Gabv1el Is Everything To Me. Theyre Butch Lesbians. Theyre Toxic Yaoi. Theyre The Archangel And Their

Gabv1el is everything to me. They’re butch lesbians. They’re toxic yaoi. They’re the archangel and their 4’5 short stack machine side hoe, they’re doomed yuri, they’re hopelessly in love with each other, V1 has no concept of love and is remorseless because of their mechanical nature, V1 is hopelessly smitten, they both take it up the ass, Gabriel will far outlive V1 after his fall, Gabriel will die in 11 hours and they have to fuck right now or else they don’t get the chance to again, they will inevitably be each others ends, they’re T4T, they’re star crossed, Gabriel needs that machine dick now, they try to kill each other on the regular, V1 feels loved for the first time, it’s so toxic that this can only end one way, this is the first time either of them have ever felt loved and the best and most fulfilling relationship they’ve had in untold years, they’re divorced x1000 they’re married x1000, their fight changed both of them fundamentally, V1 and its 6’10 angel wife, they garden together as Gabriel teaches them humanity and finds peace himself, the last bits of humanity and a disgraced being meant to be above it, they need to rip out each others guts now,they need each other carnally, they will die hand in bloodied hand.

doomguy vs doomslayer - sort of study.

i mean. the doomguy "phase", he looks like a normal human, who goes to gym regularly. he looks buff, okay, but still human.

when we get to the point where he's called doomslayer, however, he is already beyond human. how can u tell, u ask? by those big asf guns. and i'm not talking abt BFG

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

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sketching practice ended up like this, and I only have myself to blame.

in other words

characters with helmets

full-body armor? yeah, that's the sexiest thing i've ever witnessed

this ^ is what the canvas looked like just before i got to work...

many such cases