#I am very proud of them and I like them a lot

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 9

Series Summary: In order to save money for law school, you accept a job working as a maid for high end clients. You aren’t supposed to know whose home you’re cleaning, but your curiosity is peaked by your first client, and when the two of you have a shocking and surprising run in more than just your curiosity peaks.  Word Count: 5k CW: see small red lettering below the cut AN: I'm going to miss them!! I'm absolutely heartbroken that I'm done, but so fucking proud of myself for what I've created. Thank you to @lotusbxtch for being my beta from pretty much the very beginning. I am so grateful to you and so honoured (yes, with a u because I'm Canadian lol) to call you my friend. Also little shoutouts to @for-a-longlongtime, @alltheirdamn, @mermaidgirl30 and @littlevenicebitch69 for listening to me go on about them for 80% of 2024. As always, graphics and dividers by @saradika-graphics

My Masterlist || Series Masterlist

TW: unprotected p in v, one spank, multiple orgasms and Overstim hinted at, pining, heartbreak

Eight Months Later

Joel

“I got yelled at by a feisty brunette last night at that gala,” Tommy says as the two of them sip whiskey at the bar of the club. 

“Probably deserved it.” Joel deadpans and closes the folder of invoices he’s looking over.

He should be doing this in his fancy, and newly renovated, office across the street. He was in the large office for all of three minutes the day after you left when he could only see the ghost of you. From the chair you sat in when you first asked him to teach you how to be a sub, to the door he pinned you against and confessed how out of his mind he was over you, everything was you, and it had to go if he had any chance of following what you needed from him. Joel hasn’t even been in his room at the club out of the fear of what it would do to him. Would I still be able to smell the lavender of her shampoo in there? Still be able to hear her beautiful cries of pleasure and pain bouncing off the walls?

“She thought I was you,” Tommy says, glancing over at his brother and interrupting Joel’s impending spiral.

Joel sighs, slipping his reading glasses from his face before taking a long pull of the amber liquor from his crystal glass. Tommy looks straight ahead as he continues.

“She’s doing great, by the way. Or at least that’s what her friend said when she was scolding me.”

 Joel winces at his words, “Of course she is, Tommy.” Even though it's been almost a year since you left, just the mention of you rips his barely-mended heart back in half. It doesn’t seem to matter how much time passes, he still feels like he did in his kitchen. 

The very fibers of his being ache just as hard for you now as they did then. He longs to see you and touch you, to feel your warm, soft skin under his hands again. Anyone before you was always, ‘Yes, Mister Miller,’ even when they weren’t in a scene; but not you. You weren’t afraid to be curious and unapologetically yourself. He hasn’t laughed as hard with anyone, including Tiffany, as he did with you. But the part that he misses the most is the way you look at him the first time you see him. Your eyes soften, velvety pink lips parting slightly before they curl into a smile that makes his heart hammer behind his ribs. Then, he watches your shoulders relax and it makes him feel like he hung the moon and stars for you, and if he could have, he would have.  

He clears his throat and then rasps, “She’s too smart to not be doing well.”

Tommy stands, bringing his hands to rub at Joel's shoulders. He squeezes his tense deltoid muscles and with a hint of mischief in his voice he says, “Lots of pretty girls here tonight if you feel like moving on.”

Joel shakes his head and pulls away from Tommy’s grasp with a grunt. “Never gonna happen. Get outta here before you get yelled at two nights in a row.”

“Just too bad for me that you aren’t a hot brunette,” Tommy says with a laugh.

“I have brown hair,” Joel replies defensively, running his fingers through the grown out curls. 

“Not to kick you when you’re down, but it’s mostly grey at this point.”

Joel holds up a single finger at Tommy over his shoulder as he laughs and walks away. 

Two and a half years later

You

You’ve been up to your eyeballs in studying as you prepare for your finals. These last few years in California have been the hardest yet most fulfilling time of your life. Two nights in a row now, you’ve fallen asleep in the library, only waking when your Spotify would switch from the white noise playlist you use to help you focus, to your “getting ready” playlist. After dragging yourself to your dorm room in the dead of the night, you’d get a few restless hours of sleep before heading right back to your favourite studying spot. You can’t believe that in just a few short weeks you’ll be graduating and stepping into the life you’ve always envisioned for yourself.

The unmistakable FaceTime jingle fills your AirPods. Jamie’s name is splayed across the screen of your phone, along with a photo of the two of you at Albany Beach when she visited this past Christmas break. You put your highlighter down and slide the answer toggle over. 

“Hey!” She says, her warm smile shining up at you. You squint, trying to place where she is. You don’t often let yourself think of Joel, but the cracks across your screen make FaceTiming difficult, and the selfish side of you always wishes you had grabbed that new phone before you left. Your head cocks to the side; broken screen or not, you don’t recognize the background.

“Where are you?” You ask.

“Oh, I’m good, thanks. How are you?” She jests with a mocking eye roll.  “I’m at a cabin.”

“What cabin?” You say, glaring at her jokingly. A deep laugh comes from the otherside of the phone and your eyes widen. “Who’s that?”

The man's voice comes from offscreen, “I can’t believe you thought she wouldn’t ask where you were. She’s going to be a lawyer, for god's sake.”

“Jamie, who is that? What is going on here? Blink twice if you need rescuing!” You joke. 

Jamie blushes, looking over the phone at whoever that voice is coming from. “I just wanted to call to see how the studying is going, and to let you know that I got the graduation tickets.”

A glass of white wine appears in front of Jamie and she smiles before puckering her lips in a kissing motion towards the man in the room with her. “Ok, seriously, who the fuck is that and where are you?”

“I was also calling to let you know that Laren can’t make it anymore and Odette is in New York,” she takes a small sip of her wine.

“Oh, well that’s ok,” you say, trying to squash the disappointment and hoping it doesn’t show in your voice or face. You wished that at least two of your three best friends would be there for you. “It can just be me and you, baby!” 

“Well…I’m wondering if I could maybe bring my boyfriend? Might be a good opportunity for you two to meet.”

“What? What boyfriend?” You say, officially abandoning all study materials until you get some answers. Jamie raises a perfectly manicured finger and calls the mystery man over. 

You swallow hard as Tommy Miller appears beside her. 

Jamie glances up at him, her bright green eyes full of admiration, his mirroring hers. The starry look in their eyes tells you everything you need to know; they’re so far gone for that even a search and rescue team wouldn’t be able to save them. She looks back at you. “Meet again, I guess.”

You try to push for answers, but either of them give in, claiming you need to focus on finals. Before you hang up, Jamie promises to tell you the entire story when you see each other next. You’re happy for your friend, especially seeing the way Tommy looked back at her. Even through your cracked screen you could see the love, but as you try to go back to studying you have a hollow feeling in your stomach.

Graduation Day

You

The late afternoon sun fills your dorm room, boxes of your belongings stacked haphazardly around you. After walking the stage tonight, you are going out to dinner with Jamie and Tommy, and then he has paid for a hotel suite so the two of you can have a girls’ night. You can’t wait to hear how Tommy went from, in Jamie’s previous words, “my dad’s new asshole friend” to her boyfriend. 

You step in front of your floor length mirror, zipping up the black graduation gown over your knee length, form fitting, deep emerald velvet dress. The California sun has been good to you, your tanned legs and sunkissed nose and cheeks are glowing. You place your blue and yellow Berkeley Law stole over your head and then grab your cap, ensuring the ‘Class of ‘28’ tassel is secure. You fluff your curls one last time as a light knock comes from your door. 

“Ready to graduate, gorgeous?” Ronan smiles at you, eyes trailing down your gown. He’s the type of handsome that’s almost painful to look at, but more importantly - you wouldn’t have made it through these last three years without him. You met the first day - the lock on your door wasn’t working, and he waltzed in on you half naked when he mistook your room as his. 

You smile at him in your doorway now; remembering the way you screamed at him that first time, trying to cover your chest, and him scrambling to close the door. His eyes were clamped shut, and he slammed his finger so hard that you had to take him for stitches. Now, several years later, he fills out his graduation gown perfectly with those wide rugby shoulders, a sight you couldn’t even have imagined back then. Whichever angel made him didn’t make a single mistake - he’s tall and insanely broad, with dark sandy blonde hair, and clover green eyes that in the right light are a golden hazel. He’s easily one of the smartest men you’ve ever met and an incredible athlete. The cherry on top, because of course there’s more: he’s an international student and has a panty-melting Irish accent. 

“Beyond ready. Let's become lawyers, babe.”

He steps aside, one arm out in a ‘ladies first’ gesture. Handsome, charming, and thoughtful - a dangerous trifecta. You slide your hand in the crook of his muscle-lined arm and walk across campus together.

Ronan jerks his head towards the coffee cart. “Remember when you spilled your entire coffee on your new puffer jacket?”

You glare up at him, you saved for weeks to buy that jacket. “No, but I remember you throwing up in that trash can after the Halloween party last year.” 

“Well, if Beach Party Barbie had helped Lifeguard Ken with all those shots we wouldn’t have had that problem, would we?” You laugh as Ronan puffs out his chest, but you both know he was more than willing to take your half of the ‘Best Couples Costume' shots. 

Finally, you reach the courtyard where the law students will be walking across a stage that acts as the symbolic bridge to the rest of their lives. I’m a lawyer, you think to yourself and try to force a smile. The magnitude of the day only really starts to sink into your bones as you see the friends and families of your classmates start to take their seats. The excited feeling you had earlier starts to morph. You’re proud of yourself for what you’ve done these last three years, and this was just the first step. You have so much to look forward to, so why do you feel a sense of dread building in the pit of your stomach? 

Ronan walks you to where you need to line up alphabetically, kissing your cheek and then, after leaning in and placing his large hand on your lower back, he whispers a joke about how you better not trip. You glance around the thick crowd for Jamie and Tommy. After realizing it’s hopeless to try and spot them in a group this large, you slip your cap over your hair and get in the procession line. 

You try to soak in every minute of the day, from the speeches to the birds chirping in the background, but something akin to loss flutters at the base of your spine. You’re just as sad to be leaving Berkely as you are excited to carve out your future. Leaving here isn’t what’s causing you to feel this way, however. You try to tell yourself that maybe it’s just nerves; even with all the job offers coming in from your internships, it’s normal to be nervous about what comes next. 

As the student union president gives his toast to the family and friends, you look down at your lap, pushing back the cuticle on your left thumb. Maybe it’s leaving Ronan. He’s been an anchor for you, grounding you almost every day of the last three years and you don’t know how you let yourself become this dependent on anyone, especially a man, again.  

You shake your head at yourself and try to move your focus to the cuticle on your other thumb. Seeing the skin clean from the nail bed eases the tension slightly for you. ‘I’m allowed to be nervous when leaning on people, but not everyone will leave me,’ you recite almost automatically in your mind, the mantra you’ve had these past few years whenever you feel yourself getting this anxious. Just as you finish the thought, a car revs in the distance and the realization of what - or who - you’re actually missing slams through you so hard that you almost feel winded. Your lungs ache, tears pushing behind your eyes as his name rings loudly through your mind.  

Joel.

You kept yourself busy since the minute you left Austin. The busier you were, the less time you had to focus on the void in your heart. During the school year, you didn’t have to find things to stay busy with; law school nearly chewed you up and spit you out. Over the summers, you worked as an intern and visited your friends. There was never a quiet moment, never too much time alone with your thoughts, and it was better this way. You can confidently say that you’d only thought of Joel six times since you walked out of his house that day: when you fell asleep on the beach and were so sunburnt you could barely move for three days; when you failed your first test; when your rusted SUV, that acted as your ticket to freedom at eighteen, died on the freeway in rush hour (from that point on you had to rely on public transportation to get you to the homes you cleaned). When you experienced your first earthquake; when you stayed up for forty-two hours straight after your partner in a group project didn’t have their side of the work done; and, lastly, this past New Year’s Eve when you were in Austin and thought you saw him at a party. 

“Is he here?”, that little box of feelings that you shut away in a vault long ago wonders. “Has anything changed for him in the last three years?” 

The small smile that pulls at your cheeks, and the excited flutter of your heart when you think about the possibility of seeing him again, proves that maybe nothing has changed for you. As the minutes tick by, your mind races with all the possible scenarios for after the ceremony. What if he is here? What will you say? What will he say? How will Ronan react, you know he has strong feelings about what happened between you and Joel. Even worse though, what if he’s not here? But maybe he’s at the hotel where Tommy and Jamie are staying?  

Before you know it, your row is standing and walking single file towards the stage. With each strike of your high-heeled strappy sandals against the concrete, a memory of Joel floods your system. The toast he made you in his kitchen, the kiss in that dimly lit hallway on your birthday, the way he walked you through his club and how calmly he talked about you being in charge before going into the voyeur room. The multitude of orgasms he gave you within the four walls of his private room. Him singing on the small stage of the dive bar you found, followed by him spanking you right there in the bathroom with his hand clamped to your face to keep you quiet. His strong hand grasping your thigh as he drove you to his house. The way he tasted on your tongue. The smell of his skin: all ash and leather, occasionally mixed with whiskey or mint. The feel of his body: hard, broad and hot. His shuddered breaths as he confessed so many things in so few words. 

‘It’s only you, sweet girl.’

‘Just call me Joel.’

‘I know, and I’m so proud of you, sweet girl.’

You carefully walk up the stairs, forcing the thoughts of Joel from your mind, just in time to hear your name announced as a graduate of Berkeley Law. You float across the stage, grabbing the piece of paper that acts as your degree until the real one comes, shaking the hand of the Dean who flips your tassel before you walk to the stairs on the other side; the stairs that symbolize the ending of your time here and the beginning of the rest of your life. 

As you reach the top of the steps, you look out into the audience and see Jamie. She pumps her fist in the air and before you can process the empty seat beside her, you feel it; a strong tug from behind your navel. It takes you less than a heartbeat to find him and the sight before you floods your body with a familiar warmth. Standing under a large tree at the edge of the audience, dressed in all black, and holding his Stetson hat to his heart, is Joel. For the first time in years you feel whole again.

 You keep your gaze on him, worried that if you so much as blink that he’ll be gone. You are supposed to follow your classmates, but you veer left, walking towards Joel. The closer you get, the more at ease you feel. He’s real, you think, he’s here. You stop a foot or so in front of him. 

“Hi, Freckles,” he whispers, his voice cracking slightly. His eyes dance around your face, almost as if he’s trying to memorize this moment. You can’t help but wonder if he’s feeling exactly how you are.   

“Hi, Sweet Cheeks,” you say, the same tremble in your voice, as you try desperately to hold it together. “You’re here.”

He nods and you give him a tight-lipped smile as your mind races. There’s so much you want to say, but now that he’s standing right there in front of you after three years, you don’t know where to start. 

Joel breaks the silence, jutting his chin in the direction of the other graduates as he says, “I saw you come in with your boyfriend. When I saw you kiss, I was going to leave, but I made you a promise.”

You knit your eyebrows together and take a step closer. “Boyfriend?”

“The man you walked over here with,” Joel says, his black Stetson sliding down the chest you so desperately want to touch as he drops his hands to his sides. He’s left no barriers between the two of you except the heartbreak that’s evident on his face. 

You laugh quietly, “No, he’s - that’s Ronan.”

Joel nods. “Okay.”

“He’s my friend,” you clarify, and when Joel’s face stays the same, you add, “And he’s still as gay as the day we first met!”

Joel lets out a whoosh of a breath and closes the distance between the two of you, his free hand comes to one of your curls, twirling the end of it around his thick fingers. Soft and silky meets rough and calloused. “I’m so proud of you, Freckles.”

You don’t miss how he watches your tongue dart between your lips, “Thank you.”

“So? How does it feel?” He gives you a soft crooked smile, his dimple carving into the short facial hair of his salt and pepper beard. Between that smile, and the way his brown eyes wash over you, you’re overcome with affection. He let you go. He did exactly as you asked him. He didn’t chase you or try to convince you to stay. You told him if he really loved you, then he’d do exactly this; and in turn, he did what he said he would. 

He showed up. 

“I love you,” you state and the air between you turns electric, almost like this moment could either set you both aflame or act as a generator for your future together. Joel gives you that look, the one that makes you feel like you’re the center of his universe. He lets the curled end of your hair slip from his fingers, reaching up towards your graduation cap but hesitating.

“May I?” He rasps and swallows hard.

You nod, and knowing exactly what he’s going for, you take the Stetson from his other hand and place it on your head after he removes your cap. The brim of it blocks out everything but the two of you.

“Say that again, sweet girl,” he murmurs.

“I love you,” it’s barely a whisper this time. “Even after three years apart, you are everything to me. I asked you to let me go so I could accomplish this, and you did. You’ve always done what I asked, what I needed. I’m not sorry for what happened between us, but I am sorry that I missed out on getting to spend the last three years with you looking at me how you are now. I love you, Joel Miller.”

He brings his lips within a breath of yours, and your body practically vibrates with the knowledge that if you leaned just a bit forward, you’d finally have his mouth on you again. You can almost taste the mint on his tongue as the familiar fragrance of ash and leather surround you. “I have dreamed of hearing those three words leave your beautiful lips more times than I can count, baby. You’re it for me. I’ll do anything for you, even if it means breaking my own heart, but I’m always going to be here for you, rooting for you and encouraging you. I’m glad you’re not sorry, because I’m not, I’m so fucking proud of you. I love you, too, my sweet girl.”

Finally, he presses his warm, firm lips against yours while pulling you tight to his body. You wrap an arm around his neck, holding the black cowboy hat against your head with your other hand. It doesn’t matter that the ceremony isn’t done, or that there are hundreds of people to your right. For the first time in three years, everything goes quiet. He hums contentedly and you feel yourself melt against him, tilting your head so he can deepen the kiss. He parts his lips, letting you take the first swipe of your tongue against his. Need floods your system, and based on the way he grinds into you, he’s feeling the same. 

He breaks the kiss, but doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against yours. “Take me home,” you practically purr.

“Where do you want home to be? I’ll go anywhere,” Joel rasps, running his nose down the bridge of yours. 

“Austin,” you respond, your breath catching as his lips ghost along the side of your mouth.

“I sold my portion of the club to Tommy and Tess. I don’t have anything holding me in Austin anymore, sweet girl. If you have a job offer you really want, that’s where we’ll go.” You pull back to look at him. You can tell by the set of his jaw that he’s serious. 

“I want to go to Austin. I have a job offer there.”

“Good thing I told Tommy not to touch my room at the club then.”

“That’s a very good thing,” you moan and then pull him in to kiss again. The audience behind you erupts into cheers, celebrating the accomplishments of every student in that crowd. 

You’re a lawyer, and suddenly, the future doesn’t seem so scary.

Joel

Taking you home to Austin that night unfortunately wasn’t an option. After finding Jamie in the crowd, and being formally introduced to Ronan, he called the car to pick up the three of you. You all met Tommy at the restaurant, celebrating with all the expensive homemade pasta and overpriced wine that you wanted; even though seeing you in that curve-hugging velvet dress was slowly killing him. Joel had kept at least one hand on you since seeing you again, and he doesn’t plan on changing that anytime soon. 

He didn’t want to rush you on your big night, so he waited patiently, listening to you tell stories of your last three years, and revelling in the evident joy that you and Jamie share over being together again. When dessert comes around he catches Tommy’s attention and gives him a small smile. It’s fitting that the two brothers, who have been so close their entire lives, would fall in love with best friends. 

Once in his room, he spent two hours stripping you down at an almost painfully slow pace. He kissed every inch of your skin twice over and has pulled five orgasms, and counting, out of you so far. 

Now, Joel is seated in the wide velvet arm chair in the corner of his hotel suite. His cock is buried deep inside of your tight cunt as you straddle him. Your skin feels like butter under his hands as he trails them along your back and the globes of your perfect ass. He’s missed tying you up, but this is what he longed for: the earth shattering intimacy he feels with you in these moments.   

“Please,” you mumble into his neck, desperate to move your hips.

“Not until you answer me,” he demands softly. “How many times was it that you needed me, but were too stubborn to reach out?”

Earlier tonight you told him about the six times you really needed him. He’d kissed you softly after each confession, returning the trust with a time he needed you. After the last one, he’d pulled back to look at you with dark eyes. He’d hated that you needed him and he couldn’t be there. He’d clenched his back molars twice before he said you’d be denied six orgasms the next time you were at the club, but tonight you have permission to come as often as you need to. 

He swats your already reddened ass cheek and your pussy flutters as you cry out. “Mister Miller, stop. Please, just let me move.”

“Do you need to use your safeword?”

“No,” you respond with a pout. 

“How many times?” He says again through gritted teeth, even though already knows the answer. 

“Six,” you sob. 

He tuts and then growls, “That doesn’t sound like my good girl, does it?”

You shake your head against his throat and moan a sound of disagreement.

“Do you want to come for me again?”

“Yes, Mister Miller. Please!”

He trails his fingers up and down your back again, the thin sheen of sweat on your skin makes it easy for him to caress you. He smiles to himself at the shiver that racks through your body at his touch. You react so beautifully to him. “Yeah? You wanna grind your swollen little clit on my piercing, baby girl?”

“Please,” you whine again, stretching out all the vowels in the word.

“Show me. Ride my cock, take what you need.” 

You lift your head from the crook in his neck and pull back slightly, rocking your hips back and forth; a sultry laugh leaves his lips at your eagerness. You look at him with hooded eyes, hair stuck to your forehead. His eyes trail down your neck to the bruises he sucked into your collar bone earlier and then to your breasts; both of which are covered in his marks. He watches the little gold nipple clamps, and the chain that connects them, bounce with each flick of your hips. 

“That’s it, sweet girl. You look like a goddess, my goddess. Who do you belong to?”

“I’m yours, baby,” you say through shallow breaths. He pulls at the chain and you cry out in pain. “S-sorry, Mister Miller.”

“Again, sweet girl. Tell me who you belong to.”

“Oh fuck, y-you, Mist -” his hands come to your face and when he whispers your name the rest of your sentence dies on your tongue.

“Just call me Joel.” The commanding voice of his alter ego is gone as he says it. 

Your hips slow, changing from a frantic back and forth to a sensual swirling motion. “I’m yours, Joel. Forever.”

He kisses you softly, a silent telling of how vulnerable he is at this moment. “Don’t ask me to let you go ever again.”

The smile you give him causes his heart to skip, “I won’t.”

“You might, sweet girl. I won't survive it if you do, so I’m going to remind you of this moment as often as possible for the rest of my life. Remind you how much you’re loved and supported. You’re mine, Freckles.” Your hips swirl and he feels you tighten up around him. “Come for me, my sweet girl.” 

“Fuck, fuck, Joel!” It’s a cry and moan all at once. 

“I’m here, it’s ok, baby.” With that, your body shudders and you fall into him as you shatter. Your pussy clenches and releases rapidly around his length. His cock twitches, and once he can’t hold it anymore he relaxes, letting his orgasm rock through him in time with yours.

“I’m yours, too,” he gasps as he melts into you.

The End

Coming Soon:

Curious how Jamie ended up with her "dads new asshole friend?"

Part 2 of the BDSMaid Trilogy coming mid 2025!

Also, stay tuned for the epilogue for Joel and Sweet Girl.

[doberbutts]

hello! I'm the one that sent you that ask a week or so ago. Sorry I didn't check to see if you'd answered for a while because I was just so upset and had to take a second. I will say I scrolled through a bunch of helpful posts you reblogged before I even found the ask again that helped a LOT.

Two things I thought you might want to know is that it wasn't speculation that you'd blocked the weirdo blog that sent me your way: they literally have "proudly blocked by doberbutts" in their bio which was why i felt safe coming to you lmao. Second is I guess my struggle with this issue was an overall struggle with how bad wider misogyny has gotten in general and how muddied it's gotten with the "male loneliness crisis" and like, centering men's issues under patriarchy and just how insanely upset it's been making me. Seeing cis MRAs identify with trans men freaked me out because like, yeah it's important to talk about how (cis) men suffer under patriarchy but it's just so rare for me to find men do that without devolving into misogyny, and I start to feel so helpless because I know validating these issues matter but women are being literally dehumanized openly. I do play oppression olympics with this specific issue and just of COURSE women suffer more under patriarchy, but the same men who demand space to air how they suffer won't acknowledge that truth. (sorry for soapboxing; some of them do! It's just...things are so bad for women rn lol it's really hard to have compassion when it feels like none is being given to me).

So the more I see this issue the more I think people are being affected by larger misogyny like I am, but are doing the typical thing that happens where you lash out at a group you can "reach." Policing and harassing trans men's behaviours is way easier than cis men. I've also been seeing some parallels between this discourse and the "gay men vs lesbian women" discourse. It's not really a one-to-one but the discussion of the role of misogyny re homophobia towards gay men who still have male privilege but, come on, if they have feminine affectation it's Different and the back and forth that used to happen when gay men and lesbian women did oppression olympics, it just feels similar.

idk as i type this I hope I don't come across disingenuous or like, my Too Casual Overly Respectful tone is trying to subtly incept you. I worry my vibes are too "women first" but I just can't help it misogyny really is ruining my life 😭. Anyways I'm very grateful for your perspective and your blog. I feel more settled and equipped to push back against anti transmasculine behaviour with rhetoric that can actually challenge people

To respond to each point in turn:

1: Again I still don't really know who that is, though I am somewhat bemused by the idea that someone I clearly don't really remember is still so obsessed with me that they're proud I've blocked them. For the record, my block list is as follows: people who send anonymous hate, people who continue to harass me after I've told them to stop, people I catch with posts containing inexcusable bigotry, obvious trolls, self-identified zoophiles and MAPs, and people who repeatedly send me fundraisers after I have already said I only share fundraisers from people I know and trust. Being on my block list is, um, not really good company, so it's kind of funny to me that someone is proud to be there. Yeah I'm sure they'll fit right in with the neo-nazis and dogfuckers and cyber bullies. Oh and I guess my ex but I only blocked them after they started harassing me about our failed relationship years later. Enjoy block hell I suppose.

2: I'm not really here to play who has it worse, not because I don't recognize the wider understanding of privilege vs oppression but because I think it is a self-defeating thread of thought because you will always find a "more oppressed" example, and I think that people should be allowed to talk about their hurts regardless of their status of "more oppressed" vs "less oppressed". Talking about the ways society has hurt them is not what makes MRAs dangerous. What makes them dangerous is who they blame, how they go about fixing their problem, and the solutions to their problems they come up with.

To be quite frank, the majority of MRAs are men who have experienced some form of social rejection or isolation. Most have been sold some patriarchal lie about how by being men they inherently deserve good sex with hot women on demand, a wife at home to keep barefoot and pregnant, a high paying job where they are respected and valued regardless of the effort they themselves put into it, and all the luxuries that lifestyle can afford. This is a fantasy, you and I both know it. And when these men realize the hard reality that we live in an age of extreme social isolation, that in order to have a partner you need to actually have more personality than a used dishrag and with only half the mess at max, that good sex is about give and take and not just yourself, that these high paying jobs are few and far between with most takers being born into some level of wealth rather than any merit they themselves have earned... they lash out.

It does not at all help things to understand that many of these MRAs are themselves marginalized in some way, but their framework not only doesn't let them see it but also advocates a harsh rejection of anyone who is self-aware enough to realize it. A lot of these guys are undiagnosed, have trauma, and are just as affected by the systems of racism, classism, homo- and trans-phobia, xenophobia, sexism, and ableism as the rest of us.

Quite frankly, I'd rather these dudes see a group of (trans) men fighting for our place in society by joining hands with other activists with more feminist, black-friendly, disabled-friendly, gay- and trans-friendly in an attempt to lift everyone out of the pit rather than continuing to fight over scraps... than to see them continue to blame women and Jews and then go shoot up a school or a mall about it. One of these helps. The other just kills people and excuses rape. There's a lot of value in deradicalizing people by offering them a path to resolving their pain that is perhaps less destructive and more constructive.

This is also why the constant comparison to MRAs annoys me. MRAs kill people in senseless acts of terror and despair because they're upset that they're not having the sex fantasy the patriarchy sold them. Trans men talking about our oppression- regardless of the word we use to express it- are mostly talking amongst ourselves about suicide and rape statistics and sharing ways to get hormones and surgery despite unwilling doctors and insurance companies. We're talking about how our social groups rejected us the moment we came out, or how people use us being men against us in ways that was not happening before we came out or passed. These are not at all equivalent conversations.

3: Again I ask you- I see people using both cis and trans feminist frameworks to hurt other people. Where is your concern for that? I am equally concerned about TERFs as I am about MRAs, as they have driven multiple transgender people and our allies to suicide and even have committed acts of violence against people irl as a result of their ideology. Most TERFs will also be the first ones to tell you that they have been hurt, deeply, by men and that they also are frequently undiagnosed or untreated, traumatized, and affected by the same systems of oppression. Does their existence and their determination to latch onto every feminist conversation including those of people who are staunchly against them then poison all feminism to you? If not, then why make that distinction for trans men and MRAs?

I am black. I am Indigenous. I am transgender. I am gay. I am disabled. I am poor. I suffer. People hurt me. I see every day how bad things are. Do you think I cannot see it, or that my ignorance is the reason for my request for compassion? Perhaps consider that it is rather my knowledge and my lived experience that fuel my call for compassion, instead. I never said it would be easy. But I do think it would make a better world.

4: I do actually agree that it is very similar to the gay man vs lesbian conversation and have said for a while that it's the same queer infighting discussion we've already hashed out for the last 50 or so years, but the target groups just swapped out. It's just butchphobia, it's just biphobia, it's just aphobia, it's just panphobia, it's just nbphobia- it's the same fucking shit over and over and over again. It was shit infighting before and it's shit infighting now. Privilege is a conversation that depends so heavily on context, and the way it has been bastardized by the internet's poor understanding of political frameworks developed by women of color and their allies into cute soundbites and phrases rather than a deep, nuanced knowledge will never fail to annoy me.

Do gay men have privilege over lesbians? As a class, sure, they would have male privilege. But what do we mean by male privilege? The privilege to not worry about being assaulted on the street? To walk home late at night unbothered? To marry who they want, to have the romantic partner they desire, to feel safe within a domestic partnership? You and I both know that doesn't quite match up to the lived experience of gay men worldwide or even here in the "gay paradise" US. How does this interact with other marginalizations? Does a black gay man have privilege over a white lesbian? What happens if he's a drag queen dressed up for an event and she's a butch that passes for cis male? Does that change retroactively if this "gay man" figures out she's actually a transbian 5 years later, and the lesbian is a TERF? I'm not saying this breaks the framework of male privilege- I am saying that sometimes the theory doesn't match the reality, and a nuanced and intersectional understanding is required when talking on an individual scope rather than class politics.

Additionally- as a side note- it is also incredibly annoying to watch people act like privilege = oppressor = dangerous, and oppressed = victim = safe. Privilege, and whether or not you have any, is not a moral indicator nor is it an indicator of the safety of the person you're interacting with. I have privilege over people who cannot walk, because I can. I am not objectively or systemically oppressing people who cannot walk by the use of my legs in my day-to-day life. Oppression is action- if I vote for policies and politicians that removes ramps and safety regulations and provisions to assist wheelchair users? Now I am oppressing people who cannot walk. If I block or move or interfere with the disability aids, if I mock people or assault or harm them, if I dump them out of their mobility aids or break them, that is oppression. The act of climbing the 3 stairs on my front porch to get into my house is a privilege, but the oppression stems from the people who built my house to even have stairs on both exits.

5: lastly to end a very long post, I don't actually think there's any harm in centering yourself when discussing things that objectively affect you, as long as you remember to include others who are affected and let them have their floor to also center themselves when they need to speak up. I am a black trans man. My politics are pretty centered on black feminism. I don't think that is objectively a bad thing. I prefer to let the demographics with similar problems speak for themselves- I would rather my trans fem friends get the mic when they open their mouths, my lesbian friends, my Jewish friends, my latino and asian and arab friends. I don't think there's anything wrong with them centering their own problems and outlooks, as long as they recognize that there's shared space to be had with others who feel similar hurts. I think it's pretty normal to center yourself. I think the difficult thing is knowing when to relinquish the megaphone to someone who's been dying to use it, while you yourself still have so much to say.

[stargore]

forgot to post this but i’m finally getting around to it!!! here are the photos of a jacket i made for my friend <3 this was super fun to make, it’s very different from my usual style

there are a lot of things i wish i had cleaned up or made better choices with but on the whole i am suuuuuper proud of it

^ a few patches i really liked, this picture doesn’t do the starry night patch justice it’s one of the best things i’ve ever painted

also!!! messy splotchy glow in the dark stars!!!!! they look very different in person, i like them i think they’re cute

[elicypher]

Very respectfully requesting William J Moriarty x reader with food play. Write whatever gender you want, whatever format you feel more comfy with, but I'd like reader to be afab

With lots of love

-☎️

- i tried doing research on this but it was always so over the top or nothing at all, lmao. so i hope this can be a balance of it and what you were expecting, anon :)

- food play, fingering, mention of cunillingus, william james moriarty x reader

the glow of the candelabras bathed the dining room in gold, and the soft crackle of the fireplace was the only thing filling the silence other than your bated breath—quiet yet irregular. dinner had long been eaten, the plates cleared away—leaving only a tray of fresh strawberries and a pot of melted chocolate.

william's eyes gleamed with something other than just mischief—something darker and intense. a mixture of desire and lust.

the only thing left to have, in the end, was dessert.

his crimson gaze settled on you, unflinching, as he dipped his slender, long fingers into the chocolate—coating them with decadent, molten sweetness. his lips further quirked up when he commanded, his tone a husky, low baritone, "open."

you felt so very vulnerable, atop this dinner table, bare and embarrassed. your breath hitched when his hand lingered at your chin, tipping it up before he slid two chocolate dripping fingers into your mouth. the taste exploded on your tongue as you closed your lips around him. a shaky breath left him.

"good," he murmured, watching you intently. "now clean them for me." your cheeks burned, but you complied—your tongue flicking against his fingers, savoring the sweetness from them.

the deliberate motion of your tongue made a low hum of approval escape his mouth. he pulled his now chocolate free hands back with a pop. "i must admit," he began, his voice low and smooth. "there's a certain charm to seeing you like this."

you flushed red at the way he stared at you, fiddling with your fingers. "....and how am i, exactly?"

"tempting."

the word hung in the air, sending a shiver down of pleasure down your spine. it was almost pathetic, the way your body would respond so intensely at mere words from him. he lifted a ripe strawberry from the dessert platter, and dipped it into the pot of melted chocolate. william then whispered, "may i?"

you nodded, your lips parting slightly. william leaned closer—tracing the chocolate dripping strawberry from your neck to your chest. each movement made you clench, arousal pooling at your legs. and william's tongue followed soon after, tasting and licking the trail of chocolate he left behind on your skin.

first the neck, your collarbone, the valley of your breasts, the curve of your stomach—so slow and so tenderly, he nursed them all with his tongue, deliberate licks making you tremble. eventually, he put the strawberry between your lips, asking you to "take a bite" before he stole it from your mouth.

"oh" you gasped quietly when william's lips closed around your nipple, the heat and pressure sending a jolt of pleasure through you. his untouched hand slid lower, tracing over your hip, before snaking in past your thighs—spreading them apart.

"already so eager, are you?" he muttered against one of your breasts, low and dark, sending a vibration through your skin. he could feel how wet you were on his fingers, feathery touches against your slit—it amused him, and to an extent, made him proud at how you caved in so easily at a few touches from him.

"william.." you pleaded needily, quiet—but just enough to hear, your desire hooded eyes staring up at him with a lustful haze.

"i know, darling." he whispered before obliging to your needs. his fingers found your clit, teasing and circling as his mouth continued it's ministrations on your chest. your moans filled the room, and you could feel his smirk against your skin, clearly pleased by your reaction. "do you like being my dessert?"

"god," you gasped, nodding feverishly. "yes, yes i do."

william's movements grew even further deliberate, his middle and ring finger now sliding inside the ring of muscles, it being fairly easy with how wet you already were. his other hand continued to work your sensitive bundle of nerves.

the sensations had you overwhelmed and moaning—his mouth, his hands—the sheer intensity of the pleasure he could induce driving you to the edge. "that's it.." he murmured huskily.

your eyes screw shut, mewling noises escaping you while your hands clutching at his shoulders as if your very life depended on it. the only other sounds that left your body was the squelching between your legs, and the whimpers of his name.

"good girl," he whispered, his lips pressed against the shell of your ear. "you're doing so well... good job, darling."

you knew you were about to orgasm, and he knew too—the tremors in your legs were an obvious indicator, along with your now hitches breath, that seemed to quicken it's pace every second. "come on, pretty," william whispered. "let go for me."

and there it was—your release hit you like a tidal wave at his guidance. your body arched against him as he coaxed every last tremble from you. he didn't stop immediately—no, his touch and lips remained relentless while he prolonged your orgas, eventually leading you breathless and utterly spent beneath.

as your breathing slowed, he pulled back—taking his seat on the chair in front of you again. you made an attempt to get up, thinking it was over, but william pulled your legs closer to him—angling your currently oversensitive pussy to his mouth.

"you taste even better than i imagined." he said, scarlet eyes hungry for more. "won't you give me one more?"

@ELICYYPHER — do not retranslate, repost or plagiarize.

[simplegeneral]

It was an early morning in the Sky Queendom, arriving at nearly 5 am at a meeting planned to happen at 9 am, the new queen of the SandWings past her mother queen Burn's passing, Oasis and her envoy had arrived extra early in order for her to prepare mentally to meet the other queens at the now famous Queens' Summit, happening every 5 years, this time earlier thanks to the new sandwing queen's ascension to power.

Depressed, angry and above all else, volatile, queen Oasis has declared speech after speech she would deliver to the queens, but to no avail nor her own approval, being only encouraged by her envoy, the adviser, principal and all-doer Sunny and her father, the ex-king now general Sandstorm.

At around 7 am, queen Moorhen, quite often seem as the matriarch and arbiter of the summit had arrived, so confident she would be the first one there, as always happened, only to find the young queen angrily snarling fancy words around in an attempt to showcase her nobility.

" Your new majesty, queen Oasis. A pleasure to meet you finally face to face. How long have you been here? " She spoke, ever so softly and stern as a mother figure, the mudwings behind her begun to hastily unpack their belongings to guard and offer during the summit.

" Oh. Your majesty.... Queen Moorhen... Of the mudwings, of course! I have been here for a few hours, I believe... " Oasis stumbled in her memories the coherent words to say in such situation.

" Oh three moons! Energetic aren't you? In fact, I do believe where all this energy came from... " Moorhen spoke as she looked Sunny, who was approaching them from the side. " Sunny, oh my, your energy is fueling through the ground or something? Its causing our royal guest here to feel accelerated! "

" No no no, your majesty, I mean, yes, I mean, kinda of. I mean I have been advising Oasis to the best of my abilities... " Sunny yelped cutely.

" Ha ha! Oh well. Delightful as it have been meeting your person, queen Oasis, I may ask, is everything alright? " Moorhen directed towards the young queen.

" Well... I am nervous, absolutely. Such a summit, it seems marvellous but, politicing at home is complicated, and I can not imagine what will be in foreign affairs... 

- Ah, yes, indeed. Come with me, if you don't mind. Lets go to a walk to a nearby pond, we will talk there. You too can come, Sunny. "

The three of them made their way through the bushes, flowers and trees, into a large pond of cristaline waters, so pure they could see all the way to the bottom.

" Beautiful, isn't it? This pond is so refreshing, its waters so pure. It always relaxes me, and you?

- I do feel calmer by its beauty... But, what do you seek to talk with me?

- Oh. Direct to the point, eh? I see. Just like your mother! Ah, Oasis, once you live up as long as I did, the beauty of life is to live very calmly and tranquil. Your mother, queen Burn, and your grandmother before her, Oasis as well, were very agitaded and hard working dragons.

- I believe so. What do you know about my mother?

- A lot. We were allies during the succession war before you hatched. I believe I was one of the few dragons who could stand up to her, be direct, straightfoward, honest, and she always reciprocated. I met very few dragons in my life like her.

- I feel like I am her daughter but... I don't have much of anything of her, not the courage, the strength or the honesty.

- You are only so young! Be patient, queen Oasis. Let me tell you one quick story about your mother's first meeting with the other queens, at this very summit.

- Oh. Oh! Its queen Moorhen's story time!!!

- Calm down, Sunny, you might spoil everything to our guest here before I can even begin! "

The three of them sat down at the edge of the pond, and Moorhen begun:

" Your mother, queen Burn, was as nervous as you are when she first arrived at this summit. The proud warrior had a terrible charisma, her oratory was terrible and she couldn't get her ideas across in a convincing way to the council. As soon as she arrived, usually not so long after me, we would come here to this very pond and I would tell her stories, like I am doing to you, of how her mother, Oasis, stumbled on her words and embarrassed herself at courts held by other queens...

- She did? How do you know that?

- I am old enough! I saw Oasis' rise from a dragonet to the queen she would become. Burn was usually not very kind to anyone who addressed her mother with any lack of respect, but she usually tolerated my mockery because she knew I was saying light-heartedly. Oasis and I were good friends and allies back in a day, so I missed her too, it was all in good heart to remember what seemed to be better days. Oh well... So, the first time she arrived here, you had hatched only a few months before, and Burn had refused to leave you at the wingery of the palace, so she brought you ALL the way over here, and she was desperated!

' Moorhen! ' she yelled, ' I brought my dragonet over here, how embarrassing it will be when I address the council for the first time and she starts crying at the talons of my husband?! '

I said ' Calm down, Burn. I see you could win a thousand battles, but apparently you can not figure out motherhood haha! '

' THIS IS SERIOUS, MOORHEN! ' She snarled at me.

' Alright, alright. Calm down, Burn. Look. If she does cry, so what? She may or may not do anyways. Other queens are also bringing their dragonets because they do want them close, the situation is tense, its our first meeting, for ALL of us, not only you. I can list all of the dragonets who might cry if you would like. '

' Argh... Fine. Thank you, Moorhen... I can bark orders all I want, but properly address a crowd, I have never done that, it feels such a waste of time. '

' Words are more powerful than your talons, Burn. If you seek the other queens to believe in your ability to follow the international laws we seek to establish commonly among the queendoms, you must show yourself capable of reasoning, either you like the outcome or not. '

' I see. You are right... Good thing my daughter is here. I will do it for her, for I do not seek a dangerous world for her to live. '

' Remember Burn. Speak for what you love, not against what you hate. Good luck, my friend. '

- And so Burn and me nodded at each other and departed to the meeting. It was alright. Burn stumbled on her words but she delivered them with her heart in the right place, the crowd was pleased, and she proved to Pyrrhia she was a respectable leader, both in times of strife, and now in times of peace. "

Oasis had paid attention to Moorhen's words like she have never had to anyone, not even Burn in the later years. She spoke:

" Mother seemed so confident, so powerful, I confess, I never thought she could be such a nervous dragon...

- We are all normal dragons at the end of the day, Oasis. And as queens, its expected the most out of us. Known where your heart lies in, and speak with the oratory to melt their hearts, its my elderly wisdom to you, young one.

- Thank you, queen Moorhen. I... I wrote so many speeches to impress, to mark me as a powerful and decisive queen, yet none of them came out of my true beliefs, what my mother, my father, even what Sunny has told me. Maybe its too late to change all of it.

- We still have a hour until the meeting, Oasis. Its not too late.

- You think so?

- I know its not. Rewrite it. And remember the lesson your mother also had, reason your ideals, be ready to be challenged, respect the outcome.

- I will keep this in mind, thank you, once again, for sharing this with me, queen Moorhen.

- Worry not, young one. Expect nothing, deliver everything. You will do well. "

As Moorhen stayed in the pond, ever reflective, Oasis and Sunny departed back to their caravan, Oasis more than ready to write with her heart in the right place.

[almosthonest]

Luther and Metal Music

was inspired by @desmon1995 's post on derailed so if you have not looked at that please check it out! they had a very great explanation about luther and the connection to rock and roll and i am here to expand on that (which is very on brand for me considering that this is a heavy metal blog).

although rock n' roll was started by POC (as is almost any other genre) most people want to put a white face on it. this has been happening since the sixties (like with the beatles and i think frankie lymon, i will fix this if it's wrong, elvis presley and chuck berry, etc). but this is more about heavy metal. black sabbath is considered one of the bands to be associated with the first to do it (them and deep purple, might i'd add) and they're credited for the new wave of british heavy metal (nwobhm) movement.

metal, especially within the eighties have become not only a male dominated genre, but a white, male dominated genre. they're the ones often doing most of the gatekeeping, the "name three songs" type. anyone who is a poc can probably name an instance where this has happened to them. and a lot of people will call poc "whitewashed" because they listen to alternative genres, when that is simply not the case. we simply created those genres and like everything else, we have been pushed out of them.

now, i wanna talk about going down specifically. if anyone has done their homework (or is a big metal junkie like i am) you will notice that the song sounds a lot like toxicity by nu metal band system of a down. and i honestly don't think this is on accident. i think lmm had something cooking when he did this. (edit : eisa actually had the heavy metal idea i just am sleep deprived/forgot, but you got the point. she was cooking with this idea).

system of a down is an armenian band, all of their members are armenian and they have been out and proud against the armenian genocide and have always been so political about something like this. the fact that luther is a guy with beliefs that contradict that is such a genius move. he wants to watch the world burn and system of a down wants the complete opposite of that. and i know system of a down doesn't come out until the nineties and it absolutely might be a stretch but that's what i think every single time i listen to going down. i think it still stands that luther listens to metal without when realizing to context of what some of it says. metal is also sometimes political and most of it leans left, especially in the eighties.

also metal is interpreted to be "angry-sounding". luther could've been angry at a multitude of things. like cyrus wanting to form an alliance against cops (and i actually stand by the theory that victor is luther's father, thanks @sopaprimordialy ). which once again, contradicts many of the beliefs of the metal genre and the metalhead subculture.

in conclusion, but sorry luther, you're kind of a poser. all jokes aside though. luther is once again the established white face. he is someone who camouflages into the subculture and can do it very well because of its known aggressiveness (and even some metalheads today unfortunately would have the same beliefs as luther. i blame pantera, specifically phil anselmo, their lead singer. dumbass). it is just that easy to be a metalhead and be angry at the wrong things at hand.

[trees-be-drawing]

I am going to explode….. OMG!!!!!

THANK YOU???? IM GLAD YOU LIKE IT???

Sorry for the very late response to this, I’ve been busy moving but OMG!!

Honestly I received this on a day I was going through the roughest allergic reaction to… something? (Probably dust or rabbit fur but my eyes were red and puffy, nose was runny and normally it’s just my nose that suffers from cleaning so aggressively but it was genuinely awful. Other than this one time with a friend’s cat where I felt my throat close up last November but that’s besides the point)

I love that you describe my Snettles peaking out of the water looking “shy and pathetic” XD The context for that one was the follow-up to Moomin braiding his hair and that’s actually the first drawing I did before fully going into it as practice. I’m very glad I captured his shy expression very well.

I am also very glad you liked my Snufkin drawings of him fighting against his mermaid instincts/magic. I felt very tempted to draw a lot more of them (including the… “pinning down” scene) but I couldn’t cuz I wanted to save room for the Lady of the Sea. So there may be a second page at some point, along with some drawings of the next chapter to come when you’re finished 🤭

When I was reading the Lady of the Sea… I’ll admit, I immediately went “White Diamond” and drew her based on that vibe. I ended up seeing a post later on with someone comparing your fic to Steven Universe and I found that genuinely funny XD. Besides that, I love drawing sharp, angular creatures and the Lady of the Sea’s description got me really hyped to draw her!

As for Moomin… oh I was very proud of the “Snuffles” scene I drew XD I legit went “okay, I have to draw Moomin looking as flirty as possible” and I was very glad people liked it!

Can’t wait to see more from you!! I’ll probably read some more fanfics from you at some point if you’d recommend one!

Okay… so I started reading @annzy-bananzys-corner ‘s “Snettles” as I was scrolling through Snufmin fanfics to read on AO3 back in early December, and… holy cow is it good!!!

Not only did the art cover from one of my favorite artists drew me in, but the writing was just 👌✨ GORGEOUS!!

All the characters written had such good chemistry towards each other, and Snorkmaiden ended up being the funniest to me. I couldn’t stop laughing so hard at her trying to be the voice of reason to the two lovable idiots that are Moomin and Snufkin in the early chapters.

So as typical fashion, I felt a great need to draw it. Cuz honestly, long-haired Snufkin was not something I thought was going to make me go feral but hot damn does he look so pretty in long hair!

Okay so…

SPOILERS TO THE FIC!!!

It’s pretty blurry but 1. I don’t have the best camera quality, and 2. It’s a bit faded since it took me a whole month to do this. (Update: I got a clearer picture. Sorry, I was rushing to get this out for a whole month)

But anyway, I had absolute gender envy every time I drew Snufkin with long hair. And there was definitely a lot more I wanted to draw, and felt bad I didn’t draw Little My especially.

I’m actually glad for the cover art too, it acted as a perfect reference to use but unfortunately I’m not very good at drawing Moomin and I’m envious at how @hanekdrawsmoomins draws them! They’re so fluffy and pretty!!

I definitely had to draw Snorkmaiden calling Snufkin a twink. I couldn’t resist. What I didn’t intend was for it to be right next to Snufkin having a breakdown over the overpowering song in his ears 😅 I also decided in order to differentiate Moomin and Snorkmaiden, I gave Snorkmaiden more rounder and fluffier features like her tail and ears. It’s subtle but I was pretty happy with it.

I get giddy every time I drew Moomin and Snufkin, but Snorkmaiden and Alicia needed some love too. I wanted to try some perspective which… I’ll admit I’m not very good at, but I did my best. I normally don’t draw backgrounds but I wanted to give the scenes more character and it was pretty fun, even if it’s not perfect.

I also thought to myself “maybe the reason Moomin didn’t recognize Snufkin was because he’s never seen Snufkin’s hair deflate in the water” so I drew the comparison to Snufkin and “Snettles” for that one scene where Moomin realized how similar they were. I also imagined his hair gets longer in mermaid form.. hehe! :3

I was also very excited to do my interpretation of the Lady of the Sea but I’ll be honest… I did procrastinate on it for a while which is why it took so long. I know the description said “seaweed green hair” and not the fact it’s actual seaweed but… I hope you don’t mind but I gave her seaweed hair. Made of different types of seaweed too :3 I actually want to colour it at some point but if there’s any changes I should do to her design, you can let me know. I’ve loved to get an accurate idea on her :3 I also used the mermaids from the 90’s as reference to give her fins on her head, although Snufkin doesn’t have any but I’d argue it’s cuz he’s only half mermaid.

It’s a very scattered looking comic kind of page but man! There was so many moments that were genuinely so good I felt tempted to even draw a full comic book on this!!

But no… unfortunately I am very easy to lose motivation and I’ve been and will be pretty busy for the majority of my current life cuz of college and stuff so I’m afraid I can’t draw often.

Good thing I’m on break at the moment :3

But anyway, it was super duper fun drawing these!! I’m actually super duper proud of them :3

Actually…. You wanna know how much I loved my sketch of Moomin and Snufkin on their midnight swim?

I COLOURED IT!! GONE BACK TO MY DIGITAL ART ROOTS FOR THIS!!!

Honestly I don’t think I did that great but I did this on iBisPaint, and there was a version where he had brown hair… until I read a section saying he has red hair so I quickly changed it to how it looks currently.

I also realized too late that the scales on his cheeks weren’t actually scales but freckles… which…. You know what? Fuck it. His freckles turn to fish scales. And they’re shiny :3

I also decided to make his scales glow but then remembered that doesn’t happen till Chapter 13. But hey, I think it gave it a calm feeling with how warm it must feel to be snuggled up like that on the water. Heck even my sister agreed.

Overall, Moomin fanfics have really helped with my art block.

And sorry for the really long yapping session. I like talking about my thought process on these things, and I genuinely can’t wait for the next chapter whenever or if it ever comes. I understand you’re busy so I don’t blame you but… damn you really left it on a cliffhanger huh? Still love it though! :3

Also I’m not sure why the link for the fic isn’t working properly cuz normally it would be automatic but… I’ll see if I can fix it at some point (update, I fixed it!)

[kaboomthepossum]

Weekend in Western Illinois Drawing

Hello bestiesss! It is I, Kaboom, once again bringing you your 9th instalment of ‘drawing TMG songs for the vibes’

So. I’m really really sorry I haven’t done one for so long - I’ve been insanely busy but I’m gonna get working on some more soon

I got an anon request to do this alllll the way back in April so if that was you here it is haha! I have wanted to do this for agesss since it’s such a lovely song and I love drawing dogs!

I am actually super proud of this one, I love the song and I think (I hope) I did it justice!

[seagull-scribbles]

Was thinking a lot about the afterlife and reincarnation and came up with this nonsense!

Anyway this is a gift for my friend @naivesilver for graduating, super proud of you queen and I hope you enjoy this little comic thats clogging up the dashboard

[shannonsketches]

He said "Fuck this shit, I'm out" I'm crying. Toriyama's Vegeta was so top shelf 🤌

(From Neko Majin Z Chapter 5!)

[ghostoffuturespast]

Honestly, getting real tired carrying and supporting other folks around here when most of them aren't returning the favor...

[lizzybeeee]

Friendly reminder the Dragon Age Devs AMA is happening later today for all you Americans out there! Consider me very impressed that a majority of the questions with the greatest upvotes are quite critical of the game!

I linked it below!

[why-the-heck-not]

”having cats is so cozy :3 they’re so cute aww look at her purr aw what a sweetheart”

i’m collecting pieces of a bird into a plastic bag on this fine sunday evening

[pardonmydelays]

the funniest thing that always happens to me is that every time we have a customer who doesn't speak polish and they ask me if i speak english i'm like "no, i don't think i do" only to realize a few minutes later that i do, in fact, speak english

[muirmarie]

.

[dogboner]

personal growth is crazy because it seems like nothing has changed until you're crying because you don't want to die. you learn something about yourself that ten years ago would have actually killed you, and now you're thinking about what you can do to heal and make peace with it. nothing may have changed to you, but to the person you were however long ago, you are the "it gets better"