#progressive foolishness

[shblackwoodart]

bolas bolas bolas bolas bolas bolas bolas bolas

[a-most-beloved-fool]

For the ask prompt game...

Spirk #17 to distract

"Report," Kirk ordered. The word buzzed low against Spock's ear, quiet and audibly tense.

"Less than two minutes until they reach our location, Captain," Spock replied promptly. "Commander Scott will need at least another eight before the transporter is operable again." His voice was equally hush, despite their perceived solitude. He had seen carelessness take far too many lives during his time in Starfleet; he would not allow it to take his captain as well - and, illogically, Spock could not quite dispense of the phantom sensation of eyes on the back of his neck.

"We'll need to bluff it," Kirk decided, looking grim.

His gaze was strangely intense against Spock, full of rioting emotion, and, almost, Spock wished to look away. He did not. Instead, he nodded, holding steady eye contact.

The odds, Spock knew, that Kirk's gambit - whatever it may be - would succeed were... poor. The guards had, after all, seen their faces. But Kirk would keep fighting right until the bitter end, and Spock, of course, would be right beside him.

Solemn, he vowed, "I shall follow your lead," though he knew Kirk would not have doubted it. Still, the unnecessary words were well worth the way the tension around Kirk's eyes melted away, the somber set of his mouth slipping instead into a golden-edged smile.

Almost wonderingly, a soft chuckle fell from those lips, incongruous in their surroundings and entirely treasured. "What would I do without you?" Kirk asked, reaching up to exert gentle pressure on Spock's bicep.

I pray you never need find out, Spock made to say, getting only so far as drawing in breath before the sound of distant footsteps drew them both from their quiet moment, snuffing the words before they could take shape. "Eighteen seconds," he said instead, after rapidly adjusting his calculations. Faster than anticipated.

Kirk nodded, some unreadable emotion hiding in the soft crease between his brows.

"Forgive me, Mr. Spock," Kirk said softly, and Spock did not have time to question what he meant before Kirk was pulling him down by his shirt, dragging their lips together with great urgency.

Quite suddenly, Spock found that his mind was entirely blank. Strange heat flickered through his whole form, and his universe narrowed to only Kirk, all soft and human-warm, who was pressed flush to his chest and kissing him.

One, then two seconds stuttered by in which Spock thought no thoughts at all, struck utterly motionless in the face of such unexpected attentions. He only felt, swept away by the sensation of pliant lips against his own and warm fingers stroking through his hair, gently mussing.

The very first thought to break to the surface was simply, Jim. A wave of emotion flooded in with it, astonishment and affection sweeping over him in such quantities that he felt nearly lightheaded.

The second was, We will be caught, and Spock jolted as something near to panic rose up inside his gullet, urging him to take Jim into his arms and run.

The third, however, was not his own; it was pressed into his katra from the outside by Jim's careful fingers, his clever mind slipping easily past Spock's shields. Play along, he said, projecting deliberate calm through their connection. Still, Jim was unpracticed in telepathic arts, and beneath that false serenity Spock could feel a tangle of guilt and determination, bitter and writhing.

The truth came to Spock in one fell swoop.

Jim's gambit... was this.

His lips and his hands, which pressed themselves so tenderly to Spock's skin, were not for him.

It was not love which had drawn his captain into his arms, but mere utility. Jim had realized what Spock had not: though they could not hide themselves, they could, perhaps, distract from themselves.

Two men attempting to look inconspicuous would only draw suspicion. Two men locked in a romantic embrace, however, may be overlooked - or even deliberately ignored. Few were comfortable with looking closely at the private passions of strangers, and fewer still would see reason to. Those searching for them, Spock hoped, would not. There would be no logic in halting an escape attempt solely for a kiss, after all.

Therefore, in order to escape unnoticed, they must be convincing.

They must seem, to any observers, to be completely and entirely immersed in one another, with no care for anything going on in their surroundings, and no fear of discovery.

Two lives, purchased with a kiss.

It was entirely logical, then, for Spock to part his lips, inviting Jim's tongue to dip inside of the wet cave of his mouth and meeting it with his own. If a groan rumbled deep within his chest, it could surely only help their cause; there was no need to swallow it down.

This disguise would, Spock observed as Jim's tongue flicked gently at his mouth, be far easier to maintain than it had any right to be.

It was a terribly simple matter for a man in love to behave as though he were a man in love.

The difficult part, then, would be remembering that it was a ruse. Already, heat bubbled deep within Spock, aching want suffusing his every neuron. Every faint brush of flesh sent golden tendrils of telepathic energy sparking across his skin, and it was all Spock could manage to hold himself back from pressing hungry fingers to Jim's meldpoints and sinking into that wonderfully enticing mind.

Instead, Spock slipped a hand beneath the hem of Jim's shirt, rucking up the cloth until he was tracing patterns across a smooth expanse of golden skin. He flexed his hand, allowing his nails to scratch carefully along Jim's spine, and did not permit himself to consider reaching upwards, to Jim's face - or worse: downwards, beyond the waistband of his pants.

He wondered if Jim would have chosen this, had he known how very much Spock wanted.

Perhaps it was selfish of Spock to allow it.

Still, he could not force himself away - not when Jim's life was at stake. The kiss was his lifeline, and so the kiss must remain.

The touch of their minds, however, did nothing to aid Jim. It was solely for Spock's benefit, taken from Jim without his knowledge or intent.

That, Spock could end.

If Jim was to unknowingly place himself into the hands of someone who wanted more than he would wish to give, then Spock would take it upon himself to be his protector - even if the one he must protect against was himself.

And so, Spock opened himself to every offered touch, and girded his mind against every stray thought, until not a single wisp of golden energy could find its way past his defenses.

When Jim's thigh nudged its way between Spock's legs, Spock spread his stance wider, allowing him to press closer, and did not let himself feel. His hands grasped and squeezed at the soft flesh beneath them, drawing quiet gasps from a pink-flushed throat, and no pleasant hum buzzed against his fingertips, carrying with it the flavor of human emotion. Jim nipped at his lips and pet at his hair, and Spock pressed every scrap of yearning deep down within himself to where they couldn't emerge.

Eyes closed and spirit aching, Spock kissed him.

_____________

from this ask game

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

Your integrity makes me seem small / If I can't relate to you anymore then who am I related to? / Dreams of your hair and your stare and sense of belief in the good in the world, you once believed in me / You say, “I don’t understand,” and I say, “I know you don’t” / Another summer taking cover, rolling thunder, he don't understand me / How much sad did you think I had in me? How much tragedy? / You won’t remember all my champagne problems…

[leithillustration]

It’s still near enough to Wednesday right??

Thank you @nausikaaa @thewholelemon @artsyunderstudy @that-disabled-princess @monbons and @fiend-for-culture for the tags. I love seeing all the new chapters and AUs popping up!

I’ve got a few wips right now, but sadly none of them Snowbaz as work/generally existing has been getting in the way recently.

WIP 1: An Art!

This is a personal piece I’m working on and I’m really enjoying it. It’s one of the settings a fairytale of mine takes place in. I’m determined this year to talk more about this tale and to start making more imagery for it, since I’ve been promising myself I will work on developing this as a graphic novel for YEARS.

More under the cut

WIP 2: Market Prep

I might have chronic fatigue, but I am also full of hubris and that is biting me on the ass this weekend in the form of two markets I’ll be selling prints at. I’ve been experimenting with a new layout to fit all my stock on the table, so this is the practice set up I did in my dining room on Tuesday. It’s not quite right but it’ll do for now. Today I reworked some of my print stands- they’re made of foam board to keep them light for transporting, but this makes them a bit flimsy so they need repairing. I’m also trying to give my No Binaries Zine a bit more space in the display, so I’m constructing a separate stand for that too. Aaand I had to drill some small holes in the bottom of my suitcase so I could reattach the wheel that came off in December with some wire, string, hope and desperation.

WIP 3: Me

It’s me. I am the last wip. A constant work in progress. It is exhausting. I am having a rough time finding adhd meds that work for me, which is frustrating when I have so much I want/need to be doing. Staying on top of my metal health is hard work and I often find myself stifled by my own limitations. The last few weeks I’ve spent a lot of time seeking comfort in fics and chatting with the lovely Snowbaz community on Tumblr and I’m so so grateful for you all. Sending love and hugs to you all, especially @iamamythologicalcreature who has to deal with my nonsensical voice notes when I am too fatigued to make sense.

Hope everyone has a great rest of their week 💙

@youarenevertooold @iamamythologicalcreature @alexalexinii @cattocavo @that-disabled-princess

@orange-peony @cutestkilla @rimeswithpurple @larkral @best--dress

@scribble-tier @theimpossibledemon @artsyunderstudy @raenestee @thewholelemon

@nightimedreamersworld @itriednottothinkaboutit @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @angelsfalling16

@the-beard-of-edward-teach @monbons @katatsumuli @fiend-for-culture

@aristocratic-otter @snowbazdaily @argumentativeantitheticalg @lovelyladzzzz @nausikaaa

[thepersonalwords]

Only the foolish would think that wisdom is something to keep locked in a drawer. Only the fearful would feel empowerment is something best kept to oneself, or the few, and not shared with all.

Rasheed Ogunlaru

[mal1ntent]

Random qsmp eggs fun fact Tallulah's favorite lullaby is Jort Storm by Slimecicle because Phil would get lazy with tasks and play it instead of singing and Leo's favorite lullaby is Pac e Mike wow wow because Foolish would get lazy with tasks and play it instead of singing

[saintstars]

Drew Feanor happy for once …. so of course Finarfin must suffer for it

[geckocs]

My first foolish designs were cute— although the toothless shark is kinda cursed

… I still haven’t settled on a design lol

[cat-mentality]

Tw: Blood, violence, death. All that good shit.

This is what nobody tells you about the aftermath of a fight: Adrenaline takes a while to leave your system, even when the threat is gone it is still buzzing inside of you.

The silence feels like an invisible weight setting on your shoulders, the echoes of the battle still ring inside of your ears, you can almost taste the vibrations of the swords hitting their targets.

This is what nobody tells you about the aftermath of a battle: Blood dries fast. It starts with the edges and makes its way to the center, the process much quicker than most people believe it to be, staining everything.

The smell of blood is overpowering as it clings to every surface you can see, as it dries on your clothes, your weapons, your hands, your mouth. You know, in a part of your mind you are not truly paying attention to, that you will have to throw away those clothes- Blood doesn't leave them as easy as it does armour.

This is a lie they tell you about the aftermath of a slaughter: It's poetic. There is no poetry in this, the blood drying on the white walls is not artful, it's just blood splashed without care, the sounds of the dying don't sound like music, they sound like pain, like regret, like begging.

The victors are not heroes standing proudly side by side, they are warriors shaking with left over adrenaline, whimpering in pain as they hold their wounds, eyes haunted.

This is what they don't want to admit to you in the aftermath of a massacre: It feels good.

You are standing in the middle of a Federation office as the world buzzes around you, as people talk and walk, as time keeps ticking away. Your hands are painted red with dried blood, you don't know if the blood on your armor belongs to you or to any of the bodies on the floor. You don't care. Blood paints your face like a mask, you know you must look like a demon, like a monster.

Good.

They are the ones who made you into one. It's fitting that it's the last thing they see.

It is still alive. Barely but still, a part of you is actually impressed about It's resistance and endurance. The white fur is barely recognizable under the blood, this blood is still fresh, still vivid red and wet as it leaks from the wounds, the eyes are as emotionless as they have always been.

You wonder if It can even feel pain.

You hope It does.

An arm is thrown, almost carelessly, over your shoulders and you tense, hand gripping the sword tighter but you recognize the person easily enough. Your shoulders are still tense, but you don't attack.

"Good fight"

Etoiles' smile looks out of place in the situation, the cheer on his voice foreign. There is a wound still closing on his forehead, his hair is painted red with blood you are half sure doesn't belong to him, his scythe is carelessly thrown over his shoulder already gleaming as if cleaning it was the first thing he did, his armor is in much better state than your own.

You just nod back, still staring at It. Etoiles hums, not bothered by your tense posture or your dismissive gesture, his shoulders in contrast are relaxed, his expression peaceful.

It's a sharp contrast to what it was moments before. The grin as sharp as steel, the eyes so dark they could as well be voids, the laughter that could be heard over the screams and the swords.

He looks at It and tilts his head to the side, curious but not overly so. Etoiles is a fighter at heart, you don't think he could understand your urge, your desire, to stare at It, he would have ended it as soon as he could, he doesn't understand but he respects your needs.

There is another presence arriving next to Etoiles and he turns to grin at the newcomer who, again, just gives him a grim nod back, eyes fixed on It, his weapon still in hand.

You are surprised by the dark satisfaction shinning in Philza's eyes but maybe you shouldn't. It's easy to forget that the friendly and calm man atop off the wall has a past as drenched in blood as yours, probably even more as the whispers of death cling to him like a second skin, they never said an angel of death had to be merciful after all. You wonder who he was before, no common man would take to planning this as easily as he did, no common man would walk among the slaughter as if there was nothing amiss, no common man would ignore the blood so easily.

You recognize someone welcoming back a part of their past.

Almost on their own accord your eyes drift to the rest of the room, cataloging who is still here.

Baghera is the furthest away, her weapon nowhere to be seen as she crouches on the ground to speak to terrified figures, hands clean as she holds them up in a non threatening position.

Your own hands clench on your sword fighting the instinct to go to her, to stand guard at her side because you don't trust them. Those workers, those survivors who she insisted on protecting, on forgiving, when they dropped their weapons and begged, you don't trust them to not put a sword to her back, a knife to her gut, to repay her kindness with pain and betrayal.

You don't understand her need to save them, but you respect it.

You only relax when you make eye contact with Forever. He is just a few steps behind her and he has his sword in hand even if his posture is as non threatening as it can be, he looks between you two and nods just once, determined, and you nod back.

He has tried to clean the blood from his face, perhaps to look less frightening to the workers, but there is only so much you can do about it. You have to turn away because you hate how blank his eyes look, you hate how haunted his expression is.

Some people are just not made for the bloodshed.

Others, you suppose, are far too used to it.

You never saw Fit's face as blank as it is now. He is more statue than man as he leans against one of the blood soaked walls, posture tense as if he expects an attack at any moment, eyes anywhere but here. This man is a survivor, you realize tilting your head to the side, this is a man who has had to suffer and made others suffer before.

You almost smile when Pac approaches him. You would if you thought your lips could remember how to move to that position, as your friend leans against him without words, taking a bloodied hand on his own, equally as red.

Fit relaxes, just the tiniest bit, and squeezes the hand back.

They will be okay. Not today, not tomorrow, maybe not for a long time, but as long as they have each other you know they will heal.

Your eyes look for your beloved next.

Roier is already looking at you and you have to break eye contact first. You don't know what he is seeing but you know it can't be good.

No one likes to see a monster.

No one can love a monster.

It was good having him by your side. You hope he knows your heart, as cursed and dark as it may be, will always belong to him.

You focus on his hand instead, in the way blood has dried all over it, the way he didn't bother to wipe it off. They are protectively on Jaiden's shoulders as she is kneeling on the floor crying so hard her whole body is shaking.

Osito Bimbo's head is laid on her lap as she tenderly brushes the fur of his forehead, her tears falling on him non stop. There is a dark crimson circle on his chest, a straight hole where once a heart used to beat, gravity is making the blood sweep out of the hole on his chest and into her lap but she doesn't care.

You don't know who killed him.

You hope, for her sake, that it was quick.

Foolish is sitting cross legged on the floor next to Jaiden and as usual you cannot for the life of you understand what is going through his mind. As if feeling your eyes on him he turns his attention away from Jaiden to look at you, the grin that he sends in your direction is as bright as the sun, his eyes mischievous as he stares at It and then back at you in something that is both a question and a challenge.

It's a bit uncanny how natural the blood soaking him looks. Red blood, not a drop of his own.

The only sound in the room is Tubbo.

The kid is crying, his sobs come from somewhere inside of his chest, painful to hear in their heartbreak.

Fred's body is laying in his lap as well, Tubbo's hands are still uselessly pressing against the wound on his side that has long since stopped bleeding. Pierre's work you know, and a part of you think it was deserved even as Tubbo cries and cries over someone he thought loved him back.

He will realize the truth one day, you hope, he will realize that WA02 made a choice. He will realize that in the end his loyalty, or his fear you will never know, spoke louder and he chose the losing side.

It's a pity that Tubbo has to suffer but you will not mourn someone responsible for causing pain to your family.

Another touch brings your attention back.

Bagi is at your side, staring at you with familiar unfamiliar eyes. As she once promised she is as drenched in blood as you, it clings to her with the same natural way it does to you, you have no doubts that in this moment you two truly look like twins.

She looks at It like it's a piece of garbage on the floor, mouth twisted in disgust and her eyes are hard, determined. She isn't enjoying it, not like you, but you understand she doesn't see a problem either.

"End this." She tells you "It has to be you."

A part of you doesn't want to. A part of you want to just stay here and watch as It slowly and painfully dies, as life leaves It's body with each drop of blood, wants to heal It just to inflict the same fate over and over again.

Death sounds too merciful.

But Bagi is looking at you and as you look at Philza he also nods just once, Etoiles pats you in the shoulder and pushes you forward just a bit. You press your lips together, taking a deep breath.

You take your knife.

It makes no sound as you slashes It's throat.

It doesn't make you feel better, but it also doesn't make you worse so you take it as a victory.

Mike arrives seconds later, eyes still haunted as they have been since his return, but his smile is calculating, delighted and you are glad that at least you can give him that. He hands you the control of the explosives almost vibrating with excitement.

You all leave together, in deep silence.

Roier helps Jaiden carry Osito's body, Fit helps Tubbo carry Fred's body.

As you stand outside you look at Bagi.

You offer her the control of the explosives and you think you remember the smile she gives you, the way her eyes crinkle on the sides.

You hold her hand as the Federation burns. Roier joins you on the other side, squeezing your hand like a life line.

It's the warmest you have felt in a very long time.

[shblackwoodart]

boom

[afairerplace]

Thinking once again about Solar Power (the album) and how well it captures the experience of being in one's twenties and trying to figure out how to live one's own particular life well

[neonflxme]

Work In Progress ;)

[avalynlestrange]

Foolish One {Sneak Peak}

A/N: This is such a cute gif

Draco Malfoy x Reader, Theodore Nott x Reader

Category: Angst, unrequited love, toxic situationship, best friends to lovers?,

Summary: Where you know you’re being foolish in liking Draco but will you finally learn your lesson? Theodore certainly hopes you do.

This is now a finished fic you can find if you click here.

[pomellon]

this anon would kill for mistletoe kiss 3 with either of the boys as a or b with himbros dragons also belated happy birthday I hope it was as wonderful as you are

Himbros for you, my fav dudebros <3 Lightly based on the whole plot point of Punz having to court Foolish, but Foolish just ends up courting him right back uwu

[heartcircus]

i hope ros truly stops caring about dying which . tbf she kinda has stopped as of late but if she's able to trap pangi i know he'll kill her in return and it'd be cool to see her just no longer minding walking into her death

[ducksbyday]

I'm in da car omw to work and I am bored

Here is a random list of QSMP Headcanons that I have. Most of them don't have any logic, it just kinda developed and now it's burned in my brain.

- Gegg is actually a parasite and Charlie is it's host.

- Q!Foolish, being a totem, has the ability to charge up depleted totems of undying. He also has the ability to completely deplete totems of their power, making them no longer work (he pulled this on étoiles once).

- Q!foolish can sense when a totem pops, even it it happens very far away from him.

- Q!Étoiles was apart of the Eggpire, and was present during the Red Banquet where he worked as security guard. (perhaps he was that strange figure we kept seeing and never figured out who it was)

- Q!BBH (and Q!étoiles) always check the ceilings of rooms for bloodvines, a habit they kept from their time in the eggpire.

- Tales of the SMP episode "The village that went mad" is the predicessor of the QSMP Island. The people of that episode were the previous citizen of the island. (democratic rat = cucurucho)

- Q!Antoine tells everyone that he's best friends with people that he in reality has never met before. He menaged to convince multiple people that he used to be in Wilbur soot first band (the one before lovejoy)

- Everyone believes Q!Wilbur is currently on tour. He's not. He's in fact not on the island because he's "recruiting" new citizen for on the Island.

- Q!étoiles is basically blind without his glasses, but he will still absolutely fuck you up without them.

- Q!Pac has incredible intuition and can sense exactly when and where something is about to go wrong. The only problem is that he continuesly gaslights himself into believing he's wrong, so he doesn't actually do anything to stop the events from happening.

- The Ordo Theoritas have something called a "Maxo bot" which is basically siri/Google home, but Maximus. It gets used to quickly get access to obtained information, find people's locations and check who is & isn't online

Might add more lol