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#vel drawls
aethulean · 9 months
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the genuine temptation to blaze that post is so strong. i want to inflict as much psychic damage as physically possible
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originemesis · 1 month
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@voxistem from xxx
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TV TROPES DOT ORG, GIVE ME THE RUN DOWN. UH OH, LOOKS LIKE A CLASSIC CASE OF IMMORTAL IMMATURITY. but never you mind, dear audience! your host lives with velvette and valentino, he can handle a tantrum or two. this one comes with the added bonus of a holy, angelic soul. well, not so holy anymore but angelic nonetheless. you don't just throw away this kind of opportunity. angel souls are a hefty sum of power, like a briefcase stuffed with wads of cash, requiring transfers in intervals. a little wining and dining, some added expenses — boom, contract signed. and hey, the feathered menace is steadily growing on him. if nothing else, vox has always been fond of rock. ( not necessarily when it's blasting through the tower at three in the morning, but he's adjusting. ) vox makes a show of looking him up and down appreciatively, LED grin flashing across his display as he taps a claw against adam's mask, a static-laced chuckle sounding from his speakers. the fuckboy look suits him. ❝ the prettiest. ❞ the overlord drawls, snaking a clawed grip around the fallen angel's waist, mostly just to hold him in place and steer him down the corridor, in the direction of the elevator, with no more fuss. they have reservations after all. ❝ purple's a good colour on you, birdy. might have to get you more of this. what'dya think, huh? i'm sure vel would love to have you model for her. ❞ out front, there's a limo awaiting them.
Well, it wasn't like he could say this was his preferential placement and all, but it did beat lying in a puddle of blood and used condoms that weren't even his outside of that fucking Lucifer's place...even with cunt^3'd over there vamping on his soul. If it looked like a leech, latched like a leech, and smiled like a leech- it was probably just a TV. In this case, one with legs and enough influence in hell to keep him from getting bulldozed by all the sinners he'd tortured over the years- or worse yet: bored. That was one thing he didn't do very well at all with that attention span of his.
Neck craned down fairly far as if to acknowledge his company, but eyes swiveled elsewhere in a non-committal toss and subsequent roll, he would have his attention brought back to the center of his mask jarringly with the tapping of a claw and the surge of static that came with it and scrambled his face display a brief moment. Oh...? Equalizer bars slanted diagonally shot up and down a quavering moment across the bridge of his visor in the regular golden shade of his features mimicking the stain that was likely dusted across his face underneath at the relenting of a confirmation he didn't expect, but nonetheless packed onto the pile of his steadily stacking Jenga tower of an ego. He'd opened his mouth to pitch whatever saucy thought scuttled out from the knocked over leaf hiding his inner lizard of a mindset, but a side of squawk only emerges once he's yanked over by the hip and ushered towards the doors with a firm, but final say. They were late, and the walking microwave wasn't going to stand for it...or leave him to his Fortnite quests.
"Ehh- mid on most normies. I can elevate it though. Not sure Pinkie-Pie would appreciate the extra work with that hate boner she's got for me." He mused while fussing with a golden stud at the end of his horn, tugging like one might an earring when their hands had little else to do. The 'birdy' doesn't fly under his radar, but he merely huffs a challenge of sorts at the branding.
Challenge accepted.
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"Y'know, TV-Din-Dins ~ " The angel mused once he'd been bolstered over to the opening of the ride, talons digging in to the top of the vehicle and scratching his mark in with a firm screech. A sly grin slipped over his shoulder at the one looking to boot him in. "You keep playing the right channel, and I just might let you Netflix and chill a little more soul out of me later." Not that he would. Sometimes it was just cathartic to be simped over for no damned reason other than personal profit. Maybe women did have a cheat code.
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irresponsibility101 · 3 years
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have an unedited shittily written scribble featuring ailyn vel and boba fett but ailyn isn’t planning his murder mostly 
Fennec, unlike most people in the galaxy, knows that Boba has a daughter. If it was up to him then she wouldn’t, but she’d been with him when he’d drunk himself into oblivion a few month cycles ago and accidentally revealed that it was his kids birthday. He’d also said that she was dead, and had been since before he’d got out of the sarlacc.
Considering that there’s a twenty four year old with the same tattoos that the kid in the picture she pretended she didn’t know about had sprawled out on his throne, apparently that isn’t the case.
Fennec wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting from Boba’s daughter, but in hindsight, it should have been this exact thing. He’s a dramatic bastard, and from what she knows of Jango Fett, so was he.
“Y’know, dad, it’s usually seen as a dick move to not tell your kid that you’re not dead.” She drawls. She looks casual and relaxed, but Fennec has spent enough time around Boba to know that she’s absolutely fuming.
“Ail’ika.” He says, and Fennec doesn’t think he knows how desperate he sounds. Ailyn, judging by how she narrows her eyes, absolutely does. He very obviously wants to say something else, but he’s only mostly an idiot and can therefore tell that if your estranged daughter is very obviously pissed and has a knife in her hand, it probably isn’t a good thing to say something emotional. “I didn’t know you were in the system.” He says instead, and it’s all to obvious to see that he really means ‘I thought you were dead’.
“Oh I wasn’t, I was off having life changing bonding experiences with Wolffe’s feral child and Numa.” She says. “But I thought that coming back from the dead deserved a visit from your favourite child.” She pauses. “I mean, I assume I’m your favourite child on account of being your only child, but considering that I didn’t get an invitation to the ‘I’m not dead and am now in charge of Tatooine and best buds with the fucking mand’alor’ party, I think I might have to reconsider.”
He’s fucked.
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bktynes-writes · 3 years
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Hey friends! Chapter 2 is up because I’m impatient and didn’t wanna wait to post until Tuesday. Please let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters. Read on ao3.
The Blood of the Covenant
Chapter 2: Drinks
Dean's mouth had gone dry. He sat, frozen, hand clasped firmly in the grip of the man in front of him. He was dimly aware of the fact that he had taken far to long to respond, and the look Castiel was giving him now made him even more painfully aware of the knot forming in his stomach.
Novak. The name rang in his ears. He composed himself and managed to shake the man's hand before withdrawing his own and lifting his glass. 
"Novak, huh? What is that, Serbian?" He grinned at the surprised look that crossed the face of the other man.
"Yes, actually." He turned back to face the bar. "Most people don't get that the first try."
Dean chanced a glance at him from the corner of his eye and caught the small smile still tugging at the corner of his lips. Something in Dean's chest tightened as he wondered what it would be like to see him smile in earnest.
"So, Castiel, do you make a habit of jumping into random people's bar fights?" Dean asked. He motioned to Lee for another round. The alcohol in his veins made him less aware that he was sitting with a potential rival and more aware of how attractive he found the man.
"No, I can't say that I do," Castiel replied. "But I'm new in town. And I like this bar. I would rather it not be sullied by unsavoury company." He thanked Lee with a nod as he placed down two bottles of beer on the bar.
"Well, Dean here is about the most 'unsavoury' as it usually gets in here, and you seem to have made his acquaintance rather nicely." Lee provided with a smirk.
"Dean," Castiel said to no one in particular. It was like he was testing the name, rolling it around on his tongue to see how it felt, and when he let it loose from behind is lips in that low growl of a voice, Dean felt his knees wobble, making him very thankful for the stool under him.
"Right, yeah. Dean Smith," He introduced himself, and he didn't miss the look from Lee who, mercifully, did not comment at his use of a pseudonym. "Sales representative with Sandover Enterprises." He smiled.
"Sandover?" Castiel questioned. "The steel distributor?"
"The very one," Dean replied, raising his beer to Lee and giving him a look that he hoped conveyed the importance of his silence. It must have worked because Lee turned and busied himself cutting limes on the back bar.
"I see." Said Castiel. "Tell me, Dean, can I often expect to have to jump in and save you from brutes prowling alleyways and backwater establishments? No offence." He added to Lee, who raised his hands in surrender and continued to obviously ignore their conversation.
Dean chuckled. "No, I'm usually good on my own, Cas. It's just been a long day."
Castiel's lips twitched at the use of the nickname. "Ah. I understand. The last few weeks have been...exhausting."
"Oh yeah?" Dean looked the man up and down, letting his eyes linger slightly on his broad shoulders, his throat where his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, and back to his impossibly blue eyes. "You don't look like a labourer. And I'm guessing this whole tax accountant thing you've got going isn't the case either from the way you swing a punch. What do you do?" He felt like he was in grade school trying to make friends again, asking what their favourite colour was.
"My family..." Castiel began, pausing and looking down at his drink. "Let's just say we've got varied interests." He smiled slyly at Dean, who was suddenly very aware of how his hands were itching to reach out and thread themselves through Castiel's hair. He kept them clasped tightly around the cold glass of his beer bottle instead.
"Well, maybe it's a good thing I ran into you then, Cas," Dean drawled. He let his tongue dart out quickly to wet his lips and didn't miss the way Castiel's eyes flicked down at the movement. "I've got some 'varied interests' of my own." 
Dean could see the man's pupils dilate over the bottle that hung at his mouth. There was a distinct red tinge to his cheeks as his eyes flitted across Dean's face, from his lips to his eyes to his throat, back to his lips. Dean pulled his lower lip between his teeth and smiled at the nearly inaudible gasp that escaped the other man.
Dean heard Lee cough, fake and dramatic, behind him. He grimaced as the trance Castiel's eyes held over him was broken. Cas shook himself and turned his face from Dean to peer sheepishly at Lee, who was now smirking at both of them.
"Well, Mr. Smith, thank you for this...eventful evening. When I say the pleasure was mine, I mean it most sincerely." He took one last long swig from his beer and clambered off of his seat. "Perhaps if I'm lucky, I'll get the chance to see you again." He turned on his heel, trenchcoat billowing behind him as the breeze from the door caught it. Then he was gone.
"Dean Smith?" Lee chided. "Really?"
Dean didn't realize he had turned to watch him leave until he heard Lee speak. He spun around to see a knowing smirk plastered across his face and rolled his eyes.
"What?" Dean scowled, taking a few more gulps from his beer.
"Nothing, man, nothing..." Lee chuckled. "Just the next time you eye fuck a dude at the bar, you should probably have the decency to give him your real name. Maybe your number?"
"Shut up." Dean groaned. "I just heard about the Novaks tonight at dinner, okay? Bela says they're trying to start a war in her district, and Sam and I are supposed to 'deal' with them." He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes until stars popped behind them. "Why did it have to be Novak..." He said quietly.
Lee roared with laughter. "Because you, Winchester, invite trouble wherever you go, and I have seen that look on your face before."
Dean flipped Lee the bird and reached over to take Castiel's abandoned beer bottle. "Yeah? What look is that?"
"You think he's cute, and you wanna feed him shots until he's drunk enough to let you blow him behind the dumpsters at Antoni's on 64th St." Lee raised an eyebrow as Dean choked on his mouthful of beer.
"That is...oddly specific," Dean said when he recovered.
"Only because it's the same way you used to look at me." Lee shrugged and turned back to his limes as Dean glowered at him. "And that's specifically what happened with us."
"That was thirteen years ago, Lee," Dean said, his voice dropping. "Things are different now."
"I know, I know. Things change, people change even more," Lee glanced over his shoulder, the same shit-eating smirk as before stuck on his face, but this time it didn't quite reach his eyes, "you've always been a hopeless romantic Dean, no matter how much you hate to admit it. And I like to think, after all this time, I know you pretty well, sometimes even better than you know yourself."
Dean looked away as Lee made a few more drinks for some of the other patrons. He couldn't bring himself to look him in the eyes. He was right; Dean did find Castiel attractive.
It was getting late, and as more people rolled in off the street to escape the rapidly cooling night, Lee became too busy to chat with Dean any longer. He finished the two bottles of beer in front of him, bid Lee a quick farewell with a promise to come back again soon, and departed.
He was rather tipsy now, and the alcohol sloshed warmly in his stomach as he walked back through the city towards downtown. He wasn't ready to go home yet, but the conversation with Lee had left him feeling less than willing to engage in meaningful human interaction, and he knew there was a strip club a few blocks away that might offer just the distraction he needed.
He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and pulled out a crushed pack of menthol cigarettes. Dean didn't often smoke, but the alcohol combined with the thoughts in his head had him craving the sweet sting of nicotine. He stopped on the corner and lit one of the white paper tubes, hissing on the inhale as the minty smoke filled his lungs.
What did Lee know? So what if he thought the dark-haired, blue-eyed man in the trenchcoat was cute? He was a Novak, and if Bela was to be trusted - which he quickly reminded himself was questionable - that made him the enemy. Still...Dean found himself thinking more and more explicitly about Castiel as he continued to walk.
Would his pupils blow wide with desire and blackout that gorgeous blue if Dean touched him in just the right way? What would his already messy hair look like after having had fingers run through it a few times? How would Dean's name sound, groaned and gasped, in that rough voice, made deeper by lust? What would those chapped, pink lips look like slick with spit, wrapped around his - 
"Hey! Watch it, buddy!" Shouted a voice as Dean's shoulder bumped into another man on the sidewalk. "Fuckin' drunk..."
Dean couldn't even be bothered to respond to the man he had walked into. He really had been deep in his thoughts. Looking up, he realized his feet had once again carried him unconsciously to his destination, and he praised his knowledge of the city for allowing him to lose himself without getting lost.
Rowena's club was one of Dean's favourite places - second only to his car - and the buzzing neon sign above the door was music to his ears. Emerald green cursive spelled out "Eden" and turned into a snake coiled around a deep red apple missing a single bite. Dean delighted in the sacrilegious nature of the name. Given the activities that went on behind its doors, it suited the place. The knowledge that Rowena had chosen "Eden" to be intentionally heretical brought a smile to his face; even in Catholic school, Dean had never had much respect for the bible.
He cut the line with a curt nod to the bouncer and walked through the doors into the dimly lit club. Dean felt the tension of the evening evaporate from his limbs as soon as the pervading scent of cherries and tequila washed over him. The black brick walls and tables draped in blood-red velvet made the room feel smaller than it really was. It was hardly past midnight, and yet every table was full of men, mostly suits from the business district here to pretend their sexless marriages weren't failing. Dean snorted. Sam could have his apple-pie life with Jess; at least Dean would never end up like these poor schmucks.
Out of habit, he scanned the crowd and saw a few familiar faces, but thankfully no sparkling blue eyes and no trenchcoats in sight. The brightest source of light came from the rotating floodlights on the main stage. Dean supposed that keeping everything in shadow allowed people to feel more comfortable here. After all, a strip club may be fine and well, but when the money changed hands and gentlemen were lead to back rooms by beautiful ladies, it was best that no one knew each other's names in the morning.
A young woman in her early twenties gyrated and slowly removed her clothes on the main stage to the beat of the rock music blaring through the speakers. Dean couldn't help but watch her as she moved, dark hair falling over pale skin as she thrust her hips sinfully against the stage. Dean once again found his mind wandering, and he forced himself to engage the bartender in conversation as a means of distracting himself.
"Hey there, handsome," She said to him as he sidled up to the bar. "What's your poison?"
Dean noticed the way she leaned enticingly on the bar as she spoke, shoulders back, chest out in invitation for him to stare. He let his gaze linger for a moment before returning her suggestive smirk.
"Just a water for now, darlin'," he said. He could feel the whiskey from Lee's slowly soaking into his brain, clouding his judgement.
"Aw, you're no fun," the bartender pouted, placing a glass in front of him and filling it with water from the gun attached to the bar. "What, are you some kinda teetotaler or something?"
"Nah, nothing like that," Dean chuckled. "Just had a few already and wouldn't wanna forget your pretty face."
The bartender smiled coyly and extended her hand for him to shake. "Pamela." She said.
"Dean." He replied, taking her hand delicately in his own. "Do you just mix drinks around here, or can I look forward to seeing you on the stage later?"
She laughed. "I dabble. But tonight's not my night. I get off around three though, and uh, well, if you're still around, maybe you can too." She winked at him before being called down the bar. Dean watched her walk away, the sway of her hips capturing his attention.
"Well, well, well..." Dean heard the unmistakable accent drawl from behind him. "A Winchester. Alone in my club. To what do I owe the honour?"
Rowena was a tiny woman who had come from Scotland and made quite the name for herself in America's lucrative sex industry. She ran a tight ship with her girls, who did everything from stripping to pornography to escort work, and, in the case of Ruby and a few others, the occasional special favour for the Winchesters. No man controlled Rowena or her girls, and if anyone ended up on the wrong side of the devious little redhead, they were likely to find themselves in a sealed box at the bottom of the river.
"Rowena," Dean stated simply, rotating his chair to face her as she stepped closer to him. Her red gown caught what little light the club offered and shimmered. 
"I expected I'd be getting a visit from you boys soon." She sighed heavily and waved to Pamela, who nodded and brought her a martini glass of something pink and fruity-looking. "I was hoping it would be Samuel coming to call, but I guess you'll do."
"Oh yeah? Why's that?" Dean asked, sitting up straighter in his seat.
"Well, I suppose it's his well-muscled arms, his gorgeous hair, his tall, strong physique..." She mused, sipping her drink with a smirk.
"No, not that, Rowena, and ew," Dean cringed. "Why were you expecting us?
"Perhaps because of those Novak boys that Miss Talbot had Ruby go looking into." Her face darkened. "I don't know what she was thinking, but that poor girl came back beat half to death. She was a good dancer, always made a lot of money on her nights..."
"Where is she now?" Dean asked. "I wanna know what happened."
"Ah, well, we agreed it was probably for the best if Ruby took some time out of town." Rowena swirled the liquid in her glass and looked away from Dean to the stage. "I have other dancers that can fill her slot for the time being."
"Where is she?" Dean asked again, an edge to his voice that made Rowena glare.
"Not here, Winchester. And if you think for a moment that I'm so disloyal to my girls that I would tell you where she's gone, then you are sorely mistaken." She defended. Dean didn't push the issue. Her mind was made up, and there was no amount of bargaining or coercion that would change it.
"Alright, so why don't you tell me what happened then?" He directed. Rowena pursed her lips into a thin line. She was the only person Dean had ever met who could rival him and his brother for stubbornness.
Rowena sighed. "Oh, why not. The more, the merrier, I suppose." She gestured to a table next to the bar where an attractive young man stood guard, keeping the table open. She waved at Pamela for more drinks and slid into the booth's bench, touching the young man's arm gently as she did. When they were seated comfortably and had been presented with a fresh round of drinks - Pamela had ignored Dean's continued request for water and had brought him another glass of whiskey - Rowena continued. "What do you want to know?"
Dean wasted no time. "The Novaks." He said. "Who are they?"
"I can't say that I know too much, honestly." She purred. "But after the incident with Ruby, I did a little research. It would seem that the father, Chuck, had a wife years ago, Naomi, who was killed in some kind of gang war. He became obsessed with revenge and took over a good chunk of Newark, eliminating the gangs, building the communities, doing all sorts of goodwill charity work, all with funds gathered through several nefarious means." 
"What sort of means?" Dean asked again.
She sipped her drink slowly before she continued. "Standard fare. Murder for hire, arms dealing, the occasional art heist. If I had to guess, that'd be what made him target Bela in the first place. I don't know if you've noticed, but that woman can be a wee bit hard to handle. Not the type to make many friends." Dean snorted. He had no arguments there. 
"Now, Chuck and Naomi had four sons before she passed. Apparently, everyone is a bloody Catholic because they named them all after archangels, the poor boys. Chuck started sort of 'collecting' street kids who had lost their families to the gang wars. He took them in, made them a home, and built his own family, not out of associates and partners like you lot, but an actual family of brothers and sisters." She pushed her glass away and leaned forward into Dean, dropping her voice barely above a whisper. Dean had to move even closer to catch her words as the music from the club's speakers continued to fill his senses. "They are ruthless. Especially the four oldest brothers. They will fight and kill and bleed for their family, and they will smile while they're doing it. You think you and Samuel are close? You've got nothing on these boys."
Dean swallowed hard. Rowena wasn't one to exaggerate her claims. If she said the Novaks were dangerous, he had no reason not to believe her. "How much of a threat are they?" He asked bluntly.
"Well, they certainly aren't a problem you should ignore." She smirked. "But, I do have a feeling that some of that Winchester charm could come in handy." She reached out and tapped Dean lightly on the tip of his nose. 
"Thanks, Rowena," Dean said, slipping out of the booth. "And if you see or hear anything else..."
"I'll be sure to call you, quick as a whip." She said sarcastically. He nodded and headed towards the door. Pamela's earlier proposition rang in his ears, and, as much as he wished he could stay and accept, his gut was telling him to return home and relay the information from Rowena to his brother.
He staggered out into the alley again and rubbed his hands together to stave off the rapidly cooling September night. He thought about calling Benny for a ride. The Winchester bodyguard could always be relied upon to answer his phone at any hour and never say no to Dean. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and frowned. The screen displayed several missed calls from Sam and a few from his mother. He grinned widely. They were probably calling him to chastise him for not being present for Sam's proposal. 
Quickly tapping open the screen, he dialled his brother's number. It only rang once before Sam's voice came through the other end.
"Dean?"
"Hey, Sammy!" Dean beamed into the phone, staggering a little on the uneven sidewalk. "So? Did she say yes? Is my baby brother getting married?"
"Yeah, Dean, she did. Where are you?" Sam huffed into the phone.
"Out," Dean stated. "Celebrating on your behalf." 
"Are-are you drunk?" Sam stammered into the phone.
"I mean, pshhh, maybe? A bit?" Dean smiled. He was feeling great. Who cared about that pretty-eyed guy in the trenchcoat at Lee's? Dean didn't care. And he didn't care that he didn't care. "Listen, I talked to Rowena and - " Sam cut him off before he could finish his sentence.
"Jesus Christ, Dean!" Sam yelled into the phone, and Dean immediately began to lose whatever happy buzz he had gained through the night. Sam never yelled at him. "It is 2am, and I've been trying to call you for HOURS! I even called Lee's, but he said you left before midnight, and now you're wasted downtown by yourself and I just..." There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Dean could hear Sam taking deep breaths to calm down.
"Hey, hey, Sammy, listen, I'm okay." He tried desperately to soothe his brother's worries. The panic in Sam's tone had sobered him, and he transformed immediately into Big Brother. His primary focus was back on protecting his little brother, making sure he wasn't afraid. "Everything is fine. I'm not wasted, just a little buzzed. I'm gonna call Benny for a ride and head back to my place. I'll text you when I'm home and call you in the morning, okay?"
"No, Dean," Sam said weakly into the phone, "it's not okay."
Any remaining happiness Dean had from the alcohol was extinguished. His feet stopped moving, and his own voice seemed distant as he spoke. "What's wrong, Sammy? What happened?"
Sam sounded like he was speaking through a tub of water. "It's Dad. You need to get home."
Tags: @valleydean @fighterfortheforgotten
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Latest episode of BNHA really SLAPS, guys.
The highly stylized visuals are gold in and of themselves - even if the story behind this high-octane madness didn’t grip us as it does.
And it does. Because maybe Eri was a weak character, but Deku certainly isn’t. Neither is Overhaul vel Chisaki, the man whose sexy yakuza drawl gives me totally non-erotic goosebumps. All hail Kenjiro Tsuda for his wonderfully juxtaposed delivery.
I have nothing more to say. Just those few images, like this close-up of the battered up Overhaul:
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Or this one, in which our good boi Deku turns himself into some feral vengeance beast not out of place in Greek mythology:
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Or this particular shot. He channels Kacchan so hard.
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This. Just this.
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Pissed off Deku is akin to gods. I only wish Toshi could see him now. He would be so proud.
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I guess you were wrong, pal.
I never liked Nighteye much, but I gotta say that I get where he comes from. He’s a decent man who could never surpass this rational, seemingly adult approach to things. A man closed off in a cage of his logic. While I think his dry, down-to-earth way is infinitely less attractive than Toshi’s heroic abandon, I suppose it makes sense.
Not everyone can be like Toshi was, and Deku (most probably) will be.
Not everyone can be Wild.
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attanos · 4 years
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First Line Meme
Tagged by: @queennymeria & @chuckhansen ages ago for a wip thing also 💞
Tagging: @clanlasombra @ulisaypo @fillianore @corasharper @yennefre if y’all want!
(i haven’t written anything in forever so have these very old things i completely forgot about)
1.
Angel doesn’t bother to bite back her smirk at House’s annoyed huff, just stretches out the long line of her body, makes sure to really dig the dirty heels of her boots into the cushions of his favourite velvet couch.
“I’m glad to see you haven’t changed in our time apart. You remain as uncivilised as ever.” 
“Careful, baby. You keep talking dirty to me like that and I’m gonna forget all about our business and skip right to the fun stuff.” 
If the computer projection could have rolled its eyes, it would have. 
“I believe you and I have very different definitions of ‘fun stuff’.”
“I dunno,” Angel drawls, and stretches her arms across the back of the couch, thin shirt pulling tight over her tits, “think my idea of fun stuff is pretty universal.”
2.
Messon regarded her arm with a disturbing amount of interest. "Tell me, how did this beautiful piece of machinery come to belong to you."
"A parting gift from an old friend, Chancellor."
He let out a low grumble of laughter, "they severed your arm at the elbow and you still call them a friend?"
Vel considered Messon's overly pleased smile and weighed her words carefully. She did not need this man to have too vested an interest in her during her stay. "They severed it just below my shoulder, actually. There was nothing to be recovered so they took the whole arm and gave me this instead. The circuitry feeds directly into my spine." She paused and offered a bland smile. "I call them a friend because they gave me such a wonderful gift. I look forward to returning the favour."
Messon's laughter was full of pure delight. "I am beginning to understand why our beloved Supreme Leader favours you so. You are a force to be reckoned with."
"Chancellor." Vel said, dipping into an imitation of a bow.
"I think you'll fit in quite well around here, Commander." He raised an elegant hand, gesturing lazily, and a man Vel had somehow failed to notice earlier slunk forth from the shadows. 
He was unremarkable in nearly every regard. A carbon copy of every other soldier that roamed the station. His sandy brown hair was cut tight to follow regs. His uniform was crisp and entirely black, except for the small, red parallel lines that graced the left side of his chest, marking his rank. 
The man started straight ahead, seemingly looking at nothing, but every line of his body radiated tension. As though he was only ever a split second away from pulling his service weapon from its place at his hip. 
"Lieutenant Raeth will help you settle in and answer any enquiries you may have. This station and I are at your service, Commander Ren." 
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Are you still writing "A Hundred Lesser faces"? Don´t stop there - that was perfectly wonderful, but I want more. I need more. What happened next? What about Jenny!!?? What Laoghaire? ... What about Fraser Ridge? Do you planing another chapters?
A Hundred Lesser Faces: Eleven
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Section One {A Hundred Lesser Faces} what if Voyager!Claire had gone first to Lallybroch instead of directly to the print shop in Edinburgh? :  [(One) (Two) (Three) (Four) (Five) (Six) (Seven)
Section Two {A Hundred More}, the aftermath of Claire and Jamie’s reunion, following their journey as they work to build a new life together [(Eight) (Nine) (Ten) ]
Eleven 
Previously: Jamie and Claire are still at the Inverness inn to which they traveled after reuniting at the stones (in the nick of time). After talking through a number of things, particularly Claire’s built-up fears around sex, they managed it….with distinction :D. They fell asleep happy and safe in one another, having experienced that sense of ‘heat and light’ together that they each have lacked for so long.
Waking to see the morning sunlight igniting his curls into radiance, framing his still-sleeping face…. 
Watching him, waiting eagerly, as though for a shooting star, to perhaps glimpse a fleeting, somnolent smile…
Leaning over and kissing his face, smoothing away that long, beautiful hair and whispering a secret that only his dreams would know: 
‘God…how I do love you, Jamie Fraser….’
Yes, that’s how I would have LIKED to awaken on this blissfully-complete morning. 
As it was, I was JOLTED out of sleep by a great cataclysm taking place on the mattress beneath me and a stream of unintelligible curses ricocheting around the walls like so many whizzing demons straight out of the bloody pit. 
“JESUSHAYCH—Rizz—Vel— SHHHIT—” 
Damn me, I couldn’t manage to get my tongue to catch up with my brain or my eyes to unblur, but I managed to rally and slur out like a lunatic: “HURT??”
“M’back,” came the strangled reply as my hands found him. 
As my eyes adjusted, the room revealed my bare-arsed husband contorted into an impossible shape on his side, trying to both clutch at and keep from moving the muscles of his lower back.  
“Roll onto your belly,” I instructed at once, supporting his hips with both hands to help keep the motion steady. Lord, I thought he would lose a tooth at any moment from how tightly that jaw was clenched against the pain.  “Has this happened before? Did you injure it? When? Wh—”
“Sassenach, a moment,” he moaned. Using the strength of his arms, he  lowered his chest the few inches to the mattress with a great gasp, exhaling stertorously before answering. “Not injured, not anytime that I can recall, but aye, this has happened bef—gahh—” Another shudder as he laid his forehead to rest on his arms. “Several times over the last few years. Canna explain it, it just—Christ— seems to come on as it damn well pleases.”
“And in the times that it’s happened?” I balanced on my knees as I ran my hands over his bare skin, checking for any herniation or trace of a tear, though I thought either to be unlikely.  “What have you done to get rid of it?”
He gave an approximation of a shrug. “Waited for it to pass.”
“For how long?”
“One, maybe two days.”
“Of course you did, bloody hero.”
Laying both palms flat on the small of his back, I applied a gentle pressure, then jumped as he arched in a great spasm of pain. He was strung tight as a bowstring, the poor man, the muscles taut and convulsing like mad. 
“But where are ye going?” he blurted in acute distress as he felt me leave the mattress. “Sassenach, please, dinna—”
“If you lasted one or two days in pain last time,” I said firmly, adjusting my blanket toga at the door, “you can wait twenty minutes for me to fetch some oil and hot water.”
It actually only took ten.
“The cook was very helpful,” I explained as I carefully climbed back onto the bed with my tray of supplies. “Grinning at me like a cat in cream all the while. Do I have you to thank for that, by any chance?”
An interrogatory grunt. 
“Ded ye have a PLAYSENT evening, then, lassie?’ I drawled in imitation of Ms. Fiona’s jocular teasing below. “Ye wairked him that WEE BET too hard, sounds to me! Och, but I’ll wager he’s no’ altogether fashed aboot et, backache or noo! Ye braw wee thing!” 
“Terrrrrrible,” Jamie laughed, then instantly regretted it. 
“Oof, sorry, darling, here you are,” I said, sobering at once and lifting the hot brick wrapped in rags. “Show me where?”  Feeling the gentle heat settle on the spot, Jamie moaned again, but this time in relief. “Try to relax your back as best you can, my love….That’s it….Let the heat soak in….try not to tense up again….Good….This will help, I promise.” 
I couldn’t help admiring him while he lay obediently still, stretched out on his belly like a cat in the sun. His body, though not quite as it had looked at twenty-five, was still firm and beautifully fit. It seemed—fuller, somehow; muscled, certainly, perhaps even more densely than before, but with a less chiseled aspect, to my eye, that paradoxically made him look all the more more powerful. 
I couldn’t resist laying a hand on his buttocks to feel the neat, shaped muscles beneath. He started a bit, but then relaxed, humming a happy, contented note. “It’s wonderful to have ye touching me again, Sassenach,” he said huskily.
“It’s wonderful to do the touching,” I murmured, meaning it. I surveyed him eagerly, each long-lined limb and gentle curve, and felt a sudden twinge of something like annoyance. “How bloody have you managed to stay so fit?” 
I mean honestly! The man was a goddamned Adonis. 
He snorted, but answered readily enough. “A bachelor’s diet… That in addition to lifting heavy crates and operating the printing press day after day—It all does a man good, I suppose.”
“Evidently so!’ I adjusted the position of the brick. “Truly, you look wonderful, Jamie, whatever you did to maintain yourself.”
“Well, I…” He stopped, sounding surprised and a little hesitant. “Ye ken, I suppose I’m grateful that, in all the confusion and rushing about, I didna have much time to worry about my vanity.” 
“Didn’t you?” 
“I had to catch ye first, after all,” he said, with a smile, reaching back to touch my thigh. “But I do wonder…. Do I look verra much an old man, Sassenach? Seen now in all my flesh, I mean?” 
“Old?” I shorted. “At three-and-forty? Hardly.” 
“Well, but many a man in this time looks considerably the worse for years at such an age, Sassenach. Surely you’ll remember that yourself, from before.” 
“True… but you’re hardly the sort likely to waste away from bodily neglect, Jamie Fraser.” 
“No, indeed,” he said, smiling and sounding more than a bit relieved. “I did always—well—” 
He broke off, shyly, enough so that I was grinning like a fool in anticipation of the secret he obviously wanted to share. “What did you do, exactly?” 
He shrugged, and this time, it didn’t hurt him. “I tried to do all the wee things ye’d taught me, ken? Cleaning my teeth of an evening or dipping a blade into boiling water before touching food wi’ it, and the like. Eating live things, as often as I could, too.” I was beaming, but he wasn’t finished. “Even when I was in prison, I made it my duty to see that all my men ate as many green plants as could be scavenged, to ward off the scurvy, so….” He broke off, still that shy, pleased smile in his voice. “Those things could only have helped in terms of preservation, aye?” 
“Most definitely,” I said, genuinely touched and not a little choked up. “The nutrition, especially.” I couldn’t help bending over him and kissing the warm skin behind his exposed ear, then the russet curls above. “Thank you for taking it all to heart and taking care of yourself; and doing your best to share it. I do hope it helped others, but if it meant that you alone were able to keep all your teeth, then I’ll still thank my lucky stars.” I kissed his temple. “And on a purely aesthetic level…’all your flesh’ looks incredible, Jamie.”
“That’s most kind of ye to say, mo nighean donn,” he said, his voice a soft purr in his ever-relaxing state. “I’m no’ saying this only to be kind in return, but…” He turned his head to lay on one cheek, craning his neck around. With a fiendish grin, he tugged the blanket from out of its tuck under my armpits and growled in soft appreciation at the sight left in its wake. “Ye look unbelievably fine, yourself.”
I flushed and grinned, for, much to my own surprise, I believed him, my not inconsiderable insecurities and fears of the night before having evaporated into the dawn. “Ten or more years of working on one’s feet does a lass good, herself, I suppose.”
“Your feet?” he grunted as he reluctantly turned his head back forward, his voice muffling into his arm. “How do ye mean?”
Had I not mentioned in the letter? No….I suppose I hadn’t been able to bring myself to say much about what *I* had been up to in our twenty years apart. It had been easier to focus upon the news of Bree. No use giving him anything of me to drive him mad, I’d thought at the time. 
Shaking off the remembered despair of that day, I brightened and said, a little shy now, myself,  “After Bree was grown old enough to go to school, I got my medical degree. I became a doctor.”
Jamie’s head whipped back around over his shoulder, a movement simultaneous with the immediate unbidden ‘GAHH!’ of pain that ensued. 
“CAREFUL!!” I snapped, “Don’t you dare thrash about like that! Lay your head back down this minute!”
He obeyed, grunting and wincing, but tugged me up toward the pillows so he could look me in the eye without twisting. His eyes were wide and blue as he stared. “Ye became a doctor? A physician?”
“Yes?” I said, suddenly rather nervous, given the intensity of his disbelief. “Erm….a surgeon, more specifically, a doctor that cuts people up to fix the ailments inside the body— cutting out sickness and so forth, then stitching them up again. It’s…” I cleared my throat. “Well, it’s a rather prestigious specialty, even as far as physicians go.” 
“Claire…. That’s—” He’d been watching me intently as I spoke, his smile growing wider and wider. Now, he was unabashedly beaming. “That’s marvelous, lass. Did ye no’ say once that all the doctors were men?”
“I was the one and only woman in my class,” I admitted, glowing with no little pride under his eye. 
“Oh, well done, Sassenach!” He beamed up at me, running his hand over my leg, squeezing. “Tell me ye showed them all up tidily—Made them think twice or thrice about underestimating a woman’s capabilities?” 
I grinned and nodded. “Made something of a point of it, I must say.” 
He laughed, delighted. “God, how I should have loved to see the looks on their faces.” 
“Well, it wasn’t always good fun, seeing those faces, but the end satisfaction more than compensated for the occasional nastiness.”
Removing the brick from his back, I poured some sweet oil into my palms. As the heels of my hands met the now-supple skin, he gave an ecstatic groan of pleasure. 
“Lord, Jamie! You’ll give Fiona even more to smirk about if you carry on like that!”
“Feels grand,” he said in his defense into the pillow.
“So I can HEAR! Wake the whole tavern, why don’t you!”
Despite the rather lewd soundtrack, the massage did work wonders, and soon, he was able to move his head and neck about with no pain to the strained back. “Whatever it was about the profession that kept ye on your feet,” he said, doing so to look back at me again, “it did do ye much good. I mean, Christ, lass, ye look scarcely a day over thirty.” 
I snorted so loudly my hands skidded off his rump and the resultant disturbance made the bed timbers squeak. 
“It’s true!” he insisted, almost affronted. “I mean, look at ye! What is your age? Forty….?”
“Forty-eight.” I groaned with all the agony of defeat, working my thumbs into the base of his spine.
“Mm-HM!” he grunted in triumph, a suspicion confirmed. 
“….What?” 
“Witch.”
“Where I come from, witches are well-known for looking old,” I said, rolling my eyes. “And if I’m a witch, what does that make you, being married to one, mm?”
“Happy. Lucky.”
“Too right!” 
I could feel the muscles easing under my hands. “You know, I’m fairly confident I massaged you like this once or twice before.”
“I recall. My neck was terribly tight once on Charlie’s campaign, and ye sorted it right out. You’ve always had a good touch, mo chridhe.”
“Did it not occur to you to try massage, then, those other times you threw out your back like this? Rather than waiting about for days for it to pass on its own?”
A too-long pause followed, and when he spoke, his voice was clipped. “Aye, it did.” 
I let the silence ask the question for me. 
“There are verra few people I’d allow to see my bared back, Sassenach…. let alone touch it.”
And somehow, that single statement made me sadder than nearly anything else could in relation to what Jamie’s life had been like since we parted. 
I wondered suddenly whether he had allowed Laoghaire, but then banished the thought, feeling it an intrusion even to speculate on the possibilities. Still, to have no one in his life—either to hand when needed, or at all—who could do such a task for him; no one he trusted enough to render him such an intimate service… 
I leaned down, filled with tenderness and heartache, both, and kissed his shoulder, then the broadest of his scars, laying my head gently upon him, just to have him know I was there. Here. Always, 
My heart thumped with a sudden warmth, a memory. He’d allowed me to see these scars that first night at Leoch. For whatever reason, by whatever nudging of fate, he’d decided to trust me, nearly at once, before I even knew his real identity or he, mine. 
The shoulder beneath my cheek heaved with a slight shrug. “You’ve always been a special case, my Sassenach.”
“Mindreader,” I muttered in mock-accusation, planting one more kiss and sitting up, grateful for the lightening of the mood. “Bloody great warlock.”
As I finished the massage, he stretched and began to sit up with intake of breath that, quite suddenly, broke off; not in pain, but from an unspoken word abruptly halted. 
“What is it? Does it still hurt?” 
“No, it—Well, a bit, still, but no, I can move now, at least. Only…would ye be willing to have a look at my leg as well? Medically speaking, I mean. It doesna pain me all the time,” he added hastily with a sad smile, “and certainly not at the moment, but as you’re a physician now?” 
My gut clenched. I had all but forgotten the passage from the Lord Melton’s journal. ‘A great wound, festering and pustulant.’ I swallowed, nodded, and whispered, “Of course, Jamie.”  
He rolled onto his back, eyes carefully cast aside, though I don’t think it was lost on him that it took all my will and restraint not to gasp from the shock and grief that welled up in me at the sight, the sheer fury at whoever had dared to hurt him so. The fact that a twenty-year-old wound could still look as gruesome as that—
“Jamie,” I moaned in a whisper, spanning my hand across his thigh to better see the eight full inches of twisted, ghost-white scarring running up the thigh and toward his groin. “My God.”
“It’s no’ a pretty sight, certainly,” he said, uneasy, reaching for the blanket, meaning to cover himself. “I’m sorry, lass, ye dinna have to—”
“No!” I breathed, reaching out my other hand and laying it over his belly. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, it—It just—” I swallowed, but the lump in my throat still remained as I looked into his face. “It makes it so real…. What you went through. You didn’t die, but—God, how you suffered.”
He opened his mouth several times, different responses dancing through his eyes. In the end, all he could do was nod. 
A tear rolled down my cheek as I ran my thumb across the mangled bit of scar barely covering his femoral artery. “How on earth did you survive this?” I whispered. 
“….Jenny.”
The silence rang around us for a long time, unbroken.  
Jenny, beloved sister who had watched over him all his life, who had saved it after Culloden; to whom I must owe my own, if she personally had stood herself between him and this certain death, refusing to let it claim him. 
….Jenny, who out of spite and God-knew-what-else, had nearly cost us both this second chance at a life together. 
However would we—could we ever— reconcile the two?  
“I suppose,” Jamie sighed, reading my thoughts once again, “we really must be discussing what’s to be done, about Jenny. Laoghaire. Us.” 
I nodded, knowing he was perfectly correct, but with my own thoughts still many, many years away, on Culloden field, where my heart had lain and suffered. On impulse, I bent over him and kissed slowly along the entire length of the scar, pressing my cheek against his thigh afterward, as though touch and sheer will and desperate love could erase the vestiges of his agony, all of it. 
“I’m glad ….that ye didna have to see me that way, Claire, when I lay in fever…” His voice was choked and hoarse with emotion. His hand came to rest on my scalp, warm and complete as an embrace.  “…..but I’d have done anything to have ye there wi’ me, even so.”
I reached up and found his other hand, squeezing hard. “So would I.” 
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batandmole · 7 years
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...Bad luck all around...
"Sir, do you buy stones?" The elf turned, glancing with disdain evident behind his appraising glass at the small red head that asked the question and snorted, "Of course," he drawled in Thalassian, "I buy stones. If by stones you mean..." Leona put a double handful of colorful gems on the counter in front of her, "These. I figured the blue and green would show up more in this place, but I have some of the clear ones, and the red ones too. People seem to like them a lot." He stared. "How much will you give me for them?" He continued to stare. "Sir...?" Leona waved her hand in front of his face, "Sir!" The poor man fainted, and she puffed out her cheeks in frustration, and gathered up the stones and placed them back into her bag, turning from the stand to try and find the next possible buyer. She was going to get Kit! And Captain! How the HELL did she get in charge of Tavern Night anyways! And then he had to invite all these OTHER people, and Vel HAD to mention the free drinks. Leona puffed out her cheeks again crossing her arms as she stomped away from the Bazaar and went in search of the shadier dealers... they at least wouldn't faint at seeing a diamond! or a few dozen sapphires... She blushed. She really did need to learn how much people thought her stones were worth... Pausing as she noticed the area darkening, she peered into the Row, smiling to herself as she noticed some of the stalls. Oh Mama always said they buy ANYTHING here... granted... I better stay on guard. Walking to the first gem seller she found, she happily traded some sapphires and a diamond for the gold she needed, then moved on to a few, trying to keep a low profile at least. But not low enough, and her ears twitched as she noticed some feet following a bit too closely behind her. "Hey kid. What's in the bag?" Leona smirked, then turned around, placing her hands behind her back, sizing up the two much larger... and much stupider elves. There was a rather big orc behind them, and it looked like a goblin standing off to the side. She took a step back, coming out of the Row into the sunlit area behind it and shrugged, "Jus' m'things," she said tilting her head and grasping the blades of her practice swords and unhooked the straps, waiting for them to make the first move. "Looks like it's something that could be our things," the goblin said, "How about it kid, hand them over?" "Don' call me kid," she said, "I've got a name." "And we'll make sure to tell it to the doctor if you don't come quietly and give that bag of gems over." "Not a chance. It's mine, and I don't know you," she took another step back, "See you goons later." "Get her!" Leona swung out her swords as the two idiots rushed her, ducking down and swinging around to hit both, then whirled to duck as the orc ran at her with a club, coming up with a rather impressive uppercut. When does the next patrol come along... I have to beat them before they get here or I'll get in trouble too... She at least was drawing them out, even the goblin was stupid enough to leave the Row where she was fairly certain the city guard left things take care of themselves. I have REALLY got to figure out how much these stones are worth! Leona smirked, dancing into the brawl, these guys were nothing compared to Papa and Rizzy and Talah, it was almost too easy of a fight... "Stop! You're under arrest! Weapons down, hands in the air!" She paled, then paused, holding her hands up before glancing back at the guard. "She attacked us officer!" the goblin cried, "We just wanted to get our gems back!" he made a grab at her bag, but it was snatched by the guard and Leona felt her hands being put into handcuffs. "Make a report at the blood knight hall, and you can have your property back," said the guard, "Now young lady, you're coming with us." Great. Just great. This... is exactly the stupid thing I didn't need to have happen today. @xavier-sunshadow @crimson-wings @sunspireport @rizzythemonk @velerodra @generalcero
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aethulean · 2 years
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i wish i was exaggerating in the slightest when i tell you this shit keeps happening
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aethulean · 2 years
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@aestheticlethargy​ bestie do i have GREAT news 4 u. me and my best good friend @davestriderpostscratch​ are like 90% of all (relatively) recent davris content
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aethulean · 2 years
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note to self: experiment with thin lines and massive fuckoff eyelashes
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aethulean · 1 year
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ask me about my bloodswaps i DARE u
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aethulean · 2 years
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tbh they've been one of my top homestuck ships for AWHILE now. ive been having this one idea rattling in my brain where theres a sburb timeline where vriska permadies and dave has to get another and Shenanigans Ensue. like. I love U too. make each other worst
i want to study them like bugs..... like little mice in a lab. i love them sm.
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aethulean · 2 years
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HEHAHE yeah idk these people flabbergasted me. your art is so awesome and davevris is So Good. tbh I've been saving up on some content to create and the likes about it so >:)
davris nation GROWS........ i am so glad im not the only one posting them anymore :'D
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aethulean · 2 years
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yo. saw that hate towards you and tbh?
i think that the way you do noses [and generally do art] is pretty unique, and i really like how you draw and how you make characters look?
plus the 'bumps' also give the noses more visible shape than most ways to draw noses that ive seen. like you can visibly see more shape even though its front facing [when most people dont try to make the shape of the nose]
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no i absolutely appreciate it! the nose is one of my favorite parts of the face and the transition where the nose actually meets the face is my favorite part of THAT, which is why i got. kinda pissed LMAO. i typically dont respond to hate (theres not much to begin with) but when you dont even try to hide it in the tags... what did you expect?? absolutely baffling
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aethulean · 2 years
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I FORGOT TO DO HER FGUCKING LIPSTICK
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