#I did it in impulse

[antaxzantax]

[First Edition] Umbrella Pharmaceuticals - Chapter 28:  A House on the Prairie

AO3

FIRST EDITION — DISCLAIMER

The chapters are edited in random order. The content of the edited chapters is modified, resulting in inconsistencies with the unedited chapters.

Summary:

June 1978. Oswell E. Spencer receives the Ashfords at his country house in Essex, England.

Christina's World by Andrew Wyeth, 1948.

English spirit

A solitary cumulus of cirrus clouds cast a shadow over their evening stroll through the lush grove. They walked along an irregular path of moldy cobblestones, among clusters of exotic flowers, outlined bushes and ancient oaks, holm oaks, elms and chestnut trees. Oswell E. Spencer, recently returned from Luxembourg, had invited Alexander, and his children, to spend the evening at the estate to discuss some important matters. The estate, Spencer State, was the Spencer family’s ancestral home, a country house that the twins Alfred and Alexia, who were visiting for the first time, found very similar to Ashford Hall. However, although both residences were built in the Victorian style, Spencer State lacked the personality of Ashford Hall. Spencer State was spartan, with hardly any ornamentation. In contrast, Ashford Hall lavished the visitor with a symphony of statues, reliefs, arches, pillars and gargoyles of classical and Gothic inspiration, which left no doubt as to the owner’s tastes. Alfred did not understand the reason for this contrast, so, once they were received by Oswell and his staff at the main entrance, he asked:

“Why ...” he asked as they crossed the sumptuous hall, “why is the front not decorated?” he addressed Oswell. Oswell took a couple of steps back to stand beside him.

“For the representation of the English spirit, young man. My grandfather, Jeremiah Peyton Spencer, served as Governor of India and in compensation for his invaluable service to the country, he was rewarded with the earldom that I have inherited. As a demonstration of his loyalty to the Crown, my grandfather erected this mansion as the most faithful representation of the English spirit: austere, severe, pragmatic, imperturbable, rational; that is what this house is. Why do you ask, son? Has it caught your attention?”

Alfred nodded.

“My house is different,” said the boy.

“Northern taste, I suppose,” he joked. “Or palatial taste, prince.” He smiled at him knowingly. He quickened his pace to close the gap with Alexander. “Did you hear the boy? Because now I’m left wondering too. Is it a Catholic preference?”

Alexander had listened to their exchange and clarified:

“A mixture. Ashford Hall is inspired by Italian palatial architecture and Catholic cathedral architecture. Our ancestors, Charlie’s children*, lived in Italy before returning to Scotland. Veronica built the house in his memory, and because she wanted a building that stood out from the rest.”

“Interesting,” said Oswell.

The adults had tea and biscuits before tackling the important matters. The children made do with homemade blueberry muffins and milk, which they devoured very slowly. The adults entertained themselves with colored paper. The children entertained themselves admiring the deer heads hanging on the walls. But, because the adults were too busy with their piles of papers, the twins decided to ask Theodore, the butler, if they could explore another part of the house. Theodore, with Oswell’s permission, instructed Patrick, Theodore’s son and the butler’s first assistant, to open the double door of the guest lounge on the first floor, where they were, so that they could go straight down the hall to the first right turn, where the chapel was.

The children, followed by Patrick, followed the directions. Patrick pointed to a double oak door:

“The chapel, masters.” He made way for them.

Alfred let out a disappointed snort. The chapel was in the same style as the house: austere, devoid of decoration and with a wooden cross on a pedestal in the center. Once again, Ashford Hall won: the house chapel had a gigantic golden altarpiece, profusely decorated with jewels, artifacts, saints, paintings and other Catholic icons. For Alfred, that was the archetypal chapel. This thing seemed tacky to him.

Alexia sat down on the first pew, looking at the cross. Alfred sat down next to her, on the far right, by the aisle. Patrick watched them from the doorway.

“The English spirit,” Alfred muttered in English, disappointed.

“The English spirit,” Alexia repeated, “is a fairy tale.” Alfred listened to Alexia. “A fairy tale that adults make up to feel good about themselves. Adults are like big children,” she smoothed the wool skirt printed with the blue and black tartan of the Douglas clan, “they believe in their own fairy tales.”

“Like the English spirit.”

“Like believing in God. Do you believe in God, bràthair*?”

“Masters,” Patrick called. “Lord Spencer wants you to return to the hall as soon as possible.”

Alfred and Alexia got up. After the eternal tea, and a couple of cigars smoked by Oswell, their host offered to take them for a walk around the estate. Unlike during the welcome at the Spencer residence, Alfred and Alexia led the procession, with Alexander and Oswell some distance behind. From what Alfred could overhear, the two had engaged in a soporific debate about the upcoming elections.

“I see Thatcher as the most capable of the capable. The most ideal of the whole clique of ragged weasels that infects the Conservative Party. Losing to Labor for almost a decade! What will be next?! Mao Zedong becoming Queen?!” exclaimed Oswell.

“There will be a change of government. There is talk of the Labor Party’s decline due to its incompetence in managing the Seventy-Three crisis*. The workers and the middle class want the country to get back on track, as it was before, a promise that Labor has not kept. Ours want to bring down the government to end nationalizations and the criminal inheritance tax,” argued Alexander. “Labor will finally fall because of its success.”

“That’s where Margaret comes in. Do you know who Friedman is? He’s part of Thatcher’s inner circle. They call themselves New Liberals. Their approach to a 21st-century economy is just what Umbrella needs to really take off.”

“Liberalization?”

“I’ve done the math. If we outsourced the factories to China, Umbrella’s profits would double. We’d end every fiscal year in growth.”

“It could be.”

“Thatcher must win.”

Mortally bored, Alfred pulled Alexia’s hand. They slipped off the path, heading nowhere. They crashed their small bodies into a bush, which cracked from the impact, and then they trotted in a straight line until they came across a wide-trunked oak tree, far from the eye of their guardians. They huddled in a large hollow between the protruding roots, with Alexia’s head on her brother’s shoulder and he face down. Alfred’s tweed jacket and shorts were stained with mud and leaf litter that had accumulated among the roots. Alexia’s tweed jacket was also stained, and her skirt had become frayed, probably from the collision with the bush. Supported as they were, she pulled on a thread hanging from the bottom edge of the skirt.

Ban-Ban

"…Ban-Ban is a complete jerk." Oswell lit a cigarette from a metal packet he was carrying in his brown cotton jacket.

“He called me a faggot and attacked me about school. He made up a story that I abused the new kids,” Alexander said in a low voice, distracted by the activity of the few insects swarming around the flowers, his hands in the pockets of his blue tweed trousers.

“Impossible.” Oswell took a puff. “I don’t believe for a second that you’re a bad person,” he quipped. “Besides, who hasn’t abused someone in those schools? Why did you just beat them up, is that it? Wasn’t there anything else?” He narrowed his eyebrows with a sibilant pout.

Alexander cleared his throat, but did not reply.

“A macho man as macho as you abusing the youngest kids in the barnyard like that? Please,” he smiled sarcastically.

Alexander stopped dead in his tracks, forcing Oswell to stop against his will.

“I want to kill that asshole,” he said.

“Ignore him,” Oswell instructed. “He’s a piece of shit. I advise you: next time you come to fuck my cousin, use the service back door. I’m sure my brother-in-law caught you, that’s why he was so pissed off.”

Alexander, head down and sour expression, resumed walking.

“Okay,” he conceded with frustration.

“Let’s do each other a favor: you fuck Morgana in peace and Ban-Ban doesn’t come to heat my head. In peace?” He stopped and held out his hand to Alexander, who shook it, but Oswell caught his by surprise to say: “A little bird told me that Morgana had her first orgasm with you, is that true?” Oswell’s surgically aligned teeth shone through his hyperbolic smile. Alexander smoothed his hair with his free hand, responding with a satisfied half-smile and narrow eyelids, blushing. “She tells me that your cock is as long as a pole, and that she feels your pelvic thrusts like a tunnel boring its way through Everest. Pam, Pam, Pam!” Oswell imitated the coital movement. “And that your repertoire is wider than missionary. I was stunned. Is that true?” Alexander nodded shyly. “How big when it is erect?”

“Eighteen.”

“Jesus...” Oswell swallowed the remaining tobacco in one sitting, taken aback. He was left with the cigarette filter between his fingers. “I don’t believe you.”

Alexander subtly grabbed the bulge in his trousers with one hand.

“Take it out.”

Ignoring the indecent invitation, Oswell got rid of the filter, storing it in a compartment of the packet. Disturbed, and aware that he would lose by too great a margin, he took a quick look around to get the image out of his head of a cock with a blonde wig, its glans protruding above his trousers like an Amazonian anaconda. As he took in the surroundings, he felt that something was missing. It could be...

“Sasha.” Sasha adjusted his trousers. “Where are your children?”

Lucifer

Alfred nodded, dead tired. Alexia lay on his left shoulder. The birds jumped from branch to branch, singing to each other and to the children, keeping them awake.

“Do you believe in God?” Alexia repeated the question.

“Yes,” he nodded, yawning. “Grandma says we’re a miracle. God performs miracles, so God exists,” he replied, shaking the mud off his knees.

Alfred thought he heard a voice in the distance.

“God isn’t the only one who performs miracles,” Alexia objected.

“Who else?”

Alexia looked him in the eye from her uncomfortable position on his shoulder.

“Lucifer.”

“The devil?! Why would you say that?!” Alfred was shocked.

“I am a miracle of Lucifer.” Alexia squeezed herself into her place, hugging her legs. “Or am I not?”

Lost

“Alfred?! Alexia?!” Alexander bellowed.

“The best contraceptive is dealing with other people’s children!” Oswell smoothed out his jacket, already wrinkled from fighting every bush, tree, flower and stone that came his way.

“Alexia?!... Alfred?!”

They entered the forest where they thought the children might have slipped away, to the left. Oswell consulted the time on his gold watch with encrusted diamonds. Thirty-seven minutes until dinner.

Alexander advanced at a military pace, distancing himself from Oswell, the latter content to cover the rear. Unable to control himself, he punched off the lower branch of an oak tree, cutting the knuckles of his right hand. A trickle of blood flowed from the open wound. Twilight was settling over the estate, unleashing the shadows and, behind them, darkness.

“Alexia?!” he shouted.

“Dad?”

A small voice replied from somewhere. Alexander turned around to find out where it came from. A blond head appeared from the bushes on his right.

“Alexia? Are you there?” He walked towards the spot.

The blond head doubled up and emerged from the bushes, first Alexia and then Alfred, disheveled and dirty. Alexander sank to one knee, deeply relieved. Alexia approached him to say:

“We heard your screams.” Unmoved. Alfred rinsed his eyes with his hands.

“You scared me to death,” he said in Scottish Gaelic. “You know very well that you mustn’t disappear without telling me.” He hardened his voice. Alfred put his hands behind his back and bowed his head to feign regret, a gesture that did nothing to appease his father. “What have I told you about the danger of wandering around on your own? About what could happen to you if no one is looking out for you?” Alexander raised his voice. Alfred saw that Oswell was waiting for them in the distance, smoking a cigarette. “Alfred!” He focused his attention on his father. “What did I tell you?”

“It’s dangerous,” Alexia replied in the same language.

“Insufficient. What else?” Alexander ordered.

“Your hand is bleeding,” said Alfred.

Alexander’s face reflected disappointment. Alexia was clutching her skirt.

“Do you want to get killed?” he continued.

“But...” Alfred complained.

“Enough!” Alexander ordered his son to be quiet with a dry and imposing voice. “Children who wander alone expose themselves to being killed, kidnapped and raped. Is that what you want for yourselves?!” He stood up as tall as he was, puffing out his muscles so that they stood out through the fabric. Alfred began to whine. Alexia held her own expressionless.

Alfred’s tears fell to the floor. Alexander lowered his shoulders and, standing, embraced both children. He caressed their hair tenderly.

“I don’t want you to get hurt, understand?” He continued to caress their heads. Alfred swallowed his tears. “I don’t want to lose sight of you.” Alexia nodded under Alexander’s arm. Alfred wiped away his tears. “I’m sorry I shouted at you. I was very scared.”

Alexander separated himself from their bodies.

“Give me your hand. We’re going back to the house.”

Alfred and Alexia obeyed, each holding one of his hands.

“I’m sorry I shouted at you...” Alexander thought out loud.

Oswell was waiting for them, smoking.

Dinner

Oswell relegated the care of the twins to the housekeeper, Olga Radu. Olga, an aging Romanian with a strong accent, took charge of washing them for dinner. In a bathroom on the first floor, equipped with a ceramic bathtub with gold edges, Olga cleaned them with the same delicacy as a washing machine spinning at full power, combed their hair as if raking through a potato patch and dressed them in a clean change of tweed as if they were rag dolls. Alexia complained about the slap she received. Alfred, still dejected from the earlier scolding, wondered what would happen if Olga accidentally hit herself in the mirror. Ready for dinner, the housekeeper kicked them out of the bathroom. In the corridor, their father was waiting for them, leaning against the wall, serious but calm, with a band-aid on his knuckles. His anger had passed. Alfred was no longer dejected.

“Thank you, you may leave.”

The housekeeper bowed to Alexander before leaving. The three of them were alone in the hallway.

“Dinner time,” he announced, and patted them on the head as if to indicate that they should be the first to move.

Oswell received them in the main dining room of Spencer State, which rivaled that of Ashford Hall in sumptuousness: Caraza marble floors, paintings from private collections, classical statues, a colorful Renaissance fireplace in the background, tables and chairs from the French court and gargantuan handcrafted crockery more than a hundred years old on an elongated rectangular table. Oswell chose to sit with Alfred on one side, and with Alexander and Alexia on the opposite side, in confidence. Theodore and Patrick waited in a corner with the trolley, ready to proceed with the English-style service. Oswell raised a hand to signal the start of dinner.

The starter consisted of a soup of onion, mushrooms and aged cheese that was not a hit with the children, but was enjoyed by the adults, who washed it down with white wine. During the starter, the adults chatted about mutual friends, about Oswell’s artistic acquisitions and about how much Alexander disliked a type of Umbrella that the twins were not familiar with. Alfred and Alexia exchanged mocking faces, holding back their laughter. After the soup, Theodore and Patrick replaced their plates with a dish of Atlantic langoustine matured in duck fat and beetroot. A main course that was not a hit with the children either, but it went down well with the adults. Alexander and Oswell went for the second glass of wine, intending to drink a few more.

“I’d like to discuss something with you briefly, before the wine goes up faster than inflation during the gold standard,” suggested Oswell as he gutted the langoustine. Unfortunately, Alfred’s langoustine came gutted.

“What is it?”

“Jamie.” Alexander frowned. Oswell laughed. “You never liked that old cowboy, clansman?” Alexander tore the head off the crayfish using the knife and fork. “He’s staying in Raccoon, doing what he loves.” Alexander shrugged. “I’ve hired two of his students for Arklay. Albert and William, I think their names are. A couple of teenagers.” Alexia listened attentively. Alfred was struggling with the crayfish tongs.

“Age?”

“Eighteen, sixteen, approximately. I must call Tony.” Alexia stirred the remains of the crayfish with her fork. “Minors are always problematic.” Alexander nodded very slightly; his eyes fixed on his plate. “Here comes dessert!”

Theodore and Patrick served Alexander, Alfred and Oswell a simple chocolate mousse with berries, and Alexia a lemon mousse with mango syrup. After mentioning Jamie, James Marcus, a man the twins only knew by name and who was from Texas, Patrick helped them to get up from the table and led them to the bedroom. Alexander kissed them on the forehead before leaving with Oswell to continue drinking and chatting.

A house on the prairie

Patrick guided the pair of twins to their bedroom on the second floor. On the way, and behind the back of the butler’s first assistant, Alfred and Alexia ventured to touch some of the Chinese ceramic vases that decorated the surface of the sideboards placed in the labyrinthine corridors. In a slip of the tongue, Alexia almost knocked over a silver candelabrum with three lit candles, which she immediately replaced. Alfred covered his mouth so that Patrick would not hear his accomplice chuckle. After the near incident with the candelabra, they entertained themselves by looking through the windows, still with the baroque Venetian curtains drawn, but they could only glimpse an impenetrable moonless night. Alexia, disappointed, said that the moon made people go lunatic. Alfred joked, sticking out his tongue and making the stereotypical crazy fingers gesture.

“Masters,” Patrick urged them from the end of the corridor.

The twins met up with the butler’s assistant, bowing their heads. The three continued walking at the same height, although this time Patrick’s eyes were glued to their respective necks. The remaining stretch between the window and the bedroom assigned to the twins was covered in just a few seconds. To the twins’ absolute dismay, Olga Radu was waiting for them at the door of the room, looking as if she were relishing their suffering. Alfred and Alexia cheered up and held hands. Patrick said goodbye with a nod of the head, thus handing over custody of the children to the housekeeper. She smiled sardonically, about unleashing her bad temper on the pair of unprotected minors. In any case, the twins would counterattack by accusing the master of the house of any slight negligence on her part.

Olga took a huge bundle of keys from the pocket of her old-fashioned dress. She managed to choose the right key first time and slid the door open with humiliating slowness. The twins entered in silence as the housekeeper held the door open for them. The bedroom disgusted them with its insignificance. Like the rest of the house, it was not without exquisite ornamentation, and a pile of probably unpublished paintings saturating the wall, but its size paled in comparison with their father’s stately room. Oswell showed the family the bedroom that had belonged to his parents and which he had now given to Alexander to spend the night in, this being the most spacious and majestic guest bedroom in the mansion. On the contrary, not only did they find that room tiny and bleak, but Oswell hadn’t even bothered to show it to them during the brief tour of the residence. Alfred slumped dejectedly. Alexia approached the only double bed in the room, on which they had placed the quadrangular suitcase that the twins shared. The room was even smaller than their single rooms at Ashford Hall.

Alexia opened the heavy leather suitcase without waiting for Olga, still standing in the doorway, to help them unpack it. Alfred approached his sister and sat down on the edge of the soft mattress, covered by silky bed linen. Alexia pulled on a garment and took off her pajamas, a T-shirt, and animal-print pants. Olga remained unperturbed, like a mummy, but Alfred knew that deep down she was laughing at them. Pajamas in hand, Alexia went to the adjoining bathroom and locked the door. Alfred was left alone with the Romanian.

The Romanian woman looked at him like someone waiting for a circus monkey to perform a trick. It made him uncomfortable. He began to feel nervous. Olga did not move, petrified in place like the pinnacle of a cathedral. To avoid her unpleasant presence, he took refuge in the suitcase, searching for his pajamas among the belongings. He touched a piece of cotton and pulled it to reveal the T-shirt and pajama pants with a spaceship print. There was no way he would change in front of her, so he sat on the other side of the bed and waited. Olga approached the bed, without saying or doing anything else. Luckily, Alexia did not take long, reappearing dressed in her animal pajamas. Alfred ran so fast to the bathroom that he caught his jacket pocket on the doorknob. He pulled it on and hastily took it out, praying that the housekeeper had not been paying attention.

He put his pajamas on top of the sink, after checking that Alexia had thrown her clothes on an empty shelf and her shoes with socks in the empty space underneath. He hated Olga. He looked at himself in the mirror. He looked good. He liked himself. He smoothed his hair a little more. He took off his jacket, his shirt and his sleeveless undershirt. He smoothed his hair a little more. He threw the top along with his pants onto the shelf, and the shoes along with the socks into the space below, on top of Alexia’s. All the clothes fell to the floor. He put on his spaceship pajamas, presumably inspired by the Apollo program. Self-confident, although disgusted by Olga, he left the bathroom noticing that he had forgotten to lock the door and neither of them had brushed their teeth, but they would use the latter as a weapon against the housekeeper.

Olga followed Alfred to collect the clothes and put them away. Alexia had got into bed, taking the right-hand side as they came out of the bathroom, so Alfred had to take the opposite side. Olga came back from the bathroom and closed the door. While Alfred got into bed, the Romanian woman tidied up their clothes. Then she put their suitcase in the wardrobe. The effort caused her face to wrinkle grotesquely, to Alfred’s delight. When she had finished, the housekeeper bowed, wished them a formal good night, turned off the lights and closed the door.

Silence.

Alfred turned on the lamp on his bedside table. Alexia submerged herself inside the sheets. He turned off the lamp. He turned on the lamp. Turned it off. Turned it on. Turned it on. Turned it off. Turneditonturneditoffturneditonturneditoff. He turned it on. Apart from the double mahogany bed without a canopy (without a canopy!), the very simple wardrobe without a dressing room, the two very small bedside tables and the very ordinary chest of drawers, the bedroom did not stand out for anything other than the army of paintings that invaded the four walls. The canvases depicted colorful impressionist landscapes, or so it seemed to him, from the stippled outlines of the shapes. Boring. He inspected them again before going to bed. That one.

He got out of bed and ran to the chest of drawers, where the painting hung below three other more colorful pieces. He climbed on top of the bathroom chair to take it down. Then he returned the chair to its place so that nobody would notice and got into bed, holding the treasure with both hands. Leaning against the headboard, he examined the work.

A dazzling desert of fine sand, white as ivory, merged with the cerulean horizon of a warm morning. A solitary black figure walked along the crest of the dune to nowhere, followed by a row of footprints imprinted on the ground. At first, he associated the landscape with the vague stories he had heard about Stanley Ashford’s travels around the world, especially to the deserts of Arabia. In one of the halls of Ashford Hall there was a photograph of him posing with Arab laborers and camels in the middle of the desert. On the back of the photograph, taken in 1911, was the inscription ‘In search of Irem, the city of pillars’. He did not know what Irem was or why his great-great-grandfather was so far away and surrounded by so many strange people because Alexander refused to tell him the truth until he was at least an adult. He sulked the last time, but it did not work. A disappointment. Speaking of backs, Alfred removed the frame from the small painting to look behind the canvas: Stendall, 1903.

“Boo.”

He covered the anodyne signature with the frame lid. He contemplated the scene more closely. He observed the somber profile of the figure. He had a feeling. A surreptitious chill ran through his body like a stampede of horses. Suddenly, he felt devastated, as if he himself were that figure, in the middle of nowhere; being nobody. The loneliness of the figure, of himself, demoralized him, even more so when that desert seemed nuclear to him. Television recreation of a large-scale nuclear war portrayed the cities of the future as radioactive dust deserts. That scared him. It made him feel powerless and deeply distressed. Alexander, who knew some very strange people connected with this matter, assured them that the chances of a nuclear war were minimal to nil; to ignore the sensationalist reports and news they were putting out on television. He said: we fight major wars in third countries as the lesser of two evils. Alfred was not completely convinced, but he could not think of anything to say to contradict his father either. He had to make do, unable to deal with that damned feeling of anguish? Alexia called it angst, and she also felt it sometimes, although for different reasons. What was her angst? Did adults feel it too? She did not know. For some reason, their father never talked to them about his feelings, appearing evasive most of the time, as if he were hiding something from them that he would not reveal until they were older. Their grandmother, on the other hand, always seemed to be in a good mood by his side.

“Angst,” he murmured in a Dutch accent.

But naming it amplified his unease. As if exorcising a demon, Alfred hid the painting under his pillow. He turned off the light and closed his eyes. He wanted to forget, unsuccessfully. The desert returned to him like the call of the wild. Suddenly, a second vision crept in through the back door of his brain. A woman in the middle of a leaden meadow stretched out a starving arm towards a lonely house. They saw it at the MOMA, when the museum’s president invited them and the Campbells to the opening of a collection.

That was the first time he felt angst. He identified with the troubled character as if it were himself. Why? At that moment, he asked Alexia:

“She is defenseless. Alone. Like us.”

Those words distressed him. Alone. That was why, because they were alone? His relatives told them to always stay together for safety. He understood the background to the warning, he was not a stupid child, however, there was something else; something more disturbing, regurgitating at the bottom of the abyss. Loneliness, not for protection, but for existence. Without Alexia: he would be nothing, no one; a traveler in the desert; a pathetic woman who crawled into the void of a ramshackle abandoned house. And he hated it. He hated thinking about it because it made him feel terrible, with a knot in his stomach, with the dizzying sensation that his tiny dream world was breaking into a million irreparable pieces. By chance, Alfred came into the world with someone who gave a name to his thoughts, who made him feel good and accompanied during the monotonous passing of the days, facsimile moments of a constrained lifestyle devoid of excitement beyond double lives and occasional nonsense.

He hugged his sister from behind, asleep for some time. He would endure walking through the desert, crawling through a meadow, if she was with him.

GLOSSARY

Bràthair, brother in Scottish Gaelic.

Charlie, Prince Charles Edward Stuart (1720-1788).

Seventy-three, 1973 oil crisis.

[pearlore]

to water, to wing

[andstuffsketches]

[salemoleander]

Translations of each of Martyn's power cards in his episode!

(originals done by @cherrifire; I've omitted her character art, if/when she posts the full card screens those should be what you rb, this is just to get some translations out there in the meantime)

[forestofdragons]

I was struck with an epiphany and had to draw it

[bryverros]

sigh its me again

[chrisrin]

all my behind-the-scenes concept work and such for the HGCZ! i had a blast working on it all.

check out my finished piece here, and check out @hotguycomiczine for the full zine!

[sketchingtons]

Posting Pride Core4 in the last hours of pride month and pirouetting away ✨ 🕺 🏳️‍🌈 🪩 🏳️‍⚧️ 💃 ✨

Link to the original designs I did from 2021!

[zondearts]

Bloomfes Kanade

[moonarune]

Today I humbly offer some irl hermits redraws

Bonus points to anyone who knows the og pics

[cryptocism]

typical adventure with these two

audio from It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia

[thefairmaidenoffandom]

id, ego, and superego

[andstuffsketches]

"Bart, I love you! I've always loved you! Tell me it's how you feel, too! ...yeah, figured that would do it."

[lunarcrown]

Odd request here...

Jimpulse art

Plz

Yknow what? Hell yeah!!! Summer cuddle nap time plus BONUS: impulse pulls his claws out to give some truly stellar wing scratches, knocks Jimmy clean out 💤💤💤

Plus bonus mini drabble by @opalwhisker under the cut bc she was inspired by the sprit of jimpulse HAHA

It was a gloriously perfect day outside. Sunny and warm, but not too hot thanks to a nice cool breeze in the air... the perfect day for a nap in the shade, which exactly what Impulse and Jimmy were doing.

Impulse, Tango and Skizz had all planned a fun day filled with activities for when Jimmy was going to visit the Hermitcraft server, but things rarely ever go to plan and Tango and Skizz had to dip away for a moment to take care of a few things, leaving just Impulse to entertain Jimmy.

Impulse obviously knew Jimmy fairly well after all the life series they'd played in together, but he'd still never had much one-on-one interaction with him before, so his initial attempts at conversation were a little stilted and awkward. He liked Jimmy and thought he was pretty cool and fun to be around... and if he was being honest, Impulse might admit he had a bit of a man crush on the handsome blonde man.

Fortunately, despite Impulse's awkward attempts at conversation, they found themselves slipping into comfortable conversation fairly quickly. Jimmy's smiles and giggles directed right at him had Impulse feeling a little funny, almost as if he were a schoolgirl talking to her crush. But how could he not feel like that when someone as handsome as Jimmy was paying attention to him and no one else in that moment? It felt like they were the only two players on the server when Jimmy spoke to him like that.

"Say, Impulse...?" Jimmy started hesitantly, "I know you 'n Skizz 'n Tango planned out this whole day for when I visited but, uh, since we have a moment, d'y'think we could maybe just... lay on a blanket in some shade and take a nap? That last round of Hungry Hermits really wore me out." Jimmy smiled apologetically and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, looking expectantly at Impulse with those beautiful brown eyes.

"Oh, sure! Yeah, of course, Jimmy! That sounds like a great idea! Here, lemme grab a blanket for us..." Impulse reflexively took Jimmy's hand and led him over to the shade of the nearest tree, rummaging through his ender chest before pulling out a large blanket and laying it on the grass. He put away the ender chest and knelt on the blanket, patting the ground next to him to invite Jimmy to lay down, which the avian happily did, flopping back onto the blanket with a relieved sigh.

"Ohhhh yeah, that's the stuff...." Jimmy heaved a big sigh and closed his eyes, leaving Impulse to fidget a bit by himself, unsure if he should lay down next to Jimmy or just stay as he was.

"...Well? Are you gonna lay down or what?" Jimmy cracked one eye open to look at Impulse, "You were gonna take a nap with me, right?"

"Oh!" Impulse felt his face flush at Jimmy's words, "I uh, wasn't sure if that's what you meant, or--"

"'Course its what I meant! Now get your butt over here, its absolutely perfect nap weather." Jimmy smiled so warmly at him, Impulse couldn't refuse his request, sliding down to lay next to Jimmy on the blanket, close but still a respectful distance between them. Jimmy seemed unhappy about this.

"Do I stink or something? I thought we were going to take a nap _together._" Jimmy pouted, "What's a nap without a bit of cuddling?"

"Well, I guess you're right... naps are better when youre cuddling!" Impulse giggled, trying to mask how flustered he felt that Jimmy expressed a desire to cuddle with _him._

"Of course they are, now get over 'ere!" Jimmy motioned Impulse closer, and the demon hybrid scooted closer until Jimmy could nestle into Impulse's side, resting his head on Impulse's shoulder while Impulse wrapped his arm around Jimmy's body, his hand resting in the bright yellow feathers of Jimmy's wings.

Impulse hoped Jimmy wouldn't be able to hear how hard his heart was beating in his chest at their proximity. Jimmy was so close Impulse could smell the scent of his shampoo in his hair and feel Jimmy's breath tickle his collarbone.

"Ohhh yes this is nice~" Jimmy sighed, practically melting in Impulse's arms, "I always wondered if cuddling with you felt as good as it looks and now I can say that it's even better~"

Impulse was too stunned at the compliment to respond, his cheeks flushing even hotter at the compliment. He was sure Jimmy had to be hearing his heart pounding against his ribcage at this point and must just be teasing him to hear it flutter some more.

"The only thing that could make this better is... y'know, if you wanted to, maybe run your fingers through my feathers? It always feels so nice and relaxing when someone does that...." Jimmy peeked up at Impulse with those cute brown eyes and there was no way Impulse could resist.

"If--" Impulse cleared his throat when the first word came out more high pitched with nerves than he'd wanted it to, "If you want, yeah I-- I can do that..."

The effect was almost instant as soon as Impulse began to card his fingers through Jimmy's soft, golden feathers. The avian hybrid shivered and sighed, melting against Impulse even more, closing his eyes and seeming lost in the calming sensation. His breathing slowed and for a moment Impulse thought he'd fallen asleep and stopped running his fingers through Jimmy's feathers, eliciting a breathless, pleading whine from Jimmy that gave Impulse pleasant goosebumps.

"Noooo please don't stop.... it felt so nice...." Jimmy pouted. "I haven't had someone run their fingers through my feathers like this since the last time Tango did it... oh his claws felt so nice running through them..." Jimmy sighed, lost in his reminiscing for a moment before remembering who he was cuddling with, "Oh! I mean. You're doing a great job too, Impulse! Tango's just got those claws that run through my feathers differently..."

"I mean... if you like it, I could use my claw for you, too." Impulse offered shyly, trying not to blush. What was he doing? He liked Jimmy, but he wasn't close enough with him to know how he might feel about Impulse relaxing more of his glamor around him. Normally Impulse wouldn't even consider something like that until he was more confident that whoever it was wouldn't get scared of him afterwards. There was just something about Jimmy... Impulse wanted to do everything he could to make him happy.

"You... have claws?" Jimmy glanced between Impulse's face and free hand with a bit of confusion, "I didnt know you had claws, Impulse."

"O-oh, um, yeah... usually i keep them hidden with magic, I've found that people are less scared when I hide them.... _Anyways-_" Impulse cut Jimmy off just as he was opening his mouth to respond to Impulse's comment, "I can undo the magic that keeps them hidden if you want..." Jimmy frowned for a moment, noticing Impulse's evasion of the topic, but choosing not to press further.

"If that's okay with you.... yes, please that sounds so nice!" Jimmy smiled so cutely at him Impulse felt his heart jump into his throat for a moment.

"Okay then, then, just close your eyes and I'll-"

"Actually... could I... see? Your claws I mean. If its okay with you!" Jimmy nibbled his lower lip a bit anxiously, "I promise I won't be scared or anything!" He hastily reassured Impulse.

"Well..." Impulse hesitated for a moment. He wasn't sure if he should let Jimmy see, but the avian puppy dog eyes won him over in the end. "Sure, if you want to see, that's fine."

Impulse smiled and Jimmy beamed back at him, his face alight with excitement as he cuddled even closer, resting his head against Impulse's chest and twining their legs together.

Impulse lifted his hand up for Jimmy to see as he slowly undid the glamor that hid his claws, the illusion melting away to reveal his claws and scaled hand, the tough, scaly skin running up his entire forearm.

_"Oh. My. Gosh!!"_ Jimmy squealed, "That is so cool!! Impulse, your claws are so pretty!"

Impulse could feel himself blushing ten times hotter at Jimmy's compliments, his heart racing again at the genuine expression of appreciation and Jimmy's proximity. Evn Impulse couldn't keep his tail from instinctively curling around their legs possessively, his tail tip flicking back and forth in a pleased motion as Jimmy grabbed Impulse's hand to examine his claws and scales up close.

With this perfect weather, cuddled up to someone who makes his heart flutter and is actually admiring a part of himself Impulse usually hid from the world... it was completely perfect. Impulse wished they could stay like that forever in the comfort of each other, but knowing that it wouldn't be forever only made that intimate moment something he savored even more in the moment.

[yumesakura97]

Okay I know I'm super late for this and I've already seen a lot of aus with Bad boys as Huntrix and Clockers as Saja boys but What if,,, 3Gs as Huntrix and Southlanders as Saja boys- Featuring Scott as Rumi and Martyn as Jinu having an identity crisis and drama (also mean gil- gunshot) Pearl as Zoey having sibling angst with Grian and Jimmy Cleo as Mira having a rap off with Impulse and Mumbo being everyone's favorite pathetic boy

Also someone tell me who should be bobby cause I need to know that for my sanity

P.S. I speedrunned this just so I could enjoy the new life series in peace〒▽〒

[omgitskaii]

Dean

déjà vu