Got tagged by @jlavisant. Talking about myself positively is a major weakness of mine though .w.;
Rule: you absolutely cannot use self-deprecating expressions/terms. Self-degrading humor is also prohibited.😉
1. Things that you like about yourself: Physically, I like my legs, and my hands? I think my hands look nice,and I like painting my nails to sort of pamper them. I have really good nails that have been complimented before even when they’re bare. I also love my hair, now that I’ve been embracing my natural curls and know how to take care of it properly so it doesn’t look like a frizzy mess like it was for the majority of my childhood.
2. Things that you are proud you did: I’m proud that I was able to make, sort of a career I guess, out of doing what I love to do, on my own terms.
3. Things you created/made/built and love: There’s this wooden box I have that I made in highschool woodshop that I use to store my tea. I love it, I think I got a good grade on it too, probably a B?
4. Talents of yours: Obligatory I have a talent for drawing? (Its not a talent though, its a skilllll??) I’m good at remembering absolutely useless trivia about video games.
5. Qualities of yours: I’m told I give good advice, so i guess, that
6. Simple domestic thingies of life that make you feel good: Cooking and baking, I just love making all sorts of food
Snuggling with Runi on cold days, or close but barely touching cuddles when it’s too hot.
7. Characters that make you happy (bonus points for pics): ya’ll fuckers already know
Haurchefant Fortempts – FFXIV
Ardyn Izunia – FFXV
I’m gonna tagggggg
lessee
@widdle@hlkproductions @thecoffeeaddictedshortcake (ya’ll dont have to do it though) And anyone else who wants to fill this out
Rule: you absolutely cannot use self-deprecating expressions/terms. Self-degrading humor is also prohibited.😉
1. Things that you like about yourself: Body-wise, I love how I still somehow have really soft skin. And my Blue Eyes, also because its my fave color xD; I also like how I can get my friends to have a good laugh x3
2. Things that you are proud you did: I’m proud that I was able to progress as far as I have, with writing/roleplaying, and art alike. But I still have a long way to go 😀
3. Things you created/made/built and love: There’s two mesh and wire statues I made in Sculpture class during my Highschool years. I no longer have them, but they were of Mieu from Tales of the Abyss, and Draggy from Chrono Cross ❤ Mieu is in my deviantart gallery, Draggy I never got to post a picture of D:
4. Talents of yours: I believe I have a talent for art, but its also a skill I’m trying to hone and practice with whenever I get the chance x3 I also have a weird talent with odd facts, small stuff I remember, and anything anime, video games, etc.
5. Qualities of yours: Making good coffee, and being able to make others laugh, sometimes almost to crying XD;
6. Simple domestic thingies of life that make you feel good: Making coffee, and enjoying the smell of it when its brewing in the pot~
7. Characters that make you happy (bonus points for pics):
FF15: Gladiolus Amicitia, and Ravus Nox Flueret (Ardyn also but he’s a complicated one >w>;; )
as you get older, you realize that you’re not always right and there’s so many things you could’ve handled better, so many situations where you could’ve been kinder and all you can really do is forgive yourself and let your mistakes make you a better person.
Matt Mercer as DM: “You bisect the enemy, spilling it’s entrails across the floor. You bathe in its blood as you hear the pieces of its body hit the floor with a wet squelch behind you *makes squelching noise*”
Griffin McElroy as DM: “And then you just cut the dang thing in half. Are you happy? You literally cannot ‘non-lethally’ cut something in half. It’s super dead now”
// So I ended up collaborating with my McCree for my McSombra Gift Exchange! My giftee is @shadowathighnoon Sorry I kept you waiting Lovely! I hope you like it! <3//
“Sueltame pendejo!”
A sinister chuckle, the sort of chuckle that sent shivers down your spine, was the response to such heated words, as though the anger that colored her tone was nothing more than a broma. Soon enough he’d learn his mistake. Her cerulean hues were narrowed in anger as she struggled against the vice-like grip of her would be captor, her slender hands balled into fists in her effort to free herself.
“Te lo juro que te arrepentiras de ponerme las manos encima de mi!” she growled, her hues trailing their surroundings.
“I don’t speak Mexican, chica. But I know the boss’ll be mighty happy when I bring you in. The famous Los Muertos hacker… Never thought she’d be a little girl. Not with the trouble you’ve caused.”
Oh, he thought she was trouble before? What a rude awakening he was in for.
“Vete a la mierda cabron!”
With a well placed stamp of her foot, she was able to shock the man into releasing her and then, she was off, running as though her life depended upon it. And as far as she knew, it did. The time for games was gone. There was much more at stake than she could know or comprehend.
Though the man was larger than she was, she was a nimble thing. And no one knew Dorado as well as she did. This was her pais, her home. Even if she’d lost her true family to the Omnic Crisis, she’d found a new one in Los Muertos. And she wasn’t about to lose them again.
The streets and alleyways of Dorado rushed by as she ran, slipping between people. She could hear him shouting after her, could hear the cries of the people he knocked around in his attempt to reach her. Letting out a growl of annoyance, she ducked down an alley, slipping through a boarded up window so that she could hide. The building was a familiar one, a safe house of the gangs that she’d used on more than one occasion to hideout.
Slowly, she moved to back further into the building, her heart racing as she kept a watchful eye on the small entrance she’d slipped through. It was then that she became aware of the fact that she wasn’t alone. Slowly, her gaze shifted to the darkest reaches of the room, confusion taking hold of her sharp features.
“Quien demonios eres tu?”
Inward he took a breath, a steady inhale through lips parted around a cigarette. A bad habit that would more than likely kill him. But it was one he couldn’t kick; like the city around him. He always came back
Dorado. When he first had entered this world of a city that was stuck both in the past, and the ever growing future. He was a child then, eyes wide and mouth agape staring in wonder at the lights that were a brilliant array around him. The sounds of music, dogs, and weeping remembrance of death. The stench of piss that came from a drunkard’s shriveled cock; ammonia and tequila being the aroma that wafted upward. Where the man had pissed near all over himself. The Gringo from America always seemed to find a dog to take the drunkard’s place. Beyond that it was the luring smell of food. Ripe spices being churned into a rich batter of corn and wheat. To the perfume that clung to a youth desperate to run and be in the arms of her forbidden lover. Music was the lyrical heartbeat that pulsates within the city. It didn’t matter how far he was from a six-string; the hum of a spanish guitar seemed to be constant. Dorado had been a city of strange mesmerizing beauty, and deadly promise. But, Dorado always repaid him in one way or another.
God how the city didn’t change, despite the years of not being in the city.
Smoke
Grey and slow as it trailed upward; his eyes the color of burnt amber watched the lazy tendrils that twisted above his head. The grey smoke was the death brand to an addiction. The acidic poison that would burn him from the inside out, like the cigarette that hung between his lips. A slow inhale came, and an exhale through his nostrils. Adding to the slow twisting smoke above his head, casting the man in the black hat in a haze of tobacco and nicotine.
:McCree. Location. Where is the informant?! Do you have eyes on them?
Eyes on the informant? Well, not entirely. But he could hear her. He never came to Dorado unless the city had reason to pay him. This case, he was being paid to find a person. Track them down, and obtain information from them. Locating the woman was not a simple feat to accomplish. He had spent days searching the streets. Each corridor within those desolate backroads seemed to leave him nowhere. He finally managed to find his break on a bitter man spitting, and hissing about a woman that matched the desired description. Like a wolf on the hunt, he trailed the weak creature that searched for the woman. Like the prowling wolf, he waited, and listened. Outside the simple hovel he listened to the struggle within. The heavy breathing could have been mistaken for more, more than a scuffle. But that passing thought was disrupted at the severity of hissed words, the final spat of hate towards one another.
:McCree?! Do you come in? Do you have location on the target?
In his ear the low growl reminded him to answer, and bringing a gloved finger to press against the mechanical piece of tech wrapped to his ear.
“Keep yer’ shirt on, Boss. I have her in my sighs. Jus’ waitin’ on the right moment,” His response was as low and slow as the many exhales that came around his cigarette.
:Don’t fuck this up Kid.
The unseen man over the radio frequency demanded of him, only for silence to follow. Fuck it up? He didn’t plan on it. Not for how long it had taken to find her, where he could have been in a bar drowning out memories that always came back in unwanted dreams.
He had been over the threshold of the small hovel. Atop the grating of a metal roof that was unstable and shoddy at best. He was sure as the sun burned hot that if they had not left from being within the threshold that the slab of metal would have fallen down on top of them. Activity became quick and heavy as the target fled from the hovel. She was quick, lithe like a doe that loped to be free from danger that loomed over her. From being crouched above, waiting with knees bent uncomfortably, he came down to the hard ground. Boots hit the pavement, and he gave chase after her. She went through the streets quick, agile as the cats that chased after mice. Where she had been three strides ahead of him, he was fast to follow at her shadow. Did she know of him? Did she sense he lurked behind her? Even as she finally found solace, and sanctuary?
She had passed into the safety of a home, small and simple. Modest by standards of the city. Defenses were limited from what he gathered. Locked doors, weak windows, and likeliness of tech didn’t seem evident. Searching around the simple shelter, it wasn’t hard to find a door with a lock that trembled to his hand. A quick shove of a broad shoulder against it, and it easily swung inward. Darkness fell heavily over his shoulders, cloaking him in darkness and offering him the shroud that came with the shadows. The hallway was short as he followed it forward, listening through the walls covered in plaster. He could hear her; close and within the shadows itself that his amber eyes searched for. Finally the shadows gave birth to her. Through the darkness he saw her.
Barely in the light that managed to pierce through shuttered windows, he could see her. The olive skin damp with perspiration. Her hair loose, and tousled from the mad sprint she had taken at. Every breath she took his eyes watched the fluttering flinch of muscles that quivered beneath her flesh. Her heavy breathing rasping in the air, her eyes wide and searching to ensure she had arrived alive. Perhaps though it were the closeness that they had finally become that her skin began to prickle. Where her eyes so vivid, and expressive searched for him. That he stood in the shadows that the weak flickering lights from beyond the window couldn’t pierce. Where night offered him a chance to do what Blackwatch taught him. Hunt as a predator and make the predator become the prey.
Her words caught him as odd, and strangely amusing. In the shadows that were darka round his face; he smirked at the situation. She had been accosted by a man that was bitter against her. Wanting to cause harm where she likely had stiffed him on a deal. Yet she had gotten away, feeling confident. Only for her to realize someone else had been there all along.
But he released a breath that had been held in his chest, and answered her question that had been there. “Yeah, been here a while Darlin’,” He spoke with warmth deep in his voice. If the southern sun needed a human vessel it was the man that slowly stepped into view of the dim light. “Ah, ease there. I mean you no harm…” He had heard the scuffle she had with the man previous, and he was damned sure that she could fling hands that could be daggers. Still, he edged closer to her as the lion tamer did the beast in cages.
“Ease. Jus’ need some information from you. I truly mean you no harm, ‘kay?” He repeated words he had spoken just prior. Easing closer to her, but still ready to take stance should she prove dangerous. “I’m assumin’ yer’ Sombra? Well nice to meet’cha, now if you’ll be sweet as strawberry wine. I’ll need you to come with me.” His hands were raised; a symbol and sign that meant he meant little of harm to her. However he paused to lift one hand upward, fingers touching his hat in greeting to her. He had to have been a strange mixture of a man to her. Coming to her in the mid of night. Clothed in black, and holding his hands up in peace. Though, the waiting colt at his hip said otherwise. He still waited, he still edged closer with every throbbing pulse of his heart in his chest.
It was as though time froze in that moment. There was little window of opportunity for her to escape. She had no means of getting away. Not from this man. The only hope she had was to try and get to the window she’d come in through before he could get to her. He was a smart one to have avoided her detection until now. She was normally attentive, aware of her surroundings and any who’s attention she might attract. THis last run in had been far too close for her to take her normal precautions. Now she was paying the price for that. Had he been following her this entire time? There was no way to be sure. Her sapphire hues were wide with a mixture of fear and worry as they searched the darkness for him. How ironic that she should fear that which she had become; la Sombra.
She moved to push back the damp hair that had fallen forward in her haste to escape, her hues narrowing as she tried to hide the fear she felt. It was much too late for that, however. He would have seen it by now, would have accounted for it in the approach he finally made. She slowed her breathing as she moved to bring a slender hand to rest on her hip, canting her head as he finally spoke. The time to escape had passed. She had no choice now but to face him head on and hope that she was smarter than he was.
His tone was warm, almost comforting in nature. Like a warm sunrise. Que raro… Raro mas was the way he was dressed. She watched as he slowly moved to step out of the shadows, the light falling upon him as he sought to comfort her with his words. The hat he wore was reminiscent of a cowboys. As were his boots and his overall demeanor. Was it all an act or was this truly his personality?
“Y como voy a saber si dejas la verdad?” She moved to arch a thin brow as she watched him, intrigued by the fact that he persisted with his approach. Something about him made her want to trust him and yet… When she lived in a world of traicion y muerte… How could she? She had never been one to trust a person on first sight. Hell she wasn’t one to trust anyone. Period.
She tensed once more at his words, at the mention of /information/. “No soy dulce… You’ll find that out soon enough. Informacion es poder… /Vaquero?/ What makes you think that you or your /jefe/ have earned it?” Her slender hand moved to her hip where her machine pistol rested, ready to draw it should she feel he was moving to attack. She watched as he revealed what he knew of her. If he knew her name, he knew her reputation. And still he had come to take her in. “Asume correctamente. Y tu? Como se llamas, huh?”
She watched as he moved to lift his hands in a sign of peace, something that contrasted with his words. She scoffed as she moved to shake her head, damp purple curls brushing against her cheek as she did so. “And why the hell would I do something as stupid as that, hm? I have no idea who you are or who you work for. For all i know, you could be working for the man I just escaped from. No te creo, Vaquero. Perdoname pero… I’m not going anywhere with you.” She moved to draw her weapon then, aiming it at him. She had no intentions of shooting him, but she wanted him to stop moving closer. Her heart raced in her chest as she watched him, her jaw clenching. She could only hope that the presence of her weapon would convince him of the danger she could truly pose.
“Que te quedas donde estas, por favor. I would hate to get blood on that lovely hat of yours.”
And yet the opportunity was not lost upon the Hacker. If someone was looking for her, had /hired/ someone to track her down, there was no other conclusion to come to; she was getting close to the truth. Which meant this man had to know something. Or he would be the first step for her to get to those who /did/ know the truth. Either way, she would find out. As the opportunity presented itself, her violet lips curved into a smirk. Slowly, she moved to close the distance between them, her machine pistol pressing to his waist as she canted her head at him once more. “Pero usted… You’re going to tell me /everything/. Starting with the name of your jefe.”
If she ran, he’d chase. If she tried to fight, he would have to subdue her. There wasn’t a question of letting her go, letting her run off into the night. They. They being the ones that held the leash to the collar that was shackled to his neck. His objective was simple, and here she was in front of him. Moments passed; silent moment before she spoke to him. A thick purr of words to his ear. Slow rolling R’s that that showed itself smoother than black velvet beneath the glow of an amber flame. She had to have friends nearby, they had to have been listening for her. This wasn’t a simple ask to follow, and comply. No one like Her would simply allow without friends knowing where she was, or at least enemies keeping tab. Seconds that passed meant that others would be aware of their location. That much closer to finding them… Securing the informant was superlative. Failure was not an option, not for him, not for any man that once walked with Deadlock Gang and into the thick of territory full of Los Meurtos.
“Right Darlin. I understand, you think I’m some Gringo walkin’ in here demandin’ you come peacefully.” Words were followed with him walking closer. Each step was measured by the inches he took till he found the air full of soap, and perfume from her skin, to the hint of salty sweat that lingered. “Now listen to me, we aren’t safe standin’ here. I had to chase yeh’ this far to find you, just for a conversation. My Boss will happily be wantin’ to talk to you. No harm will come to you, ‘n that I promise. I’ll risk even my left arm if that’d make you feel some peace.”
She wanted him to stay there. To stand where he was and allow for her to run off, be gone like a sigh in the wind. But the firearm that she had present, could rip him apart… if she managed to wrap her hands to the grip fast enough. Fast enough; his fingers reflexively curled an action of readiness to pull the revolver at his hip. The man that held the leash to the chain around his neck, would surely be furious would she be delivered injured. However, should she become a risk, he could wager a reason for why a bullet wound to the shin to be a valid reason. But his mind flinched from the thoughts of completing such an action. Dangerous or not, the thought of injuring a woman or dare bringing their life to a violent end twisted his gut painfully. No; he couldn’t risk her blood being spilt. On some unspoken law of a gunman, he refused to allow that to happen or transpire. Out her breathed, a steady sigh and a following motion of his hand beckoning for calm.
“Please, Darlin. I’m jus’ here to do my job ‘n make sure yer’ safe. I really don’ feel like having my ass chewed out by my Boss,” if a man could be charming in a moment where he stood on the edge of a precipice that ended with the edge of a gun’s barrel pointed towards him, this was it. He tried to smile. Upward lift of his lips, and a show of a woflish-grin. But it quickly faltered and whiskey-toned eyes left the woman that were few short feet from him.
The key to survival was having all surroundings cued into. Attention paid to the smallest of things from the rat that was outside the door skittering around in a crumpled wrapper. The dog that barked at the cat atop the fence. The woman that was across the street making food for a family that eagerly awaited a worthwhile dinner. The world beyond the shelter he had followed her too had fallen silent. The dog whimpered, and cowered away from the cat that audibly hissed in protest and fear. The rat? Probably huddled behind vomit encrusted filth. His eyes searched through the slatted blinds that obscured his vision from pinpointing what had caused the sudden silence. It was the shadow that stretched along the wall of the conjoined building littered with glistening graffiti. One- two-three- four… six… Either it had become a hydra twisting from the shadows distorted, and disfigured as the nightmare they were. Or, it was something of a threat that he had to be ready to deal with. The shape of the weapons became apparent. .
From the low rumble that his voice had been, warm as a summer sunset. It became quiet. Dangerous, yet a steady calm of a trained man, “I need you to be quiet, and calm. I’m going to draw my weapon. Someone’s outside yer’ door. Need yeh to work with me.” Briefly had his eyes cut away from the door that he had been trained on, than it were kicked open.
Inward the door clattered against the wall, breaking the plaster into crumbling sheets. The men that made movement to storm in were not trained. Their clothing gave them away as no one of military standing. The jerseys showing some football team they followed with the large printed numbers across the flimsy material. The chains that hung around their neck, and the dark ink of tattoos across their faces and necks. The Vaquero had seconds to respond. The latch along the holster at his thigh was quickly flipped, and in the heat and grip of his palm was the revolver. Upward his arm was lofted, the iron sites of the weapon quickly leveled to the shadowy head of one, then two, three. A succession of trigger pulls came with every time the arm turned to the next. The curled metal of the trigger a familiar feel, the squeezing action bringing a responsive recoil of the weapon to his hand and forearm. Practiced muscle kept the weapon that he held at deadly accuracy from faltering. To the bullets that exited the weapon, blood splattered the air. Thick droplets painting the stone colored walls a dark crimson that could have been ink black in the night. Their heads snapped backward, then forward with a lazy lull of their chins touching their chests as life left them and they fell downward to the ground. Three bodies, three names, three more lives to be added to his gun.
“Move, move, move! Lets go, now!” He yelled over gunfire that erupted inside.
His hand came forward, grabbing the informant’s arm. He pulled her behind him, pushing, forcing her to move with the weight of his body that pushed her down the hall. Bullets dug into the walls around him. Light Bulbs from overhanging light fixtures burst from the deadly impact of the gunfire. Glass and sparking electricity rained down onto the canvas of his hat. In the adrenaline infused movement that came from retreating to cover, he felt it in the thick of muscle, against his shoulder blade three bullets that punctured his flesh. No man could ignore the pain that came from a bullet wound. But he could ignore faltering and buckling beneath that searing burn of metal capsules that found a warm embrace of flesh and blood.
The Vaquero was a persistent one, of that she was certain. It was in those amber hues of his; defiance and a desire to accept the challenge her capture offered. And yet there was no malice in him. She wasn’t sure just how she knew that, but she did. He was a true caballero, a rarity in the times they found themselves in. He was rough around the edges though, something evidenced by his Southern drawl and the wolfish curve of his lips. He’d seen his fair share of violence, something she would investigate once she made it out of this sticky situation she’d found herself in.
“I wonder, Vaquero… Are you in the habit of making promises you can’t keep?” she purred, a nicked brow lifting as she held his gaze. “No harm will come to me by /your/ hand… But can the same be said of your compadres?” Her gaze flitted to his arm, a flicker of confusion marring her sapphire hues at the reference. Her gaze shifted back to his as he spoke once more, attempting to charm her into submission. Pobrecito. He clearly didn’t understand just how stubborn the Hacker could be. He persisted, urging her to relax, to allow him to do his job and get on with it. He was a handsome one. And had she been in a better mood, she may have indulged him. But there was something in those whiskey hued eyes of his, something that made that debonair smile fall from his lips. His body tensed before her as silence fell around them.
“… Vaquero…” The word was issued on a whisper, her lithe frame tensing as his gaze took in whatever threat loomed behind her. Whatever he saw outside wasn’t good. For either of them. His tone had shifted, the Caballero disappearing to be replaced by the Vaquero. The air around him seemed to shift as he spoke, almost darkening in a sense. Everything in her urged her to run, to not trust him. How could she know this wasn’t a trap? Once more she took note of his features, at how focused he had become, at the deep timbre of his voice, the sincerity lacing his tone even as concentration furrowed his brow. She offered him a curt nod as the sound of splintering wood broke the silence.
She thought she was quick, but she was nothing compared to the man who stood before her. No sooner had the mercs stormed the room than he had drawn his weapon and fired off a few rounds. The metallic scent of blood filled the air as the sickening sound of metal crashing through flesh and bone echoed around them. The sound of their bodies hitting the floor was soon followed by a chorus of gunfire. She ducked at the sound of it, feeling the bullets as they whizzed through the air around them. They had to move, and fast. Lucky for her that the Vaquero had the same idea.
She found herself pushed behind his broad frame, the warmth of his grip on her arm causing her brow to furrow. She was a little thing, a far harder target to hit than he was. And still he shielded her, ushering her down the hallway and further from their assailants. The sound of destruction erupted around them as they open fired upon the safehouse, Sombra flinching as errant bits of debris bounced against her. The muffled sound of bullets burrowing into flesh echoed in her ears as the scent of /his/ blood burned in her nostrils. “/Mierde./” Still he pressed on, forcing them down another hallway so that they had some semblance of cover.
It was her turn to catch hold of him, her gaze holding his as she yanked him flush against her. Her freehand reached for a glowing purple light at her hip, her heart racing in her chest as she moved to throw it out the nearby window. Her gaze lifted to his as she held him close.
“Confia en mi.”
She could hear the approaching footsteps, could hear the gunfire drawing closer even as she allowed her hues to flutter shut. The mercs rounded the corner, guns lifting towards the pair. As the first round of bullets tore through the air, the pair began to pixelate into bright purple light. And just like that, they were gone.
They reappeared several feet outside of the safehouse, the sound of gunfire echoing down to them as she moved to release him.
“No pierdas tiempo. We have to /move/.”
She caught hold of his arm to yank him towards a nearby alley, tugging him further into the darkness of its shadows. Her heart was hammering in her chest, adrenaline coursing through her veins as her gaze shifted to his once more.
“Asombrarse… Do you always cause this much trouble or am I just lucky?”
Shaking her head, her gaze shifted to where the blood had begun to seep through the fabric of his shirt. Guilt flickered across her sharp features at the sight of it. He’d taken a few rounds for her, a desconocida… Why? Swallowing slowly, she clenched her jaw.
“I know a place. It’s off the grid. Completamente. If I take you there… Don’t make me regret it. Me entiende?”The barrel of her machine pistol pressed to his ribcage as she held his gaze. “You may have saved my ass back there, but I’m not in the habit of making friends. Nor am I about to surrender to you and your jefe. I’m gonna patch you up, and we’re going to forget this even happened. Esta de acuerdo? Por que si no, tell me now and I’ll save myself the headache of dragging your lifeless body from the building.”
The words were harsh and she only meant about 50% of them, but she had to get her point across. Things had become far more dangerous than she had accounted for. She couldn’t afford any liabilities. And that was what the Vaquero would soon become. She was a creature of stealth, working in the shadows. Out of sight and never detected. He was far too /loud/. She was going to regret this.
“Vamanos, Vaquero.”
The machine pistol was holstered as she moved to step away from him, giving him room to move so that he could follow her further down the alley. There was a jalopy waiting there, black and nondescript. She motioned for him to get in before she started it.
“Don’t let appearances fool you, this car has gotten me through its fair share of scraps. It’s never let me down.” There was something akin to affection in her gaze as she moved to pat the dashboard. Letting out a soft chuckle, she moved to pull out of the alley. They still had a ways to go before they were out of harm’s way…
Ahhh what an amazing contribution! You two should write a fanfic together – I bet it would be great! Thank you for participating in the event and thank you to your partner for helping out as well! I hope you two had fun! <33
no offense but like…..reblog the fics you like. there is nothing more discouraging than having people read your fic without leaving kudos or any form of response. comment if you like it! send them a message! use the tags to talk about how you liked it! share the work so that others can read it too!
too often fic writers deal with people hounding them for updates, but never any feedback. end the cycle. reblog the fics you like. talk about them. share them.
McSombra Valentine’s exchange, here’s me at the deadline frantically trying to finish one of the lovely prompts from @navochao ! But I did a thing!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
She looked down at their hands, fingers casually slotted together as though this were the sort of thing they did every day. The copper of her skin almost glowed against the tan of his, her palm fitting quite neatly in his own. He didn’t even seem to be paying any attention to the fact that he was holding her hand, almost oblivious in that country-charm way of his. He just kept walking, and she could either disrupt foot traffic by stopping or just go along.
She went along.
She wasn’t entirely sure about him, not yet. Jesse McCree was still a bit of a mystery, even after all these months and apparently at the point of allowing herself to be dragged to a farmer’s market. She was beginning to feel a bit foolish – he had said he needed her help with something, and she had assumed it had something to do with…well, you know, information.
She had learned a little about him, true. He favored southwestern food, liked a little bit of spice. He had a good eye for produce, a skill she herself had never quite been able to develop. And he was friendly. Well, sure, he was an approachable enough man in the daytime, all broad muscle and laughing eyes and the rogueish tilt to his cowboy hat, but this was different. Knowing some of the stall vendors by name, asking after others. ‘Jake’, it would seem, was a regular.
She’d have been blind to miss the inquisitive glances at their hands. He seemed oblivious to the fact, gesturing with the prosthetic well enough, his voice never faltering.
He must have been a much better actor that she had initially figured.
When they approached the outskirts of the market, she seized his arm, dragging him to an alleyway. To his credit, he merely followed along, letting her back him against a wall and entirely nonplussed when she glared at him.
“Darlin’, if this is some kinda shakedown…”
“This would all be much easier if you just told me what you were looking for already, you know.”
There was a slight twitch upwards at the corners of his mouth. “I did say I needed help with a couple things, didn’t I?”
An irritated sigh, as she crossed her arms under her chest. “Sí, and here you are, worrying about produce. This is some kind of cover, right?”
“Well, all right, then. There is someone I’m watching. But I’m pretty sure they’d notice you watching them.”
She bristled a little at that. “I’ve probably spent more time doing surveillance than you have, I bet. What’s the target?”
He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. He fiddled with the screen for a moment, before offering it to her. She grabbed it out of his hand, torn between continuing to give him a dirty look or to actually see what it was he was after. Finally, her eyes darted down to the screen, her brow knitting as she scowled at the phone. “It’s just the front camera. What is it, like the first picture or something?”
“Depends on whether or not you take one, I guess.”
She gave him a bit of a puzzled look, though the warm hand curling under her chin to tilt her face up nothing if not forward. He tasted faintly of cigar smoke, though he’d considerately refrained from having one during their afternoon together. His beard was coarse against her skin, but she found it not entirely unpleasant, the touch of his mouth against hers hard enough to be assertive – yes, this was indeed what he wanted to do – but she knew if she were to step away, she would be completely free.
Instead, a hand threaded its way into his hair, determined to not let him have his way with this moment, kissing him back with no small amount of interest. She may have started a bit when the heavy metal of his prosthetic slid onto her hip, but she moved to him, not away from him.
She never admit to being a little bit breathless when he pulled back, and certainly never acknowledge the flutter of something small and hopeful inside her. The hand in his hair drifted down, to rest against his chest, if only to satisfy her curiosity. It was nice to know her heart wasn’t the only one beating a little face. Still, she found herself unable to look up at him. “…where does this go, vaquero?”
“Well…” He leaned back against the wall, fingers tweaking the brim of his hat upwards, letting him look at her. “Doesn’t have to go anywhere, I reckon, but I was thinking dinner might be a start.”
She huffed at him, looking up to see a smirk on his face. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“Why’s it always have to be about something with you? It was a nice moment, one I wouldn’t mind trying again sometime, but only if you’ll let me.”
“I bet your friends would make a big deal out of it.”
“Yours probably wouldn’t be too thrilled, either.”
She shrugged slightly, taking a step away from the warmth of his body. “I’m not sure any of them are ever really happy.”
“You could be.”
She laughed, the sound unexpectedly bright. “I’m beginning to see why they call you a charmer.”
“Only just now?” He sighed. “Must be losing my touch.”
“Maybe I’ll let you practice on me sometime.”
A grin, slow and steady, settled onto his face. “Pretty sure I’d like that, darlin’.”
Guess who came home? ❤︎ Also this is the first time in years I’ve actually inked the lineart separately, wow.. Art blog: questionartbox [Commission Info] [Ko-Fi] [Society6]
I envy soft glassblowers. If Flameworkers want to do this we need a lathe or hand tools that havent been in production since 2003 and thus have to be made custom. >.< *shakes punty at them*
I really loved Thor Ragnarok and I’m not tired of drawing fan stuff yet so I chose Loki for today’s animation practice. I actually wanted to animate Thor doing something stupid as a counterpart but ran out of time; maybe later 😀
Exactly what it says. Since my scanner is being special and won’t connect to my computer, I wanted to upload at least something else for the month! Anyways, alternate version of those Nitro+ style chibis that were also turned into straps last year. I believe AmiAmi still has some boxes with them, but don’t quote me on it.
See ya next month. Going to try to be back with more than just one scan! *sweats*
If re-posting please credit to “flowermiko” at Tumblr or Twitter. DO NOT UPLOAD TO ZEROCHAN. Thank you and enjoy!
McCree is a lifeguard, watching from his post when he keeps noticing something in the water. After a few minutes, he finds Sombra coming up for air and examining a seashell. Her hair is purple, and slicked back with this sort of flawless, mermaid look.
He finds it fitting, she looks like she could steal his heart with a few words.
Sombra meets him later, after his shift and after he’s built up the courage to talk to the mysterious woman. He asks her out but she can’t help but find his straw hat fitting for his line of work. After a few smooth words, she doesn’t give him an answer, but tells him that she comes to this beach very often.
I hate the way we can’t just like or dislike things anymore. Everything has to be a debate. If you dislike a thing, you have to prove that it’s objectively bad, preferably by calling it whatever-ist or whatever-phobic. And if you like a thing, you better be prepared to defend that preference against people who’ll tell you it’s whatever-ist or whatever-phobic.
Screw that. I like things because I like them. I dislike things because I dislike them. I don’t have to justify anything if I don’t want to, and other people sure as hell don’t have to justify anything to me. It’s okay to like different things. That’s why the world is so full of stuff, so that there’s something in it for everyone.
I don’t know whether you wanted a fic, drawing, or headcanons for this idea…but since I recently haven’t had the energy to do much lately, I hope you don’t mind a small ficlet. Please let me know if you wanted something else.
Over the course of a year, McCree and Sombra have met coincidentally in that same bar and perhaps other locations. There wasn’t much exchanged besides a few casual pleasantries and flirtatious quips and glances. Nothing that warranted anything serious between the two. Still, meeting after meeting had the two feeling a sort of comfortable sentiment whenever they saw one another – especially if the place they happened to meet was Calaveras. It sort of felt like coming back home.
Come Christmas, the two find themselves in that fateful bar once again. However, Sombra’s having none of it. She grabs McCree by the hand and drags him out of the bar. He holds onto his hat, wary but still following along as he asks where they’re going and what it is she’s doing.
“We’re not strangers. Not completely, at least,” she winks at him. “Don’t you want to spend the holiday doing something else other than getting shitfaced?”
McCree loves his drink and considers nursing a tequila bottle a fine way to spend an otherwise pointless holiday. Still, he finds himself intrigued by the grin on this beauty’s face and that logical part of his brain is hushed by the part of him that longs for companionship of any kind.
He assumes the most natural thing at first – a casual fling. It’s expected, really. After so many encounters and light conversation with sensual undertones and a few bold comments, he figures sharing a bed for the evening is the most logical route.
Color him surprised when she ends up pulling him toward a restaurant instead. It’s no five-star shindig, that’s for sure. It’s some mom-and-pop place; small but full of that rustic charm he prefers over luxurious establishments.
She must see something akin to disappointment on his face when she hums in amusement. “Expecting something else?”
“Ah, no ma’am, I’m just-”
“Hope you’re hungry. Do you like enchiladas?”
His stomach is used to bad diner food so he won’t say no to a decent meal. The meal is fine but the company is even better. They share a bottle of tequila and he’s feeling a warm buzz. He swears that smile she’s flashing him was made for his eyes alone to witness.
When they leave, she buys them both a cup of champurrado as they wander over to one of the old seaside bases from colonial times. They sneak past the guard and sit along one of the edges, staring out at the dark sky stretching over the ocean. The sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs below and glittering of stars overhead creating a rather romantic atmosphere. He sips at his beverage, eyes wandering over this strange woman’s form every few seconds. He tells himself it’s because he’s trying to figure out her motive. But his heart knows it’s because he can’t keep his eyes off such a gorgeous sight.
“Thanks,” he finally says. “Can’t remember the last time I did something other than drink on Christmas.”
“De nada,” she replies. “Maybe next year I’ll even have a present for you.”
He raises a brow. “Next year?”
“Sure. If I get to know you better. Don’t want to get you something you don’t like,” she says. She’s staring out at the ocean but the grin on her lips tells him she’s fully invested in this conversation.
McCree fingers the brim of his hat, lowering it until his eyes are hidden by shadow. “I’d say getting to know you would be more than enough of a gift.”
“That’s nice,” she begins. “But I’d still get you something.”
A breathy laugh leaves his throat. “Alright then.”
“I’ll see you around?” she asks, standing.
“Yeah…I’ll see you around.”
“Adios.”
He blinks and with that, she’s gone. He’s confused only for a moment before he decides he doesn’t want to be. He’s had too nice of an evening to ruin with mysteries. Instead, he tugs his serape further up his neck to avoid the sudden chill of the winter night and looks out at the ocean, sipping leisurely at his beverage. And as he does, he can’t help but note that it’s as sweet as the impression of her on his lone soul.
1. It helps people who have a low sense of self-worth and makes them see themselves through the eyes of someone who would stick by them no matter what.
2. It’s a valid form of self-love.
3. People can use it as a coping method (example: someone still living in an abusive household and are unable to escape so they take solace in their favorite fictional world), or as a simple comfort method.
4. It can literally save lives.
5. There is no risk of infidelity, heartbreak, or even abuse and venereal diseases.
6. People can be legitimately attracted to fictional characters.
7. There’s no obligation to disregard your own feelings just to keep them happy or sacrifice important ambitions to stay with them.
8. Some people use the idea that their fave will be proud of them if they reach a certain goal as motivation.
9. For some people, self-shipping can help them find themselves.
10. It’s 100% harmless.
Oh, and contrary to what antis believe, self-shippers actually CAN distinguish reality from fiction, so miss us with that tired old argument.
I don’t know why I thought of this but I pictured Sombra catching a virus that causes her screens to pop up randomly and one day she’s talking to Reaper and all of a sudden her screens start popping up with pictures of Mccree.
Kind of like that old meme where pictures spill out of person A’s jacket of person B after A said they hated B.
“…what are those doing in my drive?! I didn’t…wait Gabe, listen…”
*pic pops up of McCree sleeping on the couch, half naked*
A Sneep expression dump ½ ( second part will be posted sometime during this weekend )
Idk I just kinda felt my characters have always lacked emotion and I was bored af.
I’ve been doing research on why 1/3 of abuse victims become abusers. What’s so different about them?
Most but not all of the victims who tend to become abusers are abused and they are made to believe they are unloved and unwanted.
Most but not all of the victims who end up not becoming abusers do feel loved and wanted. Sometimes their abusive parents are nice to them. Sometimes their abusive parents love them. Those victims find it easier to NOT become abusers themselves. Mainly because they see clearly abuse vs love. They’re able to make comparisons between when their parents have done wrong and when their parents have done right.
There are also other factors like age the abuse started, how long and how strong it was, and then some.
It makes me wonder about Snape’s home life. I’m not saying Eileen didn’t love her son. But for whatever reasons (maybe she was too withdrawn cos of the abuse she might have been going through that she couldn’t actually show her son she loved him and so it made Sev feel unwanted)
I do wonder if Sev’s parents made him feel unwanted whether it was on purpose, unintentionally or both
I wonder how many muggle children he’d tried to befriend that rejected him due to various reasons from his looks to his not so refined social skills.
Before anyone says he wouldn’t have bothered to befriend muggle children he was prejudiced. Maybe. But:
A child starts wanting to be friends with people from a very young age. So it’s unlikely that Snape at say age 4 and in kindigarden had any fucking idea what was so bad about muggles. Most young children aren’t as sophistically prejudiced as adults are. Their prejudice is basic. I like you. I don’t like you. Whereas adults would have more complicated prejudices. By complicated prejudices we have the extremes like “cos your black” and we have the not so extremes like “you look high are you on mj” (said to me cos I have sleepy eyes naturally) or oh my gosh you are such a weirdo cos of xyz.
My point is I don’t think Snape was old enough to have complicated prejudices like muggles are bad cos of xyz. For Snape it was as simple as I like you. I don’t like you. If Petunia’s unwarranted reaction towards him is a reflection on other muggle children no wonder Snape wasn’t so keen on them.
Also even if Snape didn’t like muggle children most kids would want friends. If muggles were the only one’s avaliable then Snape would take whatever he could. He didn’t actually know about Lily until later on in life.
So yes I do think Snape tried to make friends with muggle children but they rejected him too.
Then at school the only friend who does want him. I wonder if Snape felt a little bitter that they were best friends yet she would hang out with people who didn’t like him.
Harry would NEVER spend time with people who hated Ron and Hermione. You either take him with his friends or you can fuck off.
I’m not saying Lily is a bad person but compare Lily to Harry and if Snape was bitter about it his bitterness makes sense.
But then Snape was hanging out with people who disliked Lily
So the real question is who started it?
Did Snape start hanging around with people who disliked Lily, causing Lily to not care if she hung out with people who disliked Snape?
Did Lily start hanging around with people who disliked Snape, causing Snape to not care if he hung out with people who disliked Lily?
Could it be that neither was being intentionally vengeful. Could it be that neither of them saw any issues in being friends with those who don’t like the other friend? That they thought that as long as they both liked each other that was enough? or at least they tried convincing themselves it didn’t matter if they hung out with friends who didn’t like the other friend but deep down believed otherwise, deep down they believed it did matter, but kept denying it until it all came to the shattering of their friendship?
Before anybody says Lily’s friends disliked Snape cos how he was such a shitty teen, that’s fanon. For all we know they could have despised Snape cos of his looks and cos he’s “snivellus”, we just don’t know for sure.
So if Lily is casually hanging around with people who see him as Snivellus can we blame Snape for not being loyal in making sure he hangs out with people who like Lily?
If it’s the other way round can we blame Lily?
The friendship between Lily and Snape is complicated. It also has a lot of infornation missing where its easy to put Snape in the bad guy category and Lily in the good girl category, or vice versa, without acknowledging multiple other factors. One possible factor being they were in different houses and wanted friends and to fit in with their housemates and before they knew it they were friends with those who didn’t like their other friend. It kinda just happened.
But in a nutshell I can feel Snape feeling unwanted by Lily sometimes.
So Snape feeling unloved and unwanted means he falls into the category of abuse victims who become abusers.
But then you have Harry who felt unloved and unwanted.
Well:
A) Harry was part of the minority. Most unloved and unwanted abuse victims go on to become abusers themselves. If Harry was part of the lucky lot who didn’t, good fucking on him.
B) Harry wasn’t unloved and unwanted his whole childhood. In fact he probably convinced himself his parents loved and wanted him. Then when he was 11 all these other people started to love him.
C) Harry’s friends wouldn’t spend time with those who wouldn’t let Harry hang out with them as well. That strong sense of loyalty is something neither Snape or Lily had for each other for whatever reason
D) Dudley was wanted so Harry had a comparison between abusive behaviour and loving behaviour
So Harry if I’m honest seemed a lot more loved and wanted than Snape ever did.
He rarely ever get’s really drunk, but enjoys drinking a little every now and then, as well as on special occasions.
If he does get drunk, he begins to rant, and speak his honest opinions, for once not disguising behind sarcasm.
He doesn’t necessarily become more affectionate, at least not physically, though he might slide in a few more compliments than usual.
He’s a comfortable drinking partner, and equally good in the mornings after, where he’ll always have a potion ready which will easily take care of whatever hangover symptoms you may have, wether it be a headache or full on head-in-the-toilet-if-you-speak-one-word-I-will-vomit-on-you. He’s got you covered.
Your best chances of getting him drunk is at parties and celebrations, mind you, he’ll rather die than be seen shit-faced by others, but he’ll occasionally get properly drunk.
He’s funny when he’s drunk and the giggle he lets out after he sluggishly tells some students to get in bed, trying to be stern but failing epically, is always enough to have you laughing as well.
The reason why ‘Always’ became iconic is because it’s pretty much the equivalent of -giving it all for love-. Basically, romanticism at it’s finest. And it creates more of an impact than ‘Until the very end’ because Snape was framed as being mean,cold, and incapable of feeling such an intense emotion as love. Meanwhile with James, Lily, Sirius, & Lupin we were told and shown that they did feel love & cared a lot for Harry so it’s not a twist or an interesting revelation. To me, ‘Until the very end’ is like the perfect love and ‘Always’ is a flawed love. And people can identify more with a flawed love coming from a flawed character than a perfect love especially when the perfect love comes from Harry’s “perfect” parents & parental figures that Harry doesn’t exactly see as flawed. ‘Always’ had an impact because it showed us a side of character nobody expected & I’m glad that it’s Snape’s legacy. He was complicated, complex, a man who was able to feel love despite all odds, & ‘Always’ ties that up in a nice goth bow.
But not because he died, exactly. It was because he was hailed as a hero when all he did was die trying to help fix his many mistakes. I wanted to see him survive his attack so he could get a proper redemption arc. A hard, long road where he realises that Harry Potter is not his father, that he is instead a kid who spent all his time trying to protect his loved ones in a world that did everything possible to impede him from doing so. I want him to realise, in an epiphany that knocks him breathless, that he spent the last seven years bullying an abused child, a child who thought that the magical world was an escape from pain and not another road towards it, a child who thought potions was fascinating and would have loved the class if the teacher didn’t spent every waking moment trying to make him miserable. I want him to go up to Harry, the words stuck in his throat as he tries to apologise, and instead tells him that he’s not cut out to be an auror, and hat he should do something he loves instead of feeling more pressure to “be the hero.” That he’s done his part. I want him to squirm guiltily that first year after the war at all the distrustful looks from other teachers. I want him to go up to assistant herbology Professor Longbottom and stammer out his regret that he’d treated Neville that way, that no matter how “atrocious” his potions, it is unacceptable that he was so horrid that he made a student terrified to come to class, that he tried to poison his pet. I want him to take points away from Slytherin when they deserve it, even though it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. I want him to reluctantly give points to Gryffindors when they brew a good potion, because even if it wasn’t perfect, it was the best in the class and for a kid who had never touched a cauldron before, it shows promise. I want him to look out for signs of abuse in ALL houses, not just his own, because Harry Potter had taught him that he couldn’t let his own bitterness influence his judgement, especially when his own childhood makes him aware of exactly what to look for. I want him to spend every day making penance in small acts, until decades later, when the students admit that he is gruff but fair and a good teacher, and when he has maybe not come out a hero but at least evened the scales, then and only then will he allow himself to retire to a quiet house in the country to make potions and suffer the occasional visit from professor McGonnagall to make sure he’s eating and taking care of himself.
Plischke, super strict, everyone was scared of him. Like I’m talking everyone came into class right at 8, no one ever came early, sat as far away from him as they could.
So my first class there, I came in early, I was the only one in the classroom, and I sat at the desk right beside his desk.
He walks in, looks at me, does a double take and goes “Have you heard of me?” I’m like “Yes.” He goes “And you’re not scared of me?” I’m like “Should I be?” He goes “Probably.” I’m like “Okay.” And didn’t move. That earned me some respect with him.
So a couple of weeks after class started I wound up getting sick and stayed home, and I watched a 3 hour documentary on the Black Death with my mom’s husband.
The very next day I go into class and Mr. Plischke goes “Who here can tell me about the Bubonic Plague?”
I’m like
So he looks at me like “wtf?!” cause he wasn’t expecting anyone to raise their hand. He goes “Okay, what is it?”
I gave him a very detailed description about what the Bubonic Plague was, what years it ran through, what caused it, what they thought the cures were, how many people it killed, and about certain quarantine zones. And he’s like
He had no idea what to do with this …. It’s like the fact that I knew what it was let alone gave him so much information completely derailed him.
I earned the nickname “The Plotter” in that class because he always assumed I was up to something.
harry: severus was never yours. he was dumbledore’s. voldemort: *gasps* severus snape betrayed me? severus in the afterlife: abso-fucking-lutely mate. year after year mate. on all levels. at every opportunity. i’m fucking betraying you now. you fucking suck. harry: yeah, you went after my mum. he didn’t like that.
Reminder that Draco called Hermione a mudblood out of malice & to humiliate her because he did believe in pureblood supremacy.
Snape called Lily a mudblood out of misplaced anger because he had just been attacked by four bullies the marauders & nobody bothered to defend him. He never fucking believed in pureblood supremacy.
Yet the fandom insists that Draco is the uwu innocent cinnamon roll uwu who can’t be responsible for anything but Snape is required to be responsible for everything that goes wrong & his fans should die for being “abuse apologists”. Yeah… that’s not hypocritical at all, I say as my eyes roll into oblivion.
And in case the fandom forgot, Snape grew up poor and was indeed abused by his father and Draco was living it up as a spoiled rich boy who was loved by both his parents.
James: You wouldn’t like me before my coffee.
Severus: That’s funny cause I hate you, all the damn time.
I love headcanons that don’t directly contradict anything in canon because I can say that Minerva McGonagall has a muggle wife, Flitwick was an accomplished pole dancer in his youth, and Snape has required weekly snark seminars in the Slytherin common room and you can’t tell me I’m wrong.
me: my favorite character isn’t perfect & is kind of a jerk sometimes i know this i’m okay with this it’s cool
*people mention anything slightly bad about my favorite character*
me:
soldier76: look alive men
soldier76: heheheh
reaper: heheheh
ana: heheheh
reinhardt, swinging his hammer with tears in his eyes: HOW CAN YOU JOKE ABOUT THIS, I BURIED ALL OF YOU
When she firsts asks him to do it, she’s all light and flirts, but they both know the meaning behind it.
McCree is steady as he follows her words and feels her skin and implants. Upon her back he can see all the marks and moles along her shoulder blades and spine. He loves being close enough to where Sombra doesn’t act like its a big deal but he knows how much meaning this holds.
Her implants are kept running smoothly, and she lets her hair down without worry now.
~My Tumblr Back-Up And Stuffs~ 
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