bite your face to spite your nose / seventeen and a half years old / worrying about my brother finding out / what’s the fun in doing what you’re told?
“listen,” dean said sternly, looking into her eyes. “if you want to keep doing this, you’re going to need to quiet down. if my brother finds out that me, a 30 year old, is fucking around with a seventeen year old, he’s going to beat my ass.”
“dean,” she laughed, “don’t sweat it. he won’t find out,” she assured him.
i’m not your typical stoned eighteen year old / give me a night i’ll make you
“and remember, eighteen in two weeks,” she added, smiling at dean. he shook his head and thought to himself, what the hell am i doing. she lifted her hands to cup his bearded face and leant down for a passionate kiss, and that’s when he realized he was in too deep.
i know you’re looking for salvation in the secular age / but girl i’m not your savior
“i don’t think this can go on any longer. sam is starting to catch on, and i’m starting to feel guilty, like i’m taking advantage of you,” dean mumbled, looking at the ground.
“but dean, its only a couple of years, and age doesn’t matter! i need you,” she cried, reaching to grasp his hands, but he pulled away from her reach.
“i’m not helping you, and just because i’m older doesn’t mean i’m your savior or something.”
one moment i was tearing off your blouse / now you’re living in my house / what happened to just messing ‘round?
dean’s frantic hands flew to her blouse, pulling it over her head and breaking the kiss. their lips quickly found each other again, and she pushed her body flush against dean’s.
“hey, dean?” she murmured into the kiss.
“yeah?” he asked, moving down to kiss and nip at her neck gingerly, and she tilted her head back, creating space for his lips to explore.
“i hope you don’t mind, but i need to stay here for a few weeks. i haven’t exactly been getting along with my parents lately,” she said, running her hands through dean’s hair.
he immediately pulled away, looking at her with regret. his hands falling from her hips. “this was supposed to be casual,” he groaned, sitting down on his bed and running his hands through his hair frustratedly. “what happened to just messing around?”
i said yo, i think i better go, i can’t take you / you just sit and get stoned with thirty year olds and you think you’ve made it / well, shouldn’t you be fucking with somebody your age instead of making changes?
“this is starting to get ridiculous. you’re 17, stop acting like you’ve done something with your life! all you do is sit around with sam and i and think you’ve made it. like you’re an adult or something,” dean hollered, pointing in her face.
“don’t yell at me!” she cried, covering her face to shield her tears from dean. this enraged him even more. before he could control himself, his chest was puffing and his fists were clenching.
“god, i can’t take you!” he screamed, hitting a lamp with his hand and knocking it off of the night stand. “shouldn’t you be fucking with someone your age? why me? i’m sure there are plenty of little tweens who would love to get in your pants.”
i told her from the start / destined to be hard / i told her from the start / i’ll break your heart
5 months earlier
“are you sure this is what you want?”dean questioned, running his hands over her hair.
“yes,” she uttered, looking up at dean with doe eyes.
“i’m telling you, being with me isn’t exactly a walk in the park. this is all casual, so don’t even think about falling,” he warned her, knowing that in the end she might end up with a broke heart.
“trust me,” she whispered, leaning up from her position on his chest, “i don’t get attached easily,” she informed dean as she pressed kisses to his neck.
they’re just girls, breaking hearts / eyes bright, uptight, just girls / but she can’t be what you need if she’s seventeen / they’re just girls
“she’s not what you need, dean! for christ’s sake, she’s fucking seventeen years old! what were you thinking?” sam yelled angrily, staring at dean with a questioning glance.
“Yesterday at work this white lady cut an entire line of people.
I told her to get to the back of the line and I would help her when it’s her turn.
She spoke with my manger, he really didn’t give a fuck.
She didn’t like that so she waited until the rush was over and tried to confront me herself 😂
She got emotional and said she was hurt "who do YOU even think you are to be treating me this way?”
Me: are you going to buy something or nah? Ok no then we have nothing to talk about.“
…..Is IT BECAUSE MY STAR OF DAVID?!”
*pulls out tucked necklace from inside shirt*
Lisseeeeen blonde haired, blue eyed women how I’m go know your Jewish if your necklace ain’t even showin?? Like you CUT THE LINE Dassit, bihh I’m Muslim Amerikkka hates my Muslim ass so leave me alone.
How you goin cut a whole ass line and expected to be waited on hand and foot??
YOU 👏🏿 GOIN 👏🏿 WAIT 👏🏿 LIKE 👏🏿 EVERYONE 👏🏿 ELSE 👏🏿
The way I hollered in her face 😂😂
My poor coworker had to listen to her for an hour rant about how much I hurt her feelings, welp.“
“Your cadaverous pallor betrays an aura of foreboding. Almost as though you sense a disquieting metamorphosis.”
Mid Town Tattoo, Pico Blvd, 3pm 4/14/17: I’m here almost an hour early early, in part due to a desire to beat cross-town traffic, in part due to a simmering excitement and jittery nerves I’m just now admitting to myself.
I’ve had tattoo ideas in my head for years, but never had a reason (or the nerve?) to commit to one. My husband Jason’s recent *gorgeous* hare tattoo by the amazing Micah Perry brought all of those ideas back to the forefront of my mind.
Reviewing the astounding artistry and technique of Micah’s other work made me think more seriously about what I would want to get. However, he’s in high demand, usually booked months in advance all around the world. Then, as luck would have it, he had some last-minute slots available in LA this week, so that sealed the deal. I sent him my deposit and booked a spot.
And now I’m here, a bit nervous but mostly excited. I always enjoy when people have a story behind their tattoos, making them a permanent scrapbook. Similarly, the many design ideas I’d been mulling over are similarly scrapbook-y, depicting things and ideas that have influenced me deeply.
For my first tattoo, I decided on a childhood experience that informs my current career. Actually, now that I think about it, all of the tattoo ideas I have teed up in my head are, thematically, links between early childhood experiences and my evolving adult outlook on life, but this one was the most important, and the one I thought had a lot of potential, given Micah’s style.
When I was four, I rode the Haunted Mansion for the first time, and it both terrified and fascinated me. Wanting to understand all the illusions and effects that brought the Mansion to life, I later at age eight or nine inquired with my neighborhood librarian, who pointed me towards books about magic, theater design, stage illusions, and Walt Disney – and the rest is history. I was hooked.
Ultimately, I learned how all of the tricks worked in the mansion. I also discovered the unique story of how it developed from a walk-through spookhouse, to a Museum of the Weird, to eventually a unique combination of many ideas and styles from multiple famous Imagineers. In particular, I was drawn to the concept art of Rolly Crump, whose 1960s counter-culture style gave elements of the mansion a kooky, super weird vibe.
My earliest memory of that weirdness was when I rode the Mansion at four years old – and I discovered that the walls have eyes! At a distance, the Mansion’s iconic wallpaper looks like some sort of gothic Victorian flocked filigree – but upon close inspection, reveals Rolly’s myriad designs of sinister, odd faces peering back at you from the wallpaper’s repeated pattern.
My second memory of being weirded out as a kid was leaving the Mansion, hearing ghostly Little Leota tell us to “hurry back, and be sure to bring your death certificate.” You know, for kids!
But even though the Mansion creeped me out something fierce (were ghosts *really* going to follow me home??), I couldn’t wait to ride it again. And again. And again. By now, my rides on the Haunted Mansion perhaps number in the high hundreds or low thousands.
With each ride I discovered more details, and as I grew up, recognized more layered nuances of story and subtext. As a teenager, I finally understood the arch humor and darkly funny intent of the Mansion’s designs. As an adult – slowly facing and accepting my foolish mortality – I love how it inverts the usual haunted tropes by laughing at death rather than reeling from it.
So, I wanted a Haunted Mansion tattoo… but I didn’t want a “Disney tattoo”. Not that I haven’t seen many great Disney tattoos on Mansion fans, usually depictions of Leota, or the Hitchhiking Ghosts, or Doom Buggies, or even the the entire exterior of the Mansion itself. I love all of those elements, but none of those singular totems spoke to me as the reason *why* the Mansion has become such a constant in my life.
Then I realized: it was the *face*. That creepy, shrieking banshee face that hollered back at me from the Mansion’s wallpaper, all twisting hair and glowing eyes. I was hypnotized.
When I finally sat down with Micah, it took a good two hours of him sketching in sharpie on my arm, interpreting the reference photos from the Mansion that I’d given him. I didn’t want a copy – I wanted his floral and lyrical style. He sketched and wiped clean and re-sketched, and we’d talk and he’d revise again and again. I told him what I liked, he asked what I didn’t like. “More banshee, less skull; less occult, more gothic; less Potter Dark Mark, more funereal flower arrangement.”
Slowly, finally, the face organically appeared, the banshee’s hair growing out of overgrown vines and ferns, its arched eyes and shrieking mouth a wink towards Rolly’s style lurking deep within the foliage. Suddenly I heard the Mansion’s haunting organ theme echoing inside my head, alongside Paul Frees’ ghoulish voice calling me a “foolish mortal”.
“That is not FAIR!” Zim exploded, a foot stamping down childishly as his zipper like teeth bared at the chart on the wall.
The school nurse shrugged at the little thing. “Sorry sweetie–”
“ZIM IS NOT SWEET!”
“…But you’re the same height you were last year.” She tapped her pencil against her chart, showing him the numbers. “And the year before that.” Another tap. “And the year before that.” Tap. “The year before–”
“I GET IT, SHUT YOUR FACE!” Zim hollered. He pointed an accusing finger at Dib. “YOU, Dib Stink! You did something to make yourself—always taller than me!”
“Hi mom,” you said as your mother opened the front door. She held out her arms and stepped outside onto the front porch, giving you a wide hug that you returned. You spotted your dad behind her as he smiled at you and gave hard glares to the two men that stood behind you. “Hi Dad,” you said when she finally released you. He gave you a shorter but just as loving embrace.
“So which one of these handsome men is Dean?” she asked. Dean raised his hand and gave her a smile.
“That would be me,” he said as she gave him just as big a hug as she’d given you. You watched your father give Sam a kind smile. He knew which one he had to act tough around now.
“He’s so strong!” your mother said as she released him and you saw Dean blush at the same time as you.
“Mom…” you said, pleading with her. She gave you a wink.
“Stronger than me honey?” your father said to your mom and you groaned.
“Without a doubt,” she said and you rolled your eyes. “Come on, Y/N. Let’s leave these boys alone for a little while,” she said, ushering you inside.
“Dad…” you said, and he just shrugged.
“You make it sound like I’m standing out here with a shotgun, Y/N,” he said with a small laugh. You stared and sighed. “I’ll be nice, promise,” he said, kissing you on the forehead.
“You better be,” you said. Dean’s father motioned for Sam to follow you inside. “Good luck baby,” you said to him and saw just the smallest glimmer of fear in his eyes. Sam laughed once your mother shut the door behind you, cutting you off from him.
“Glad I’m not your boyfriend, your dad seems kind of intense,” said Sam, causing your mom to chuckle.
“He’s a softie, he just does it to rile up Y/N,” she said. “He knows you love Dean, he’s just-”
“Being dad, I know,” you said, carrying your and Dean’s things towards the stairs.
“Let me show you your rooms. They’re quite large,” she said as you and Sam followed.
“You guys bought like a mansion, what did you expect,” you said, feeling Sam lift the bag you were dragging on the steps. “Thanks Sam.”
“Your new home is very large, Mrs. Y/L/N,” he said. She held up a hand.
“That’s Jack and Sara to you kids. Didn’t you tell Sam I’m one of those cool moms?” she said and you groaned.
“Your mom is awesome, Y/N. We should visit more often,” said Sam as he chuckled behind you.
“I should have left you outside with Dean,” you said and your mother laughed as you got to the top of the stairs. She led you down a long hallway before stopping about two-thirds down.
“Sam, we put you in here,” she said opening the door and he dropped his bag out of shock. “You’ve got your own bathroom.”
“T-Thanks,” he stuttered out, the room massive.
“Dean is-” she started.
“Sleeping with me,” you said authoritatively. “We sleep together at home, we have sex together, he’s sleeping with me,” you said gauging your mother’s reaction. Thankfully she laughed.
“Honey I’d be worried if you weren’t sleeping with that boy. He’s so-”
“Please do not call him attractive, mom. That’s weird,” you said.
“Fine. Just don’t go telling your father. He still thinks your daddy’s little girl,” she said and you saw Sam stifle a laugh behind her, out of sight. “Your room is right across the hall. Dinner will be done in an hour or so. I’ll send Dean up when he’s done being interrogated, okay? Feel free to explore,” she said, walking back down the hall and down the stairs.
“What?” you asked Sam who was grinning widely.
“You still are daddy’s little girl, you just call someone else daddy now,” he said with a cocky smile.
“It is not our fault you decided to come home early Samuel and you heard things that you should not have heard,” you said, pointing a finger in his face.
“What shouldn’t Sam have heard?” said your father as he and Dean walked down the hall towards you, looking like they were best friends.
“Nothing,” you and Sam said at the same time. He loved messing with you but he wasn’t about to scar you for life thankfully. Your father patted Dean on the shoulder and Dean gave a friendly smile.
“I passed the test,” said Dean. You raised your eyebrows and crossed your arms.
“And what test was that?” you asked.
“How long did we want to torture you while we shot the shit on the front porch, making you think I was going to beat him up or something. Dean was totally down for it but not for too long, didn’t want to get you too worried,” said your dad.
“These are the men I’ve chosen to love,” you said, rubbing your hands across your face.
“So when ya gonna marry him? I’ll gladly take him as my son,” your father said. You rolled your eyes but saw Dean’s face light up, making you smile.
“I think he wanted your permission first,” you said.
“Just gave it,” your father said, your jaw dropping as you looked back and forth between the two of them. Dean couldn’t keep a smile off his face as you saw your mother pop back up the stairs.
“Did he do it yet?” she asked from down the hall. You turned to see Sam leaning against the doorframe, watching you.
“All of you…” you trailed off. “You’re all in on this, aren’t you?” you said, spinning on your heels, pointing at each of them.
“Your father and I may have met Dean before…” your mother said. “…Sam too,” she said sheepishly. You didn’t know what to feel until you caught sight of a beaming Dean.
“Hi,” he said, waving a hand at you. You shook your head and bit your lip to try and keep the smile off your face but found it there anyways.
“You are in so much trouble,” you said as he walked over to you.
“Will you marry me?” he said, dropping to his knee, pulling out a ring from his jacket pocket. Even though you knew he was going to do it, you still forgot how to breathe.
“Yes,” you finally managed to get out after you realized you were probably scaring him by not answering. “Yes…and you are still in so much trouble,” you said as he slid the ring on your finger and picked you up as he hugged you.
“Good,” he said as he kissed you, your parents and Sam clapping and hollering as your face reddened, Dean’s doing the same.
“When’s dinner ready?” you and Dean asked at the same time, trying to get the attention off of yourselves.
“It’s still an hour honey, we weren’t lying about that,” said your mother, walking back down the stairs, a wide grin on her face.
“So when’s the wedding?” said your father as you balked at him. “I’m just kidding,” he said throwing up his hands in defense as you heard your mother call for him to help with the food. “See what you’ve got to look forward to,” he said to Dean as he walked down the hall.
“I think I could get used to that,” said Dean, holding you by the hips as he leaned down to kiss you again.
“Tell me when you guys are done making out,” said Sam, shutting his door shut behind him, leaving just the two of you in the hall.
“Love you,” both you and Dean said as he lifted you up and brought his lips to yours, all of your worries about your parents rejecting him gone as though they’d never even existed.
i have a lot of sketches ready to upload. i’m uploading this one separately simply because it’s the only one from this particular sketch dump that is in “bad pearl au”. lately i really started to enjoy making these super simple pixely drawings with limited palette.
as for the rest i’m still hesitant, because some of these are getting a bit… spicy, and i’m really not sure if i should upload them here, i don’t want to flag my blog so my stuff is visible to everyone, but i don’t want someone to see stuff they don’t want to see. also i have no idea how many people i know irl are seeing this, you feel me
i’m probably being overdramatic (as always) but hey, it’s a big deal for me
this was scribbled in a very short time, excuse any mistakes. i cannot seem to keep consistent art style, i cannot seem to keep aNYTHING consistent in my life
The giggling of omegas could be heard off near the windows, a group of them gathered around the curtains, playing with the thin, see-through fabric. They were wrapping it along their arms or around their necks as if the fabric was a scarf, a shawl, anything they wanted to imagine. Arthur glanced over across the room to where a group of alphas stood, chatting and chuckling with one another. He could see a few of them cast their glances over to where the omegas stood.