😅 as I imagine a few of you have noticed, I’ve done way more writing than drawing lately lol I was battling a real bad case of art block that barely let me get out skeletal sketches, let alone proper drawings
But after busting out a few oil paintings for the upcoming craft fair, I’ve finally gotten over that block!! 😁
So of course I celebrate with my favourite couple 😏 😉
Sam and Darlin sharing a big ol smooch lol I’m not sure what possessed me to put them both in flannel 🤣 you can see on Sam where I gave up 😆
I saw someone say something about how because Vincent turned lovely the two literally cant lie to each other and so one day one of them may not be able to say "I love you" to the other
IM DEVASTATED
also I'm so sorry I totally forgot who posted this and forgot to reblog but if I find them I'll tag them.
note: welcome to day three! if you’re wondering why this is so short and unedited, my stomach issues have gotten the better of me this week. 1 reblog and silly lil comment = 1 get well soon wish for me <3
summary: *everybody views the world as black and white until soulmates meet/lock eyes and see colors for the first time* [what’s more depressing than witnessing an amusement park in black and white? realizing it may be the last time you visit one, is probably what guy would answer, as he dangles upside down on Wonderworld’s “Surge” coaster. the pretty stranger next to him isn’t the worst company, though.]
GUY DRAWS IN DEEP, LABORED BREATHS alongside the other coaster passengers, inhaling the savory stench of sweat and cotton-candy coated air. In any other instance–preferably one where he isn’t tilted one hundred and eighty degrees on his head and about to suffer a deadly impact onto the fairgrounds–he’d be less green in his gills. His stomach would be rumbling requests for another sopping chili dog, or warm pretzel glistening with yellow mustard to tide him over for the night. However, the mass of citizens gathering beneath him with frightened eyes and murmured concerns is beckoning him to yak up what could be his last meal. No, no, maybe it’s word vomit.
“Crazy, huh? How one second your friends are wagering how many corn dogs you can eat before taking a spin on Wonderworld’s Surge, and the next you’re bracing to be a splat on the ground, remembered as nothing more than a crime scene photo–a crumb of a tragedy–”
“Please stop talking.” A meek voice belonging to the passenger beside him introduces itself. Due to their stiff pose and shut eyes (and seat dividers), Guy has no vantage point to any recognizable characteristics other than dirty sneakers and tremor in their voice. Their hands keep the lap bar restraints in an unyielding choke, and for good reason. If Guy were to shift as much as a millimeter, the minecart of a coaster seat would resound with an unpleasant creak.
“My bad. Talking to myself keeps me relaxed.”
“You find narrating your final moments relaxing?” Another tremor shakes their body, but Guy credits it to the anxious laughter bubbling from their lips. It offers little comfort for either of them, but he’ll take whatever distraction he can get from the looming thought of this night being their last. The respite is short-lived, as Guy and his passenger peer down to see one of the maintenance men (who’d been tackling the coaster’s sudden malfunctions for the past fifteen minutes) wave up at them with wide, swooping arms.
“Don’t worry, help is on the way!” The wind carries his voice unevenly, making it sound warbled to Guy’s ears. What may also be to blame is the unnatural amount of blood rushing past his ears and to his head. As the night progresses, a prominent chill grows stronger each second they are suspended thousands of feet above ground. He perks up at the relieved mutter from the passenger beside him.
“Thank goodness, there’s still hope.” Guy wiggles his toes, but cannot feel them. He chooses not to mention it.
“Now look at who's talking to themselves.” His voice quakes through the tease. The lurching in Guy’s stomach persists, and he ponders if it's another threat from his gut to expel its contents, or the beautiful stranger giving him their undivided attention. Usually, nobody pays him any mind unless he is adorning his work uniform and offering samples of Max’s award winning garlic knots to passersby.
“You may be onto something about the relaxing aspect.” They try for a deep breath, and Guy notices them strain to pull the air in their lungs. He’s sure they feel the lurch now too, but for different reasons.
“So, what’s your name?” The stranger snorts, before answering.
“I like that name. I’m Guy…how old are you?” Again, they reply. A humored snort follows.
“You gonna ask me for three fun facts about myself next?” Guy smirks, and cranes his neck to view the fairgrounds. The crowd of witnesses has grown, and their cell phone flashlights are blending in with the warm bulbs of the distant Ferris wheel. No sirens. No search and rescue. Not yet.
He looks back up to take in their profile. Closed eyes. Scrunched nose. Tight lips.
“Yeah, why the hell not? Seems like we got time.”
_________________________
“Okay, is it my turn?” Asks Guy, who holds up three remaining fingers. He’s become more impressed by this stranger with each hypothetical they toss for him to mull over, and ultimately concede to as he curls another digit to meet his fist.
“No, it’s mine. Never have I ever put pineapple on my pizza.” A disgusted groan falls past Guy’s lips as he tosses his head back, or attempts to. The seat he is strapped against stops him.
“I shouldn’t have mentioned where I worked, had I known it’d be vital to your victory.” He mutters through clenched teeth, and drops another finger. Of course, he had to try all of the controversial toppings—even anchovies, though he wasn’t completely sober when the slice peppered with them went down his gullet.
“C’mon, Guy. Dig deep!” They encourage contagious titters. The amount of blood pooling in their upper body is the culprit, Guy knows, but for now he’ll wish it’s his undeniable charm and wit upholding the conversation.
“Okay.” The man gnaws on his bottom lip. Would it be uncouth to ask after just meeting? How vulnerable can a person be staring into the eyes of death and accepting their fate? They’re strangers…but could be bound by the wicked force of trauma if they manage to walk away unscathed from tonight’s events. “Uh…”
Screw it.
“Never have I ever seen colors.” For a moment, Guy swears he feels their sharp breath inflate his lungs, because the inhalations are synced.
“You mean, you’ve never met your soulmate?” They gander, to which Guy shakes his head.
“Nope. Probably never will, by the looks of it…kinda hoped my last moments wouldn’t be all black and white. Or when the time came where my life flashed before my eyes like in the movies, it would be more…lively.” The stranger beside him blinks theirs open, and keeps them afixed on the array of stars peering down.
“I’ll never even know what color my eyes are.” They scoffed, much to Guy’s surprise. It seems every beautiful stranger he crosses paths with gives him a motivational phrase to keep his eyes peeled for his other half, which is how he knows they’ve jumped the hurdle of finding theirs. “I always ask my family and friends not to tell me, so I can find out for myself.”
Guy grows tired of winking at constellations and phone cameras. He much prefers the profile of the one sitting beside him. “I’m sure whatever color they are is gorgeous.”
Whiskey or bile coats his throat—he’s too far past delusional to tell—as they turn to fully face him. And then their eyes meet.
The whooping sirens reverberate like violins and complement the symphony of cheers from the crowd below awaiting to grasp and tug their loved ones into grateful embraces. The red engines and blue cotton candy clouds perched below them—even the neon painted cart Guy is sitting in means nothing beside the revelation that his life is not flashing before his eyes. They’re sitting right in front of him, letting him study their melanin, and wind blown straggles of hair, and undoubtedly gorgeous irises.
Suddenly, the pair could stay in this spot forever.
soulmate september schedule | main masterlist | abt author
There is no way that Brachium wiped all of sunshine's memory's of him right? Right? if Brachium did all that for them and then never gets too see them again I'm crying.
Spoilers for some of Hush's audios and the new balance audio under the cut because I wanted to voice my thoughts
Im re-listening to Hush's audios rn and the one where he brings back Vega he mentions that he is in the close knit headquarters in dahlia and that the department had come a while ago to scare them away, I'm wondering now If hushes story is set more in the future because the balance audio we just got I believe takes place at the close knit headquarters in dahlia too so is what we just heard happening in the new balance audio what hush was talking about or am I just dumb and reading into this to much also does this thought impact the hush and Blake brother theory at all?
Favorite redacted characters are Milo(duh), Guy, Lasko, Hush, and Geordi
I really only post redacted content but I also really like Good Boy Audios, mai's underground asmr, Jouska, and Reverie Audios
My kins: Angel, Sunshine, Freelancer, Guy, and Milo
Some fun facts: I speak two languages, I'm a theater nerd, I love to read, I like to think I can draw, I've been part of the redacted fandom for two years, and my first audio was Laskos non-canon romance audio
Thats all I can think of right now but I'm so glad to be part of this fandom and I love redacted audio
vaporwave
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germansingergirl
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