shitty scribbles and such

Anonymous said:

omg please write some more snafu smut it was so good. Maybe it happens while he still serving in the war? (I love your writing!! Thanks sm)

Did someone ask for some Ragin’ Cajun self-lovin’? No? here it is anyway!!

There are not many moments a man can have to himself here. None, actually, but Snafu still does his damndest to find some. Even if it’s just two minutes, smoking on the edges of the foxhole, watching the sun’s first rays painting the sky red. He’ll take it.

For as much as a man can be alone (that is to say, not at all), there’s even less chance for him to beat off. Yeah, yeah, there’s bigger shit to be worrying about out here, like killing and being killed, whether he’d live to see the sun set that evening, if he’d even get a chance to fill his canteen again. But, c’mon, base instincts. He’s already regressing to a more primal state out here, so might as well focus on the more simplistic shit: living, eating, and getting off.

It’s the middle of the night, and he should be sleeping. He wants to be sleeping. But he’s had the most obnoxious hard-on since he stole a glance at a buddy’s picture of his girl back home. That was around sunset, and it won’t go away. The whole evening was being thankful for losing so much weight in the war, making his trousers baggy enough to hide his little, erm, issue. And now, while he should be taking advantage of the quiet, sleeping like a rock until sunrise, he’s laying there, completely still, trying not to think of anything to make him any harder.

And it is. Not. Working.

Anything is turning into a dirty thought. The call of a bird is warped into the sound of soft moaning, imagining a girl over his hips, hair a tumbling mess around her face. She’s riding him, cherry lips parted, eyes rimmed in charcoal black and staring at him. Begging him to cum, please, cum with her, please please please--

Shit, he has got to get some control over his own mind. Clenches his hands into fists at his sides, stretches them out, and clenches them again, over and over and over, thinking about church and playing pool and the corner store, the milkshakes he loved, and a beautiful girl serving them, lips smacking bubblegum faster than she can even roll her eyes at his advances. She isn’t impressed by his charm, and she tells him where he can stick it when he asks her to meet him in the alleyway. She’s there anyway. Fifteen minutes later, ordering him down on his knees, and he listens. He’s a good solider. She lifts her skirts and he leans his head back, tongue lolling out, letting her position herself over him. She calls him ‘bon rien,’ and he can’t help but agree, even with his mouth full. The smell, good Lord, rich and hot and he’s practically drooling, feeling her thighs tense, the hands in his hair yanking, hard, and he wants to burn this memory into his brain forever.

His hips give a tiny jolt, and he’s back in reality, on the cold, hard earth, teeth clamped down hard on his hand, breath coming in hot pants. His balls downright ache, tight and probably the prettiest shade of periwinkle the good Lord could come up with. He needs to sleep. He needs to not be thinking about this. He shouldn’t be imagining the feeling of sinking his length into a woman, of feeling the walls tense around him, teeth sinking into his neck. The sweat, the pressure, the build, the climax, the primal ferocity of it all, he shouldn’t think about it. His hips cant again. He can’t think about this. About a hand around his shaft, steady and confident. He can’t, but his hips move. Slow, from base to tip and back again. Fuck.

Maddeningly slow, a slight twist in the stroke, just enjoying the sensation of jacking him. One of his hands presses over his pelvis, and he ruts his hips up, ever so slightly. He could cry at the sensation. The friction. Imagines a hand around his shaft, lips at his tip, soft, purposeful. Lapping at his head, driving him closer to an edge, any edge, every edge. He shouldn’t. He can’t, he can’t, he--

His hips jolt, once, just enough, and he stifles a groan with his hand. He’s cumming in his pants like a horny teenager, without even wrapping a hand around himself. In all honesty, he’s almost impressed. There’s the strange feeling in his trousers, warmth and liquid and stickiness already, and he should get up and change. Or...something. Anything. Who knows.

Anonymous said: I’m a little over half way finished with the pacific and oh boy I love snafu already. Could you do a one-shot with snafu, maybe something angsty to start but it end fluffy? Your writing is just awesome friend

Three days in the same week he’d come back to visit the Night Program. Three days in the same week, he’d made himself look nice, gotten on the subway, gone halfway across the damn city, trekked up endless slushy streets, up the flight of stairs, handed his coat to the same brunette lady, and pretended like he wasn’t making a bee-line straight for the Egypt Exhibit. As if he were there for a reason other than gawking at the beautiful man in white and gold linen, who smelled exactly like cinnamon and secrets.

(Oh. That was good. He’d have to jot that one down to remember for his poetry.)

Apparently, three days in the same week at a museum was a curious thing to put on his credit card. Which is why his parents had called him, confused and a bit annoyed. And why he was currently huddled outside, huddling behind a wall as he listened to his parents bicker in Arabic on the other side of the line.

“We understand once, Khaleel, maybe twice. But three times? And you are there again tonight? What is there that you have to see so much, that you cannot find on the computer?”

Um, the love of my life. “It’s for my history class, Dad.” Lie. “My professor is really impressed with how dedicated I am.” Lie. “I’m learning a lot.” Half-lie. He’d picked up a lot of facts from the tours and just listening to all the actors give their speeches on their time periods and topics. He’d learned surprisingly little about Egypt, though, despite how often he’d listened to the lecture. Turns out his heart pounding in his ears made it hard to focus on any of the actual words coming out of the King’s mouth.

“Besides, I’m...trying to get a job here.” HUGE lie. “I’m actually filling out an application...right now.” Kenny cringed at the waver in his voice, and held his breath, waiting for his parents response.

“Well. That’s fine then. But no more crazy visits for no reason, okay?”

“Yeah, okay Dad. I’ll talk to you later.” He mumbled a goodbye into his phone, then tapped the end button about twelve times, just to be sure the conversation was really and truly over. He didn’t like lying to his parents, but he couldn’t exactly tell them he was there so often because he had a fat crush on an Egyptian pharaoh. They’d agreed to a sort of ‘don’t-talk-about-it’ approach to his sexuality when he was younger, and Kenny couldn’t help but feel his dad thought it was some sort of phase that he’d eventually grow out of.

Jokes on him, he thinks gruffly, I just keep getting gayer.

He scrubs his hands over his face, resisting the urge to dial Larry and complain, and pulls open the heavy door. A rush of warm air and fluorescent lighting makes him blink a few times, waiting for his sight to adjust before he unwraps the scarf around his neck and makes his way for the front desk. His thoughts are already on Ahkmenrah, the roughness in his voice, the way his nose scrunches when he smiles, and he’s so deeply focused that he almost doesn’t notice that the T-rex skeleton animatronic is gone.

Not turned off or anything, just...gone. Like, missing from the pedestal. Kenny has to double-take at the platform before he actually realises that it’s missing, then just stands there gawking at the empty space like a moron for a full minute before footsteps on the marble floor seemed to jolt him back to Normal Human Status.

“Woah, woah, woah, you can’t be in here yet! We haven’t opened the doors for tonight!” Kenny spun around to see a guy about his age striding towards him, hands stiff at his side, practically radiating nerves.

“Oh.” Kenny glanced down at the phone in his hand, and, wow, yeah, he was an hour earlier than he’d meant to be. Foot traffic had been surprisingly light getting to the subway. “Sorry. I...no, sorry, but where’s the dinosaur?”

The kid’s face, already pretty pale, blanched a little bit further. “Uh. The dinosaur is...uh…” Oh, this was gonna be good. He needed an excuse, and he wasn’t finding one. Perfect! A snicker built up in Kenny’s throat, but he was able to bite it back. What lame excuse would he come up with as to how a WHOLE DINOSAUR SKELETON was missing? He didn’t know, but he was excited to find out.

“Nicholas, your father asked me to--oh.” Kenny’s heart jumped to the back of his throat immediately, and the boy turned to face the voice, looking half-relieved. “I am sorry to interrupt, I didn’t know we already had guests. I--oh! I recognize you! You have been here quite a lot this week. Hello again, friend.”

Friend? Kenny wanted to melt into a pile of mush right there on the floor. He thought they were friends?? “Oh, u-uh...yeah, I uh...I wan--well I actu--uh.” The other boy, Nicholas, whipped his head back and stared at Kenny. Curiosity gave way to realization, and then a smug grin. He knew. Kenny shot him a quick glare, a silent argument held between them. I’ll let you off the hook about the damn dinosaur if you keep quiet about my completely obvious crush.

“Actually, he was here about an internship,” Nick broke the silence, turning back to the king and sending him a calm grin. “I was telling him we weren’t accepting Night Program interns at the moment, but he’s just so interested. Maybe you can show him some of the behind-the-scenes stuff before we open?” This little shit was trying to embarrass him! Trying to make him a babbling puddle of mush in front of his crush! What an absolute monster, how the hell could he--

“I’d be more than delighted. Follow me, this way, if you please.” Ahkmenrah smiled and turned with a flutter of his robes, disappearing back down the long hallway he’d come from. Kenny stared after him, then looked at Nick. He grinned and nodded his head after the retreating king.

“Better hurry, he’s used to things happening at his pace.”

Im in the middle of writing Kenny’s King (it’s turning out pretty good, I should have it up tomorrow!), but I needed to share this

My headcanon is that Chris is...massive. Like, he’s obvi a tol, but he’s a sturdy boy. He was that gangly awkward skinny mess for a few years in middle school, but by sophmore year of highschool, he was all filled out and lookin handsome

but he’s just...big. He’s got broad shoulders and he’s tall and he’s a pretty solid dude. he’s not like, built or anything, but he’s solid. and people outside of the Squad are surprised by it.

at a party, chris usually sits and chats with friends, all hunched over and wearing seventeen goddamn jackets, while josh roams around and is social and stupid. as the party starts to wind down, chris blossoms some, lets josh coax him out to walk and talk. so he starts to unfold, and he’s TALL. an onlooker is straight up SURPRISED by how tall he actually is.

and then he starts removing his jackets. and his mass doesnt really shrink. He’s just SOLID (i know i keep using that word but idk what else to say).

hello! can i request josh x reader fluff? maybe about them admitting their feelings to each other. thank you so much! your fics are so amazing!! (also this is my secret sin blog so thank u for that too :0

hello! i was just wondering if you got the request about a fluffy josh imagine? i was just wondering bc mobile keeps messing up and not sending some of my messages. i love your imagines!

IDK if this was the same angel, but here is some fluffy Josh cuteness, holiday-themed because EGGNOG GDI (also i feel you on secret sin, thats why I wont post a selfie of me on here cuz i dont need this linked back to me in the future laUGHS)

Everything smells like nutmeg and vanilla, and it makes you warm all the way to your toes. Wrapped around your mug of hot cocoa, lazing in front of the fire, hearing Michael Buble’s soft voice swirling through the air, you feel the Holiday Magic in the air. You take another sip, feel the warm chocolate heady on your tongue, the taste of cinnamon and the sharp zing from bourbon mixing and pouring down your throat.

You let your eyes wander around the room, studying all the different people filling the room. The Washington’s are having their annual Holiday Party, meaning the place is packed. Hollywood people, authors and directors, you swear you just saw Zac Efron browsing the bookshelves in the other room. Your friends are all there too, of course, they aren’t ones to miss out on a fun party (or the free booze that comes with it). Emily and Jess are pulling Mike into a million selfies, Sam is helping Beth make vegan cookies in the kitchen, Hannah and Ashley are chatting excitedly about mistletoe and New Years kisses. You realize, after a minute, that you can’t seem to find Josh.

He never misses out on stuff like this, he loves to schmooze and draw attention, loves charming his mom’s friends and making connections with his dad’s contacts. You think, for a second, that you see him, a sliver of dark hair and warm skin sliding around the corner out on the balcony. You begrudginlgly wiggle yourself off the couch, leaving your cozy blanket nest, and pad after the retreating shadow.

It’s cold outside. Not quite snowing, but a little gusty, definitely chilly. You wrap your hands firmly around your still steaming mug, and turn the corner, eyes squeezed almost shut against the breeze. Josh is there, in the shadows, leaning on the balcony with his head bowed against his forearms.

“Josh? Hey, everything okay?” You sound more concerned than you mean too, but you can’t help it. You’ve had a crush on him forever, it’s practically impossible not to adore him. He’s always full of smiles and stupid jokes, and he’s always extra excited around the holidays. Loves to buy everyone gifts and throw tons of parties. He is the self-proclaimed Christmas King, and no one dares threaten his title.

He lifts his head up at the sound of your voice, and throws you a warm grin. Your heart flutters (damn him). “Oh, hey there. Thought you mighta been the ghost of Christmas Past for a second there.” You let out a snort and lean on the railing beside him.

“I’d be Christmas Present, obviously.”

“Well, you are definitely a gift.” Blood rushes to your cheeks and he chuckles, snagging the cup out of your distracted hands and taking a long drink. He shivers as the heat runs through him, and gives you a bright grin. “Taking a quick time out. Whole lotta sights and sounds in there. Makes me jittery.”

“You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just need some time alone, y’know?”

“Oh.” You straighten up, motion to the house with your head. “Want me to--?”

“Oh, no!” Josh’s voice is a little hurried, and he clears his throat, standing to lean his hip against the balcony with this air of false-calm, “No, you...I want you to stay out here. With me.”

It is unfair how much that makes your stomach flip. Your mouth turns into a dumb grin, and you lean back against the balcony, biting your lip to keep from giggling like a love-sick moron. He does this to you all the time, and it just straight up isn’t fair. You have no idea how he feels, and you’ve always been too much of a chicken to ask. But...maybe now is a good time. This is a romantic setting, right? Hot cocoa and a warm fire inside? Soft music to slow dance to? You should go for it. You have to go for it. You’ll never forgive yourself if you let this opportunity fade away.

“Josh--”

“I’m glad you came tonight.” You turn your head and find him already staring at you, eyes warm and focused on yours. “I mean, I’m glad you’re all here, but...y’know. I’m really glad you came.”

“I always come,” you manage to say, your tongue suddenly thick and dumb. You can feel your heart at the back of your throat.

“And I’m always glad.” He lets out a chuckle, and licks his lips, taking a long pause. “Look, I might be making a shot in the dark here, but I...like you. I really like you. A lot. And Chris is gonna bust my balls for taking this long to tell you, but I just...I wanted the perfect time to say it. To tell you. Gotta have a movie moment to admit to being head-over-heels, am I right?” He’s rambling a little bit, but still somehow the most charming bastard you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Me too,” the words are choked and practically dripping with surprise, but you look at him and smile. “I...really like you, too, Josh.”

A long silence passes between you, but it isn’t awkward. Josh grins at you, then down at his feet, then flips around and leans over the balcony, letting out a long whooping yell. Laughter falls past your lips, and soon the two of you are bowed over the railing, snickering like complete idiots. As it fades away, the two of you share a long glance, and Josh wraps his arms around you, bringing you into a crashing kiss.

He’s warm, so unbelievably warm, and his lips taste like chocolate and peppermint, and you think that, if this were a movie, the snow would start to fall right at this moment, and the two of you would be bathed in the glow of fairy lights, and your leg would lift and the music would swell and it would be the most perfect moment ever. It’s already pretty perfect. His teeth nip at your lip and you sigh into the kiss, hands drifting up and circling his neck, holding your bodies flush together, ignoring the biting cold on the back of your neck.

There’s a loud bang, and you both jump, glancing over to the nearest window. Chris is banging his hand against it, a glass of (very boozy) eggnog in his other hand, and he’s grinning and mouthing words that you can’t understand. Emily is behind him, holding up her cellphone and trying to get a good angle to get a shot of the two of you wrapped together. Beth high-fives Hannah, and it looks like Matt is giving Mike a five dollar bill.

Josh grins, and gives you a long look. “I, uh...think we’re needed back inside.”

I miss you all too <3 <3 <3 The holidays are kicking my ass and taking all my time (and money sobs)

IM ALUGHING 

Chris, my gentle son~

I SURE AS SKIPPY WILL!

“Why does it always have to be me helping you out with this crap?” Chris is huffing, arms burning as he holds a wooden plank over his head.

“Cuz Josh is too short, man.” Mike is up on a ladder, biting screws between his teeth while he maneuvers the end of the plank against the wall, eyebrows knit together in concentration.

“Listen, broskis, being short works out in my favor sometimes. Like now, for instance.” Josh, the bastard, is leaning against the opposite wall, watching the other two sweat and struggle to put up the cabinet while he drags lazily on a joint. “Besides,” he puts on a fake Southern drawl, lips curling up into a crazy smile, “I like to watch the new guys sweat.”

“Shut up, Josh,” Chris grumbles, feeling a bead of sweat work its way down his neck and into the collar of his t-shirt. He turns to throw a glance at his older friend, and shifts just enough that it makes Mike bark at him.

“Hey, keep it steady, man! I can’t screw it into the wall if you keep fuckin’ around.”

“Shit, man, sorry,” Chris goes to right it again, focuses in on the task at hand. Tries to ignore Josh’s muffled snickers behind him. Holds the plank as steady as he can despite his muscles aching. Shit, he’s barely doing anything and he’s this exhausted already? Time to start hitting the gym with Matt again...

A vibration runs through his leg, and it makes the blonde jolt, just a little. Mike gives him a sharp glare, and Chris tries to swallow down his instinct to drop the plank and grab the buzzing phone in his pocket. It could be Ashley, texting him about their history project. It could be his mom, with news about his grandpa or something. It could be Sam, in desperate need of someone to fix her computer.

“Josh, man, do me a favor?” He can’t help it. He’s not patient, he needs to know now.

“Sure, dude, what’s up?” Josh’s tone sounds almost serious, and a little excited. He always likes it when Chris asks for help with stuff, makes him feel useful or...something.

“My phone’s buzzing, can you grab it out of my pocket and see what’s up?”

A short silence, Josh’s footsteps coming towards him. A cool, “Sure, bro.” Mischief. Aw shit, what’s he gonna--

Chris feels a hand dive into the back pocket of his jeans, and he lets out a yelp. He’d like to pretend it’s a dignified yelp, but it isn’t. Not even close. He feels breath on the back of his neck, and he can just picture the shit-eating grin on Josh’s lips.

“This pocket, bro? Is it in this one?” The hand squeezes his ass, then leaves and jumps over to his other back pocket. “What about this one?” Squeezes that cheek, too, and Chris all but drops the plank.

“Dude!” he squeaks, overlapping with Mike’s angry shout of, “I will end you, Chris!” He struggles to keep the plank steady, and Josh is laughing as subtly as he can. Which is to say, not very.

“Alright, alright, sorry man. Jesus, take a pill. I’m gettin’ it.” Chris watches Josh’s hand out of the corner of his vision, watches it slowly creep down to his front pocket, slip inside. He feels fingers wrap around his phone, but the hand doesn’t move, just stays still. Josh presses up against Chris’ back, snickering.

“Want a quick tug, Cochise?” It’s barely a whisper, a throaty mumble next to his ear, and Chris feels his face light up. He tries to bat Josh away with his elbow, and nearly drops the plank. Again. Mike yells something angry in Spanish, it sounds vaguely like a threat on his life. Josh slips his hand out of Chris’ pocket, taking the cellphone with him, giggling the entire time.

It wasn’t that Chris didn’t like Josh’s special brand of...erm, attention. It was just that it had been more aggressive as of late, a little harder to ignore. And more public. The rest of their friends never said anything, oddly enough. Must’ve figured it was par for the course, knowing the friendship they had.

Usually, it was tame enough to pass off as a weird joke. Chris would bend over to pick up a notebook he’d dropped, Josh would stand behind him and mime thrusting motions. Before gym class, Chris would take his shirt off in the locker room, and Josh would yell something loud and embarrassing, something like “love me some whtie bread!” (Funny, sure, but really dude, white bread? He’d tried to call him multi-grain in retaliation, but that just...hadn’t worked out.) Everyone was used to Josh’s stupid jokes. It was never something a well-placed ‘no homo’ couldn’t fix.

But lately it had just gotten...different.

March 18th, 3:17 pm

Chris was trying on a sweater at a store in the mall. He slid it over his head, tugging at the soft material a few times til it sat comfortably on his frame. Twisting this way and that, he gave himself a long glance in the mirror, then shrugged. He’d never been good at this stuff. This is why he had to shop with Josh or Emily, he never knew what looked good. On this trip, it was Josh, who had been all too happy to pluck a few (overpriced) sweaters from a display and usher Chris to the fitting rooms to try them on.

The one he was trying now was cozy. A heavy lambswool sweater, the color of moss, and it was ridiculously soft. He liked it well enough, he supposed, but decided to ask a second opinion. He straightened his glasses and unlatched the door, stepping out into the bright hallway to search for Josh. His dark hair popped into view immediately, followed by bright green eyes and a broad smirk.

“What d’you think?” Chris murmured, glancing over Josh’s shoulder for a moment at the cute blonde girl that was refolding merchandise. She gave him a quick glance and smiled. Chris grinned in response, then looked back to Josh. Who was narrowing his eyes ever so slightly.

“No. No, not this one. No way. Can’t buy it.”

“What? Why not?” Chris had thought it looked pretty good...plus it was warm as hell. Huge plus in Chris’ books.

“Cuz it looks too good. I’d just rip it off you the second you put it on.” Josh’s grin bloomed wider, and Chris felt his cheeks burn red. The blonde worker whipped her head up to stare at the pair of them, eyebrows raised so high they may as well have rocketed off her face. Tongue suddenly thick and dumb, he spun on his heel and marched back into the dressing room, Josh’s snickers trailing behind him.

He doesn’t buy the sweater.

April 4th, 10:14 am

One of the mistakes teachers often made was sitting Josh and Chris beside each other. Chris was a good student...mostly. He got in trouble for looking at his phone during class, but otherwise, he was attentive. It was Josh that caused the issues. He cracked jokes, bugged Chris, one time he even tried to make it a point to crawl, on his stomach, across the entire room, unnoticed. Just to pass Emily a note.

Josh mostly liked to focus his attention on Chris. Because Chris could take it. He could absorb the jokes and let them pass. No amount of pencil pokes or passed notes could make him emote large enough to get them in trouble. And Josh loved to push his boundaries.

The assignment was simple: read a chapter of the textbook, write down a few questions or comments, and there would be a class discussion. Josh, as always, had forgotten his book in his car, so he slid a chair over to Chris’ desk to share with him. Normal occurrence. But there was a gleam in his eyes, like he was planning something. He was always planning something.

Chris started to read, pen scratching tiny notes and questions on his open notebook. Josh read a few sentences, then placed a hand on Chris’ knee. The blond looked up, gave him a long stare. A ‘don’t-do-whatever-it-is-you-want-to-do’ stare. Josh smiled, and looked back down to the reading. His hand stayed on Chris’ knee. Chris returned to reading. The hand scooched up his leg, maybe an inch. Neither boy said anything. The hand inched up again. And again.

“Imma grab your dick,” Josh whispered, his hand edging up to lay on Chris’ thigh. Chris jolted his leg up, slamming Josh’s hand (and his knee) against the underside of the desk with a loud bang! Both boys groaned in pain, and the teacher glared at them.

They were sent to the Principal’s office. Josh wouldn’t stop smirking.

December 12th, 12:32 pm

Christmas was just around the corner, and Chris couldn’t wait. He loved Christmas time. Lots of warm sweaters and hot coffee and all the cute people at school bundled up against the Southern California cold? It was, without a doubt, his favorite time of year. Not to mention it meant that the annual Blackwood Mountain trip was only a few months away.

He was walking to his locker with Beth in tow, chatting about plans for the trip, securing transport, what sort of wintertime fun they could have. When they finally got round to his locker, he started to spin the lock on it, putting in his combination. When it popped open, he swung the door open, and was promptly smacked in the face by a piece of felt on a spring.

“Is...that mistletoe?” Beth asked. Chris didn’t even respond, just stared at the green and red hot-glued monstrosity that was stuck against the locker door. Who the hell broke into his locker and stuck mistletoe--? It didn’t make any sense.

“Does that mean we have to kiss?” Beth’s voice brings him back to reality, and he stares down at her, eyes blown wide with shock. Shit. Shit, shit, did she think he set this up? He didn’t, he wasn’t trying to mack on girls at his locker, that would be so dumb. She has her eyebrows knitted together, looking at him with a mixed expression, and he puts his hands up defensively.

“I didn’t do this,” his voice cracks when he says it, and a shiver runs down his back. “I swear I didn’t--”

“Aw, man, you beat me here!” A gravelly voice behind him makes Chris jump, and he whirls around to see a slightly out-of breath Josh. Josh looks between his sister, Chris, and the craft-store hellspawn mistletoe, and lets out a huff. “You tryin’ to kiss my sister, man?”

“No, no no no, I have no--”

“Well, I guess the best idea would be for me to take the fall for her. Y’know. Keep her safe from your wily womanizing ways.” A smirk lights up the sharp edges of his face, and Chris starts to wonder if maybe, somehow, Josh is connected to this whole thing somehow. But there isn’t time to think about that now. Josh is pressing up on his tiptoes and Beth is covering a grin with her hand and Chris does just about the only thing he can do at this point.

and I saw that @tojo-lens liked some of my stuff???

And I?? ScrEAMED!!

He is one of my FAV Until Dawn artists and I’m so flattered that he liked some of my Scribbles?? Im in tears

It’s fine, thank you! It didn’t get damaged, I just lost a lot of work because I hadn’t saved recently when it shut off, because I’m a moron.........

I’ve been working on all my requests, but my real life keeps getting in the damn way...I’m using today as my Writing Day, so I will put out AT LEAST 2 IMAGINES TODAY! I will not sleep until I’ve published two.