#did i ever post this?

[nomstellations]

Fatigue was common after a long day at work, and after today's shift especially so. You were worn out, exhausted, beat- the commute home was a blur to your exhausted self, and you wanted nothing more than to go home and sink deep into your soft bed for a post-work nap.

Unlocking the door to your home you stagger inside, kicking off your shoes and closing the door behind you. Finally, you can put the day behind you and rest...your bed upstairs was too far away, so you tiredly made your way to the couch to flop down. And flop you did, with your couch being so warm and inviting....and...grumbly?

Ah. This was your partner.

"Welcome home, love~" They purred, however upon seeing your fatigued state they frown. "Bad day, huh…? Let me fix that."

Before you could muster the energy to respond or even open your eyes, you felt yourself being grabbed and dragged forward. Your head was quickly enveloped by humid warmth, and you picked up on what was happening right away. Thick gulps worked hard to pull you deep inside their throat, and you noted they weren't taking their time to taste you- they must want to get you situated as soon as possible. The warmth of their body seeped into you as each swallow pulled you down, and you felt yourself finally starting to relax.

It didn't take long for your body to spill out into their stomach, with the walls shifting to cradle you. A pleased burble and a quiet burp from above told you that they were as content as you were, and you could feel their hand gently rubbing at you from the outside to make you comfortable.

"Welcome to your real home, my dear…you just settle in and make yourself comfortable, okay?" Their voice reverberated around you soothingly. "I'll take care of dinner tonight. Just let me know when you're ready to come up."

[nyaa]

[lycantropy14]

doodle page from a while back

[cosmereplay]

Thinking about Laran/Lyn again

[grammatically-incoherent]

[magicalwarriordiamondheart]

[primamchorus]

old

commission for a friend

[nhaneh]

share your skin.

[artsyeden]

Shooting stars in winter ❄🌟

[platonicphoenix]

Draw him like one of your french girls

This is lowkey old. Also i gave it to my teacher and its still on the wall since the beginning of the school year

[crynwr-drwg]

[rakimaiirisa]

[tatiletotesamaze]

"You know it's not that bad," she said around another mouthful of chips. "Other people have it way worse."

I nodded. My food was unappetising. Warm and spiced, just the right touch of greasy, it was my favourite pick-me-up. It turned to tasteless mush in my mouth.

Other people have it worse.

That was the day I decided to find these other people. I would get their permission for my feelings or absolve myself.

The first day of my quest, the very next morning after Amanda and I had talked over fried chicken, I went to my neighbour. She had three children and worked two jobs. Her partner also worked two. They hardly saw each other through the nights and the weeks.

"Oh, other people have it worse than us." She said, with a colicy baby on her hip and two kids not wanting to go to school. I helped her get them dressed, took them down to the bus stop while she fussed the baby. She thanked me. I felt nothing and nodded. "Have you seen Mrs So-and-so, one the corner? She's got in worse than me."

Mrs So-and-so, on the corner, had always lived in the building. I like to think that she'd always lived in that little flat on the ground floor and that the building has been put up around her. She had an old toothless dog that wagged its tail at everyone and they both smelled like roses.

Mrs So-and-so, on the corner, invited me in for tea. There was cake as well but its sweetness was too far away for me to taste. I asked Mrs So-and-so, on the corner, how she was.

"Oh I can't complain." She said and smiled. Her hands shook as she lifted her tea cup. The liquid was cool, too cold for me, so she didn't burn herself. "Ever since my Wilbur passed it has been difficult, but oh I can't complain.” She looked at her dog, who gummed at a worn toy rabbit that had turned grey after many years of being pink. I'd never heard of Wilbur before. Mrs So-and-so, on the corner, had been alone when I arrived, except for the dog. I nodded.

I helped with the dishes, took out the bins, took the toothless old dog for a plod around the gardens. His name was Poopsie, which somehow came from Parliament. He had arthritis in his knees, all four of them. He enjoyed the flowers and sunshine even if he couldn't get very far. Poopsie told me, as we sat in the shade of the only tree, that he was happy. That he had it good.

"But you have no teeth, and arthritis in all four of your knees."

"Yes," said Poopsie, and now I could see the proud dog of days gone by and the path of long years he had taken. "I'm not as I once was but you know, there are others worse off than me."

I sighed and nodded. He told me about a racing hound, three towns over, who had lost all her children in a flood. When I arrived the next day she was gone. I found only her owner, Mr. Who-owns-all-those-dogs.

"Hello Mr. Who-owns-all-those-dogs."

And Mr Who-owns-all-those-dogs shook his head. He seemed to me to be very deeply sad.

"She's gone," he shrugged and sighed. "Everything's been ruined by that flood. Look."

Council-house magnolia walls were stained with mud above the windows. A layer of dirt and other unmentionables covered the floor. I thought I saw a couch fallen in on itself, wedged in a doorway.

“It’s just so hard to clean up, you know?” He shrugged and sighed again. I nodded, pretending to know. “Sometimes I think it’s just better to rip it all out and start over.”

“It certainly does look that way.” I said. Mr Who-owns-all-those-dogs agreed with me, but in a resigned, dejected sort of way. I don’t think he knew quite what to do - I knew I didn’t.

“Could you at least help me move that couch?” He asked and pointed to the doorway. I noticed then the door had disappeared. Perhaps it had always been that way. I couldn’t imagine a flood, even one that could cover the ground floor windows, ripping a door off its hinges.

“Of course.” I said, not really understanding what I was getting myself in for. Even with everything that wasn’t happening to me; the bland food, the far away sunlight, the wind and the rain that never seemed to touch me, this was an experience to rouse even my failing emotions. About that sturdy frame, the fabric and the cushions had already started to rot. Rusted staples dug into my palms and my fingers. I think an exotic mould took root in my sinuses.

We pulled. We yanked and we heaved. We wiggled and pushed. He pleaded and swore. I stood and stared. The couch refused to budge.

“I’ll get the saw.” Said Mr Who-owns-all-the-dogs, as he headed off down the dark, damp corridor and into the light. I watched the couch drip, drip, drip on the floor and looked at the mud on my legs. It was cold but I didn’t really care.

After a while Mr Who-owns-all-the-dogs returned. I held onto the end of the couch again, feeling the mud squelch through my fingers. He sawed through the wood at the bottom, making the couch jump and shake in my hands.

“You know,” Mr Who owns all the dogs said as the wood started to splinter and snap. “I got off lucky. There’s a bunch of others down the road, the mud ain’t leaving.” He shook his head and kept on sawing until we had chunks of couch in a pile. Mr Who-owns-all-the-dogs thanked me and we shook hands, not caring about the mud, for we were so very muddy by that point.

The next day I gathered my wits about me and went three towns over, to the bunch of others down the road. When I arrived they were knee high in mud with spades and shovels and ineffectual brooms. I grabbed a spade and started slinging mud. They nodded to me and I nodded to them and by the end of the day, with the sky pink and streaked through with blue, we were still knee high in mud. I went back the next day and the next. Each day we’d sling mud in skips and bins and buckets and each day the river would sling mud right back up at us. Around Thursday someone showed up with a digger. The spades and shovels and brooms couldn’t match up to the digger, so we all sat back and watched it work. By then I was used to being covered in mud. I felt more mud than person.

Someone shoved a drink in my hand and we got to chatting.

“Awful business, this.” Someone said.

“I know. But it’s getting better.” said someone else.

“Good thing that digger showed up.” said a third someone. I sipped my drink and nodded and was generally agreeable. Before the sun had even started to tint the sky orange, the digger was done. The skips and buckets and bins were overflowing but the streets were clear. The mud was coming out of the houses now but that was fine. It would collect overnight and be gone the next day, thanks to the digger.

No one showed that they felt their efforts were wasted because of the digger, and that was good, because then I didn’t have to pretend that I felt the same way. I didn't go back the next day and nor did half the mud covered people. The digger dug and there were other things to do. Instead I went for a walk in the park. It was sunny with a blustering breeze that chased the clouds away. The kind of day that looks beautiful until you step out into it and find the wind rattling in your bones too annoying, so you stay inside.

I watched as the birds were blown about and flowers had their petals ripped off. The wind was very strong but I didn't much mind, or care. I suppose it might have been pleasant in its own way. After a while of being huddled on a bench, trying not to fall off, a bird landed next to me.

"Hello." I said.

The bird looked a little startled, then it hopped over my legs and settled in next to me, out of the wind.

"Thanks." said the bird.

"No problem." I said, as I hadn't really done anything.

"It's awfully hard flying out there." said the bird, trying to make conversation.

"Yeah, I'd imagine so." And I tried very hard to imagine it, but couldn't. Still, I think the bird accepted this.

"I'll stay here until the winds dies down, if you don't mind."

I nodded. We stayed there at least an hour, me being battered by the wind, which I'm sure many people would have described as 'angry', the bird rearranging its ruffled feathers. The wind eventually died down, to be swiftly replaced by rain. I left and the bird found somewhere else to shelter.

I walked Poopsie in the rain. He said the dirt, softened by the rain, was kinder to his knees. I worried that the cold would do him in.

"Maybe you should go on a trip," He suggested at the door.

"Maybe," I said, non-commitally.

"Oh," Mrs So-and-so, on the corner, lent on her door to let Poopsie in and smiled at me. "Are you going on a trip?"

[swiftsuburbanlegends]

Blood Makes You Related, Loyalty Makes You Family

Sonny worshipped his father growing up. Seeing him work a con was like watching Picasso paint a master piece. He wanted nothing more than to become half the man his father was. And in that way, he had chosen his own path.

Because Jasper Delaney Sr. was a hard man to get to notice you, even if you were his only kid. So Sonny started running side hustles when he was seven. He’d host a game of 3 card monte on the play ground, earning most of his brownie obsession from the snacks kids had bet. And the day he switched to cash, and brought home 20 bucks, was the proudest day of his young life.

Until his father took him in the kitchen, and exchanged it for a five.

“That’s not even half,” Sonny protested.

Jasper winked at him. “The only way you get a full cut is by being in charge. And no offense kid, but you ain’t got the brains for that.”

Sonny was pretty sure his dad used the rest to buy beer and a pack of smokes. 

---

So as the years progressed and 3 card monte stopped pulling in the crowd, Sonny moved on to other things. He would pocket candy and poptarts at the drug store down the block, selling them to his classmates for half the retail price. And after the first time he tripped a kid for getting in his way, others started paying him just to be their muscle in the halls. It was a sweet set up, until he broke a kids arm in 8th grade and got sentenced to 14 months in juvenile detention.

Jasper only showed up to visit him once that first week. “Look Sonny, I’m headed out of town for awhile. Got a job to take care of in Vegas. Probably be gone the whole year.”

Sonny just nodded. He knew better than to ask for details. His father wouldn’t spill, and a place crawling with cops was the last spot for those kinds of talks. 

“But I’ll be back the day you get out. Hear me son?”

“Yeah, Pops.”

“Keep your head moving in here kid,” Jasper added as he patted his son on the shoulder and got up to leave.

---

It’s three days, three days in and Sonny is about ready to punch his way out. He hates his roommate, he hates the guards, he hates that his dad is off on some job while he’s stuck in there. All because his dad wanted him to lean a little on some guy’s kid. And Sonny being Sonny leaned a little too hard, and snapped the kids arm.

Some beefy guy knocks into his shoulder and Sonny is ready to haul off and deck him. But before he can take a step forward, a hand grabs his shoulder and pulled him back and around a corridor.

He’s greeted by a kid who’s about a foot shorter than him, and couldn’t be any older than Sonny himself. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Excuse me?” 

“Look I appreciate the move. Donnie is a dick to, well everyone, but if you make a move on him exactly two things are gonna happen,” he continued. “One, your sentence will probably be extended and he’ll get moved to the infirmary and two, if he gets moved then my planted contraband will not get discovered on him and my many weeks of planning will be for nothing. So either make him hurt for an hour or make him suffer for months?”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Rush Foster,” he replied with a smirk. “And you’re Jasper Delaney Jr. Got 14 months for aggravated assault, which if you hadn’t had such a shitty public defender could have been 6 with 6 months community service. Tough break on that one.”

“What is happening? How do you know any of that?”

“I pride myself on knowing things. Especially when it interests me.”

“Okay,” Sonny shook his head and moved to leave.

“If you’re interested, I could use a second pair of hands to take down Donnie’s sidekick goon. He’s been spouting crap for the last couple of months about getting a job with the Bertinelli’s when he gets out. But I have it on good authority that he’s made a deal with the DA to gather dirt on them in order to get his record wiped right after he turns over evidence.”

Sonny paused. His dad told him to never get in bed with Bertinelli business, why stay loyal to one family when you can do small jobs for many.

“Look i don’t care about them one way or another. But Donnie’s looking to make a name for himself when he gets out. If I can cut him and his friends off at the start, life on the outside is gonna be better for all. Trust me.”

“What did you say you’re name was again?”

“Rush.”

Sonny thought for a second. His father told him to follow his rules if he ever wanted to make it in the business. But his father also skipped town the second Sonny was locked up. Maybe he’d come back and maybe he wouldn’t. But Sonny was starting to think Jasper Delaney only had enough thought to look out for himself. And if he wanted to make it, he’d have to find people who had his back.

“Call me Sonny,” he replied sticking his hand out. “What can I do to help.”

After that moment, Sonny and Rush couldn’t be separated, gods help anyone who tried. 

[koobiie]

shoutout to everyone who wants to infodump but cant string together coherent thoughts to form sentences and instead just look at you like this

[lovepropaganda]