IN, HUH?!” I yelled back.

Why is it so easy to get in your head, Roman? Aren’t you supposed to be “The Head of the Table?

Roman with a Drive-By now. I winced hard at that cause I knew that had to hurt.  Roman runs around and leaps off the steel ring steps but Seth boots him in the gut in mid-air. Seth then catches Roman; I run over and help Seth with a big Shield Bomb through the announce table feeling complete nostalgia. Seth and I crouched down laughing and looking feral with power. Fans are going wild while Seth brings Roman back into the ring. Seth nails a top rope Frog Splash but Roman kicks out just in time. I start banging both my hands on the apron to get them going again.

Seth wastes sometime after climbing back up in the corner. He goes for the corkscrew “ROLL OUT!” Giving Seth a fair warning, since it looks like Roman is going to duck out of it. Roman goes for a Spear but Seth kicks him. I breathe a quick sigh of relief, that his ribs aren't broken yet.  Seth keeps fighting and hits Roman in the back of the neck. Seth follows up with a Buckle Bomb and then hits the Stomp for a huge pop.  Roman kicks out just in time and Seth can't believe it, he is looking over at me, while my hands are on my face gob smacked. Fans are also in shock.

“Come on, stop being shocked for a minute, be The Architect again. Get in the mind set, it's time for more mind games." I start sprouting my thoughts off my head so Seth's gears can start turning again. Seth starts scouting toward the corner I'm in to pick himself back up using the ropes.

“Come on Big Dog. Come on Big Dog.” Seth starts taunting Roman to recover and get up again, I laugh along with Seth.

Seth goes for a Stomp but Roman turns him inside out with a big clothesline. “Jesus, I told him to think like the architect, not Hunter’s dog.” I whispered to myself.

They're both down trying to recover but Roman snaps a bit and scurries over while down, mounts Seth and unloads with strikes as the referee warns him. “Yes, Roman take it out on the referee because he is doing his job correctly.” I shake my head in disbelief “You straight, ref?” I ask and he nods back at me. Roman powers Seth up and slams him with a big powerbomb in the middle of the ring for a 2 count.  Roman looks angry that Seth still has energy in this brawl.

“You just gonna shit on everything that we did, huh? That's fun to you, huh? You're gonna laugh at me, huh?” Roman questions angrily but Seth just replies with a laughing “Yeah” He stops and unloads with forearms, Seth blocks a shot and pulls Roman into an armbar in the middle of the ring. “There you go, you're thinking now Seth!” I exclaimed at him while banging on the apron near him. Then, Roman powers up and slams Seth with a big powerbomb. Roman is holding on the ropes gathering himself while I'm screaming for Seth to get up, yet Roman is just muttering nonsense to himself.

“Really, can't you say that with your chest!?” “Mama and Rocky were right about you going crazy.” I start rambling, Roman shakes his head at me.

Roman picks up Seth by the back of his vest to send him into the ring post. Seths’ body falls to the floor, i go over to check up on him and assess him but Roman follows quickly and launches him into the barrier, sending him over into the timekeeper's area. Then Roman tries to shoo me away from the madness he sends Seth into (the steel ring steps) and keeps control. Seth does whisper to me that he is okay.

Roman brings it back in and stands tall so the crowd can acknowledge him but most boo along with me, as my thumbs are down. Roman levels Seth with a Superman Punch but he still kicks out at 2. 

Yes, he aint winning with us here…. “Come on Seth, come here and catch ya breath.” I try to encourage Seth. Seth rolls outside for a breather by me. I see roman stalking his way over here, i think quickly for Seth. “Imma take this one but be behind me so you can break my fall.” he nods for a minute but realizes what's gonna happen a minute too late. Roman runs towards Seth but I push him down, Roman delivers the spear to me instead.  Landing on Seth, the crowd gasps but starts booing at Roman, while I'm rolling on the left side of Seth near the broken announce table holding my ribs. It feels like the majority of my ribs are broken and it's getting hard to breathe. “Thank you for listening to me this once.” I groaned over to Seth. 

Roman stands up realizing what just happened, not apologizing but staring at me with a blank shocked face; there is no remorse whatsoever. Roman brings it back into the ring and gets the crowd riled up with mostly boos, I’m sitting on the floor with my back being supported with the barricade. Roman calls for the Spear and runs but Seth turns it into a Pedigree. I cheer as loud as my lungs would let me, but Seth is slow to make the cover; so Roman kicks out right before the 3 counts. I groaned in pain and annoyance. 

Fans chant "this is awesome!" Now I started cheering with them and banging my feet on the ground. Seth readies in the corner and gets the "Burn it down!" chants going as he stomps. Roman side-steps the Stomp and they trade shots in the middle of the ring. Seth with elbows and kicks to the head as he unloads. Roman powers out and rocks Seth. They run the ropes and Roman hits a big Spear. Seth starts laughing while down on his back. Roman is up to his knees first. Seth offers his fist for a Shield-style fist bump.

“Come on Bro, I’ll always cover for you. I’ll always love you.” Seth is still offering him the fist bump in pain but laughing slightly. I get up and get in the ring near Seth and offer Roman the same fist bump. My hand on the left side of Seth's hand.

Roman paces now as Seth and I keep laughing and ranting about The Shield, still down on the mat right beside each other. 

“Come on, it's all for the love brother, Come on please.” I beg along with Seth. 

Roman snaps a bit and grabs Seth, then drops him hard into the Guillotine submission, I jump back on the apron. Roman tightens the hold as Seth tries to break free and get to the ropes.  I started cheering for Seth to reach the ropes, hoping he would follow the sound of my voice. Roman tightens the hold even more but Seth fades and his arm drops before he can touch the bottom rope. Referee Charles Robinson checks the arm, but Seth grabs the bottom rope, with my assistance pushing the rope towards his arm, without the referee knowing. I hear some claps behind me, knowing the fans are on Seth’s and I’s side. Sadly, Roman keeps the hold locked as the referee counts to 5, he doesn’t let go and the referee calls the match while Seth is holding the rope.

“Jesus Uce, you are that sour!” “Now everyone knows that you still haven’t beaten Seth Rollins.” I exclaimed toxically. 

After the bell, the referee yells at Roman to break the hold but Roman rants about Seth deserving this and forcing him to do this. Roman finally breaks the hold and gets back to his feet. Seth is still down, and the fans and I are not happy. Fans chant "Roman sucks!" Now the so-called ‘The Tribal Chief’ looks out at the crowd. Seth is still down; I’m whispering in his ear encouragement to get up and out of the ring. Roman slowly exits the ring and walks over to a steel chair.

I get up into the ring by Seth to console and help him in any way possible, not keeping an eye on Roman. I help Seth to his feet while he is holding on the ropes, I'm hovering around his right arm to keep his balance. We start to hear “Boos” from the crowd, I'm thinking it's just Roman being “The Tribal Chief”. Seth and I are backing up and my eye catches him in the corner with a chair. As he is about to hit, I run back and take the chair shot to my back. I black out due to the chair hitting a certain nerve. All I remember is darkness and the raging “Boos” from the crowd.

I DO NOT OWN WWE OR ANY OF THE ROSTER/WRESTLERS. I don't own the banners/breakaway points, nor the music lyrics incorp into the fanfic.

I own ADELINE/HECATE, that's it. please repost/like just don't copy my work please and thank you!!

#wwe #wwe imagine #wwe fanfiction #wwe raw #wwe smackdown #royal rumble #wwe roman reigns #wwe seth rollins #the shield #seth rollins #roman reigns #x oc #drabble #oneshot #fanfic #fandom #wrestling #seth rollins fanfiction #seth rollins x reader #x reader #wwe one shot #wwe oc

[wraithsoutlaws]

Then & Now the (x: perfect drug) edition:

Inspired by the fandom to look back and celebrate the boys' journey as well as my own in terms of vp.

March 2021, ps4.

I never created Dagger with the intention to ship him with anyone, but by the time I got here on his file it felt strangely natural. He was still a very fresh oc but things began to click immediately and genuinely felt like it was meant to be. The development of him as a character began to happen side by side with this silly little ship and both ended up becoming really personal and special to me.

It's hard getting decent shots on ps4 with anyone. It's especially hard when it's a minor npc with extremely limited screen time available! You have no idea how many times I went back and played these two quests trying to get something interesting. Honestly I'm really grateful for my time on ps4 not only because it helps me appreciate what I can do now a little more, but I think a lot of my growth happened here, stretching the limited resources I had available.

July 2021, ps4

Learning how to work within the confines of totally vanilla photomode, getting creative with base game poses and skipping time to find the best natural light, etc. I'm still proud of these pictures, they capture an intimacy that I think is really special, and at the time were some of my favorites I'd ever taken, and even now I can note the growth between these and the first ones I'd taken.

April 2022, laptop

The first pictures taken on my laptop and my first time posing them with AMM/setting up a scene. I might like to retake these some day. I'm more critical of them than I am of my ps4 pics tbh but they're still an important part of my journey. Over time I noticed red lighting had become my comfort zone, or more specifically, a crutch! So I've tried really hard since then to improve on that and push myself in different directions.

February 2023

It took me almost a year to feel comfortable enough with posing to attempt some goddam kisses. I'm still not very good at these but at least I improved in other ways. Honestly, I struggle with these two at times because they aren't your typical outwardly loving, cute couple, and I'm usually very strict with myself to keep them as in character as I can. That can make it hard to think of couples poses/ideas, both cute and spicy, but. they can be lovebirds as a treat.

May 2023

Only recently have I begun to feel a strong sense of style in my own work. Playing with lighting and scenes, and trying to jam as much personality as I can into these slice of life pictures is really important to me and is one of my favorite parts of doing this. They can be sweet together but it's important you see the other side of that (the blood, the knives, drugs, etc. Also Dagger resting his ashtray on Dum Dum is one of my personal favorite quirks). I really try to put a lot of their life into pictures like this. I want to convey all the parts of who they are together, even if nobody else notices.

June/July 2023

Its pretty hard to articulate how important these two have become for me over the last couple years. I've been playing this game since release and haven't had this sort of steady inspiration or creativity for years. Even on the bad days, just thinking about them is enough to get me through as silly as it sounds. I've grown so much not only in VP but my own art (something I had all but entirely abandoned until I picked up this game). They've provided an outlet I've been searching for for a very long time, and I'm really grateful for that. It's kinda wild looking back at where it started, and seeing how far it's come. Sometimes I still struggle with my perception/the worth of my work but I can't deny the happiness its brought me either.

Including a couple other character ship pics under the cut c:

I'm always a little insecure about my ship pics specifically, I'm very bad at comparing myself with others! But I put a lot of love into these and I can see the improvement when I look at them over time. Regardless of anything, they were all made with lots of love and I hope that comes across.

#cyberpunk 2077 #oc: dagger #dum dum #x: perfect drug #and others under the cut but just a lil #ty for reading if you read #this silly game means so much to me!! #and even if this fandom has been a little rocky at times it also is very dear to me #yall have helped me so much i hope you know that <3

[almaadst]

Which art do you like best? (´∀｀)♡

This is my second year in which I made a living just from my artwork and I'm SO grateful for that! ✨ I improved my commission schedule this year, I have always someone on my waiting list and I didn't have to take a break due to a lack of customers! Also, I'm happy with how my artwork looks but still want to improve it, and - my biggest struggle - I want to start drawing for myself. I bought a drawing tablet recently and I hope it helps me with it! 🤲

But let’s do a little rewind! As usual, almost all my artworks are commissioned work but in January I was posting redraws of my OCs which I didn't upload last year - I have to get back to those it was so much fun! This year I did more fanfiction covers (February, August, November, December) - which I LOVE to draw and I added this option to my commission info! Also did more illustrations with more than two characters (April, May) which is always challenging - especially interaction between them - but group pics were something I always I wanted to do more. I also did a few things for myself (June) including my OCs which is always refreshing to get back to my own creations. The next thing I enjoy making are "comic pages" (July, September) It makes storytelling in art much easier and fun, maybe I should make a proper comic page in the new year? And I have to mention making Bleach-related staff (March, October) as a long Bleach fan I still can't believe we have a new anime season, and making artwork connected to character design is something I would like to expand in 2024. Unfortunately, I didn't do any art raffles and art challenges this year and it's something I find joy in so I definitely have to go back to it! ~ I didn't really meet my last year's art resolutions so I will not try to force myself to do anything this year lol But I hope I will still do what brings me joy and this is what I wish for you too!

Thank you for being here, Alex 🌷

Other: Art Summary of 2022 Art Summary of 2021 Art Summary of 2020 Art Summary of 2018 Art Summary of 2017

#alex here #almaadst art summary 2023 #art summary 2023 #art summary #art #almaadst art summary #illustration #commissions #art commission #oc drawing #oc art #oc commission #fanfic cover #fanfic cover commission #art cover #bleach #bleach art #bleach commission #comic page #comic page commission #my art #almaadst

[dballzposting]

GOTENKS GETS A GIRLFRIEND

Comic from an entire year ago (April 2022) that I just never worked on and finished until now...!

Basically HE MEETS A WEIRD GIRL AT THE SKATEPARK! Lol. I promised that I would never post about her until I had pics to post and you have no idea how many times I had to bite my tongue. 

More info about her + the whole situation + additional and old pics under the cut! BUT It’s really long so you can just appreciate the comic on its own if you’d like.

(Yes the first page is very deliberately mirroring the infamous “Ariel Gets Legs” comic.)

Hi c:

So this was a year ago so let’s see what I remember.

Basically it was March 2022 and that’s springtime for me and the sunshine was starting to affect me. And I was listening to Owl City because that’s the kind of springtime it was. And I was listening to “Deer In The Headlights” by Owl City and I Locked Eyes with my Gotenks figurine and I ... had a vision. This IDEA sprang FULLY-FORMED from my head like the birth of Athena.

You see, watching DBZ, I got the impression that when Goten and Trunks were fused, they didn’t really remember what it was like after. Mainly I think this was from the way that after they unfused, everyone was like OMG YOU GUYS DID IT, and Goten and Trunks looked at each other and were like “...we did?” But I remember a few times just getting that impression.

I think however, that canonically, if that were ever the intention, it fell off quick for convenience's sake. And we don’t really get much implication on the retention of a fusion’s memory one way or the other anyway. BUT, the idea that they don’t remember much was a first impression that stayed with me.

So this idea sprang fully-formed from my head, in the unabashed high of March sunshine and Owl City, in which Gotenks gets a crush on a girl at the skatepark. And Goten and Trunks, who have less than half a memory each, have to piece this together bit by bit. (For example, it starts because often times when they unfuse after Skatepark Funtime, they note feeling a shred of something residual and Odd - anxiety, embarrassment, affection, adoration, discomfort, self-consciousness, anything and everything of that nature. And eventually, they work up the courage to mention it to the other, and they start solving it from there.)

In my head it would be a long and sweet fanfiction on the internet posted by a wholesome individual who would have a presence on fanfiction.net / deviantart / youtube for like 8 years until just dropping off and moving on to bigger and brighter things ... YOU EVER SEE THAT ? Someone who is just COMMITTED to their OC x Canon and they’re friendly and prominent in their own corner of fandom and they do it for years? Yeah. Yeah that was the vibe of this.

I’m not going to be that person and put in the time for that though so just imagine it in your head pls...

The whole point of all of this was definitely just to be so sweet and wholesome. You could replace this post with clipart of the sun and that would get the point across more succinctly I think (seen below)

Anyway.

Now, The Girl. From the beginning I didn’t know how to go about her personality. Should she be rude and rough and disapproving of Gotenks, like the song that sparked this? She would certainly fit into the franchise. Should she be so so sweet like the sunshine that’s feeding this? Maybe she likes the fact that she and Gotenks both have two-toned hair. Or should she be something in the middle, or something else entirely? Maybe it depends on whom she’s talking to?

I figured that if she was sweet, there would be a scene where Trunks is at the skatepark alone and he ends up running into her. He thinks that she seems familiar, and something in him takes pause. She tells him that she’s seen him before, but doesn’t he usually have a buddy with him? He says “Yeah, my buddy Goten-” and she chirps up excitedly, interrupting - “Gotenks?” He stutters a bit, corrects her - “similar name, yeah, but no..” - and at her moment’s sadness and the tug in his chest, it all clicks in his head. 

Otherwise, though, I never formulated a concrete idea.

The thing is I accepted early on that her character was fluid, as in, she would be whatever I needed her to be. I bit the bullet early - “yeah, she’s a fan character made to be the girlfriend of a canon character, yep, this is what’s happening.” So I didn’t stress over how she should turn out, just that, as a yarn-spinner, I’d have yarn to spin. HOWEVER, as I’ve brought this concept back a few times throughout the past year, a semi-static characterization has formed. More on that + her design later.

SO. GOTENKS. THE ACTUAL STORY. From the very beginning it was simply this - Goten & Trunks like to go to the skatepark as Gotenks because it’s wild and reckless fun. They don’t remember much, but they do retain the manic glow of someone having just indulged in their favorite activity. Gotenks SHREDS ! He’s SWAG!! King of the park, man!!

However. There comes a day where he meets a girl who makes him Shut Up. Gotenks, who is always confident and rambunctious, actually becomes stricken speechless. Hence the reference to “Ariel Gets Legs.” So whether she treats him well or not, we have this story where he becomes subdued and shocked around this girl at the skatepark. 

I also had this reeeaaally cute idea that I haven’t drawn yet where his Kamikaze Ghosts act as his inner voice and give him away. He gets nervous around her and just starts coughing, and coughing and coughing and then he HACKS up a ghost who looks at her and says. “WOWIE ZOW! Hottawhat MOMMA! Hoo wow now THAT bird’s got FEATHERS!” and just weird antiquated shit and Gotenks has to stand there and try to get it to shut up without touching it and causing an explosion (and usually those ghosts are his Guys like his Gang like his Lackies his Toadies usually they do what he tells them to do and they make for some swag epic effects when doing shows at the skatepark yknow. But now they are Ruining Everything!!!)

An early concept would be that they meet because he Eats Cement at the halfpipe and she’s there to clean up the mess because his decommissioned cadaver is Blocking The Lane (previously posted pic for reference:)

EARLY and never-before seen pic for reference:

Anyway. So let’s talk about her design

I could have designed her Any Way I Wanted but I followed my heart ... and my heart wanted to make a character based off of a Bird. DON’T ASK ME WHY.

I really like Dark-Eyed Juncos because they migrate to where I live during the winter and I think they’re so sweet. However at this time I had given the Junco schtick to a different OC of mine so I went .. “Ok. What if I used the Yellow-Eyed Junco instead?” Now that was the right move. Pictures of Yellow-Eyed Junco from google Below:

AREN’T THEY CUTE ?! :D

Most of this OC’s colors are actually directly lifted from the bird itself. 

And her design definitely has bird inspirations, like her fluffy goddamn dress that looks like it’s stuffed with feathers, and her spiky two-toned ponytail meant to summon to mind a bird’s tail, and of course her pointy nose.

Here’s another drawing from the time where I was wanting to doodle hair more akin to that which you see on characters like Bulma and Arale (I actually referenced some pictures of Arale in the early design phase)

I still use this picture as a color ref. And her dress just looks so so soft here. I love it a lot.

Anyway. So her NAME.

I thought about this one for a while. I knew that her name ought to be a pun, or just otherwise stupid and goofy. I cycled through a few ideas. I didn’t want to be too unorthodox, but in the end I followed my heart and did a REVERSE-PUN:

Her name is Junco.

This is a real Japanese name. 

She is, like, the only character to have a real and conventional and normal name.

However, she is based off of the Junco bird. 

Her name is pronounced like the real Japanese name though, not the bird.

Jokes on you, asshole.

Runner-ups were “Plum” from “plumage” and for the color of her dress, and the different names for the bird in different languages.

Anyway. So, JUNCO. What’s her deal? To start, as a character, she has bird motifs, and all bird puns are applicable, even if not applicable to the yellow-eyed junco specifically (for example, wayward quotes from her about eating bugs or seeds, or her lexicon containing words like “preening” rather than “bathing,” is valid and likely.)

I think at the beginning I thought that she had a mom whom she lived with and who would pick her up from the park but at some point that dissolved. For all intents and purposes she’s just been Singular. Individual. Independent. TBH I think that she’s been damn lonely.

At some point the vibes became that she, for whatever reason, is alone. She didn’t migrate when the rest did. Maybe she’s waiting for them to return, maybe they never will. But when everyone else goes home at the city-imposed skatepark curfew, she’s the last to wander away and hoist her board into a tree or on top of a streetlamp somewhere and watch the starless sky. 

Gotenks’s reality as a fusion factors into this - he too has a time limit for her, and she’ll never understand what dictates his capricious comings and goings.

As I mentioned, there are lots of branches to this story tree, but whether she likes him or he likes her or they have a rivalry of sorts until coming to hold hands, the trunk of the story is always that they are both weird kids whom no one else understands. 

What’s come to be, and what I’ve been able to articulate clearly only recently, is that Junco and Gotenks bond in the way that two lonely and traumatized kids do. I can’t explain it, it’s just the vibes native to their story. 

But of course, what’s ACTUALLY native to the story is that there are fusion shenanigans with Gotenks’s Cinderella-esque time-limit and this girl at the skatepark who loves him/hates him/befriends him and they know each other intermittently throughout the years and it’s a super sweet & wholesome story and it’s dripping with playful drama and sunshine and they race each other on their boards to “Loaded (George Noriega Radio Edit 2)” by Ricky Martin ..!

And yeah following the events of the above comic she probably keeps the truck to his board + his skate tool + the screws and she uses them to line her nest (other items in her nest include a cartoonish decrepit wood stove and a copy of “Waking The Tiger” by Peter A. Levine.) 

ALSO: The world of potential surrounding the idea of if/how she finds out that Gotenks is a fusion, how she feels about Goten & Trunks, ETC ETC is .. largely untapped because it’s just not my focal point. But there is lots to say, and I have thought a lot about it before, and if I play my cards right I’ll get to post about that later. 

Sorry for the extensive text with minimal visual incentive. I’m hoping to post more pics of them soon when I make them/finish them, but in truth I tend to abruptly come in and out of fascination for this concept, so if I never ever post about it again don’t be surprised. :(

And the thing is last year I posted a lot about Gotenks At The Skatepark and I truly did have myself a bit of an obsession (to the point where I tried to pick up the hobby myself) and that all started with this one random idea of Gotenks meeting a girl at the skatepark .. What a nice thing. Truly one of dballzposting’s few wholesome moments. It was nurturing for the soul.

Thanks for reading. Stay gorgeous out there

#dballz posting #dballz draws #Gotenks #dballz ocs

[glitchpirate]

It's 2023 and I'm still using the same template now 7 years in a row! Yippeee!

This year I decided to ramble about each artwork presented so uh. Storytime! Under the cut.

(Also usual reminder that now I have a GW2 side blog so that's where I'll upload GW2 artworks from now on -> @glitchgw2 (except the zine piece because I entered the zine with this blog))

January: I was going through a bit of an artblock, most of the things I drew this month were traced. One of the only things not traced was this Anassy! "Ah, etto... bleh!" I said after tracing the 5th drawing I saw on the internet.

February: a commission! Long overdue, but I finally finished it. Sylvaries are always tough to render. >.< The other things I drew this month were art party doodles and personal stuff.

March: one of the two months where the featured piece is the only thing I "finished" that month. And last minute, too! Made for trans visibility day which was on the very last day of March.

April: due to several things, Tyria Pride 2022's art commission giveaways got delayed to 2023. This was my piece for the person I was assigned to! ^_^ This was fun, I found out some new ways to render sylvari hair...

May: I vividly remember seeing a Diavolo art with this same reference and I was like hey. I could do this too but with Lucien. How haven't I done this before. P.S.: he's actually nothing like Bateman but it's a sick cover anyway lol. Mmm knife...

June: it was a sick (as in like epic) month for me. I reworked Dawn and Incendere (my Ghost OC), welcomed my unhinged self and drew a lot of nsfw. But not good nor holy enough to share. :P But it was a nice practice anyway. I chose one drawing of Dawn because out of everything I drew it looks the most "clean" and finished.

July: I remembered My Life as a Teenage Robot as I do tri-monthly and almost made an AU for Lucien. Almost. So instead I just made whatever this is. This was one of the most fun pieces I've ever did, I finally feel comfortable lining in CSP and just in general this was super shapey and smooth to work on. <3

August: Tyria Pride giveaway commission but this time, in time! I got to work on a lovely charr which I don't do often! My other choices would have been a cropped nsfw commission but I lowkey like this one better.

September: the other month where I didn't draw anything but this. Had a banger idea for Gliaster's future which is them becoming a lich but also being corrupted by malignant powers so they're now even more evil and also driven by vengeance towards the Commander and Aurene. Tried to come up with a design for them, alas this piece. It's... very in progress. But I like said progress so far.

October: the opportunity for an art related full-time job came up which meant I had to up my portfolio and draw some realistic/semi-realistic studies. I was surprised by myself lmao but ngl it was also a big pain in the ass. Art is suffering. <3

November: the continuation of October but now with an original piece! Felt like drawing one of my best friend's GW2 characters. <3 Haven't uploaded this one yet as I might rework the background sometime.

December: and finally, my piece for Commander Of Your Heart GW2 zine! Which wasn't actually restricted to only Commander characters, but any other OCs/player characters too, so of course I chose Gliaster. :D And we can apparently show teasers, so I can include this little bit! But what is Gliaster up to? Find out in February, for free!

*

Aaand that's it. It was actually super fun to look back to the year not only in pictures but some words too. :D If you read this all, I appreciate you, thank you so much. <3

#2023 #2023 art summary #art summary #my art #im gonna be evil and tag the fandoms too <3 #rayman #gw2 #guild wars 2 #splatoon #tf2

[skyc47su]

2nd Sky Anniversary

I first played this game on March 22, 2022 and I'm still going!

My first Days of event was in fact, Days of Bloom. As a moth, I was so enamored how pretty it was (even though I didn't know what it was for, other than some occasional wax being dropped). So I wanted to feature in my drawing the wisteria bloom. Today's the first day of Days of Bloom event too, quite fitting!

Chii, my chibi SkyCOTL OC, was how I mostly looked as a moth (the sakura cape and tearful miner hair was my first cape and hair!). Minos, my tallkid SkyCOTL OC, is how my default outfit often looks today! If you do manage to bump into me in-game, hello there!

I'm not exactly too proud on this piece. It feels a bit messier than what I would've wanted ;o; I think my eyes had a hard time focusing, plus the summer heat makes it hard to work on my overheating computer. Whew!

#skyblr #skycotl #days of bloom #sky children fanart #sky fanart #thatskyart #moof art

[ackee]

Hii so I’m tryna make a neocities for myself + my ocs and I’ve watched your video countless of times and I’m still in the process of trying to understand coding itself cause it’s hard a lilttle bit! did you learn coding beforehand when you started your neocities or you just figured it out overtime with zero experience on coding?

hiiii! i did know coding a lil bit beforehand since i've been on tumblr 10+ yrs! but my knowledge was p rudimentary since i only ever edited tumblr themes, i didnt know how to make a webpage from scratch until around march 2022 when i started my neocities.

so from 2012 - 2022, i probably understood 10% of coding basics, then from march 2022 - present day i've learned another 55%. brute forcin it ftw 💪🏾

(it probably also helps that im in school for compsci, learning other programing languages makes it a lot easier to understand the syntax of html/css/and esp javascript!)

#askee

[skelleste]

2023 Art Summary

Some of the many things I worked on over the past 365 days. More details below.

Happy New Year!

Just like last year, 2023 was full of even more character art, including a brand spanking new OC. You haven't seen much of the comic yet, because it's not done, but there's been progress on that in the background as well. I also started commissions last March. None are featured in this post so I could focus more on original art, but I wanted to give a special thank-you to all my past commissioners. Not a single one of you were a customer service nightmare, in fact it was quite the opposite. I appreciate everyone who's been kind enough to give me work and treat me well.

The rest of this post is going to be some of my favorite pieces by month, and a little about them. I usually spare my followers from most details in my posts, because there's often not much of interest to the public to say, so this is mostly self indulgent.

January

I decided to revisit Tom and Maudlin, as I hadn't drawn them much since creating them. Whenever I make a new character of importance, I try to go out of my way to put them in varied poses and expressions so that I am able to understand how their bodies work by the time I need them for a real project. It's also a great way to explore their personalities, although I feel that I'll have to push Tom's emotional side more in the future.

February

Props for the comic! It sucks to have to design things on the fly, so it helps to have notable objects designed beforehand. Especially if it's important to the plot. Some of these appear in more panels than others, but it smooths out the comic process nevertheless to have ample references on hand.

March

More character designs to spare me from designing mid-comic production. If they don't have lines in the comic, then I ask random people to assign names to them to make it fun, and because it's easier to keep straight who's who when they're not named Man 1 and Man 2. Left to right, they are Johnifer (you can already see why I name the ones with dialogue myself), Wanda, Jean Vincent, Booker, Charles, Maribelle, and Gertrude.

April

It'd be silly of me to pretend as if 90% of my output isn't shitposts. When you dedicate most of your art time to a project, then you're not going to end up making any other art unless you satisfy primitive monkey brain somehow. In my case, that's usually addressed by drawing funny shit. Early this year is when I discovered how easy it is to crack jokes with Scatterbrain. This goofiness is now embedded into her personality permanently. Expect more of this.

May

April-June is when I do my Art Fight preppin', which usually consists of me making a list of my most neglected OCs and giving them some attention. I also try to get around to eventually making all of them a reference sheet in this style, just so they have something standardized between them. This year, Walla Walla had her turn. She's a shitpost character, so I won't be drawing her much again, but she's a good excuse to draw some J-fashion doodles. My interests outside of cartoon stupidity don't really make it into my art often, so she's a minor outlet for some of it.

June

I've made even more character designs this year than last year, but they were all background characters, making Raoul the only new important one. He's been officially-unofficially written into the story since 2022, but it's very hard for me to make OCs that are written before they are designed. Everyone else was designed first and assigned a role in the plot later, so he got put off for a good while. I finally got around to it though, after I killed some darlings. He is now an all-new species, and I modified the chain design to something less clunky compared to what would be historically accurate.

July

July is, of course, Art Fight month. All other art is put on pause. This year, my favorite attack was a drawing of Enchanted Bones for my friend Bugles. I drew the character independently from the background, which is why the lighting situation is as unfortunate as it is, but we don't talk about that. Thank you to everyone who attacked me and made awesome art, I'll revenge you maybe in a few years. Sorry for the wait, but the backlog is mighty long.

August

Stanson got a slight redesign in the last year, so he can fit with the style of the comic better. He's actually the oldest character out of the bunch. I had no purpose for Scott when I made him and threw them together in the same folder. I had a few one-off designs that I figured I'd keep around in case I ever did an OCT, but these two got yoinked out of it when I started getting story ideas for the them. Stanson is a cowboy (not really), so it became a western setting to make sense of it. I plan on giving him the same sketchpage treatment the other characters have gotten, but I've been putting it off purposely for a while. You'll just have to wait.

September

And there it is, the inevitable page of Raoul getting into various mischief (and subsequently getting his ass beat half of the time). He has a very abrasive personality that gets him into trouble. I don't want the comic to be heavily action-based, but he naturally lands himself in these positions and it lets me draw characters in new situations. His introduction to the story is still a long way off at this point, but I can't wait to pit him against Scott in some slapstick shenanigans.

October

Spooky month is incredibly busy for me in real life, so there isn't as much time for art as I'd like there to be. That's why I dedicated all my time that month to trying to get Halloween art done in time. I've been a fan of Homestar Runner since childhood, and as soon as I thought that Raoul would pull off a Jigen Daisuke look, I knew I wanted to do a full Homestar-esque set of costumes. The other ideas quickly fell into place. My version came out way more detailed than theirs usually are though. The spirit of Halloween possessed me.

November

I started going full gear on the comic around this time (I think 28 hours in one week when I stayed home), so there's an absence of polished personal art here. Scatterbrain eating some spaghetti is my placeholder art for "I worked on a website a bunch instead". It's far from done, but I've made major strides since then.

December

A secret santa gift for my friend, Toby! I continued doing mostly comic work, but I also made room for a secret santa and scheduled a bunch of art trades to complete between December and March. The rest still have to be completed, so you'll see that throughout 2024. Anyway, Toby's OC, Thomas, is based on the state of Michigan. I plastered him on a postcard in front of a highway sign with some Robins because they're the state bird.

There were many more drawings of course, and you can find them scrolling through my Tumblr, or on my DeviantART (I switched to Tumblr as my main site in late August). I hope the new year brings many improvements and happiness for everyone. Last year my goal was simply to start on the comic, which I did, but it was also to get it uploadable, which I didn't. I'm gonna have to aim for the same goal again. Life things were largely fine but still tumultuous enough to throw me off-course, but now my most dangerous family member has moved out and it should be somewhat safer to live here. Not 100% safe though. It never will be. I generally avoid talking about the comic extensively as I won't have a solid release date for some time, so this is the last you'll hear of it for now outside of the rare WIP screenshot. Wish me luck and have a wonderful new year!

#art #artists on Tumblr #Happy New Year #long post #art summary #2023 summary #summary of art #summary of art 2023