unfinished and probably will never be finished

unfinished business - part one

[[Unfinished Business – a series of fics (mostly Halloween based, but not always) that @whoacanada started and never managed to finish. Each part is a stand-alone, incomplete piece that will not be finished (unless by some miracle I figure out what the hell I’m doing). General warnings for the series: implied character deaths, mental illness, ghosts, monsters, possession, probably gore idk, etc.]]

Title: possession (is the motivation) 

Summary: After a tragic accident, Jack wakes up in the hospital with more than one voice in his head.

It’s like this every day.

Every waking moment he entertains a voice of reason — of madness — that is not his own and never will be. Only one body was fished out of Providence River that night. One body and two minds.

Doctors were quick to assume the worst, but that’s not what this is.

[A product of severe psychological trauma —]

He can still play. Ownership isn’t going to let a little thing like insanity keep Providence from another cup. There’s still an ‘A’ on Jack’s uniform. It’s still his team, and if he skates a little faster, spins a little more than usual, no one can argue with the results.

You look stunning in blue. I wish you’d wear it more often.

“Thank you,” Jack says, trying not to stare down his own reflection to search for lingering signs of Eric Richard Bittle. Instead, he finds only scars — remnants of the accident and horrors he’d just as soon forget.

Badges of honor, the voice placates. You’re beautiful. A testament to your strength, your ability to adapt. To survive.

“I survived you,” Jack mutters, prodding at a thin line of scar tissue that curves across his cheek. “Not that I ever wanted to.”

None of that, Sugar —

Jack can feel his control slipping away by inches as the aggressive press of his fingers lessens and a hand he no longer controls caresses his skin; a distinct contrast to the cold burn of something distinctly other taking command of his body.

This is how Jack knows he’s not insane, that he’s not merely the product of his unique life experiences and mental illness. He allows himself to be swept away, unable to find the motivation to fight; not this early, not over something as simple as clothing choice and how to style his hair.

Don’t part my hair. Jack thinks. We’re not going out today.

“Oh, I do believe we are. You haven’t been shopping in days. If you are unable to find the time to maintain your own well being, I will be quite happy to do so for the both of us.”

He’s already thumbing through Jack’s shirts for the royal blue button-up he’d been encouraging earlier.

We need eggs. Chicken. Milk. Some bread. Jack goes down the list in his mind and the Other laughs so sweetly in Jack’s stolen voice.

“I can make bread, Darlin’. No red meat for you today?”

Training, Jack offers. Paper towels, toilet paper, Jack continues. Spinach, onions, celery. Carrots maybe? I really should leave this to you.

The Other presses a kiss to his knuckles and shoots a smile back to the mirror. If Jack focuses hard enough, he thinks he can see Eric’s face looking back.

Sometimes I do miss being ‘them’ instead of ‘us’, Jack laments.

“At least we’re together,” Bitty soothes with Jack’s voice. “I’m right here with you, right where you need me.”


Jack scans the menu and tries not to smile at Bitty’s excited rambling in the back of his mind.

“Crawfish étouffée! Honey, next time you have to try it. I mean, I know it can’t possibly hold a candle to what we had in New Orleans, but I want to know if the chef is —“

“Something funny?”

Jack brings his attention back to the table, where his father is watching him carefully.

“Just…a memory. That’s all.”

“Something is wrong with you,” Bob insists, dropping his credit card on top of a bill he hasn’t bothered to look at. “Is the medication working?”

“It slows me down,” Jack defends, even as Bitty bristles.

How can he play if he can’t think, Robert?

“Don’t,” Jack warns under his breath, barely able to catch Bitty’s words from escaping him, and his father watches him with terrifyingly knowing eyes.

“You think I don’t know what this is? What you’re hiding?” Bob accuses softly. “You would have said anything to get out of the hospital. The voices you were hearing, they didn’t go away, did they?”

Jack can feel his control slipping and Bitty snaps, “I’m not a voice.”

anonymous asked:

You’re probably not taking any requests at the moment but I would LOVE to see you draw more peasley and luigi one day!! Or maybe just more superstar saga! I love your art so much have a good day

I actually doodle them quite often because I Love Them so MUCH but never post anything because it’s mostly unfinished doodles and ideas hhgh heres a bad generic one from a few months ago that I’ll probably finish sometime in the future


Some unfinished stuff that I don’t know if I’ll ever finish.  They’ve been sitting around for ages.

Top one is an RP scene from many many months ago with @teechew, where Vaard had the (misfortune) of meeting the younger, uncorrupt Shan in alternate Draenor who took a strong liking to him, especially due to the fact he reacts to literally EVERYTHING.

   He’s a laughably easy target for just about anything, and that hilarious scene was her deciding not to use the bench, sat down on him instead, threw her arms around his neck and about flipped both of them over the back of the bench when he shot backwards.  He does not take well to his very, very large personal space bubble being popped. (Hours later proceeds to unintentionally, indirectly compliments Broken Shan multiple times in one sentence while ranting and complaining about au Shan who had fun not leaving him alone.)

The bottom picture is me trying to match the colors and shading of a screenshot background that didn’t turn out quite what I wanted, but it still looks pretty nice, ft. Alternate Punch Son monk Vaard.


WIP #29

An Enjolras.  Pencil and Inktense (a watercolor-type ink medium), with just a touch of white acrylic.  Lots of documentation for this one–I must have liked it even as I was working on it.

In chronological order:

1.) The finished pencil lineart.

2.) Masking fluid is on, and I’ve just laid the base color for the hair, eyebrows, and background.  This was a very unusual piece, in that the hair and the background were going to be the same color, so while the masking fluid would normally be applied to the hair to protect it from the background color, here it’s applied to the face instead, to protect it from the hair color. 

3.)  Some of the shading done on the hair and background.

4.) A bizarre photo, in which Enjolras looks demonic because of the masking fluid on the eyes.  :)  Skin is colored and mostly shaded here.

5.) Masking fluid has been removed; skin is done.

6.) Much of the Inktense is done here, though the background, hair, and shirt are still unfinished.

7.) This is an interesting picture of a stage that I almost never photograph on my drawings (probably because I’m impatient to finish them at this stage).  It’s when I’m part-way through the process of darkening my pencil lines, after I’ve finished all the coloring.  You can see the distinct difference between hard outlines and soft ones on a watercolor-type drawing… Everyone has their own preference on that choice, I suppose, and I clearly have mine.  :) 

8.) Weird as it seems, this is a scan I took of the piece when everything was done except the white acrylic details on the face.  Like, what, in case I messed them up…?  I don’t know, but there you have it.  This one’s raw and not color-corrected.

9.) The finished piece, now acrylic-ed and color-corrected.

10.) The finished piece, a detail.


A little dump with a couple of WIPTIWPNFDTL (Work In Progress That I Will Probably Never Finish Due To Laziness) Star Wars Rebels drawings I started long ago and never posted. So now I am posting them.

If You Leave Me

And if you leave me you’ll never be able to shake
the memories you try so hard to bury
they’ll bubble back to the surface at the sound
of the song you used to drown out my voice
they’ll rise like smoke from the embers
of the flames you used to burn my smile