#NO MORE I SAY

[prettyflyshyguy]

It's WIP wednesday and since you all liked the last one, have the direct follow up chunk. Unedited and very raw, as a treat. Tis the season for spooks and I'm taking every excuse I can find.

Zeke jumped back at the sight of the man before him, his glasses tumbled off his head, clacking as they hit the hard concrete floor of the rooftop. Cole was perched on the edge of the couch, leaning forward slightly, one leg and foot bouncing rapidly and tapping the floor. His hands were clasped together resting on his knees as he was staring intently at Zeke with eyes that glowed bright in the dim twilight of the rooftop. It was not an abnormal feature, Cole’s eyes had lit up as he channeled the raw power of electrons that coursed through him on many occasions prior, Zeke had even commented in the past that they almost seemed to appear lit up on a normal day, a subtle tell that there was something not quite human about him. But it wasn’t the glow that frightened Zeke in the moment, it was the shade of bright red that took him aback. Cole’s eyes were piercing, and as he sat on the sofa with his back to the pyrotechnics and fireworks of the city horizon, his eyes cut through the darkness as he stared unwaveringly at Zeke. 

“Cole you’re not drunk are you…?”

Zeke bent down slowly and felt blindly behind him with one hand, searching for his sunnies, not looking away from Cole who watched him as he replied.

“No.”

As Zeke stood back up slowly, methodically placing the glasses back over his eyes curiously, pulling them up and down a few times comparing how little he could see in the darkness through the tinted lenses and how bright the red cut through still. He processed his emotions for a moment as he affixed the glasses back ontop of his hair, giving Cole a more thorough visual examination as he stayed sitting on the couch, looking more dejected as every second of silence passed between them. He was definitely not drunk, and a sinking feeling formed in the pit of Zeke’s stomach as he looked at the dark stain that had run down Cole’s shirt, tracing back to his neck where there was a bloody wound left open and bleeding slightly. He couldn’t see in the dimness and the distance away, but he knew what he’d find on closer inspection. 

“Zeke are you drunk?” his leg bouncing increased in pace and his eyes narrowed slightly, though it hardly dampened his gaze.

“No. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Zeke I’m serious.” 

“And I am too.” he responded, moving behind the couch and bending down, looking back and forth as if to not let Cole out of his sight for more than a moment, “You know I think I got ripped off, I think they watered it down.”

“... Dude what are you talking about?”

“Ah fugedaboudid.” Zeke placed the small first aid kid he kept stashed on the makeshift milkcrate table and pulled on a pair of surgical gloves. “

"Zeke I'm kinda freaking out over here."

"I know, I can tell. Look just hold on a minute. That needs cleaning, can't have you getting sepsis. Or rabies.” he snapped on a glove, “What’d you say attacked you again?”

“A vampire, Zeke. A fucking vampire.” 

“Right, right… You sure you’re not drunk?”

“I wish I was. Hurts like hell.” he reached up to touch the wound, wincing in pain as his fingers graced it gently, still in disbelief it had even happened. “I’m all messed up Zeke my powers are all screwed and I can’t, I can’t–” 

“Cole.” Zeke was on the couch next to him, a hand squeezing his shoulder gently, “You’re spiraling man. Just. Just stop for a moment, ok? Let me fix this up first before it get’s any worse.”

Cole hardly felt it could get any more worse, but he nodded his head and turned to look out across the city as the fireworks continued to crackle and pop, lighting up the sky. 

“Alright, now hold still. This might sting a little.”

He grunted in response to the pain as he felt the alcohol bite into the puncture marks. 

“Zeke that really, really stings.”

“I did warn you.”

Zeke’s technique was rough, but thorough, ensuring the wound and surrounding skin was clean before a second round of pain hit as the antiseptic gel he began applying spared no mercy. He paused in his application, a chill swept through his body as he watched Cole grimace from the burning wound, close enough to see his teeth bared. Zeke turned his attention back to the immediate issue, refocusing on the job he had dutifully assigned himself. The surrounding skin had bruised deep violet and grey, broken up by lines of scattering dark veins spreading outwards, creeping and crawling under the surface, like vines reaching out for purchase.  

“Where’d you pick up all this stuff anyway, Grey’s Anatomy? Nurse Jackie?” 

Cole’s voice cut the stillness of the rooftop. The man had a knack for lightening the mood, but Zeke knew him too well. Cole was unsettled. This was his usual method for deflecting. 

“I got it from Trish.” 

Zeke held his breath, glancing up at Cole as he pulled open a packet of medical adhesives. Cole was silent and still, staring out across the city skyline, though he wasn’t looking at the fireworks and balloons that dotted the hazy gloom of the clear twilight sky. Zeke continued, “Back in Empire City, while you were in hospital. Had a lot of downtime, yknow? While the world was going to shit outside. It was getting scary, man. Figured I’d ask her to show me how to do stuff right in case anything ever happened.”

He lined up the patch, confirming it was the correct size before peeling the plastic protective film off and gently pressing it onto Cole’s neck.

“Didn’t think I’d ever need to.”

Before the thought could linger, the snapping sound of Zeke pulling off his gloves pulled Cole back into the moment. 

“Okie-dokie Gary Oldman, consider yourself discharged. Be sure to give the Dunbar clinic a five star review.”

Zeke stepped away to dispose of the gloves and to stash the small first aid kit back into safety, out of sight from prying eyes. He was still operating in Empire City mode. Food and aid were sacred. You didn’t know how long you were going to go without receiving more, and you couldn’t trust anyone to not take what was yours. He shuffled some boxes aside behind the sofa, carefully sliding the first aid box under a small gap cut into the foam perfectly sized. As he stood up, he snapped his fingers towards Cole who had reached up with his right hand, feeling the dressing on the wound. 

“Hey, hey! No touchie!”

He pulled his hand away, raising it in the air in response to Zeke’s authoritative tone in an apologetic gesture. 

“I just cleaned that up man, don’t aggravate it.”

“... Thanks Zeke.”

“Anytime brother.”

Zeke stepped into his view, and Cole looked up at him. He was holding out a beer, a gentle smile crossed his face. Cole took the drink as Zeke returned to his side of the couch. 

“Ok, now that you’ve calmed down a bit, how abouts you run me over what the hell happened down in the catacombs again.”

“Not gonna tell me I got drunk this time?”

“Hard to dismiss the evidence in front of me.” he smiled, “I mean now you really are the Demon of Empire City!”

“Oh come on, that's not funny.”

“And to think, you laughed at me!”

Cole rolled his eyes as Zeke held aloft a copy of some pulpy comic book, waving it gently looking smug. The cover was adorned with a classical styled illustration of a beautiful woman lit by a full moon, a swarm of bats billowing around her as she grinned, delicate fangs giving her true nature away. He had berated Zeke in the past for his particular interests, all in good nature as friends do.

“In my defense–” 

“Nope, nuh uh,” Zeke cut him off, “you don't get a defense brother. Look at you.”

Cole looked down, tugging gently at the once yellow shirt as he examined the mess of dried blood that had stained down the front. The longer he looked the more he felt sick.

“Now I don’t mean to be rude, but you look freaky. All them goth chicks at the bar I was at’d love ya. They’re real into the eyes and the teeth thing, hell I gotta get you to be my wingman sometime.”

“Hah, yeah, sure.” he raised the bottle to take a sip but paused at the last moment, frowning. He slowly placed the bottle down on the table. “Wait, Z, there’s something up with my eyes??”

Zeke glanced sideways at him, mid swig of his bottle. 

“I mean ‘ese aah kinda ‘ard ta nat nahtice.” he yanked at the set of fangs that had mysteriously formed with his fingers as he talked, confirming that they were in fact real and attached to his mouth, and not some costume props superglued down while he was knocked out. A part of him hoped they would wiggle and give, a sign that this was in fact some elaborate prank directed at him, some bizarre attempt to ruin the good name he’d made for himself since arriving, some twisted plot Bertrand had cooked up since he receded to the shadows. It still didn’t rationalise what he’d done, and how the blood flaking off his shirt was only partially his own. 

“But I haven’t exactly stopped to look in a mirror yet.” he wiped his hands down his pants, hastily removing any saliva, hoping there wasn’t anything else mixed in with it. The taste still lingered in his mouth. 

“Ooookay, uh, you might want some of that first.” Zeke pointed at the beer with one hand, while he reached into his back pocket with the other, fumbling for a moment before pulling out his mobile phone. Cole snatched the bottle back, drinking from it and relishing how the drink replaced the taste of iron in his mouth. When he was done Zeke held the phone up in front of Cole’s face and snapped a picture. Forgetting to turn the flash off, the sudden burst of light seared and burned Cole’s eyes, making him reel back, covering his face with one arm while waving the other in Zeke’s direction as a reflex.

“Hey, HEY, careful I haven’t insulated this one yet!”

“Maybe don’t try and blind me next time Z, geez…”

Zeke pulled the phone back, safely out of the danger zone that was Cole’s reach. He looked at the image he’d caught as Cole groaned, rubbing his eyes as they adjusted back to the dim evening haze blanketing the rooftop. He looked over at Zeke who was now watching him again. His vision was fuzzy, and he looked almost like he’d just been woken up. Still he gestured towards the phone, and Zeke reluctantly brought it closer, holding it up so the screen faced Cole.

“What the hell…”

Cole moved to grab the device and Zeke pulled it away once more, though there was no need to inspect the image up close to see the physical changes inflicted on his body. Cole’s eyes darted across the image, his left hand resting on his mouth and chin. He brought his right hand up to point at the screen, a safe ruler’s space between his index finger and Zeke’s only working phone.

“Shit, dude yeah, that is freaky.”

[tbartss]

i hate that i delay exercising coloring and painting because i've made it into this unkillable monster in my head. ill never defeat the beast if I never approach the cave. it may be dark, but there will be light also

[guiiay]

jinx and isha visit a walmart

[twinliches]

cannot stop thinking about the french man who during dinner responded to a person asking "should we be naughty and get desert" by pulling a face and going "naughty? it is chocolate, it is not an, uh, threesome"

[captainjonnitkessler]

>Join a union

>Hear people constantly complaining that the current union leadership is super corrupt, it's all just the same ten guys making all the decisions in secret and nobody else in the union ever gets to know what's going on

>Go to the monthly union meetings that are completely open to all 1200 union members

>The only attendees are the same ten guys every month, giving detailed reports about everything that's going on

[curiosity-killed]

There are truly very few forces in the world as strong as the inertia of staying up way too late doing fuckall

[kochei0]

I turn to Ares.

Thanks to Tyler Miles Lockett who allowed me to draw inspiration from his ARES piece for page 2! Look at his etsy page it's SICK

⚔️ If you want to read some queer retelling of arturian legends have a look at my webtoon

[artemisdesari-blog]

A writer friend told me something that broke my heart a little bit today; they're going to quit publishing their fanfic.

My instant thought was that they had been trolled or attacked or that something terrible had happened in their life because this person is so passionate about their writing. It wasn't any of that. Engagement with their works has been going down, as it has for many of us. Comments are like gold dust a lot of the time, and just looking through the historical comment counts on old fics on ao3 demonstrates this trend very clearly. It was not simply the comments dropping off which caused them to decide to stop posting, however.

My friend came across a discord server for their fandom (I should point out here that their fandom interest and mine diverged a couple of years ago, we stay in touch but don't currently read each other's posts because I'm not into their fandom and they would rather gouge their eyes out with a wooden spoon than read anything Star Wars) and specifically to share fic in that fandom. They joined, because we all love a good fic rec, only to discover that their latest multichapter fic, which has almost no comments and very few kudos, is being hotly discussed in this server as one of the best stories ever. Not one of these people has bothered to say this to them on the fic. When they asked, none of participants could see the point in telling the author of the fic they apparently loved so much that they love it.

This discovery has absolutely destroyed my friend's love of sharing fic. They share because they love seeing other people's enjoyment, and fic writers do that through comments and kudos/reblogs/likes because we don't get paid. There is no literary critic writing a blog post/article about how amazing the story is for us to copy and keep/frame. There is no money from royalties. All we have are the words of the people reading our works.

Those people on that server could have taken five minutes of the time they spent gushing about how amazing my friend's story was to other people and used it to tell the one person guaranteed to want to hear that praise how much they loved it. They could have taken a moment to express their opinion to the person who spent hours upon hours plotting, writing, editing, and posting those chapters. Instead, they deprived my friend of thing that keeps them sharing their writing, and in the process have killed their love of it. My friend now feels used and unmotivated.

I won't be sharing a link to their fic, they said I could share their experience but not their identity. I know they plan to post one final chapter. I know they intend to express their hurt at being excluded from the praise for the thing they created, and I know they intend to announce that as a consequence they will not be posting for a long while, if at all.

So please, I beg you, don't hide your love of a story from the writer. It's just about the only thing we have.

[qtt-art]

1910 collective days of human life, all for this?

Hi I love Anya. I'd like to draw Swansea too because he's my 2nd fav but that'll come another time. Image description: a drawing of Anya from the game Mouthwashing. She is sitting on the floor surrounded by empty bottles of mouthwash floating in a non-literal pool of blue liquid.

[gayvampyr]

no offense but you guys need to learn the difference between someone implying their experience is universal and a post simply just not being about you

[brennan-lee-mother]

Diversity win! Ancestral curse recognises non-biological parenthood!

[seagiri]

when she draw on my pile

[0sbrain]

alternatives for ai to design ocs

hero forge

picrew

the fucking sims 4

your local furry artist

bitmoji

shitty photoshoped collage

DeviantArt bases

zepeto

making edits of your favorite character

searching "dress up game" on the app store

learning how to draw

[phanfuckingtasmal]

im sorry but i cannot stop thinking about isha's pastel memories that play during her sacrifice scene.

look at how full of colour this beautiful fuckin shot is:

it's been well established in episodes 4-6 how grim and dark the undercity has become under cait and ambessa's new rule. but look at how isha sees/remembers it - because of jinx.

jinx, who went through a severe childhood trauma that has carried over into her present self - she covers extremely destructive weapons and grenades in bright pinks and blues, neons, childlike doodles, graffiti. (joy and destruction, powder and jinx, a contrast so striking it becomes like a signature for her).

and then we see the world through isha's eyes. when we meet her in episode 2, she's running through sewers, from goons dressed in black; it's grimy and grim. and then all of her recent memories are done in these childlike pastel, almost crayon-y sketches. because what isha saw was jinx covering a dark and grim world in colours.

and so isha covered her world in colour, too.

because jinx made her world bright.

isha looked at jinx and saw the child in her. she saw powder and she saw jinx. she saw joy and destruction. and that's why jinx gave isha so much hope. isha knew the world was grim and dark - but then she watched jinx, and she learned that you can paint over all that grim darkness with neon blue spray paint.

that's why isha believed in hope. that's why in her final moments - in a scene that is lit dimly and dramatically - she sees nothing but a bright world coloured in pastels.

never underestimate the hope of a child.

[lena-luthor]

No one in history has had special treatment like you.

[evgar]

this came to me in a dream