petra cooollll 😛😛😛😛😛😛

full design thingie for miss butter yes i designed the sword

dorks (affectionate) <3

bleh, i just packed on all that extra weight & made my appetite insane only for the weather to trap me in the house with no way to use the roads and get more food 😔

OvenBreak summer collection

ALMOST MISSED IT!!!!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY KENNY!!!!

He thinks everyone forgot! (they did... They remembered last minute (like me!) and set something up for him!) everyones invited to Kennys last minute birthday party!!

willem dafoe cookie....

Fallout Petra ^_^!!

Still need to come up w lore for her jevdhhehdvehdb

She's scolding Jess (f!jesse) bc of her drinking problems EVEN tho Petra herself gets drunk too ☠️

At the end of the day, jesse has to deal w both of their bs

mysterion and other doodles from school

Okay but why do François and Arthur keep separating if they are the only ones who understand each other that well? It's their arrogant personality? Their vicious habits and need to be correct? Bc I actually see françois more aggressive and Arthur more permissive in the end which seems to be contradictory to what I see people writing in the fruk shippers. I don't get it, no hate

Nah nah all good valid question and i do agree actually on most of what you say.

They dont separate in the traditional and common way we associate humans and human relationships with. Not fully.

Lets say they spend a vacation together. They go to the beach and drink and find bars and terorrize supermarkets during their stay. They are happy and content and a destrucrive power couple. But they are still nations and nations have more responsibilities than two moddle aged human men could ever have. So they clash on a thing or two. One takes a stab at an old phychologial wound thought healed. The other gets irritated but doesnt express it (cus emotional repression is legal apparently) and he takes a jab at the other at their weak spot. And they are irritated at each other and start to bicker bc both are too hardheaded to apologize or talk like people who didnt grow up during the middle ages. Now any small mishap irritates the other. A big fight then separation. They dont see eath other for a longer period of time after that. They might hit it off again with an old friend/enemy/lover and its fine. The problem is that François knows exactly what to say and what nerve to pick and get on it to get Arthur to react as he wants. And Arthur is too much of a sarcastic person and generally a man who enjoys a good challege which he might not get from everyone he interacts with. At least not precisely the way he likes. Like Alfred, Arthur gets bored seemingly quickly with a person. Also his affection can be missinterpreted as belittlement or even a jibe or taunt. He portrays himself as polite and appropriate but in truth he is a hard man to get along with. And few people know how to deal and distinguish his comments.

So after a randevouz with Portugal whom he hasnt seen in a while, he is once again sitting at home by himself pondering what takeout to get bc who has time to cook these days. He is still annoyed with francois but doesnt think too much of it. So after a while something happens and he wants to talk to someone about it, so having all but forgotten their little feud he picks up the phone and dials the french phone number. François picks up and you can hear the irritation in the "I thought the lord is still pissed at me. What a surprise." To which Arthur responds with "Oh do shut up. Now listen I've recetly got word that......" because who can be as stubborn as mules yet forgetful as fish at the same time? These two.

I do think to a certain degree Arthur is more permissive. Especially as he got older and saw his empire sink into that ocean he loved so much. François has more of a need to prove that he is still on top of the game so he does tend to be more assertive in some situations and discussions.

Even if they dont speak to eachother for multiple years at a time, something will come that hauls them back to one another. Be it shared history, mutual understanding or good gossip.

In short, small things break them apart and smaller things bring them together.

another request from a friend on valentines

no you don’t get any context

why would michelangelo do this?!

mettatun 🩷

A fun thing about me is that I will probably think about Antigone Funn every time I butter a slice of toast for the rest of my life.

Armand/Daniel "Oh, hey now, don't start crying on me"

New York City, 1979

"Oh, hey now, don't start crying on me," Daniel swallowed, the gin and tonic Armand had so lovingly prepared minutes earlier churning restlessly in his stomach as the hand that wasn't still holding the empty glass came to pet Armand's curls on his lap.

Not the first time Daniel had seen Armand cry, but that didn't make it any fucking easier. His father's voice rang through his head, overlapping with the intro to Saturday Night Live: "Now don't cry like a little bitch, son. Makes you look weak. A goddamn punching bag. And that's no son of mine, so you better man the fuck up or I'll give you something to cry about!"

Daniel blinked hard, willing himself to focus. Willed the alcohol to clear his system immediately, as if that would make this any easier. As if that would give him the answers to all the questions he's ever asked.

One of the two ice cubes in the glass had fully melted, and the other wasn't far behind.

"Hey, hey, it's okay."

It's not okay.

Shit people say when they want it to be okay and it's not gonna be. Never gonna be. But they can't stand being powerless and so they lie to themselves and everyone around them to maintain the grand illusion.

He never knows what to do when Armand's crying. It's so... fucking human.

So fucking human it hurts.

A different shade of vulnerability on Armand than his laughter endows him. When Armand laughed—a genuine, full-body laugh—Daniel could see him as the witty, sweet-natured youth with a sharp tongue he must have been once upon a time. Strange to think that anyone who's ever seen that has been dead for half a thousand years, huh, Danny boy? He could almost imagine what Armand would've looked like with the sunlight kissing his skin, igniting the reddish highlights in his dark auburn hair, a constellation of freckles over the bridge of his nose and across his cheekbones. Stranger still to think of seeing his mouth open and no fangs in sight. And would you have loved him just the same? Daniel shuddered at the thought.

Yes, laughter was one thing, but crying? Tears?

The way Armand cried—silent and unblinking, unbreathing—made Daniel think of a child in some distinctly horrifying way. Made his heart wrench in two, his skin crawl, and the edges of his vision blur.

Because it's not the way some children cry when they scrap their knees on the pavement or wake up from a nightmare. Loud and visceral and sure to make Mom come running down the hall.

No, Armand cried like a child who had learned long ago there was no point in crying out loud. And staring into the quarter inch of water now in his glass, Daniel knew why.

He knew that cry; he'd cried that cry.

Hiding his closet, biting into his ratty teddy bear so that his father wouldn't hear and beat him for having the audacity to feel emotion the old man didn't know what to do with. And what had been the lesson? No wonder he didn't know how to comfort this creature he so loved. Dear God, you might as well be as emotionally stunned as that cankerous, old- 

Armand squirmed over Daniel's thighs then, snuggling into him as his eyes finally closed and his body gave. His smaller hand reaching for the one Daniel still had on his head.

A lingering kiss to his fingertips, a soft nudge against Daniel's brain: Thank you, lover. You are such a comfort to me.

It's okay.

Everything's okay.