muscari-melpomene

[muscari-melpomene]

Say it with me! Wheelchairs aren’t sad! Mobility aids aren’t sad! Mobility aids are instruments of freedom!

[muscari-melpomene]

May I humbly request some more fucked up antiaverage? 🤲 Pretty please?

((Ahhh, a guilty pleasure of ours. Let's see what I can cook up.))

The static curls, warm and steady, around his neck. It doesn't prickle, so much, anymore. Only grounds him, keeps him in place, soothes the bursts of pain away.

Anti's curling bloody fingers around his wrist, again, an arm looped around his waist to hold him up as he sinks teeth into the thin skin on his wrist and drinks.

Chase shuts his eyes against the way the world spins, and sags further into Anti, humming drowsily. Anti's so fucking cold beneath him; he can't even feel his stolen pulse.

"Told you t' come find me earlier," he murmurs, and Anti only hums in response. Keeps drinking, and Chase rests his eyes in the cool darkness behind his eyelids, listening.

He doesn't know how long they stand there, for, Chase resting his head against Anti's shoulder while Anti takes, and takes. But that's fine. He's used to it, used to the way that Anti's hunger sweeps them both under, until he's sated himself enough to swim for the surface.

He takes from Anti, anyways, too. Knows just how to drive him fucking mad with that tantalizing heartbeat pounding beneath his skin, like he's doing now, skimming warm fingers across the back of Anti's neck.

He's used to it, but the first sign that something's wrong is when his knees go. They don't just weaken, they give out, and Anti holds him, implacable, unmoving.

"Ant," he murmurs, cracking an eye open. The world is blurring, smearing like wet oil paints from that class he tried to take before- before he'd found a half-dead vampire on his doorstep, before the world turned neatly on its head. "Ant, y'gotta stop."

Anti rumbles, low in his chest; a warning. The static prickles just for a moment, needlepoint against his skin, and abates. Chase grimaces, and fists his hand through Anti's hair; it's hard, with how cold his fingers have gotten, how they don't want to bend.

He pulls, and Anti comes away unwillingly, baring dripping teeth at Chase. He can't see too well, but he can make out the blood trickling down his chin. His wrist is throbbing, now, the pleasant haze of the static wiped away.

He silently bares his throat in an apology, eyes lidding already. Doesn't pull away, because the last time he tried, Anti had ended up drinking until he'd passed out.

They stand, frozen, for a moment longer, Chase feeling the warmth flood back into Anti under his fingers. Anti drops his wrist, but doesn't let go of Chase, eyes that same unforgiving stone-black even now.

"What happened t'taking what I wanted?"

There's something like a threat in those words, but Chase is just tired. He's not parsing whatever hell of a dance that they have going on right now.

"Can't take if I'm fuckin' dead," he snarks back, weakly, and Anti snorts. He picks him up- like he weighs nothing, Chase notes idly- and turns on his heel. They're heading for the bathroom, he thinks. Or maybe the bedroom. He hopes the bedroom, he'll clean up after he rests for a little.

The static lifts, and his neck feels... colder without it. He whines, softly, and Anti leans down to nip at his neck in warning.

"Stop complainin'. I told you. Only when I'm drinking. Should've let me drink longer if you wanted it that bad."

Yes, but then he'd be fucking dead, he thinks, and then carefully doesn't think about it. It's not hard, not with the way each blink is longer, and longer, with how badly he wants to sink into the fuzziness of the blood loss.

(Because here is the thing: Anti has shown up, half-dead, three months and five days ago. Here is the thing: Chase has held on with white knuckles and gritted teeth to the only thing that has ever wanted him, every buried little piece.

Here is the thing: if Anti had asked again, he would've tipped his wrist forward and let him take every last drop.

At least he would've stayed.)

[muscari-melpomene]

you ever have situations that make you want to take people by the shoulders and go "you are not 15 any longer. this behavior is no longer quirky and cute. it is exhausting for you and everyone else to act like a teenager you haven't been in a decade or longer. knock it the fuck off"

[muscari-melpomene]

I just had the best encounter with a child at Kmart. I was in the aisle shopping, and this girl and her dad come around the corner. The girl sees me and excitedly exclaims “There’s a human here!!” to which the father replied “Yes, there’s humans everywhere.”

[muscari-melpomene]

It’s December folks, you know what that means.

[muscari-melpomene]

what if i just rest my eyes for a second

[muscari-melpomene]

hmm

[muscari-melpomene]

Need a one-night stand but with cuddling instead of sex

[muscari-melpomene]

The creature who fell in love with the light

[Watercolor and gouache, based on ‘The Fog Horn’ by Ray Bradbury]

[muscari-melpomene]

my favorite genre of fictional character is like "i am terrifying to almost everyone, i'm very good at killing, i can endure anything, i've become exceptionally good at playing into my reputation, and if you try to give me positive social interaction i will react with confusion and cower in a corner like an abused animal. and i may try to shoot you. but there is also a chance i may imprint on you like a feral dog receiving its first loving touch! good luck."

[muscari-melpomene]

[muscari-melpomene]

GUESS WHO GOT INTO THEIR DREAM GRAD PROGRAM

[muscari-melpomene]

really helpful technique ^ once you know how to divide by halves and thirds it makes drawing evenly spaced things in perspective waaay easier:

[muscari-melpomene]

[muscari-melpomene]

I'm knitting in the corner at a party

and guys my age stop by to tell me I remind them of their aunt, of their grandmother. This is a compliment and I take it as such. They confess to having tried crochet once, and I smile. They get back in line for the bathroom.

I'm knitting in the corner at a party and a queer woman sits on the floor next to me, arranges her skirt, and smiles up at me. (I try not to blush.) She asks me all the questions on her mind about my craft and I answer them, hands still moving. We swap yarn sources. She doesn't stay, but she knows where to find me.

I'm knitting in the corner at a party and everyone knows where to find me when they need a minute, when socializing is too much and the music is too loud and they need to catch their breath. They pretend to be checking in on me, which is sweet, but I can see the relief in their eyes the moment they stop performing for a house full of people. They sit down and tell me things and all the while they never take their eyes off my hands.

The party has wound down and I'm still knitting and the hosts, two guys in their twenties, thank me for "helping to curate the vibe." I had no idea that's what I was doing. I leave the party having forgotten to drink anything and without that woman's number but with many rows added to my top-down raglan sweater. I call it a night, and a good one.

[muscari-melpomene]

Some Disney comics I made for a mini zine years back but didn’t post all of them online anywheres! Here you go.