#poorly drawn abs

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Embrace the truth

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[rafiscrazymofo]

Mom: We have Lou Ferrigno Jr. photo shoot at home

Lou Ferrigno Jr. photo shoot at home:

[catcatb0y]

I love spending hours on a minute detail no one is going to notice or is quite literally hidden from view. Then several days later, thinking I can do it better, so I go back and edit it (knowing for a fact no one will see it).

And then several days later, thinking I can do it better and going back to edit it, despite barely being able to see it or the changes.

And then several days later-

[ernest-rimmingway]

⭐Like a Lawn Chair⭐

Tags: [mlw][mndi][ass play][analingus][msub][anal fingering][male orgasm][edging][man in a mating press]

honorary tag: @lucky-beheaded ⭐

"I could never be the bottom."

Words Rex wishes he hadn't said because you were, in fact, quick to prove him wrong.

Sweat drips down his muscles in salty rivulets, his knees pressed to his shoulders and he stares down at you.

Green eyes are hazy, lips are parted and his back is unnaturally curved as he watches you peer at him from between his thighs. There's something so unnaturally predatory about the way you're looking at him from beneath your lashes, your nails scratching the backs of his thighs so affectionately.

And he writhes against the sheets.

"Baby this... This isn't... Funn-nnyyyy..."

His eyes roll back and his brows furrow into a tight knit when your tongue drags along his furled hole, unexplored and clenching at the stimulation.

"Fuck, shiiit." Rex whines, toes curling in his socks and he groans when your nails dig into his hamstrings. The pain mixes with the pleasure and he's embarassed by the way globs of precum trickle onto his tightly toned abs that flex with each curl of your tongue.

You're lapping at his ass like you're desperate and God, you just wanna see him fall apart. And you wanna wipe that smirk from his face.

The sheets are sweat-soaked, and he whines when you hand wraps around his rosy tip, squeezing his cock in a way that makes him lightheaded and Rex's legs begin to fucking shake. He's breathing heavy and he doesn't like how close he is to cumming all over himself.

His cock's leaking and he moans even louder when your tongue presses against his ever so sensitive perineum.

And you suck at the sensitive skin, and he whines.

"Babe, that's— nooo... Fuck, w'na cum."

Rex babbles weakly, his brows scrunching and his hips twitching when he feels the way your thumb presses against that divot in his tip. His balls are heavy, tense and drawn up so tightly, and he's whining when he feels the way your tongue drags up, up, up his length.

Lapping at the flared crown of his tip, sucking so harshly but you don't move your finger away.

And Rex is placing a hand on your forehead, poorly attempting to push you away.

"..fu—fuck away..." Rex curses.

He can't push you away, and he knows that he doesn't even want to.

"Don't be a pussy." You goad him and he scowls. "...m'not— hah — a pussy. You're just...f-fucking with my ass like that."

Rex whimpers when your hands move to press against the crooks behind his knees, and he watches as cum trickles from his cock. Momentum lost by how long you had kept him plugged and he watches the pearly liquid drip in the valleys of his abs.

You push his knees closer to his chest and Rex whines when you shift, moving closer to him.

His knees on your shoulders, and your lips press against his. He's perplexed by the different taste but he's not complaining, hands interlocking behind your neck, bringing you closer.

"How the tables have turned." You mock him, smiling into the kiss when blunt, calloused fingers sinking into your hair and Rex grunts into the kiss.

"Dickhead."

"Well, this dickhead's gonna shove a finger in your ass. So, you know, be smart with your words." You remind him, pulling away and you bring one of your hands up, fingers dipping between Rex's plush lips and gathering his saliva.

Your middle finger circles his hole, puckered and slick, and you slowly push past the ring of muscle. Slow and gentle.

"Just sh-shove it in." Rex whines. "I can take it."

"Yeah, you can take it?" You repeat Rex's words, lips brushing over his when you feel the way his body twitches once your finger is nestled, pressing against his walls like you're searching for something.

You are.

But the low, husky drawl of your saccharine sweet voice makes Rex whine.

"Why you gotta make it so fuckin' weirddd..."

[thesiltverses]

If there’s a list of books or plays or movies or tv series that influenced Eskew/TSV what’d be the top 10?

Probably different every time someone asks! But today let's go with...

Kafka's Castle / Trial / Penal Colony / Metamorphosis, Ligotti's Kafka-inspired stories (e.g The Town Manager) and other semi-adjacent absurdists and brilliant weirdos (Daniil Kharms, David Lynch, Hans Henny Jahn, Kobo Abe, arguably Fernando Pessoa?) who like to deal with social performance, human reaction and the pretence of normality in the face of unbearable strangeness, monstrous impositions and nightmare logic

Beckett's Happy Days / Endgame / Not I / WfG / Malone trilogy for the tragically pointless but inescapable search for meaning and fulfilment in ourselves, in our memories, in other people, in this wasted landscape, etc

Junji Ito's Uzumaki / Gyo / Amigara Fault / other stuff for powerfully making the argument that ludicrous horrors are also terrifying and gross horrors are also hilarious

Works that explore the helpless terror and allure in being horribly transfigured into a final shape that makes sense of us (The Fly / Videodrome, Annihilation, Ovid's Metamorphoses, Society, Ito again) or relatedly the shameless joy of setting fire to our social and familial and societal environment and embracing the wild, devilish, bestial and profane (a lot of stuff, but I'm thinking of the works of Angela Carter and Leonora Carrington and also The Witch and Carrie, that one Clarice Lispector book where she eats a bug)

Dostoevsky's Devils, Crime and Punishment and Notes from Underground for his unsurpassed collection of asocial self-obsessives having an existentially bad time and handling that poorly

The 1973 double bill of The Wicker Man / Don't Look Now for exploring the tragedy and horror of how our search for meaning may entrap us into a dead end of meaningless horrors

All of LeGuin's fiction but particularly The Dispossessed and Omelas.

The Wire for its peerless portrayal of a cast of complicated and largely unheroic human beings all attempting to either reach or destroy one another but who are ultimately all adrift and alone in the modern supersystem. The Wire and The Lives of Others for affirming the worth of even futile and powerless to support others who are suffering within that supersystem.

Any and all shit about strange and awful environments which may possibly possess a malevolent will or which are perhaps merely beholden to their own natural laws and we are the ones drawn to destroy ourselves within them (The Stone Tapes and many of Nigel Kneale's other works, The Children of Green Noah, The Haunting of Hill House, Roadside Picnic / Stalker, The Terror, The Minpins, Annihilation again, The Island of Morel, I know House of Leaves is a perfect fit for this but personally I always found it a bit hacky)

Riddley Walker, A Canticle for Leibowitz, and other post-apocalyptic work - to some extent Mad Max and the better Fallout games apply - that find the value and humanity (while recognising the potential for self-destruction) in our absurd efforts to construct meaning and to tell meaningful stories from out of the ruin and chaos all around us.

There's other stuff - The Silt Verses steals a lot of its initial atmospherics from True Detective Season 1, both shows are inevitably in dialogue with the mechanics and themes of Lovecraftian cosmic horror even if I wouldn't call Lovecraft a positive influence - but that's a pretty good list, I think.

[starrazors]

new batch of refs. ignore the poorly drawn abs im trying my best

ok im rambling here cause i have a lot to say. inkfish SHOULDNT have abs but i thought itd be fun... i have a lot of things to say about orion anyway. ill probably elaborate on how he's still in the octarian military (training to be an elite, marked by the seaweed but the lack of black accent in the hair. i made it up sorry) later im just lazy right now.

[lolosaclone]

ch art dump idk

kahlopatra angst?, idk why, i wanted to draw them and use toonsquid, i fucking love animation/animatics

someone said I should open an etsy to sell them as stickers and idk what to do with this but im thinking, should i?? lol (tell me if you can that's a life and death question/hj)

joan of arc, with references of jeanne d'arc but im not really a realistic fella so idk take this

★

requested by @zsatuka 😘😘 they just looooove anime girl fanon topher bus (yandere and loves gore) (he's in love with abe lincoln) 🫶💜

TW!⚠️: (poorly) drawn blood version below the cut!

anyway thats all for now

[mo-ok]

dont know what i love more, how jarring full suit mad gallant looks standing next to the tummy out twins, or ikki's very poorly drawn on abs

[this-game-has-themes]

MISERY LOVES COMPANY: chapter 5

a simple act of kindness leads abe to discover something he prrrrobably wasn't supposed to, at this point in the narrative.

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-

Risky decisions get you killed in RuptureFarms, more often than not. Between the deadly machinery, the sadistic guards and the dangerous livestock, there was little room to gamble with straying off your job’s intended routine. Tripping the manual setting for the suspension of their dormitory pod was something Abe was technically allowed to do - emergency calls for custodial work, usually - but he never had any reason to wander while the rest of the factory lay dormant. He never had reason, nor desire, to take a risk.

Until now, it seemed. Halfway through to climbing the catwalks that led into the rafters, Abe had half a mind to snap himself out of it. To turn around, go back to his pod, and remember his place. But Howler was there with him, at his heels, and he had asked her to follow him in the first place. Like an idiot.

What the hell was he doing, risking getting shot or worse just to look at the sky? Was this something these corrective muds often did? Abe was starting to realize that there must have been a great many things he simply had no reason to miss, that had apparently been a staple of life on the outside. Was he… supposed to miss these things? Was there really a void in his life all along, filled poorly with busywork and corporate propaganda. A badly-healed wound, made when his hatchery pumped his as-of-yet unborn body with the necessary hormones to make him an ‘ideal worker’.

Thinking about it too hard scared him, so he focused on trying to reach the ceiling without dying.

One of the shuttered sunlights was positioned over a treacherous catwalk; little more than a few beams of rafters with a guard rail running alongside it. As they reached the zenith of the factory’s heights, Howler kept a firm grip on Abe’s sleeve. He had a hunch she was unused to heights when he escorted her to the office levels; it felt cruel to force her to join him here, walking the rafters with a flashlight and a prayer.

But, the moment he offered to show her the night sky, her eyes lit up. She trembled with emotion, shaking hands grabbing at his shoulders to convey her desperation. It was just the moon, to Abe, but for her it seemed to mean something more. One of those many deeper questions left unasked, with no way for her to eloquently answer them.

As Abe suspected, the shutters were closed tight, but not locked. Carefully unscrewing the bolts could disassemble it altogether. Reaching up and practically standing on tip-toe at this height made him anxiously lightheaded, but as he worked Howler held onto his overalls to keep him steady.

He couldn’t catch the bolts in time as they fell from their sockets; he nearly fumbled his wrench when he tried and failed, and watched them clink against every pipe and beam on their way down. The rusty, abrupt wrenching of the shutter falling out of place made both Mudokons flinch.

Abe held his breath as he finished the last of the bolts one-handedly, attempting to hold the sheet of metal in place with the other. When the bolt slipped out of place, the full weight of the thing caught him off guard.

With a shared, alarmed gasp, Howler pulled him away from the path of the falling shutter, and spared him injury, or worse. The downside, however, was the very loud, very drawn out crashing of metal against metal, over and over again as it clattered to the floor below. The Mudokons froze in terror, and exchanged mortified glances. Abe found that Howler’s face had been illuminated by the skylight; not from the sickly yellow of the obscured sun, but by a clean, blue-white glow.

Framed by the depressingly small skylight was a white orb unlike anything Abe had ever seen. It had been described to him, certainly; he knew what a moon was, but it never occurred to him that there were any details his education would have reason to leave out. In hindsight, it made sense in a way he wasn’t sure he wanted to reckon with. A pattern of craters and pockmarks on its surface, in the shape of what may as well had been his paw.

The sound of Howler’s voiceless sob brought Abe back to reality. He found her face had broken into a mask of both joy and sorrow; a desperation rivaled only by her sheer relief. She held up her arm, as she did so many times in their dorm, and fit her paw perfectly in the mark left on the moon. She smiled. Her face was wet, tears illuminated by moonlight in a way Abe found himself distracted by.

He flinched when she took him by the wrist, but stayed still and allowed her to move his paw up towards the skylight as well. Her fingers laced between his as she bade him to open up his palm, and fit it into the pawprint. Another perfect match. Abe’s heart dropped. He couldn’t describe what he was feeling if he tried; but it opened up that void, that wound, and left him feeling like he was waiting for his moment his entire life.

From below, the Mudokons distantly heard the irritated barking of a Slig. It was Abe’s turn to grab Howler by the wrist. “Sh-shit, we gotta go-”

He heard more chatter from the Slig patrols below as he tried to cross the rafters as quickly as possible. Spotlights chased them; flashlights from guards that were very quickly honing in on what they had done. Abe could only hope they were as lazy with trying to spot them as they were with everything else.

They made it, miraculously, to the other end of the catwalk, opposite of the way they came up. This wasn’t an issue for Abe, who was familiar enough with these walkways. What slowed him down was Howler’s hesitant steps, though he wasn’t about to let her fall behind. He hurried her along, and reminded her to step where he stepped. Inevitably, saying that made him nearly slip and fall, but his adrenaline was already at maximum, and his reflexes were a little better for it.

He wanted to kiss the ground when they made it to the bottom, but they still had to run; all the way back to their pod, which hopefully wouldn’t be singled out for being grounded and vacant. Abe reactivated the suspension as soon as they could close the door behind him, and nearly collapsed on his bed in relief.

His heart pounded in his ears, but it had been doing that well before their close call. The image of the Mudokon moon was burned into his retinas; he saw its afterimage when he closed his eyes, a sight he wouldn’t soon forget. A sight that he realized his world revolved around hiding from him.

He looked to Howler, even if he knew she couldn’t quite give him the answers to questions he couldn’t quite articulate. The tattooed woman wiped her reddened eyes. Her smile was genuine, and grateful, and meant for him. Abe smiled back, timidly, at first. His grin broadened until it stretched his stitches. The lingering adrenaline in his system made him laugh deliriously at nothing in particular. A great many things, really. Howler silently tittered with him for a moment, and made the move to pull him to his feet.

Abe froze when she wrapped his arms around him, but he didn’t flinch away like he thought he would. She pulled him close, but not so tightly that he felt suffocated. He felt her chest against his, but she wasn’t mashing it against him with any carnal intent. She rested her chin on his shoulder, and let out a shuddering breath.

Tentatively, Abe mirrored her actions. He deflated under her hands with a long, exhausted exhale. When he rested his cheek against her neck, it felt so… warm. A warmth he would have never experienced, never missed, were it not for her.

The moon and the unsettled thoughts it gave him were all but forgotten, as Abe willingly let himself melt into his first genuine taste of affection. How quickly he gave into the comfort frightened him in a distant way; the memories of taken pleasure etched into his body were like ingrained alarms against the touch of anyone, but Howler had told him he was safe. And he really, really wanted to believe it. He wanted this, whatever it was, to last as long as possible.

When Howler pulled away from the embrace, he nearly pulled her back against him. She didn’t immediately part from him, as her hands lingered on his scrawny, trembling body. She pressed her tattooed brow against his, and Abe’s eyes fluttered closed.

“... Guess I could’ve just asked for this in the first place, huh.”

Intimately close to Howler’s face, Abe could hear the faint metallic feedback of air flowing through her voice box when she scoffed in amusement. Soft, clammy hands framed his face, and he watched her step back from his personal space; there was a hesitance there, and he faintly wondered if she expected him to do more with this moment.

There was a different, heavier sort of awkwardness between them as they weathered the lack of peace and privacy in their close quarters. Abe rather liked coming back to a pod all to himself before, after a long day of dealing with the rest of the factory. He suspected Howler was quite the same. If anything did happen between them, they would have to reckon with one another’s presence afterward, for better or worse.

Not that Abe was thinking about that.

When they both settled down, separated by maybe four feet between their cots, Abe gave Howler a final glance. Her hand was outstretched again, fingers splayed out in the pattern on the moon. He watched her clench her fist tightly. Her face split into a fearsome rictus of a grin; eyes shut tight as she clenched her teeth against another voiceless sob of emotion.

-

The next morning would simply be any other day, and that certainty was grounding for Abe. He didn’t have the time to process the sudden, abrupt changes to his worldview and understanding. He couldn’t risk mentioning the experience to anyone, save the woman he shared it with. And even if he did, whatever eloquent truth she had was out of her reach. He found himself wishing he put up more of a fight for Howler’s voicebox switch, as futile as it would have been.

It felt like the moon and its handprint was lodged in the front of his mind, preceding everything else he would have rather thought about the day ahead. No longer as distressing as they were last night, the ruminating thoughts he had were just getting aggravating. Aggravating, and useless to dwell on. The moon meant nothing for the likes of Abe, who was born and bred to spend his entire life under the roof of RuptureFarms.

Well… he would never see it again. That was almost a comfort: he would never see it again, and soon his restless mind would be busy worrying about more mundane, normal things. Things within his grasp, as futile as it was to do anything about them. Working the office levels again was almost a welcome ordeal; he would honestly take whatever Molluck had in store for him over having a full-on existential crisis.

The office levels had their own custodians, but Abe wasn’t exactly being called over to pick up any slack. He wondered if that other janitor… knew. Or if they underwent similar treatment. Or if they had, once, but bargained their soul by offering up Abe as a sacrificial meep. Abe frequently wondered what about him really caught Molluck’s eye, though he also hoped to never have to learn of it. The things Molluck would say aloud to him were bad enough; he could only imagine the Glukkon’s unspoken thoughts were much worse.

It wasn’t a pleasant situation, but there was also a sort of solace in imagining himself sparing any other Mudokon who would have become the ‘favorite’. Shouldering the burden, placating the beastly appetite of a man who held the same kind of power over every other mud in the factory. Abe wouldn’t forgive himself if he fell out of favor, and watched someone else return from the office in the same shaken, disheveled state he did. He wouldn’t have been able to save them. At least he could accept that no one would be saving him.

Actual janitorial work was more of a preamble, an odd sort of foreplay that led up to his ‘overtime’ duties. Depending on his boss’ mood, they would either be all he was summoned in for, or thrown out entirely in favor of the ‘main course’. Abe had to be prepared for anything, and in turn, he settled into taking this abuse as routine.

Molluck was speaking to one of his Sligs when Abe cautiously opened the door, so he knew to simply play the part of a simple janitor. On the sidelines, away from being underfoot. Despite sticking out amongst his green peers, Abe was fairly good at simply melding into the background, staying as far away from trouble as he could. These shelves on the far end of the room needed another once-over, anyways.

At Molluck’s desk was one of the guards from the factory floor, his head bowed and his hands off his gun around his boss. Faintly, Abe caught a bit of what he was saying from behind his mask.

“- Doesn’t look like rust, sir. The bolts for it were lyin’ right next to it-”

The Mudokon froze, and dared to look at the Glukkon from the corner of his eye. Molluck shifted the cigar to the corner of his mouth to speak. “When’s th’last time we had maintenance on these things, anyways?”

“Uh, I dunno, Boss-”

“Then there’s yer fuckin’ problem,” Molluck growled. Both subordinates in the room shrank back, but it was Abe knocking his elbow against a shelf that turned his Boss’ dreaded attention on him.

“Just the guy I wanna see.” Molluck slid out of his chair to straighten up to his full height, towering over both his employees. “Apparently, one a’ those skylights in Zulag 2 fell apart overnight. Ya wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would ya?”

Abe paled, frozen on the spot. The sound of the metal shutters clanging on every pipe and beam from several stories up still rang in his ears. He knew the Sligs had been searching for them that night; was he a suspect?

“I- er, uh, I never touched them before, sir.” His answer came out weak, and surely laced with the guilt that gripped him now.

Molluck tilted his flabby chin at the Mudokon in a scrutinizing look; eyes narrowing into red, glowing slits. As soon as it appeared, his suspicious look was gone. “Well, why the fuck not? If these things all start fallin’ apart on our heads, it’s on you. Fix it.”

“Fix it, sir…?”

“Did I stutter?” Molluck scoffed impatiently, not in the mood to toy with Abe’s nerves as he would in private. “Get your thumb outta your ass and go down there, check every shutter and make sure they’re screwed in right. Ya want a fuckin map, while we’re at it?”

Oh. “Oh,” Abe tried not to look like the wind was knocked out of him, “o-of course, sir. Right away.”

Far be it from him to take an excuse to skip ‘office duty’. He held his breath until he could leave the room, sag limply against the wall, and let out a shaky sigh of relief.

He wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that he wasn’t immediately suspected. If they came to the conclusion the skylight was tampered with, they’d invariably try to pin it on some of the more rebellious Mudokons. Like… like Howler. The one Mudokon here that saw the sky as it was meant to be, unpolluted by the smog of the factory’s daily activity. And if not her, then one of the remaining correctives that had similar origins Outside.

RuptureFarms held a reputation for being particularly difficult to escape. The land outside was barren badlands for miles, and if the sniper Sligs in the security towers didn’t pick you off first, thirst and the elements would. At least, that’s what Abe was taught. He was taught that the world outside was harsh and cruel, and that Mudokons as they were had been hanging on by a thread before being ‘uplifted’ by industrialism.

Maybe it was a stretch to call factory work ‘uplifting’, but Abe couldn’t deny that he couldn’t imagine any other life, with its basic amenities and simple routine. He liked to think it was enough. Life was always supposed to be like this. It was hard, and grueling, and the people were often cruel, but this was how it was meant to be.

Being free just meant you’d get captured again, anyways.

Abe had become more familiar with the rafters in the past few days than he ever wanted to be. It felt like any remaining hesitance over heights was being beaten out of him, as looking down made him less nauseous and looking up made him less lightheaded. He still trembled and sweated bullets as he carefully reached up towards various skylight shutters to tighten their screws, but the ordeal was always over sooner than it began.

After replacing the shutter he broke - screwing it in extra tight, more for his own peace of mind than others - he went on to check a few dozen others on the factory floor. Some were more perilous than others. A few were ones he had never even noticed were there, as the smoky daylight they provided didn’t even reach the ground levels. Most of them were perfectly fine, secure and in place; but nobody but Abe needed to know that. It was safer to lean into the lie that they were getting loose from neglect.

It was around late noon by the time he finished up inspecting the last zulag, and constantly climbing and weathering his nerves was starting to grate on him. Abe still checked each screw, and tightened it whether it needed it or not. Reaching up for the nth time, he froze when hit palms were hit with a subtle puff of cool, fresh air.

Air from outside.

The heat and steam from the machinery below had risen to the ceiling to cling to Abe in a musty, foul-smelling haze, so the slightest draft of fresh air was starkly noticeable. Abe’s heart skipped a beat, and he withdrew his hands like they were stung.

… Then he realized that maybe he was overreacting a little. It was only a bit of cool air seeping from the window frame - it's not like it was a gust of wind, or anything. The skylight wasn’t open, or anything. Cautiously, he reached up to touch the glass pane, and made sure it was secure.

His heart fell into the pit of his stomach as the pane yielded to his touch, and lifted near effortlessly out of its frame. Cold air hit his face; a breeze from outside whisked in to flutter the knot of feathers on his head. Abe flinched away a full step backwards, nearly falling in the process.

The glass slid back into place, completely unassuming. It wasn’t loose in a way that it would fall and shatter, just precariously fitted into a frame without proper sealant. There were maybe hundreds of these things all over the zulags, so it wasn’t a stretch to assume that nobody simply noticed the flaw. It didn’t… look like it had been tampered with. So far.

Abe looked around, as if anyone could possibly be up there with him, looking over his shoulder. Looking down, the Sligs and the security orbs only really patrolled the lower and middle levels. He was alone, and there was no sign of anyone having been here before him, either. Swallowing around the knot in his throat, Abe reached up to push on the glass again.

His hand lifted it up as far as he could while standing on tiptoe, and exposed nearly his whole hand to the brisk outside air. The breeze buffeted his face; still fouled by smog and byproduct, but carrying something more to it. Fresh air, from a world beyond the factory. He hadn’t realized the very atmosphere around him was so stagnant, so stuffy by comparison.

Then the gravity of what he was doing sunk in, and suddenly all that nausea and lightheadedness he thought he got over hit him like a brick. When he withdrew his hand, the glass neatly fell into its frame again with a quiet scrape. The breeze from outside cut off, and the oppressively muggy, stale atmosphere of the factory enveloped him. Abe’s heart pounded, but it wasn’t just from fear.

[gongustheawsome01]

Pepperman would be the type o guy to draw either the best fake abs on himself or one of those poorly cartoonishly drawn ones either way he's still sayin "Like what cha see?"

[charmonys]

@hatefueled &&. said... how physically fit is sunday? does he exercise? cardio???

a  trick  question  —  he  is  not.  he  has  glass  bones  and  paper  skin.  he  works  out  at  the  library.  if  he  is  getting  any  form  of  cardio,  it's  presumably  because  he's  running  for  his  life.  sunday's  fitness  level  is  equivalent  to  the  average  office  worker  spending  their  nine  to  five  sitting  behind  a  desk  all  day.  if  you  ask  him  to  run  up  a  flight  of  stairs,  he's  coming  out  of  it  winded.  lifting  him  up  is  like  holding  a  bag  of  grapes.  i  cannot  take  any  artwork  that  gives  him  abs  seriously  —  this  bird  has  scrawny  mage  written  all  over  him,  no  i  will  not  take  constructive  criticism.

i  don't  think  sunday  is  necessarily  opposed  to  physical  activity,  his  lifestyle  up  until  this  point  just  hasn't  allotted  much  room  for  it.  he's  collectively  spent  years  marinating  in  a  dreampool.  he  does  take  care  of  himself  in  terms  of  maintaining  appearances  —  he  would  be  the  type  to  have  a  meticulous  hair  and  skincare  routine.  however,  he  often  forgets  to  eat  unless  he  makes  it  a  point  to  set  an  alarm  —  and  even  on  the  occasions  when  he  does,  his  appetite  isn't  the  most  reliable.  (  unsurprisingly,  he's  also  anemic.  )  when  he  gets  drawn  into  a  task,  he  tends  to  fixate  very  hard  on  it  to  the  point  of  negatively  impacting  his  health  —  it  needs  to  get  done  and  it  needs  to  meet  his  standards,  otherwise  it's  going  to  bother  him  endlessly  until  it  does.  this  can  be  something  as  mundane  as  perfecting  a  piano  piece  or  complicated  as  organizing  the  charmony  festival.  he  operates  with  this  strange  mix  of  self  care  and  self  neglect  where  he  prioritizes  looking  healthy  and  put  together  rather  than  actually  being  healthy  —  while  simultaneously  taking  a  very  rules  for  thee  but  not  for  me  stance  towards  everyone  else's  well  being.  (  the  irony  being  sunday  would  absolutely  hassle  someone  who  takes  care  of  themselves  as  poorly  as  he  does.  )

that  being  said,  i  do  think  he  would  enjoy  incorporating  some  morning  stretches  into  his  daily  schedule.  it  really  isn't  much;  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  set  aside  to  cycle  through  the  same  routine  he's  probably  been  doing  for  years  —  though  it  helps  him  feel  a  little  more  limber  and  gives  sunday  a  precious  moment  to  collect  his  thoughts  before  delving  into  his  daily  itinerary.  he  maintains  this  habit  even  after  he  starts  traveling  with  the  express;  it's  one  of  the  few  scraps  of  familiarity  he's  able  to  cling  to,  even  as  everything  else  in  his  life  changes  so  dramatically.  being  thrust  into  reality  full-time  as  well  as  facing  a  level  of  danger  he's  wholly  unaccustomed  to  definitely  has  him  rethinking  his  sedentary  lifestyle  a  bit.

[experimentalfma]

“Really? Now!?” - From Roy to Hughes

My muse is flirting with yours in a dangerous situation. Send “Really? Now!?” for my muse’s response. 

Hughes shrugged and gave him a half smile as if to say better now than never. An explosion shook the air as Scar destroyed the side of a nearby building, scattering brick and stone near where the two of them took shelter in an alley. Attention briefly shifting from Roy, Hughes peered cautiously around the corner to evaluate their target. Scar was heading their way, and they should be able to take him by surprise once he got just a little bit closer.

But before Scar was close enough for the ambush, Hughes glanced back over his shoulder at Roy one more time, a returned teasing in his tone as he quipped, "But I stand by what you said. If you showed up into battle shirtless, everyone would be too distracted by your abs to put up a real fight. I'd certainly stop dead. Oh-! He's here!" And with that, poorly timed flirtation hanging in the air between them, Hughes burst out of the alley, gun drawn and pointed at Scar.

[sillyartistthegoofy]

freedraw art

drew every ab contesant (some drawn poorly) and a little animaticlock at the top

[tsunderrated]

There’s that meme like “funniest vtuber clip ever” and it’s a poorly drawn anime girl saying sex but also all of kiryu coco’s stories ab sex stuff were genuinely funny and would have been funny from anyone

[scaredoflizards]

Gonna braindump tophabe thoughts because i’m trying to figure them out… don’t mind me.

Some part of my brain wants to explore Topher crushing on Abe through having this very deep insecurity that Abe is too good for him because Abe is so genuine and sweet, then trying to over-compensate by pretending he’s so woke and well-liked to impress Abe so Abe will need him because Topher can’t fathom Abe just wanting to be friends with him, so tries to make himself useful and needed.

Then, when Topher felt that wasn’t enough, also began blackmailing Abe because he’s dysfunctional and doesn’t know how to be normal about wanting someone’s attention and asking them to hang out and was scared Abe wouldn’t need him if he had Joan. To Toph, the idea of someone liking him for being himself is unfathomable. There has to be something the other person can benefit from by keeping him around, or they have to be forced to still talk to him (like through blackmailing) or they won’t interact with him. These insecurities are directly based on past experiences he has had with the other teen clones, but then it becomes a self fulfilling prophecy where he pushes people away by treating them poorly in his attempt to keep them in his life.

Also I hc Topher secretly finding the fact that Abe has gotten called out for being problematic really hot because Topher is masking his own shit to fit in, so the fact that he isn’t much better than Abe (actually he’s worse) makes him feel a sense of solidarity, but seeing Abe face consequences for being himself speaks to that repressed side of Topher that also longs to be himself instead of making his entire identity an “ally” to fit in (and probably have an outlet for his anger because he can justify bullying people online for being problematic, let’s be real).

I think Topher is both aware he has a crush on Abe but also denying and repressing it at the same time because he doesn’t truly believe he has a chance with Abe and isn’t ready to accept parts of his own identity.

I think Abe on the other hand is as oblivious as usual to Topher’s crush, but unlike when Joan had a crush on Abe and would practically confess it over and over while Abe didn’t get it, Topher isn’t going to confess his feelings. He’ll just find excuses to talk to Abe or hang around him even if it’s to be unpleasant because he doesn’t feel he has a shot anyways but at least he can ride on Abe’s back even if Abe finds him annoying, he can use the fact that he is unlikeable to push boundaries to get any attention from Abe.

I think the reason Topher invited Abe to hangout was because he took an immediate interest in Abe when they first met and swapped shoes and Abe showed enthusiasm about learning about Topher’s clone father. It was probably the first time (at least in a long while) someone didn’t look at Topher with disgust and I really think he fell for Abe hard and fast then and there, but it took him a bit to realize that’s what he was feeling towards Abe.

I think Topher would eventually be the one to confess, and I imagine it in a scenario where he’d drive Abe to such a breaking point that Abe would finally try to cut him off for being “toxic” (influenced by Joan because she notices Abe’s lack of boundaries) and Topher would have an internal meltdown about losing Abe from his life so would panic. It’d be a messy confession where he maybe also spills a few fears and insecurities about Abe being this person who he felt was way out of his league.

Abe would be confused at why Topher treated him so bad because he already liked Topher before he started blackmailing him, etc.

I don’t think Abe would know what he feels towards Topher though. I think he does like Topher but never had to analyze his feelings beyond understanding he feels there is good in Topher because he was clearly drawn to him enough to keep hanging around him.

I think Abe’s inability to give an immediate answer would put Topher in a really anxious and fearful position while Abe figures things out. What he feels for Topher is very different than the superficial attraction he had to Cleo or his friendship with Joan. He needs time and space and Topher wouldn’t be good at giving those things now that his secret is out.

Maybe… i’m still tentatively feeling all of this out… i’ll stop there to think on it more. But now I am zzzz

[honorhearted]

Turn Week, Day 7: If I Could Change One Thing...

Aside from the obvious wish of getting all five seasons, it's too bad the show wasn't more character-driven rather than plot-driven. I understand why it was, and I still find it absolutely great and a comfort show, but I'm the type who watches for characters and their interactions. I felt robbed of these dynamics, in particular: Ben and his father, Nathaniel (they should've talked about Samuel sometime after 1x10); Ben and Sackett (I wanted more crazy!uncle x nephew-esque shenanigans); Ben and Samuel (it would've been way more impactful to see some brotherly flashbacks prior to his d.eath), and more of the Culpers in general. Even though they were best friends who grew up together (sans Townsend), it never really felt like it since no one ever truly reminisced or cracked inside jokes, nor behaved like close friends beyond the occasional quip (unless you count the Ben x Anna prank in 2x4). Granted, I understand that it's a time of w.ar and thus, levity isn't as common, but they are human, and it'd make sense for them to behave as such from time-to-time. It can't be b.usiness 24/7.

Secondly, every Culper had some form of t.rauma, so I really wish the show had delved into that beyond the surface. Here are some thoughts centering around the individual characters:

Ben: I wanted to see more of his struggle with faith. A man of God betrayed the Cause (Rev. Worthington), and then he shot him in cold b.lood. That assuredly messed with him, and his guilty conscience had to have suffered even more so once he discovered his own side was responsible for Sarah's husband's d.eath. Then when he learned Hale's last words had been warped for the sake of furthering the Cause, rather than his friend being truly remembered as Hale wished to be, Ben learned right then and there that history could and would be altered by people he admired (GWash) to justify the means -- himself included. The knowledge that he and his friends were more or less pawns undoubtedly added to his anger in S4, in particular, and I wanted to see a genuine struggle with all of the above rather than superficial scrapings.

Abe: After his imprisonment, he definitely should have suffered from some type of P.TSD, yet he more or less just "walked it off" after shaving his beard and cleaning away the grime. Most people can't recover from that type of event unscathed, so it would've been interesting to give Abe an actual character arc beyond a.dultery and his brief turn-around in S4.

Anna: The night she was attacked and had to s.tab/s.hoot that Queen's Ranger undoubtedly stained her for a long time. Maybe an allusion to night terrors or making her jumpy could've helped, rather than just turning it into a cliché girlboss moment.

Caleb: Arguably, Caleb got s.hafted the most of this group. He always struck me as more of a punchline rather than a real person, because comic relief characters are rarely multi-dimensional in terms of development. It's sad that just when the writers were finally giving him an arc, it was cut short and sped up to meet with the time constraints. I don't think it was a poorly done arc, per se, but naturally, I wish we could've seen it drawn out and given the proper time and dedication that was originally intended.