#I just picked one night to draw everything from my brain and then post it in different days :>

[anotherfandomtrash]

"worst friend group ever"-probably Rodya after being yelled at

[wisteriagoesvroom]

For the trope mashup thing whatever: arranged marriage and neighbors 👀 - CX

again not one i would've picked but thank you for prompting it !! this also uh, got longer than i thought.

(from the prompts mash up - still taking submissions)

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“What do you mean your visa’s running out?” Lando asks.

“I’m Australian. Not a magician. Commonwealth only gets you so far.” 

“I thought you were here on a scholarship.”

“Well. Yeah. But scholarships stop. Once you graduate.” 

Lando toes the doorway rug. It feels weird to be talking about this in the middle of the hallway, though the only other person who would be listening might be Mrs. Kapoor, and half the time it’s only because she sticks her head out to ask if Lando or Oscar would take one of her mystery vegan curries. Lando is neither a huge fan of vegan food nor curry, and he trusts Oscar’s word for it that it’s good because they eat it while playing Gran Turismo at Lando’s place. But Lando always accepts the curries nonetheless, because his parents raised him to be polite, and he wasn’t raised in a barn. (Even if he technically grew up in converted farmhouse in the countryside, but that was besides the point.)  Either way, this is slipping away from him much quicker than he’d anticipated. Late night hangouts, dropping mail and post-it notes, text messages about the community garden. The most inane smalltalk about things big and small from the origins of moths to whether aliens were out there or just chose to ignore the +44 area code. Oscar always laughing in the right places when Lando regales him about tales of his terrible online dating stories, Oscar always picking the pickles out of the roast beef bagels before he passes one to Lando. The corner of Lando’s sofa that Lando has started to think of as Oscar’s because he’s there so often, reading one of his books or trying to speedread a JSTOR article about the lifecycle of urban pathogens while Lando worked on artwork for his upcoming store launch. 

Lando’s synapses are firing too fast. His brain did that most days, and that was what made him exceedingly good at his job, and today in particular - it doesn’t feel like there’s any logical way out. 

Lando remembers that movie they watched once though. As a joke. The one they both pretended not to enjoy, with Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds in Alaska. The one they watched when Oscar sat next to Lando on the sofa, and they both pretended the entire night that their knees weren’t touching. 

His therapist said he had a tendency to get ahead of himself when under stress. But it’s a joke, it’s not serious, there’s no way—

“We could just like, get married.”

Lando shoves his hands in his pockets. That came out way more calm and cooler than he thought it actually would.  And to his credit, Oscar doesn’t drop his mug of tea. Lando knows that’s his favourite one, because Lando got it for him, and it says Science is my superpower. Oscar does, however, slightly shift his grip on the mug.

“I feel like it’d be complicated to explain to my mum why I randomly married my upstairs neighbour?” 

“But it’s not a no.”

Oscar tilts his head. There’s a glimmer of something focused, maybe even hungry in his eyes. Oscar gets like that when his mind turns, when he’s working on an especially difficult thesis, when the pieces are forming and he can lock into the crucial details.

Lando is a little alarmed at how much he already recognises it, and how much more often he’d like to draw that reaction out. 

“If the facts don’t fit the theory, then reexamine the facts. Right?” Oscar says.

And Lando is there, in the doorway. Conscious that Mrs Kapoor might’ve heard everything, but all the more conscious that there’s a hammering in his heart that he can’t tell is nervousness, or anticipation. 

What’s the stress limit for a joke you’re probably already pushing too far? Lando thinks.

He isn’t sure.

But maybe it’s a thesis worth testing out.  

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(and ok maybe i cheated a little on arranged marriage but i think this is the closest i could get with the contemporary context. thank you @cx-boxbox for the prompt <3)

[skz-streamer]

Cheeks

Pairing: Jisung (skz) x fem!reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: just brain rot fluff :)

Notes: Okayyyy so this wasnt exsactly an ask directed to mee but I was scrolling on my lovely moots page @seo--changbin and saw this post so ovi i had to write something 🙄🤭

Summary: Dinner with Han and the boys is always memorable, I mean who can forget Han's cute cheeks?!?

-please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people

Word count ~1.3k ;)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The restaurant buzzed with laughter and chatter as you and the boys gathered around a cozy corner table. Tonight, you were dining at your favorite spot, and the atmosphere was filled with warmth and friendship. You found yourself seated next to Jisung, and your heart fluttered with affection as you exchanged a subtle smile.

As the night went on, the conversation flowed effortlessly. The boys talked about everything from their recent performances to funny memories from earlier the week. Amidst the banter, you noticed Jisung occasionally getting caught up in the excitement of shared stories.

Without even thinking, you reached for a spoonful of his favorite dish and gently offered it to him. Jisung blinked in surprise but accepted with a smile, his cheeks puffing up adorably like a chipmunk. It was an unconscious gesture, an act of affection that came naturally to you whenever you saw him engrossed in something.

The other members around the table couldn't help but notice the sweet exchange and their eyes sparkled with amusement. Changbin, ever the playful one, chuckled and teased, "Hey, y/nah, are you his chef now?"

You blushed, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and endearment. "Oh, I-I didn't even realize I was doing it," you stammered, trying to hide your shy smile.

"It's cute," Felix chimed in, giving you both a thumbs-up. "You two are like a cute couple!"

Seungmin and Hyunjin joined in the teasing, calling you "the feeding fairy" and "Jisung's favorite cook," which only made Jisung's cheeks turn even rosier. But amidst the playful banter, you could see the warmth in their eyes, appreciating the genuine connection between you and Jisung.

Jisung, however, seemed to revel in the attention, shooting you a grateful look. "Well, I'm lucky to have someone who cares about me," he said, a touch of affection in his voice.

Throughout the dinner, the playful teasing continued, but it only made you and Jisung feel closer. Every time you noticed him getting caught up in the conversation, your hand would unconsciously reach out to feed him, and he would eat the food you offered with a smile.

The dinner progressed with moments of joy and camaraderie. The boys shared stories, laughed together, and bonded over the simple pleasure of being in each other's company. All the while, you continued to absentmindedly feed Jisung, a gesture that felt as natural as breathing.

As the night wore on, the table was filled with laughter, and you found yourself lost in the comfort of their company. Time seemed to slip away, and soon, the evening was drawing to a close.

Jisung nudged you playfully, breaking you out of your thoughts. "Hey, y/n, did you save me any of that delicious dish?"

You grinned, realizing that you had been so engrossed in the conversation that you forgot to eat yourself. "Oops, sorry, Jisungie," you said, picking up your spoon and scooping a fresh serving of the dish for him. "Here you go."

He chuckled, taking the offered spoonful and eating it with a satisfied sigh. "Thanks, you're the best," he said, giving you a wink.

The warmth in his eyes made your heart skip a beat, and you couldn't help but blush. Feeding Jisung had become such a natural and affectionate act, one that spoke volumes about the bond you two shared.

As the night progressed, you found yourself lost in the enchanting atmosphere of the dinner. The restaurant's soft lighting, the laughter of your friends, and the gentle touches exchanged between you and Jisung created an ambiance that felt like a dream.

With every tender gesture, you felt the affection between you two growing stronger. Jisung's eyes would meet yours in an unspoken language of love, and a small smile would form on his lips every time you fed him.

It wasn't just about the food; it was about the connection—the intimacy of sharing a moment that only you two understood amidst the laughter and chatter of the group.

The other members also noticed the affectionate exchanges between you and Jisung, and they couldn't help but find it heartwarming. Felix leaned over and whispered, "You two are adorable. It's like you have your little world there."

You chuckled softly, glancing at Jisung, who was engaged in a conversation with Changbin. "It feels natural, you know? Feeding him is like an instinct," you replied.

Seungmin nodded, teasing a little. "You both are like a cute old couple."

As the night drew to a close, you felt a sense of contentment settle over you. The dinner had been filled with laughter, affection, and heartfelt connections. You were grateful for the love and brotherhood that the boys shared, and above all, you were grateful for the love you and Jisung had discovered in the simplest of gestures.

As you all bid farewell and left the restaurant, the cool night air greeted you, and you walked hand in hand with Jisung, savoring the moment. The stars twinkled above, and you felt like the luckiest person in the world to have such a wonderful group of friends and to have found someone like Jisung who brought so much joy into your life.

"You know," Jisung said, breaking the silence, "tonight was special."

You looked at him, a soft smile tugging at your lips. "It was, wasn't it? I had the best time."

He chuckled, his eyes shining with affection. "Me too. And thanks for taking care of me during dinner. It means a lot to me."

"It's my pleasure," you replied, squeezing his hand gently. "I love taking care of you."

His cheeks turned pink, and he glanced away bashfully. "Well, I love it too," he admitted, his voice a little shy.

The night breeze caressed your cheeks, and you felt a surge of happiness that you couldn't contain. Jisung, sensing your excitement, pulled you closer, wrapping his arm around your waist. His touch sent a delightful shiver down your spine, and you snuggled into his embrace, feeling a sense of warmth and security enveloping you.

"Let's do this again sometime," Jisung said, his voice soft and tender.

"I'd love that," you replied, your heart swelling with joy. "Every moment with you is special."

He smiled, his eyes sparkling with affection. "I feel the same way."

-----------------

As the night continued, you and Jisung strolled hand in hand, enjoying the tranquil beauty of the city lights. The energy and excitement from dinner lingered, and you both felt an unspoken desire to extend the night.

"I don't want this evening to end just yet," Jisung whispered, pulling you closer.

You smiled, loving the idea of more time together. "Me neither. What do you have in mind?"

He grinned mischievously. "How about we go for round two? Let's grab a drink at that cozy cafe we love."

The suggestion brought a playful glint to your eyes. "Sure, but only if you promise not to get too hyper."

"I promise," Jisung replied with a chuckle. "One drink and I'll behave."

You walked hand in hand to the nearby cafe, finding solace in the comforting warmth and dim lighting. The ambiance was perfect for a quiet conversation, and you settled into a corner booth.

As you sipped on your drinks, the conversation flowed effortlessly. You talked about everything and nothing—sharing dreams, recounting funny moments, and basking in each other's company. Time seemed to slow down, allowing you both to enjoy every moment.

As the night deepened, a sense of peace settled over you both. You rested your head on Jisung's shoulder, feeling the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat. In the soft glow of the cafe, his eyes locked with yours, and you felt a rush of affection wash over you.

"I'm glad we had this second round," Jisung murmured, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

"Me too," you replied, your heart swelling with love. "I could spend forever with you like this."

His eyes softened, and he leaned in, pressing a soft, tender kiss on your lips. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you at that moment.

As you pulled back, a sweet smile graced his lips. "I love you," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"I love you too," you replied, your heart brimming with happiness.

Permanent tag list: @eee5533 @mixtape-racha @ot8skz-wifey @ren0325

Click here to be added❤️

[yearningandstillnotlearning]

A r t .

- B.E.

Blurb :p | no use of any names for the characters, just “she” and “you”

a/n: first fanfic posted ever im so nervous | this was my yearning from some months ago i decided to make it into something more | please comment on your opinion on this im nervy

Not fluffy nor sexual but a secret third thing (sensual)

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Have you got colour in your cheeks?

Leftover snack packets and crumbs of cookies and sugar littering the couch of the living room, clock read 12:38AM, its past midnight, yet for two girls with a sleep schedule as theirs, the night is still young, too young.

Family and friends long gone, others went home others went on dates, and another stayed behind to cherish this very moment.

Are there some aces up your sleeve?

Have you no idea that you’re in deep?

Laughs had hit the walls hours ago when they were once gathered up to 7, and even now at 2 laughs are still bouncing back and forth. Sneaky giggles and stupid jokes, unexplainable videos that just seem so funny when its late and for once youre not alone.

Energy drinks on the floor next to the bed and an annoyingly bright light hitting at the side to make up for the lack of sun, yet thats the last thing to bother you right now. Theres nothing that could actually bother you right now, not when you finally have her in front of you.

Ive dreamt about you nearly every night this week

Sketchbook in your lap, pencil in your hand and coloured pencils scattered along your side on the bed, criss crossed bodies mirroring each other face to face.

Even if your face wasn’t able to stay in one place. Even if your face couldn’t handle the urge to heat and melt your makeup off in the process, even if you couldn’t handle looking at her, as much as you couldn’t handle her looking at you.

How many secrets can you keep?

Your heart thumping in your chest the same way it does when you’re at a club next to the speaker, body shook with the beat of the speakers and the bass, and you couldn’t tell if its from the amount of energy drinks you’ve consumed this evening or her presence.

But this is better, oh this is way better, theres no eardrum-breaking noise, or people squished up together, stomach-stirring drinks, uncomfortable heels. None of that.

This is simply adrenaline in itself, it was the excitement pumping in your veins.

Cause theres this tune i found that makes me think of you somehow and i play it on repeat..

Emotions thumping at your heart and in your veins causing your blood to rush to your face, cheeks burning red, but the colour showed at your ears, palms so sweaty you hold your sketchbook carefully to not wet and bend the paper. Neck and collarbone stained with red rash spots, just how into her are you?

Shes not stupid now, you tell that to yourself to sleep better at night. She has noticed everything, a simple blood rush is nothing. The way you look at her when everyone is talking laughing and you’re quiet? When your choice of “recharging” your social battery is looking at and through her? When you’re alone and suddenly your voice drops to just above a whisper, sweeter than any sugarcoated candy? When you doodle her and her only out of so many people, there are 5 other people with you two, yet who do you draw the most? You spend all your effort and time on her, enjoyably so.

Until i fall asleep,

A hand picking up your own has a wave of goosebumps sent across your body, a wave of heat while doing so. An amused laugh breaks your gaze, from the mixed hands, up to her own stare.

Shes staring at you, and you’re wishing she would stare nowhere near you. The fear in your brain banging like a migraine, wordlessly telling you she sees it all, and the very same fear in your body, giving her all the confirmation she needs. Her eyes softening as her one-sided laughter dies down, and you’ve yet to actually see her. So far you have been too caught up in your own thoughts to see in front of you until now.

A hand holding your burning one to her also heated cheek, and a twinkle in her eye right between that blown out pupil and icy blue cloud that dances like the stars do on the dark night sky right outside the window.

“I knew you felt it too, Im not crazy to like you”

spillin’ drinks on my settee.

[drenched-in-sunlight]

hello hi!!! grfhvhghr i am in love with your artwork so much you cant believe-- i wanna ask if you have any tips on how you lineart and colourpick?? no pressure to answer tho, have a great day/night!! again, love your art <33

hi!! thank you for your kind words!! since i got asked about these a lot, im answering this for all the other ask asking about lineart and colour tips too! You can see some previous post here.

also i could only give out tips that work for my drawing style - which is heavy lineart / colours pop up the line (believe it or not it's American comic book style. ppl cant understand why my art doesnt really look like usual anime/ Asian webtoon style, even though it is still clearly anime / Asian webtoon style, but when i told them it's because im drawing these by studying American comics, no one believes it either lmao.

i do study but i do my own things too, so most of my art inspo is really unexpected to ppl, but they r really where i learn things from, cuz i dont even go to art school TT_TT).

Changing the brush size will help you achieve thick/thin lines better without having to put pressure on your wrists. Keep your hold relaxed and let bigger brush size give you the thick strokes.

I like messy sketch, to me the sketch is just an outline shape to fill details in when i do the line, it also gives more freedom to wriggle as i draw! cuz i dont really plan out everything from the start, just wing it as i go, so a lot of my work is actually very spontaneous.

that leads to this point: when you do the lineart you should start deciding which colour style you want from it to adjust the details amount. the ink shadow blocks in my art aren't there randomly, i adjust them to best complement the shape language and colours.

for piece where i want the line/shadow to...idk hit (?), the colours are almost flat with textured brush adding depth to them, so the inking is the shading, thus there are more details in the lineart / ink blocks.

for the video above and piece like this where i want the colours to be clear and pop out, the use of ink blocks are minimized and i do the shading during colouring process. but! the ink blocks can still make some places pop very nicely! just use in moderation!

when doing the base it's good to keep the colour on the left side of the colour wheel (low saturation), but as you do shading and lighting, try to spread out evenly so it won't look washed out.

toggle around with hue and saturation slider as you go! the key is always adjusting! you're making hundreds of decisions at once, being conscious of your choice in why a line or a colour should be in a certain way will help improve your process a lot! (i think you can tell which art i turned off my brain and just draw for stress relief ........ which is also a valid way to draw and sometimes the result might surprise you! but for more serious stuffs i try to be aware of most of the move i make. it's problem solving, yeah?)

i find that one way to keep your art from appearing too...yellow in the end (which is sth that haunted my ass for a long while) is always aim for cold tone, so if you accidentally make it warm either way in the end it won't be too warm (and yellow :cry:)

well that's all the stuffs i can think on top of my head. sorry i can't give more advice on colour picking cuz it's sth i don't really know how to give advice on???? i think my colours now are still pretty lame haha........ if there are still any questions i'd gladly answer within my ability, though im very slow to answer ask ( i do read and be happy at all of them tho!)

[dragonflylady77]

Mr Steve and The Monster Hunter

It's finally there, time to post my fic for @bigbangharringrove (thank you mods for all your work for this event!)

I've been working so hard on this one... I even did some doodles of a couple of scenes from it (I might post them once I've posted all 6 chapters).

Art by @adelacreations (so very excited about this!!).

I want to thank @ihni for Olivia’s name, @spaceofentropy for noticing I'd forgotten about Will (oops!) and @akioukun for Cindy’s name

Also on Ao3

Steve gets the surprise of his life when one of his students gets picked up by her father. A man who Steve thought had died on the dirty floor of Starcourt Mall fifteen years ago.  Billy Hargrove is alive... and a dad. He runs a security company called HellGrove and he hunts monsters in the Upside Down for a living.  When Billy opens a portal into the Upside Down in Robin and Heather’s backyard, Steve follows because he wants answers.

Chapter 1 - Mr Steve isn't a boy

Steve is looking forward to the weekend after a long week teaching six-year-olds. Having the school trip to the zoo the same week as the talent show is not something he’s keen to do again in a hurry and he let his principal know as much. 

He smiles as the last of the kids rush past him, waving him goodbye as they squeeze in the doorway before running down the hallway towards the exit, a spring in their step. He notices Olivia is still in the classroom and he walks over to her desk.

“Everything okay, Olivia?” he asks as she shoves the last of her drawings in her backpack. He reminds himself for the hundredth time to ask Robin where she found the Hawkins Lifeguard backpack because he didn’t know such an item existed and he was a lifeguard at Hawkins Community Pool for a few summers, both while he was in high school, and after, during summer breaks from university.

He knows he isn’t supposed to have favorites but Robin and Heather’s daughter is one of the brightest students he’d had in his ten years of teaching elementary school and she is extremely funny to boot, at a level that her classmates usually don’t get.

“Yep, Mr Steve, I’m spending the weekend with my dad so I want to show him all my work.”

“Your dad?” Steve asks, confused. As far as he knows, the little girl only has her two mums. Of course, Steve figures there has to have been a man involved in the process, he did pay some attention in biology class, but he never asked. Heather still scares him a little and he isn’t as close to Robin as they were fifteen years ago.

Nope, not thinking about it.

“Yes, he works a lot all over the country so I don’t see him very much.”

“Then I bet you’re very excited to see him!” 

“I haven’t seen him since Christmas, he’s very busy but he rings me when he can,” Olivia says matter-of-factly as she closes her bag. 

“That’s nice,” Steve says, smiling even though he thinks two months is a long time without seeing your child, not that he has any of his own.

“He lives in California, you know,” she adds as she starts walking to the door. 

Steve follows a few steps behind, in a daze, her words unleashing the memories of loud metal, leather and cigarettes, and a blue Camaro.

Nope, not thinking about him.

He watches Olivia step out of the classroom and turns towards the mess he still has to clean before he can go home when the voice coming from the adjoining hallway stops him in his tracks.

“Hey, princess!”

It can’t be. But that voice… He’s heard it before, and those words…

Shaking like a leaf, Steve turns towards the open doorway and takes the three steps that separate him from the owner of the voice.

It isn’t possible. Billy Hargrove is dead, Steve reminds himself. He died at Starcourt Mall fifteen years ago, in what remains the scariest night of Steve’s life. This is just his brain playing tricks on him. 

He steps into the hallway and freezes. The shock of seeing Billy Hargrove, alive and in the flesh, dims Olivia’s gleeful screams.

He looks… Steve feels all the air leave his lungs. Billy looks fucking good for a dead guy. His hair is cut short, some golden curls on the top still, he looks broader in the shoulders, his muscles more defined than they were in high school, not that Steve is looking, but the guy is wearing a t-shirt that looks painted on, okay?

He is also sporting a scar across his left cheek that looks not too recent but doesn’t make him look any less handsome, as well as some gnarly looking, but silver, older, scars on his arms and Steve knows there would be matching ones on his sides and in the middle of his chest, where the Mind Flayer had hit him with its tentacles.

“Pretty boy?” The shock is evident in Billy’s voice. He clearly didn’t expect to see Steve either.

“Daddy, you’re silly. Mr Steve isn’t a boy, he’s my teacher!”

Billy clears his throat and looks down at his daughter. “I can see that, princess.”

Billy Hargrove has a daughter!! What. The. Fuck? 

“Billy. Long time no see.” 

“Mr Steve, you know my daddy?” Olivia is looking between the two of them, trying to work out the connection.

Billy crouches so he is level with Olivia. “Mr Steve went to school with me and your moms, Livi.” He looks around and picks up her cardigan from her hook. “Is that all your stuff?”

“Yes, Daddy. I gotted all the stuff in my bag to show you.”

“That’s great, princess. Can you wait here a minute while I have a super quick chat with Mr Steve?”

She nods. “Can I play the word game on your phone?”

“Sure thing.” 

Once Billy sorts Olivia with her game, he looks at Steve who is still hovering in the doorway and gestures towards the classroom. Steve nods and heads back inside, Billy a few steps behind him.

Steve stops when he reaches his desk, trying to compose himself. He hears Billy behind him and turns around.

“Robin never said—”

“You probably hav—”

They both stop at the same time and Steve knows he’s being awkward but he is not prepared for this. It’s not like he was friends with the guy back in high school, but Billy sacrificed his life to save them that day in1985 so for him to just show up like that is just… Steve doesn’t even know at this stage. He needs time to process. 

“Listen, I have to run, haven’t seen Livi in way too long and I want to make the best of it but if you want to talk, or like, I dunno, have questions for me, here’s my card. Call me.”

Billy pulls out his wallet and hands Steve a business card with a tentative smile. Steve takes it, trying to wrap his head around what just happened. He nods as Billy puts his wallet away.

“See you around, pretty boy.” Billy doesn’t wait for a reply and he heads out. 

Steve hears Olivia’s voice then the chatter moves further away as they walk towards the exit. 

He finally looks down at the card in his hand. It’s dark gray, almost black, with the letters HG in white in the middle. He flips it to find the same monogram on the left then his eyes read over the words, taking them in.

HellGrove Security Consultants

William H. Hargrove

CEO & Head of Security

Followed by a phone number and an email address.

What. 

The. 

Fuck?

***

It’s after midnight and Steve is lying on his bed, flipping Billy’s card over and over, the dim light of his bedside lamp catching on something in the corner of the card. It’s embossed in the same color so he didn’t really notice until now. He brings the card closer so he can have a proper look and…

It’s a demogorgon flower head. 

Motherfucker. 

He grabs his phone to call Robin but then remembers that they’re not really best friends anymore, besides it’s late and she’s a parent now. Olivia did say she was spending the weekend with her dad but Steve isn’t sure what the arrangement is. 

Billy Hargrove is alive and he’s a dad. 

More questions than answers and it’s making Steve want to scream. So he sends Robin a message, figuring that she can choose to reply if she’s awake. 

He hopes she does.

Steve: So I met Olivia’s dad at pick up today. 

Immediately the reply box shows three littles dots. Steve holds his breath for a bit but has to give up after a minute. Either Robin is typing a novel-length explanation or she is not sure what to say.

Robin: Surprise? <cringe emoji>

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Steve yells in the empty room, his frustration at boiling point. His phone dings again and he looks to see what else Robin had to say.

Robin: Come over for lunch tomorrow. We’ll talk.

Steve sends a brief text saying he’ll be there then puts his phone down and switches to his laptop, giving into the temptation to visit HellGrove.com.

The website mentions the usual stuff: the various services offered (most of which mean little to Steve), reviews from clients as well a page about the company and its staff. Steve keeps looking on the main page for the freaky flower and finally finds it, hidden on the Reviews page when his cursor hovers in the bottom left corner and HOLY FUCK!

There’s no photos of the Upside Down but the hand drawn illustration in the banner is enough for Steve to suppress a shudder at the memories. There are a handful of anonymous written accounts by survivors who were rescued by HellGrove and reports about unsuccessful rescue missions. The wording is vague but, to someone who’s experienced it first hand, it’s clear they’re talking about the Upside Down.

Steve goes back to the home page and clicks on Staff. His eyes immediately focus on the black and white photo of Billy. It must have been taken some time ago because the scar on his face is missing. 

The short bio tells Steve that William H. Hargrove joined the Marines at eighteen and left after six years to start his own security company. Steve scrolls down and he is surprised and a bit shocked to find out that Max, Lucas, Will and El also work for Billy. And some guy named Argyle, who apparently has no last name.

He vaguely remembers Dustin mentioning that Lucas got a job in California after college and he knew El and the Byers already lived over there. He feels bad when he realizes he hasn’t thought about Max in years. He ponders reaching out to Dustin but that would open a can of worms and even more questions.

He closes his laptop and dumps it on the other side of the bed and settles on his side to go to sleep.

The feeling of an arm around his waist pulls Steve from his slumber. He gasps when he realizes there’s a (warm!) body behind him, the owner of which is dragging him closer and dropping a string of kisses on his shoulder.

Steve can’t remember the last time he shared a bed with someone, especially while being naked, though he is sure he was wearing pajamas earlier. The kisses morph into a bite and a needy moan escapes his lips when he feels teeth nibbling on his skin. The embrace around his middle tightens and Steve’s hand drifts to the one holding him, fingers locking with the ones of the man behind him. Because it is a man, of that Steve has no doubt.

He looks down, noticing the silver scars in the soft glow of his bedside lamp. “Billy?”

“Sorry I woke you up, pretty boy,” comes the hushed whisper from behind him.

“No, it’s okay. What are yo—” The words die in his throat when Billy moves their linked hands south. Steve can feel Billy harden against his ass as their hands start stroking his dick and he shivers.

Billy gives a light squeeze and Steve rolls his hips, arching his back and groaning when Billy bites down on the crook of his neck.

“Oh god… Billy…”

Steve lets go of Billy’s hand to bury his fingers in golden curls instead. It’s been so long since the hand touching him wasn’t his that the pleasure of it is blinding in its intensity.

He moans loudly, earning himself another bite from Billy.

“Shhhh, pretty boy, not so loud, you’ll wake the baby.”

Steve sinks his teeth in his bottom lip in an effort to be quiet, so he doesn’t wake this baby he doesn’t remember having. His entire focus is on not making noise while Billy does unspeakable things to his body. He shudders; he’s so close already…

Billy notices, because of course he does, he always did notice things, and his hand starts moving faster, his closed fist squeezing the head of Steve’s cock on the upstroke. It’s slick, it’s heady, and too soon, Steve can feel his orgasm rushing at him.

He comes with a shout he can’t silence, but when he opens his eyes again, he’s alone in his bed. It’s his hand around his cock, his mess in his pajama pants. 

Chest still heaving, he quickly cleans up using his pants and gets back into bed wearing a clean pair, reeling from the shocked realization that he wants Billy Hargrove. And a baby.

What the fuck?

Chapter 2

[heebiegeebee]

LONG PERSONAL POST AHEAD

What I am about to discuss is likely highly triggering, upsetting, and from what I have seen and read over the years, both in person and online, not the common or universal life-experience.

I am aware that my experiences are quite unique and hyper-specific, but that should not preclude me from being able to openly talk about them, especially on what is the equivalent of a personal blog/journal post.

I am going to preface this with the note that I do not intend to source much of anything beyond what I already have handy (if that, as I am kinda just free-writing as I go, so if I mention something thats relevant and on-hand, I'll add it, but outside of that, either you're already hyper-aware yourself of what I'm talking about, or you can very easily go and verify it yourself if it's something that has "made the news"/can be sourced in actual history books/papers/articles/interviews/etc and not just regurgitated on wikipedia by propagandists) because I have learned that no amount of TURNING YOUR POCKETS OUT will change the mind of someone who has no interest in changing their mind or hearing yours out without desperately waiting for their moment to pounce.

Do it yourself. Or don't. I don't care anymore and I don't care to be silenced for the remainder of my life just to make you, o reader, comfortable.

Anything not mentioned as something sourcable is my own life experience and opinion, and can absolutely change given enough reason and experience to*. Anyone who considers themselves to be a reasonable and educatable human being should be capable of admitting the same. (*the opinions can change, not my personal lived experiences; lenses can change, sure, but the facts and acts cannot, unless you're re-writing history) Names are altered, changed, or in some way obfuscated enough for plausible deniability for use of other names.

I don't know how to "after the cut" something, so this is the final warning. I am not afraid to block a motherfucker, and at this point I welcome another ZiOnIsT bLoCkLiSt if it keeps me from seeing y'all's wildly uninformed and outright antisemitic bullshit takes. Good luck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is gonna be scattered. Maybe I'll rearrange paragraphs or sentences, but my brain is a jumble of pain, and so too will this be.

Husband and I got into yet another political argument last night, and it finally sealed the deal for me. I'm getting the fuck out of here by hook or by crook.

I have been involved in leftist politics since I was in junior high. My very first protest was when I was 12; I protested the Bush administration for its bullshit "war" in the middle east after 9/11. I marched in Los Angeles in the rain banging a bucket drum screaming NO BLOOD FOR OIL and the fight hasn't stopped since. One of my very first political drawings was a daisy (purposefully evoking the daisies peaceniks would slide into the gun barrels of state/gov enforcers in the 60's) where the petals and leaves were bombs. A bit on the nose, sure, but I was a kid! My heart was and very much still is in the right place, so I've been told. Nowadays I'm just angrier about it, and am no longer beholden to the "non-rights" of childhood (CHILDREN HAVE RIGHTS!!! ANYONE WHO SAYS OTHERWISE IS LYING TO CONTROL AND SCARE CHILDREN INTO COMPLIANCE AND THEY ALWAYS WILL BECAUSE IT UNDERMINES THEIR PERCIEVED AUTHORITY OVER SMALL VULNERABLE HUMAN BEINGS)

I never stopped either, it just took different forms as I gained or lost abilities to travel, donate, educate, etc... I won't put everything I've ever done here because 1) that list would be very long, and 2) it would absolutely dox me. TBH, if someone is dead set enough to do it, they could probably dox me off this post, but as I said, I just do. not. care. anymore. There is nothing left for you to take from me now. Pick these bones clean until they sun bleach.

It is for these reasons I feel zero need to defend my leftist beliefs when someone who has known me for almost 15 years now, and credits me with their political stances refining and/or changing in some manner to be far more left/progressive than they were, (including but not limited to them becoming more involved in direct action and education themselves) suddenly throws all that out the window because they don't like having to be on their backfoot when caught unprepared for an argument THEY STARTED and opts to call me a "zionist nationalist" as a gotcha. When I threw on heavy sarcasm and loudly proclaimed "why yes! I, who vehemently opposes borders and check points and governments and thinks people should be able to freely travel and live wherever they choose, and champions land back for history's various displaced or ethnically cleansed minorities, is totally a zionist nationalist! You've found me out!" husband promptly changed course (of course!)

Why not just call me a kike at that point if you're gonna disregard everything you know about me so quickly (and so often??? which you end up backpedaling on when the fight is over???) Because no amount of me saying "I want the Palestinians to be free from both their own/external terrorist orgs masquerading as govs AND the israeli gov so they can't be used as cannon fodder or a get out of jail free card anymore" will change the mind of someone who already has your role carved out for you. (he also took umbrage with me saying the names of specific actors in the israeli gov, but that i wasn't naming individual hamas members and affiliates by name??? meanwhile husband just says "state of israel"; no "the" beforehand, and he does NOT do this with other world govs or countries...???)

I pointed out once again how he's called me a terrorist (for simply saying minorities have the right to defend themselves! NOT ATTACK OFFENSIVELY, but DEFEND themselves! {I was referring specifically to the Black Panthers open-carrying in CA at police stops at the time!}) and now he's using "Zionist" as an attack, which shouldn't matter to him anyway as he considers himself a non-zionist (which is fine! as a jew he has that right!)

But he's upset because I called him a Hamasnik! I explained that I called him that after he defended Aaron Bushnell's antisemitic screeds (the legit ones, not the faked profile) and ignored that even Bushnell's own friends quoted him as saying he was "someone who bounced from one extreme to the other" after getting out of his xtian cult, joining the military, and becoming engrossed in I/P propaganda, to which husband replied by saying "well it's a real shame no one will hear his message now 😔" what, pray tell, is the REAL MESSAGE aaron fucking bushnell has to offer that you CANNOT find anyone better to point to???? Why am I the bad person for doing the due diligence and researching instead of parroting? HUSBAND'S THE ACTUAL GOVERNMENT-FUNDED EDUCATOR, SO WHAT'S HIS FUCKING EXCUSE?! "oh its a real shame hitler was so misunderstood" ass comment... so yeah, HAMASNIK. What fucking else would it be??? YOU ARE DOING THE WORK FOR HAMAS BY PARROTING THE SAME PROPAGANDA! this shouldn't be that hard to grasp!

Husband is so wrapped up in being right or "catching me" that he has completely thrown his own fucking brain out and cannot think through things logically. But sure, I'm the overly emotional one! The fact remains that throughout our relationship, husband has taken every instance to undermine me, undermine the things i know about and have experienced firsthand (don't get me started on his ignoring and downplaying blatant antisemitism and transphobia/biphobia just because he wanted friends!) No wonder he is the way he is, and now that he's converted, this too will be my fault.

AND YES. I am going to say that I fully believe that once someone becomes a jew, THEY ARE A JEW, full-stop! BUT! that does NOT preclude or absolve someone hurting their own ingroup, nor does it mean there are not internal conflicts that arise from these very same stances. We cannot ignore that the individual responsible for writing the Protocols was LITERALLY A CONVERT! Do I think all converts are guilty? FUCK NO. Do I think we should forego conversions and become more insular? NO! but what I DO want to know is what the hell are rabbi's doing to ensure the prospective jews-by-choice have unpacked their internalized (usually some flavour of cultural xtian, though not exclusively) antisemitism? Cuz lemme tell ya, we had another at my synagogue who, once they were official, took that opportunity to tell US we have NO IDEA what it's like to BE A MINORITY, and HAVE YOUR ANCESTORS MURDERED, ENSLAVED, RAPED, DISPLACED, LAND AND WEALTH STOLEN etc because her ancestors were conversos AND WE'RE JUST WHITE PEOPLE.

Like, sorry, did you join a marginalized people to one up them in oppression olympics? Are you assuming everyone's genetic makeup and ancestral background here? WHY ARE YOU ASSUMING EVERYONE HERE IS AND ALWAYS WAS WEALTHY?? Why when I pull you aside to commiserate after I had your back this whole time are you throwing me under the bus, too? Is it the racism? I think it's the racism... (I'm sure I'll elaborate on our congregation's ex-cop, air bnb landlord, born-again-jew-whose-more-jewey-than-the-rest-of-us in the future, but that's for a different time. Fuck her all the same though)

My rabbi is highly respected, both in the US, and abroad, and has physically traveled to report back on the shitty conditions our government has forced migrants and refugees into. He is also someone who I respect for how he spent his youth, as it was very lefty-crustpunk and anti-capitalist. He caries many of those ideals still with him today, but he obviously has to represent an entire congregation, and isn't keen to be tossed out by the very few who swing their money-dicks around because WE. ARE. STRUGGLING. but he's not silent on our morals and virtues by any means... If this guy has already spat out not one, but TWO jews-by-choice who hold antisemitic beliefs, then what the fuck does our future look like? I pointed out to my husband that he joined a PEOPLE. Those people come from somewhere. Those people have longed to return to that somewhere. Those people are fighting to be recognized and respected as a sovereign NATION (meaning PEOPLE), and are being undermined by those who claim to champion those same causes for other marginalized minority groups. Those people are OUR PEOPLE. Why are you undermining US??? Have you literally learned NOTHING in all of your studies? Will you suddenly agree with the new trend of taking the Happy Merchant and other antisemitic caricatures/tropes and saying it's actually really islamophobia and not antisemitism? Is that not supercessionist enough for you at this point? I mean I shouldn't be surprised considering husband smarmily stated so matter-of-factly AT THE BEGINNING OF THIS WAR "well they say the Palestinians are the Jews of the middle east" LIKE WHAT?!?!?!? TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED TO THE ACTUAL JEWS OF THE MIDDLE EAST, YOU FUCKWIT. I mean, talk about adding insult to injury, for fucks sake...

Husband comes at me about the BUND, as if I think or ever alluded to them "deserving death" (?!?!?!) when all I pointed out was THEY TOO specifically undermined their own existence to fight for something (that in a more tolerant and accepting world I would be %1000 on board with -- HERENESS!) that ended up backfiring on them only because they TRUSTED that by minimizing or handing parts of themselves over to appease the masses who continued to view them as other would somehow SAVE THEM. Any victim or survivor of abuse can tell you that it simply doesn't work that way (HINT HINT). It's a noble and a lofty goal; one I truly highly respect... but to ignore facts and think "this time'll be different!" before said society has grappled with its own hatred and internalized biases is beyond a sign of madness, and it does no one any good to pretend otherwise. Do you also believe the south has no more sundown towns? Or that New York doesn't have any of its own? Or that racism doesn't exist in America since Obama was elected those two times? Will a female president finally mean there is no more misogyny? What if women and trans people just subjugated themselves during the Trump presidency? Surely that would save them, because they're not causing a ruckus or bucking the system if they just go along with it, right? Is the trans woman politician currently sitting in... is it the house? Suddenly going to really shake things up in favour of trans people by allowing the House to ban her from the women's restroom? What's the limit in application of the same mentality? Is there one? Why or why not? Explain your answers, and I guarantee you you'll be sounding like Graham Linehan trying to smugly define what a chair is.

Husband did not expect me to pull out the fact that the Palestinian Identity was specifically manufactured to cause chaos and instability in the region, and that their own govs, as well as surrounding islamic govs have gone on the record and admitted the same, usually coupled with the pronouncement and promise to fight and kill and die until either there are no more jews, or no more palestinians (not muslims/the muslim nations, not zionists, not israelis... specifically jews and palestinians... shows you how little they care for palestinian blood if they specifically are so expendable, but no other variety of muslim/islamic nation is! funny that...) He thought this was some sort of gotcha, because even though he acquiesced the fact that an Identity was CREATED specifically to counter another identity, that did not mean they weren't entitled to live in peace and self-govern. WRONG AGAIN! I actually DO think that even though it is made up, sure, give them their own state! He tried to bring up bi-nationalism, but like, even the palestinians have said they don't want that? Do you even listen to the people you pretend to be speaking on behalf of?

It was even funnier (read: MADDENING) to hear him say that Pan-Arabism ISN'T a good thing, and that so many countries having the xtian cross on their flag, or crescents on their flags (denoting the religion of the colonizers, naturally) is BAD, and so too is the Caliphate flags! But hopefully those regimes fall too! But lets ignore the Palestinian flag design, pay no attention to the colonizer behind the curtain! ahhhhh inconvenient truuuuuths whyyyy

I have reached my limit. Mentally, emotionally, spiritually, physically, linguistically... it's all been for naught. It didn't matter that I put my body on the line to defend black lives multiple times, both in official and unofficial capacities. Or got hospitalized in defense of gay marriage in CA. Or have gotten myself permanently on a "random screening" list any time I am forced to travel by air (i have harmed myself specifically to avoid air travel because of this and the sexual harassment I receive from agents as a gender non-conforming person) Or made it to the point where feds show up at my door. It didn't matter that I marched, protested, donated, transported, educated, LISTENED AND LEARNED, etc etc etc. It was and has always been a grift to silence and pull the ladder up after your group "makes it".

Honestly, and I say this as someone who their 3 closest friends for a decade+ are all marginalized/PoC: there is a serious issue amongst the left where we seem to think that racism is falling at the feet of only white people, regardless of what side of the political spectrum they are on.

I also say this as someone who:

grew up feeling safer in non-white spaces than otherwise (nowhere is safe now),

friends growing up, even as I moved counties/states, were almost all overwhelmingly disenfranchised minorities and immigrants/refugees

whose family literally provided solidarity, in word and deed during the Civil Rights movement (both in the south and in CA),

grew up hearing the exact same shit that gets said to poor PoC (i'll never forget my mom's face when a white woman behind her called her a welfare queen in front of us [I was a child, btw... and my mom is legally disabled and my father was in prison at this time])

had family go into sexwork because of what I listed above (and dad wasn't even arrested at this point, we were just that poor, even in JEW HAVEN "EVERYONE'S RICH!" LOS ANGELES)

literally got beaten up/threatened/harassed by both whites and PoC for being JEWISH, both in my childhood (being choked by my teacher for "taking the lords name in vain" in kindergarten! {i actually hadnt, and this isn't even the first instance of antisemitism i experienced!}) AND as an adult in LEFTIST ORGS

The list goes on and on, truthfully. And it fucking HURTS.

What are we going to do?

The ex-cop-landlord-born-again convert said I really helped her humanize sex-workers and johns, then turned around and dismissed any and all life experiences I had because ... "white"?

Multiple LEFTIST orgs, both local and multi-state, both new and well-established from the 70's, doxing me to other orgs because I refused to agree "Jews are white" and have had "no problems in the US for the last 100 years" and "have no culture/language/history of their own", and because I used self-defeating humour in a private group text exchange and "all sarcasm is violence hidden behind language" or whatever (that's also a story for another time)

...

SICA said I can see the future. Multiple times. She wants to be a politician in AZ and has started amassing a following and gets invited to speak in group education "tiktok" seminars! She's also a failed artist and relies on AI to educate her. Her own husband admitted to me she has become antisemitic. I am no longer accepted as "part of the family".

GEL... well, there's too many examples there from housing them on and off for ~5 years. They have zero prospects and won't from me anymore since I've given up on bleeding myself dry for them, but they are charming and absolutely influence people to their side because they appear unassuming and harmless due to their own disabilities and soft-spoken nature. They had to be told not to incorrectly identify a Desert Eagle as a *insert sneer* Jewish gun rather than Israeli. I am no longer accepted as "their chosen family".

ANE said I am the only real punk he's ever met. Multiple times. He's getting a doctorate in History; specifically HOLOCAUST studies, so he too can go and be a professor! He used me to help him through his half-white xtian-adjacent guilt trip as he was visiting death camps in Poland. You're welcome for my universalized jewish pain, as well as my absolution for your guilt because a restaurant nearby served pork! I am no longer worth consideration as a friend, and he used his medication alignment as an excuse to weasel out of the convo. That was 4 months ago.

Husband said I am g-d's conscience personified. Recently. He thought he could "save the DSA" after defending their NYC march where the guy held a swastika up and sieg heiled, and last night said that he could "save me". He no longer believes he can save the DSA, but seems to have turned me into his secret "save their soul" cause... yeah dude, you really unpacked your baggage before jumping into an ethnoreligion you joined for the love of arguments and finally gaining an identity you can acceptably wrap yourself in now since the "queer relationship" label was waaay too much for you to comfortably handle/defend... oop, too bad leftists decided that jews dont count once again!

My own father, who I finally reconnected with after 25 fucking years, is dating (and is engaged to, somewhat) a woman who defended "Zeitgeist: The Movie" as a "truth bomb that everyone needs to see" and "fucking fantastic", and wonders why I have no desire to have either of them in my life anymore. His statement of "I can't control what other people do" : just like you couldn't control your sister trying to forcibly convert your two children via bombardments in the mail of jesus/xtian shit? Or "so everyone who disagrees with you is an enemy?" : motherfucker racism and CONSPIRACY THEORIES FROM THE MIDDLE AGES isn't merely a "disagreement"??? and what's more, he has no idea I volunteer WEEKLY with people who don't believe I should exist, because my goal is to FEED HUNGRY FAMILIES AND CHILDREN SPECIFICALLY, their baggage be DAMNED. The church my synagogue partners with every year for the "free community holiday meal" is FILLED with racists and supercessionists who admit to infiltrating jewish spaces INTENTIONALLY, and describes their children enthusiastically enjoying ribs "like an old black woman" AS THEY ARE SERVING THOSE SAME COMMUNITIES, but no one will listen, so I just do my volunteering because at the end of the day, that's one less hungry person. You wanna talk to me about "enemies", when you used your adjacent-judaism/your actual ethnic background of Sicilian+Algonquin as your ID while you were in prison? WHY ARE YOU UNAWARE OF THE PROBLEMS YOU YOURSELF EXPERIENCED BUT DENY HAPPENING TO YOUR CHILDREN? Just because one attacks with a knife and the other with words that HISTORICALLY become LAW, you think I don't know how to work and live amongst ENEMIES?! You have just as much of a "can't tell me shit" as your GF has.

Adopted family isn't much better either. I have had to swallow the fact that I am INCREDIBLY uncomfortable with someone who uses their position in school systems to send "troubled, unreachable youth" to the beginnings of a carceral life because she gets "police crackers" out of it (for those unaware like I was, apparently cops give out cards that can be "cracked" as a one-time-use thing to get out of a ticket or whatever). She has no idea that I too nearly ended up that way TWICE. Once was for "smoking pot on school grounds" (it wasn't pot, and I admit my gifted-child-fallen-from-grace protected me thanks to one Dean who I had regularly chatted with {I was a weird kid who was just enough out of step with people my own age}, while the 2nd Dean specifically tried to have me expelled BECAUSE of my perceived whiteness, as THIS was the chance to EVEN THE PLAYING FIELD!) and the second time was ABSOLUTELY because of my perceived whiteness when a cop decided not to put me on probation for skipping school. What never entered the convo, at any point, for any of these authority figures was that I was actively being ABUSED AND NEGLECTED, with undiagnosed CPTSD (and possibly some flavour of autism), and had ZERO avenues for expressing myself that didn't somehow get me into trouble, physically assaulted, or thrown into a mental hospital. DOES SHE EVER CONSIDER THATS WHAT SHE'S BARGAINING A SPEEDING TICKET FOR? SOME UNDERSERVED KID'S LIFE???

I can't take it.

What the fuck am I supposed to think when all of you throw me out of your life or downplay your anti-social crimes when I call you on your bullshit then?

I've nothing left to work with here. My leftism means nothing in this country because it will always be tainted with "other". I would rather die surrounded by like-minded strangers in a different country that has a high likelihood of being destroyed if many many people, both in power and not, get their wish. What does that say about the state of where we are as a society? What does that say about the state of where I am?

Does it even matter?

[softxsuki]

Hey! Uhm well I was wondering if you could do a ran or rindou haitani x reader self harm urges post if not both because I've been struggling really hard to try not to do it and losing sleep because of it. I hope you understand have a great night/day 😁

Shinichiro Comforts Reader With Self-Harm Urges

PLEASE DON'T READ IF MENTIONS OF SELF-HARM AND OLD SCARS WILL TRIGGER YOU MORE THAN IT WILL COMFORT YOU.

Pairing: Shinichiro x Gn!Reader

Warnings: mentions of self-harm, old scars, urges to hurt yourself

Genre: Comfort

Post-Type: Headcanons

Word Count: 690

Summary: In which Shinichiro comforts you after finding out about your urges to self-harm again

[A/N: Written with Shinichiro like you asked for in your other ask since I don't write for Ran or Rindou yet :3. Sorry about the delay, I took a nap since I've been sleep deprived lately, and my nap turned into a 5 hour long sleep...oops. But I hope this was worth the wait, and hopefully it provides you with some comfort to help those urges go away! Remember everyone, your comfort characters love you and wouldn't want you to hurt yourself; that includes Ran and Rindou. Though I don't know much about them, I just know that their s/o would be the most precious person to them, so knowing you were hurting yourself would break their heart. ily, thanks for trusting me with your urgent request <3]

Shinichiro:

Shinichiro is the type of guy who tells you he’ll always be there for you, and he really is

So long as you actually tell him whenever you’re struggling, he’s not that great at picking up on the subtle hints that you’re struggling on your own

Of course he knows about your history with self-harm, you’d both spoken about it on one of your heart to heart conversations where all your inner, darkest secrets were spilled to each other

Because of this, he has tried to be a little more observant towards you, making sure you’re not suffering alone, and feeling like you have to rely on self-harm to feel better

As soon as you do open up to him one night about your recent urges to self-harm again, he’s on high alert, racking his brain for the best words to soothe you

Knowing you have this internal struggle to harm yourself makes him feel useless, I mean, what could he possibly do or say to stop you from feeling this way? He didn’t want you to feel judged or bad for feeling the way you do…

So he does whatever comes to his mind first; he grabs a sharpie and gently holds your arm in his hands, flipping is over so he can see your wrists

Evidence of your older battles are evident on them still, scars that will always remain, yet are a testament to everything you’ve survived through thus far, a strength in you he greatly admired

He slowly draws a heart on your wrist with the sharpie, as you look on in confusion at his actions. He blows on your skin, allowing the ink to dry before pressing a kiss to it and allowing you your arm back

“That right there is my heart, whenever you feel the urge to hurt yourself and don’t feel confident enough to tell me about it, just look at the heart…if it fades, just let me know and I’ll redraw it for you as many times as you need. If you hurt yourself, you also hurt me,” he says softly, looking into your eyes

Shinichiro wasn’t the best at emotions and letting you know how he felt without getting blushy and nervous that he’ll mess up his words, was close to impossible

“Oh gosh, this is stupid right? I’m sorry, I was trying to be cool…Look, I just want you to know that I’m here for you and I care about you so much. It’s hard for anyone other than you to know exactly what you’re going through, but I promise I’ll be by your side to help you through anything you need. If you feel these urges to hurt yourself, maybe we can go out and blow off some steam. We can go to a junkyard and just smash up a few things. Just…please don’t take out your frustrations and complicated emotions on yourself. I’d rather you hit me and scream at me than harm yourself, Y/N.”

He means every word and is ready and willing to do whatever it takes to make you feel better, you only need to say the word

After your confession on the urges you’re feeling, Shin keeps an even closer eye on you, hoping that he doesn’t feel too suffocating. He just doesn’t want you to resort to temporary solutions to your feelings and would much rather target the root cause so you can feel better about things moving forward

Checks up on the heart he drew on you to make sure you’re taking good care of it, and smiles happily when he sees it’s still intact, peppering kisses to your skin, and embracing you

However, in the slight chance that his tactics don’t work and you do resort to your own methods of coping, he isn’t disappointed, but he is hurt and upset at himself that he couldn’t do enough to help you

If you fall once, just get back up and try again–that’s what he believes, so he’s right there by your side to pick you back up and try again until those urges never return

REQUESTS ARE OPEN :D

Posted: 08/23/2023

[helsgcddess]

— VEILED SPARKS; iii

READ ON AO3 || PINTEREST BOARD (in the works)

summary: "You should be more careful about what you draw, Toria." In which an artist with a knack for seeing things she shouldn't meets a suspiciously perfect stranger with glowing blue eyes and a possessive yellow Camaro. Set during ROTF.

pairing: bumblebee/original character

word count: 3.1k

a/n— y'all.... the way this chapter wrote itself?? like one minute i was like "lets write toria being high and gay panicking about brooks" and suddenly it's 4am and i have 3k words of her being a disaster??? also yes, jayde ( @morbid-personality ) is absolutely going to be the "what if he's a robot tho" friend and honestly? we love her for it. also also, bumblebee needs to chill with the stalking but like... he won't bc he's Like That (chapter 4 might come sooner than expected bc these two won't leave me alone send help)

warnings — weed use, anxiety/mental health stuff, vague mission city references, highly questionable coping mechanisms

I slapped at my phone when the alarm blared. "Shut up, shut up, yeah, I got it!" I groaned as I finally hit the snooze button. The sunlight streaming through my window illuminated the sketches I'd stayed up way too late working on—pages and pages of impossible blue eyes and edges that didn't quite match reality.

Why had I decided to wake up at 9 am?

My brain slowly pieced together yesterday's events as I stumbled out of bed: broken down Chevelle, suspiciously perfect stranger, weird fog-shrouded maybe-stalking, and—

I froze, hand halfway to the shower knob. My car—my dad's car—was supposedly somewhere "safe." According to the cryptic text from an unknown number who apparently had opinions about my sketching habits.

Oh fuck. I was going to have to deal with that after therapy. And somehow not tell my therapist about the return of my post-Mission City paranoia, now with bonus government-adjacent stalkers and cars that moved like they were alive.

I groaned but stepped into the shower, letting the water blast away some of my racing thoughts. After two washes of my hair, I let the conditioner sit while I contemplated how exactly one explains "I think my dad's military projects are haunting me via an impossibly attractive maybe-human" without getting committed.

"Okay, Toria. It's just therapy. You'll do fine," I whispered to myself as I rinsed my hair out and stepped out of the shower. "Just don't tell her anything about him or the car or—" I caught my reflection's eye. "Wait, how are we even getting to therapy?"

I called my best friend after brushing my teeth. She answered on the first ring. "What's up, bitch?" She coughed into the phone. "Sorry, just did a dab."

"You good if I steal your car to take to therapy? I'll pay you in cannoli," I offered as I checked the weather. I grabbed shorts from my clean laundry basket, along with a black sports bra and a Hawaiian button-up that had definitely been Dad's at some point.

"Only if I can smoke you up after therapy," Jayde replied. "You sound like you need it. Something weird happen at the café again?"

"You could say that." I tucked my sketchbook into my bag, deliberately not looking at last night's drawings. "Deal. Be there in 20."

"Love you," then she hung up.

I laced my steel toes, grabbed my smokes off the counter, and headed into the California heat. My thumb ring caught the sunlight as I twisted it—a nervous habit that had gotten worse since mysterious hot strangers started texting me about my art.

I took the long way to Jayde's place, walking by the pier to get slapped in the face by the smell of salt and ocean. Every yellow car I passed made my heart skip, but none of them were that impossibly pristine Camaro. Not that I was looking.

I paused at the coffee shop by her place, picking up our usual: Red Bull infusions with pomegranate and blueberry syrup, topped with half and half. The caffeine-sugar bomb we'd perfected during our brief stint as art school roommates before... everything.

It wasn't until I lit my cigarette, trying to calm my pre-therapy jitters, that my phone vibrated.

Unknown Number: Your car will be parked at your apartment in time for your shift.

I dropped my lighter in the ocean. "No, fuck! Ugh." I groaned, watching my last lighter disappear into the waves. Perfect. Because this day needed to get more complicated.

My phone buzzed again.

Unknown Number: Also, the alternator wasn't the only thing that needed fixing. You're welcome.

"Oh, that's not ominous at all," I muttered, taking a long drag of my cigarette. "Totally normal to have a suspiciously perfect stranger doing unauthorized repairs on your dead dad's car."

A yellow Volkswagen Beetle drove past, and I nearly choked on smoke before realizing it wasn't the same shade of yellow. Wrong car, wrong driver, wrong... everything.

I threw my half-finished cigarette back into my pack and headed up the creaky steps to Jayde's apartment. The whole building smelled like weed and beach air—pretty much Jayde's signature scent since high school.

She opened the door before I could knock, practically bouncing despite being high. "There's my favorite disaster! One slightly beat-up Civic at your service." She grabbed her drink and took a long sip. "Now spill. What happened to your car? The Chevelle's like, your baby."

"Alternator died," I said, following her into her mess of an apartment. Art supplies competed with bong collections for surface space, and her walls were covered in our collaborative pieces from school. "Some guy helped me out."

"Some guy?" Her eyebrows shot up. "Like, a cute guy? A mysterious guy? A—"

"A guy who apparently knows how to fix cars and sends cryptic texts," I cut her off, pulling out my phone. "Look."

Jayde read the messages, her eyes widening. "Okay, that's either really sweet or really serial killer-y. There's no in-between." She paused. "Is he hot though?"

I thought about impossible blue eyes and too-perfect movements. "That's... complicated."

"Oh my god, he is." She grinned. "You're doing that thing where you want to draw someone but can't quite get them right. Show me your sketches."

"Absolutely not." I snatched her car keys from their hook. "I'm already late for therapy."

"Fine, keep your mysterious hot car guy secrets!" she called after me. "But we're totally talking about this when you get back!"

I slid into Jayde's Civic, immediately assaulted by the smell of weed and her vanilla air freshener. At least it wasn't as pristine as... certain other cars I'd been in recently.

The radio crackled to life when I turned the key—some pop station Jayde always left it on. Not classic rock, not engine purrs that sounded like speech. Just normal car stuff. Totally fine.

"Get it together, Toria," I muttered, pulling onto the street. "You've got exactly forty-five minutes to figure out how to talk about your week without mentioning glowing eyes or mysteriously repaired cars."

My phone buzzed in the cup holder. I definitely didn't swerve checking to see if it was another cryptic text.

Just Mom: Don't forget to ask about upping your anxiety meds!!!

I snorted. Yeah, because that conversation would go great. 'Hey doc, I think I need stronger meds because I keep seeing weird lights like in Mission City, and a suspiciously perfect stranger knows things about Dad's car, and I can't stop drawing his impossibly symmetrical face.'

The traffic light turned yellow—just yellow, not that specific shade that kept haunting me—and I tried to focus on normal therapy topics. Work stress? Safe. Mom's hovering? Classic. The fact that I hadn't touched my college applications since Dad died? Definitely therapist-approved discussion material.

Strange men who moved like machinery and knew things about classified military projects? Maybe save that for next session.

The parking lot of Dr. Clarke's office looked exactly like it always did: half-full with sensible cars belonging to people with probably sensible problems. Not a yellow Camaro in sight. Not that I was checking.

I grabbed my sketchbook out of habit—Dr. Clarke encouraged "artistic expression during sessions" or whatever—then immediately shoved it back in my bag. Yeah, maybe not today's sketches.

The waiting room was its usual study in beige calm, complete with generic watercolor paintings and magazines from three years ago. The receptionist, Amy, gave me her usual sympathetic smile. Everyone here still had that same look since Mission City, like they were waiting for me to crack.

"Dr. Clarke's running a few minutes behind," she said. "But she'll be right with you."

I slumped into my usual chair, twisting my ring and definitely not thinking about how Brooks had known things about Dad. About the base. About—

"Toria?" Dr. Clarke appeared in her doorway, clipboard in hand and reading glasses perched on her nose. "Ready to come in?"

Her office was familiar at least—walls lined with psychology degrees and children's artwork, the leather couch that had witnessed two years of my post-Mission City processing, the view of the bay that was supposed to be calming or whatever.

"So," she said as I settled into my usual spot, "how has your week been?"

I opened my mouth, closed it, then laughed. "That's... kind of complicated."

"Complicated how?" Dr. Clarke asked, settling into her chair with that perfect therapist posture. She probably didn't have to worry about mysterious men fixing her car or sending cryptic texts.

"Well," I started, focusing on the safe parts, "the café's been busy. Mom's stress-baking again. And my car broke down, which is... yeah."

"The Chevelle?" Her pen paused over her notepad. "Your father's car?"

I twisted my ring. "Yeah. Alternator issues."

"And how did that make you feel?" Classic Dr. Clarke, always with the feelings.

"Honestly?" I stared out at the bay, watching fog roll in. "It felt like losing him all over again. Like—" I stopped, remembering Brooks' words about the car attracting attention. About Dad's classified work.

"Like what, Toria?"

"Like maybe some things should stay broken." The words came out before I could stop them.

Dr. Clarke's eyebrows rose slightly. "That's an interesting perspective. What makes you say that?"

I thought about the text messages burning a hole in my phone. About the way Brooks had looked at me like he knew things—about Dad, about Mission City, about everything.

"Sometimes I think..." I chose my words carefully, "Maybe Dad was trying to protect me from something. With all those classified projects he never talked about."

Dr. Clarke shifted in her chair, a subtle movement that meant we'd hit Something Important. "Your paranoia about Mission City—has it been getting worse?"

I focused on a particularly boring watercolor on her wall. "Not... exactly." Lie. "It's just—" I twisted my ring again. "The whispers are back."

That got her full attention. The whispers had been my first symptom after Mission City—constant theories about what I'd seen, about Dad's work, about the lights and sounds that didn't make sense.

"The same whispers as before?"

"Different," I said carefully. "Less about what happened then, more about..." I thought about Brooks' impossible movements, about engines that sounded alive, about texts that knew too much. "More about what might still be happening."

"Can you elaborate?”

"You'll think I'm crazy." I laughed, but it came out shaky.

"Toria," her voice went gentle, "we've talked about this. Your reactions to trauma—"

"It's not trauma this time," I interrupted, then winced. "I mean, yeah, obviously there's trauma, but this is..." I gestured vaguely. "This feels real."

The clock on her wall ticked loudly, reminding me we were almost out of time. Thank god.

"Have you been taking your medications regularly?"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Yes. And before you ask, I'm sleeping. Eating. Working. Being a functional human despite my various mental health issues." I stood up, gathering my bag. "The whispers are probably nothing. Just stress about the car."

Dr. Clarke gave me that look—the one that said she didn't believe me but couldn't prove it. "Same time next week?"

"Yeah," I said, already halfway to the door. "Assuming mysterious car trouble doesn't get in the way."

I took the coastal route back to Jayde's, windows down and music up—trying to drown out both Dr. Clarke's concerned voice and my own paranoid whispers. The salt air helped, even if every flash of yellow in my peripheral vision made my heart jump.

Until one of those flashes wasn't just my imagination.

The yellow Camaro was parked at the pier, looking impossibly pristine against the backdrop of tourist shops and street vendors. No Brooks in sight, but something about the way the car was angled—like it was watching the road—made me grip Jayde's steering wheel tighter.

"Nope," I said out loud, definitely not looking at how the sunlight hit the black racing stripes. "We are not doing this. We are going to smoke with our best friend and not think about hot guys with government secrets or their stalker cars."

I pulled into Jayde's parking lot, killing the engine just as my phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: Your artistic talent is impressive.

Unknown Number: But maybe focus on drawing something less classified.

I stared at my bag, where my sketchbook was definitely closed and definitely hidden.

"How the fuck—" I started to mutter, when another text came through.

Unknown Number: The Chevelle's waiting at your apartment. Try not to break it again.

I practically ran up Jayde's stairs, bursting into her apartment where she was already setting up her favorite bong—the one we'd painted with glow-in-the-dark stars during finals week.

"Here," Jayde said, passing me the bong and her favorite drawing pencils—the ones we'd stolen from art school before I dropped out. "Smoke this and draw something that isn't government-spy-boyfriend for five minutes."

I took another hit, letting my hand move across a blank page without thinking. Somehow it still turned into those impossible blue eyes.

"I can't stop drawing him," I groaned, flopping back against her couch. "Like, my brain is just... full of him? His stupid perfect face and the way he moves like... like he's never quite figured out how bodies are supposed to work but somehow it's still hot?"

Jayde snorted, taking the bong back. "You're so high right now."

"No but listen," I sat up too fast, sending colored pencils scattering. "He shows up in this ridiculous car that probably costs more than my entire life, looking like some government catalog's idea of the perfect human, and then he just... knows things? About Dad? About my car? And sends these cryptic texts like he's watching me but somehow it's not creepy? Okay it's a little creepy but—" I paused for another hit, "—okay but he's so fucking hot though."

"There it is!" Jayde cackled. "I was wondering when we'd get to the thirsty part of this crisis."

I grabbed a handful of Jayde's Doritos, still sketching with my free hand. "It's not fair. Like, who told him he could look like that? While also being all mysterious and probably dangerous and definitely involved in whatever classified shit got Dad killed and—" I stared at my newest sketch. "Oh my god, I'm drawing him again."

"Girl, you've got it bad," Jayde laughed, taking the sketchbook. "Damn though, if this is accurate..." She tilted her head at the drawing. "Wait, are his eyes actually this blue? That's not natural."

"Nothing about him is natural," I mumbled around a mouthful of chips. "He's like... too perfect? Like someone tried to design the hottest possible person but forgot humans are supposed to have flaws."

"Maybe he's an android," Jayde suggested, reaching for the bong again. "Like, a really hot android sent to protect you because of your dad's secret government work."

I started laughing and couldn't stop. "Oh my god, what is my life? I'm sitting here, high as fuck, crushing on some maybe-not-human guy who keeps fixing my car and judging my art choices."

"Speaking of your car," Jayde checked her phone, "don't you have a shift at four?"

"Shit," I sat up, the world spinning slightly. "Mom's gonna kill me if I show up high again."

"Drink water first," Jayde said, tossing me a bottle. "And take these." She handed me her emergency sunglasses—the ones we'd decorated with little stars during our last art school all-nighter. "You look absolutely blasted."

"Love you," I mumbled, gathering my stuff and trying not to forget anything important. Like my dignity. Or my ability to walk straight.

"Text me if hot government boy shows up at the café!" Jayde called after me. "I want to know if his face is really that symmetrical in daylight!"

I was halfway down her stairs when my phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: The walk from Powell Street to your apartment has fewer surveillance cameras. Take that route.

Unknown Number: And maybe wear sunglasses. You look... relaxed.

"Oh my god," I whispered to my phone, torn between mortified and impressed. "Are you actually stalking me or just really committed to this mysterious protector aesthetic?"

Another buzz.

Unknown Number: Both. Be safe, Toria.

"Fuck," I muttered, shoving on Jayde's sunglasses and heading toward Powell Street like a good, obedient disaster. "He's so hot when he's being creepy."

I took the suggested route home, only slightly paranoid about every yellow car I saw (which, being high, was probably more than actually existed). The sunglasses helped with both the sun and my dignity, even if I kept wanting to sketch the way light bounced off passing windshields.

My apartment was exactly how I'd left it—organized chaos of art supplies and half-empty coffee cups. But there, visible from my window, sat the Chevelle. Looking... better? The paint seemed shinier, and something about it felt more alive.

"Nope," I told my reflection as I changed into my work clothes. "That's the weed talking. Cars don't look 'more alive.' Get it together."

I threw my hair up in a messy bun, switched to my café-approved black t-shirt, and tried to look less like I'd just spent the afternoon getting supremely baked while drawing a suspiciously perfect stranger.

My phone buzzed again as I was applying eye drops.

Unknown Number: Your mother's making that fusion dessert again. Might want to hurry.

"Okay, that's just showing off now," I muttered, but grabbed my bag faster. Mom's culinary experiments were legendary for all the wrong reasons, and I really didn't need to add 'death by experimental tiramisu' to my growing list of concerns.

I hesitated at my door, staring at my sketchbook. After a moment's debate, I shoved it in my bag. Something told me today's shift wasn't going to be boring.

The walk to the café felt different somehow—maybe because I was still slightly high, or maybe because I kept catching glimpses of yellow in my peripheral vision. But this time, instead of anxiety, each flash just made me want to reach for my sketchbook.

Mom was indeed in the kitchen when I arrived, surrounded by what looked like an unholy union of cannoli and mochi. I quietly rescued the latest batch before it could become a health code violation.

"Oh, tesoro!" She brightened when she saw me. "Did you see? The Chevelle's fixed! Such nice work too—almost like new! Did you find a mechanic? How much do we owe—"

"Let's not worry about that right now," I cut her off, tying my apron and definitely not thinking about mysterious car repairs. "Friday night rush is starting."

I made it through the first hour of my shift almost normally. Almost. Right up until I glanced out the window and saw a yellow Camaro parked across the street, its engine humming just loud enough for me to hear through the dinner rush chaos.

My phone buzzed one last time.

Unknown Number: You look better when you smile.

Unknown Number: Even if it's because you're still slightly high.

"Well," I muttered, tucking my phone away and fighting back a grin, "this should be an interesting shift."

[the-eldritch-it-gay]

Hunger

I posted this a bit ago, but I think I accidentally deleted it while cleaning up my blog. So I edited it a bit and thought I should post it again. I think it's a neat look at Majexatli and the fact they're a Malarite.

CW: Hunting, Violence, Everything you'd imagine would come with worship of Malar (a Chaotic Evil deity of hunting, bloodlust, bestial violence)

//

Majexatli wondered, sometimes, what drew them to the hunt. 

It wasn’t something they took the time to consider before the Nautiloid, when they prowled the Sword Coast in wildshape. Back then they rationalized it; it was much easier to hunt and eat in wildshape than to gather ingredients and make camp and cook something. Having most of their meals be bloody and raw made the ones they had outside of wildshape that much more special.

Now, though? They spent their days as a person, every night there was a camp with plenty of rations, there was wine and cooked meats and soups and bread enough for everyone. There were traders who could sell them any array of foods, there were greens and mushrooms a plenty along the road, abandoned campsites and kitchens with all sorts of meats and produce. 

Majexatli didn’t need to hunt, every night they could curl up by a fire with a full belly.

So what drew them to the hunt? Why did they still feel a hunger clawing at them? A restlessness in their own skin? 

Sometimes at night, Majexatli watched Astarion hunt while prowling in the shadows and lurking in trees. He was effective enough but clumsy. As much as he has grown better at stealth, at ambushing enemies with his bow or dagger, he was different when he had just his teeth, when his mind was preoccupied with hunger. It was quick and inelegant, never drawn out, he picked whatever animal he could find, it didn’t matter what it was so long as they had blood. 

It seemed wasteful.

Sometimes Majexatli entertained the thought of teaching him how to hunt properly, the art of drawing it out. Maybe they could have him hunt them, make him prove himself before spilling their blood. Never were his eyes more present and alive than when their blood was on his tongue.

They could teach him the rules of the hunt.

They shouldn’t, they knew, shouldn’t drag him down with them. They were supposed to be the kind and wise druid coaxing him back from the edge, rather than echoing the dark whispers in their mind and showing him the shards of divinity that could be in everything if you tore into the flesh enough, how if you swallowed holiness bloodied and raw enough it could fix you from the inside.

But Astarion was a vampire, undead, he needed blood to live. He had a reason for his bloodshed, he would starve without it. What reason did Majexatli have? 

If their hunt was just a supplication, a prayer, an offering, then why did they hunger? 

Was devotion making them a monster, or was their piety a justification for the monster they already were?

If they weren’t a monster, if they were truly good, then Majexatli would have been at camp, basking in the victory of the Shadow Curse being lifted, finding what pleasure could be found in the brief moments before they chased the Elder Brain to Baldur’s Gate. 

Kethric Thorm was dead, the Nightsong freed, Thaniel made whole again, Gale alive, Wyll would be free of his contract soon, Jaheira and Minthara had joined their camp. There was a veritable feast around the campfire, endless companionship, if they wanted they could be pulling someone away to somewhere private and chasing whatever pleasure they could.

Instead, they were in the forest, hidden in the shadows, following a trail of blood through the trees, the buzzing euphoria of the hunt dulling the hunger that had dug its claws into them. 

Slaying the young is forbidden.

The brown bear in their sights was full-grown, only slightly larger than Majexatli’s current form, the Dire Wolf they hadn’t let out since the gnolls on the Risen Road. In any other form, it would have been stupid, reckless to take on a bear. It might still be, but they wanted a challenge, wanted to impress. 

A bear claw was one of Malar’s holy symbols.

Make your kills long and bloody.

They jumped from the shadows, snapping at the bear’s hind leg, making sure to bite and tear its flesh enough for the bear's blood to spill on the grass below. They let the bear get a swipe on them, feigned a pained yelp as it spilled their blood in turn, ran off into the trees as though afraid and wounded.

Oh, Majexatli was disappointed when the bear didn’t follow, when it didn’t try to hunt them down in turn, but they could adapt. 

Keeping to the shadows, every so often they purposefully stepped on a twig, just to watch the bear stop in tense silence, sniff the air. In that tense silence, they would dash out, pounce and bite and then run off again before the bear could truly react.

Taste the blood of those you slay and never kill from a distance.

Majexatli shouldn’t have enjoyed it, they knew, but the only thought in their mind was blood. With every snap of their teeth, they relished in the sharp, warm rush of blood in their mouth, as they stalked they lapped at their muzzle and the blood soaking their fur. The promise of more blood, of tearing open flesh, of devouring raw and bloody viscera was intoxicating.

They followed the trail of blood through the trees, stalking, tracking, thrilling at the adrenaline in their veins that kept them warm and warded off the cold breeze. Majexatli let the blood lead them to the edge of a clearing, down to the river’s edge.

The bear was wounded, patches of its fur stained red and glistening in the moonlight. The wounds weren’t grave, bites and claw marks purposefully shallow, just enough to bleed, to distract it, to wear it down. There in the open, there were no twigs or dried foliage to alert the bear to their presence as it licked its wounds on the river bank. 

Crouching in the grass, Majexatli almost felt at home, they could almost forget about the Elder Brain and the Nautiloid. 

They let out a growl as they lunged, managing to knock the bear over as their jaw clamped down on the juncture of its neck, heart jumping and blood singing as they held it there, felt the bear thrash beneath them claws swiping at them blindly, weakly.

And then Majexatli’s blood turned to ice as they felt the fur beneath their teeth fade, muscles reshape and suddenly their teeth were sinking into a person’s flesh, so much more fragile, so easy for the flesh to give. 

The rush of blood in their mouth filled them with terror. They should have released immediately, should have let go of the shoulder as soon as they felt the change, as soon as they heard a cry of pain in a voice so familiar. They should have relaxed their jaw—but why? Did they want to let go and drop wildshape? Or did they want to let go so they could adjust their bite, shift their teeth from shoulder to neck, find the jugular and sink their teeth in—

A strong hand found the scruff of their neck somehow, even as now this form dwarfed the man beneath them. Blunt fingers dug into their fur, into the flesh and muscle there, more gentle than he had any right to be.

“Majexatli,” 

They could feel the vibrations of his chest beneath their teeth, Halsin’s voice slightly strained, yet firm and with none of the hatred Majexatli deserved.

Majexatli’s jaw relaxed, teeth pulling out of flesh and they knew blood was spilling from the wounds. They hadn’t felt any bones snap beneath their teeth, yet their mind raced with images of what they would see when they pulled away, visions of Halsin with his throat torn open, bleeding out before they could do anything. 

A memory surfaced, unbidden, so visceral even 20 years later, how quickly they had bled out, how they had spent those few seconds begging for Silvanus to save them, calling up every prayer they had memorized, every supplication and offering they had given. They had spent every breath striving for the balance Silvanus wanted and he had simply watched their lungs be torn from their chest, as if their slaughter was simply an accepted collateral in his divine plan. 

“Majexatli,”

There was a hand on their face, and it took everything in Majexatli not to snarl and snap at the gentleness.

They couldn’t bring themselves to meet his eyes, instead staring at his shoulder, the tears in his tunic, the bloodstains, the bite marks still lazily oozing blood. He must have cast something, a healing spell to stem the worst of the bleeding and coax the shallowest wounds closed.

“It’s nothing serious,” His voice was so genuine, “I’ve had much worse, it’s alright. We’ve all had moments where we lose ourselves to the beast,”

Halsin let out a slight laugh, but Majexatli could hear a slight pain, the way it was slightly forced, as though he was trying and failing to ignore the Dire Wolf that stood over him. He knew, he had to know that Majexatli could snap his neck with their teeth, that his blood lingered in their mouth. Majexatli wanted to be horrified, disgusted, and they were, but they also wanted to lick their lips and savor the taste.

“Are you alright?”

They finally met his eyes and recoiled, from the concern in his face, from the cautious but naïve trust. He should be running or shifting back to a bear that could snap them in half, they would deserve it.

Majexatli had the upper hand, though, they still had their teeth and claws and as much as the thought of Halsin’s blood on their tongue sickened them, as much as they wanted it to taste foul, the taste was divine. It always was.

They could taste more of it. All they had to do was bite again, all they had to do was let go. Their quarry was beneath them, unarmed, unarmored, the end of the hunt, of their hunger was within reach.

Suffer no druid to live, for they believe not in survival of the strong, but in a weak-minded balance.

Majexatli ran. 

Darting off into the trees, they ignored Halsin’s voice calling after them, blindly zigzagging through the forest as if they were trying to shake someone off their tail. But the beast they were trying to outrun was the one wearing their skin.

They crashed out of wildshape, into the dirt hard enough to skin their knees, their palms, though they could hardly tell their own blood apart from Halsin’s. Curled up on the ground there, they watched as the moonlight filtering through the trees slowly faded and was replaced by sunrise.

If your prey escapes, they have earned their freedom and whatever boon seems fit.

Majexatli didn’t know if there was anything they could give that would make up for what they did. But they weren’t sure if Halsin was the prey or if they were.

[femboycatofmystery]

So my post about how you should draw (YOU SHOULD DRAW!) blew up beyond any precedent since my return to tumblr and someone in the FRANKLY KIND OF TERRIFYING NUMBER OF REBLOGS mentioned downloading a free DAW to make music and that got me thinking,

HOBBY SOFTWARE MEGAPOST GO

All of the below software is free to use, and most of it is Open Source (which is its own thing I recommend learning about, its entire existence and success gives me hope for humanity) so GO GET SOME TOOLS! Make things like nobody's watching and then SHOW IT TO THEM ANYWAY! Or don't! Even if you hide your work from the world (lord knows I do!!!) you will have created something! And it feels amazing to create something!

VISUAL ARTS:

Inkscape: Adobe Illustrator replacement, pretty solid if a bit quirky.

Krita: Painting software, if anything slightly overpowered and sometimes more complicated than you want, but can do bloody anything including advanced color management. A wonderful tool.

Blender: You have probably heard it is super hard to use. This is CONDITIONALLY true. Because the developers are working day and night to improve everything about it it's always getting better and now like, 80% of the hardness is just because 3D is hard. Aside: Blender Grease Pencil - A subsystem in Blender is concerned with 2D animation and it is. Surprisingly good. Some annoying conventions but totally possible to literally make professional traditional 2D animation.

MUSIC:

LMMS: A free and open source DAW that can do a lot, except use most modern VST plugins. The practical upshot of this is that if you are just starting out with music it is totally serviceable but over time you might start to long for something with the ability to load hella plugins. (I'm currently trying out Reaper which has a long free trial and is technically nagware after that point...)

PlugData: You GOTTA TRY THIS, it's not mentally for everyone (not HARD exactly, just WEIRD) but if your brain works well with this kind of flow graph stuff it's a magical playground of music. (If you have heard of PureData, PlugData is based on it but has a lot of nice graphical upgrades and can work as a VST if you have a proper DAW)

Surge XT: A big ol' synthesizer plugin that also can run standalone and take midi input so you can technically use it to make music even if you don't have a DAW. If planning notes ahead of time sounds intimidating, but you can get your hands on a midi piano controller, this might actually be a great way to start out playing with music on your computer!

Bespoke Synth: Another open source DAW, but this one is... sort of exploded? Like PlugData you patch things together with cables but it has a wild electrified aesthetic and it can do piano rolls. Fun though!

GAME DEV:

Yeah that's right, game dev. You ABSOLUTELY can make video games with no experience or ability to code. I actually recommend video games as a way to learn how to code because the dopamine hits from making a character bumble around on a screen are enormously bigger than like. Calculating pi or something boring like that. ANYWAY:

Twine: Twine is what I might describe as sort of a zero-barrier game dev tool because you're literally writing a story except you can make it branch. It has programming features but you can sort of pick them up as you go. Lowest possible barrier to entry, especially if you write!

Godot: I use this engine all the time! It's got great tutorials all over the internet and is 100% FREE AND ALWAYS WILL BE. Technically there are more Unity tutorials out there, but Godot has plenty enough to learn how to do things. It's also SUPER LIGHTWEIGHT so you won't spend your precious hobby time waiting for the engine to load. There are absolutely successful games made with this but I think the best thing about it is that the shallow end of the learning curve is PRETTY OK ACTUALLY.

[pomrania]

For June 2023, I’m planning to do an art event where I’ll be drawing people’s queer D&D (or other gaming system) characters. That means I’ll need people with queer characters who want me to draw those characters. It’s the same thing as I did the last two years; but if you weren’t here for that, I’ll explain it now.

The TLDR is that if you have a queer D&D character (Pathfinder character, GURPS, Monster of the Week, any other gaming system), leave a comment here or send me a message, so I can work out a list of people who might be interested. If you’re not sure if something counts, ask me.

So, the non-TLDR version. There’s an event AdorkaStock has run called “Draw Everything June”, where new poses are put out for each weekday in June. (That worthy is being less active on dA, and currently has plans to host the event on their own site; if it doesn’t work out, then I’d use a different way to get their poses.) The pose is released the night before; I make a post about it, asking who’s interested; the next morning I check the replies, get into contact with someone who was interested in it, and I use that pose to draw their character.

You might notice that this requires me to know what their character looks like. If somebody already has good visual reference for their character, that’s great. If they don’t have reference for their character, then I can work with that; more specifically, work with THEM, to make a reference sheet I can use. And if they don’t really know what their character looks like, I can ALSO work with that, and help them figure out what their character might look like.

I can do all that stuff while working on a picture, but I’d really rather do it ahead of time. (Plus that’ll give me something to do that isn’t my Mermay piece, which is always good.) Thus, why I’m making this post now.

A few things I need to address:

“I don’t want to impose --” This isn’t imposing. This is literally me asking for people to let me draw their characters. Can I make it any more explicit?

“I’m sure you have lots of other characters to draw instead of mine --” Sometimes that happens, but in the past, what’s more often is that I don’t have ANY characters for a pose, and I have to hunt around for anyone who might be able to help, and/or beg.

“You’ve already drawn stuff for me --” And I’m perfectly capable of choosing someone else to draw stuff for, if I decide to, and all else being equal, I’ll generally pick a person who hasn’t gotten art from me before. BUT that’s “all else being equal”; and I’d really much rather have a lot of options to choose from.

“You literally drew my character last year.” Which means that your character will have lower priority (but maybe there’s a pose they’d be perfect for). I’d still like you to leave a note here, because I have a terrible memory for people; I’m not joking when I say that I can’t remember who it was, even if I chatted with you a lot about it. (I have literally forgotten that it was my MOTHER who did certain things; if HER identity can slip my mind, please believe me when I say it’s nothing personal.)

“I have multiple characters.” Awesome; some poses have two or three figures in them, and it’s easier when I just have one person to talk to about it, instead of two different people for two different characters.

“Why don’t you draw your own characters?” Because of how my brain works. Seriously.

“Here’s my character, you can just use them for whatever pose you choose.” That doesn’t work for me.

“I probably won’t be available while you’d be working on a drawing.” Then we’ll just have to work out as much as possible ahead of time; and while I prefer having regular feedback from the person whose character I’m drawing, so long as I know ahead of time that you won’t be around (and thus I won’t worry that you’re ignoring me), I can manage without it.

“But what about --” If you’ve any further questions, just ask them; not only am I not a mind reader, I’m also somewhat tired at the moment, so I prolly forgot to include a bunch of stuff.

[cozmic-ash]

I am, as usual, late lol, but Y'KNOW. This is gonna be a long, rambly post lol, sorry, I have a lot of thoughts.

2023 was a weird year for me, artwise. When it began I was still deep in my Art Block From Hell, which had begun in mid-2021 and lasted the entirety of 2022.

Being in the thick of such a ridiculously suffocating art block, for TWO AND A HALF YEARS, is like... I can't describe how fucking life-draining it is. It felt like something was fundamentally wrong with me -- like a part of me, which used to be as effortless as breathing or blinking my eyes, had ceased to function altogether. It wasn't just a regular art block, it was a complete identity crisis. I could no longer trust the instincts I'd honed over twenty-plus years, could no longer trust my sense of observation or my ability to recreate what I saw. I felt BROKEN, and every single time I picked up my tablet pen it was like I was scraping my insides with a spoon, trying to pick up whatever tiny dregs of dried-up, crusty shit I could manage to puke up onto my canvas. It was fucking painful and humiliating and completely demoralizing.

I'm not really sure what finally got me to do so, but sometime in summer (my memory is shit lol) I downloaded Game Maker, found a video tutorial on youtube, and just... gave myself over to it. I made myself learn how to use Aseprite, and working with pixels, making teeny-tiny little sprites, forced me to work in ways I usually don't. It was a lot harder for me to find the flaws in my art when my art was thirty-five pixels tall and the anatomy was stylized to communicate clear information rather than be a recreation or approximation of reality. I think I really do credit that time working on game dev as the thing that finally cracked loose all the gunk that was keeping me stuck -- I could not perpetuate the cycle of toxicity I'd fallen into because I could barely even conceptualize what 'good' or 'bad' pixel art even looked like lol. I just knew that I was making art, and for the first time in two years, it didn't feel like I was having to desperately beg the emaciated husks of my sense of self-worth and confidence to cooperate while doing so.

(I actually sort of abandoned my foray into game dev around August/September lol, as my adhd-brain, flitting around like a little hummingbird to every dopamine-rich-flower, is wont to do 🥲 But I wanna get back into it at some point!)

From there I had a rush of inspiration for an original project I've been mulling around in my head for years, and I wrote thousands of words in my worldbuilding document, made a map, developed the shell of a possible actual STORY. I returned to sketching. Conventional sketching. It was, at first, largely still comprised of that same demotivating struggle against myself, but I was so deep in the throes of inspiration (after several years of this project laying dormant in my google drive) that I NEEDED to sketch. So I kept going. And after a while, it got....... easier. And I started hating everything I made a little less. I painted, properly, for the first time in years. I stayed up late into the night, even if it meant I would be tired at work the next day, because drawing felt so damn GOOD again and I had missed that feeling so much. All I wanted to do was draw. For the first time in two and a half years, I could finally see the light at the end of the fucking tunnel.

I still don't think I'm quite out of the woods yet. My style is changing, as all artists' styles do over time, and that comes with stumbling adjustments. My confidence is still small and shaky and recovering; I still catch myself second-guessing what I've drawn, and even looking at some of the things here on my grid makes me cringe a little bit for one reason or another.

But compared to both 2021 and 2022, the volume of art, and in particular the volume of art I don't actively despise, is WAY higher, and I'm really really hopeful that that means I'm finding my footing again.

So! Here's to 2024, and to continuing to move towards the light at the end of the tunnel 🙏🌟 I'm gonna try.

[yourlocalartsonist]

ROTTMNT Moths Fly In Packs - Chapter One

A/N: HI I’M FINALLY POSTING THE FIRST CHAPTER. Really excited and super nervous but I’m SO happy I can finally share this with everyone. I’m not doing a drawing for every chapter since that’d be selling my soul to the red dilf down below but this is the first chapter so I figured why not do something special. Also apologies if any of the characters seem ooc, I’m still learning how to write them so it might take a bit (especially the dialogue). Also also, sorry if the formatting seem weird, I just copy pasted a google doc into Tumblr and I haven’t entirely figured out how this app works yet. ANYWHIZZLE despite all that I hope y’all enjoy and I can’t wait to write more ^^

Next Chapter

Masterlist

Disclaimer: chapter involves themes of manipulation, violence, and curse words. If you’re sensitive to that stuff, scroll past and stay safe <3

I looked out the window and sighed. Today could have been a lot worse, sure, but it also could’ve been a whole lot better.

It was one am on a Monday night. Staying up this late this early in the week is gonna guarantee a begrudgingly painful school life till Friday. And yet, here I was, staring at my phone at his texts.

Zane: Hey! You were active on insta. How come you didn’t text back?

Zane: hey it’s been an hour now. I’m starting to worry about you

Zane: Salena are you ignoring me? I already said I was sorry

Zane: fine then. Don’t text me. But at least talk to me tomorrow. I miss you.

Zane: Goodnight.

He was getting clingier by the day. Last month when he asked me out, I was worried rejecting him would break his heart. Somehow, it looks like it had the opposite effect and boosted his ego since he’s only gotten more pushy after that. I mean today he picked a fight with a guy just for talking to me. It’s getting ridiculous.

I groaned and hopped off bed to get a drink of water. I know I should probably forgive him, I’m sure he’s just coping differently maybe. It’ll get better with time. I hope it gets better with time. Otherwise the next four months are gonna be excruciatingly long. Still, I can’t just not be mad after what he did.

As I lamented in my depressive thoughts, I saw four figures out the window, running from rooftop to rooftop. Smiling, I opened the window and let the cool air and the joyous voices flow in. At least one good thing’s coming out from today.

It looked like they were chasing someone, a giant pig man specifically. I would’ve been more freaked out if this was the first human-animal thing I saw.

The very first time I saw one was a giant bull in a bellboy uniform running along the sidewalk, clumsily knocking anything and everything over as he wept. I assumed my sleep deprived brain was probably making things up again but the sheer absurdity of it paired with the fact that my sleep schedule was actually decent that week, I began to question that guess. Then, only ten minutes later, seeing four human-sized turtles walking upright seemingly searching for the bull man sealed the deal that I could not be making this shit up.

But that was two or three years ago. Now, it’s more of a fun surprise seeing the new animal person of the week than a sanity-questioning spiral. Most often, I see the turtles passing by. Sometimes they’re goofing off or skateboarding. Other times, they’re chasing someone like right now. I can only assume the pig man is evil if he’s being chased by them. I know the turtles are good since I suspect they’re the “mysterious heroes” that saved New York from that-which-shall-not-be-named a few months back. I mean, who else could it be?

Even if they’re chasing a potential murderous lunatic, they seem like they’re having fun. They’re all smiling and laughing and whizzing around everywhere, just looking at them gives me an adrenaline rush.

I stared out the window longingly as they zipped by, disappearing into the night. Maybe the late night was getting to my brain, but things just felt worse than usual this time. I’ve been watching these four go by my window at least once a week for so long. They always look so fun to be around. Free-spirited and zany, the exact opposite of everyone in my life. Maybe I really am going insane but for once I just want to know them, to see them up close. And if I’m feeling particularly crazy, I might even say hello.

I found my body edging closer and closer out the window. The fire-escape does lead all the way down, and I’m only on the sixth floor anyway. It’s not exactly a fast distance to the ground but it wouldn’t be too bad if I run…

Before I knew it, I was already out dashing in their direction to catch up. I’ve only ever dreamed of having enough courage to actually attempt this. If my aunt finds out I snuck out my grave will be dug and that’s not an exaggeration.

Yet somehow, that didn’t stop me. My skin felt numb from the cold wind, my hair was going crazy behind me. I felt pain in my cheeks from how much I was smiling. I guess I am feeling particularly crazy tonight.

***

By the time I caught up with them, I was embarrassingly out of breath. They were now all ground level in an alleyway and I was hiding just around the corner, close enough to listen in. A little nervous if they can hear my hideous dying dog pants, not just because it would blow my cover but also for the sake of my prestige. They seem a little too distracted by the pig man to notice me, though.

“Alright, meathead! Give us the poison, or I’m gonna smash your head into the wall and keep smashing till I smash the wall down with my smashy little fists!”

Note to self: the red one likes smashing.

“Oh get stuffed you annoying little rats! Can’t a guy sabotage his rival chef’s excuse of a business in peace?”

“GASP! He’s defaming rats!”

They broke out into a fight over what looked to be a large bag of, assumedly, poison. The pig man’s tentacle arms were whipping all over the place, trying to land a blow on the turtles. Oh and apparently his arms can extend which I would find cool if it weren’t for how gross it looked. It’s all drippy and squishy-looking and weird, not a texture I’d want to be near.

I won’t lie, I was kind of distracted from the danger I put myself in since being this close allowed me to properly see the turtles fight. At first glance it looks like they’re flailing all over the place, but it’s actually in a more cohesive way. The blue turtle teleported around and sliced the tentacles attacking them, the red one went in for a punch with giant fists at any opening. Purple guy had glowing guns in his signature color all shooting at the same time and the orange turtle swung around hitting pig man with any object his fiery chains landed on. My god was I awestruck watching them all in action. I was so busy gawking I barely even registered the magic weapons.

One of the flame chains got a hold of his leg and sent the pig guy flying backwards, losing grip of his poison bag.

“Heads up!” The blue one yelled as the bag soared through the air. All the turtles attempted catching it while the pig man’s tentacle arm followed close behind the bag. It looked like it was about to be body horror Peppa Pig’s win.

So I stepped out and grabbed the bag before he could. All eyes now on me, I made a run for it in the other direction realizing how exposed I was. Behind me I could hear a confused “Who was that?” sounding like it was from the purple guy.

Yeah, sure, maybe this wasn’t the smartest move but if I’m getting myself involved I might as well be useful.

I’d break in and out of thought every time I crashed into a wall or slid on the ground. I was never exactly known for my clearly graceful nature. My body started aching. Still I kept running, only stopping to throw a rock or two at one of the stringy pink arms behind me. Seriously, why does that dude have to be so puke-worthy.

A silver blur sped right past my head. The glowing sword stopped in front of me and a familiar blue turtle appeared out of thin air.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

As much as I pride myself on reflexes, the initial shock didn’t wear off fast enough to prevent me from crashing into him and falling back on the ground. I barely had an impact on him, though, since he was still standing perfectly fine with a hand on his hip and the other gripping his weapon.

“Look pal, I have been heroing all week and as much as I love fighting villains and looking badass, I say we make this fast and you just tell me who sent you.”

“S-sent me?” It took me a while to catch on. Not my best day, I know.

“Oh, no no no! I'm not working for anyone! I was trying to help. See?”

I held out the bag towards him, hoping that would convince him I’m not a threat. To my surprise, instead of taking it, he squinted his eyes and me and crouched down to match my height.

“You know, you look kinda familiar. Have we met before?..”

I was too stunned to respond.

Back when I first saw the turtles, after seeing the human bull, I overheard them talking about him and wanting to find him. The blue one especially, he seemed extremely guilty about something. I figured I’d help but I wasn’t brave enough to just go up to them and tell them I saw the bull. I’m too shy to even approach regular humans, these were talking anthropomorphic turtles. So instead I threw a note down and it bounced off blue’s head. He looked at it, read it, then looked up at me. I poked my head out from behind the fire escape and gave an awkward wave, trying to let him know I was on their side. It worked since he directed his team towards where I wrote the bull man went.

I remember later that same night, he knocked on my window. I was a bit freaked out admittedly and hid away by instinct. I wasn’t exactly expecting to see them again.

“Oookay. Well.” I could tell he wasn’t sure how to deal with me. I was regretting hiding but my legs were frozen in place.

“I don’t know if you can hear me since the window’s closed but I wanted to say thanks for the note. We found our guy way faster than we would’ve if we kept having to use Raph’s ideas.” He let out a playful chuckle.

I felt my heart melt a little. I don’t know what I was expecting but it wasn’t really that. I don’t usually hear things like that often.

“So yeah uh, if you can still hear me, thank you.”

My legs started working again as I heard him leap off to leave. I opened the window and rushed out to the fire escape. Luckily, he was on the ground not too far away from me. I called out to him.

“Salena!”

He turned around and saw me. “What?”

I beamed brighter and yelled again.

“My name is Salena!”

“Salena?” His voice brought me back to present day.

“You remember me?”

He let out a cheery laugh. “Of course I remember you! I told you, your note was the only reason we found Bullhop so fast that day.”

“But that was years ago.” I sighed in disbelief as he helped me to my feet.

“And? No face has ever escaped ol’ Neon Leon’s noggon!” He proudly pointed to his brain. I debated telling him the word was noggin.

We heard voices in the distance.

“PUNCHING LIKE A BOSS!!”

“I SWEAR ONE DAY I’LL TURN YOU ALL INTO STEW!”

“GUYS! He wants to turn me into stew!”

“Mikey, that’s not a good thing.”

“Says you! I’d make a delicious stew, thank you very much, Dee!”

“Welp, duty calls! Let’s get you to safety.” With that, he opened a blue portal and pulled me through it to a nearby rooftop. So his swords can teleport and open portals??

“You think you can keep this bag with you?”

I managed to nod.

He gave a smirk and stepped back through his portal to rejoin the battle.

“Leo! Where’s the bag?”

“And the person who stole the bag?” I could still hear red and purple speak.

“Relax, they’re a friend, they’re keeping the bag safe.”

“A new friend?! OMIGOSH!!” Orange seemed excited

The fight picked up fiercer than before. It was hard to keep up with the turtles and the chaos of their weapons. Orange flames, purple lasers, sheathing metal. The ground shook at every red flash. All the while, the air filled with lively laughter and jokes.

Pig man wasn’t going down easy, either. He pounded his giant spiky mallet, probably matching the force of red’s hits. I know they’re experienced fighters and all, but I felt a bit useless sitting around and doing nothing. I looked around for some way I could help.

Luckily, something caught my attention. On the left side of the roof, I could see a pile of bricks laying around. More than perfect for knocking out a mutant. Now the question is how to get them down.

I saw a flash of blue out the corner of my eye.

Bingo.

Screaming at the top of my lungs, hoping my voice wouldn’t be drowned out, I called out to him.

“Blue! Hey, blue up here!”

He followed my voice to where I was, looking a bit confused and worried I was giving myself away.

I pointed to the brick in my hand. “Make a portal on top of him!”

I saw his face light up as he understood my plan. “Great idea!”

As he dashed off, a blue portal opened near me. I rushed around the roof, grunting as I pushed the bricks in. Blue threw a sword in the air, appeared right above the pig, and opened the other side of the portal, letting all the bricks rain down on him. They all looked a bit surprised seeing around 8 or 10 bricks hit him on the head, blue included. Yeah, sure, maybe pushing all of them in was a bit overkill but seeing how crazy powerful this guy was, I didn’t want to risk it.

And boy, was he out cold. The four turtles made their way up the roof, I presume to get the bag of poison.

I glanced back down at the pig “So like…he’s not dead is he?”

“Meatsweats? Nah that guy’s handled way worse.” Blue said strangely casually. “Good thinking with the bricks, btdubs.”

I’d appreciate the compliment more but I was still struggling to figure out what could possibly be worse than bricks to the head.

“Yeah, thanks for your help back there with the poison, too.” red rubbed his neck and gave a sweet smile. For a big guy he seems awfully friend-shaped.

“I’m Raph. These are my brothers Leo, Mikey, and Donnie.” Leo struck a pose, Mikey waved like his life depended on it, and Donnie…well he was just on his phone with his shell turned towards me. It’s a cool shell, at least. I never noticed it wasn’t a real one before.

“I’m Salena. Nice to meet you all.”

People used to tell me I ask too many questions so I got into the habit of just keeping my tongue bit. But I would’ve exploded if I didn’t seize the moment today to find out what the hell was going on. I’m bad at social situations, anyway, might as well be on purpose.

“So if you don’t mind me asking…What are you? How do you exist? Where’d you get your weapons? Did you make your shell yourself? Who was that guy? Can I see what’s in this bag?”

“AHEM! I’m glad you asked!” Donnie turned his attention towards me, dramatically answering my questions. “We, weird human, are the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (trademark). And yes, my battle shell is indeed Genius Built technology. Made this baby when I was twelve.”

“We’re mutant turtles!-”

“Literally just said that in the name Micheal”

“Still think Mad Dogz was better.”

“-And we were made in Draxum’s lab to take over the world back when he was going through his ‘bad boy’ phase but we ended up being heroes instead. Pretty cool right?”

“Hey, inquiry for you actually, why’d you help us anyway?”

I awkwardly answered Donnie, telling them about my luck of random mutants frequently passing by my window. Apparently some of them were Yōkai, Raph said there was a whole Hidden City of them and a doorway leading to it near where I lived. I was a little surprised at how happy they all looked listening to me talk. Usually I’d be told to shut up by now so this was a nice change of pace.

“What happened to your arm?” Leo pointed to the wound on my forearm.

“Oh. That explains why it felt so sore. I guess I scraped against a wall or something? It’s fine, though, I’ll patch it up when I get home.”

“No way. You helped us, we help you. Let the professional do his magic.”

Leo took out some supplies from his pouch. I sat on the edge and let him work on my arm while the rest - mostly Donnie - info dumped their stories to me. At first it was a way to distract me from the initial sting of my cuts being cleaned but it wasn’t long until they got carried away with their storytelling. They told me about their mutation at the lab, how they found out, their two dads and other human friends. The oozequitoes, as they called them, were what made them and all the other mutants. It’s crazy to think these guys were made as literal military weapons considering they’re now wacky vigilantes.

“Voilà! Look and be amazed!”

“Woah! You weren’t kidding when you said professional.” I admired Leo’s bandaging on my arm. It was clean and neat, tight enough to be secure but not turning my fingers blue or anything. Much better job than I would’ve done.

The full moon was beautiful tonight. Unfortunately, it reminded me where I should be at this time.

“Well, I’m really enjoying talking to guys but I should probably go home. I don’t even wanna know how late it is”

“What? But can’t you stay a little longer?” Mikey, who was practically vibrating this whole time, suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. He looked so dejected it made my heart hurt. Raph attempted to comfort him.

“They probably have school Mike. Maybe we can hang out another time, if you’re up for it?”

“REALLY- I mean, yes, yeah. That sounds lovely!” Stay civil, Salena.

“Hey before you go, you should really try one of these.” Leo opened the poison bag and took out a pizza puff? “They are absolutely delicious.”

Poison or not, pizza puff’s a pizza puff.

“NO!“ Unfortunately, Raph slapped the treat out of my hand before I could plop it in my mouth.

We bid our farewells and Mikey handed me a paper with their numbers on it paired with some cute doodles of them. After telling him where to go, Leo opened a portal to my room. I know you’re not supposed to tell strangers your address and it did feel a little weird but a portal was the fastest way home. No way I’m hoofing it this late in the night. I love New York but not that much.

Sitting on my bed now, I observed the blue turtle as he was getting ready to go back. The red stripes around his eyes made me realize he was a red-eared slider, I read about them back when I was six or seven I think.

“Hey Leo?”

“Yeah?”

I smiled. “It was nice running into you again.”

He gave his signature smirk “Funny how life works, ay?”

He waved and fell back into his portal. I closed my eyes for a bit, then grabbed my sketchbook.

Placing Mikey’s doodles on a blank page, I wrote down their respective eye colors.

Green, brown, yellow, blue.

Next Chapter | Salena Moni

[catboii]

((just a "little" (ha) update I guess, nothing major, just a note that I'm sorry if I post alot this week with seemingly no regard for my/my muse's vast presence on the dash, or if I end up writing alot of short weird drabbles to vent.... if there's questionable stuff it'll be tagged like always <3

I understand if you need to unfollow me to keep your dash clear for other people if you're mobile etc. or if you need to blacklist my muse's url for a bit if it's overwhelming

After xmas everything may have settled and if you wanna refollow then I'd welcome you back and wouldn't ask any questions. your comfort (whatever that may classify as in the context) is my utmost priority!

normally I try not to clutter, and I try to keep general post reblogs minimal and just queue most of them. I'm just... not doing too good rn

then again it's a 50/50 that I'll be posting nothing at all, just making my muse's presence known if it wants to sorta wave at someone from the depths of my brain hell jail.

I'll still be checking in around xmas stuff bc this muse gives me v happy bubbly vibes whenever I write it and that's honestly what I need rn.

I'm sorry if your muse reblogs/replies to one of mine's posts or smth and I seemingly glance over it. I genuinely just didn't see it. I always try and respond to stuff, or if it doesn't know how to reply I at least acknowledge that my muse saw it by liking it. but I might not have the mental capacity to actually keep up w stuff

...

BASICALLY I'm either gonna be kinda quiet or rly hyperfixated on not being in my own head for the next week or so.

I'm obv stressed anyway bc I need to do xmas shopping still and it's a struggle bc online it probs won't come in time. we're going "late night shopping" on thursday though so hopefully we can get a bunch of stuff then

but mainly an old work friend of mine passed away today. He's been unwell for a few years, and I dunno if he knew what it was and was just keeping it quiet, or if they genuinely couldn't work it out. last I heard he was getting MRIs.

I had a complicated relationship w him (positive) bc he was either bipolar or had BPD like me (although he wasn't diagnosed with either, but it was obvious he at least had bipolar), and if you know anything abt BPD you know what an FP (favourite person) is, and we were sort of each other's when we were working together? I think. like I say he wasn't diagnosed, but it felt like that. we hit it off really quick and were both really comfortable with each other, and he was just the sweetest most supportive person. he was one of my FPs, which basically means my brain was cursed to be in intense friendlove with him. He would tell me that he loved me and appreciated my friendship, was always saying you need to tell people you love them, however you can, however you mean it, because you don't know if you'll ever get to tell them again

he always showed off the little things I made him and made sure everyone knew exactly where he got the silly little origami animals on his desk, or who made his juggling balls that were his favourite thing in the whole world bc I made them for him by hand, and picked the fabric out specifically for him.

One time around xmas, bc of covid, we had these big plastic screen dividers between our desks and I used posca paint pens to draw him a HUGE Robin in a scarf and santa hat (his name was Robin and people always got him little Robin themed things, he loved them) on the one by his manager desk, like a name tag, but Facilities told him he needed to clean it off and chastised him thinking he did it, and you're "not supposed to vandalise work equipment" even though they're literally washable and it was xmas. we were sticking decorations everywhere, how is it any different? but he played along but he was really mad. He didn;t wanna say it was me that did it, because he thought I might've gotten in trouble, but he also wanted to argue that I'd put alot of work into it. I hadn't put that much in, it was just for fun and I liked drawing it, and he got to see it! That was the important part. and I said so. but I cleaned it off and drew him a new Robin on a piece of paper and he kept it at his desk like a retired picket sign, and told the story to anyone who would be polite enough to listen

mostly though, he gendered me correctly (and he was in his 60s so being so passionate abt they/them pronouns was just really sweet, though he was clearly bi but still in the closet, so it was maybe a little projection, in a way, or just straight up quiet queer solidarity), and literally agressively made sure everyone else did too, when he realised I'd been just letting people at work use whatever pronouns, he got really proactive and made sure all my paperwork was marked as "them" officially (with my permission). if anyone misgenered me he would get visably annoyed or disgusted, and there were a couple people who "forgot" (every time) and he actually got angry at them about it and reported them for harassment, which might've been a little extreme, but I honestly felt so validated, and I'm tearing up thinking about it. I don't think anyone's ever fought that hard in my corner, especially after only knowing me for, at that point, less than a year.

We worked together in a couple different parts of the business for a couple years, until some stuff happened that I shouldn't say bc I need my rp blog(s) to stay far away from my professional life, but we were gonna be working together doing something else, but it wasn't his thing, it was stressful and there were other reasons, but he just lost it and walked out.

we had a little joke when we were training before he left, he had this soft toy robin that he let me borrow because I was really anxious, and I gave it a little notepad and pencil and wrote something silly on it for when he got it back each time. usually some out of context joke on what we learned that day, so we could both laugh about it. but when he left I still had it, and I messaged him saying I would get it back to him sometime, but he said to keep it to remind me of him.

I put it away to keep it safe, but I'm gonna have to go and find it, because it's one of the only physical things I have left of him.

[topknotstrunk]

Review Everything 30 - Sweet Tooth, Season 1

It has been a good, long while since there was a post-Apocalyptic thing I really liked has been airing.

Which is unfortunate because that’s the genre that originally got me seriously into worldbuilding, which is now one of the things that’s most important to me and I spend a lot of time doing.

Gus is an interesting protagonist for this genre. We’ve had Kids to The Apocalypse Before [one of my all time faves is The Girl Who Owned a City, Green Angel by Alice Hoffman stuck with me when I first read it as a pre-teen, The Hunger Games is a series I have mixed feelings about but was wildly popular, and I’d argue that The Last Of Us falls into this category too, and it’s pretty widely loved] but I don’t know if we’ve had boundless optimist kid being the protagonist like this. At least, not in anything I’ve seen/read.

Gus sort of feels like an anime protagonist in a weird way, like the main boy in a Shonen anime. Sure, he has his moments of fear, and doubt, but ultimately he’s going to have his mind set on the most hopeful outcome and push to get there no matter what.

I find an element of this slightly grating, though. Gus never seems to learn anything from these situations he throws himself into. He picked up some farm steadying skills with his Pubba and can feed himself [we never have seen food be an issue for him so far, though he always eats like it’s the first food he’s seen in weeks he also never complains of hunger or has flagging energy due to lack of food]. No matter how many times charging head first into a situation put him in danger, head first he continues to charge. Same thing for trusting people. Despite the world outside his little homestead showing itself, and plainly, to be dangerous to Gus he continues to act as if he’s a little boy alone in the woods with only people who love him to concern himself with.

The reason I find this odd is that I jumped into this show without really knowing what it was. I have been lamenting not having “a show” because all my favorite cartoons got canceled or cut short basically all at the same time recently. A reviewer I like offhandedly mentioned, “And hey, season 2 of Sweet Tooth is airing, so go watch that.” Then an ASL interpreter I follow shared a scene from season 2 that’s ASL heavy and I went, “Oh yeah, I should watch this.” From those two tiny exposures to the show I had no idea there were other characters that the movie would follow, or that most of them would be adults. I thought it was gonna be a kid’s show. It’s not!  A character being static in something aimed at children is, for me, more forgivable then something aimed at older audiences. Which this show clearly is. Though Gus is ten and the show shies away from almost all sexual content and the fights are almost entirely bloodless, the subject matter and heavy focus on adult characters might bore kids Gus’ age. So I hope season 2 shows some growth for the kid beyond, “Wow, so everything isn’t on fire. Now let’s explore!”

I talk a lot in these reviews, I feel like, about my ability, or not, to guess at where a story is going. It’s just a thing my brain does when I consume media. To the point where, when I was a kid, I had guessed right one to many times and my Family forbade me from saying my guesses out loud. My gasp of realization less than halfway through a movie would draw glares from my family at family movie nights. I was even given a notebook to keep my thoughts to myself in for movie watching. They’re fun people. *eyeroll* All this to say, I didn’t find myself doing that much with this show. The reveal of Gus being patient zero, as it were, made sense, in a “Huh, I feel like I should have seen this coming” kind of way. I had been thinking, and only for that episode, that Birdie was gonna be patient zero, and give birth to Gus as the first hybrid kid. The only “called it” moment I had was like, 30 seconds before it’s revealed who Wendy was to Bear, when we see the back of her head as a little kid. That usually means the show is written well and doing its job, being too interesting for me to analyze in real time. Having too good a time with the show and being to distracted by how annoying Gus can be to make many guesses. XD

Something I find super interesting the the choices in how the hybrids look. I feel like characters that are important and that we’re supposed to empathize with the most are the “most cute” and most Human. Like, Gus has the tapetum lucidum thing going on, sure, but otherwise he’s a cute kid with deer horns and ears. There are about a billion OCs you could find on DeviantArt that look pretty much the same. He’s the deer version of a Cat Girl. Same thing for Wendy. But then we have, for example, the first character we see the new Doctor operate on and he’s got these big, ugly lizard eyes bugging out of his face, with the top part of his face being totally un-Human, with lizard tongue movements and animal like behavior. All the hybrid kids seem to have /some/ animalistic tendencies, but like, I feel like “we’re gonna cut you up now” might hit a bit harder if the lizard kid just had a little patch of scales and a normal kid face like Gus and Wendy have. IDK though, maybe that’s the point? They seem less Human so those scenes won’t be as upsetting.

Anyway, I’m really interested to know if there’s a reason some kids are cute animal gijinkas and some lean way more to the Cronenberg side of the “humans combined with animals” spectrum. Even if it’s just, “Genetics, some kids get more animal half, some get more Human half.” I’m SUPER not interested in quantifying the reasons and details of “weird deer shit”. I don’t want to know if lizard kids are exothermic if more than 30% of their bodies are covered in scales, I don’t wanna know if wolf kids need to eat an all carnivore diet if their teeth are sharp instead of flat, that shit. The show has some neat fantastical elements, I am happy to chalk up “their physiology is the way that it is” to “because”.

My only real critiques of the show so far are that the effects can be a little hokey, mostly the deer and other normal animals that show up, and that the kid acting can be well... Bad kid acting. Gus does okay most of the time but I have a real hard time feeling upset for him when he’s upset. He’s not great at fake big fear or fake crying, which are two things important to the story that he has to emote fairly regularly. Stefania LaVie Owen is doing an amazing job though, and so is Naledi Murray.

Looking forward to season 2. I like Birdie a lot and want to know more about her. I’d also like to hear about how Pubba felt taking Gus out into the wild, thinking she’d come, only she never showed up. I wanna see Wendy and Bear reunited. I also wanna know why almost every character in this show has a nickname or chosen name. Sweet Tooth, Big Man, Pubba, Bear, Pig Tail, Birdie, is this a thing the creator/s like or is there some meaning to it? I also really wanna know if our narrator is Gus all grown up.

In Summary: Cool world building, fresh take on the apocalypse [bold move making a plague movie while we’re still having a plague], a fun mix of science inspired story ideas and fantasy ones, I love me a good found family, animal kids are goofy but neat, and I wanna see more.

Overall: 6/10