#impersonate ask

[cptnbeefheart]

last year in my sketchbook: can representational art be more sustainable for me if i take it less seriously? can i balance the two? | my art

[reality-detective]

Do you know Ester? She’s the best Kamala Harris impersonator. She just released a new video about Kamala’s endorsement by Big Mike and Barack. 😂

[wszczebrzyszynie]

Is this your artstation? https://www.artstation.com/artwork/elkO0J

no i dont have and never had artstation. Hate that place. Guess i will have to kill people with my mind now

my only active account is this one; used to have instagram but dont use it anymore

[meownotgood]

no even if it was the doggy position he'd lean against your figure and nuzzle his face to the crook of your neck, one arm embracing u tightly that man CANNOT even fuck you without making sure you know you're loved - bnuuy bunny bun

oh you're so right... I've always thought that too...

aki is just the sweetest to you, even when he's fucking you from behind he's still treating you so softly — he presses his body close to yours, practically leaning against you, and he grabs your chin and tilts your head up so he can kiss your forehead. he's so slow and gentle with every deep rock of his hips to make sure he won't hurt you.

and since he can't see your face from this position, can't look into your eyes, can't kiss you as easily as he wants to, he ends up talking a whole lot more; aki leans in close to your ear and mutters constant breathy words of reassurance, telling you how good you're making him feel, how perfect you are, how much he loves you.

god, you're beautiful, so beautiful, he's mumbling in his smooth tone, he holds your waist steady with one hand and drags his palm over your back, your side, down to your thighs, his touch so gentle it could only be his. you can hear him breathing hard in your ear, can feel his heart pounding in his chest when he wraps an arm around you and pulls you closer. he kisses your nape, rests his hand over yours when he sees you grabbing a tight fistful of the pillow, his fingers caress your knuckles ever-so delicately as he fucks into you nice and slow until his pelvis is flush with your ass. you feel so good, want you to moan for me louder- can you say my name baby? that's it... I've got you... I love you, love you more than anything...

[lynxgriffin]

Can eldrich Berdly make the funny berdly face?

Whether or not he can and whether or not he should are separate questions.

[liteee]

hi I noticed this account on deviantart and was wondering if this was you or an impersonator ..? Their account on devianart is iiteee

Oh that's an impersonator, I dont have any accounts anywhere else other than the ones listed on my profiles (tumblr/twt/bsky).

[moonshynecybin]

Any updates you’d want to share of your incredible marc 31&unfucked/airport rosquez wip? Or do you move in silence

twink for sale. never fucked. part one here, part two here ! yet again i have not reread the previous parts so these idiots might very well be talkin in circles. c'est la vie i am what i am.

Marc leans against the counter of the bar, a thick slab of slightly sticky wood covered in a mess of elbows and drinks. It’s not exactly a dive, but it’s unpretentious, laid back. Marc likes it. Likes the sound of the music and the smell of cigarette smoke.

The Ducati crew are all here, plus the Gresini people— celebrating an all-Ducati podium that saw Pecco roaring away into the distance before anyone could figure out a way to catch him, shades of Jorge Lorenzo. Marc had snapped up P3. Whatever.

He sighs. Studies the menu like he isn’t just going to order the same thing he always does.

Alex is feeling sick— staying at the hotel— and he doesn’t even know why he’s here. It's nice, but he doesn’t really know anyone. He wants to text Santi, see what the people at Honda are up to, but he balks. Someone might run a headline, and he doesn’t want to deal with that. He'll call them later, when he gets back to Spain, and link up for dinner then.

He orders his mojito and pauses, caught as a warm hand lands on his shoulder. He looks over, expecting one of his mechanics or someone from the factory team. Instead— Valentino. VR46 must’ve been invited as well. 

A grin splits his face before he can help it. 

“You still order the same drink.” Vale muses, like poking that particular bruise doesn’t even hurt him. He just— remembers Marc’s drink order like it’s nothing,

Marc ducks his head. “Shut up,”

“No, it’s just, you said– you are older now, yes? I thought maybe you would make a change?”

“Why should I? I like what I like.”

Vale flags the bartender and asks for a Negroni, curls his long hand against the glass. Marc catches his eyes on the bones of a wrist, the way it looks in the low lighting. He blinks.

He doesn't know what’s going on with him lately. 

Vale leans closer, looks around, conspiratorial. Grin white sharp in yellow light, shirt gaping at the collar to expose the long lines of his neck. He raises a finger at Marc.

“You know, Bez has a bet about you,”

“Bezzecchi?” Marc asks, pulling back into himself— he’s never called him Bez, isn’t about to start now.

Vale tilts a chin over to the corner, where Bezzecchi and Pecco seem locked in some sort of boozy, animated discussion. Marc catches snatches of words in Italian: tattoo, turbo, braking.

“What bet?” He asks, turning back to watch Vale take a sip of his drink. It’s a wonder there’s not a camera on them. Although— he thinks about that headline. Friends again. Maybe he wouldn’t mind.

“That you will not win another title,” Vale says casually, smacking his lips around the bitter of his drink. 

They’ve never been two people known for playing it safe.

Marc hums, fiddles with his bar napkin. “Oh, does he?” He doesn’t mention the bet he’s been told Uccio has. Four thousand dollars towards the same.

Vale nods. Places an elbow next to Marc on the bar and leans. Marc catches a whiff of his cologne— something spicy.

“Why should I care?” Marc shrugs, plays confused. He doesn’t— it’s Bezzecchi. He’s always been a bit weird about Marc. After Valencia last year, Marc has just written him off completely. One of Vale’s devotees too caught up in their history to think clearly for himself.

Vale laughs. “I guess you shouldn’t.”

“And what about you?” Marc prods, a little spiky. He's pretty sure he knows the answer. “What do you think? Will I win?” 

Vale tilts his head. 

“You could do it,” and Marc stares. “—if it rains.” Is the punchline that drags a smile back to him like a punch to the gut.

“Ah, I see. Master in the wet.” Marc waggles his eyebrows and Vale chuffs a laugh, scrubs a hand down his face like he’s embarrassed he finds Marc funny. 

“No no, but you’re the only one crazy enough— Brno 2019,” He reminds Marc. “Why was it raining for us and not for you?”

Marc doubles over, presses his smile into his palm. He still can’t quite believe this is happening— that Vale still knows how to twist the knife enough to make it sweet instead of making it hurt, teasing in ways that make Marc bark a laugh instead of blink away the burning feeling in his stomach. Now the joke is— how bad it got is almost funny. The ludicrousness of their falling out. His injury. Vale retiring. Leaving Honda. and Marc shouldn’t be laughing really, but Vale’s always found a way to thrive in the comedic incongruity of a situation. How the hell did we even get here? Is the question, and they both seem to find it abruptly hilarious, tension snaking ephemerally away from them as they giggle like children.

Vale regroups, catching his breath, “Bah, anyways. Pecco will be very, very strong. Hard to beat when he is giving 100%.” 

It’s probably the truth. It’s what he should say. Marc doesnt think he means it, and his smile grows.

He pretends to think. “Yes. He is. But I'm not trying to be greedy— nine is, nine would be a good number.” Continuing their theme—half a jab, half a joke—a test. Are they there yet, he's asking, can Vale take the same treatment from Marc? Daring Vale to confirm all his worst assumptions. If he’s going to pull back, get it over with. Pull him down to earth from where it feels like he’s floating away.

“Not as good as ten, no?” Vale says smoothly, and it would sound like taking the bait but his voice is still a tease, and his smile is still there, and he’s still next to Marc. Leans closer, even.

Marc doesn’t think he’s blinked in the last 45 seconds.

“No,” Marc lets every bit of his confidence into his voice. Nine times world champion is good, but Vale is right. He wants ten. “No, it’s not.”

“Ah, so that is the plan? Beat me?” Vale pulls another sip from his drink, leaning on the bar like he owns it. 

Marc shrugs, grins hugely. “Beat everyone. These guys— they are not better than you, and they are not better than me.”

“Maybe not.” Vale’s looking at him, eyes sparkling, and Marc’s melting down, like sugar dissolving into tea.

He clears his throat. Maybe the mojito is stronger than he thought. He hasn’t— they’ve never talked about it like this. He hasn’t wanted to talk about this. But he likes that it’s happening now, somehow. That it’s happening like this, like it’s the past instead of the present.

“Eh, you know, you’ve been coming to a lot of races.” 

“I have people I want to see.” Vale says, which could mean a lot of things, and “Old friends included,” which could mean less things but also isn’t necessarily any less confusing. Then he taps a finger on the edge of Marc’s drink, a non sequitur. “Can I try?”

Marc nods, feels like his brain is running a step behind his body. Watches Vale move the straw to take a sip from the rim, then think through the taste hitting his tongue.

“Do you like it?”

Vale shrugs, noncommittal, then pushes his glass towards Marc. He puts his hand on the back of Marc’s neck. 

“Here. Try mine.”

“No, no no— I have had Negronis. Too bitter.” Marc says, even as he raises the drink to his lips. There's no straw in this one, just lips against glass. He wonders if it’s the same spot Vale had been drinking from earlier.

Bitter aromatics burst in his mouth. He makes a face against the strength of it, feels Vale’s laugh through his hand on the back of his neck. He shivers a little, it’s— he doesn’t know why he's doing that.

He decides not to think about it. It could be cold in here, he hasn’t really been paying attention.

“Ah, you’re one of those with a sweet tooth?” Vale takes his drink back from the well of Marc’s hand, and their fingers zap a little static shock that makes Marc feel brave.

Marc winks. “I am guilty.”

Vale just— looks at him. And they’ve done a lot of that in their history, looked at each other, tried to ascertain the next move to make on track or the next mind game to use in a press conference— but this feels different. Marc feels different. His skin feels tight and his head feels dizzy and his heart is pounding, and through it all Vale keeps looking, and he doesn’t quite know what to say or what to do, but he knows he doesn’t want it to stop.

There's a big cry from the other side of the room, breaking his train of thought— some mechanics in a rowdy conversation of some sort, and Marc becomes hyper aware of how exposed they are right now. Anyone could see— well, he doesn’t know quite what, but he knows he doesn’t want them to see it. He shifts, darts eyes to the exit.

He wants to leave, and it could be the alcohol, but Vale’s face is pretty much the exact thing that Marc wants to see right now.

“Want to head back?” Marc asks, feeling a little reckless— it’s a flyaway, he’s pretty sure they’re all packed inside the same hotel.

Vale considers him for a minute, and as Marc waits for him to speak he wonders if the booze is catching up to him. The world feels like it’s rushing around his ears. 

“For sure.” Vale murmurs, and when he takes his hand off of Marc’s neck he can feel it slide all the way down his back.

When they get into the Uber, Marc looks at his phone and gives a little groan. Tries to shake it off. Feel more sober. Reassert some normalcy from their earlier tension. Vale and him– they haven't been friends in eight (Or nine? Marc thinks, Is it nine?) years. There’s bound to be growing pains.

“It’s so early.” He groans.

Vale nods. It is.

“I’m old.” Marc continues, reminded of their conversation in the airport. It’s true now— with Aleix going, he’ll be the veteran. How did that happen. You can’t talk to me about old, Vale had said. But he finds that he wants to.

“You are not old,” Vale echoes, with emphasis, like Marc’s insane. What does he know, he’s even older.

Marc puts a hand on his bad arm, which hurts. Slides down in the seat a little, loose with alcohol. He's such a lightweight now. He lets out a big sigh.

Vale nudges him. He's got a look on his face— that same conspiratorial one from the bar earlier, and Marc cranes his neck up.

“Marc,”

“Yeah?” God, his eyes are blue.

“Tell me— do you want to pay Bez back?”

“What?” Marc croaks, not really processing what he’s saying. He doesn’t want to talk about Bezzecchi— he can still see the skin between Vale’s shirt and his neck, can’t stop looking at it. He leans in heavily. Thinks about a world where Vale puts a hand on the inside of his thigh and leans right back.

“Yeah.” Vale flips up his hand to flash a hotel key card. probably Bezzecchi’s. He grins, waiting for Marc to get the joke, and after a moment— it clicks. Laughter explodes out of Marc’s chest. 

It's been a minute since Valentino and him were on the inside of something. In cahoots, instead of at odds, and he feels— energized. Adrenaline creeping into him like an old friend. Suddenly, he doesn’t feel old at all, and he wants to get out and do something— sweat, dance, move, fuck. Get Vale to keep smiling at him. Ruin Bezzecchi’s day. Win another race this year. Win a championship.

For once, he sure that Vale feels about the same.

It's quick work for them to break in and hide all of Bezz’s socks.

Marc overhears him, the next race in the paddock—that Vale wasn’t supposed to be at but is anyways. They’re talking about the missing socks, and Vale is loudly and smoothly blaming it on Pecco. When Marc passes, Vale catches his eye, easy,  and shoots him a sly wink.

Marc floats on air all the way back to his box

[skyloftian-nutcase]

You know how there was a Puppet Zelda running around in TotK causing trouble in Hyrule, and taunting Link? What if the same thing happened in Skyward Sword?

Like Ghirahim uses his magic to have a fake Zelda to throw Link off? Oof. He’d be so sad but also so pissed.

But I also think it would be like… kind of funny because like. Ghirahim’s controlling the puppet so. Link would be able to tell real quick whether or not it’s her.

Zelda: Link! Oh! It’s you! How wonderful, my sweet delight! Seeing you gives me feelings of overwhelming abundance, so radiant like the sun! You look… rather frizzy, though, you might want to check your hair.

Link, staring at her dully, sighing heavily: Ghirahim for the love of Hylia will you stop—

…honestly I kinda wanna do this for the Forsaken AU now 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

[bananonbinary]

as a certified Diagnosed Autist(TM) i cannot stress enough that i am not only pro- self-diagnosis, but also pretty anti- legal medical diagnosis. it is, at best, a cruel hoop we have to jump through so privileged people will deign to give us what we need. don't fucking do that shit unless you have to, it was disgustingly expensive, fucking humiliating, infantilizing, and dehumanizing, and would probably actively cause problems in my life if i didn't have some really good allistic (-passing) people in my corner and also wasn't so fucking disabled that it mostly doesn't matter.

literally get that diagnosis if you need it for job/school accessibility shit or SSI or whatever, and otherwise dont tell the government SHIT about yourself. there is zero good reason for them to want that information. that's between you and the people you want in your life.

[amberluvsbugs]

AMBER! I feel so bad for you RN, someone impersonated ya, LIKE WHAT>>.>>>

Apparently I saw someone on SketchersUnited with the same bio and stuff, and I just saw it today until I saw what you wrote on your real account AmberOgden, HONESTLY. I feel so bad for you at the moment, because it honestly feels weird to be impersonated like that, these idiots think they can get away from it.

Luckily the impersonator is gone, I'm sorry for what happened to you. But overall, I can't blame them for posting your art, ITS GORGEOUS...

Also, I love how confused everyone is, but overall they made a horrible decision. Hopefully they learned there lesson 0_0

You could post on there if you desire, I'm looking forward to new art from you

Ahaha yeah, that was a shock to me but we got it taken care of really fast. I solely made the account to stop that person but I may or may not start posting on there as well, it seems pretty clean. Unfortunately, though that's not the only one impersonating me. I have these two I'm trying to deal with who are doing the same thing on Reddit AND Discord.

I'm glad I was able to catch them in my search around the web. It's honestly getting insane and I can't believe people have the audacity to do this to me. I'm gonna remind you that if things are not linked in my Carrd in the pinned post, IT'S NOT ME.

[intotheelliwoods]

[mihai-florescu]

Methods of torture in himeru's center events:

-underground labyrinth saw trap

-domestic life

[cocksley-and-catapult]

[interrogatormentors]

s)(-Elly m-E for forg-Ettin those -Es.

oh don't be so glubbin' P---EDANTIC, peasant. you WIS)( you could fuckin' be me. can't even get my FLIPP---ERIN' QUIRK right, which is just a straight up INS)(OALT. )(----ELMSMAN.

My Empre22 may II rot eternal for forcIIng you two addre22 thII2 your2elf. What do you de2IIre of me?

dispatch the drones for capture, and R-ESC)(-EDUL-E my damn appointment with ritoly. the interrogatormentors need to be reassigned schooner with these pathetic scum all up in my fuckin' krill with their petty inshoalence. i want to watch this S)(RIMP squirm befoar it dies.

Thy wIIll be done and may your mercy coagulate IIn theIIr throat2. Drone2 are en route now and your apoIIntment change notIIce ha2 been 2ent two IInterrogatormentor RIItoly. Long may you reIIgn.

good buoy. i'll be by S)(OR---ETLY.

II get a 2econd vII2IIt? Your grace know2 no bound2.

damn fuckin' STRAIT.

[calp0sa]

HI HI HELLO I LOVE OYUR ART SM,,,, GENUINELY WHENEER I SEE IT ON TIKTOK OR TUMBLR IM SO FLABBERGASTED., /POS. ITS SO COOL AND IT REMINDS ME OF YEAR FOUR IN THE CLASSROOM ND IN MY HEAD ITS SOOOO FUCKINGN HHHHHDHH LIKE THOSE YELLOW LIGHTS THAT R UNCOMFY IN RHE GOOD WAY.. OR LIGHTS YOU FIND IN A TUNNEL ON THE ROAD ^\^_^^^^_^^^^ IM GENUINELY AAAHDHFJGHH I LOVE YOUR ART DUDE AND I LOOK UP TO IT SM ABD I LOVE ALL THE LITTLE DETAISL YOU PUT IN WACH THING AND I LOVE HOW THEY ALL STILL HAVE DETAIL ABD EACJ THING YOU MAKE IS SO HHHHHHHFGJGH I CANT EVEN DEACRIBE IT BUT I CAN????? IDK IM LITERAlllYY SAUSUHJJHHKHKHHHHHHHHĦ ABD LIKE YEAH YOUR ART REMINDS ME OF BEING FIVE YEARS OLD PLAGING WITH TOYS ABD PLASTIC CONTAINERS STAINED FROM SAUCES.. /POS

YOUR ART IS SUCH A HUGE INSPARATION TO ME DUDE!!!!! KEEP DRAWING AND YOURE SO EPICAAUCE :3

thank you, that’s very sweet but… i don’t have tiktok, and if you see someone reuploading my art on tiktok i would like you to ask them to take it down. once again you’re very kind but be weary of art thieves and impersonators!!

[moonshynecybin]

drop your fav obscure marc facts/lore plssss like something he randomly mentioned once that could mean nothing. but could also mean Everything

this is fucking insane and in my eyes firmly explains the crazypants dynamic that early rosquez had week in and week out. 21 year old marc voice stars in his goddamn eyes: you need to fuck me so i can WINNNNNNN