the other day i was looking through the drawings on my old laptop and found this self-portrait art challenge thing i did at some point several years ago, so i thought it would be interesting to update it with my current self for old times' sake :-) i don't know why i felt the need to be so mean to myself in all the descriptions but i have tried to be at least slightly nicer this time around. sorry past me [id under cut]
[id: a series of four full-body digital drawings of a pale-skinned person at different ages. the first three depict me in 2007, 2013, and 2017 under the heading 'George'; the fourth, in a different art style, depicts me in 2023 under the heading 'Ned (I changed my name)'.
the first drawing shows a young child with long hair wearing a fluffy pink jumper, a pink skirt, and pink shoes. bullet points above read:
annoying
copies other people constantly
draws cute animals
arrogant
cries when told off
maybe 1 friend
the second drawing shows a young teenager wearing a hoodie and trainers and looking uncomfortable. bullet points above read:
anxious
listens to Simon and Garfunkel exclusively
bad under pressure
anime
writes bad fanfiction
draws bad fanart
the third drawing shows a smiling teenager wearing a plaid shirt, jeans, and brown boots. bullet points above read:
what the HELL is a Self Esteem
really into 60s music
cries a lot
0 fashion sense
usually dissociating
thinkin about trees
the fourth drawing shows a young man with messy brown hair, a striped brown shirt, a beige woollen tank top, and burgundy plaid trousers; he is leaning on a wood-textured folding cane and holding the strap of a brown leather satchel with his other hand. bullet points above read:
still no self-esteem but medicated now
significantly worse handwriting (wrist knackered)
I haven't changed much to be honest
RBF so severe I get followed around by the security guards at the supermarket
autism
end id.]
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https://www.tumblr.com/beatingheart-bride/720608029029089280/beatingheart-bride-theheadlessgroom
@beatingheart-bride
“Me? Oh, no, no,” he replied, once more stifling a yawn (who said he yawned, he didn’t yawn, no sirree!), as he rolled his shoulders a little, his head resting on his arms, propped up on the tub as he smiled at her, insisting, “I’m not tired, I could go for hours...!”
Who cared if it was a work night? To blazes with Minnie and her rotten haberdashery, with its snooty clientele and obnoxious employees and Minnie herself cracking the whip day and night! He would enjoy his evening, thank you very much, he would enjoy his night in the company of his lovely siren, and would stay with her until the wee hours if he so pleased, thank you very much! He wasn’t tired, far from it, he was wide awake and ready...ready to party...
With that, he was out like a light, dozing off right there up against the tub, a content little smile on his face, his head swimming with dreamy images of life beneath the waves of the bayou, and what it would be like to swim alongside the fishes, the alligators, to explore the depths and find underwater flora and deep, buried treasure...
…all of this and more, with Emily by his side.
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Chapters: 2/?
Fandom: Succession (TV 2018)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Greg Hirsch/Tom Wambsgans, with hints of Roman/Gerri, the Roy siblings, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Greg Hirsch & Tom Wambsgans
Characters: Tom Wambsgans, Greg Hirsch, Roman "Romulus" Roy
Additional Tags: Mutual Pining, Touch-Starved, Almost Kiss, Post-Season/Series 03, a bit of a Roman character study, Intimacy, tomgreg through Roman lens, Accidental Voyeurism, Overheard Conversations, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Rating May Change, accidental Roman Roy character study, Forehead Touching, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Hugs, Roman doesn't know how to handle emotional intimacy, Imagining the face journey of Keiran Culkin, Sexual Content, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Tenderness, Repression, Roman hopes this doesn't awaken anything in him, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Roman Roy experiencing tomgreg shrimp emotions in real time, Pining, if I don't get this exact scenario in season 4 Jesse Armstrong I'm on your doorstep
Summary:
No one had ever held Roman in such a way, and here he was, watching the two weirdo peripheral members of the family find solace in one another.
God. How fucking desolate, how cold, how fucked up was the Roy family, exactly, that the only source of genuine, intimate warmth that Roman had witnessed… was between his weird cousin and his fucking brother-in-law?
---
Post season 3. During Connor's engagement party, Roman is sent on a quest to rummage through Greg's hotel room to find out if he was the mole that sold them out to Logan. While there, Greg returns home early with Tom in tow, and Roman, hiding in a cleaning closet, is forced to witness the full, deranged spectrum of Tom and Greg's relationship over the span of about an hour.
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wdnftp bg3 ficlet (jat!tav)
The transition between home and here is a blur in her memories. Most of what’s left is the blaze of magic she summoned, a shield of icy air that hardened into spikes as she and Loreleaf grabbed each other and held on for dear life. The magic sang in her blood like plucked harp strings, sharper than a dagger’s edge, growing louder and louder — but not in the way that meant it was getting stronger, the way she was familiar with. The timbre of it, the rush of it in her blood, the colors — everything sharpened and rose and began to whine. The shield held through it all until it didn’t. The moment Jat saw the sky change colors between bits of the vessel that had scooped them up, the magic screamed in her ears like glass being shattered, or like the scrape of a blade against a blade, and the shield exploded away.
The sudden, wrenching silence hurt more than anything. More than anything else that has ever hurt her, the silence hurt — it should have killed her, she thinks sometimes. She’s grateful it didn’t, mostly, but living with the silence isn’t much of a runner-up prize.
She still talks to it, although it doesn’t talk back. She can’t bring herself to give a shit about any of the gods here, so who else is she going to pray to? The mysterious dream visitor who looks so much like Doli Lin, whose voice matches his, with twice the real Doli Lin’s confidence and half his comfort? Nah. He’s no god, and he hasn’t earned Jat’s prayers.
What else is left but the hollow where her magic used to be? A little shrine in her chest, hollow, without so much as her heart to fill it with.
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I need more fanboy Clark Kent in my life.
Like, he's seen Bruce Wayne interact with a child once and immediately fell in love with the guy. Now his bedroom walls are plastered with posters and he follows several social media accounts focused on capturing pictures of Bruce with kids and/or animals etc. He defends Bruce to anyone, no matter the antics he gets up to and it has become a bit of a running gag around the office.
Then, one day, Cat is out sick and someone jokingly suggests Clark should cover the gala in her stead, seeing as Bruce Wayne will be there and maybe this'll be Clark's shot to finally get his man? To everyone's surprise, Perry really does assign the gala coverage to Clark, who spends the days leading up to the event in a state somewhere between absolute panic and ultimate bliss.
But when the day finally arrives, Bruce doesn't show.
Of course Clark does his job and interviews everyone there (yes, even Lex Luthor) but a part of him spends all night waiting for Bruce to crash the party late, like he so often does.
Eventually, Clark gives up hope and it's shortly after that, that he stumbles upon one of the children dragged along to the event by their parents. Because apparently someone thought a charity gala was a good environment for an eight year old. The parents are nowhere in sight and the child is close to tears, so Clark makes it his mission to cheer the little girl up, regaling her with stories from his upbringing on a Kansas farm while he searches the crowd for her family.
With Clark thus occupied, he doesn't notice Bruce Wayne finally making his appearance for the night. But Bruce definitely notices him. The gentle giant who's all kind smiles and corny jokes... Until he finds the girl's parents. Uncaring of the fact that he's here on a job and that these people are richer than any one person should be and could easily sue him into oblivion, he takes them aside, fire in his eyes, and tears them a new one for losing track of their kid like this. Anything could have happened to her and maybe the readers of the Daily Planet would like to know about that? After all, how reliable and trustworthy could a company whose CEOs won't even look after their own daughter really be?
Bruce is immediately smitten. The passive-aggressive lecture and subtle threats - not to mention the broad shoulders and handsome face - are incredibly attractive to him and he wastes no time cornering the man afterwards.
Clark, who is so starstruck by the mere sight of Bruce coming towards him that he loses the ability to speak, nearly faints when Bruce just straight up shoves his tongue into his mouth. They end up in one of the coat rooms and Clark thinks that's it, just a one night stand. It sucks that he won't see Bruce again, but the night was amazing and at least he has the memory to treasure, right?
He thinks that right up until he gets to work the next day and two dozen red roses are waiting for him on his desk. There's a handwritten card nestled inbetween the petals and on it is the name of a restaurant along with a date and time. It's signed by Bruce.
And that is how Clark gets together with his celebrity crush.
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I don't know if you've ever been to Paris before, but I recommend going. Normally, I would not have gone, but I made a really rich enemy on IRC and he spent a lot of money to have me kidnapped and brought to his home country. While I was there, I got to try a bunch of restaurants (they're hostage-takers, not barbarians) and came away impressed. Something was missing, though, and herein is my genius idea.
In Paris you can get any kind of food. Chinese, Vietnamese, Japanese, Thai: and it's all good. All of it. You literally can't find a bad restaurant. At one point, I walked into a convenience store and got a plate of one-Euro nachos that made me cry at the beauty of the arrangement.
Everyone around me was taking this for granted. Having lived there for years, their quality threshold had crept invisibly upwards until nothing could impress again. They needed something to re-calibrate their sense of truly bad food. That's where I came in. After I got kicked out of the country, I decided to come back with some investor support. I can burn cereal, usually by roasting it gently with a blowtorch on the top of an old gas can. Investors were easy to find.
Our first week of opening was tremendous. Hardened Parisians were discovering their first taste of truly incompetent food. The novelty of it all had captured them. There's just one problem, though: after making an entire lunch rush's feast of poorly-cut toast in reheated canned soup, my cooking skills began to improve from sheer experience. The complaints began to change tone. You got too good, they cried, you're not the same bad chef we once loved. Again, I was deported.
I looked out the window of the plane as it left De Gaulle, staring down onto the beautiful streets of Paris. Down there, I imagined, real gourmets were now eating food out of trash cans out of desperation to recapture what they had experienced with me. If there is one nice thing to be said, I now have two Michelin Stars here in my homeland of Canada, where my consommé-and-grilled-cheese recipe is now so much better than most of our restaurants that it made the Prime Minister Herself come and spit in my face for ruining the economy, before awarding me an Order of Canada. It's not the same.
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Danny Fenton is so damn sick of rich fruit loops. It’s worse now, since he’s one of them.
It’s not Vlad that he’s with, thank the Ancients, but Danny isn’t sure that this is better.
Because he’s Timothy Drake, a baby, and he’s been reincarnated after the Ancient of Reincarnation accidentally drank too much wine.
He’s going to kick their ass so hard when he gets back.
Danny huffs. He rolls over, ignoring the silent manor. Sure, he’s read the comics. Sure, he laughed and imagined being adopted by Batman- come on, Danny had black hair and blue eyes even back then, he was totally adoption bait- when his parents gave him reason to lose trust in their love. But that’s it, that’s all he thought it was. A day dream, a wish for a universe that didn’t exist.
Danny hadn’t understood the reality of the whole Infinite Realms thing, a place he was now the King of. Batman? Real. Danny? Reincarnated. Hotel? Trivago.
Like, this wasn’t what he meant, dammit.
And now he’s stuck as Timothy Drake, and Ancients, he was starting to see parallels.
——
Danny tried photography. He really did. He wanted to at least stick to the source material. But that’s not who he is. Even with the shiny new brain that memorized, catalogued, and put together clues at the snap of his fingers, but Danny’s never been one to take photos. It’s a respectable art, for sure, but Danny preferred to live in the moment instead of capturing it to remember forever. It’s just-
He watched the Graysons fall. He watched Dick Grayson turn into Robin. And Danny can’t and won’t ever betray his Obsession like that, ever again. He can’t let Jason die for his “story” to begin. That’s not how Danny works.
He’s there to protect.
Danny hasn’t ever been just Tim. Danny was also Tim and the Ghost King without a haunt. But now? Gotham is his haunt. He, in lieu of an actual city spirit, is Gotham. He’s also a Drake. And Drakes were meant to hoard.
Batman and Robin? They are his.
He claimed them, as a Drake. But that claim is weak. So he claimed them as their city, and that is a claim that will never be able to be challenged.
Danny’ll be damned before he allows some lanky starved clown beat the life out of one of his Robins. So, for the first time in his nine years on this planet, Tim-Danny goes ghost and flies.
“Who- who. Are you?” Robin slurred from his place in Danny’s hold. He is broken, yes. But not dead. Danny infuses some of his vitality, his ecto, into Jason’s injuries to help them heal.
“Gotham.” Danny replied, layering his ghostly voice with those of the city.
“Goth’m?”
“Gotham. Sleep, little bird. Your city has got you.”
When Robin, Jason, settled with a sense of trust that tugs at Danny’s core, Danny carried him to Batman, whose eyes were wild and manic. He glared menacingly at the green and white ghost in front of him, who was holding his broken and beaten son-
Well, it’d be menacing if Danny hadn’t watched him eat bricks and mortar, crashing into a building while using his grappling gun.
“You-”
“I am Gotham.” Danny cut him off. Despite his wary nature and natural paranoia, Batman settled at his city’s gaze rested on him. Danny knew that Batman recognized his city. Batman’s head bowed, but his eyes stayed on Robin. “You were supposed to take care of Robin.”
“I- I know.” And that voice was all Bruce Wayne the Dad instead of Batman the Vigilante. Danny gently placed Robin in Batman’s arms, taking in the tremors as he held his son close.
“Go back, Bruce. And make sure Jason knows how much you love him.”
He laughed as Bruce whipped his head upwards. “I am your city. You are mine as much as I am yours. I’ve known of you before you were born.”
Technically? Not untrue. But Bruce will chalk it up to weird magic shit. It’s not like it’s a secret that Gotham’s kind of curse. Besides, this way, Danny will be able to help out more often. And Bruce won’t be able to connect Tim Drake to the “Spirit of Gotham.”
“Return, my knight. This is not your city. I can not protect you as well as I can in Gotham.”
“Thank you… Gotham.”
Danny sighed. He wondered when he’ll have to field questions from a John Constantine. He’s pretty sure Bruce will call in magical help, even if it was his own city he was investigating.
Batman’s lucky Danny liked him enough to allow it.
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