#if I post my stupid sketch then I can guilt myself into doing it right??????

[findusinaweek]

KLIMT'S THE KISS BUT IT'S Alexidas sketch no. 1

[hotpinkhoshi]

kiss it better | five

pairing: mark tuan x reader

genre: angst, eventual smut, brother’s best friend au (sort of)

warnings: tw for death, death of a parent, reference to drug addiction

word count: 4.5k

summary: you were off limits for more reasons than mark could count. but everything changed for him the day you walked into his tattoo shop with those big innocent eyes and a laugh like his favorite song. he couldn’t. he wouldn’t. and yet…

a/n: hi babies thank you for your patience, i know it’s been many many months since i’ve updated! the last time i posted for kib was all the way back in may, which is crazy, i know. but life has been weird and it’s been difficult for me to find the motivation to write. it’s slowly coming back for me and i’m so glad you guys have stuck around with me even if i haven’t been consistent. i’m more grateful than you know!

✩ index here ✩

“She did what?” Dahyun asked, her bite of gimbap nearly falling right out of her mouth. 

Youngjae threw his head back and broke into laughter entirely at Mark’s expense. 

Mark ran his tongue over his teeth and refused to look up at his friends, focusing awfully hard on the sketch he’d been working on in between appointments. He quickly realized that they had absolutely no sympathy for him. 

“Yeah.” 

It had been two weeks already since that night, and Mark was just now feeling comfortable enough to spill what had happened after he took you home. He liked to take his own time to process his thoughts before he revealed them to others, and quite frankly, he hadn’t even wanted to tell anyone. But he was starting to think maybe he needed an outside perspective. 

“She has guts,” Youngjae said, after finally pulling himself upright in his chair. “Was it good?” 

“Dude,” Mark warned, far from amused. 

Dahyun cut in. “It’s a good enough question. From what I’ve seen, you guys have some intense sexual tension. If the kiss was hot, maybe it’s worth exploring.” 

“We don’t have sexual tension,” Mark defended. 

Youngjae snorted. 

“Sure. But, let’s say if you did, and the kiss was good…” Dahyun trailed off, wiggling her eyebrows. 

Groaning, Mark tapped the end of his pencil against the desk. He glanced up at the wall, his eyes naturally drawn to the photo of your shoulder, of the tattoo he’d designed and permanently inked onto your skin. It wasn’t the only photo he had pinned up of his previous work, but it was the one he looked at the most. 

“She’s a kid,” he said, little to no conviction in his voice. 

But you weren’t a kid. Mark knew in every way, you were an adult. Even mentally, emotionally, you seemed more mature than he felt most days. Packing up your belongings because you refused to live a life you weren’t satisfied with? He couldn’t imagine anything more grown up than that.

“Mark,” Youngjae’s tone was firm, serious this time. “It’s not the worst thing in the world if you have chemistry with someone. I know it may not be the most convenient girl for you, but… you’ve been by yourself for a long time. You can’t tell me you aren’t lonely.” 

He hadn’t thought he was lonely until you came into his life. He had been fine, so fine, living on his own. Waking up alone, eating dinner alone, focusing on his work and living one day to the next. 

But now, he looked forward to the sound of your keys in the door when you got home from your evening shift. He bought your favorite brand of orange juice instead of his. He didn’t mind watching outlandish and obviously fake reality shows if it meant that he got to hear your commentary along with it. More than anything, he’d gotten used to the way you made him feel. In the simplest of terms, he was happy. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Mark said. “I already fucked it up.”

Dahyun narrowed her eyes. “What did you do?” 

He rubbed some of the tension out of his forehead, relaying the conversation he’d had with Taehyung that night to his friends. The exchange wasn’t longer than a few minutes, but it was long enough for Mark to potentially ruin everything you’d built for yourself in the last couple of months. 

“I didn’t tell him everything - I couldn’t do that. But I told him I’d seen her in the city, that I thought maybe she worked in one of the restaurants near the shop…” A knot of guilt coiled in his stomach. “Fuck.” 

He’d just wanted to do the right thing. You were young, you couldn’t see that your parents cared about you. Taehyung cared about you. They deserved to know where you were, especially after everything they had done for him. He could at least point them in the right direction. 

“Well, shit,” Youngjae offered, a sympathetic frown on his face. 

“I fucked her over, and I haven’t been able to look her in the eye since. We’ve just avoided each other for the last two weeks and I-” Mark heaved a breath, leaning back in his chair. “I hate it.” 

He missed you. Even if he couldn’t say it out loud.

“I have an idea,” Dahyun said, her whole body perking up. “Don’t look at me like that, sometimes I have good ideas. Why don’t you invite her along for Yugyeom’s camping trip?”

“You mean the couple thing?” 

Dahyun sighed. “It’s not a couple thing. It’s just… everyone there is part of a couple. Anyway, it might be a good way to make things less awkward.” 

Mark blinked a few times, waiting for Dahyun to say ‘just kidding’ because it was an absolutely ridiculous idea. “What? How would that make things any less awkward?” 

She shrugged. “I mean, it’s a great opportunity to break the tension. If you know what I mean.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Mark scowled. 

You spent your entire shift thinking about Mark. Thinking about how you had completely messed up your relationship, and trying to figure out how to fix it all. It had been a stupid, drunken mistake, and you would take it back in a heartbeat if you could. 

The past two weeks had been torture, tiptoeing around and trying your hardest to avoid him. You’d picked up extra shifts almost every day, figuring that if you were working, at least you didn’t have to pretend like everything was normal. 

All you wanted was to come home, curl up on the couch with Milo and watch your favorite ridiculous TV shows while Mark snickered next to you, entertained by the disgustingly wealthy families on the screen no matter how much he pretended to hate it. You wanted to be able to lean into him, feel the body heat radiating off of him when his shoulder brushed yours. 

You missed Mark. Even if you couldn’t say it out loud. 

After much debating, you decided that the best way to apologize started with food. And you owed him, anyway, after he opened his home to you and let you stay there free of charge. A dinner was the least you could do. 

You could tell once you walked into Paradise Tattoo just before closing time that Mark hadn’t been expecting you in the slightest. He was at the desk, going over papers with Dahyun, when the bell dinged to signal your entrance. 

In his ripped jeans and muscle tee, all of his tattoos were on display for you, even the large quote he had inked onto his ribcage. You gulped and shoved your feelings down. That would only make things worse. 

“Hi,” you said, greeting both Mark and Dahyun. 

“Hey.” Mark scratched his head and straightened his posture. “What are you doing here?” 

“Well,” you started, wringing your hands in front of you. “I wanted to see if you wanted to get dinner? On me. I owe you, anyway.” 

Dahyun piped up, a mischievous smirk on her lips, “That’s a great idea. Mark was just talking about how hungry he was.

Mark cleared his throat and shot his co-worker what looked suspiciously like a glare. “No, I’m fine. You really don’t have to-” 

“Come on,” you said, hiding a smile. “How about burgers? There’s a good place around the corner. It won’t kill you to let me pay, will it?” 

You could see Mark weigh his options as he chewed his lip. Either end up hungry, settling for some quick frozen food later on, or bite the bullet and let you pay for his dinner. You knew it would hurt his pride to do so, but you wouldn’t back down. It was more than just the free room and board that you wanted to make up for. 

“Alright,” he finally agreed. “Let me grab my stuff.” 

It only took less than ten minutes for you to walk down to the burger place, but it felt like an hour as awkward silence hung around the two of you. It wasn’t until you were both seated at a corner booth inside the restaurant that you finally spoke up. 

“Listen, Mark,” you said, looking up from the packet of ketchup you’d been nervously squishing between your fingers. “About that night…” 

“No, you don’t-” Mark was quick to interrupt, but you held your hand up. 

“Just let me, okay?” You sighed. 

You’d rehearsed these words countless times in the bathroom mirror, and right now it felt like they were slipping right out of your fingers. Where were you supposed to start? With the kiss, straight away? Or getting so drunk that you’d needed to be taken care of in the first place?

“I’m just… really sorry. I was stupid to drink that much and it’s not your job to watch after me. I should be able to take care of myself.”

Mark stopped you again. “I didn’t mind taking care of you.” 

“But it’s not your job, Mark. I’m an adult, and you’re letting me stay with you and asking for nothing in return. The least I could do is make it easy on you.”

“Y/N, if you could have seen me at your age, you wouldn’t feel so bad. We all get drunk and stupid sometimes,” Mark said with a shrug. It almost relieved some of your guilt until you remembered the kiss in the bathroom. 

“Well...” You shook your head and looked back down at your hands. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him for this one. “I really shouldn’t have ki-” 

“Hi! My name’s Lana, I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you two something to drink while you look over the menus?”

A cheerful brunette appeared in front of you, a pen behind her ear and a wide grin plastered on her face. You glanced at Mark, then up at your waitress, not sure if you were grateful for the interruption or not. 

“Um, can I just have a water?” you asked, voice small and uncomfortable in your throat. 

“Same for me,” Mark agreed. 

“Perfect! Let me know if you have any questions about the menu!” 

You let out a long breath before you were able to look at Mark again. He was biting his cheek, his lips all twisted and holding back a laugh. 

“What?” you asked. 

“Her timing,” Mark got out, just as he let go of his laughter, throwing his head back. 

To your own surprise, you found yourself shaking with laughter as well. Either from Mark’s contagious laugh giggle or the simple ridiculousness of the situation. Here you were, in a burger restaurant, apologizing to your older brother’s best friend for kissing him while you were heavily intoxicated.

You covered your face with your hands to suppress your own laughter, letting your back slump against the cushions of the booth. It all came to you then, just how silly you’d been the last two weeks. 

“I am sorry, though,” you said, after you both settled down. 

Mark’s eyes glinted as he watched you from across the table, the ghost of a smile still on his lips. “It’s alright. I mean it. Last time I was that drunk, I’m pretty sure I ran around the block in my underwear singing the Canadian national anthem.”

You giggled again at the mental image. “What? How did you even-”

“No idea. It’s like I was possessed by a drunk Canadian mischief demon.” 

It was strange to imagine Mark and Taehyung in their teen years, since you’d been so young at the time, you could barely remember anything from that time of your life. You remembered Taehyung wearing the same pair of purple skinny jeans for three months because a girl at school had told him she liked them. 

You remembered Taehyung letting you sit in the basement in your favorite cushioned chair while he and Mark played video games on the big screen. It had been your favorite place to read then, tuning out the rambunctious cries of defeat while you got lost in other worlds. 

“So we’re okay, then?” you asked, after Lana had come back to take your order and left once more. 

Mark nodded, a genuine smile on his lips. “We’re okay.” 

“Maybe it’s weird, but…” you began, staring down at the wrapped silverware on the table instead of looking Mark in the eye. “Even though I grew up seeing you as Taehyung’s friend, that feels like a lifetime ago. And now I just kind of see you as… my friend. Like somebody I can trust.” 

When you finally looked up at Mark, his expression was unreadable. His bottom lip was between his teeth, but his eyes looked somewhat uncomfortable. You worried for a second that you’d crossed a line. 

“I owe a lot to your family,” Mark said after another long moment passed. 

Even though you didn’t remember much about Mark from your childhood years, you knew his upbringing had been rough. His parents had been addicts, the kind that never should’ve been together, let alone bring a child into the world. 

You’d never met his mom, but your own mother had made enough snide comments about her after Mark had gone home for you to understand just what kind of person she was. 

“One of those low life, worthless drug addicts. Sleeping around with anyone that can help her out, if you know what I mean. Never should’ve been a mother.”

She had a funny way of showing her compassion sometimes. 

Taehyung brought him over once after school and your mother had gotten one look at his threadbare clothes and hollow cheeks and taken him in as her new project. At first, he ate dinner with your family almost every night, and then she started making Taehyung pass over his any extra clothes he’d gotten that didn’t fit properly or that he simply didn’t like.

Mark did owe a lot to your family. 

You didn’t know what to say. You’d been so young there was no way you could take credit for anything your parents had done for Mark, but still, you itched to comfort him. Even now, with the unsaid words lingering in the air, you sensed that he had never been able to fully open up to anybody. Though you didn’t deserve it, you wanted to be the first. 

“Your mom,” you found yourself saying. “Is she…?” 

Mark shook his head. “She’s gone. Passed away a couple years ago.” 

Your face fell. If anything, you had expected her to have taken off for good or maybe gotten into some trouble she couldn’t get herself out of, but you hadn’t expected her to be gone. 

“Oh, god, Mark. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

To your surprise, he only lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I hadn’t seen her in a long time before that. Maybe two, three years. Then my aunt showed up on my doorstep with a box of her things and told me she OD’d in a gas station parking lot a week before.” 

His voice wavered only slightly, but enough to tell you he cared more than he let on. You could only imagine how painful it would be to hear of your own mother’s passing a week after the fact. 

“I’m sorry,” you said again. 

Mark shook his head. “Don’t be. It’s weird,” he said, tongue running over his lower lip as he paused. “I’d stopped seeing her as my mother so long ago that… I felt like I’d already mourned her death. Fuck, that sounds bad, doesn’t it?”

“No,” you answered as you reached across the table, fingers laying across the back of Mark’s hand. “It doesn’t. At all.”

A moment passed between the two of you. You caught Mark’s eyes glancing down at your hand resting on his skin, but he made no move to avoid your touch. 

“I never even went through her things. The box is just sitting at the back of my bedroom closet collecting dust.” 

“Do you want to go through her things?” you asked. 

Mark paused, chewing at the inside of his lip before he answered. “I don’t know.”

You nodded, somehow understanding exactly what he meant. Though you hadn’t gone through the same thing, you were familiar with avoiding a potentially painful and uncomfortable situation by simply pretending it didn’t exist. Hence why you had four unopened voicemails from your brother and parents. 

You found yourself stroking the back of Mark’s hand with your thumb. It didn’t feel wrong to touch him like this, even though maybe it should have. All you wanted was to bring him a shred of the comfort he had deserved to have for much longer than you’d known him. 

“Alrighty, and here we’ve got the bacon cheeseburger and sweet potato fries for the lady,” Lana exclaimed, immediately bursting your bubble as she returned to your table with your food balanced on a tray. You were quick to snatch your hand from Mark’s. “And a BBQ cheddar burger with curly fries for the handsome man.”

You didn’t miss the way Lana winked as she placed Mark’s food in front of him. This girl was not getting a generous tip from you, that was for sure. 

“I told you, after that depressing dinner conversation, we need to do something fun,” you told Mark as you carried your skincare basket out from the bathroom into the living room.

“And this is fun for who?” 

You threw him a playful glance and plopped down onto the floor in front of the couch on your knees, setting your basket on the cushion and sifting through it. 

“Both of us. Just trust me.” 

Catching the skeptic look on Mark’s face, you could only grin to yourself as you pulled out a tube of your favorite clay mask. He didn’t know just how relaxing a good face mask could be, but you were willing to show him. 

“I’ll even go first,” you told him. 

Mark lifted his feet to prop them up on the coffee table as Milo curled up like a tiny ball of cotton on his lap. You’d both changed out of your work clothes into comfy clothes, and you couldn’t help noticing how warm Mark looked in his white joggers and oversized black hoodie. You wouldn’t mind snuggling up into that space between his side and the couch cushion… 

You sighed and shook your head, attempting to clear the less-than-platonic thoughts from your mind. If you were going to make this friendship work, you would need to stop thinking about him like that. Immediately.

“Can I ask you something?” Mark said after a beat of silence as you popped open the cap to your mask. 

“Hm?” you asked, propping your personal sized makeup mirror on the couch so that you could see yourself while you applied your mask. 

“Yugyeom’s family has a yearly pass to this campground, and every year he does this weekend camping trip…” he trailed off for a moment and you forced yourself not to react, instead focusing on applying your charcoal mask to your cheeks. “This year, it somehow ended up as a couple thing, so Dahyun suggested I invited a friend along. So…” 

Lifting your eyes from your own reflection, you watched as Mark struggled to finish his thought. 

“So…” you said, helping him along. “Are you asking me to come with you?” 

Immediately, a neon flashing red alarm screeched in your mind. ‘This is a terrible idea! You must say no!’ it screamed.

“Only if you want to. I mean, it’s a cool place. Their lot is right by this swimming hole and there’s a fire pit, so we normally bring a ton of booze and cook our own food over the fire…” 

Mark ran his fingers through his deep red locks of hair, his nerves displayed clearly on his face. You weren’t sure why he was so nervous to ask you, but it came off as incredibly endearing. Despite the warnings blaring in your mind, you found yourself nodding. 

“Okay.” 

Mark looked at you then, his eyes finally locking on yours, and the corner of his lips lifted in a hopeful smile. “Really?”

You couldn’t help grinning as well. “Yeah. I mean, on one condition…”

“Oh?” 

“Mhm,” you replied, holding up the mask tube and popping the cap back open. “You let me put this mask on you.”

“Aish,” Mark said and shook his head. “No way. Not worth it.”

“Oh, come on, you big baby!” 

You stood from the floor and climbed onto the couch, crawling to his side and squeezing some of the mask onto your index and middle fingers. “It’s not that bad!”

“Get away from me!” Mark exclaimed with a laugh, dodging your fingers. Milo hopped up onto the arm of the couch, stomping his cute little paws a few times. 

“Just let me pamper you, Mark!” 

He let out another laugh, louder this time, trying to reach for the mask to steal from your grasp, but he wasn’t fast enough. You giggled, ducking to miss his hands as he grabbed for your wrists. 

Somehow, you found yourself straddling him, thighs resting on either side of Mark’s waist. 

“Real men wear face masks!” you exclaimed with a shout of victory as you finally managed to smear a good amount of the clay mask across Mark’s left cheek. 

“Oh, you little-” he replied, hands reaching for your sides underneath the long sleeved shirt you were wearing. He tickled your sides, a joyful laugh falling from his lips when you started squealing. 

Milo yapped a few times from the arm of the chair, presumably because he thought that you were hurting Mark or vice versa, but his protective barks only made you laugh harder. 

“Mark! Stop it!” 

You gasped for breath, wriggling on top of him and dropping the mask tube, fighting between giggling and trying to swat his hands away. 

“It’s what you deserve, you sneak,” he said, his hands still squeezing and tickling your sides, unknowingly drifting further up your shirt to your ribs. 

Twisting and turning, you finally managed to grab his wrists and yanked them from under your shirt. You held them firmly in between your bodies, even though he could have easily overpowered you. 

Your chest heaved up and down with the last of your giggles. Mark stared up at you, still smiling and out of breath. The air suddenly became thick as you held eye contact, your hands falling from his wrists to his chest. 

“Y/N,” Mark whispered. 

‘Danger! Danger!’ your mind yelled. 

Mark’s hands, now free from your hold, landed on your hips. You felt his thumbs slip under the hem of your shirt, stroking the bare skin of your stomach. Your heart pounded beneath your rib cage at his gentle touch. 

“Mark,” you said, intending on telling him to stop, but it quickly died in your throat. 

His chin tipped up, making you realize just how close you were to him now. You weren’t sure who had leaned in first, but only a few mere inches separated your lips from his now. If you only bent forward a bit, you could… 

It reminded you, all of the sudden, of the kiss in the bathroom. It had been quick, but long enough for you to slide your tongue past his lips. You remembered the shock to your system the moment you had felt the cold metal of a tongue piercing. 

“Y/N,” Mark said again. “Tell me to stop.”

His voice was quiet but you felt like you could read between the lines. He didn’t want to stop, and the only way he was going to stop was if you made it clear that you didn’t want this. 

But you did. You’d wanted it from the moment he ran his fingers over the tattoo he’d inked onto your skin one of those first nights, a soft ghost of a touch that made goosebumps form on every inch of your skin. 

You weren’t stupid, you knew that this was all wrong for a variety of reasons, the least of which being that he was your roommate. But that meant nothing to you compared to the way his hands felt on your skin.

Before you could open your mouth, tell him that you didn’t want him to stop, an 8-bit version of the Mario Kart theme blasted from somewhere behind you. You jumped, your heart skipping several beats from the surprise. 

Mark took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, blinking a few times before he gently guided your hips to climb off of him. “Sorry, I should…”

The ringtone felt familiar but you couldn’t figure out why. Even as you watched Mark grab for his phone off the coffee table and immediately silence it, you wracked your brain to try and remember where you had heard that ringtone before. 

It was as if Taehyung had known, the moment that Mark quieted the little voice in his head telling him not to be so close to you and that this was wrong in so many ways, and finally accepted his feelings for you.  

Maybe he had a sixth sense. 

The moment that had passed between you then had been effectively ruined as soon as he was reminded of two things: you were his childhood best friend’s little sister, and he had already ruined your life even if you didn’t know it yet. 

But he’d been so close to giving in. You’d been on top of him, smiling in that innocently beautiful way that you did, your thighs caging in his hips. He hadn’t missed the fact that he could feel you with every inch of him, considering how he’d begged his body not to react, not to harden beneath you. Between the thin layers of his sweats and your sleep shorts, there was no way you wouldn’t notice. 

Later, after you’d grabbed a washcloth so you could both wipe the face mask off your faces and awkwardly watch TV for an hour before enough time could pass for you to realistically head off to bed, Mark listened to the voicemail Taehyung had left. 

“Hey man. I just wanted to let you know that uh, I’m going to try and head to the city and look for Y/N in a few weeks. If you see her again or have any idea where she might be, let me know. I really appreciate it, my mom’s been going crazy… anyway, maybe we can grab a drink or something once I’m in town. I’ll hit you up. Thanks again, Mark.”

Mark was glad he was in the privacy of his own bedroom when he listened to the message so you didn’t see the way he threw his phone down on the bed, muttering curse words to himself and trying to forget how heavenly you had felt on top of him. 

It was impossible. All he could think about was your skin under his fingertips, how your lips had been so soft and smooth and close to his, and how the weight of you on top of him had been enough to make him hard. 

His only option was to shut himself in the bathroom and crank the shower all the way to the coldest temperature that he could stand and pray that it would be enough to keep him from sneaking into your bedroom that night. 

[sketching-shark]

How dare the shadow monkey come at him with softly-spoken hypocrisies on the power of forgiveness laced with undercurrents of bitter blame, and end with an eloquent request for sympathy along with the offer to resume their “lessons” (“I’m really happy you have Snub-Nosed and Macaque Demon and wow, even Horse helping you along, kid? That’s great! But hey, you want to fix your mistake as fast as you can, right? For this if nothing else, you really can’t have too many teachers.”)   

How dare he pretend he even slightly cared what happened to either of them: The “pathetic” “hero” he had spent centuries attempting to kill, and the “stupid” “kid with a stick” he had tried so hard to break. 

Xiaotian refused to listen to Macaque any longer, and interrupted him in a voice tainted with hatred for both the six-eared simian and himself.

“Okay Macaque, fine. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault that Sun Wukong is burning at the bottom of the ocean right now, and I’m sure you’re sooooo happy that he is. And congratulations! No matter how hard I try to fix this, even if me and my allies DO manage to restore him to how he was, I’m going to hate myself for what I did for the rest of my life. But you know what? I AM going to work as hard as I can for as long as it takes to make this right, but I am NOT going to let you drag me back into being your own personal scapegoat! You hate me, and I hate you, and that’s all we’re ever going to be. So stop acting like you aren’t pleased as punch with this turn of events. Stop acting like you actually want either of us to be happy and safe.”

Macaque first looked like he had been slapped, and then looked like he was close to crying, but Xiaotian, his own face now damp with freely falling tears of guilt and shame and so much burning anger, couldn’t bring himself to care.

 He had experienced for himself how good Macaque was at acting like a concerned mentor all while planning to stab him in the back and laugh at his pain. If he could see the yaoguai’s inner thoughts, Xiaotian was sure he was gloating over his misery even as they spoke.

“Kid, no, I-”

“SHUT UP!! STOP PRETENDING THAT YOU EVER HAD OR EVER WILL CARE ABOUT ME!! You’re a lot smarter than me, right? So figure it out! I don’t trust you! I can’t trust you! You hurt me! You used me! And you forced everyone I loved to hit me over and over while you laughed and said I deserved it! And you can’t blame any of that on the Lady Bone Demon! That was you. That was all you.” 

His new monkey instincts coming to the foreground, Xiaotian’s lips started to curl back in a grin of fear and remembered pain. He forced the feelings down, and forced himself to continue speaking, now aiming for what he hoped were the most hurtful things he could say.

“I really get why Sun Wukong preferred the company of all these other yaoguai, especially the Demon Bull King, above yours.”

‘At least you always know where you stand with him. But with you? Chances are good you want to be my “mentor” just so you can steal my power again, but now with the added bonus of rubbing my naive stupidity in my face.” 

The shadow monkey, his eyes glassy with unshed tears, looked too stunned to try forming a response. Xiaotian, with relief, saw Horse hurrying towards them, her upper lip peeled back in a frightening look of pure anger on behalf of her newest student. Before she reached them, there was really only one thing left to say to the rhesus yaoguai who had taken such twisted pleasure in making him a pain-laden fool.

“Go away Macaque.”

‘I’m DONE being your punching bag”

-----

Well my first ever attempt at a fanfic, “Blood From a Stone” (read here: https://sketching-shark.tumblr.com/post/663914170713063424/hmmmm-seems-like-theres-a-widespread-sentiment) got some very nice feedback (and thank you to everyone who did so!), and did inspire me to start messing around with a possible sequel. And during this I remembered this comic of mine, and thought it could be the base for a potential confrontation between an angry, jaded, but determined Xaotian and a Six Eared Macaque who, as demonstrated here, is still in the throes of experiencing some pretty bad consequences for past actions but who may or may not take this final split as a push to try being a better person... 

ALSO I’m thinking it would be interesting to introduce the Red-Bottomed Horse Ape (a.k.a. one of the four spiritual primates) into this and have her and Qi Xiaotian form a mentor-student bond that’s actually healthy. I also decided to make her a gelada monkey partially because as a primate that eats strictly grass they are much more “horsey” than other simians, and also because they reveal some really awesome facial features whey they’re mad. Just google “angry gelada female” to see what I mean. 

[misssunflowersandsangria]

Work in Progress Wednesday

Creators: work on or post something from your WIP. This is your weekly reminder to get something down on paper (real or virtual). It’s also a chance to share your progress with your followers and give them a sneak peek of what’s to come!

Fans: leave a comment on an unfinished fic and let the writer know how much you love it. Reblog an artist’s sketch and let them know you can’t wait to see the final product. Send someone an ask cheering them on!

Feel free to repost this image!

 *

**

Hello all!  I’ve been feeling...well I’m not too sure honestly.  Writing has been a little weird these last few months weeks so I wanted to use this just as a way to motivate myself a little with what I’ve already come up with and hopefully, it will push me to write/finish some of those WIPs.  Be gentle these are still really rough ... and if I do get around to writing them I might change some stuff around...

There are so many different stories that I’ve started that I might never finish so I wanted them to live somewhere.  

There’s a few ShikaTema, SaiIno and one ChoKarui (also some starts to my Lemonade Series so be aware of titles/notes)

**I’ll update this as new ideas come about.  They will appear first in the post. 

Previews after the cut. 

Knots (Part 3 of “Ties that Bind Series”- ShikaTema, Suna Sibs)

“I’m worried, she’s really sick.”

“Maybe it's like ya know.  That time of the month.”  Kankuro’s voice dropped to a whisper. 

“You idiot.  You absolute moron.”  Temari's voice shot back through the layers of blankets. 

“I think she's okay.”

“Temari, are you okay?”  Gaara asked carefully.  

She nodded her head.  “I’m fine.  Everything is just fine.  Why do you ask?”

“Well you’ve been locked in your room for days now.  You haven’t snapped at anyone or called me stupid.  We’re getting concerned.”

She sighed, taking a deep breath seeing the worry clear in their eyes.

“Shikamaru proposed.”

Their expressions brightened.   “Temari! That’s great, congratulations!”

“We should be celebrating.”  Kankurou stared at his sister curiously.  Gaara was right.  Something was wrong.  “Why isn’t Nara here?”

“I couldn’t say yes.”

Their eyes shot wide open. “Temari?”

“Shikamaru needs to be in Konoha and I couldn’t leave you two and Suna.  Who am I if i’m not Temari of the Desert?”  She knew that she made the right decision.  She couldn’t just leave her brothers and Suna because of something as trivial as love right?  This was the right thing to do.  She assured herself but then why did her heart feel like it was tied up in knots?

*

**

Candles (SaiIno-One Shot)

The concept of birthdays had always been foreign to Sai.  He’d never learned the actual date of his birth and never realized that such days were cause for celebration.  So much of his past and the circumstances by which he’d become part of the Root were shrouded in darkness.  The one person that could tell him when his actual birthday was, was dead.

 There were little events that were celebrated in the Foundation.  Completion of missions, not dying on said missions were the two events in which he could remember “celebrating.”  Other than that there was little else that would be cause for celebration.

Once he started becoming more a part of the village he learned early on that birthdays were actually important milestones.  Whether they were small, intimate gatherings of close family and friends or large, elaborate events, birthdays were something to celebrate.  They were time markers and allowed the celebrant to reflect on all their past experiences and look forward to all the wonderful experiences that lie ahead.  Perhaps that was why birthdays were never celebrated.  No one in the Root had a clear memory of their past.  Each mission could be life or death so it was foolish to believe that there was a future to look forward to.  

Still, as he began to settle actual roots, and the path in which he wanted to walk a birthday seemed like an important element to have.  Everyone had a birthday, he deserved one too.  The actual date though was to be determined.  There were few actual dates that held any value so selecting a random one out of the year was difficult.  It also seemed strange to arbitrarily pick a date as well. 

“Ino?  I have a request.”

“Of course Sai, anything.”

“Would you mind sharing your birthday with me?”

“What?”

“I don’t know when my actual birthday is.  Such things weren’t considered important.  One day I’d like to find out but for now if you don’t mind I’d like to share my birthday with you.  It’s not something that we need to announce or even really recognize but I’d like to have a date, a number that I can put down.  I feel like the day I met you I was reborn in a sense.  That my real life started.  I can  understand if you don’t-”

*

**

Stolen (Multi Chap AU ShikaTema ):

Shikamaru watched her closely and saw the shift in her eyes.  Where she’d been terrified initially he noticed a kind of calm and peace.  He released the shadow binds around her wrists but sent more to surround her creating a maze of shadows and lines. 

“Don’t fear the shadows Temari.  Learn to dance amongst them.”

Temari with focused eyes and a determined spirit moved gracefully between the lines.  She landed in pockets of light and moved swiftly before she could become trapped.  He watched on enchanted as she leaped and moved effortlessly avoiding what he threw at her.  It was as though she was floating, gliding in the wind above the darkness.

*

**

Runways (Model AU ShikaTema):

Unrestrained raged swirled in Shikamaru’s normally soft brown eyes as he held Temari’s shaking body.  His glare was heavy on the cowering figure trembling on the floor. 

“My family will bury you.  I will make sure that you never work in this industry again.”

Temari was taken aback by the ice in his voice and all she wanted was for this night to be over and for life to return to normal. “Shikamaru...”  Temari’s voice quivered in a frighteningly unfamiliar way and his protective hold tightened.

“I’m sorry-” 

In spite of himself, Shikamaru laughed off the worthless attempt to quell his anger.  “It’s far too late for apologies.  I suggest that you leave now. That you make it so that no one remembers your name or face because by the time that I’m done you will wish that you never crossed a Nara.”

*

**

Stalemate (Mafia AU, ShikaTema)

Shikamaru’s midnight eyes surveyed the crash of sweaty bodies moving and pulsating to a heavy beat. He took a long drag of his cigarette overwhelmed by the sheer number of people and heavy bass. It wasn’t often that he made the trek out here often depending on his associates to check on their businesses.  His father told him though that it was important for the king to be seen by his people.  

For a while, his family had to operate in the shadows.  That was no longer the case.  The Naras, Akimichis, and Yamanaka’s ruled this area.  Government officials, police officers anyone who had “power” were all on their payroll.  Very few things happened in this city without them knowing.  Everyone knew who they were and they no longer tried to hide it.  

When he was younger he’d complained constantly that this was a drag. He never wanted to become the head of the Nara crime family.  It wasn’t his choice, it was his destiny.  Still, he grew into the role and had accomplished more than they’d ever dreamed. 

He didn’t delight in the benefits of being an infamous crime boss. The club was far too loud. The women who threw themselves at him were too troublesome. 

His eyes continued to scan the room before they fell upon one person his heart began to beat wildly. From where he stood he could tell she was a striking blonde but there was something different.  Something was drawing him towards her.  He studied her for a while.  Becoming increasingly frustrated as she flirted and smiled at the club patrons.  His hands clutched painfully around the balcony railing as he tried to keep his anger in check. 

He called his security detail over.

“The blonde bartender, bring her to my office.”

“Yes sir.” 

*

**

Protective Instincts (Mafia AU, SaiIno, Mafia Princess Ino, Bodyguard Sai *same universe as “Stalemate” ^)

The tension in the back of the SUV was suffocating.  The air heavy, anger rolling off of the man sitting next to her. 

“Sai...I-”  Ino began before being cut off.  

“Don’t, I’m barely holding it together right now.  I just need a minute.”

A beat of silence passed. “Are you mad at me?”  She pouted and despite how angry and upset he was Sai shook his head.  

“No, I could never be mad at you.  I’m mad at your actions and the stupid risks you take but no, never at you.”  

Satisfied with his response and sensing that he was calmer Ino crawled into his lap settling her head against his chest.

He knew that he should push her away.  It wasn’t necessarily appropriate for her to be this familiar with him but she melted so perfectly against him. He felt whole when she was in his arms. 

“I’m sorry Sai, I should have told you.  I just wanted a regular fun, night out.”

“But you’re not a regular person.  You put yourself at risk.”

“Sai, it’s one of our clubs, nothing was going to happen.”

“I can’t take that chance, Princess.  I knew that I shouldn't have taken the night off.  The person on your guard tonight is fucking dead.”

Her eyes widened feeling guilt crash over her.  She still had to learn that her decisions had very real consequences.  “Sai, no.  Please, it’s not his fault.  I snuck out.  I manipulated and orchestrated the whole thing.  Please don’t take it out on him.”

“Ino.”

She forced his gaze to meet hers.  “I’ll deal with my dad if it gets to him. Please.”

“Fuck, fine.  He and I are going to have a talk for sure but that will be all.  I promise.”

Ino sighed in relief knowing that he’d keep his promise.  “Thank you.”

“Why did you take tonight off?  It’s not like you.”

He took a deep breath his fingers pushing back stray hairs away from her eyes.  “I just needed a break, Beautiful.  Clearly, it didn’t last long.  I can’t take my eyes off of you for a second.”

She relaxed into his chest.  “I like your eyes on me.”

*

**

Obscura (NSFW SaiIno- Lemonade Series) -Idea courtesy of @ promptmaker 

Sai grinned as Ino moved into the next pose. She was a natural in front of the camera and seeing that smile always made him happy. 

He’d purchased the camera recently as an attempt to explore a new artistic medium. Especially now that he had memories worth capturing. Ino happily volunteered to be his subject. He was thankful that after this he’d have a whole set of photos of his Light. 

“Great job Beautiful these look incredible.” He complimented her drawing her into a kiss. 

“Thank you, Sai.”  She paused for a minute before her eyes lifted back to his a playful look in those baby blues. 

“I have an idea for a for pictures if you don’t mind.” 

He nodded excitedly about the prospect. He enjoyed any time that they shared together.  “Of course not Beautiful, whatever you’d like.  Let me just adjust these lights.” 

When he turned back around he was surprised to see that she’d removed her top and was now leaning forward her breasts heavy and exposed.  A mischievous smile across her lips.  

“Fuck.”  He breathed.  So she wanted those kinds of pictures.

*

**

Main Course (NSFW ChoKarui- Lemonade Series -Idea courtesy of @ promptmaker

“I made you all your favorite food and this is what you want to do instead.”  Karui teased Chouji her honey eyes glowing with anticipation.  

Chouji grinned as his mouth descended over her delicate neck.  “I think that you’re mistaken Sweetheart.  You are by far my favorite thing to eat.”  She could feel his grin against her skin.  

“Besides, if you didn’t want this to happen you would know better than to make yourself look so appetizing.”  He countered his hands grazing over the skin that the apron left exposed.

Goosebumps erupted over her skin her breathing coming out in short pants.  “Well, perhaps we should have dessert first.”

*

**

So that’s what we’ve got folks.  Actually even just making this post is inspiring me to finish/write!  Are there any that you’re interested in reading?  thank you for getting this far and for supporting me. 

[mad-darkness]

new face who dis

Let's go with this. I have been feeling pretty down for a good while now. Without any real reason, tbh. What is happening is that I just bottle up my feelings a lot and I think said bottle is about to explode. I shouldn't feeling bad, I mean, good stuff happened to me. But that only makes me feeling more guilty because I know I should be ok. A whole spiral of guilt, self-hatred and stupidity, in a nutshell.   Honestly? I'm tired of being tired of myself. I want to stop beating myself up so hard. I need to stop So. I forced myself to sketch something. And what I did is a selfportrait. (well not exactly I may be fatter and my hair is way worse than that but hhh) Why did I do a self-portrait? Man I don't even know.   I plan on doing some art streams because I want to "impose" myself a lil routine, so I was redoing my Twitch overlay, and welp. I went with a full orange theme. The same orange as my hoodie. Ask literally anybody who knows me IRL and they'll know the "Orange Hoodie". The famous old thing that I wear no matter how hot the South France's weather can be.   So yeah. I went ahead and did myself an icon, featuring my beloved hoodie. To be fairly honest, I must admit that I'm proud of the result. It has its issues, it's not a perfect drawing of me, but... idk. It's my style, I'm happy with the colors. Heck, I'm even happy with my face.   I need to learn to accept my art, and I need to accept myself. I won't succeed overnight, I know that. But heck, I'll try.

OKAY SO THIS WAS A VERY NOT INTERESTING VENT AND HONESTLY IF YOU WENT THROUGH IT ALL, WELL, CONGRATS. I swear I won't be doing that everyday oml.   As said above I'll try to be more active from now on. You can find me on DeviantArt, Toyhou.se, Instagram, Tumblr, Twitter, and Twitch.

All right reserved. Do not redistribute, claim, copy, edit or use it in any way without my permissions. Thank you.

Posted using PostyBirb

[pensurfing]

I Surrender.

By the time I actually post this, it’ll be near the end of the year and I’ll be near my burnout. Each year, usually I take an unannounced, but quiet, break. 

2020 feels different this year. Usually, I return in January; but this time I don’t think I can return. Too much happened in so little time and as a small creator, business, entrepreneur, small EVERYTHING I can’t ignore what lurks over my head. An ultimatum. 

I was in denial about it.

I thought maybe if I pushed making the decision back as far as I could, something would change. That as long as I worked hard, promo’d my sales and merch, did as many virtual cons as I could, something would change. Networking in newer groups, looking around for clients, and wanting to make new merchandise; name it. I did it. Work hard and reap the benefits later; while that is true there is also no shame in knowing when to quit as well. I was in denial about how long the pandemic in the States would last. I was in denial about needing help with my mental health. I was in denial about so many things in my surroundings. The biggest thing I was in denial about was my importance, impact, and ability to move forward with where I was with my art journey. The biggest reason why I was able to keep it up was due to the constant questions of “How’s it going? What are you up to? How are you?” No one (at least the way I see the world) actually answers this truthfully. So I just kept saying fine and for a while, I genuinely believed it. I lied to them. But to be fair, I lied to myself too.

I was angry about it.

I stayed here for so long.

SO. 

Long.

I was angry that I felt ignored; angry that I reached out and others had their hands tied as well; angry that I still managed to make sure others didn’t drown like I was drowning & didn’t think to help myself because I’m stupid; angry that the pandemic did last this long in the States; angry at me for not pulling some magic trick out a hat that I’m not sure existed; just angry. (tw: self-harm, vivid imagery) I was so angry I took it out on my debit card and self-sabotaged my good spending habits. I took it out on my legs and arms and broke a seven-year long streak of not hurting myself; I carved myself up entirely and punched the bricks of my house. I took it out on people. I don’t quite know how yet, but I feel like I did. Maybe I had a shorter temper than normal; I stopped reaching out and making sure I fully listened to their problems. I kept caring more about them than myself during this phase. And they just kept taking. And I became an empty cup, they moved on; I see that I’m just disposable. Which, isn’t wrong. All I could handle and still can handle is heavy convos with my therapist. (I don’t have her anymore, that’s right. I can’t afford her anymore.) All I could handle was trying to write it out, map it out, talk it out.

I was angry I didn’t see a point anymore. I felt like I didn’t deserve the tiny wins I did see because I didn’t go through some kind of threshold of pain and suffering to earn it. I was angry and the crumbs tossed my way in the name of “diversity” and “trying to hire black” because of guilt and white performance. I was angry being lead on with a tiny thread of hope because that thread was bigger than the nothing I’ve gotten this entire time. I was so angry and blaming myself for things that were completely out of my reach and capability. I was just really angry.

I tried begging my way out of it.

I looked for online classes of any sort to traject myself into a sort of hope. Buying hundreds of dollars in books, classes, anything in information I just didn’t have prior to the pandemic; and now because of the pandemic, the information will be obsolete as the world adjusts and readjusts to its changes and collapse in remaking itself. Making flash sales on my website if it meant seeing eight dollars by the end of the month. 

I didn’t stay here long because of my own twisted viewpoint of begging.

I was depressed about it. 

I stayed here the longest. It was already enough having the above marinate within me; add to the mixture of new relative drama, relatives passing away, and just not being in a healthy household... I grew tired. I stopped taking care of myself. Anyone with depression can tell you that dealing with that darkness is an uphill battle; usually, the first to go is my hygiene. But I just slowly stopped drawing altogether. I don’t draw when I’m not together. I’ve mentioned this many times over the years verbally and in written form on here. So I just kept taking breaks. I had a small string of commissions here and there, but that was the only illustrations I could create and that was its own battle. 

I tried mentioning it to people I was close to, but after a while hearing “it be like that sometimes” just isn’t helpful and isn’t worth explaining the story. So I just stopped talking. And not having my therapist made it harder. Especially because I have a lot of emotional dumpers who don’t understand boundaries. I don’t blame them, but after a while of nonconsensual emotional dumping I had to stop listening to another group of people because I just couldn’t handle any more weight; either they didn’t see I was drowning or didn’t care. It doesn’t matter anymore. 

I couldn’t enjoy the walks recommended by many; not even my favorite restaurants; or shows; or books/mangas; food in general; people in general.

Listening to music at least helped the “I’m sinking” feeling. But it was quickly ruined with “well intent” friends with; “Maybe if you drew something you’d feel better”, “Sketch, paint, it’s therapeutic”, “dRaW”. You get the picture. It had a double sting because it acknowledged two things: These ‘friends’ don’t know much about me and what brings me happiness; This isn’t about my happiness, but more about their own selfish requests to see more work from me because they don’t know anything else besides “I’m an artist, I draw, therefore that is all I am and all that can ever make me happy”.

See it this way: You have a friend. Friend is a musician. Your friend is slowly going deaf and loses their hearing. You can at least do small, everyday sign language. But not enough to handle a full conversation. Until your deaf friend can afford that hearing aide, talking to them will be a bit harder. But instead of learning more sign, you complain about how the person can’t hear as well anymore, so they become “quieter” and you stop reaching out to them. Projecting the “why can’t you just listen”. “You know what will make you feel better? If you play your music again, make mixes. We miss that.” “You sing, why not sing to make yourself feel better.” If the person cannot hear, how can they continue to make sure their craft is correct? In tune? On tempo? If a person is not in the mood or mental capacity to draw, then how can they draw? If all you can see is that you only know about friend is that they are a musician, can they really be a friend? Or just acquaintance?

Projecting the thing you get joy from said ‘not ok’ person and just demanding they do more of the thing you enjoy isn’t helpful; but selfish. Because in that case it isn’t about the person, but you and your expectations and things that you get from said person. Once they stop giving you the thing, then it’s about ‘how-dare-you-not-give-me-my-thing’. And I stopped caring to go through this consistent loop and being talked over when trying to explain myself.

I sat in my bathtub more than I had in years; the irony is this is comforting. So for weeks, this is where my mind and mental capacity have been. Sitting in my tub, with a blanket, my phone, and my switch. I’ll stay there all day and go to bed; sometimes I’ll sleep in the tub and stay there all day. I listened to music. Just daydream. I write a bit more now for my own purposes. It’s been nice. But not enough to get me out of a funk.

I finally accept it.

I’m just a person to be there and happy for others and their things. I think I finally get that now. I’ve slowly removed myself from social media and with the expectation of performance. I’m not a performer; I’m supposed to just be the audience. While this isn’t an “I quit” because this is all my job experience the past few years now, this is just an “I surrender”. I’m used to the fact in my waking life I’m no person’s ‘favorite’ or ‘go to’; so I guess now I’m coming to terms with that with work and with drawing in general. I have company clients I’m wrapping up work for but after that, I’ll be taking down my commission information and artist alley gallery. etc. I’ll shut down the store; I’ll do one last sale and either give away/throw away my extra items.

I just have to start entirely from square one. Maybe negative one? I went on what feels like the world’s longest pity party to say I’m taking a break, and seeing how the world broke in 2020 there is a chance I won’t be able to come back. And I don’t want people jumping me say “how dare” “you don’t try hard enough” or “shut up and just wait until next year/try again next year”

I’m covering my bases. If things look up then I’ll just happily delete this later.

But I can’t just ignore the reality of it all. I’m not ok and I haven’t been. And I just want to stare at my ceiling guilt-free for a bit. (I did this last night and it is fucking gross looking, gotta clean it.) 

Stay safe, stay indoors, and stay clever.

[[TL;DR: After continuing to get beat down by the world the past two years, this year pushed me past a tipping point. I can’t keep being a lukewarm illustrator at best and I am slowly wondering if I even want to; I want the space to figure that out. And don’t want the same friends who tell me “draw this, color this” to hound me on that decision either: it has the same energy when a kid with asthma can’t breathe and you talk over them and say “just inhale and exhale”.]]

I hereby release me from the pressure to post consistently because honestly, it is the only time I hear from anyone anyway So this is me choosing silence for a bit.

[bleachedjam]

Rambling on sexuality. Apparently you can't do a cut on mobile? Sorry then. Pretend there is one here and scroll past this.

I've always tried to find a label that fit me. I had never felt liked I liked anyone in the traditional sense. Girls and boys were on an even playing field for me. No one set me a flutter. There was no lust at first sight. But the way my peers discussed it made me feel...odd. Displaced? Like I was missing a joke everyone else got. So I faked it.

In elementary school, 5th grade, all the other girls picked a celebrity boy they had a crush on. I remember being confused how they decided. So I picked Aaron Carter, I think because I liked his song, "I want Candy". I mimicked what they said about their crushes, "he's so hot!" Another girl also liked Aaron Carter, but as I was a bit of an outcast we never discussed it. (His picture was on her binder.)

In middle school I tried to take up drawing. I had a sketch book I filled with drawings of both men and women. I gave the women large breasts and revealing shirts. My mother looked through my sketch book, and one night I heard her telling her friend, "all the breasts are so large, what if shes a lesbian?". And I considered it. What if I was? I had no idea. I felt the same way about men and women still. My friends were branching out and dating and talking about crushes on boys in school. I picked a boy I was friends with and pretended to like him. I even faked a journal entry and left it out so a friend would see.

In Jr. High I briefly dated a boy who was friends with a boy my friend was dating. He was crass and kind of a jerk. Someone asked me why I was dating him, because he, "looked and dressed weird". I tried to figure out which features were desirable, but all the guys my friends liked were so varied.

High school hit me hard. Something was wrong with me I was sure. I decided to just date whoever liked me. Less choices on my part. In October we held a Octoberfest carnival thing. My anime club, yes I was in anime club, had a booth were we sold churros. I met a guy a year older than me who ended up liking me. So I "liked" him. We dated until February. He rarely showered and never brushed his teeth. I always felt gross when we hung out. In February a friend admitted to liking me. I broke up with the other guy for obvious reasons and accepted when the new one asked me out.

Things seemed fine at the start but this guy would go on to mentally and verbally abuse me for 5 more years and torment me for a year after that. I confided in him how I never liked anyone and never had crushes the same way others did. This was the first of many things he would use against me. He convinced me to have sex with him, because once I did I'd like him and be attracted to him. And when that didn't work, well I'd already done it, so I had to keep doing it. Then when I doubted things and didn't like being with him, he'd play on my various insecurities. "You'll never really like someone, it will always be fake. Might as well stay with me." "No one will like you if you can't feel the same way back, your lucky to have me." "I'm the only guy you can ever get." And beyond that to, "No one else would want a depressed sack of fat like you. I'm doing you a favor." "There's so much wrong with you, how can you ever expect to do better?" "Your so ugly and fat I can't believe I stoop to your level." And worse and worse yet. It was a slow descent over almost 2 years, but when he had me where he wanted me, he started to cheat on me. I couldn't leave, I wanted to die. The years with him were the worst of my life. And I trace it all back to not understanding how to tell if I wanted to be with someone.

We graduated and he moved into my house. The abuse only got worse. I developed fibromyalgia and other chronic illness, believed to be from "trauma". His abuse escalated after that. I couldn't escape him. And why would I want to? No one would ever take a broken piece of shit like me. He was doing me a favor.

He ended up leaving me. I never had the strength to leave him. He left me for, in his words, "a healthy girl with no problems". For the next year or so he'd get drunk and contact me. Eventually I stopped all communication. I ended up getting a tattoo he had forbade me from getting. It was freeing.

I tried the online dating scene for awhile. I desperately didn't want to be alone. But I couldn't connect with anyone. People would send me messages and I'd see pictures but I never met up with anyone. No one ever stood out. I didn't know what or how to pick someone.

My sister had a friend from Canada she played games with online. I played with them a few times and he invited his work friend to play to. I won't say we hit it off. My sister and her friend logged off and then me and the other guy were left alone. We talked, he seemed nice. After a few months the two of them got invited down to our house for a gaming convention in the area. The friend and I had grown close and he decided he liked me. I knew this time, I did not like him.

But as it goes, that didn't matter. He came down, stayed at our house and asked me out. I said no. He pushed and guilt tripped me until I said yes. He stayed a week. Everything was a guilt trip. He bought me something so I owed him. He came all this way, so I owed him. I said yes, so I owed him. When he went back home I broke up with him. He staged and gave me a play by play of a suicide attempt. His tactics relied on guilt. I wasn't used to that, so it was hard for me to let go. I didn't want to hurt anyone. Eventually I finally got away from him.

During that time my other sister asked if she could invite a guy she worked with to play league of legends with us, as he was very good and we wanted to win an event or achievement or something. He played with us and we did it.

Him and I talked. I told him about the guy from Canada. The suicide attempt. Most recently he had gotten the bill from the ambulance I sent to his house and said I needed to pay it since it was my fault. I refused and tried to quit talking to him. The new guy and I got close. He was someone I would call my best friend. When the Canada guy started more drama, he asked if we could hang out in real life, because up until then we had only talked online.

We did. I went to his house. We got teriyaki and played Mario cart. Something about this guy was different. He was a best friend but something else. Like our hearts were talking. We connected on a different level, something I had never felt with another person before. On the way home I made a stupid joke about not believing he never had a girlfriend. He asked if I wanted to be his. I said yes.

I gave him a hug goodbye. I kissed him on the cheek. He tried to kiss me on the cheek too but I moved and he missed and we had our first kiss. Everything was right in ways I never felt before.

Today we're set to be married, living together and have an amazing daughter. I couldn't imagine life with anyone else. I can confidently say, he is the first person I've actually liked. Romantically for sure. Sexually? I still don't know how that works.

I throughly enjoy sex with him. I desire the intimacy and connection and obviously it feels good. But honestly, what the hell is sexually attraction? Because I enjoy it does that mean I'm attracted? I don't know. I've never looked at anyone and gotten any...sexual feelings from looking at them.

I enjoy drawn porn and porn comics from an aesthetic point. The art is beautiful. The human body is wonderful. But it doesn't do anything for me. I like the art, the shapes, the aesthetic of porn. But it doesn't make me feel anything or make me want to do anything.

To masturbate or have sex I have to focus on the sensations alone, or how my partner feels. I've never found porn that works for me. I don't get horny from visuals at all. Half the time I forget he does. I'll be changing and he makes a move and I'll just be confused as to what got him in the mood. I feel a disconnect between it all.

There was a while where I called myself asexual. Seemed close. But the more I tried to fit in with the community the more I felt odd. Not outcast, because the asexual community is amazing, but more like I was fitting an oval peg into a circle hole. Close, but not quite.

When I consider it, men and women are almost equal to me. I think I may be more drawn to women at least visually. If I hadn't met my fiance I would have loved to date a woman. I enjoy the female form more from a aesthetic stand point.

So lately I've been wondering if maybe I was pansexual. A friend of mine is pan and she posted a quote about being attracted to the person, not the body. It felt more right and more like me than anything I had seen from the asexual community. But at the same time, my sample size of people I've liked it only at one. So I have no idea.

I also wonder, does it matter? I'm going to be with the person I am with forever now. I don't need to find anyone else, so it doesn't matter which gender preference I have or don't have.

I guess with Pride month I've been thinking about it a lot. There is a lot of talk of, "fly your flag high and have pride!" But what if you don't have a flag?

I feel queer. That's about as far as I've gotten. I don't know if I'll ever find something past that or not. Right now queer feels fine, just unsure. I guess I'm somewhere between sexuality is fluid and still figuring myself out. Who even knows what attraction is.

So happy Pride month everyone.

[ceealaina]

No One Can Tell Us We’re Wrong

Title: No One Can Tell Us We’re Wrong (Chapter 1/3) Pairing: Tony Stark x Steve Rogers Link: AO3 Rating: E Summary: Set post-Civil War. What if Tony and Steve hadn’t exactly been incommunicado all that time between Civil War and Infinity War? After a bad day, and one too many drinks, Tony ends up texting Steve. And after that first text, it’s too easy to just... keep texting. In which the boys finally learn to be adults and talk, and realize just how much they love each other along the way. Something of a CW fixit. (Fair warning: I love both these idiots with all my heart. If you’re looking for Steve bashing or, for that matter, Tony bashing, this is not the story for you). Word Count: 2888

It started with a text. It started with a text, and one glass of scotch too many. 

Tony was tired and frustrated, pissed off after yet another set back with Rhodey’s leg braces. He’d flopped back on the couch in his lab, drink in hand, only to wince as he landed on something hard. He wiggled around a minute, fishing the whatever out from underneath him, and when he came up with the phone Steve had sent him, he was suddenly so angry it was all he could do not to scream. 

Objectively he knew it wasn’t all Steve’s fault. A share of the blame went to him too. But dammit, he’d shouldered that blame, was doing everything he could to fix things, to be better. And if fucking Steve Rogers, and his fucking flip phone had just listened for once in his goddamned life, then maybe that fight would never have happened. If he had just tried to work with him, instead of going off all half-cocked to do whatever his stubborn ass had decided was best, Tony wouldn’t be sitting here trying to build his best friend leg braces so he could walk again. 

If he had cared for Tony even a fraction of the way he had cared for Barnes, maybe they would still be a team. Still be a family. 

Tony’s fist clenched around the phone in his hand. He wanted to throw it across the room, wanted to smash it to bits with a sledgehammer. Wanted to suit up and pulverize it with a repulsor blast. But somehow, as furious as he was, he couldn’t bring himself to make the move. 

He flipped the phone open, glared at the screen. His vision was blurring, entirely from the lack of sleep and the alcohol, and nothing at all to do with the way his eyes were burning, throat thickening at the thought of Steve, at the thought of everything that had happened. He opened the contacts, chewed his lip hard at the one name there, mocking him. Before he could stop himself, almost without thinking it, he typed in a text, thumb pounding against the keys. 

Fuck you, Steve. 

He fell asleep on the couch, clutching the phone against his chest. 

***

Tony woke up the next morning with a headache, a backache, and a sick, anxious feeling in the pit of the stomach - so a typical morning, for him. He was still on the couch, wearing his filthy workshop clothes from the night before, and sprawled out on his stomach. There was something sharp digging into his stomach, and he grumbled as he pulled himself into a sitting position, digging out Steve’s flip phone. He glowered at it, but in all honesty had forgotten all about the text the night before. He tossed it on his desk, plugging it in to charge, before wandering off in search of coffee. 

He would never in a million years expect Steve to text, even if he had remembered sending the text the night before, so it was pure luck that he happened to hear the notification six hours later, as he was going over the latest addendum to the accords. It took a minute to place the sound, tracking down the phone to where it was hiding under a pile of blueprints. Uncovering it, he stared for a long minute, unblinking, before making a split second decision and grabbing it off the table. Feeling bizarrely more nervous than he’d been in a very long time, he swallowed hard and flipped the phone open. A waiting text notification blinked back at him, and he clicked on it before he could talk himself out of it. 

Steve’s message was short, only four words long: I probably deserve that. 

Tony stared down at the phone. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, exactly, but he didn’t think it was that. As clear as anything, he could suddenly picture Steve, frowning down at his stupid flip phone, a match to the one he’d given Tony, worrying at his lower lip as he tried to pick over exactly the right words to text back. His heart wrenched unexpectedly, imagining Steve’s lost expression, and suddenly furious, he threw the phone across the room. 

A split second later he realized what he’d done, and a wave of panic went through him. “Shit,” he hissed, inexplicably terrified that he’d just severed his last connection to the other man. “Shit, shit, shit.” He hurried across the room, but he had to give Steve some credit - he’d forgotten just how durable flip phones could be. There was only a small scratch on the back of the case, and when he opened the display it was as clear as ever. With a sigh, he tipped back on his ass to lean against the metal of his work desk, scrubbing a hand over his face as he stared down at the message again. 

He should ignore it, he knew he should ignore it, write off the past twelve hours, go back to the months of radio silence. He was too wound up right now, too volatile. Still too angry, and frustrated, and underneath all that, still so, so hurt. Texting Steve right now would be a terrible, awful idea. He should ignore it. 

He didn’t ignore it. 

Yeah, ya think? He texted back, before he could think the better of it. 

The return response was a lot faster in coming this time. Tony. I fucked up, I know I fucked up. I should have told you the second I found out, and I wish every day that I had. I meant what I said, Tony. If you need me - whatever it is - I’m here.

Tony stared at the message until his vision started to swim. He blinked rapidly and shook his head, staring around the room in disbelief. 

Fuck you, Steve he fired off before tossing the phone on the table and turning back to his project of the hour. 

The phone didn’t chime again. 

***

He lasted all of two days before he was texting Steve again. He’d had a frustrating day of Ross breathing down his neck, he hadn’t slept well the night before, and Rhodey was off campus and unable to provide him with his usual distraction. He wasn’t sure what made him do it - maybe he’d been dreaming about when they’d all been actual teammates the night before - but when he got stuck with a piece of machinery in his workshop, he hollered out for Steve, like he’d done a thousand times before, when they lived in New York and Steve used to spend hours keeping him company in the lab, sketching while Tony worked on one of his projects. His voice rang out, echoing in the empty space, before he realized what he’d said. He dropped the screwdriver in his hand with a loud clang against the table, nausea burning a hole in the pit of his stomach. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, as his eyes were drawn unbidden back to the phone, peeking out from under some paperwork. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms are his glared at it. His fingers twitched against his arm as he fought the urge to grab it. He’d never been one for self-restraint though, and he only held out another minute before reaching out and snagging it, drawing it over to him. He shifted it back and forth in his hands before snapping it open. 

You know what the worst part is, Rogers? I still don’t understand WHY.

The response from Steve was so long in coming that Tony half expected one to not come at all. 

I’ve deleted this text about a thousand times, he admitted. Because everything I type is an excuse, and you deserve better than that. I should have told you, that was the very least that I owed you. But the truth is I was scared. I’m a coward, Tony. I was afraid that you wouldn’t understand - because how could you? And I was afraid

The message cut off suddenly, but a second one popped up almost before he’d finished reading it. 

I was afraid you’d blame me. See me the way I keep seeing myself. I wanted to tell you, Tony. I was going to tell you, I swear I was. But I was scared I’d lose you and so I kept waiting. I kept thinking I’d find some way to explain it, that I’d be able to show you that it wasn’t his fault. So I kept waiting, and waiting, and waiting. And then it was too late. 

“Jesus, Steve,” Tony breathed, scrubbing a hand over his face. A couple of weeks ago, maybe, he would have been angry at Steve all over again, would have seen it as a guilt trip. But he felt something loosen in his chest at Steve’s admission, a realization of what an impossibly fucked up situation it had been for everyone. It wasn’t like everything was all miraculously forgiven, but for the first time he was able to think about Steve and Bucky, and the whole mess without going white hot with anger. He thought of Steve and all he felt was a faint pang for the way things had been before. He let out a slow breath and closed the phone without replying. 

But the thing was, he couldn’t leave it alone. It was like a cut on his lip he couldn’t stop worrying, a bruise he couldn’t stop poking. He was hyper aware of the phone, couldn’t stop his eyes from flickering over to it every few seconds, startled at every sudden noise thinking it was the still-unfamiliar text tone. Steve hadn’t messaged him again, and he knew he wouldn’t without hearing from Tony first, trying to fix things in whatever way he could. Tony sighed, tossing down his wrench. He was in the workshop, supposedly working, but for the better part of the past hour he’d been doing absolutely nothing, too busy thinking about Steve, about his last text, about where he was now, what he was doing, what he looked like. Wondering if the other traitors were with him, or if they’d temporarily split up to make themselves harder to track. 

He had a sudden vision of Steve, alone in some dark, shitty safe house, beating himself up over what had happened to Barnes. “Dammit, Rogers,” Tony muttered. Then, because he was alone in the workshop with no one to make fun of him, he leaned back in his chair and pulled his hood over his eyes, whining loudly into the empty room before picking up the phone. 

You know it wasn’t your fault, right? I mean, not the whole splitting the team thing, we both could have handled that better, and I’m still not ready to forgive us for that. But what happened to Barnes, falling, and then Hydra. That’s not on you, Steve.

His response was a lot quicker in coming this time. Not quite ready to forgive me, huh? Does that mean that eventually you will?

Tony rolled his eyes, but couldn’t fight back the slight twitch at the corner of his lips. Keep pushing me, Rogers. See if I don’t toss this shitty piece of 90s technology straight into the garbage disposal. 

Steve’s response was quick again, and despite himself Tony couldn’t help wondering where he was, what he was doing. I’m surprised it lasted this long, honestly. Figured you’d toss it in the garbage straight away. 

Tony knew he was joking about the technology, but couldn’t help the twinge in his stomach when he remembered just how close he had been to doing exactly that, simply because it had come from Steve. He chewed at his lip, not quite ready to admit just how much he missed the other man. 

Don’t think I don’t notice you changing the subject, Rogers. What happened with Barnes wasn’t your fault. 

This time it was Steve who didn’t answer. 

***

It was the better part of a week before he heard from Steve, and he absolutely didn’t drop everything at the ping of the phone. 

I know that, his text read, and Tony couldn’t help wondering what the hell he’d been up to that it had taken him this long to continue the conversation. Some part of me knows that. I just can’t seem to turn off the part of me that thinks if I’d just done something more I could have kept it all from happening. It’s irrational, and stupid, but… You know me. I’ve never been one for thinking things through. 

Tony couldn’t help his wry smile at that. He was still pissed over the way everything had happened, but now, with time and space to process everything, he could see how Steve could have maybe lost sight of everything else. God knew if it were Rhodey in trouble, Tony would have burned the world to help him. 

You always were a stubborn ass he replied, fighting the urge to picture the crooked smile that Steve would always get when Tony teased. He sighed, scrubbing his hand over the top of his head. So. How is Barnes anyway? He couldn’t quite manage to say what he really meant, his mother’s dying words still echoing in his ears, but he thought that maybe Steve would hear the apology in them anyway. 

It was nearly an hour, long enough that Tony wondered if he even would, before Steve replied. He’s good. He’s. Well. You can probably guess where he is but he’s back in cryo, least until we can find a way to get Hydra out of his head for good.

Tony stared at his phone, reread the message twice because that was unexpected. He’d assumed the Steve and Barnes would be broing it up, running around the world and reliving their Nazi hunting days. This was... not that. He huffed out a soft laugh, shaking his head as he texted his reply. 

Don’t tell me you’re actually being proactive and thinking things through. Who are you and what have you done with Steve Rogers?

Ha. Ha. You’re just all kinds of hilarious. Tony. And, it was actually Bucky’s idea, so there you go. 

When it took Tony a minute to answer, Steve sent another text. 

He wants to be himself again, Tony. Doesn’t want to hurt anyone else, no matter what he has to do to get there. 

Tony shook his head again, lopsided smile on his face even though Steve couldn’t see him. 

That’s really great, Steve. I hope you get him back soon. 

***

They carried on like this for the next few weeks, texting off and on, sometimes every hour and then sometimes nothing for days at a time. It was mostly careful teasing (although there were a few more sincere apologies) tiptoeing around the friendship they’d once had. Still, the tension between them was slowly thawing, the bitter taste that the thought of Steve had left in Tony’s mouth fading away. 

Tony hadn’t actually noticed the shift, hadn’t realized that more and more thinking about Steve was a positive experience again until after a particularly shitty and frustrating meeting when his first instinct was to text Steve for a pick-me-up. He was most of the way to his car, phone in hand and text half composed when he realized what he was doing. He stopped dead in the middle of the hallway, blinking down at the tiny letters on on the crappy phone before scrubbing a hand over his face. 

“Dammit Rogers,” he muttered, but found he couldn’t work himself up to actually being that upset about it. Deleting the text he’d already started, he continued walking. God, I hate you sometimes, you stubborn bastard. Just had to get your way, didn’t you? 

He was in the car on his way back to the compound when Steve’s reply came in. What did I do now?

Tony couldn’t help grinning a little as he read it; he could practically hear Steve’s beleaguered tone. Had to send me the phone, had to keep texting me back… Had to worm your way back in. You always get your way, and I can’t even be mad about it!

Seriously Tony? You’ve been mad for eighteen months.

Tony actually giggled at that, glad that he was alone in the car so nobody could hear him and make fun of him for it. ...Anymore, he amended. 

I’m glad, Tony. I m

Steve’s text cut off mid word, like he’d hit send instead of delete, and Tony blinked at the phone. 

I’m glad, Steve said again. And I’m sorry.

Tony rolled his eyes. Come on, Steve. Don’t ruin the moment. You don’t have to keep apologizing - I’ve already forgiven you, remember? 

Doesn’t mean I’m not still sorry. I shouldn’t have had to get your forgiveness in the first place. 

Well… Tony scrubbed a hand through his hair, hesitating, but since they were going all in here… You maybe weren’t entirely wrong, at least not about the Accords. I still think we need some kind of oversight, but Ross has been a bigger pain in my ass than I even imagined. 

I mean, I hate to say I told you so, but…

Shut up, Steve, Tony texted, rolling his eyes and grinning at the phone.

[victimofthemusic]

Five Times Tony Stark Was a Good Dad (And One Time He Wasn’t) Pt. 3

Hello! No, you guys aren’t misreading this, it’s an actual update! It’s taken me a long time to get back into this story, my life has been very crazy and I’ll be honest, I haven’t written much in the last six to eight moths. However, I saw Infinity War and holy shit, did it place me back in this Universe. I’ve had the beginnings of this chapter to written out since the last update of this story and it took me this long to finish it. I’m not sure how happy I am with this chapter compared to the last two, but I think it fits. I know Peter has Super Spidey healing, but I’m such a sucker for these kinds of fics and I really wanted to write one. Thank you so much for the love and support of this series, Part 1 has well over 2,000 likes and Part 2 is working it’s way up to 700, that’s the most I’ve ever received on any of my stories and I’m completely blown away. I love each and every one of you. If you’re new to this series, you can read Part 1 here and Part 2 here. Also, I have one other Homecoming Fic, where you’re Tony Stark’s daughter and you get rescued by Spider-Man and that can be found here and a dating MJ Would Include request here. I hope you guys enjoy!! (:

P.S. If I missed anyone that wanted to be tagged in this, I’m so sorry! I’m posting this at 3 in the morning and trying to sort through all your kind messages and keep track who wants to be tagged is a bit of a challenge, I think I got all of you, but I apologize if I didn’t! 

~~~~~~~

It was an unusually quiet night around the Tower, Rhodey was upstate at the new Avengers facility for his weekend stint of physical therapy for his legs, Pepper was back in Malibu working on the new StarkPhone launch and Happy had followed her there for security, leaving Tony to his own devices.

When usually when left with nothing to do, he’d be down in the lab working on a project or tinkering with the Iron Man suit or rebuilding the transmission in one of the twenty cars that he owned. But, for some reason, he found himself in the living room, staring at an infomercial and occasionally replying to emails that he’d been neglecting over the week— choosing to spend time with Peter in the lab instead.

Ever since he invited Peter and his little friend into the lab a few weeks ago, Tony found that he didn’t really mind the kid’s company and what had originally started as a one time offer to appease his guilt, had turned into a three or four time a week thing. Sometimes the kid would come over and they’d screw around with upgrades to the Iron Man suit or they’d try to improve upon Peter’s web fluid—which, Tony admitted with no small amount of pride, was damn near impossible considering Peter’s original formula was damn near solid. That didn’t stop them from trying to make it stronger and last longer, but their attempts usually didn’t come out very successful, much to their collective frustration. And sometimes, when they were tired of messing with Iron Man or formula’s for new web fluid, Peter would wander off to a part of the lab table that had become his own little spot and catch up on his homework, occasionally asking for Tony’s input.

And Tony…didn’t really mind. He didn’t mind that Peter had slowly but surely became part of his daily routine and taking up a space in his life that Tony, once upon a time, didn’t really want to be fulfilled. He knew that Peter wasn't necessarily a child of his own biological making, but that didn’t stop him from feeling a sense of responsibility and dare he say it, an attachment to the kid that was more paternal than mentor like. He liked having the kid around him, in his lab, in this big Tower that got more lonely as the days went by without the other Avenger’s bustling around it—Sam teaching Vision and Wanda to cook in the kitchen, Natasha and Clint wrestling in the living room, Steve watching from the couch with exasperated amusement in between sketches, Thor polishing his hammer at the dinner table while Rhodey read the news paper and Bruce tinkering around in the lab with Tony.

Peter breathed life into this Tower that had been robbed of it when the Accords came into play and had divided the only family Tony had ever really been apart of. And damn if Tony didn’t love the kid for it.

So that’s why, sitting there, alone in his big and empty Tower, that Tony began to physically feel the kid’s absence.

He glanced down at his StarkWatch, biting his lip. It was 10:30, surely the kid wasn't that busy that if he were to, theoretically, call the kid and see if he wanted to come over tomorrow and work in the lab, maybe go to the new science exhibit at Museum of Natural History—he did, after all, have an in to the Research Library—grab a late lunch and come back and watch some movies with Vision and Rhodey, since it was still technically movie night even though the rest of the old team wasn't here and if it got too late, he could always crash in his room here and he could always take Peter to school Monday morning, as long as it was cool with Aunt Hottie—

“Sir, you have an incoming call from Ned Leeds,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said, startling Tony out of his train of thought.

Curiosity piqued, Tony said with a wave of his hand, “Patch him through.”

A moment of silence and then the sound of loud music and laughter rang through the overhead speakers of the Tower, making Tony wince.

“Mr. Stark, sir, sorry to interrupt your evening, I’m sure you’re very busy, but may I just say that I think it’s totally awesome that your A.I. answers your phone calls—“

“Thanks, Guy In Chair, but—“

“Can she do like, a trace on the number and then like, a background check on the person—“

“—how’d you get my number? And, here’s the real question, how’d I get your number?”

“Oh, I got your number from Peter’s phone and I did a reverse phone hack and added myself into your contact list, in case of an emergency—“

“Lemme stop you there kid,” Tony said sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off a headache, “you mean to tell me, you stole my number from Peter’s phone and managed to reverse hack into my phone, which, by the way, I don’t appreciate, and added your number to my phone on the off chance that I would need to call you? And why, may I ask, do you think that would ever be a possibility?”

The tell tale sign of a gulp could be heard over the line and Tony sighed in exasperation, “Was there a point to this conversation, Ned or—“

“Oh!” Ned exclaimed, “Yeah, sorry sir, um you see, it’s Peter—“

Tony’s heart most definitely didn’t stop working at that sentence and it didn’t seem like taking oxygen into his lungs suddenly became more difficult at the thought of Peter being in any sort of danger.

“Is he okay?” Tony demanded, sitting up straighter and summoning the suit.

“You see sir, I told everyone in our gym class that Peter knew Spiderman and then Liz—this really pretty senior that, like, half the school is in love with including Peter—mentioned she was having a party tonight at her house that basically the entire school was invited to and that we should stop by, which was so awesome because we’re only sophomore’s sir and not cool people—“

“If there’s a point here, Ned, I’m missing it, so you better get to it.” Tony demanded sharply.

“Right, anyway, we got invited and well, um, Peter was nervous and a senior handed us each a drink and Peter downed his and well, he’s really drunk and is about to swing through this house in his, you know, other identity and I tried to stop him, but he wouldn't listen to me and—“

“I’ll be there in five, try to stall him as best as you can.” Tony said quickly, ending the call.

He ensured that F.R.I.D.A.Y. had located the call before he summoned one of his cars to the location and he was off into the night, trying to quell the anger and shame that was boiling through his veins.

Anger, that the kid could be that stupid and utterly reckless, to risk his secret and the safety of his loved ones for kids he wouldn’t even waste another thought on after graduating high school.

And shame, because he knew what it was like to be Peter’s age and to want to be seen and seem cool by your peers. To want to fit in so desperately that you're willing to do almost anything to get it. Alcohol has cost Tony so many things in his life and he’d be damned if he let someone like Peter follow in his footsteps.

He made it to the party in three minutes, taking a moment to do the deep breathing exercises Bruce taught him, so he didn’t completely lose it on the kid and alert everyone to his sudden appearance at the party. He landed with a dull thud against the roof, alerting the intoxicated teenager that was attempting to don his suit a little too closely to edge of the roof for Tony’s heart to handle.

He really was quite the sight—he had the suit on backwards, well the half he had on, the other half was dangling pathetically in the evening breeze while Peter seemed to be trying to figure out how to get the rest of it on without jumping too far and falling off of the roof.

“Mr. Starkkkkk!” Peter slurred in greeting, eyes bright and blood shot with the alcohol, “What’re you doin’ here? Did you know there was go’na be a party here? Did Liz invite you—“

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Tony demanded, completely ignoring Peter’s inquiry, lifting the faceplate of the Iron Man mask. He was doing everything in his power to keep his voice level and not shout like he so desperately wanted to, breathing exercises be damned.

Peter hiccuped, “”M trying to put my suit on because I told ev’ryone that ‘Piderman was go’na be here, but—hiccup—I got ‘istracted when I got here n’d now my head s’all—“ he made a waving gesture in the air, like that explained it all, which, to be fair, Tony did understand what he meant a little too well and it only added to the anger welling inside of him, “—weird, like it’s not part of my body n’d I was go’na swing through the house n’d be like ‘wasss up ev’rybody ‘m ‘Piderman’ and give Ned a fist bump so he looks like he’s cool too—“

“And how do you plan to do all of that when you can’t even get both legs in your suit, kid?”

Peter gazed dumbly back at him, before looking down and yeah, okay. Mr. Stark had a point.

He looked back up at Tony with unfocused eyes and with such a blatant uncaring shrug that only teenagers knew how to accomplish, that Tony snapped.

“Do you realize how stupid this is?” Tony said sharply, “Not only could you hurt yourself or someone else, you’re running the risk of outing yourself to your entire school! Who, I’m sure, have all their little smartphones with their little cameras and it’s only a matter of time before this would end up on YouTube, then the media would get a hold of it and then that’s it, kid, you’re no longer anonymous and you’ve put everyone you love in danger. Do you want that?”

Peter opened his mouth to reply but Tony couldn’t handle it, “Not uh, you don’t get to talk, the adult is talking,” he snapped, waving his hand as if he could physically swat the rebuttal on the kid’s tongue away, “Now, what you're going to do is get out of the suit, put your clothes back on and then you’re coming back to the Tower with me and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll do it without any sort of complaint.”

Peter, thankfully, heeded Tony’s words and, after some struggling, managed to get the suit off and into his own clothes. He swayed slightly on the spot and Tony acted fast, tapping the center of Peter’s suit, summoning it back to the Tower and he scooped Peter up, cradling him like a baby against his chest. Peter rested his head gratefully against the cool armor, the world beginning to spin around him at an uncomfortable rate as he felt the repulsers of the suit ignite and Mr. Stark take off into the night.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., please send a text to Peter’s little friend and inform him there’s a car waiting for him outside and that it will escort him home and that if he doesn't leave that party in five minutes, it’ll be a phone call to his mother.” He heard Mr. Stark’s voice over the whooshing of the wind and Peter giggled. Who knew Mr. Drunken-Womanizing-Playboy-Tony Stark could be such a dad.

Iron Man, more like Iron Dad, Peter thought to himself, giggling.

His giggling came to an abrupt stop, however, when his stomach gave a uncomfortable lurch. Suddenly, the cool wind washing over his face felt suffocating and Peter could picture how high up they were, how small the buildings would be and how the only thing separating him from death was Mr. Stark’s gentle grip and his stomach gave another churn and then—

Oh no

“Uh, Tony, I—I—don’t feel so good—“

“Kid, I swear to god, if you toss your cookies all over this suit—“

He opened his mouth to reply, but instead of words, the tacos he and Ned split before the party came back up and he tried, he really tried to aim away from the suit, but there was only so much he could do when he was squished against Tony’s chest and suspended twenty-thousand feet into the air.

“Mr. Stark, I am so—“ Peter began, beyond mortified and feeling much more sober than he was five minutes ago, but Tony shook his head and Peter could feel the heat of his glare through the faceplate of the suit.

“Save it, kid. You’re lucky this is one of my older suits.”

~~~~~~~~~~

They made it back to the Tower without another incident and once Tony was out of the ruined suit, he sent it off with DUM-E to get it hosed off, he sent Peter up to his room and he sent himself to the bar for a drink.

He eyed the bottle of bourbon, but thoughts of a drunk and stumbling Peter on a roof top made him opt for a bottle of water instead.

He collapsed on the couch, suddenly feeling everyone of his years and rubbing his temples to ward off the migraine that he could feel blooming behind his eyelids, he wondered, not for the first time, how he could've done this to his mother. Tony had started drinking right around Peter’s age, and at first, it had started as something to piss his father off, but he soon came to realize that alcohol numbed the pain and help hide the scars his father’s words had left behind. Drinking had turned to experimenting with drugs and if it wasn't for Rhodey, who’d pulled him back from the brink of every bender, he would’ve been dead before his twenty-first birthday.

His drinking and partying had put a strain on his relationship with his mother and did nothing but serve to be a source of shame for his father with all the headlines his drunken shenanigans had earned him.

And while Peter wasn’t his kid, not biologically or legally, he felt responsible for the kid. A sense of duty to steer this kid in the right direction and Tony would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t love the kid and care about his wellbeing.

Peter reminded him a lot of himself at fifteen. Always the smartest kid in the room, always interested in things that weren’t cool and struggling to find a place amongst his peers who teased him for being who he was. The difference, however, was that Peter was good. He was so inherently good and all the harsh things that this world had done to him had yet to diminish the purity and resolute kindness that radiated off of the kid in waves. Peter used his powers because he wanted to help people, Tony did it because he hoped, that maybe, for every life he saved, every act of good he did, it would serve as a penance for all the bad he had done to the world.

Peter was too good of a kid to turn out like Tony and it scared him to think of Peter following in his footsteps. Of making his mistakes. He knew, logically, that Peter was still a teenager. That he was going to make mistakes, but Tony couldn't help but feel disappointed in the kid anyways. He wanted Peter to be better than him, damn it. He had to be.

It was only eleven, but Tony felt beyond exhausted, so he made his way to his room, passing Peter’s along the way and he couldn't help but stop and peak in the doorway. He wanted to make sure that the kid actually made it to his room in one piece and didn’t drown himself in the shower.

Peter did manage to make it in bed on his own—sprawled out on top of the sheets in the Iron Man pajamas that Tony had bought him as a joke, he never expected the kid to actually wear them—and if the snores coming out of the kid said anything, he’d been passed out for a while.

Tony smiled, shaking his head before padding softly across the fluffy carpeting of Peter’s room, grabbing a blanket that was thrown across the love seat in the corner and gently draped it over Peter. He snuggled into the warmth, seeming to relax a bit more in his sleep and Tony brushed his bangs back from his forehead.

“Oh, you’re going to be in a world of pain tomorrow, kid,” Tony muttered, “I wouldn’t wish a first time hangover on anybody.”

Peter snuffled in his sleep, eyebrows furrowing as if he heard what Tony said.

Tony chuckled softly, shaking his head once more, “Good night, kid.” he whispered to the quiet room.

Peter rolled over on his stomach, burying his head in the pillows, mumbling in his sleep and Tony paused, because there’s no way that kid said what he thought he said—

“G’night, Irondad.”

Tony blamed the warm feeling in his chest on the alcohol that was still sitting, untouched, in the bottle downstairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sunlight, Peter decided, was literally the worst thing that world had invented. It burned every time he opened his eyes, threatening to fry his corneas right from his skull and it was only made worse by his Spidey-senses, which usually made every one of his senses feel like it had been dialed to eleven, but today, it felt like they’d been dialed to one hundred.

And it was only made worse by the high voltage electric guitar that was blaring from downstairs and Peter recognized it as one of the songs on Tony’s I’m Trying To Be Productive playlist he’d played in the lab.

Wait—

Peter glanced around at his surroundings and he realized he was in his room. But not in Queens, where his Very Worried Aunt would expecting him to be sleeping, safe and sound.

Instead, he was in his room.

In Stark Tower.

Which was in Manhattan.

And he had no idea how he ended up here.

Cursing colorfully, Peter flew out of bed and immediately regretted it—the room started to spin and his stomach churned dangerously, bile rising in his throat and threatening to come up all over the dark grey carpeting.

He took a second to breathe, fighting back the nausea and praying he wouldn’t ruin Tony’s carpet. Eventually, the restless ocean in his stomach mellowed out, the nausea turning into more of a bleh feeling.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y?” Peter asked hesitantly, rubbing his eyes.

“Yes, Mr. Parker?” The A.I. responded dutifully.

“What happened last night?” Peter asked, toeing the carpet and wondering if he really wanted to know that answer. Now that he was awake, the night was coming back to him in flashes and he prayed that some of those flashes were wrong.

“Mr. Stark received a call from Mr. Leeds last night at around 10:35 pm, informing him of your whereabouts and possible levels of intoxication and he flew to the residence of Ms. Liz Allan’s, where he encountered you, on her roof, attempting to put on your suit. He flew you to the Tower and provided a car to escort Mr. Leeds home.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied.

Peter nodded—which, come to find out, makes splitting headaches worse—and thought over all the information the A.I. had provided for him and while all of it fit, there was one thing that was missing and he hoped, beyond all belief, that it wasn't true.

“Did I—,” Peter cleared his throat, wishing he hadn’t, which seemed to be the running theme of today, “—did I by chance, possibly, when Tony flew me back to the Tower, which I’m assuming was in the Ironman suit, did I uh, you know, um—“

“Mr. Stark is headed up in the elevator, Mr. Parker.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. interrupted him.

Shit

“On a scale of 1-10, how mad is he?” Peter asked meekly, glancing up at the ceiling.

“While my body scans show no outward signs of irritation, Sir’s heart rate is elevated and his blood pressure is higher than normal, so my estimate would be an 8.5.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. answered after a brief moment of hesitation and Peter couldn't decide if it was his imagination or if he just wanted someone on his team, but the A.I.’s voice sounded sympathetic and that was a bad sign when a computer felt bad for the wrath that was bound to rain upon him.

“On today’s episode of Peter Screw’s the Pooch, we talk about underage drinking and it’s adverse effects it has on young heroes and their abilities to think properly.”

The door to his room burst open and Peter winced at the noise of wood hitting dry wall, but that paled in comparison when he saw an angry Tony Stark standing in the doorway.

“And while we usually save questions from the audience for the end of the show, today, I think we can make an exception,” Tony continued, making his way into Peter’s room, a sarcastic smirk dancing on his lips and his usually kind eyes were on a low simmer, anger lurking in the shadows.

Peter gulped.

“To answer your question, Mr. Parker, yes, you did, in fact, regurgitate your tacos and cheap beer all over my Mark fifteen, after I kindly took time out of my night, to fly over to the suburbs of Queens, to a house full of your classmates, to save you, from possibly making one of the worst decisions of your teenage life.”

Peter winced at Tony’s steadily rising voice, one because it was making his headache worse and two, because, well, Tony was yelling at him.

“So, since I didn’t really get a coherent answer last night, what the HELL were you thinking?!” Tony demanded, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

Peter swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously, “I uh—“

But Tony cut him off, “Because I can tell you what you weren’t thinking. You weren’t thinking about the fact that if you flew into that house, drunk off your ass, might I add, you not only could’ve injured yourself, you could’ve hurt someone else. Or, more importantly, you could’ve exposed your secret to all your little classmates, who all have their little smartphones, with HD camera’s and access to the internet and you could’ve been the next viral sensation, which would blow your cover to the ENTIRE WORLD.”

Tony’s shout made Peter jump and shrink back from the rage in his voice, but he was so lost in his rant that he didn’t even notice, “Which, not only put you in danger, but all your little friends and your unusually attractive aunt.”

Peter’s eyes widened, “Oh god, aunt May, Tony—“

He waved him off, “Oh, now you’re thinking of someone besides yourself? Don’t worry, she thinks your sleeping over at Ned’s tonight because me, being the cool parent that I am, brought you here, instead of dropping you off at home last night and saved you from the verbal ass chewing of the century.”

Guilt swelled in Peter’s gut, eclipsing any nausea that had been lingering, and he dropped his eyes to the floor in shame.

“Seriously, Peter, what were you thinking?” Tony demanded and Peter could hear the exasperation and fatigue in his voice and his guilt increased ten fold.

If Peter was being honest with himself, he wasn't thinking. Not entirely, at least. He just wanted one night, one night, where he could be a normal teenager. Who went to parties and let loose and danced and didn’t have to worry about saving the city from weird thugs with Avenger’s masks and high tech weapons. Who didn’t have to worry about keeping up with homework and studying on top of late night patrols and keeping up a secret identity from his aunt who worked two jobs to supplement the lost income because her husband died in a robbery that Peter was too angry and bitter to stop. He wanted to fit in, to be cool and seen by the most beautiful girl in entire school.

He just wanted to be normal.

It all sounded so stupid, now that he thought it out.

Well.

“I just wanted to fit in.” Peter said softly, “The kids at school, they don’t see me, you know? I know it’s stupid, but I just wanted to know what it was like. To be cool. To be—“

“—normal.” Tony finished for him, voice unusually gentle and Peter glanced up at him hesitantly, nodding.

“Yeah.”

Tony sighed, rubbing his hand down his face, taking a seat next to Peter on the bed, “Kid, I get it. Maybe not the whole hero thing at fifteen, but when I was fifteen, I was in college, with kids that were older and cooler and I just wanted to fit in. But Pete,” Tony said softly, “drinking is never the answer.

For anything. Trust me kid, alcohol won’t solve any of your problems, they only create more problems. And they can lead to things that you’re not ready for.”

Tony glanced away from him, “Take it from someone who knows, it takes you down a path you’ll have a hell of a time getting off of. I know I have a hard time showing it, but kid…you mean a lot to me and I never want to get another phone call like the one I got last night, you hear me? I’m not kidding. If I ever hear about you doing something stupid that involves the suit, I’ll take it away from you and you won’t get it back.”

Peter’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to protest, but Tony shook his head, “No, I mean it. If you want to make it public that you’re Spiderman, you’ll do it when you’re older and on your own terms. It’s not going to be because you made a stupid choice when you were drunk and you exposed yourself to the entire world. This is for your safety as much as it is for mine and everyone else you care about.”

Peter sighed, “I understand. And I promise it won’t happen again. Especially if this is how I feel as a result.”

Tony chuckled, ruffling Peter’s hair, “Hangover’s are a bitch, kid, if that’s not enough to make you want to wait to drink until you’re older, I don’t know what will.”

Tony stood up, “Alright, I’m gonna go order breakfast—what are you doing?”

Peter, who thought that the lecture was over and it was safe to go back to bed, propped himself up on his elbow, “Um, going back to bed? I wasn’t kidding, I really don’t feel good and I’m tired—“

“Oh no no no,” Tony tutted in disapproval, backing his way out of Peter’s room, “You’ve got a suit with your puke all over it, waiting to be cleaned in the lab and then you have homework to do and web fluid to make—“

“But—“ Peter looked longingly at the California king with it’s soft sheets and fluffy pillows and his body physically ached at the thought of leaving it.

“Or I can always call your aunt and tell her what really happened last night—“

“Coming!”

Tony smirked.

Iron Dad indeed.

~~~~~~~

Thank you guys for reading! I hope you enjoyed it and I’m excited to hear your feedback! Suggestions and requests are much appreciated! (: 

@jadepc @autumnhunter1 @randommemewithadream @rebbie444 @abaikgirl @fantabulousshipperfromcamelot @afittingdistraction @letsallsleepoverwork @pepperr-pottss @help-i-need-a-cool-username @onedaysomedaytoday @ileavechaosinmywake @bloop-da-loop @rachhhhhl @anniejglee @hiccup-is-left-handed @spid3rboy @bonza-bear @claraangi

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Stay Ch. 3

(This is a repost because of tumblr’s stupid thing about links being in posts. I want to be sure the people who wanted tags see this.)

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Natasha X Reader (Female)

Summary: You have a gift, the ability to see other people’s innermost secrets. For years you used it to gather intel for the highest bidder when you take on The Widow. After she becomes more than a mark the two of you spend years stealing moments. Post snap you wait in your designated meeting place, look back on the sordid past you share with the woman you love and hope against everything that she’s still alive.

Warnings: References to murder I guess?

A/N: Ah, my poor OC/Reader. So infatuated. So stressed. So about to be in over her head. 

(Also, to my knowledge we don’t know exactly when MCU Natasha graduated from The Red Room so I picked an age that worked for my story.)

Tags are open!

@mywinterwolf  @disagreetoagree @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade  @5aftermidnight  @jeromethepsycho @germansarechill

Natasha didn’t seem to notice the clear signals she projected nor that your unique brain absorbed each and every one. Or if she did she hid it. She sits back on the bed crossing her legs and gathering the rest of the little vodka bottles to her.

“So,” she asks opening another, “just what kind of freak are you?” Your brows raise in a silent question. “Born freak or made freak.”

“Never met a made freak…” Something to dig into, “Though in all fairness never met a born one either. Never met anyone like me.”

“Born, then?”

“Yeah.”

“Alabama?”

You’re genuinely surprised, “Damn, spot on there.”

“I’m a made freak,” she downs the bottle.

“Oh?” You steel yourself, “What exactly…”

“I’m a weapon.” She forms a gun with her fingers and aims it at you, “A damn good one.”

The tension in you releases, you thought she was going to reveal some power, an ability like your own. “Is that so bad?” She just shrugs.

Silence hangs thick for a few minutes. “Alright,” your voice feels like a gunshot, “let’s get to work.” She just stares at you, “I’m good but like any hunting dog I need to be pointed in a direction. You’ve got to have some ideas about who’s put this bounty on you.”

“That’s a long list.”

“I don’t sleep much,” you shrug and flash her a smile. “Come on,” you pull the notepad by the phone to you and the hotel pen, “start listing potentials.”

Over an hour later your head is spinning. “How fucking long have you been at this?” You were both born in ’84… only 20… but you’d lived so many lifetimes by then and there was no question she had too.

“Graduated at 14,” she says nonchalantly.

“Graduated?”

“From The Red Room. Been working since.”

You ran a hand over your face, letting out a long sigh. “So in six years-“

“That’s from the last two.”

“Fuck me,” you groan, she laughs and you can’t help but smile. “Ok, you’re obviously not done, so keep going.”

Natasha takes a deep breath before listing more names of people and syndicates. It becomes like static as your brain searches for pertinent information, “The Yugo Brotherhood, then there’s-“

“Stop,” you hold up your hand to pause. Eidetic memory, was the best word for it, though it didn’t quite cover it. Anything you absorb you can, for better or worse, recall with pinpoint accuracy. Great for your job. Terrible for being a functional human. “You took out the fucking Cobra didn’t you?!” Just a shrug.

“Need another drink?” Natasha asks, a small smile playing on her lips.

You hold out your glass, “Make it a double.” Your fingers brush over her’s as she hands the glass back to you and a shiver climbs up your spine, “Thank you.” After a sip you take a deep breath and close your eyes, pulling up everything you have on the Yugoslavian Brotherhood.

Names and dates begin pouring out, your hand racing across the pages in your short form, scrawling out the information. Tearing off the page and going on to the next, you’re like a machine. Then your hand starts sketching the outline of a face, a man, automatic. You stop yourself as it’s not necessary.

Natasha was hovering over watching, fascinated. You hadn’t noticed her. Three pages in her hands.

“Sorry, I kinda zone out once this,” you tap your forehead, “get’s going.”

“You just… remembered all of this?” She looks at the pages, trying to decipher them.

“Mhm, part of the package.” You reach for the pages, “You won’t be able to decode those.”

She flashes you a side glance, “This is short for, underworld,” she points to the mix of symbols letters. “Don’t assume,” she hands them to you and sits on the opposite side of the table.

“Impressive.”

“Well made,” she says dryly.

- Post Snap -

You stare at the dark screen of your phone. Willing it to light up. Any number, any country, you’d answer. Because maybe…

The sun was setting. A few stragglers had wandered into the hotel, all looking dazed, lost. Did you look like that? Did it matter?

You let your mind wander back.

It didn’t take you long to narrow in on what mercs would have picked up the Brotherhood’s hit the fastest…

- Nov. 2004 -

“That doesn’t sound like a suicide mission at all,” your stare is incredulous.

“I can handle myself.”

“Yeah, no one is disputing that. But you don’t have-“

“Enough,” she pushes past you and it takes every ounce of self-control for you to not grab her.

It turned out that the hit on Natasha had indeed been put on her by the Brotherhood. The day before you had pulled corroborating information from two different men that Europe’s top two mercs had picked up that the Widow was in Vienna. Rather than risk going after her solo they were apparently teaming up, willing to split the sizable bounty for the glory of taking her out. She didn’t want to wait, was instead determined to crash their makeshift HQ.

You had spent the better part of the last three hours pointing out to her the obvious issues. They would have home-field advantage, there were at least two of them, they were both skilled killers. She of course scoffed, she was better than them and would be sending their head’s to the Brotherhood as a clear message.

Leaning against the door you watch her gear up, teeth grinding, brain whirring trying to find any way to get her to stop. Natasha was unquestionably exceptional at what she did, but in this instance, she was being arrogant.

Done covering her body in a small arsenal she stares you down. You don’t move. “Please,” she sighs, “don’t make me move you, Y/N.”

“If you die that’s on me,” she won’t meet your eyes.

“If you feel guilt over the consequences of a job well done you need to find a new line of work.” When she finally looks back it’s as though she’s donned a mask, “Now, get out of my fucking way.” You do, even though you feel like you’re moving through wet concrete.

Natasha opens the door with more force than necessary and steps out before pausing. She looks back at you, “Thank you… for the information. I won’t forget what I owe you.” Then she’s gone.

You collapse into a chair, head in your hands. For three days you had worked to dig up as much information as you possibly could to find just what kind of trouble she had gotten herself into. Unsurprisingly, it was all a tangled mess. But you had also spent much of that time with her.

At first, you thought she would be vapid, boring, just a gun in a pretty dress. Now you weren’t sure if you were happy or livid that she was anything but.

In lulls between research and tracking down sources you both hardly slept, instead, you just ate junk, guzzled caffeine, and talked about your favorite books, artists, music. Turned out she had a soft spot for classic rock and Anais Nin, both of which utterly surprised you.

One of the definite upsides to your ability was being able to tell if someone was lying to you, or fronting, she had done neither. Your exchange was candid, and you felt somehow honored that she chose to be real with you. In return you had been open with her, laying out what your original plan had been, telling her what information you needed to satisfy your S.H.I.E.L.D contact. Rather than having to pluck it from her she willingly gave you the intel.

It turned your stomach. The way The Red Room broke these girls to make them into weapons. Your own childhood hadn’t been a cake walk. Sold off to the highest bidder the moment your dad realized what useful skills you had and that plenty of underworld lowlives would be happy to have a handy little psychic on their side. But none of the brutality you had witnessed was calculated, none of it specifically formulated to break you, which somehow made it all less sinister in your mind.

All that she had been through and yet… deep under it all, there was something there, some spark, of humanity they couldn’t strip away. You felt it there every time she spoke about her own likes, every time you caught her glancing at you, every time you brushed against her (accidentally on purpose if you were being real).

You wanted to know her, really know her, you wanted- fuck. You get up and pace around the room. Anxiety growing with every circuit you make. Maybe an hour since she had left… enough time to get to their hideout… enough time for her to be…

“Goddammit!” You yell to nothing as you begin to gear up. Every sensible part of your brain is screaming at you. Lining up the reasons not to go after her, blasting them at full volume. But your brain wasn’t in control right now. Neither was your heart. This was your gut telling you something was going to go wrong, something you couldn’t live with.

[theveryworstthing]

My BEST posts of 2017

My BEST posts of 2017

December ♥ 1116

November ♥ 3547

October ♥ 1670

September ♥ 787

August ♥ 357

July ♥ 2718

June ♥ 671

May ♥ 971

April ♥ 9681

March ♥ 992

February ♥ 1361

January ♥ 821

Generated using the best of tumblr tool.

2017 made me so tired. the world is truly, A Fuck.

personal stuff under the cut. like, real personal. i feel like i’ve broken out in Emotion Hives now, yuck.

spent a lot of this year either in a fog of paralyzing panic or a state of forced productivity. i like what i made, but it was so exhausting to make it and i know i could have made it better. i got frustrated with my skill level, my limitations, the stiffness in my work. i know i’m probably just stuck in a level-up period where my vision doesn’t match my ability just yet but dang. i found myself doing way less free form sketching. every sketch had to have a purpose or a story or be part of an existing worldbuilding project, and i think it hurt my work as a whole. even though i took a break from commissions to heal and get my personal life in order, i was basically making work for myself instead of truly relaxing. my brain couldn’t turn off. probably because i felt guilty about not actively making money. money was a big deal this year (isn’t it always) like, a worrying about my bank account over a life saving surgery big deal. any time i wasn’t doing art for patreon or commissions made me feel guilty. guilt led to stress, which led to lack of focus, which led to an inability to do art anyway. it was a mess. if a friend hadn’t stepped in to help me with medical bills in an act of charity that literally left me sobbing on the floor, i don’t know what i would have done because i probably wouldn’t have ever put up a gofundme or whatever and considering my parent’s situation i refused most of their money outright. i barely even talked about it on my blog, didn’t want to bother anyone, didn’t think i was worth the money. bad times.

Downtrodden took a productive drop this year, and even though there was still A Lot of it, i felt guilty that i wasn’t still in that posting a giant lore post every day or even week frenzy. i know i shouldn’t be, because that just means that i have a lot of the world worked out and now want to focus more on the characters/stories in it, but it feels like there’s still so much to tell. speaking of untold world stuff, i thought a lot about storytelling and worlds in general this year. i never really post about HOW i feel about my worlds and characters because i feel like it sounds stupid when i do, but i’ve been reading a lot about creators and fandom and interpretations and death of the author and i have...thoughts. i’d like to talk about that stuff one day. when i can shake off the willies of Public Emotion and properly brace for discourse.

in non-art news, self-isolation was the name of the game this year as i heavily substituted art for sincere connections with people because i didn’t know how long i could mingle and joke about my whole situation before the Fear was scented on me like a wounded animal. a cry for help doesn’t count if you scream it through a kazoo after all, and no one likes a bummer anyway. despite all this weird self-destructive hiding that i would be upset to see in anyone but myself because depression hypocrisy, i had family and friends who caught on and forcefully dragged me out of the pit. i didn’t try to climb back in, even though i stared at it longingly from afar. progress.

in 2018 i hope i can just...chill. chill and work. get some stability, try to figure out how to live without chronic (physical) illness, work on my bad brain, and try to be less of a feral cat around people so i can force myself into a human shape. y’all can’t imagine how grateful i am to everyone who sent well wishes and nice asks and fan art. i look at everything, even if i don’t have the time or energy to respond right away or ever! i keep a bunch of messages in my ask box just because i don’t know how to sincerely and personally respond to each one and i don’t want to lose them trying to post them because tumblr is a hellsite and they are my treasures. its also just real overwhelming for people to be so nice to me sometimes. so i’m sorry about that.

i hope 2018 is real good for all of you. thank you.

[hirakdesherrani]

I was going through your blog, and you seem to criticize Shivaay a lot. But you don't seem to criticize Om as much who is no good either. I know Om started out good but after his character was butchered, there is no difference. At least Shivaay has shown a great character progression, and as of now he is the better man and husband. Not to attack you, 'cos I know everyone has their favs, but Omkara has flaws too.

Okay, so this ask has been licking dust in my inbox for weeks now. At the cost of seeming rude, I didn’t answer it ‘cos I just didn’t know what to reply, and tbh, didn’t feel like replying either.

Anyways, I’ll try now.

First things first anon, this is the first time someone has implied that Omkara is a fav of mine, which is farthest from the truth. Most of the times, I’m accused of hating on him ‘cos I’m blind Gauri stan, who’s white-knighting on her behalf (or so ppl believe). Secondly, LMAO anon, if only you had bothered to go back to posts I made last year, you would’ve seen how much I’ve criticized Om, much more than Shivaay, believe me.

Coming to your statements, lets see.

(Disclaimer: I’m in no way comparing abuse and saying who’s the worst among the two. Both are pathetic and don’t deserve the blessed presence of ‘any’ female in their lives, AniRi toh bahut dur ki baat hai.)

For the Shivaay v/s Omkara thing you mentioned:

As a husband, Shivaay >>>> Omkara. No explanations needed. (Post-their resolution of conflicts)

As a man, Omkara >>>> Shivaay, for the simple reason, that when Gauri told Omkara to GTFO, he accepted her decision and left. Unlike Shivaay, who took it upon himself to decide Gauri’s fate, because he thinks that he knows what’s better for Gauri than Gauri herself, which is damn patronizing. That Gauri chose to forgive Om is her prerogative, Shivaay orchestrating the kidnap was wrong. What if Gauri did not want to return to the Oberoi hellhole, then? Would he have kept her in the Oberoi mansion against her will, just to make his brother happy? I found the whole thing hard to digest, it was funny no doubt, but the underlying message was problematic.

As for character progression, well of course Shivaay has shown greater progression, because in the beginning of the show he’s a damn sociopath. Shivaay starts out as this Lucius Malfoy kinda character, who has rules about blood and lineage, who is proud about his ‘Naam, khoonn, khaandaan’ (just like pureblood nonsense) and calls Annika “road trash” (‘Mudbloods’?). Shivaay starts out from the very bottom, so obviously his growth will be greater. Omkara has his flaws, but as a character he was always better than Shivaay. Even in DBO when he was at the very worst of his graph, he still intervened to save a girl’s life, who he judged and hated, because that was the right thing to do. 

Both Shivaay and Omkara were put in the same situation re: Tia and Gauri. Both of them suspected that Tia and Gauri are lying about the pregnancy, and both had just cause to suspect. However, Shivaay never took any interest in Tia’s pregnancy, which made sense, because Tia was trapping him and he knew the child wasn’t his. It was Annika, in fact, who saved Tia from a miscarriage and actually cared for the baby indirectly, when she had all the reason to hate Tia and the child, because Annika is a kind soul.

Compare this to Omkara, who though acted as the judge, jury and executioner and decided that Gauri was not fit to mother that child (asshole!), but still actively cared for the unborn child who he suspected was not his own. We, as an audience, knew that Shivaay is right in his place, and Omkara is wrong in accusing Gauri. But as characters both Shivaay and Omkara were at the same situation, that is, they were unaware of what the other party had in mind.

Another reason why Shivaay’s character progression or redemption, has better sketched out, is because he is acutely aware of all the wrongs he perpetrated against Annika. Each and every instance, from suspecting Annika of selling the video to the media to the Daksh fiasco, every single misunderstanding has been cleared. But Omkara is not even aware of all the wrongs he committed against Gauri. Till date Omkara does not know the whole truth about Kali Thakur. He still only has a vague idea that he misjudged Gauri, that maybe she was forced into the wedding. The fact that Gauri was kept in chains, she was about to be married to three grooms, they were planning to make her their common sex slave for life, all this is still unknown to him. Even the buamaa truth, that Gauri was not lying when Kali captured Buamaa or even the fact that Gauri was not attempting to drown Buamaa in the swimming pool (for which he called the cops); all this is STILL unknown to him. How can he make reparations for everything he did in DBO, when he doesn’t even know the extent of all his sins in DBO?

And again, at the cost of repeating myself, even at his worst, Omkara did not derive any diabolic pleasure in ruining Gauri’s life. Unlike Shivaay, who put Annika in jail just because she refused to apologize for his arrogance. Annika would still be rotting in prison, if Dadi hadn’t bailed her out and Omkara hadn’t knocked some sense into Shivaay. Shivaay repeatedly fucked with Annika’s life and tried to make her miserable only for his ego. Annika was always at Shivaay’s mercy because Shivaay always used his power to abuse Annika.Contrast this to Omkara, Gauri was never at his mercy. Gauri was held hostage by the situation and had to return to the Oberoi mansion to save his dumb ass, but she was never at Omkara’s mercy. He did not make it a hobby to make her life difficult because that gives him sadistic pleasure. Omkara just wanted to get rid of Gauri and throw her out of his life. Which still makes him an asshole, but in all ways better than Shivaay. It’s just that Shivaay appears better than Omkara during DBO and after, because Shivaay was at the highest point in his character arc that time, while Omkara was at the lowest.

Coming to the last thing you mentioned about character flaws in Omkara. Sure, Omkara has a LOT of character flaws, you’re absolutely right there, anon. And those flaws are there even in IB 2016, its just that the audience puts him on a pedestal without analyzing his character properly, which is why the fall in DBO seems much more evident.

His biggest flaw is that he is STUPID. Like all the other problems and minor flaws emerge because of his sheer stupidity. Okay, that came out wrong. Omkara in the beginning of IB, is a Kalidas kind of character, who cuts the branch on which he is sitting. Unfortunately, stupidity is not seen as a character flaw, so most of the audience let it go. No wonder Om gets conned all the time, by Roop bua, Ishaana, Riddhima, Ranveer, etc. 

Because he is stupid, Omkara cannot understand the nuances of human beings. All his associated flaws, be it seeing things in black and white, or truth and lies, is because he cannot see the ‘grey’ or the ‘in-between’. To see and understand the grey, one needs brains and that Omkara does not possess.

Another thing is that most of the fandom thought that Om is more gender-equal than his brothers. But he has always been pretty misogynist from the beginning. 

Omkara put women in boxes. One was the good but victimized women (Box A): Jahnvi, Annika, even Pinky to an extent, who tolerated a lot of BS from their partners. And the other were women like Riddhima, Ishaana, Tia, who lied or used men for their own benefits (Box B). Of course, the worst was Svetty who was the ‘home breaker’ in his eyes. The first time he was confronted with this issue he chose to break up with Riddhima and Shivaay had to intervene and explain him that people are not good or bad, there is also the grey. The funny thing is that Om, who judged women harshly, never held Shivaay to the same standards. If he judged Shivaay in the same way, then he would have to put him in the category of bad people, which he refused to do. Hypocrisy much?

The second time when Omkara faces a similar choice, is when Mallika ran away from her wedding. Omkara categorically says that what Mallika did was wrong, even though he understands what compelled her. Again in that situation its Annika who makes Shivaay see sense, because Annika is an empathetic person. 

The thing is, whenever Om clashes with a ‘bad’ woman a/c to his judgments, he reacts badly. He was about to hit/get violent with both Ishana and Riddhima when he came to know of their betrayal. In both the cases, his brothers intervened and stopped him. Similarly he manhandles Svetty, after the whole engagement fiasco. 

The audience never held him accountable that time, because these women were wrong/used him. But the point is that even if these women were wrong, Omkara was also wrong in misbehaving with them. Manhandling or threatening assault to any woman is never right. 

This flaw comes in sharp focus only when Omkara meets Gauri, because unlike the other women before her Gauri is blameless. 

You mentioned the butchering anon. I know we all talk about how Omkara did a 360 degree in personality in DBO, even I say that. But in all honesty, he wasn’t butchered in DBO. His dark side which was suppressed in IB, came out in DBO. Like I explained before, Omkara was always violent with women who fell in category B. That coupled with his stupidity, which is why everyone cons him, spelled disaster for his equation with Gauri. 

If I have to be critical, Omkara was butchered badly only four times in the show (IB+DBO). When he throws money at Gauri’s face and crashes his car into her shop, when he leaves her to die at Kali Thakur’s hands after Chulbul reveal (which undid the very fact that he saved her from the villagers in similar situations the first time), when he shows complete lack of regret/guilt after Gauri leaves him post-inspiration argument and when he was drinking hot chocolate and going off to sleep after returning from Bareilly (instead of properly angstying and expressing regret in solitude) 

Coming back to the misogynist flaw, Omkara by the end of DBO did not know in which box to put Gauri in: due to all the lies and what he saw in Bareilly, he wanted to put her in Box B, but Gauri also put her life at stake multiple times to save his ass which confused him. On top of that, Gauri is not like Jahnvi or Annika who will stay with him despite all the shit he pulled. Gauri leaves immediately after the inspiration fuck up, which puzzled Omkara because Jahnvi never left despite the shit Tej did or Annika did not leave despite how Shivaay continued to insult her after their forced wedding. Annika in fact asked Omkara and Rudy to forgive Shivaay for the forced wedding BS that he did. [One reason why Omkara and Rudy misbehaved with Gauri, Soumya and Bhavya was because they internalized Shivaay’s behavior, ‘cos they saw that Annika forgave him despite everything, so they never expected these girls to dump their ass.]

I know a lot of people felt Omkara was OOC in many scenes in DBO. But actually on second thoughts he was like that in IB too, its just that in Ishana’s or Riddhima’s cases it was a one-off incident, but Gauri was forced to continue living in his presence to save him from Svetty and Buamaa, which made Om even more suspicious and thus, even more violent/verbally abusive. 

Baar haal, when you say character progression, sure Shivaay has progressed a lot from where he began. Omkara by comparison, had character flaws which he overcame post-break up with Gauri, when he realizes how wrong his stereotyping has been all this while, and how messed up his ideologies are. He learnt his lesson, and tried to implement that too, when he himself resorted to lies (as Dilpreet) to win back Gauri’s forgiveness. Character progression is more marked in Shivaay’s case because he started as a villain and went on to become a decent human being, whereas Omkara was in general a decent guy, with faulty judgments and anger management issues, which he sorta overcame. Of course, his stupidity cannot be cured. If one is stupid, then when is stupid, iska koi iilaaj nahi hai. Which is why he has a smart brother and wife to take care of him. 

I know you were not ‘attacking’ me for my choices, anon, but I thought to make it clear anyways. And hopefully, after this longass reply, nobody sends me an ask about the Obros, because writing about them just shoots my blood pressure.

[the-pancake-writes]

Snippet: Beauty and the Beast AU (puzzleshipping)

I made a post and @shiirojasmine and @atemina-rubygibb and @sonarbreezythelongearedhedgehog (and her awesome sketch) all contributed to making me write this snippet. :D

This is based on the Disney movie(s) but I still made it my own slightly perverted version because straight up copying would have been boring. ;D

I’ve been thinking about posting a snippet a month, just so your interest in my stories won’t die as long as I’m working on the brothel story (which yes, I still am doing). Plus, it’d be a good exercise for me.

Okay but now have fun. :D

A cold shiver crawled down Yugi's spine at the sight before him. He looked up at a castle of dark grey stone with reddish roofs and at least a dozen towers. The estate was shrouded in fog and enclosed by a wall that was higher than any of the forest's trees. Yugi gave the reins a tug and the horse stopped.

Right behind the black metal gate before him lay something that made him give a silent gasp. Yugi jumped off the horse, pushed the gate open and knelt down. He picked up the hat.

“Grandpa…!”, he whispered.

Yugi dropped it but the spark of hope it had ignited remained. In spite of the shakiness in his limbs he sneaked towards the entrance. The heavy oak doors screeched when he opened them.

“H-Hello…?”, he said and slowly placed one foot in front of the other. The hall was empty, only lit by a few candles on the walls. He brushed back his hood and followed the red velvet carpet. “I'm looking for my grandfather…! Has he come here…?”

Yugi flinched. Had someone whispered…? He looked around but no one was there.

Thud.

Yugi clutched his chest. Had something fallen? On the floor above? Yugi climbed the stairs, a hand on the dusty banister. As soon as he head reached the top a bell tinkled somewhere down the corridor. Yugi followed it and checked every direction. But he saw no one.

“Is someone there…?”, he said but got no answer. He passed a few doorways that were hung with brocade.

Squeak.

It came from another door that lead into a stone tower. Yugi gulped before he entered it and followed the spiral staircase. He stopped at a wooden wall shelf with a candle and two small figures. The male one was wearing purple robes while the female one was clad in blue and pink. Both were holding a staff in their hands. They reminded Yugi of drawings of magicians in one of his children's books.

A cough. Yugi recognised the voice and his heart leaped.

He hurried upstairs and found a room with six cells. Only one of them was taken and the person huddled up inside had grey hair and a beard.

“Grandpa…!”

Relief rushed through Yugi. He dashed towards the bars and knelt down. Grandpa crawled towards Yugi with wide eyes. The ashen tone of his skin gave away his sickness.

“Grandpa, what happened? No, forget it! I'll get you out of here first!”, Yugi said and inspected the hinges. But Grandpa grabbed his wrist with icy fingers.

“Yugi, you have to go! Go before he catches you too…!”

Yugi furrowed his brows.

“What are you-”

Something sharp dug into Yugi's arm and he was hurled into a corner.

“Yugi, run…!”

Yugi's heart was thudding but it stopped when he looked up.  Before him stood, on all fours, a creature with dark brown fur, the size of a bear. It had sharp claws, horns, and a spiky, black mane with blond streaks and crimson tips. It bared its fangs, its blood-red eyes sending fear through Yugi's body.

“What do you think you're doing?!”, the beast said.

Yugi's jaw dropped. It could talk…! Its voice was deep as thunder and just as threatening. Yugi gulped and got into a kneeling position.

“I've come for my grandfather. I'm Yugi…who are you?”

“I'm the master of this castle. I imprisoned your grandfather for trying to steal from my game collection”, the beast said.

“I thought it was abandoned…! No one was-”, Grandpa said and coughed again. Guilt seared through Yugi's heart. He had asked his grandfather for a new game before he had left.

“Please, let us go home! He had no intentions to steal from you!”, Yugi said.

“Ignorance is no excuse for a crime!”

“Crime?! Taking from your stupid collection is a crime?!”, Yugi said but clapped his hands in front of his mouth. The beast rose to his hind legs, took a wooden chair and threw it against the wall. It broke with a loud noise that made both Yugi and Grandpa flinch.

“How would you like it if someone took the only thing you have left?!”, the beast said. Yugi had no answer.

He looked at Grandpa in the cell, his gaunt face, the rings under his eyes. If he stayed he'd die…! Yugi couldn't reason with the beast. Then maybe…

“L-Look, I wanted that game in the first place! So please…make me your prisoner in his stead!”, Yugi said and lowered his head.

“Yugi, no! I won't let you-”

“Interesting”, the beast said and moved towards Yugi on all fours. He circled him, his tail brushing Yugi. His body was shaky with the fear of being devoured by the beast any moment.

He came closer and sniffed Yugi, causing him to flinch. He moved away and landed on his back, only supported by his elbows. The beast crawled over Yugi without touching him. He sniffed Yugi's white shirt, blue vest, his neck.

“Such young flesh…how old are you?”, the beast said. Now his voice was almost a purr.

“E-Eighteen”, Yugi said. He was holding his breath in face of those crimson, piercing eyes right in front of him.

“Yes…you will do”, the beast said. Before Yugi could ask what he meant, the beast rose, smashed open the gate, and threw Grandpa into the corridor. Yugi hurried towards him but the beast grabbed his wrist and pushed Yugi into the cell. He rolled over the cold stone floor. Before he could act, the beast had already locked him up.

“Yugi…!”

The beast grabbed grandpa by the collar and dragged him out of the tower.

“Grandpa…!”, Yugi called and stretched a hand through the bars. Yugi shook them with all the energy that was left in his arms. But it was no use.

He hurried to the window hole. A little later on, he saw the beast pull Grandpa to the big gate despite him trying to fight the beast's grip. He threw Grandpa off his estate and shut the gate behind him. Grandpa was on his knees, begging the beast to give him back his grandson. But the beast ignored him and stomped back to the castle.

“Just go home, please…! You have to get well…!”, Yugi whispered and sank down to the floor, knees tucked up and arms wrapped around his shins. Trampling steps announced the beast's return and a moment later he appeared at the door frame. Yugi shot up, heat flushing through his body.

“You could at least have given him a cloak! He's so sick! Who knows if he'll make it back home alive…!”

Yugi swallowed tears of anger and desperation. He would never allow the beast to see his pain!

“That's…that's none of your concern now”, the beast said and in spite of his cruel words Yugi detected some insecurity. “I'll bring you to your own chambers. You can better prepare there.”

“For what?”, Yugi said.

“The wedding.”

The beast might as well have slapped him with a palm of ice.

“The what?!”

The beast walked up and down in front of the cell.

“You will marry me at sunset and free me from that wretched curse. You agreed to it yourself, so-”

“I agreed to being your prisoner! Nothing more”, Yugi said, fists clenched. The beast growled, eyes narrowed.

“Believe me, once the curse is lifted you can go to hell for all I care! I need only one night-”

“NO!”, Yugi yelled and covered his ears. The mere imagination made his intestines curl up. That creature – touching, undressing him, making him… “That's disgusting! I'd never give myself to…to a beast! I'd rather die!”

The beast threw himself against the bars and gave a roar that made the blood in Yugi's veins freeze. He stumbled backwards against the wall. From the beast's glare Yugi knew the beast would have torn him into shreds if they weren't separated.

“Well, fine! Then do just that!”

The beast turned around and slammed the door behind himself. Yugi didn't know how long he stared at nothing until he sank down on his knees.

The realisation of what had just happened began to feel like a rock on his shoulders. Within a few minutes he had lost Grandpa and his freedom forever. He was now the prisoner of a beast who would let him rot in the dungeon unless he agreed to marry him. It had to a horrible nightmare…!

But Yugi knew that for that the pain in his chest was too real.

He placed his palms on the cold stone tiles and watched one tear after another fall to the ground.

[zacfaq]

PLEASE DON’T SEND ME “PASS IT ON” MESSAGES !! as sweet as some of they are they can be really annoying. i don’t check my PMs here! if you need to get ahold of me either send me an ask, or email me.

apparently necessary reminder: google exists! i’m not a know-it-all source, honestly i shouldn’t even be your second plan after google unless it’s a question specifically based on me or something relating to me

i try to avoid fandom drama as much as possible and keep a generally positive space, so please don’t come and ask me about stuff like that. thanks. 

if you want to commission me please send an email to zacharyjackbaron@gmail.com. do not email me through this address if your intentions are purely social and not work related

-what do you use to record and edit your speedpaints?

i use OBS to record, and edit in sony vegas

-what do you use to draw?

huion gt-191 and clip studio paint

-what are your pen settings?

just the default settings. all my custom stuff/things i’ve downloaded from CSP assets are just things i think look neat but probably never end up using. 

-a blog called papersans is claiming to be you! are they a thief?

that’s literally me, i use it to archive my art so i can find stuff easier without having to hunt through my tag. also available for people who just want to see my art n not my other posts

-when is your birthday?

february 6th!

-what is your sexuality?

gay. i like men.

-how long does it take you to draw?

idk like. awhile? sometimes 45 minutes sometimes four hours sometimes a week. 

-can i draw you/your ocs?

of course! pls show me after it would make me very happy !!!!! 

-favourite band/singer/musician?

i don’t know a damn thing about myself here’s a spotify playlist

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0Zk5o5g7nMnGt0vrJVEcDq?si=7cd248a0b64046ee

-will you do art for cheap/free?

nah. art is currently the only job/income i have, if ur interested in commissioning me you can either find my prices on like, any of my pages, but if not ur more than welcome to email me @ zacharyjackbaron@gmail.com and i can give you prices there !! -(venting or something involving abuse, suicidal thoughts, self harm, bullying, eating disorders, or other similar things in real life situations. even in fiction i’m iffy.)

i hate to sound rude or not be of help, but please don’t send these messages to me. they send me into horrible anxiety  for several personal reasons. if you’re having such negative thoughts i implore you to speak to someone you trust without an anonymous mask, or do your best to seek help from a professional. i have my own things to worry about and as much as i’d like to help, i simply can’t.

-(asking for advice that isn’t related to art)

i would love to help but i’m not an ~all knowing source~. i can’t give you tips for school. i can’t give you tips for life. not only will i probably not know a solution for you but there’s likely a chance i’m in just as bad a situation as you/going through the same problem, as silent as i am about my personal life. also don’t use ‘asking for advice’ as an excuse to vent about things or to send me a paragraph describing in depth something listed above/that’s potentially triggering. thank you.

even if you’re looking fr art tips i’m not a great source i’m still learning, ur best bet is looking for already existing sources and reading through those bc i don’t preach the word of Art God. i’m also awful at explaining things

-why didn’t you answer my ask?

Main reason is i’m just really really bad at socializing, so it’s not anything on u. i’m almost always low on energy and when i do talk to people it wears me out really quick. i’m also just. not gr8 at talking in general so if i can’t think of a reply i tend to just leave things n then end up forgetting about them

-how do you draw [blank]?

honestly my art style is such a fucked up thing that’s so personalized to my own use i can’t do or make tutorials. the best i can do is direct you to my youtube.

-can we do an art trade?

sorry, i’ll have to say no. i’m not necessarily busy but i get stressed very easily, so i try to keep my art to either personal stuff or work ! if you would like art from me, please considering commissioning me! mutuals and friends may be the exceptions here if they catch me at a good time or we make plans well ahead to do smth when we’re both free to work on stuff

-can we be friends?

please don’t ask this. i’m awful enough at socialization as is and i just don’t fit well with most personality types. not to mention this is just overall a bad question. it backs the person being asked into a corner where they either have to say “yes” and end up in a friendship that actually isn’t working out and is maybe only good for one side bc they’re getting any and all of the benefits, and if they say “no” they look like a total dick bag and come across as an ass. don’t ask this question. it’s not how socializing works. it’s not how friendships work. thanks. -can you tag [blank]? unfortunately i’ve been a real bad place in terms of memory so i can’t tag tons and tons of things. i try and tag more general/basic things but i’m sorry i’ll have to pass on specifics. if i post or reblog things that trigger u or harm you it might be best to unfollow for ur own safety!! very sorry

if it’s specific words you’d like tagged please consider blacklisting the word itself. 

-how tall are you?

i’m 5'11".

-can you promo me?

i’d rather not, doesn’t sit well with me. if you have a commission post you want me to reblog i’m happy to! but i won’t just do text based handouts, y’know? not a fan of being used for visibility for no reason, and chances are if i do it for one person it’ll happen with hundreds of others and i don’t want my blog to turn into a free advertisement zone that just floods peoples’ feeds with promotions.

-you reblogged something from someone extremely problematic/unsafe

thank you for letting me know! tell me what it is they did, even better offer proof on it. i’ll likely delete the post and blacklist their url to hopefully prevent their name popping up on my blog in the future. i won’t publish these asks mostly to avoid discourse or in the event false information is provided. sorta just safety precaution i guess

-you’ve done something bad

again, thank you for letting me know! if i post or say something questionable please feel free to message me and i’ll try my best to address the issue and adjust accordingly. i’m aiming to grow as a person so critique is welcome, both on me and my artwork. don’t just come up and call me an asshole or a prick or something, actually point out the errors and explain why they’re wrong so i can better understand and it doesn’t just turn into a defensive round of who’s worse, because i tend to be a very defensive person.

-i think someone is stealing/reposting your art!

thank you very much for telling me! don’t message them right off the bat, come to me first and i will deal with it. i’ve dealt with this shit tons of times and it’s tiring as fuck but i’d rather repeat the same stupid civil message over and over again than start a giant calamity over something and end up with someone getting hurt. if you do get involved please stay polite about it don’t throw insults just a simple “hey this art was done by princeofmints/tv-headache/zachary jack/dirtypip/(etc my other account names) and he doesn’t want his art reposted, please take this down or add proper credit.”

-can i use your art as an icon?

sure man. only on places like instagram, tumblr, or twitter though, and proper credit in an easy to see place must be given. if a piece of art is of my ocs or especially vent art though never use it for icons. thank you.

-can i repost your art?

the answer is “no” but i know you’re going to do it anyways. easy to see credit is mandatory. if you see somebody reposting my art please let me know and i’ll talk to them. if you want to use my art in things like image edits, i don’t allow that. want to use my art in a video? if it’s something like an AMV sure fine just credit me and inform me beforehand, if it’s something like a cringe/comparison video. no. i don’t want any association with work like that whatsoever. you may not use my artwork for fanfic covers.

-can i colour/finish one of your sketches?

no. even if you don’t intend on posting it. 

-what is [insert some form of media/fandom]

https://www.google.ca/

-why do you have an entirely separate blog for your FAQ? you know you can make blog pages, right?

i’m well aware of that and originally my faq WAS set up on a blog page, but unfortunately many folks proved to be either lazy or just couldn’t figure out how to get to a blog page on mobile so i had to set it up this way for accessibility purposes.

-tons of your videos are gone, what happened to them? will they come back? can you repost them?

i set old videos on private for my own sake, i don’t like having my old content available bc it just looks old and stale and i don’t like it. there’s nothing deep about it, i just don’t want people interacting with my old stuff. as deep is it gets is i just deleted videos related to fandoms i’m sick of bc the association is fuckin annoying. these videos will not come back into public. i do keep them posted for my own reflection sake, but that’s it. don’t ask me to bring them back. don’t whine about me not putting shit back out just bc ur a little sad n gonna cry. guilting people is gross, reevaluate yourself.

if you want a song from an old video, just ask me! I’ll happily let you know what the music is in case u liked ‘em and can’t remember the titles or artists. i’ve also got a playlist full of the music i listen to so u can comb through there n see if the songs u want are there

[puditheparth-blog]

What even is this post?

That one night in December.

Every person hopes to have a change in their lives when they know they have deeply fucked it up. I know I have. It sounds stupid coming from a 21 year old Indian dude, but I have, in ways which I'm not even sure of at this point. Is this a diary? or an autobiography? Who knows. Who cares? Honestly. All I know it's 4am in the morning and I haven't caught any sleep yet. I have royally fucked up my sleep cycle even at this age.

For once in my life,  I want to find something that I don't quit. I've tried table tennis, chess, cricket, football, swimming, roller skating, photography, academics, drawing, sketching and painting, guitar, coding, mathematics, cooking, reading, writing, the whole nine yards. I have failed miserably. Here's a secret recipe for success to anyone who reads this. If you like something, do it for the rest of your life and try to get better at it. No matter how much you hate it. Not that difficult, right? I know. It's my dumbass who can't even handle that much detail. I have honestly tried everything for at least (if not more than) 1 year. But I have failed miserably every time. There comes a point when you realize you aren't to get any better. The knowledge plateau or something it's called. People find a way to push past that phase. That really defines your willpower, and according to me is called "being good at something". That one point after the plateau phase. I haven't found that at all in my life. In nothing I've tried. I have never achieved that satisfaction of "I made it".

Side note. I don't know anything about writing. I don't know how to format all of this in better way. There are currently 4 blogs in the working. One from present day, 3 I wrote beforehand. Still don't know how to have that flow in a post. But oh well. I'm just writing what comes to mind. I have yet to establish the proper method to come up with thoughts in a flow. Maybe one day I will give up writing as I always give up other stuff. So here's to that day. This is just a confession of my life. My guilts. My regrets. My shortcomings. My outlet of feelings I won't discuss in a conversation. Maybe too boring for anyone to bear even a minute for. But not on a blog, right? No one really reads blogs. If you've made it so far, I'm really sorry. It's not going to get any better, buddy. I wouldn't blame you if you click away. My writing wasn't planned to keep the readers in mind. Point taken, I'll try better further on. But here's my excuse for that. I'm one of those pieces of shit who gave up on reading a long time ago. Hence, I don't necessarily have that skill of manipulating thoughts or writing in a easy to handle flow. Maybe we'll get there one day. But hey, the side note will end up longer than the post itself. Getting back to being cynical.

At merely 21 years of age, I have lost all hopes. I used to have dreams. I used to have memories. I used to have feelings and emotions. I was grateful for things happening to me. Who fucks up so bad, that you don't even know who you are anymore? Imagine this scenario. You get a broomstick. After a month you had to replace the handle. Next month the cleaning brush. Imagine that for a year. Is it the same broomstick that you bought? Or something totally different which you call "yours" but it's really not even the thing it used to be. That's me. I am that broomstick. So little changes have been going on for so long, I don't even remember what I used to be. Here's a theory of where I might be wrong. Maybe trying everything is not good for the soul. Jack of all, master of none doesn't bode well in real life. Once you lose interest in something, it really takes that part of life away from your soul. This world doesn't need people like me. It needs focused people. Good, kind, noble people. the ones who know themselves. Yeah. Maybe I am right on something after all. We need more people who have the guts to admit what they're not good at. Or admit when they're wrong. I don't have that in me. I am not smart. I am not street smart. I am not academically smart. Philosophically speaking, I am nothing. I am a gutless, spineless, garbage of a human being without the balls to admit anything. There. I said it. Ironically, I have admitted to being wrong. But it's not even the same as my previous sentence. I dunno. It's weird being me, really. It's weird to know that you're not even smart enough to realize how stupid you are. Do you know what I mean?

One thing I know about myself. I want to learn. My whole life only makes sense when I keep learning. I am not good at it honestly. But still. I should rephrase that then. I have a desire to learn. Doesn't matter if I retain that information or not. That's a whole different story. Here's all the useless information in my head. I know Edison was not a nice person to Tesla. Einstein got a Nobel Prize, but he was disappointed, because he received it for photoelectric effect, and not relativity. Brutal, right? I also have information like: the single layer toilet paper lasts longer than double layered mega roll. It is common knowledge for everyone apparently. Not for me I guess. Point is, I have too much free time, and have what's equivalent to gigabytes of useless information. Trust me, I know more useless stuff than I think my entire family combined.

So what's the point of this post? Fuck if I know. I wasn't lying when I said I am an unskilled writer. Maybe this is enough for a single post. Let alone my first ever post. I should save other things I have to save for later posts I guess. Hey, hope you haven't killed yourself with boredom reading. If not, let me know what is your stance on the things I've mentioned. Do you ever feel that way? If not, and you're smarter than me, please advise me. How you managed to live out your life. I would love to hear what you have to say. Friends, family, strangers on the internet, everyone's input is well appreciated. If you don't care enough to make a conversation about this, I can understand. See you in some other shitty post.Pudi out.