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thegnomelord · 9 months

Note

omg yes for the Ghost fic request you can do prompt 3 instead that would be great, thank you. some angst with a happy ending please

Sure thing dude, sorry this took so long, but a happy xmas to you lol My hyperfixation hyperfixated on this so it's a bit long and expositiony but I'm actually really happy with how this turned out :D Play the game HERE

Prompt: "Tell me how I’m supposed to un-love you, then. Tell me. Spare me.”

CW: NSFW, subbot Ghost, domtop Mreader, angst, misunderstandings, gentle sex, making up kinda, confessions, fwb turned lovers, idiots in love,

Simon's apartment is a picture of painful domesticity; your muddy boots sit neatly next to his by the door, two mugs set next to the coffee maker, two toothbrushes left on the sink only a foot away from different shower products that have long since mixed together into one giant pile, and a dozen more little things that tell anyone with a cursory glance — 'yeah, two people live here'.

When people wonder why you practically live together when you're just casual, you both just say it's convenient (and ignore how fake your answers sound).

After all; Why leave after he's ridden you to both of your completions when you can just settle on the couch and share a drink over a movie? Why should you waste money on a cab to get back to your own flat when you two can just tumble into bed? Why should Simon wake up to an empty and cold flat when he can do so in your arms, your steady heartbeat remind him you're both alive? Why leave in the morning and miss one of the few times Simon's fully relaxed when you can have a lazy morning, laying in bed and enjoying each other's company until the sun's high in the sky?

Why leave at all?

. . . Simon treasures every moment with you as much as he hates it, every second in your presence like a pretty hummingbird singing sweetly in his ear while it drills holes into his skull. Absolute Hell. Utter bliss.

He knows he doesn't deserve you. Knows you don't deserve to have a living corpse crawl back into your arms every night, nothing but a stranger with Simon's face. But you two have known each other so long it's impossible to let you go.

You met as toddlers when you'd nicked his toy, refusing to give it back until he agreed to play with you, and you've been stuck at the hip since. You two were each other's first kiss, fumbling behind the school bleachers, eager and sloppy like inexperienced lads are. First set of blooming hickeys along his collarbones, Simon's ma giving him a knowing look when she'd noticed it amongst the other bruises her no good husband had left on him. First fuck, quick and rough in a dark janitor closet during basic training, burning with need and heat. First—

. . . Simon doesn't know when the word 'Love' first registered in his brain. Maybe when you tore up heaven and hell looking for him. Maybe when you stuck by him when he did his best to scare you off, all rough words and teeth, unable to form one nice word when violence and revenge was all that was left in his head.

He doesn't know when he registered the word. Only that he looks at you whenever you do something mundane and thinks 'yeah. Love. That fits.'

But love has no place in. . . whatever this is. Hell, he's the one who'd set the ground rule when you two were young and dumb, reaffirming it after he'd come back as Ghost. And you'd never fought against it, agreeing to just be fucking casual, there's no way you want anything more than this. He doesn't want to cock it up, doesn't want to take more from you than he's already done, so he swallows all he feels and ignores how it burns his throat, going day by day like nothing's changed.

He wakes in your arms, deeply ingrained training waking him before dawn but the heat of your body keeps him rooted in place. Distantly he can still feel the cold tight confines of that coffin, of maggots wriggling on his skin, but memories of that nightmare float away before his traitorous mind can latch on to them. He lays in bed, head firmly on your chest so he can hear you, see you breathe. Morning comes too soon and you rouse awake, laying a sweet kiss on his forehead before getting out of bed to set the kettle on.

It's domestic.

It's painful.

. . .

You love how Simon looks. You especially love how he looks in his civies, freed of his armor and no longer needing to be guarded at all times, shoulders relaxed and mindlessly looking around as you talk while you browse the store. He's still gruff, and sarcastic, but you love that about him. You loved him long before he said not to tangle emotions in your meaningless bliss and long after he'd come back as Ghost, each unknown scar on his body taking a chip out of your heart.

And you respect his choice. You'll take what you can get and won't give it up even after your corpse has grown cold, hoping that will be enough to drown out the neediness of your heart. You lost him once and it had nearly killed you, you can't lose him again. . .

God, you're pathetic for him.

You meet miss Betty on your way back from the shop. She's your neighbor a few doors down, a sweet old lady who waters your plants when you and Simon are called back into action. You see her struggling with her bags so you hand your own to Simon so you can help her, "Hold this, please?"

"Only because you asked nicely." Simon huffs, but takes the bag without further complaint, walking behind you as you help miss Betty with her shopping, content to listen to you two talk about who knows what. It still amazes him how you've managed to charm all the neighbors Simon rarely spoke to.

"Oh, thank you deary." Miss Betty says as you put her shopping next to her door, holding onto your arm for support. "It's so nice to have a helpful person around here."

"It's not a problem ma'am." You say with a small smile, and fuck if Simon's heart doesn't beat a bit faster at the sight.

"You know," Miss Betty begins. "My grandson's been eyeing you up. And I can see why, you're such a strapping young man."

You feel Simon's gaze fall on you like a dagger, cold, hard, expectant. You try to think of what to say but your words fail you, because while you and Simon aren't in a relationship you can't picture yourself be with anyone else. "I-"

"Oh don't worry deary, I told him he was barking up the wrong tree." Miss Betty cuts you off by giggling like a school girl, "I wouldn't want to separate you two love birds."

The words burning on your tongue escape you before you can filter them. "Yeah, I doubt I could love anyone other than Simon." You clear your throat after, feeling his eyes on you.

Miss Betty just coos. "Oh, to be young and in love." Then she turns, waving her walking stick at Simon like he's an annoying pigeon that flew into her house. "You better treat him properly you big oaf, he's good for you."

Oh, Simon knows. Knows you're too good for him. But all he lets out is a small grunt, and you can't help the surprised laugh that escapes you.

You don't think of what you say next, so far away from a warzone your defenses are lowered. "No need to worry ma'am, he's the love of my life and I can assure you he treats me very well."

There's that word again, and the way it leaves your lips has Simon's heart skipping a beat. Fuck, Simon wants to hear you say it until he's deaf. Wants to hold your jaw closed so you don't speak again and stop making him feel this. Wants to pull you close and throw you out of the window at the same time. Wants— . . . he doesn't know what he wants.

"Oh, well I won't hold you up any more dears." Miss Betty says, patting you on the arm before shuffling back to her apartment with her shopping.

There's an uncomfortable silence between you two while you get back to Simon's flat, neither one of you sure what to say about the damn elephant in the room. You take the bags you'd given him, your back to him as you put them on the counter.

Acting like nothing's wrong. Nothing's changed.

But it has.

"An' you say my heart's rotten." Simon grunts, gruff and harsh, too many thoughts brewing in his head to properly say what he's thinking.

You turn to him, surprise obvious on your face. "What?"

"Lyin' to old ladies." His jaw is tense behind his face mask, which you note he hadn't taken off when the front door had closed, back to being guarded around you, something between Simon and Ghost. "Granted, it was convincing. What, did you take some creative writing lessons from Laswell?"

You stare at him for a few seconds, then you feel your jaw tense as well. "Christ, Simon, what are you on about?" You growl, stomping over to him.

His shoulders tense as you approach, but the scent of your cologne calms his body without his mind's input. "Can't love anyone but me?" He asks, something cold and slimy settling in your stomach when you realize he's repeating your words. "Love of your life am I?" Simon scoffs, the skin around his eyes moving in a sardonic smirk. "You're full of shite."

He doesn't know who he's trying to convince here.

You know you should brush it off, go along and say it was just a joke. Say anything that won't clue him in to your real feelings. Hell, not even saying a thing would be good.

But you just have to open your mouth.

"I wasn't lying about that Simon." You say suddenly, open, honest, your eyes meeting his.

Silence stretches long enough to have your nerves crackle with static, your body needing something instead of the nothing he gives you. Then Simon lets out a short, dry laugh, like your words are just a joke.

"Quit it." He huffs, doesn't meet your eyes because looking at you and entertaining the idea that he could have something more with you fucking hurts. "'m not up for your focking jokes." He grows, turning to leave,

Something inside you makes you move before your mind can comprehend it, grabbing his hand to stop him, "Simon I love you damn it!"

Your words are like a slap to the face for him. Simon freezes like a cornered deer, thousands of thoughts darkening his eyes, brows furrowed like he doesn't know whether to be angry or not. "But we—'

"—we agreed, I know. I fucking know." You hiss and damn it you can feel tears prickle your eyes like needles, "But I fucking love you, been in love with you for years and I know we agreed not to but—" You're babbling now, each word leaving your chest feeling raw like an open wound, the weight on your shoulders lessening but it only draws the noose tighter. "—just tell me how I'm supposed to un-love you, then. Tell me. Spare me."

Silence greets you as you stare into his eyes, that same static gnawing on your nerves the longer he just looks at you without a word, searching for something in your eyes he expects not to find.

But he does.

He spares you, pulls you by the clothes so his lips can crash onto yours, holding you close like you'll disappear. The kiss is sloppy and desperate just as it had been when you'd been hiding behind the school bleachers, all teeth and tongue and care.

Eventually the need for air breaks you two apart, but Simon refuses to let you go far. His rough hands hug you close as he rests his forehead against yours, pupils blown wide. ". . .love me, huh?" He says under his breath, as if he can't believe it.

"Yeah." You breathe out and wrap your own arms around him till there's not an inch of space between your chests, hearts beating fast like war drums but in such a rhythm you'd be fooled to think you share one. "Do you?"

Simon swallows, his throat dry, but the words slide smoothly off his tongue. "Yeah." He says, letting you pull him back into a kiss. It's sweeter this time, calmer, no longer rushing to feel the other. He melts against you, a low sound building in his throat as the sensations of you wrap his mind in silk, the taste, the feel, the scent, all of it making his mind fuzzy. All his now.

You lose track of time, stealing gulps of air between kisses as your minds drown in the other, your bodies moving on their own. You don't know how you end up in the bed but you do, your skin prickling with goosebumps as Simon's body presses against your own.

You part to catch your breath, Simon's head falling back on the pillow with your name leaving his lips like a prayer. He's underneath you, eyes hooded and short hair ruffled, and while usually he'd push you back and wrestle for control, this time he just melts into the sheets, lets you do as you want.

"Fuck-" Simon growls as you kiss down his neck, his blunt nails scratching your scalp as reward for the little hickeys you leave on his throat. Your hands roam across his body, leaving lingering trails of burning heat. "Love, please hurry up." He breathes out, cock already rock hard from just a few kisses and heavy touches.

"Right," You say, because that's all your brain can conjure up at the moment. Blindly reaching for the lube you trail kisses down his front, your lips tracing every scar along the way, his legs easily parting so you can settle between them. You can't help but look him over again, all relaxed and eager for you, chest rising and falling like he's a racehorse. "God you're fucking pretty."

A deep flush spreads from Simon's ears down to his hickey marked shoulders, a little smile tugging on the corner of his lip. "Just pretty?"

"Beautiful." You breathe out against his abdomen, rubbing your fingers together to warm the lube. "So handsome." You don't miss how his cock twitches, your lips following his happy trail. "Charming." You hum against the tip of his cock, tongue lolling out to lick at his slit. "Bloody bewitching." His hips buck into your mouth as your fingers slowly circle his puckered rim, putting just a bit of pressure at first. "Irresistible." His body yields, the tense muscles of his rim going lax and letting you slide a finger in.

A low and long groan escapes his chest, eyes fluttering shut as he savors the stretch, tight walls clenching in the rhythm of his breaths. "Read a dictionary, did you?" Simon smirks, heart warm and floaty at the way you wait for him to relax after the intrusion before you move, at the way you look at him when your exploring finger brushes his prostate and makes him moan. "Such a focking charmer."

"Just for you." You chuckle, lightly sucking on his cockhead to make him forget about the lingering pain, your ears pricked to hear every little groan and unabashed moan leaving his lips. "Can you handle two?" You ask, your second finger resting against his rim without trying to push in.

He growls like an animal and pushes his hips down on your hand, "You're sleeping on the couch if you don't hurry up." He warns at your question, his harsh glare softened by the heavy flush across his face and his hooded eyes.

"Not the dog house." You say in mock fear, swallowing his leaking cock a third of the way down in one go as you push your second finger in, your thumb rubbing the space between his balls and ass so his prostate is trapped on both ends.

"Shite-" Simon's hips twitch up, beads of precum painting your tongue as his legs spread open more. "-you wanker." His insult is light, head rolling back as he grounds his hips down in an attempt to chase after that spine numbing pleasure your fingers bring.

Pulling back enough to murmur "Love you too." against his tip you take him into your mouth again. You can't measure how good it feels to say those words honestly instead of sarcastically, your own arousal forgotten as you work him open on your fingers, the constant pressure on his prostate making a small stream of precum bead down your throat.

Simon floats in heaven for, he doesn't know how long, the pleasure making his brain melt through his dick, unable to stop the soft sounds escaping his throat. He cracks an eye open when the tightness in his stomach becomes apparent, barely able to stave off his orgasm when he sees his cock throbbing between your lips.

Your name comes out slurred as he tugs on your hair, "Need you. Now." A little bit of his usual demanding nature comes out, but even then it's born out of desperation to feel you rather than the need to be in control.

You let him pull you off his cock, placing gentle kisses on his thick thighs as you pull your fingers out of his stretched hole. "You have me."

You go to grab a condom but he stops you, too aroused to be embarrassed by his eagerness. "You don't- my physical, I'm clean. If you want, I mean-"

You furrow your brows, your chest tight with how big your heart feels. You could never hide how sick you'd feel at the thought of Simon being intimate with someone else, even when you'd never agreed to be exclusive. "We did physicals nearly three months ago, you haven't. . .?"

He shakes his head, "No," Suddenly he tenses up, his jaw tight like he's expecting bad news. "Have you?" His tone isn't judgmental, but you can hear the edge of hurt.

"No. No. No!" Quick to dispel his thoughts you lean over to kiss him like he's a bout of fresh air and you've been drowning for years. It's not too far from the truth. "You're the only one I've ever. . .done that with." You murmur against his lips, earning yourself another kiss as he pulls down by a hand on the back of your neck.

"Good." Simon tuts, proud, hiking one leg around your waist to pull you closer, your cocks rubbing together. "Fuck me already." He grumbles, his strong arms wrapped around your neck.

"Right, yeah." Despite how many times you've done this suddenly you feel like a fucking virgin, your hands trembling slightly as you lube up your cock. You press the tip against his slick hole, forcing you to bite your lip as you start to push your hips. "Just relax, yeah?"

"Yeah." Simon breathes out, feeling pressure of your cockhead against his hole. You both groan when your cockhead pops inside him, your lips on his making him forget about the lingering sting. "Shite, so good for me." Simon hums, looking at you with hooded eyes. Usually he relishes the sting and burn sex with you brings, but he's so loose and lubed the pain is barely a prickle at the back of his skull and he finds himself getting addicted to the unfiltered pressure and weight of your cock inside him.

"Simon," You say, clenching your teeth as you try to keep still so he can get used to you, holding his hips for dear life. "Can I- please I need."

"Focking move it," He nods his head, his head rolling back from the sensation of you moving inside him, your cock brushing against his walls as you push inside him inch by inch until you're fully inside him.

Your nerves a live wire from how tight and hot his hole is, forcing you to rest your head on the pillow next to his as you try to gather your self-control; you'll be damned if you cum before him.

"I'm good." Simon tugs on your scalp, your lips meeting in a lopsided kiss. You pull away to rest your forehead against his, his eyes blown wide and hooded, something about this position so intimate it melts your heart. "Hurry up, 'm not going to last long." He confesses, his walls clenching down on your length.

Words escape you so you just nod your head, slowly pulling your hips back before pushing back in, Simon meeting you half way so your cock can lay consistent pressure on his prostate. You two move like one, your senses full of sex and heat, your ears ringing with Simon's low moans and groans. Moving your hand down you stroke him in time with your thrusts, earning yourself even more moans. Usually Simon's so quiet in bed, but now he lets it all out so freely, low growls and huffs and small 'ah, ah, ah's breathed into your ear with every small movement of your hips.

Your pace picks up as your orgasm approaches, your cock bashing against his prostate with all the subtlety of a tank. "Shite-" Simon throws his head back to moan, leaving his throat open for your teeth to lay even more hickeys. "-I, fuck, yeah, that's the spot- just- I need-" His voice turns higher pitched and needy, his body moving with the force of your thrusts, powerful arms pulling you even closer so his teeth can clamp down on your shoulder.

Simon cums with a shout that's muffled into the meat of your shoulder, whole body shaking like a leaf in the wind as he paints both of your stomach's white with his cum, his hole clenching down and pulling you along with him. You cum inside him and moan, collapsing on top of him, completely exhausted.

The silence of the bedroom is broken up by your haggard breathing, both of your bodies sweaty and hot. You tilt your head just enough to catch the way Simon looks at you, like a content cat that knows he's safe, and shit if that doesn't melt your heart, nothing will.

"God, that was something else." You say to break the silence, trying to pull out when you feel yourself soften but your attempts are stopped quickly, Simon grumbling something under his breath as he hugs you closer. "What?" You ask.

He throws a light glare your way, but his eyelids droop with exhaustion. "Don't." He says, relaxing when you stop what you're doing. "Want to feel you." He says; it's the most intelligent thing his mind can conjure up right now.

A gentle smile tugs on your lips. "Right." You lean down to share another kiss with him, this one sweet and slow, his tongue gently liking your lips as a way to ask for entrance— why rush when you've got all the time in the world?

The exhaustion weighing on your bones and Simon saccharine kisses lull you to sleep soon enough, your body like a weighted blanket on top of him. "Love you," You mumble just before your eyes close.

Simon fights against his own fatigue for a few more minutes, relishing the feeling of being connected in such a primal way, with you in him and around him. He takes in your sleeping face with blurry eyes.

Yeah. Love. That fits.

#Gnome's Prompt Game #gnome correspondence #cod mw2 #trinkets from the hoard #male reader #top male reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #dom male reader #ghost x reader #cod modern warfare #cod x male reader #cod smut

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genericpuff · 9 months

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Ahem. I know what other brushes LO uses ;)

(Forewarning: most of these brushes are from early LO and as such aren't used anymore. I will put an * next to the recent brushes Rachel uses.) Pastels, Gouache, and other textured brushes (used mainly for backgrounds):

Pastel Palooza (Kyle's Megapack)

Pastella (Kyle's Megapack)

Fat Fun 100 (Kyle's Megapack)

Fat Fun Spongy (Kyle's Megapack)

Hard Square Pastel (Kyle's Winter 2019 set) *

Pigmentia (Kyle's Fall 2021 set) *

Sheriff Coal (Kyle's Spring 2022 set) *

Watercolors (used for backgrounds like clouds and texture)

500 Giant (Kyle's Watercolors)

Medium Wash Texture (Kyle's Watercolors)

Soft Irregular Wash 150 (Kyle's Watercolors)

Soft Wash 120 (Kyle's Watercolors)

FX:

Kyle's Splatter Brushes - Splatter Bot C (Kyle's Splatter set)

Stars 1 and 2 (Kyle's Splatter set)

Pressure rake (Kyle's Rake set) (warning: while this brush can be imported into CSP, this brush only properly works in Photoshop and Procreate because of their specific brush engines that allow 360 brush tip rotation)

Wet Ink Dynamic (Kyle's Splatter set)

Wet Ink Random (Kyle's Splatter set)

Bird Mix (Kyle's Concept brushes)

Bird Mix Vintage (Kyle's Concept brushes)

Break Glass (Kyle's Concept brushes)

Crackup (Kyle's Concept brushes)

Downpour (Kyle's Concept brushes)

Gulls 1 and 2 (Kyle's Concept brushes)

Manga Line Varied (Kyle's Concept brushes)

Manga Lines Broken (Kyle's Concept brushes)

Any of the smoke brushes (Kyle's Concept brushes) (warning: like the pressure rake brush, they work properly in Photoshop or Procreate)

Get the concept brush set. I'm not joking.

The entirety of Kyle's Winter 2022 set (Rachel is using these for how winter looks in the mortal realm) *

Foliage:

Fall Color Save (Kyle's Concept brushes)

Foliage Color Mix (Kyle's Concept brushes)

Foliage Mix 2, 3, and 4 (Kyle's Concept brushes)

Foliage Mix Dry 1 and 2 (Kyle's Concept brushes)

Brancher Big, Medium, and Small (Kyle's Concept brushes)

Foliage Pro 1 - 8 (Kyle's Concept brushes)

Foliage Small Color (Kyle's Concept brushes)

Foliage Ground cover (Kyle's Concept brushes)

Maddy Bellwoar's Ghibli-inspired brush sets* (can be found on Gumroad for the cheapest price)

Hope that helps!

listen here my dear sweet anon

first of all, there is no forewarning needed here that these are mostly from early LO, early LO is what I'm dying to recapture so you already struck gold and you can stop digging (or don't, because holy shit finding this in my inbox was like christmas for puff round 2)

second, i hope you're happy choosing this timeline where you're my new bestie because goddamn this is COMPREHENSIVE

and third (and most importantly) how in the flying FUCK did you know about some of these

like it's clear at this point rachel uses a lot of the kyle webster brushes, i kinda figured that out ages ago and it was just a matter of figuring out which ones she uses which you've done me the solid of putting together for me

but the ghibli background set?? the brushes that are exclusive to the newest episodes ??

either you've just become the champion of being the most hyperfixated on old LO orrrrr you know something we don't and there's a reason you're using the anon tag-

#i will mention btw there are some i couldn't get thru my usual download sources #the winter 2019 fall 2021 and spring 2022 set #thankfully they only contain one brush each all of which are from the newer episodes as labelled #but i'd still like to nab 'em so if anyone has any leads or can share these brushes with me pls lmk in my asks <3 #everyone thank our almighty anon for passing on these resources #i've gone ahead and updated the brush pack post which now includes almost all of these as a background brush set #lore olympus critical #lo critical #anti lore olympus #lore olympus redraw

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jollyreginaldrancher · 8 months

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Realistic Yellowjackets X reader hcs

• Natalie would Dutch oven you

• Van would make you sit through really shitty movies

• Taissa would eat your fucking dog

• Jackie would steal all your goddamn hoodies

• Misty would be chill but your shit would occasionally go missing and she'd always be the one to find them. Which like, okay, get your validation but don't make me late for my grandma's birthday party, she's turning so so old and doesn't have the time to wait around for me to find my keys.

• Nat would have rank breath from all the smoking and the alchohol.

• Van would also have bad breath unfortunately, because her diet mostly consists of funyuns and Cheeto puffs. Her mom doesn't cook and nobody taught her so she mostly gets junk food to fill in the gaps in her meals. She practically sweats McNuggies.

• Lottie would spend so much time using her gentle giant powers for the good of womankind that she would constantly flake on you. "Babe, you missed our wedding" "I had to get this kitten off this tree"

• Natalie would also have a sadistic streak with certain things that don't really matter. Not like consent or anything fucked up like that, but she would tickle you until you cried and maybe even pissed yourself a little. And she would have no boundaries. Like she would follow you to the bathroom like a cat from the first date and she wouldn't take the hint that you need privacy to change your tampon. You'd be trying to hint that you want her out by saying "I need to change tampons" and she would start rooting through her pockets for one because she'd think that's your way of asking for one. Bless her, she's a himbo.

• Laura Lee would drag you to so many church events -as a friend- and unintentionally tease you constantly and be so damn innocent in public that you'd think you're going crazy.

• Shauna wouldn't let you out of her sight. She would be so possessive and suspicious for the drama. She would broach the subject of three ways or opening the relationship and you would think she's asking because she has feelings for her best friend but it's a trap.

• Mari thinks she's funny but her jokes just come off as mean. She's even more vicious when stressed. You'd take her ice skating and her skates would snag and she would curse your mother.

• Natalie also smells but less like funyuns and more like cheap booze and cigarettes. She also doesn't wash her face and while you're not materialistic her beauty is a fluke. She'd be walking around all winter with chapped lips, trying to kiss you and scratching the shit out of your thighs with them.

• Taissa constantly trying to beat you at shit would get really fucking annoying. She would turn random shit into a game too just to get an extra W on you. She'd be like "race you to the curb" while crossing roads and making you sweat and you would say you don't care but she's lowkey just trying to get you to be rougher with her in a roundabout way. She'd be so indirect it would piss you off.

Like "what do you want for dinner babe?" And she would tell you to pick and just shoot down all your suggestions before just settling on the same thing she always picks.

• Jackie would fill your social calendar to the brim. You'd call her, asking her to *1996 equivalent of Netflix and chill* and she'd be like "you mean you're not coming to the party? And you would have to check your calendar only to find out it was an impromptu thing that she didn't even ask you to, because she just assumed you were coming.

• Shauna would complain about other people constantly but still act friendly with them for the most part giving you mixed signals. Like, "babe, do we hate them or not?". It's complicated though. It's always complicated because she lives for the drama tbh.

• Misty's autistic hyperfixations would take over her life and sometimes she would simply stop existing for all intents and purposes. You'd run into her at the grocery store as you're about to hang up missing posters and she'd be sporting the biggest eye-bags and when you'd ask her where she's been she'd go into detail about niche fandom info. Like how fucked up the Hiro episode of Thomas the tank engine is.

• You would be exhausted all the time from all the self defence classes you would need to take to fight off Lottie's other suitors.

• Taissa would definitely bully you like she's not the biggest nerd on the team. She would pick on you for your lunch box meanwhile she studies religiously before every test and one time she stressed so bad before a test that she threw up.

#Yellowjackets #Yellowjackets headcanons #Natalie Scatorccio #Van Palmer #Taissa Turner #Misty Quigley #Shauna Shipman #Jackie Taylor #hcs #headcanons #yellowjackets headcannons #headcannons #my banies #mine #thoughts #yellowjackets x reader

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vavialdavi · 1 month

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These things I wish to see in F3/F4

- Olaf entering a new phase. I saw someone suggesting an emo phase. As someone who's alternative irl, I don't usually like when subcultures are used as a joke but I find this oke could be hilarous

-Oaken, that man's iconic, give him screentime

-How the old Northuldra reconnect with the spirits and how the young Northuldra embrace them (I'm really attached to them, that's be sad and a wasted potential if they were left out)

-More of Yelena and Mattias's beef. Characters arguing like an old married couple is my fav dynamic (I want those two as friends though)

-When the plot point hit, Olaf yelled at Elsa "You said we were done with danger!" or smth similar

-Kristoff, Honeymaren and Ryder being besties, the boys can't shut up about reindeer and Honeymaren is tired of them (petition for us to start calling them 'The deer trio')

- Anna, Elsa and Kristoff having a For The First in Forever/Some Things Never Change typa song about their new lives. With Elsa being so happy and comfortable in the forest while Anna and Kristoff are quite exhausted by the leading. I like to imagine the song ending with Anna wondering how Elsa managed to do all of that while still looking good

- More Agduna frozen memories

- The trolls and Arendelle's dignitaries arguing over rather their wedding should be celebrated in trolls' or Arendelle's traditions/Their wedding being a mix of both

-To know how the fuck was/were the fifth spirits before the sisters

-What exact roles Elsa and Anna have as the fifth spirit (yes Anna bc they did mention they are a bridge, Elsa isn't alone on that)

- The Earth giants playing with Bruni and children

- SPRING SETTING

- Elsa and Honeymaren interacting. I'm not necessary asking for their canonization. This ship is my hyperfixation but I don't place my expectations too high. So if we can at least have new material for fanarts and fanfictions, I'd be glad because I am STARVING

- Honeymaren's abs (of course I was gonna bring them up)

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spro-o · 3 months

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So I’ve seen that you draw the sins and other’s characters with different ethnicity’s, I was wondering if you had any specific races for them? I just find your art style so beautiful, but I was curious if anyone was a specific race you head canon them as.

sorry for taking so long!! house md hyperfixation had me in a chokehold (binged all 8 seasons), but anyways!!

i've been think about this and here are my ideas :3 btw, these are for a modern!AU (in which i'd HC that all the events happen in England, since the likelihood of you encountering such a strange group is much higher in a city like London), since if i was sticking more closely to canon it'd be pretty boring since they'd all be Scottish 💀

Meliodas (+ Zeldris): BRASIL NÚMERO UM CARALHO ‼️‼️ sorry but there's just something about them,,, they'd def be Brazilian (and mixed, in terms of skin tone)

Diane: Scottish (and Black) - this one i don't really have proper reasoning for aside from the vibes that the giants' land has just fits best with where it is canon - rocky landscape with few trees, pretty cold, etc. and also i don't know where it started but the collective HC of Diane being Black has made it so that i genuinely forget she's real pale in the canon

King (+ Elaine): English - the royal vibes make me think posh English lads - they are absolutely the British stereotype and feed into it unknowingly (they'd be rather pale, with a tendency to get freckles)

Ban: Russian (or any other flavour Slavic) (i feel too guilty and self indulgent HCing him as Polish,,,, but i want to😭) - i also HC him as albino in the modern!AU, if we're being more realistic, which i should def do some fanart of sometime

Gowther: South Korean - methinks it just fits with their fashion sense and mannerisms - they absolutely indulge in all kinds of Korean and Japanese dramas/shows/movies (they'd be on the tanner side)

Merlin: Welsh - mage,,, wizard lady,,,, speaking niche languages,,, yeah, Welsh,, tho i do think she has somehow managed to learn like 7 different languages and visit close to every country on earth - something something endless pursuit of knowledge (i think she'd be pretty pale, as when she isn't out on the other side of the world, she's indoors, barely getting any sun)

Escanor: Spanish - also would have dark skin, since i HC one of his parents as being Moroccan. source? reason?? my beautiful brain

Elizabeth: French - same reason as King and Elaine, the typical royal vibes just drew me to these decisions (tho, alternatively, i do think she would also fit being from England) (either way, she'd also be pretty pale)

so yeah!! thats what i came up with, but id be very curious to hear any other ideas/HCs y'all have :3c

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smokbeast · 7 months

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A.) Dios mio, you're back! B.) if you don't tell us about Undertale digimon AU I'll be sad 🥺

Wah I am! And I can't give much info yet since I'm still brainstorming and busy with comms, but my brain is simply rotating ideas. Basing sans and papyrus line off terriormon/lopmon in the twin monsters concept. And toriel and asgore inspired after the royal knights and taomon!! These are the hella mess of sketches I got about it, I could make endless digimon lines with variations of attributes/digimon class types-and levels If you let me,,,

The fact undertale has the fuckin, JFFKMK POTENTIAL FOR DIGIMON CONCEPTS CAUSE OF THE SELF AWARE GAME MOTIF ANNDDD THE MULTIVERSE GIVING ENDLESS VARIATIONS JUST LIKE DIGIMON. MY BRAIN IS GOING OFF THE SHIT.

And DON'T GET ME STARTED ON FNAF WITH IT TOO. MY BRAIn is oh no, I'm mixing my hyperfixations on a giant pot IEKEKkf

#im insane HRKDKM #but yeah when im done comms im gonna really do the designs and some fnaf ones cause ongod the potentials in that uGGh #froggy mail time #asks #digimon

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notjohnlinnell · 1 year

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“when you’re following an angel, does it mean you have to throw your body off a building?”

-she’s an angel, they might be giants

trying something new this time, I’ve never done something like this before so I figured, why not? decently pleased with it, though it’s a bit messy

couldn’t stop thinking about this song with these two. mixing my hyperfixations

reblogs appreciated <:3

#they might be giants #tmbg #tf2 #team fortress 2 #scout tf2 #sniper tf2 #sniperscout #speeding bullet #traditional art

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suffarustuffaru · 2 months

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What is your opinion on arc 8? For me its such a mess (probably bc tappei improvised arc 7 and 8, they werent in the original plan), i hope it will end soon

i do agree with you there on otto development but im definitelyyy biased *sweats in becoming an otto blog someone save me from the hyperfixation* but in my defense otto arc 8 development was the result of a slow burn since arc 3-4 and otto's various side stories but even without the side stories it feels like the logical conclusion that his arc was leading up to, which feels pretty solid to me for the most part (side eyes otto apologizing to the girl who sent assassins after him.... side eyes tappei's fixation on shipping otto's brothers and then not even elaborating on how that'd even work as dynamics) but. anyway i digress

arc 7-8 ive followed since their conception via reading it chapter by chapter. unfortunately i did also get kinda busy with irl stuff while the middle of arc 7 was happening so i had to do catchup and also my memory is Pretty Bad. if youre wondering how i remember certain lore so well its only bc i have to reread/rewatch/use that info for writing things a lot which is the only reason why i remember it HAH. so. all in all. my memory of arc 7-8 is pretty shaky. i did read the beginnings of arc 7 and 8 via the polished translations though on WCT a while back while the rest was mostly like as each chapter came out.

rn ive started rereading arc 6 and i have several side stories i need to finish (ana camp side stories, the wilhelm-theresia trilogy, and ex 5 are top of my list right now). and then eventually ill get to reading arc 7-8 in their entirety so that i can 1. have more knowledge of it and 2. so i can have more fully formed opinions on it. so definitely i could try answering this question again once im done with that. no idea when that is bc im kinda a slow reader but ill do my best HAH. but i do have some thoughts now!!

(arc 7-8 stuff under cut + a single arc 9 mention)

arc 7-8 i do have a few mixed feelings about, namely louis's arc so far, but im really trusting the process here bc tappeis writing is just like that sometimes. you really need to be patient and definitely while i have things to criticize about louis's arc particularly i do hope that the catharsis of her character kicks in hard later so !! im interested in that.

but generally like. arc 7-8 are pretty solid. as expected of tappei. there were a lot of really really fascinating stuff brought up, a lot of interesting characters that we got to know (and im a really big fan of how much love tappei puts into a lot of the side characters, it really makes the world of rezero fleshed out). subarus arc continues to be interesting even if i personally really dont like that he adopts louis as spica While he looks like hes the exact same age as her, it really broke my immersion a bit.

but anyway yeah like. arc 7-8 was pretty good. like objectively, in my opinion, theres a lot to love, even though personally it did take me a bit to warm up to it in the beginning. i definitely think though that they do feel a bit messy as arcs. with arcs 1-6 they flow really nicely into each other - you can tell they were really planned out and tightly knit. arc 7-8 does something really new - throwing us right into vollachia - which is interesting, but i do think it does feel a bit less planned out, which makes sense bc according to tappei vollachia was a change in his original plans. this isnt bad on its own and we got two giant arcs out of it that were pretty fun. but there are points i feel that you can kinda Tell that it wasnt planned out. the slight reliance on the teleportation throughout arc 7 was like the first thing i noticed haah.

and my big worry after arc 8 is that like. tappei doesnt strike that perfect balance of still keeping vollachia and its cast relevant but like not letting them overshadow other matters that tappei needs to get to before finishing rezero. like i want vollachia to continue to matter after we've spent two really big and complex and busy arcs with vollachia, but i do want the focus to shift a little away from them gradually / bring up vollachia again later.

arc 9 so far in its 2 chapters at the time of me answering this ask has been really really good so far with wrapping up arc 7-8 while building up future conflicts. i do think however that since we spent time with vollachia this now comes with the expectation of branching out into kararagi and gusteko possibly - just bc we already know we're gonna spend a Lot of time in lugunica, as we have for a lot of rezero already, and we've spent a lot of time with vollachia, so narratively there probably needs to be some equality in that we should at least get a glimpse of other nations in the main route. so !! im interested in that possibility too and i think it would fit rezero well.

so yeah thats like. my personal opinion on arc 7-8 and i think reading through the whole entire thing wont change much of my opinions on the above besides me probably falling in love some more with the cast and understanding the story during this time period more deeply (and probably having more thoughts on louis and rem). i do hope that you reconsider your stance on arc 7-8 though anon!!! but if not thats totally fair too.

#rezero #re:zero #ask #arc 7-8 spoilers

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surr3al1sm · 5 months

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Just Dancers and their favourite Efteling attraction + fairytale!

Night Swan is here too btw, its just like Canned Heat.

I stand behind my choices and am not afraid to go into heavy detail (and I will for some of them). Everything’s below the cut :)

This is going to confuse so many of you but being very real with you: I don't care. This is me mixing my special intrest with my current hyperfixation and you cannot stop me.

Wanderlust

The attraction I chose for Wanderlust is called Symbolica. It’s a dark ride that takes you on a tour through the Palace of the world of wonders aka Symbolica. I feel like he really enjoys this ride simply because of the whimsy of it. It’s an exploration through all different kinds of rooms (from a garden with a huge whale to a ballroom with all different types of dancers). It just feels right up his alley. He would 100% pick the music tour (and get into an argument with Jack in line why the music tour is better than the treasure tour). They always end up going for Wander’s choice though.

The fairytale I picked for Wanderlust is the Indian Water Lillies. I picked this fairytale for its story! I feel like it’s something he would really enjoy. If you don’t know it here’s a little summary: The stats dance on the water at night, and return to the sky before the first light of day. One day the stars refuse to come back through. The sun rises and a witch curses the stars. Now they’re water lillies during the day and dance as girls during the night.

Sara

The attraction I chose for Sara is called Dreamflight. It’s also a dark ride but it takes you through the world of fae and trolls. I feel like Sara would be a big fan of the fairies and maybe even have a plush of one of them. She always buys the pictures of her and the others whenever they go.

The fairytale I chose for Sara is Rapunzel (Raponsje). Although this version follows the original source of Rapunzel much closer, I think we all know the premise of it. I feel like it would be her favourite fairytale, why? Purely vibes. She does compare Jack to Rapunzel every chance she gets just to mess with him.

Brezziana

The attraction I chose for Brezziana is called Joris and the Dragon. It’s a roller coaster based on the story of Joris and the Dragon. I chose a roller coaster for Brezziana because I feel like she would enjoy roller coaster’s more than dark rides because of the thrill. The story doesn’t really influence why I chose this ride for Brezz. I feel like she would be more interested in the racing aspect of the ride. She would definitely challenge her friends to races if they were in the park on a quiet day. Brezziana is 100% a water side girlie (and good on her because water always wins). I feel like she would also really like the theming for this ride.

The fairytale I chose for Brezziana is Snow white. A true classic really. Don’t think I need to tell you the story of this one either. Brezziana really does strike me as a princess enjoyer, so thats mainly why I went for Snow White. A simple classic that no one can blame her for.

Mihaly

The attraction I chose for Mihaly is called Fata Morgana. It’s a dark ride that takes you on an adventure through the stories of the 1001 Nights (in a boat). I feel like they really like this ride because it’s often seen as a way to relax in the middle of a busy day or at the end of the day. I also think that they like it for all the different scenes you see throughout. Although they used to be really scared of the giant that you encounter near the end of the side as a child.

The fairytale I chose for Mihaly is called Frau Holle. I picked this fairytale because I feel like they would really agree with the message behind it. If you don’t know the fairytale it basically tells the story of a very hard working girl. One day this girl falls down a well while doing chores. In this well she gets transported to another dimension. In this dimension she does chores for Frau Holle. When she goes back to the human world she is rewarded with loads of gold. Her spoiled step sister throws herself down the well in search of gold, but once she comes back she’s covered in soot because she didn’t work hard enough. I feel like Mihaly would really agree with the idea that you get rewarded for the hard work that you do. Also Frau Holle is just iconic and we love her.

Jack Rose

The attraction that I chose for Jack is called the Flying Dutchman. It’s a roller coaster that is based on the legend of the Flying Dutchman. He likes it because of the theming and music. Thats all really, no other reason (looks at Night Swan who doesn’t like this one bc theres a tiny possibility that you can get wet and she doesn’t want to ruin her perfect outfit). No but in all honesty: he’s right. This is the best one.

The fairytale I chose for Jack is called the Red Shoes. It’s a fairytale about a poor orphan girl who gets adopted by this old lady. The old lady gives her a pair of red shoes that she can dance in. Eventually the old lady falls ill, but instead of caring for the lady the girl goes to a ball. As a sort of moment of instant karma the girl gets cursed and now she has to dance in those shoes forever. Seems decently innocent right? Nope. It ends with a lumberjack cutting off the girls feet. The shoes continue to dace, even without the girl. Feels right up Jack’s alley ngl. I feel like he talks about liking it really innocently too, and when people read the story they’re just kind of horrified. (It was between this one and the little match girl so)

Night Swan

The attraction I chose for Night Swan is called Villa Volta. Its a mad house type of attraction where like the entire room spins (or at least thats the illusion that is created). Basically the house got cursed and only someone with a soul as pure as a new born baby can list the curse. Just feels like her type of thing. Also she heavily vibes with the music.

The fairytale I chose for Night Swan is called the Chinese Nightingale. Although this is a very ironic fairytale for her to like (basically a ruler with a god complex finds out that they’re truly not as great as they thought they were), I feel like she would because it made Jack cry as a kid. Thats all, that amused her enough.

Thank you for listening to me yap.

#its autism awareness month so you kind of have to read this #i should probably mention that the efteling is a dutch themepark #the target audience for this post is me and the other dutch just dance enjoyer that sometimes pops up on my feed #jd #just dance #just dance fandom #jack rose jd #jd wanderlust #jd mihaly #jd brezziana #sara jd #night swan jd #efteling

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lemonlightt · 1 year

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qsmp hcs because i am so normal and not hyperfixated

(consisting of mariana, slimecicle, jaunaflipa, tilin, philza, chayanne, missa but i will add some of other streamers once i catch up on them & if i don't get flamed by the qsmp community. once qsmp expands more i may make another one of these (i will make another one of these in 2 weeks i have no thoughts but qsmphELPME!11!!1!!))

(i also have added some hcs i've seen on tumblr/twitter because they're all i can think about. btw looking for qsmp friends plsplspls i'm so lonely)

qcharlie is a demon and has absolutely no idea of it and progressively gains little demonic traits everytime he makes a deal

meanwhile qmariana is an angel and hold onto your seats guys this one is an absolute shocker! has absolutely no idea of it

everytime something awful happens to charlie (jauna dies, brutally scrambles tilin) his humansona becomes a little more unstable and he gets a little more sloshy - overtime he becomes straight up oobleck and gunks up the smp

qcharlie was raised in an environment that seemed like hell and it's responsible for the fact he doesn't really know how to be dad (his dad treated him like shit) and he's had no examples of healthy romantic relationships

qcharlie and qmariana are absolutely head over heels for eachother they're just losers and find it hard to express it adequately or meaningfully (this does not make them any less dysfunctional and annoying but they are my parental figures your honor)

qcharlie sews and knits and sewed a trans flag into each of their iconic clothing (qmariana's cape thingy, qcharlie's hearts and jauna's bows) he does the same for tilin as soon as he finds out they have the binary of none

qcharlie has been plotting qmariana's murder but qmariana is blind to it and all he cares about is hot steamy gay minecraft sex. they remind me of something but i can't put my finger on exactly what so if you can think of it tell me HJAHA

qcharlie would ADORE radiohead (specifically "nice dream" and "no surprises") (yes i am projecting, yes he is my favourite person and yes he is the only member to me i cant take it anymore)

jauna has golden highlights from her revival (think revivebur but stop thinking about revivebur)

jauna has vitiligo

jaunaflippa is allergic to dandelions but she will not hesitate to give them a blow and makes a little wish (usually about wanting her mom and dad to get along and be happy)

the jauna family get their glasses mixed up so they have to go through trial and error to find which prescription is theres (this takes 30 minutes because qcharlie and qmariana typically fight to the death over it/j)

when tilin died, jauna shared half of their bow with qquackity and keeps it tied neatly around her tail as a sentiment to her best friend but sometimes you'll catch her wearing it on one of her fingers. usually her pinkie (pinkie promise) or index finer

qcharlie and qmariana don't know how to braid in contrast to qwilbur who has spent hours experimenting with talullah to style her hair

qwilbur gives talullah a little walkman(?) thing for talullah to customise and records her cute little songs for her to listen to on the tapes when he's away from home

when qwilbur comes back from his travels, he will never ever fail to comes back with stories to tell, oneofakind gifts for talullah, songs for talullah to sing when she misses him, etc because that is simply how he loves

there is always music coming from talullah and qwilbur's home and it always brings joy to those who pass even if for just a moment

talullah has albinism

tallulah is disabled (canon examples: she has a different model to the rest of the eggs, she's clumsy and a little slow, her wings are underdeveloped) (she's basically just like me fr)

qmissa and qphilza are literally eldritch creatures. they look like the mothman fucker. they are a terrifying duo. here's a perfect example

qmissa is like 9'5 and qphilza is 5'2

qphil tells qmissa about his giant wife who is the god of death and is beautiful and qmissa doesn't believe his platonic husband could pull (spoiler alert he is proven wrong)

chayanne despises qwilbur because qmissa can play guitar better

chayanne dyes his hair pink to match techno and/or wears a little skull. techno is his hero and he is JUST like him frfr

speaking of which, when chayanne first killed a mob, qmissa helped turn it into a skull mask like his own and techno's. chayanne feels more confident wearing it and therefore never takes it off / alternatively qmissa made him a little mask from chayanne's eggshell

chayanne's favourite time of the day is when qphil tells him stories about techno

chayanne is nv like the rest of the eggs but is definitely more vocal than tilin for example (flaps his hands, exclaims excitedly, laughs a lot)

talullah and tilin are twins

tilin is part of the qquackity x qcharlie club upon finding out about the millions of failed attempts of qcharlie trying to flirt with qquackity

i dont think tilin hates qcharlie for what he did but i think they sure make his life a living hell/t

also tilin and jauna are in heaven with techno and they all bully trump. they make a circle around his cowering body and run around in circles while holding hands (this is a joke but not really)

general hcs that apply to all members/eggs:

there's few resources for clothing so the egg parents pass down their clothes to their eggs and the eggs mixnmatch it

the eggs use sign language to communicate as well as signs and doodles or use those little tablets with tts that nv people often use to communicate

extra: techno because he's my favourite character and isn't even in the smp!11!!11!1

techno is a sort of spirit and haunts his family, especially chayanne. he watches over all of the eggs. he hears all the little stories phil tells about him to his eggs. he'll hear chayanne say something he'd say and he goes YOOOOOOOOOOOOO excitedly and goes THATS MY BOY!!! uncle techno takes the eggs in when they get scrambled. when chayanne and talullah died techno gave them their lives back because it broke his heart to see them die just like that.

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theonevoice · 10 months

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Two halves of the same being

Ok friends, it had to happen sooner or later: I wrote a thing. I was stuck in a train station yesterday evening and this thing was screaming to be put on paper, so I did it. I wrote it all down directly as a post, over 3-4 hours of total estrangement, therefore I don't even know exactly how long it is, and it is probably encrusted with typos and titanic grammatical errors. It is also written in a language that I don't master at all, and it is my first attempt at narration since - I kid you not - the year of our lord 2006. This is really less then a draft, it's a test-drive of the storytelling side of my hyperfixated brain. If someone feels like skimming it and pointing out mistakes and things that sound wrong, I will be very grateful! Anyway, as far as fanfic genres go, I guess this would qualify as historical-minisode one shot: Aziraphale and Crowley are in Rome in 1509 and get more or less accidentally involved in the creation of a certain Renaissance masterpiece.

November 1509, Rome.

The heavy robe swooshed quietly as a white-blonde bishop entered the chapel door with a satisfied smile, like a man who had just escaped boredom for fun.

A man in a leather apron full of pockets and stained all over was standing at a cluttered table by the wall, staring gloomily at the figures sketched on a large sheet of brownish paper.

- Maestro!

The man raised his curly dark-haired head and pointed a pair of firey eyes on the newcomer. The dark circles around his eyes gave out the strange impression of a feverish man on the verge of collapsing mixed with a feral beast ready to jump at its prey. It was freezing in there, but he was wearing a shirt with sleeves rolled all the way up to his elbows, and his hairy forearms were covered in white dust and paint dribbles. He was a rather short man, but well-built and muscular, and even if the bishop was considerably taller and not thin himself, he felt that he could have easily knocked him down in one move.

- Monsignor Fell, back again...

The man didn't sound pleased, but he didn't sound displeased either. Considered his well-known temper and given the circumstances, his reaction was relatively welcoming. One could have even called it encouraging. After all, noone was ever really at ease in Rome. Especially not in that part of Rome.

- I was eager to see your progress. - Aziraphale said with a honest smile. - I hope I'm not disturbing your work. Please don't mind my presence.

They both instinctively looked up.

The enormous vault of the Sistine Chapel was looming over the empty hall as a giant shield, halfway covered in massive figures. Those bodies looked so real and heavy that they felt like they could plummet any second all the way down to the floor and crash the unfortunate bystanders. It was like a threatening storm of colors and shapes slowly covering the old starry sky.

- Not much progress to see. - Growled Michelangelo, turning back to the sketches and tossing a piece of reddish chalk on the table. - I'm bloody stuck.

Aziraphale moved his eyes across the ceiling, down to the farthest end of the vault, where the golden stars were still dimly shining on a deep blue background, on the two sides of the large ugly crack, now filled with bricks, that had scarred the old affresco when the south wall had shifted. It was a sad spectacle. He had liked the starry sky. It was beautiful.

- Stuck? How do you mean?

Aziraphale forced himself to look away from the ceiling and gently stared at the painter, who had turned his back on him and was angrily standing over his desk with his stained hands on his hips, like a severe father in front of a misbehaving child.

- I mean stuck. - The artist repeated drily, throwing an annoyed look at monsignor Fell. The bishop offered him a sympathetic smile, a strangely maternal smile that seemed to be saying that he took his worries very seriously but at the same time he was sure they were not insurmountable.

Michelangelo sighed forlornly. He didn't like priests, but he didn't mind this one. He curiously seemed very little concerned with church matters and a lot more interested in random things like paintings and statues and choir rehearsals. He had even spotted him more than once in a couple of his favourite osterie, and he meant the good ones, those small half-hidden godforsaken places that only the locals knew, ignored by travellers and definitely not visited by clergymen. And he had seen him sitting there in plain sight, amidst the common people of Rome, as if noone could tell that he was a bishop - and God knew if bishops were a hatred species in the streets of the Holy City. It was truly a miracle that he could just walk in there, eat and drink like he were any carter or boatman, and not end up robbed or stabbed or poisoned. He had even seen Teresina at the Gatto morto pour him the good wine once, the one that the innkeeper kept only for himself and his closest friends. Furthermore, he had a nice eye for drawing: in the past few weeks he had been visiting the chapel almost daily, and had dropped some genuinely good remarks. Some of them even brilliant. He relaxed his shoulders and continued with a softer tone:

- This is not working and I'm not putting this up there, con tutta la fatica che costa.

Aziraphale looked up again, this time at the wooden structure that was stretching upwards like a dark solid cobweb. It took indeed a lot of effort, to climb up there, dragging along the large cartoni with the refined lineart to transfer on the plaster, standing hours and hours arched backwards to paint over your head, seventy feet above the ground, with the colors running down the brush and dripping on your face...

- Do you mind me seeing the sketch?

The painter made a vague gesture to let him approach the table and eyed him with a certain curiosity when the bishop let out a little gasp and a peculiar nostalgic expression settled on his face. It was the sketch for the campata of the Original Sin.

Aziraphale felt a warm mix of emotions filling his chest, not all of which he dared to name. He focused on the drawing. Michelangelo was right: it was wrong, even if he could not imagine how wrong.

In the sketch, Adam and Eve were sitting at the center, under the Tree, Eve reaching up for a fruit, Adam following her movement with a concerned look. On the right half of the piece, in a stretch of desert, the confused shape of an angel was roughly outlined: he was standing all straight and rigid with his sword raised above his head and a threatening finger pointing at the first humans. The left side was mostly filled with a generic looking garden, too lush and too earthly at the same time, and the only other presence was a little, ugly dragon-like creature, with a grotesque charcoal snut, sharp teeth and a biforcated tongue sticking out.

Aziraphale at first didn't pay it much attention, but after a second he suddenly realised what he was looking at and his jaw dropped.

- Is that supposed to be the Serpent of Eden!?

He asked in a high pitched voiced, sounding somewhat scandalised.

Michelangelo frowned and pulled out his most intimidating look.

- What else should it be?

- But that's not how it looked at all!

The bishop exclaimed, entirely unfazed. "Here it comes," thought to himself the painter, letting out a huff of resigned annoyance, "another punctilious catechist who wants me to stick to some stupid half line in the Bible." But, much to his surprise, monsignor Fell did not bring up any biblical reference. He looked vaguely offended and at the same time, for some reason, deeply amused.

- And how did it look? - Michelangelo asked sarcastically, posing like someone who is interrogating an eyewitness. But the bishop didn't seem to get the hint, and instead answered with a focused face, as he were actually about to recount him old memories.

- Well, it looked... - Aziraphale paused, searching the right word. He found himself suddenly assaulted by a number of adjectives that he had not anticipated. - He looked... - his tongue ended up picking one before his mind had time to evaluate the implications - ...seductive.

- Seductive. - Michelangelo looked at him with an incredulous face and his eyebrows were all the way up to his hairline.

Aziraphale stumbled.

- I mean... He- he was the original tempter... - He tried to regroup. His thoughts were strangely tumbling in his head. - You see, in order to be effective in his... tempting, he couldn't have look like an ugly little monster. - Yes, that was reasonable, it was a logical explanation, just a sensible thing that nobody could disagree on. - He had to look... - but then again, Aziraphale felt a sense of warmth of unclear origin raising to his face, and his voice cracked in a weird way, - ...beautiful. Charming. He had to be so, so fascinating, that you couldn't help listening to him, considering his reasons... I mean, the poor, naive humans, that is. They couldn't help...

His voice trailed off mid sentence. Michelangelo was still staring at him with a certain look, but the words of the bishop were not completely absurd.

- And he didn't crawl. That was not what he was. - He finished with a sort of fond determination.

- You make it sound quite impressive, for the one who damned humanity.

- Oh but he didn't mean to! - Once again, Aziraphale ignored the astonished expression on the other's face. A deep, obscure feeling of injustice was tugging at his soul. He didn't mean to have them damned. It was an overreaction. His voiced lowered ever so slightly, sounding somewhat sad. - From his point of view, he was... freeing them. He was giving them a choice, he didn't force them. He was letting the door of their cage open to see what they would do.

- Does the Pope know that you go around spreading this sort of ideas?

- Pah, what should he know.

They both startled as that last sentence echoed in all its outrageous blasphemy on the high walls. They looked around in the empty chapel tucking their heads between their shoulders, like two kids who had just inadvertently laughed out loud during the silent bit of the mass.

A moment of embarassed silence fell in the room. But the words of monsignor Fell had already stirred the painter's imagination.

- Beautiful, you say... - He repeated, almost speaking to himself, squinting at the left corner of his sketch as a different version of the scene started emerging in his mind. - Not crawly...

The chapel door opened suddenly and a very alarmed young seminarist run inside.

- Monsignor Fell! - He cried. - I've been looking for you everywhere! The assembly started half an hour ago.

- Did it indeed?

The bishop replied, looking like someone who knew perfectly well when the assembly was scheduled and had deliberately made sure to miss it. Michelangelo found himself wondering once more where on earth had they found such a singular minister of the church, who was now tenderly smiling at the seminarist, visibly moved to pity by his distressed expression.

- Well then, I suppose I will be coming right away. - He gave one last look at the sketch as he stepped away from the table. - Thank you for your time, maestro. And forgive me for... - He hesitated, as if trying to free himself from some last string of thought that was keeping him tied there. - ...for my suggestions.

The painter watched the white-blonde head disappear beyond the door that the alarmed seminarist closed after them, and all of a sudden the vast chapel felt colder than it was moments before. In the silence he could hear that it was raining outside. He took a deep breath, felt the freezing air filling his lungs and a shiver running down his spine, but his mind was on fire: an entirely new image was coming to life, one that the pope would probably not appreciate, and that was the best part.

He decided to take the rest of the day off to work on his idea and run to the Gatto morto, where he knew that Teresina would free the little corner table near the fireplace for him, with a light good enough to draw and a wine good enough to keep himself inspired.

- Now that is quite the progress since the last time I saw it!

The man had approached him so silently that Michelangelo almost spilled his jug over the new sketches.

- What are you doing here, Antonio? Aren't you supposed to stay away from the city after the ban? Se ti prendono gli svizzeri ti fanno la festa.

- Oh come on! Do you really think anyone would notice me? - The man threw himself on the chair on the opposite side of the table and crossed his long legs, unwrapping himself from his large black cloak.

- Yes, I do. - He replied, expressively pointing at the man he knew by the name of Antonio, all clad in black, with his exotic smoked spectacles and his bright red hair brushing his shoulders.

Crowley raised his glass with a bright white smile, like he had just been complimented.

- I thought you were in Florence.

- I've just come back from a lovely visit to your dear friend.

- He's not my friend.

Crowley's smile grew even wider, and the painter suddenly felt ashamed and annoied. He had spent the last several years convincing everyone including himself that he did not consider Leonardo his rival, that he was perfectly indifferent to his achievements and was not at all vexed by people talking about him, and it had took all of ten seconds to this man to make him snap without even naming the other one.

- He is making some formidable machinery, these days. Oh, and some really masterful portraits. - His irritating grin was unbearable. - You should see them.

Draining all his will power, Michelangelo managed to keep his mouth shut and focused all his attention back on his new sketches.

- I'm busy, what do you want?

- I've come to see your progress! - Antonio said cheerfully, grabbing his drawings before he could stop him. - Quite impressive, indeed...

His expression became imperceptibly more serious as he was examining the small piece of paper where the painter had sketched a new version of the Original Sin campata. Michelangelo knew that he had not liked the first version: months before, he had come to his shop all swagger and cockiness as always, and after seeing the initial sketch of the Eden had left without saying a word and somehow had earned himself a ban from Rome. Not that it had stopped him from coming back on a whim just to mock him with news of Leonardo's incredible machinery, apparently. And after all, the swiss guard really seemed to ignore him to an impossible degree, as he were invisible. Michelangelo had a certain suspect that Antonio was having an affair or more than one with someone inside the Curia, earning the protection of a dame or two. Or a monsignore or two. Or both, whatever. Now he seemed struck by the new version of the scene.

The sketch was nothing more than a bunch of thick lines on a small piece of paper, but you could make out that the Serpent was no longer on the ground, but wrapped around the Tree, had no monstruous features but a human-like torso, and his head was towering higher than all the other characters in the scene.

Michelangelo watched him staring intentely at the drawing, with an unreadable expression on his face, until he put down the piece of paper with a careful movement.

- You're good, good job. - He said, trying to make it sound casual, but with a weird note in his voice.

- I know I'm good. - The painter said, grabbing the drawing angrily. - But this change is throwing off the entire composition. Now I have three characters in the middle and this one over here. - He muttered, pointing all disgruntled at what was supposed to be the Angel of Eden, who was sadly standing alone on the right side of the image like a piece of a column that someone had built there by mistake. A tentative detail of his profile, stern and scowling, was sketched sideways on the margin of the sheet.

- Why did you draw him so angry?

Michelangelo raised his head from his composition puzzle, not quite understanding what Antonio was talking about, until he saw his finger tapping over the profile.

- He's the Angel. - He said with a tone indicating that the implication was obvious. But the man sitting in front of him didn't seem to get the point. - He's the Angel who delivers the fucking wrath of God. He has to look angry!

- No he doesn't!

The painter straightened up in disbelief. What was with everyone that day? Why did every last person in that damn city had opinions on his work, all of a sudden?

- Oh sorry, should I make him all cheerful and smiling?

- Why would he be smiling?

- And what would he be?

Antonio took a second, and then aswered, deadly serious.

- Heartbroken.

- Why heartbroken?

- Because! - Crowley was not sure how to explain it, but he felt outraged at the idea that in all those century mankind had assumed the Angel was angry that day. - Because he was the Angel assigned to guard the garden of Eden, the first living bit of the creation! They left him there alone, to watch over the first humans, didn't give him istructions! Didn't tell him what to expect! And then he blinks and bam! they're damned, out of the garden, off you go struggling and suffering, you and all your kind for the rest of time!

Michelangelo was staring at him in utter surprise. He had known him for the kind of man who never loses his cool, and now here he was, losing it over the Book of Genesis.

- You didn't strike me as a man who would get heated over some biblical minutia.

Crowley leaned foreward, gripping his jug of wine so tightly that the painter could have sworn that he heard the glazed ceramic handle made a worrying crackling noise. The painter felt the instinctive urge to pull back on his chair.

- He was there, you see? Watching it happen, struggling to understand wether he had failed them or it was all part of God's blasting ineffable plan.

- He's the Angel of Eden! He would know the will of God!

- How would he know? - Crowley rebutted, now visibly enraged. - He's just an angel! And God doesn't speak to anyone. He's just an angel, he was there alone, scared to death... - he paused for a moment, like he had been struck by his own words, - scared to death because they were punishing the humans and making him deliver the sentence, but maybe they would punish him as well... for letting the Serpent get in.

He ended the sentence on a broken tone, and immediately after draw a small breath and gulped down his wine, all in one go.

Michelangelo wasn't sure what to make of it. Antonio didn't seem drunk, but that had been a wild rant. And yet, it could be interesting to draw an Angel of Eden that was not, for once, the usual severe messanger of death burning with God's divine rage, but a sad, sorrowful pal who had messed up his job. He thought of the merciful expression of monsignor Fell, earlier that day, when he had looked at the poor seminarist knowing that he had possibly gotten both of them into trouble by skipping the assembly.

Now he was starting to resent his composition, leaving that forlorn Angel out there, all on his own, while the others were grouped together under the Tree, as if they were having a pick nick. The humans and the tempter...

- The poor, naive humans... - he muttered, repeating the bishop's words.

- Well, - Crowley objected, apparently back to his usual composure, but still with an indefinible shadow on his brow, - they were naive only at the beginning. But after they became quite quickly aware of how the world runs.

- Well too bad, it has to be one or the other, I don't have two squares for the Eden scene.

But as he was saying that, a new image clicked in his mind, and he stared down at the piece of paper that he had been torturing for the past several hours, trying to solve his composition issue. The Tree was there, dead-center on the campata, dividing the space in two perfectly symmetrical spaces. The Serpent was already up there, in the branches: he could put the Angel there as well, and make the time flow from left to right, from happy but naive humans to desperate but aware ones, the two emissaries of Good and Evil standing in the middle as the two-faced needle on the scales of human destiny... no, not of Good and Evil, rather of Law and Chaos, of Safety and Freedom.

He raised his head with excitement and looked at the man in front of him. He was now sitting inhumanly still, and somehow Michelangelo could feel his eyes piercing through the smoked spectacles. He froze.

- Oh I know that glare. - Antonio said with a voice that he had never heard him before, a ghostly whisper, almost a hiss coming from another world. - That shine that sometimes burns in the human eyes, a spark from the forge of Creation itself...

Michelangelo felt an icey feeling gripping him from the inside, but he could not look away. He was hypnotised by invisible eyes, and even if the physical body of the man in black was still perfectly motionless, for a moment he believed he could see a different body, in a different shape, slowly swinging side to side with only his head fixed in the same spot, yellow pupils cutting through his soul like sharp knives through warm butter.

He wasn't sure how it had stopped. Next thing he knew, he was staring at Antonio who was looking at his drawings again, absorbed in his thought, with a sort of distant nostalgia in the curve of his mouth.

- I shall go. - Michelangelo said with a husky voice, as if he had been asleep for a long time. But he didn't get up.

- You shall. - Crowley repeated, looking back at him, this time with nothing strange happening. - That was a lot of inspiration to process for a human in just one day.

He launched his lanky body out of the chair with a movement that didn't seem possible, draped himself back in his heavy cloak, gave him a quick last look, and strode away, the light of the fireplace caught in his bright red hair. It was still raining outside, but there was a promise of snow in the air.

July 1510, Rome

The two corner doors of the antechamber opened at the exact same time and two hurrying figures rushed in and stopped just a split second away from running into each other.

For a moment they stood there, staring at each other, locked in place, the hem of the white robe and the flap of the black cloack swirling happily together like two puppies eager to meet again despite their owners.

- Good Lord!

Aziraphale gasped, finally stepping away from Crowley.

- Ah! What in Hell are you doing in here, dressed like that? - The demon snorted with a mocking grin, moving his gaze down Aziraphale's episcopal outfit and back up again, lingering on all the lacy bits with the most overtly suggestive motion he could perform. The short black capelet made a rather dashing contrast with the fair curls.

- I am on a diplomatic assignment. - The angel answered primly, ever so slightly blushing at the base of his neck, looking in turn at Crowley's tight fitting black attire under the cloak, all velvet and metalwork and shiny damasque. And then he lowered his voice and added, in a deliciously indignant tone, - What are you doing in here? We are on consecrated ground!

- Not quite yet. This is only an entryway and you should know damn well that nobody here is saint enough to make a single tile sacred outside the chapel.

Aziraphale tried to hoist an outraged expression, but it was hard to pretend that he didn't actually know damn well Crowley was right.

- Anyway, - the demon continued looking at the door on the other side of the entryway, - I was just passing by to take a look at the famous ceiling.

- It's not completed yet. - Aziraphale pointed out, immediately regretting it. He caught himself thinking that he didn't actually want the demon to leave. Not that he wanted his company, of course. But it would have been unpolite, with him being in the hosting party, so to speak, to send him away like that.

- I know, but I hear the last bit has made quite the impression around here.

- It has indeed! - The angel exclaimed, smiling and muffling his excited voice in a goofy way that made something twitch somewhere in the demon's chest. - The cardinals were utterly scandalised! I was going to take a look myself!

The angel moved to the door of the chapel and opened it cautiously, peeking inside.

- There's noone in there! - He whispered visibly thrilled, like the silliest conspirator who ever lived. Crowley stepped closer, thinking to himself that there was no end to the angel's childlike enjoyment of those little innocent transgressions. Not that he enjoied them too, of course. But it would be unworthy of a demon not to appreciate such evil deeds.

They both peeked out from behind the door. The chapel was empty, pleasantly crisp in contrast with the hot roman summer. A choir of cicadas was relentlessly chirping outside. The wooden structure had moved foreward since the last time Aziraphale had been there. A giant curtain was draped between the already completed campate and the ones still in progress.

Crowley managed to chart himself a path across the room, using the spare planks left on the ground as safe spots, holding his arms out to keep his balance, jumping from one board to the next and taking only a couple of quick steps on the floor when the distance was too great. Aziraphale was observing his movements from the corner of his eye and thought the demon looked like one of those large water birds that you could see flying by the river during winter, so big and yet so light and graceful.

The new part of the ceiling was hidden by the curtain. Without saying a word, they both moved to the ladder on the side of the wooden structure and climbed almost all the way up to the top. A strange expectant silence had fallen between them, and neither of the two wanted to break it. They knew exactly what they were about to see, but for some reason they were both pretending that they didn't, and the higher they climbed, the more they were steering their thoughts away from a certain shared memory that now, all of a sudden, was becoming inexplicably significant. A moment that had always been there, tucked away in their minds, but now seemed too bright to look at, too hot to touch, too heavy to handle.

They finally reached the main platform, the last large surface before the precarious scaffolding that brought the painter in reach of the ceiling, all still cluttered with buckets and rags and dried out palettes.

They stood by each other, breathing in the pungent smell of the paint, and with a synchronized movement looked up.

There it was. There they were. Their first meeting on Earth, as Michelangelo had envisioned it, channeling what the angel and the demon, unbeknownst to each other, had unintentionally lead him to imagine. He had turned the Original Sin into a backdrop, Adam and Eve into little more than extras on scene, leaving the center stage to them.

There it was. Their very first meeting as they, a recalcitrant demon who didn't mean to do anything properly bad and a doubtful angel who couldn't figure out what God wanted him to do. They were emerging from the Tree, the Wily Old Serpent stretching his beautiful androginous torso to the left, no man nor woman but both, passing Eve a fruit; the Angel of the Eastern Gate floating next to him, holding his arm out to the right, a disheartened look on his face as he used his sword not so much to threaten the humans as to direct them toward their earthly new existence.

- Look at you! - The angel smiled, - You're...

But the words died on his lips and he couldn't finish the sentence. Something heavy and mournful was tied to that part of his memory, like an iron anchor holding it under the surface of his conscience.

Aziraphale focused on the affresco, trying to distract himself with shapes and contours and brushstrokes... he felt a sudden burst of heat burning the skin of his face as he was studying the Serpent's coils spiraling up the Tree, and was startled when the demon spoke.

- He did make you sad.

The angel examined his supposed representation.

- I was sad.

- Yes, I remember.

- I felt so bad... so guilty...

Aziraphale felt Crowley's gaze settling on his face and lowered his eyes, feeling slightly overwhelmed.

- Guilty? Why? - The demon asked, with a hint of wonder in his voice.

The angels shrugged, twisting his hands and biting his lips with a tormented expression on his face.

- Because they were being punished, but I was the one who had failed them. - He looked up at the picture, but he was looking past it, rewatching a different scene. - And... and... - His eyes started stinging and watering, the effect of all that fresh paint no doubt, - And... had I spoken up for them...

He suddenly turned to look at Crowley, who was staring at him with his golden eyes wide open.

- They were only being curious... - the angel pleaded, and the effect of that paint was really terrible because an entire teardrop rolled down his cheek as he was speaking. - They only wanted to know things. And I let them be cast out and didn't say anything. - He took a short breath and his voice came out thin as a whisper - How will I be forgiven?

Crowley stood there without breathing, transfixed. His brain was struggling to process the angel's discourse, that pain for the humans, for their fault and their fall, and beyond that another pain, older, deeper, bleeding through his words like ink through thin paper. But the pain on the surface was easier to grasp and the other one was tangled in too many frightful thoughts, so the demon pretended that he had only caught the human part of that lament.

- I was the one who tempted them into that. - He said quietly after a moment of silence that could have lasted a second or a century. He felt like he was slightly suffocating. That paint smell truly was unbearable. It was even making his voice crack. - Do you still hate me?

A shocked expression darkened Aziraphale's face, and something behind his blue eyes seemed to crumble. There had to be a cloud hiding the sun, right in that moment, because up there under the vault the air became suddenly darker and colder.

- I never hated you. - He murmured. And then, with a wounded tone, - How could you think that?

The cloud moved away.

- It was my fault.

- I don't think it was.

They stood in silence again, and their confusion was so deep that a moment later none of them was able to tell anymore who had said "It was my fault" and who had replied "I don't think it was".

- We should get down, this smell is making me hazy. - Said the angel, sniffling.

- Yeah, this was enough church attending for me.

- Would you like... - Aziraphale paused, suddenly interested in a dented tin bucket who was draining all his attention, - Would you like to have lunch? I know a place.

Crowley opened his mouth and closed it again without making any sound, then opened it again and let out a couple of stumbling syllables before finally managing: - Well, I don't suppose that would hurt.

They exchanged a hesitant look and turned their eyes up at the two towering figures in the Garden of Eden one last time.

Michelangelo had given them two identical faces, the identical hair color, a shade that had been mixed somewhere in between a pale blonde and a bright red, and had put them up there, looking in opposite way but close to each other, almost hugging - the right arm of the angel almost around the serpent's waist, the right arm of the serpent almost around the angel's neck - as if they were twins, or lovers, or rather the two heads of the same chimerical creature. Two halves of the same being.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens fanfiction #go fanfic #fanfic draft #good omens fic #through the ages #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #good omens in Rome #bishop Aziraphale #canon according to Furfur's guide

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