#but I am looking forward to sharing some of my old art so you can see how far I’ve come

[stagefoureddiediaz]

I’ve set up a side blog for all my creative/arty stuff 😱😱😱

Sooooooooo if you wanna follow my creative output and see what I get up to and create beyond 911 and rwrb related art then give @colouringbuck a follow!!

I nabbed and saved this url as soon as I saw Buck colouring with Jee (love me a play on words!!) and I’ve been sitting on it ever since without actually getting round to doing anything with it - until now 😎

[ugh-yoongi]

so sorry it took me a few days to get this together for you, but i hope you enjoy some of these!

most of these works contain mature themes/content. please heed tags and do not engage with any explicit work if you are a minor!

i'm sure there are a bunch i've forgotten, so please feel free to reblog and share your own work and your faves!

also, please note: there are a lot of fics on these lists that are posted to ao3. it has recently come out that a volunteer was removed from their position for being pro-palestine (you can find the twt thread here). i am in the process of looking for a better alternative, but until then, it is unfortunately probably the best way to share these stories. while i personally won't be posting to or reading on ao3 for the time being, how you choose to engage going forward is completely up to you! i just wanted to make sure i was being transparent.

hobi x reader

guarded & kanalia by @xjoonchildx — basically anything by ana lbr

just practice & we float by @anotherbtswriter

gone wild by @johobi

liar, liar by @eoieopda

party on you by @here2bbtstrash

do i wanna know? by @yoongiphoria

started with a spark, now we're on fire by @the-boy-meets-evil

renegade by @junghelioseok

midnight confessions by @snackhobi

cry to my room by @kithtaehyung

matters of the heart by @hobidreams

plant boy by @gukyi

sunlit affair by @ubemango

the art of war by @wwilloww

not today, satan by @gimmethatagustd

the wood by @sailoryooons

virtuoso by @hamsterclaw

even though by @moni-logues

anything by @dilfhoseokie

upbeat

for the first time (what's past is past)

same old mistakes

tip 143 (for ∞ seconds of love)

as always, mxm fics (aka me being embarrassing sope trash) under the cut!

member x member

little miracles by @here2bbtstrash (jihope)

you're not mine, but you're the best (jihope) ⭐

i only always think (jihope)

you made me dream when i couldn't sleep (jihope)

walk the walk (jihope)

polaroid (jihope)

a midnight clear (jihope) ⭐

got an offer you might refuse (jihope feat. jin)

i don't want it at all (jihope feat. jin)

please be my finale (sope) ⭐

i've been calling your name (in this whole universe) (sope)

nothing without sunlight (sope)

same damn hunger (sope) ⭐

hot fuss (sope)

i'd love it if we made it (sope) ⭐

rub your feelings down my spine (sope)

kiss me hard before you go (sope) ⭐

how easy this should be (sope)

all my days (i'll know your face) (sope)

those ocean eyes (sope)

leave you drowning (until you reach for my hand) (sope)

reputation (sope)

snapshots from the breakdown (sope) ⭐

the best is yet to come (sope)

my hands down your pants (no homo) (sope)

first times and stuff & an experiment in threesomes (sope feat. jk)

at least i got you in my head (hopekook)

10/10, would do again (hopekook)

bone + tissue (hopekook)

telepathy (rapline)

delta (rapline)

i get those goosebumps every time (rapline)

i'm on fire (rapline)

when the moon rises (namseok)

how i'm imagining you (namseok)

in your atmosphere (namseok)

why don't you figure (my heart) out (namseok)

the universe needs more you (namseok)

bated breath (2seok)

smile like you mean it (2seok)

gingerbread (2seok)

cowboys love horses (2seok)

natural gnosis and the chaos therein (2seok) ⭐

telepathy for virgins (2seok)

⭐ = personal mxm favorite. please read any of these and return to scream over them with me.

[daydreaming-in-letters]

Feast

07/25/2024

Pairing: Vampire!Hozier x reader

Word Count: 7,286

Warnings: vampire au, language, alcohol, blood, blood sucking, thoughts about unaliving oneself, fingering, light choking, oral (f receiving), penetration (also the reader is female and has hair covering their neck)

Summary: You had heard rumours about the man living in the old mansion down Hollows Lane. Gruesome ones. Enticing ones. Little did you know they were all true.

A/N: I blame hoztwt and my undying vampire kink for this.

Picture found on Pinterest

If you enjoy my story, liking is great, but leaving a comment or reblogging is the stuff that keeps me going. No permission is given to copy, repost or share my work on other platforms.

 There were rumours about the man living down Hollows Lane. Gruesome ones. The first time you had heard them, you had laughed out loud. A simple prank, you had thought, gone by the end of the month. But they just did not stop. 

There were also other rumours. Enticing ones. The man was a seducer, they said, a master of his art, and he knew how to have a good time. You had heard women gushing about his talent, about how they had never been satisfied like that before. It was almost too good to be true. Especially since all he wanted in return was a tasty meal. 

A small price to pay if the rumours about his unearthly qualities were true. And as soon as the thought had manifested in your mind, your ears picked up the deep roll of thunder in the distance. A warning, maybe. Probably not. Still it was enough to make you trip and stumble a few steps forward. With a deep breath you steadied yourself, pressing the basket of food you carried to your chest. Just one more turn, one more road to walk down. You could already make out the roof of the grand mansion at the far end. There was a whisper, carried on the breeze, as if it was calling you, a ridiculous thought, you chided yourself, but still your feet had picked up their pace again, the determined clicking of your heels on the pavement the only noise in the lamplit street. 

Finally you reached the iron gate and its signature creak brought back memories from the first time you had walked up to his doorstep. You had been so nervous, almost dying inside from anticipation and anxiety alike. 

You had no idea how this was supposed to work. All you had was some kind of code word you were expected to say to him. 

The large door knocker felt heavy and ice cold as you lifted it and brought it down three times. For a long while, almost an eternity, nothing happened, and you were about to turn around and leave when finally the dark wood in front of you moved. And there he was. He was even more beautiful than the women had described and you doubted there were words in any language to do the looks of this man justice. 

“Can I help you?”

He just stood there, waiting, glancing down at you as he towered in the doorway, but that was all it took to stun you into complete silence. Your mouth felt utterly dry, your tongue too heavy to move even if the code was short and easy to remember. 

“Are you quite well?”

At least you managed to nod and that seemed to please him somehow. 

“What’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you blurted out, your brain happy to start with something simple. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Y/N.”

He held out his hand to you and you took it without hesitation. It was soft and warm and his touch almost had you miss out on the moment when he drew in a sharp breath, his upper lip quivering strangely, but it was gone as fast as it had appeared and soon you doubted whether it had been real or just a product of your shell-shocked brain.

“Do you want to come in?”

“Yes! I mean, no. I—” One eyebrow shooting up, he observed you carefully as you stumbled across your own words. “I’m sorry. I am so nervous and I have no idea how this works.”

“I can see that,” he chuckled. “But there is no need to be nervous. Just tell me the words and you’ll be fine.”

His green eyes were so calming as they seemed to stare right into your soul. It should have worried you, should it not, that he seemed to be able to glance at the deepest, most well-hidden parts of you so easily, but instead you felt yourself relax under his gaze. 

“Carpe noctem,” you finally managed to pipe up.

“Good girl.”

His voice was low and raspy and you felt your walls tighten around agonising nothingness upon his words. He smirked, knowing full well what he was doing to you already and as much of a warning signal this should have been, it turned you on beyond reason. 

“Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” You shook your head. “And the rest of this will be just as easy, I promise. All you need to do is be back here on Saturday, exact same time. Dress to your liking, I want you to feel as comfortable as possible. And bring all the ingredients to your favourite meal.”

You nodded mechanically.

“Are you sure you got it?”

“Got it.”

Gosh, why were you like this? Why could you not just be chill about this? You were embarrassing yourself in front of a man who would supposedly shag the brains out of you this Saturday if one could trust the rumours in this town for once. He on the other hand seemed completely unfazed, maybe even enjoying your flustered state, telling from the satisfied smile on his face. 

“Okay, see you on Saturday, then,” you were quick to end this torment, even waving stupidly at him as if you had not already done enough to traumatise yourself. But he was just as quick as he caught your wrist mid-air, a movement too fast for your eyes to catch up and he did not even allow you a second to blink before you found yourself pressed up against his body, one arm slung around the small of your back to keep you in place. 

“Goodbye, angel,” he whispered, his breath mingling with yours in the tiny space that was left between your mouths, a space he was keen to erase completely as he leaned in. His kiss was featherlight, making you doubt once more whether this was actually happening or if his lips on yours were just another product of your delusional mind. All you knew was that it made your knees weak and you were very thankful that he was still tightly holding you. 

Even more so as a sharp sting shook you from your hazy state. Your lip. And the distinctive metal taste of blood. 

“What the hell was that?” you hissed in irritation, two fingers finding your lip and as you pulled them away, the dark red liquid was shimmering in the eerie light of the evening.

“Just a little appetiser.”

You wanted to protest, to tell him off, but once again you found yourself rendered speechless by this man. And he knew how to use your petrified state as a strong hand wrapped around yours, holding the fingers laced with blood in place, and then his mouth opened to take them in, licking them clean as he stared right into your eyes from underneath those impossibly long lashes. 

“Can’t wait for Saturday to come.”

You did not know how often you had gone over this scene in your head these past days. It made you shiver, every time, but even more than that, it made you want him, to a point that you started to question your sanity because you knew you would never find peace again if you did not have him. Just once. 

And so you had done exactly as he had told you. You had come back, Saturday, same time, wearing your favourite dress and heels, both red like your lipstick. The outfit was not really comfortable as he had suggested, but no other item of clothing in your wardrobe managed to make you feel yourself as much as this. And god knew you could use as much confidence as you were able to muster. 

In your hand you carried a basket full of ingredients for your meal, no matter how odd his request still seemed to you. Why would anyone see a self-made meal as a fitting price for…well…for what he was about to give you in return? Living in a home like that, he surely was wealthy enough to afford a cook if he did not want to prepare his own meals. Would that not be much easier and less risky than having to eat a surprise dish from someone who did not know half the time what they were doing? Maybe he had some weird food kink or it got him off to watch other people work for him. 

Whatever it was, he left you no time to think about the matter further as the door suddenly swung open. Your hand was still hovering awkwardly mid-air since you had just been reaching for the knocker. And it stayed there for a moment longer, your nervous system sent into overdrive as you took him in.

He was even more radiant in his gloom tonight, if that made any sense at all, but there were no better words to describe the pull he had on you. He was dressed in all black, jeans, denim jacket and shirt, which conveniently was not buttoned up to the collar, thus allowing a fine view of his fluffy chest. Different to your first meeting, he had decided to pull half of his hair back in a ponytail, allowing the rest of his curls to fall freely around his shoulders. He might have trimmed his beard a little as well, but you could not tell for sure, the memory of your last encounter still a bit blurry around the edges. 

But all that seemed secondary when he fished your hand out of its weird position and brought it to his lips for a gallant kiss.

“You’re back.” He was beaming, his eyes so full of joy that you almost believed he had doubted you would return. “Come in.”

He still held your hand, making a welcoming gesture with the other, waiting patiently for you to step inside. Another thunder rumbled through the night, louder this time, and you hurried to cross the doorstep. With a heavy thud, the door of the old mansion fell shut behind you, causing a violent shiver to run down your spine. And you could not help but feel like red riding hood in your dress, who had just entered the wolf’s den, fully knowing he would devour her. 

“Welcome to my home.”

And what a home it was. Dark wood and old carpets dominated the place, staircases wound their way upwards elegantly, leading to even more rooms that seemed wasted on one inhabitant alone. Oil paintings decorated the walls, portraits as well as landscape scenes of places far and near, and here and there antiques caught the eye, collector’s pieces, possibly, or family memorabilia, passed down from generation to generation. And as if that had not been enough to remind you of those old gothic movies, the whole house seemed to be covered in a sheen of gloomy, flickering light, as if it was solely lit by candles. But of course that was ridiculous, nobody sane would rely on candles today instead of electricity. It must be some of those ultra-realistic LED candles that sat on the chandeliers and candelabras you passed by on your way as he lead you deeper into his lair.

To your great relief his kitchen was up to modern standards, at least far more modern than the rest of the house seemed to be and you thanked the heavens for that. Even the thought of having to cook in a kettle over an open fire doubled your nervousness in an instant. 

You did not speak much as you went to work, but you knew you had his full attention. You could feel his eyes on you, observing your every move, following you around as you tried to concentrate so you would not mess up dinner. An impossible task, it seemed, but what could you do? Sending him away was rude and out of the question. This was his home, you had come here of your own free will, knowing full well the terms of this deal, and if you wanted your needs satisfied, you would satisfy his, even it meant to have your every move studied.

“Wine?” 

You almost jumped out of your skin. He was so close, his voice coming from right beside your ear. Accompanying his words, he pushed a glass of red wine into your periphery. You hummed in affirmation as you took the drink from his hand. Eagerly you set it to your lips, gulping down a swig and then another as you found it did nothing to end the sudden drought in your throat. And yet you found yourself leaning back against him the moment his hands found you. One was careful to brush away the hair from your shoulder, while the other tenderly glided up and down your arm. You felt his chest move as he inhaled deeply, bringing you even closer, letting the deep vibration of his satisfied hum take hold of you too. 

“Mouthwatering,” he concluded, and he was already pulling away, the last you felt of him the brush of his fingertips against your neck. 

He must have lied to you, a white lie, but totally unnecessary as he did not seem to intend in the least to eat the meal you had prepared for the both of you. He sat across from you at a table that felt uncomfortably large at a dinner for two, twisting a glass of wine in his hand. Yet he was neither drinking nor touching the food on his plate.

“Are you not hungry?” you inquired, already unable to hide the miffed undertone in your voice.

“I am,” he stated plainly as if your question had been obsolete, as if in fact your question was the confusing bit of this conversation and not his totally antithetic behaviour.

“Is the food not to your liking then?” you refused to let him get away with it this easily. And as you waited for his answer, your fork dashed down to impale an innocent piece of vegetable.

“It looks delicious.”

He sported a smile, totally unfazed by the message of the little stunt you had pulled. If this man intended to seduce you by giving you the full boyfriend experience, even the aggravating and irritating parts, he would be in for a surprise tonight.

“Then why don’t you eat?”

“I will.” He had just finished his statement when lightning stroke, bathing the room in its cold, white light and for a second your heart stopped in your chest. It was only an instant, but the picture of him had been distorted completely, his mouth wide open, a pair of razor-sharp fangs glistening in the eerie light. 

You did not dare to blink, and still you must have, as only a moment later, everything was back to normal, he even continued speaking as if nothing had ever happened.

“All in due time, angel.”

Angel. He had called you that before. You had no idea what about you exactly made him think this was a fitting nickname for you. You certainly did not think of yourself as a being of light, and no one else before him ever had. Not that this was a bad thing, on the contrary. But what bothered you about it was the fact that he had already chosen a term of endearment for you, while you did not even know his name. 

“Will you at least tell me your name?”

Your voice sounded awfully strange to your own ears, a mixture of pouting and whining. It never sounded like that, not even in your lowest moments. And there had been quite a few of those.

“You can call me Andrew.”

“Andrew,” you repeated, letting his name roll over your tongue as if you were testing the sound, testing what it felt like to form the name with your mouth. It was not intentionally done, but when you looked up from your plate, you found his eyes already glued to you, and the hunger reflecting in those deep green orbs made you shiver in anticipation.

An anticipation you felt now more than ever, and it was threatening to drive you to insanity as you casually flicked through his record collection after dinner, trying very hard not to let your nerves get the best of you. You had moved to the living room now, or was it his music room? You had no idea, but the piano and the record collection let you assume as much. 

“This one.”

You pulled the LP from the shelf and handed it to him. Andrew was already waiting by the record player, taking it from you. 

“Great choice,” he commented. "Unbelievably talented musician, and an exceptional woman. You would have loved her.”

“You say that as if you knew her personally.”

“I did,” he stated as he found your gaze, and not for a second did you doubt that he was telling the absolute truth, however impossible it seemed. 

“How?” 

You watched him walk over to you, and you both knew that he would not answer your question. He did not need to. But instead of taking the last way out and run, you took the hand that was already waiting for you and nothing you had done in your life before had ever felt this right. 

There was just one question left to ask, you wanted to blurt it out and get it off your chest after it had pestered you for days, but you waited until you had both sat down on the chaise longue by the window. 

“So, ehm, how is this gonna go?” You were still holding his hand, your fingers playing with his as you spoke. “Do you want me to tell you what I like?”

“No.” His voice was like velvet. “There is no need to tell me. I will know.”

“Know how?”

He slowly detangled his fingers from yours, and when his eyes found yours again, something about them had changed.

“I can sense it, your desire.” His words had distracted you, allowing his hand to move unseen. It found you, found the sensitive spot of bare skin right above your knee. He did not even have to look and had found his aim still, making you suck in a sharp breath of air as his warmth seeped into your skin, gliding higher and higher up your thigh until his hand had vanished underneath the hem of your dress completely. “I can sense what brings you pleasure.”

Your eyes must have fallen closed under his gentle caress, and yet the touch of his lips did not startle you as they found the outline of your jaw. He moved slowly, placing featherlight kiss after kiss along the path to your ear.

This was the moment. It had come at last. Time to give him his part of the bargain. And so you brushed your hair aside, craning your neck to allow him full access. 

“Not yet, angel,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear, “not yet.”

Instead of the teeth you had awaited, his palm settled on the most delicate spot you had offered him. He placed it right above your pulse, claiming what was his to take whenever he desired. He could probably feel it, feel the blood rush through you, and the thought was enough to coax a soft sigh from your throat.

But your pulse against his fingertips was not the only thing he could sense. Above it all he heard it, loud and clear, the thunderous drum behind your ribs, as if your heart was waiting for the right moment to break free. That would not be necessary. There were other ways to free you.

You moaned, a sound that warmed his icy heart, and when he let his hand glide up your thigh, your legs fell open for him. He blindly followed the moist heat, his eyes never leaving your beautiful face, watching as you slowly let go. Soon you would be lost to the world, your world, and would become part of his instead. He was just about to tear the last barrier, fisting the exquisite fabric, he gave it a harsh tug and there was nothing left between you and him any more.

You were so soft, softer as the finest silk, and the moan that fell from your lips when his fingers dove in between your silky lips to spread the slick that awaited him was so sinful it almost swayed him to allow himself a little taste of you. But he knew better than that. The wait would only heighten his enjoyment. He would not let his ravenous thirst ruin that for him. 

Your head sank back as he slowly slipped inside of you, exposing even more of your neck as another sinful sound broke from your lips. This was impossible, he needed to do something, to silence you for a while until he had gathered enough strength to withstand the urge to sink his teeth into you and suck you dry. And so he pushed his thumb past your lips until he felt your tongue press against it, sucking it in deeper. 

Soon he had found the right rhythm, pumping in and out of you, crooking his fingers every now and then to brush along that sensitive spot inside of you. He loved how the stimulation made your breath hitch in your throat, how your eyelids fluttered in that tiny moment of pure pleasure. It drove him wild, to play you like that, and for a second he forgot himself, his thumb gliding out of your mouth to squeeze that frail neck of yours. 

He let go immediately when he heard your heart skip a beat, it had startled him, but your whine came instantly, eyes flying open to find his, begging him silently to do it again. And who was he to deny you your pleasure? So he squeezed again, lightly at first, then harder until your hand grabbed the collar of his jacket, your back arching as you pulled yourself closer to him. 

You were close, so close, and he wondered…Tilting your head back, he dove into the crook of your neck, his tongue darting out to lick along the prominent vein. He could taste your pulse against his tongue, taste the sweetness of his triumph as he felt your walls clenching down on his fingers. Just one more step, one more ace up his sleeve to drive you over the edge. He knew you could feel it, feel the slight sting as his fangs brushed along your neck, teasing the skin they would soon break, a promise so ardent it left you no choice but to come with a desperate shout. 

He held you as you trembled and shook, riding out your high against his fingers. You were enchanting in your rapture and it was in this very moment that he vowed to give you everything you wanted, he would cater to your wants and needs until you felt you could take no more. 

He had never understood those who got high on striking fear into the hearts of their blood donors. Fear only staled the taste, while satisfaction heightened it. All those hormones, serotonin, oxytocin, prolactin, dopamine, adrenaline, mixing to form the most delicious concoction. 

But there was something more to it. The truth was, he liked giving something back. It made him feel less guilty about what he had to do to survive. He had not really chosen this life, well, he had, but he had been young and in love and full of hope that sharing eternity with her, the one who had turned him, would be worth it. It had not even lasted a decade before she had tired of him. Apparently commitment was not only difficult for beings with a limited lifespan. 

But with her gone, everything had seemed pointless in the beginning. All the things he had given up to share this life with her, he missed them terribly. And he loathed the killing, the never ending thirst. He had thought about ending it, numerous times, but he had always found more reason to hold on. And with a few alterations of the rules, he had also found a way to make it work.

He did not kill anymore. There really was no need to. Except for the fact that there were no witnesses if he did. Still, it was possible to survive on smaller portions of blood. He needed to feed more often then, which in turn increased the risk of getting caught. And so he had come up with this transactional system over time.

It was as easy as it was effective: he gave them what they wanted, and in return he could feast. Before he let them go, he made sure to erase certain memories of the shared time, and since he was good at his side of the transaction, they came back freely.

But this right here, you, you were more than a transaction. It had been nothing but a matter of business with the others, sex was just sex, a means to get what he wanted. But for the first time in forever there was something more than hunger he wanted to sate. He wanted you, wanted a taste of what it felt like to be alive, truly alive, not just a slave to the never dying thirst. 

It had been a while, and he had been sure he had forgotten by now what it felt like, but with you, so full of life as you writhed with lust in his arms, he remembered everything. And he needed more of it.

You must have sensed it, that he was about to let go, and his punishment came promptly. “Andrew,” you whimpered, as if his absence was pure agony, and he hurried, moving with lightning speed as he disposed of his jacket and made his way down to the floor. He knelt between your legs, pushing up the red fabric to expose his next treat. He was ready to dive in, to devour you, lick you into oblivion, but the gentle touch of your hand as it cupped his cheek held him back. 

Your eyes were so soft, full of affection and he felt a sting in his chest as the thought crossed his mind that he did not deserve this. Not at all. He was merely using you and still… His lips pressed to your palm in a tender kiss. The gesture did not even remotely match the endearment your eyes held, but it would have to do, for now. 

And then you surprised him again. In the blink of an eye your eyes darkened, your hand moving into his hair, while the other pulled the red fabric even higher. And on your lips, those pillows of sinfully smeared red, formed a smile that would surely bring him to his knees if he was not already kneeling. 

Eager for the touch of his lips you pulled him the rest of the way and his mouth found you with a moan, as if you were the most exquisite he had ever tasted. But what did it matter what you were to him? To you, he was the best you had ever had, and he had not promised too much when he had claimed he would know how to please you. He did. Oh god, he did. 

Swirling his tongue, he drew small circles around your clit until tiny stars started dancing before your eyes. But he had no intention of ending this so soon, you knew, as his tongue slowly glided all the way down to your wet entrance, teasing you, just to glide back up. He repeated his sweet torture a few times, over and over, until you lost count. And just when you thought he would never stop this torment, his tongue dipped into you. Hooking his arms around your legs he pulled you closer, sinking even deeper into you. You keened, one long, drawn out cry of pure delectation. Both of your hands had vanished into his hair by now, securing him right where he was. Not that you feared he would cease his endeavour, but you needed to feel him, needed to feel that this was real and not just a fever dream, your mind caught in divine delirium.

“Andrew,” you sighed breathlessly and for a second he stilled, dark eyes staring up at you, searching intently for any signs that you wanted him to stop. But you did not. Far from it. And so his eyes dipped back down, his upper lip quivering treacherously before his tongue darted out to lick one long stripe along your crevice. He sighed, eyes falling shut as he inhaled your scent, and you could feel your walls twitch upon the ferocity of his gesture. His forehead creased, nose scrunching as he bared his teeth, the two prominent fangs now unashamedly on display, and like a savage beast he leapt forward, to devour you properly. 

“Yes, yes,” you yelped, fingers tightening in his hair and he growled against you. “You’re gonna make me—” But you did not get to finish that sentence before your orgasm washed over you in a mighty wave, drowning out everything but you and him. Completely out of control, your legs wrapped around him, locking him up in the prison of your thighs where he still worked you, fervently, until your body went limp and your legs finally released him. 

Your eyes still closed, you could feel him, his kisses on the inside of your thighs, his movement as he left his spot between your legs, slowly crawling up your body while he covered it in more kisses, your hips, your stomach, your cleavage, your neck. You held him there for a while, relishing in the feeling of his mouth right there, right where it belonged, but all too soon for your liking he pulled away. 

Your tiny whine made him chuckle, and the most beautiful of smiles still curled his lips as he resurfaced from the crook of your neck.

“Should we take a little break?”

“Never.” Your answer was finite. You did not need a break. In fact it was the last thing you needed. There was something else you needed more than anything, and your fingers had already set out to get you exactly that. Skilfully they worked, opening button after button of his shirt, revealing more of that fuzzy chest. And now it was your turn to taste him, to kiss and lick that milky white skin while you kept on freeing him from his clothes. With a moan he sank against the back rest, one hand vanishing into your hair. He did not do anything, left it all to you, let you take what you wanted in your own sweet time. It was only when you had unfastened his belt and opened his trousers that he helped you shimmy them down his long legs. You had thought he would look more vulnerable once you had completely bared him, but there was nothing vulnerable about him. He was still exuding the same predatory power you had felt the moment you had first laid eyes on him and you knew you were damned for it, but it pulled you to him like a moth to a flame. 

“Turn around for me, angel,” he ordered and you did. Kneeling on the chaise longue, back turned to him, you melted into his touch as his fingers found the hidden zipper on your side. He was in no hurry to pull it down, allowing himself to revel in every inch of your skin that came to light, dragging one finger along it, all the way down to your hip, where he gathered the fabric in both of his hands and pulled it above your head. 

In an instant his hands were back on you, exploring your body. One arm hooked around his neck, you exposed yourself even further for him, and when he finally cupped your breasts, kneading them tenderly, playing with your hardened buds, you sank back against his chest. Wedged between you, resting right between the cheeks of your behind, you could feel him, all of him. And it was more than apparent that he wanted you just as much as you wanted him.

Carefully your hand moved through the tiny space between your bodies until you had found him. He hissed as your fingers closed around him, teeth sinking into your shoulder as you moved, slowly, stroking him, worshipping the silky hardness until it was not enough anymore to feel him like that. 

You guided him, bending forward until you could feel the gentle press of his head against your entrance. Lazily you dragged him up and down, coating him in the juices he had so expertly coaxed from you. 

“Fuck, angel, you are so wet.”

And with that you pushed your hips back, sinking him deep. Your reward was another growl that echoed through the silence. He was quick to pull you up against him, burying his face in your hair. He just held you like that for a while, enjoying your bodies in unity, his hand right above your heart, his breath drifting through your hair and down your neck, covering you in goosebumps. 

But then he came to life, his hips moving, slowly at first, then faster, and once he had found his rhythm, you knew you were lost to him. It was perfect, just perfect, the steady rocking of his hips, his hand following the call of your sex, vanishing between your thighs, while his other still held you, trailing up your chest until it had found your throat, gently applying just the right amount of pressure. There was no way you would last long. How could you with the amount of pleasure he coaxed from you, leading you towards your next high as if he had been born for that purpose alone. 

His lips found your ear, mouth falling open to lick along the bow it formed. “Come for me, angel. I know you want to.” And while he still whispered the redeeming words, you obeyed him once more. 

You would have tumbled and fallen from the might with which your high took hold of you, but he held you tight, mumbling soft words into your ear as you moaned and sighed and mewled like a possessed woman. Softly he pulled you back with him, moving your malleable body around until he had you straddling him, your head resting against his shoulder while his hand drifted soothingly up and down your back.

You had no idea how long the two of you had been sitting like this, your hand on his chest, his heartbeat steady underneath your fingertips, calming you until the fog that had clouded your mind had cleared. 

“I always thought vampires did not have a heartbeat,” you rambled as you pushed yourself off of him. 

Andrew smiled, like a mushy drunkard, you thought, and for a second the word besotted came to mind. But of course that was just you seeing things that were not there. And he made it so easy for you, this fantasy, even reaching for you to rest his hand against your cheek. 

“There is much for you to learn then.” 

And when he pulled you in for a kiss, you did not care anymore whether this was a fantasy or reality. Like a drug, his lips drowned it all out, the doubt, the white noise in your head, and made you focus on him alone, his mouth, kissing along your jaw, down your neck, rekindling the flame that had just cooled down to a faint glimmer in a heartbeat. 

“Andrew?” He hummed against your pulse, and you had to swallow hard, forcing down a moan, before you could continue. “Will you make me come again?”

He still did not leave his favourite spot, as if you had simply asked him for the time and not to fuck you again. “If that is what you want.”

It was. It was all you wanted, all you could think of right now. And since he made no inclination to give you what you wanted anytime soon, you reached for him. With a gasp you found him, still hard and ready for you. And as you guided him once more to where you needed to feel him, you told him about something else you wanted, something you longed for even more than for your next high. 

“I want you to come with me this time.” Your words finally made his mouth still, his head slowly coming back to light as you continued, “I want to feel it, want to feel you, deep inside, pulsing in your rapture.”

A growl rumbled deep in his chest, and there was something about his eyes that made you want to run, something wild, something carnal, something you could taste on his tongue as he pulled you in for another kiss, deep and searing, while he pushed up inside you in one sleek thrust. You pulled away in a gasp, panting heavily as you stared down at him. He had the audacity to smirk, his eyes darkening with every passing second.

“Go on then, angel. Make me come.”

As he spoke, his hands had grabbed your hips. He was guiding you now, the roll of your pelvis against his, just for a while, until he trusted you had overcome your surprise. And when you moved on your own, you could feel his hands wandering up the length of your back. His tenderness was misleading, your suspicion proven right as he dragged them back down harshly, his nails surely leaving trails in their wake. You keened upon the unexpected sensation, your head lulling back. And it seemed this was the moment he had been waiting for all along. Immediately his head dove down to your chest to claim his reward, sucking in your nipple like a starved man.

You felt as if you were falling, tumbling through the air while he kept on ravaging you. In a desperate attempt to save yourself, to grab onto something for dear life, your fingers found his hair again. You pulled and still he did not budge, tormenting your soft flesh until you were betrayed by your own body and he was rewarded with an unhinged twitch around his length. 

“It feels so good,” he moaned, and then it seemed you were not the only one who found herself betrayed by her own body when he confessed, “You feel so good.” 

And while you were still soaring on his declaration, however insignificant it might have been, he hit that one spot inside of you that made you clench even more violently than before. He moaned again, a low, guttural sound that made you quiver, and when your eyes locked with his, another smirk had found its way onto his lips. Like a bloodhound he had locked onto that spot that made you dizzy with desire, sending those tiny shocks through your body with every hit, they spread and pulsed, crawling along your skin until you could feel the racing beat of your heart underneath the thin layer of skin that covered your neck. 

He must have felt it too, one arm wrapping around you to pull you closer, while he used his free hand to brush away every last strand of hair from your shoulder. His gaze found you once more, and now the hunger was more apparent than ever, wafting through the dark pools of green, mixing, until they had lost all colour and you stared into pure darkness. 

Giving permission was easier than you had thought, it felt natural to nod, to watch his fangs grow to full size once he knew you did not oppose, to feel him grow inside you at the same time, and just as his teeth broke through your skin, he came, giving you everything he had while he took what he needed in return. 

You had feared it would be painful, but all you felt was pure bliss as he feasted on you, as he stilled the craving that he must have felt all night, stilled it on you. And as you gave yourself to him completely, you were carried away by the unexpected momentum of your high. You fell again, spiralling through a tunnel of colours that burst through the darkness around you. You felt light as a feather, but plunged down with the speed of a rock. And yet there was no room for fear. Not even as the colours began to fade and you were left with nothing but darkness. 

You were dizzy, almost delirious, fighting so hard to hold on to consciousness, and if you failed, it would be his fault entirely. It was not supposed to end like this, but you had tasted so good, so scrumptious, that your taste had sparked the faint hope he would finally be sated. An illusion, of course. This hunger would never end, but it had made him foolish, had made him take more than he usually did, almost too much. It had taken him everything to pull away, just in time, as it seemed.

A soft sigh came from the place against his chest where your head rested. He was still cradling you, softly rocking you back and forth after he had mumbled his futile apologies. You probably did not even hear them in the state you were in. The state he had put you in. 

He cursed himself as he carefully scooped you up into his arms. He usually did not let the donors stay over, never, that rule had not ever been broken before, but he did not care about rules anymore. What he cared about was you, and you needed rest.

Slowly he lowered you onto his bed before he laid down by your side, draping the sheets over you both. 

“Sleep, my angel, you deserve to rest.”

You looked so peaceful in your slumber, and he did not even question why his hand reached out for you. Lovingly, he brushed away a strand of hair that had fallen into your face, his fingertips gliding across your brow, your cheek. He wanted to touch your lips as well, but he was afraid he would wake you, and so he kept his distance, his fingers still tracing their form, even if he could not feel their silky touch. 

You were different. He had felt it all along, but it was only when he had tasted you, rich and warm on his tongue, that he had known for sure what it was that set you apart from all the others. You were what the likes of him called an old soul. One that had lived many lives and carried the wisdom of the centuries. Maybe that was why you had read him so easily. He was sure you had at least felt it from the beginning, what he was, and the fact that you had chosen to seek him out nonetheless still irritated him.

However odd all of this might seem, he was more than aware that finding an old soul—or being found by one—was a rare thing, especially today, when souls hardly lasted for one full lifetime. Maybe he should keep you, just for a while. To take care of you, your old soul and the body that housed it. Just to make sure the world would not lose another precious being like you. 

Metamorphosis (Sequel)

***

taglist:

@rosecentury

@lowkeysimpinloki

@fightmespideyboy

[idrellegames]

Hello all,

This is a general announcement post to cover a few changes, as well as a public build patch.

This patch addresses some lingering issues and bugs in Episodes 1 & 2. This is not a content update.

✦ Playthrough Restarts

Because of changes and fixes, if your save file is from June 24, 2023 or earlier, you should load a save file from the beginning of the Lethalis meeting in Episode 2 or restart from the beginning of the game. If you do not, you may encounter continuity, UI issues, or other errors. None of these are game-breaking. 

If you keep Wayfarer running in a tab, please either refresh your browser or close the tab and open the game in a new one. This is the only way to ensure the patch takes effect.

Full patch notes can be read here.

✦ A Statement on AI

NO AI TRAINING. Using Wayfarer, its images, or any of its written work to train generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. Creating chatbots based on the game’s text is not allowed. 

✦ A Statement on the Alpha Build

Wayfarer’s public build is free to play. It will not be updated until the alpha build’s Episode 4 is complete. Half of Episode 3 is available to play on my Patreon (available for the Recruit tier and above). Currently, the alpha build is a couple months behind the planned trajectory announced in the 2024 roadmap. Progress will be reassessed in July and updates made. 

The last alpha build update was on May 28, 2024. 

✦ Updates to the Game’s Structure

Since 2021 Wayfarer has been conceptualized as 3 acts and 15 episodes. While that story structure is still at its roots, it’s very apparent now that this is far too much story to be contained to a single game. So, I am breaking it into a trilogy.   

I have had this idea for a while, but I have held off on doing anything about it because of technical issues. Because of the way the story builds on itself, I need to ensure that continuity (including details like the player character’s inventory and locations they have visited) is preserved across all three game. However, even with some technical things to still test and figure out, I am at a point where I would like to move forward with the new structuring.  

WAYFARER 1

Prologue

Act 1: Episode 1, Episode 2, Episode 3

Act 2: Episode 4, Episode 5, Episode 6,

Act 3: Episode 7

Epilogue

WAYFARER 2

Prologue

Act 1: Episode 8, Episode 9

Act 2: Episode 10

Act 3: Episode 11

Epilogue

WAYFARER 3

Prologue

Act 1: Episode 12

Act 2: Episode 13, Episode 14

Act 3: Episode 15

Epilogue

The structure is still very much the same as it was prior (what is now a single “game” in the new structure was an “act” in the old one). The change has been updated and reflected in the Story Log, which now only goes up to Episode 7. 

With this change, I will be looking into getting new cover art that is more specific to the first game’s events. All titles are TBA. 

If you’ve enjoyed Wayfarer and would like to support my work, please consider supporting me on Patreon. Patrons receive access to the alpha build, a private Discord server, exclusive previews, bonus content, side stories, and other benefits.

Wayfarer is a passion project and creating it is a full-time commitment. Any little bit goes a long way to help me bring it to fruition.

If you aren’t in a position to support financially, reblogs, shares, ratings and comments, and spreading the word about the game are much appreciated and do a lot to help me out! 💕

[guppygiggles]

Short hurt/comfort fic below. Lots of angst and crying, cheer-up tickles, ler!Avery, a ton of teasing, and even some fourth-wall-breaking? Very personal, and a bit weird, but.. it was meant to be cathartic and I do feel better, so I think that's good enough right now. 💙

“Avery… What am I doing here?” 

I was seated on an old, green corduroy couch, which I instantly recognized as the first couch I’d ever bought. How he'd managed to get it here – wherever here was – baffled me; it had been years since I donated that ratty thing to Goodwill. 

Apart from myself, the couch, Avery, and the armchair he was seated in, everything as far as I could see was white, even the floor. I was reminded of “The Construct” scene from The Matrix. 

“You're always here… this is your mind. I merely constructed this space so that we could talk,” he explained. 

“Uhm, okay… Suspending my disbelief, for a moment… What do you want to talk about?” 

Avery's long legs were crossed, his arms folded over his chest. He did not look happy, but despite his stern expression, I couldn't help but admire him; clad in a lavender button down and khaki pants, he looked as soft and sweet as cotton candy. 

“I hear you, you know… all these self deprecating thoughts you have.” 

I fidgeted, already getting an inkling of where this was going. I studied the featureless white floor, lips pursed.

Avery continued, “I try not to invade your privacy by listening, but… I live here, and you can be quite loud. Generally, you make me proud by quieting those criticisms… But, sometimes, you indulge thoughts I cannot abide. I think you know what I'm referring to, don't you?” 

I didn't meet Avery's gaze. 

“Casper? Shall I repeat it?” 

I whimpered, my head snapping forward. 

“No! No, please don't.”

“Why not? Is it because you don't want your friends to read the absolutely ridiculous thought you had about your art, because you already know what they'd say?” 

I tried to resist it, but a warm flush colored my cheeks. I looked away from him, again. 

Avery sighed, shook his head, and smiled in exasperation. 

“Alright, dewdrop. If you won't talk to me, let's have it out.” He stood, rolling up his sleeves. 

“N-No, I just… I can't!” I squeaked, hiding my face in my hands. “I can't talk about it, I just… Nobody understands. I just try so hard, and…” I was starting to choke up. My brow furrowed in frustration – why did he have to put me through this? 

“Now, you know that's not true. You think you're the only artist who has ever struggled? Come, now.” 

“I’m just so late to the game… And, I should be further along than this. I've been drawing for six months now, and I still can't get proportions right… I still can't draw with depth… I still can't shade… My friends deserve better than what I can make… ”

I felt the couch move beside me, and then two huge arms encircled my body. I leaned weakly into his chest, his skin providing cool relief for my emotional flush. He was as soft as ever.

“Casper… You can't hang your self worth on the opinions of others. I know you love your friends – and, for the record, they obviously love your art – but you can't allow what anyone else thinks to determine whether you continue this journey or not.” 

He shifted, crooking a finger under my chin and tilting my head up. Two hot tears streamed down my face as I stared into his clear, gentle eyes. 

“I've heard you say these words, yourself: ‘You do not need to create to be worthy of love’. Why don't you believe that, when it's you? Why do you think other people inherently deserve kindness, patience, and love, but that you have to earn it?”

He studied my face as I tried, and failed, to control my sobbing. An answer was shared wordlessly through a series of mental images – we did inhabit the same mind, after all. 

“Oh, Casper…” He tugged my trembling body into his huge embrace once again. “I know, I know… It's okay.” 

“I'm trying,” I sniffled. 

“You’ve come so far, dewdrop… You've wanted this for so long. I've seen the joy that art brings you, and I’ll be damned if I'm going to let you lose one more thing that’s precious to you. Not if I can help it.”

“Avery,” I looked up at him, slowly, a puzzled expression on my tear-stained face, “did you just swear?”

He grinned. “Did I finally get your attention, then?” 

I turned my head into his arm, concealing my reaction. 

“Ah, ah! Don't you dare hide that smile I just worked so hard for…” 

He tried to tilt my head back up, but I turned away swiftly, shifting to face away from him. 

I heard a snicker from behind me. 

“Wrong move.” 

I gasped, leaping from the couch and breaking into a sprint. The boundless white space was so vast, I felt as though I could run forever; like I was a little kid again, energy nigh infinite, chasing a soccer ball on the playground field of my youth. 

When was the last time I had run like this? 

As my imagination blossomed, the space around me began to transform. Placid white ceiling became sunny sky, painted delicately with rolling cumulus clouds. Soft grass pushed up through the sterile floor until my pounding footsteps became muffled thuds, yellow woodsorrel sprouting like jewels in a sea of green. Warm sunshine told me it was spring, but the breeze whistled cool against my skin, quickly drying the tears from my face and clothes. 

I stood no chance of resisting; my weak smile broke into a huge grin, and finally a giggly laugh. 

Outrunning Avery, I knew, was a pipe dream… but I'd run for longer than I expected. Did I dare glance backwards…?

No sooner had the thought entered my mind than my ankles were ensnared by an unseen force. I yelped, eyes squeezing closed as I threw my hands out to brace my fall into the grass. I landed in something much softer. I opened my eyes. A beanbag? I rolled over. 

Avery was standing over me, grinning with delight. He didn't look even the least bit winded, that cheeky shit. I could see now that my ankles were wrapped in a boa of clouds. 

“Well, aren't you proud of yourself,” I quipped, a giggle rendering my sarcasm toothless. 

Avery made a gesture with his hand, and I jumped as a large shade tree appeared over us. “Hey! Jesus, warn me first… How did you even do that? How do you keep making things appear like that?” I was only delaying the inevitable. I shuffled my feet, but there was no breaking free from Avery's cloud cuff. 

“You can do it, too,” he replied, taking a seat in the grass as he began to unlance my Vans, “you made this entire field appear, just now – not even I can conjure something that big. That's the thing, Casper… You can't help but create, even when you're not trying to. It just pours out of you, which is why it's simply ridiculous that you'd give credence to a thought like ‘giving up on art’. Come on, now. Do you really think you could do that? Do you really think it would be fair to relinquish such a special and integral part of you?” 

I looked away, sheepishly. Avery continued. 

“I think we need to do some positive affirmations.” He set my shoes aside, and then unceremoniously pulled off each of my socks, stuffing them into my shoes. 

“Avery! Can't we talk about this?” I whined. The gentle breeze caressed the soft undersides of my bare feet, causing my toes to twitch. I took a deep breath, trying to keep from blushing. 

“I have been trying to talk about this! You are the one who keeps clamming up when I try to get you to come around. I think some gentle persuasion is in order, at this point.” He winked, wiggling his fingers in my direction. My stomach filled with butterflies; there was no stopping my blush, now. I shifted on the beanbag, but Avery's hands clasped my legs, keeping me still. 

“Ah, ah! You stay right there. I was kind enough to only bind your ankles, but we'll go for more, if you fight me.” 

I sunk back into the beanbag, folding my arms across my chest in a flustered pout. I avoided Avery's gaze. 

“Now, then… Let's start with this. I want you to say ‘I am a good artist’.” 

“I'm not going to say something I don't believe is true!” I bit, curling my toes in defiance. 

“Double nickels on my dime… Very well. Let's see if a little tickling can change your tune, hm?” With that, Avery’s plush fingertips began moving in an undulating ‘come hither’ motion along the soles of my feet. 

My face scrunched as I worked to resist it, squirming in the beanbag as I clamped my lips together, my trapped feet wriggling as much as their restraints allowed. 

“Oh, Casper, come on. Are you really going to make me be mean? Do I need to break out my worst teases already?”

Avery changed his tactic, abandoning my left foot so that he could hold my right toes back, using his free hand to scribble quickly along the sole. 

A surprised squeak turned into a series of titters that leaked from my sealed lips, and I covered my face with my hands. 

“Arrgh… A-Avery… C-come ohohohon!” 

I gasped as I felt my wrists captured by soft cuffs, which pulled my hands down and placed them neatly in my lap. He really was going to be mean about this!

“Say it, Casper… or else.” 

I stole a glance down at him – I might as well, since he wasn't going to let me cover my face, anyway – just to see him smirking challengingly up at me, his face a mask of determination. 

“God dahaahahahamn yohohohou!” I cried, my suppressed tittering breaking into a steady stream of helpless giggles. 

“Casper! Is that any way to speak to me? Alright, then… You asked for it. Coochie coochie coo~” he teased. “Awww, does someone have ticklish feet? I think they doooo~” Avery swished his hand again, conjuring a pair of ghost hands to hold each set of my toes back, while he tickled and scritched merrily along both of my soles. 

I squealed in frustration as I felt my blush immediately spread to my ears. He was really pulling out all the stops for this… How long could I resist, realistically? Perhaps it would be easier to give him an inch… Maybe he'd be satisfied, then? My brain was already growing fuzzy from his teasing. 

“Fihine! I'm a goohoohohood artihihist!” I laughed, arching my back as I endured the torturously gentle tickling. 

Avery stopped, grinning triumphantly. 

“There, now! Was that so hard? Let's move onto the next one!”

“Next one!? Oh, hell no! I am not doing any more of these!” 

My eyes widened as, in an instant, Avery was on top of me. He straddled my hips, lifting my restrained wrists over my head and invisibly pinning them there. Then he took my chin in his hand, forcing me to look into his fierce eyes. A chill ran down my spine as I felt his unwavering resolve.

“We're going to do as many as it takes for you to show yourself the same care that you show others. We're going to do these until you believe in yourself and your art. I have to live in your head, and I do not want to live in a place where I have to hear negative things like this said about my fellow. Am I making myself clear?”

I swallowed hard, but somehow, still mustered the nerve to argue. 

“Please, Avery…” 

“The next thing I want you to say is ‘I am worthy of love and friendship’, and when you say it, I want you to know that it includes when you're not doing things for other people. Not helping them, not creating for them, none of it. You are worthy just on your own, just for being you.”

“I can't…” 

Avery lifted his hands to my armpits, hovering mere inches from my short-sleeve t-shirt. 

“I know how you feel about being tickled here, and if you don't say it, right now, I'm going to tease you within an inch of your life until you do.” His eyes were ever kind, but they were serious, too. 

I whimpered, clicking my teeth together. There was no hiding in this position… All I could do was close my eyes, so I did. Feelings of disappointment, inadequacy, and loneliness washed over me. Could I ever really measure up to those I respected? Me, a person so damaged, and so many years behind? Could I really expect anyone to care about me when I wasn't doing something to make myself useful to them, or to make them happy? 

“Casper, look at me.” 

I complied, frowning. 

“If anyone else asked you these questions, what would you say? Would you really tell someone they're too late to be good at something? Would you look someone in the eye and tell them that they only have worth when they're doing something for you?” 

“No…” 

“Of course not. You deserve that compassion, too. Now, I want you to prove that you believe that. Say it for me, dewdrop.” 

“I… am worthy…” 

“Of…?” 

“...” 

“Come on, you're so close…”

“...” 

“I'll make you sing, then. Tickle, tickle, tickle! Coochie coochie coooo~! Awww, poor ticklish boy… Are you ticklish under your arms, right here? Let's see!” 

I had no strength left to resist – as Avery lowered his whirling fingertips to my pits, I howled with laughter, my blush flooding all over my face and neck. My hands twisted uselessly in their bonds as I squirmed beneath him, my heart fluttering as he gently tickled over my thin shirt. 

“AHAHAHAHhahavery! Plehehehehease NOHOHOT THEHEHEHERE!!” 

“I've given you plenty of warnings, I've been patient… now the kid gloves are off. Say it, Casper. Say it!” 

“I’M WOHOHORTHY OF LOHOHOVE!” 

“And…?” He slipped his fingers into the sleeves of my shirt, gently scribbling my bare underarms. 

My stomach did somersaults as I squealed with laughter so forceful, I could barely get the words out. 

“AHAHAHAND FRIENDSHIHIHIP!” 

“There we gooo~! Ohh, I am so proud…” He finally relented, wrapping his arms around my torso and pulling me into his softness. 

My cuffs dissipated, and I instantly wrapped my arms and legs around him, clutching him to me as I buried my face in his shoulder. He stroked my shock of blue hair, comforting me as I caught my breath. 

A warmth spread through my chest – while it certainly wasn't a cure-all, I had to admit… I did feel better. Perhaps some of the affirmations really did seep in, at least a bit. 

“I won't make you say any more, today… I think you've had enough. But we will be repeating this exercise, if I start hearing all that unkind self-talk again. Clear?” 

“Crystal,” I whispered after a moment, leaning my cheek against his cloudy head. 

[kosmicdream]

Please don’t think of me as a male artist.

..is what i used to feel, for many years, even when I finally came out as trans. In a way, its one of the factors that kept me from pursuing HRT (which im so glad i finally did.) After only one year, my feeling on this hasn’t evaporated completely but i suppose I kind of don’t care anymore about how I am interpreted, as a person/artist, ect.. It isn’t something i can be in control of anyway, which upsets me less than it used to.

Sometimes in the past, the way i write characters has often been analyzed by the gender I am, or appear to be - that my male characters were written like how a woman writes men (too emotional/vulnerable, ect) , or how my female characters are written thoughtlessly- like how a man would. (too horny, stupid, violent, ect.) Its not a new way to analyze a story but I can’t say that it doesn’t annoy me. It could still be true that my characters/writing could fall into sexist/problematic archetypes, but gendering my work based on the way my characters act always reminds me of the “you draw like a girl/boy” comments, which used to be more frequent when i was a teen.. But the idea that boys = angular, good at cars! Or something and girls are, i dunno, gonna draw sexy anime men or something. Even as a teenager, i hated this idea that my art was “girl art.” Truthfully, i always viewed my art and myself as an artist as genderfluid, maybe even a type of drag performance, where i can explore any gender and not be limited by my body, it was my escape from that. Which naturally, it became my place to explore gender presentation and eventually helped me “crack my egg” of realizing i was a trans man.

I do think its important to reflect or regard my work as the art made by a trans man, or transmasculine person. I feel more and more just like “just a dude” these days. I am also a gay man. I think those things are important to my work. I think that the analysis of my work in regards to my identity as a person is important to reflect on. I also think the steps I took to get there were important, that transformation and my continued exploration of my older selves and more “label-less” self in the art i make. That’s a private space for me, that I happen to share with the world too. I feel the audience is part of my work too, I welcome it even. I have become part of the audience too and I look at my work as if I’m also a stranger. The older my work gets, the more of it I can study, the more I can see plainly how I got here and also it feels so confusing how it did. I try to study my art to help me find where I want to go to next, a map to guide me. 

In some ways, I feel more lost than I did before, where all my instinct was pushing me was just to grow and explore as much as possible. Now, I don’t have that same type of energy that I used to. Its not a bad thing, its just different. There’s a sense of duty and commitment and a sense of dread of the time it takes to do what I feel compelled to do on this step of my journey. I am trying to focus more on the things I used to think I was incapable of before and I’m trying to remember the things I used to think were so effortless. I can tell my art is sharper but it feels almost like a mimicry of my older selves - at least when I revisit old work to continue its journey past where its been frozen in time. Comics take a long time, after all, it's normal that after a few years - a story might be yours, but it feels like it belongs to the past of you too, maybe more than it does in the present. I like the commitment I have to my comics though, its not a burden to me. The feeling is strange anyway. 

I tend to think that 1-3 years of a project being made, those are the honeymoon years of the relationship. But you hit a wall in 4-5 years and sometimes you’re in denial about it, you try to keep the dreams and feeling alive as you drag it forward, and sometimes the project really reaches its end around 8-10 years and it becomes a type of empty promise to return to it. Not that this is true for every artist, every project, ect. But I think its a natural lifespan for comics that I’ve observed, and it's because it is uncomfortable to face morality and the morality of our own art. Art is this escape, and when it becomes a job - or an uncomfortable mirror into these things about ourselves, about our failures and promises we couldn’t manage to make, the pressures of the audience, the boredom of the task if you have already told yourself the story a thousand times and you have no longer a desire to continue it, ect - its a normal and natural feeling to want to drop it off a cliff. Blow it up, start over fresh - I know the feeling! Its happened many times. But its kind of temporary? Then, it cycles back to nostalgia - and the desire to create and recreate and reform the past to something tangible again.. uh

Sorry, sorry.. I am getting far from the point I started with. Not that any of this makes too much sense, I feel like writing it anyway. It bothers me that the fantasy of art to me, is the ability to dissolve yourself and stop existing, you are the creator creating. You don’t need to be confined by, really anything. It is in “your control” now, and you surrender your own control by falling into the art and letting it “lead you” places. This is a very seductive process and while it might temporarily be fulfilling (even when done for a lifetime) cannot really.. What.. completely fill the void of whatever you’re chasing down there? Its nice though. At least, when I think about when i first started drawing comics, it was to draw Vash the Stampede (from the original 98 anime series, i hate the new one. We’re not talking about there here) coming out of my television after a thunderstorm and he had to just live in my house now. It was the closest thing I could do to actually manifesting that as reality, of making this amazing anime husband come to life to just like live with me now and be my boyfriend. In a lot of ways I don’t see my pursuit of writing ocs, specifically male ones, really much different from this same desire of like “i can just make my perfect boyfriend!” born out of the loneliness I felt in my heart, and the fear that there is no boyfriend out there for me so i need to frankenstein my own - and this boyfriend will be poifect in every way. Or like, crafting the perfect “relationship” in replace the lack of one, or just the fantasy of watching very abstract extremes come to life in various puppets i crafted, beating the shit out of each other for entertainment. But to subject all these.. Abstract Internal conflicts as simply like a “boy author thing” or “girl author thing” is like.. Tiring. Are we really not past that? (Of course not.) 

Like there’s some hidden truth to the way someone might write/draw, the way that “makes sense” in retrospect once the identity of the author is analyzed and discovered.. How can you make sense of the self, let alone the other .. and In a way that’s permanent? And gendered? Does art now have an inherent sex characteristic? But I cannot deny that I do want my art to look and feel like part of who I am, what I have chosen to sexually identify as - a transgender, a man, a faggot. I DO identify as a sexual deviant, but that is hilarious because I have been single for so long at this point I can’t even remember in a tangible way what that felt like and I question if I ever felt it or experienced it “for realsies” because of the experiences I have had or havent didn’t feel very fulfilling or romantic, despite that being something I desire so much - and so I feel like a failure. And to create art just based on the fantasy of desire rather than the lived reality, can it even really display what that would actually be like. So its embarrassing, right? 

I have worked on my art a lot and I have often thought, or come to the conclusion (true or not) that my singleness is the result of my pursuit and dedication to art - which is the pursuit of self isolation and protection from harm. From influence, from acknowledging that life can exist and someday end. And when you work on projects for years and years, the pride/shame dichotomy only gets more.. Weird. It gets weird, guys! It always was weird, but.. I just think about so many my heroes, my art inspirations, working decades on their art.. I follow in their footsteps too and it feels scarier and lonelier than I expected it to be. And the more and more I realized that as a reality, as my 20s faded away, the more I kept walking. I wasn’t gonna stop now, even if I could, I don’t want to and its not hard to do other things too. I have a slower pace than I used to (thank god) and gets slower but I’m still moving. 

I don’t post or write my little art journals as much as I used to. Mostly cause I don’t really have anything good to say and it kinda feels embarrassing to post them too LOL. But.. whatever!! Its been a weird four months of me being off work and I’m about to go back to being a normal working person again.. But its like, its weird to tell people about your art when they ask about what you do. Its like “oh yeah, i draw webcomics” and they wont get it, you’ll say - “yeah its 8,000 pages long” and they’ll say, “thats a lot!” and it is. They’re very nice about it, but there’s a lack of satisfaction there with what that means. I don’t expect it, that’d be dumb as hell. Its nice to take a break from it too, to discover other sides of myself I never let shine because i stayed indoors for a decade, but its a weird feeling too. Like, what will it mean in the end? I don’t really know. 

I don’t think I need “success” to feel like this was worth it, its not like a trophy is gonna come in the mail for the good workTM I’ve done - there is no closure to the work I make even when a story finishes. I have to keep going regardless of that, and its strange to know it won’t ever feel done. But I am so thirsty for that temporary itch to be scratched, it keeps me working every day for the “maybe” of what that might feel like. Kinda silly, really. Is it my “male” pride that demands recognition? Would respect be given more freely if I had “remained” to be perceived as a woman, for subverting the expectations for what a woman can/can’t write? (lol) Is my value as a person determined by that sort of thing in my art? I don’t think of my pride as gendered, but I know its there and I know because of who I say I am, my pride will be gendered by others. I think when I was a woman, that pissed me off more than now because.. Well.. I wasn’t even living as the way i wanted to. I still don’t really live as the way I want to, the way I want to be perceived, but even being on HRT for a little more than 1 year, without much else lifestyle changes, I feel a little more at peace not mattering what others will take away from me or what i write about. I have a lot of my own expectations for myself and what i write about and that concerns me far more. 

I don’t really know how else to end this, I’m going to eat chocolate now. Oh, to answer your question (?) if you might have this one: can I think of you as a male artist, kosmic? sure. I am one after all.

[hoshiko2000]

So with production for Good Omens Season 3 officially halted, it does look like cancellation may be on the horizon. Because yeah, I really don't think Amazon would 'pause' production on a show this lucrative if there wasn't serious discussions currently going on about 'if' and 'how' it should continue. A production shuffle-up - ie. Neil Gaiman getting booted and new staff being put in charge - is certainly a possibility. But it is important to remember that this will still be a show that is written by him and very intrinsically linked to his brand. And whether fans or studios will still have an appetite for it considering this fact is something that has to be seriously considered.

Basically, what I'm trying to say is that as disappointing as it would be, cancelling Good Omens season 3 may be the hard but right decision. And, frankly, if season 2 is anything to go by, we may not be missing out on too much to be honest.

But on a serious note, I do want to use this news as an opportunity to share my own thoughts on the situation, which I will do under the cut (and as is probably obvious, there are trigger warnings for references to SA).

Despite Neil Gaiman's works being a massive part of my content here on this tumblr - and yes, that is something I am very aware of- I've not posted about the sexual assault allegations up until now for a couple of reasons. Firstly, I'm a working adult in my 30s; tumblr is very much a place I come to chill, I'm far too old (and frankly, tired) to get involved in discourse or heated fandom debates (not that those are the correct terms to use to refer to rape allegations but you catch my drift). But the other reason is that these revelations have honestly devasted me, in a way that I'm still processing and doesn't feel like an exaggeration to describe as grief, a feeling I'm sure is echoed by many other people.

Neil Gaiman's works have been a massive part of my adult life, and while I know it sounds like a cliche, they have gotten me through some incredibly difficult times. Coming to terms with the fact that such beautiful, thoughtful, empathetic novels and series have been written by a rapist has been incredibly difficult.

What has also been incredibly difficult to come to terms with is the fact that the incredible queer representation that has drawn so many of us to his television works in recent years was, in hindsight, indisputably a grooming tactic. And yes, grooming is the right word.

The grooming of communities is not something that is often discussed but is absolutely a thing. Predators groom victims to gain access to them, and they groom the people around both the victim and themselves to make it seem unbelievable when the victim later comes forward. And this can happen parasocially too. In the case of Neil Gaiman, he groomed his fanbase by constructing a calculated image as vocal a LGBT ally, drawing in queer fans and creating a smokescreen of apparent empathy and kindness to cast doubt on the future allegations he likely knew would inevitably catch up with him.

I really want to stress - particularly for younger fans - that no one is stupid or somehow culpable for having been fooled by Gaiman, for having supported his works previously, and for continuing to support his works now. I myself have no intention to leave the fandoms I am already a part of, and I genuinely do not believe anyone is under any sort of pressure or obligation to do so. The separation of the art from the artist is a very tricky subject and not something that can ever be done entirely. And if I'm honest I'm not really sure how to navigate this myself, or what this is going to mean for me in the future.

But to get back to the subject of my blog, yes I am planning to continue reposting content related to Good Omens and Dead Boy Detectives. However the latter differs drastically in that the series was not actually written by Neil Gaiman and is effectively an author-approved spin-off of one of his works. Good Omens on the other hand I have more complicated feelings towards, and at this point I am not sure how I feel about future series being made, with or without Gaiman's involvement.

I'm sorry if this post is a rambling mess, it has taken me a lot of time to build up to being able to share my thoughts, and while there is a lot more I could say I will stop here. But on a closing note, let's just be kind to each other. This situation is awful, lets not make it any worse. Give space for the victims, give space for the fans, and give space to people to continue to enjoy fandom spaces without making assumptions about where they stand on these allegations. It is a hard time, but things will get better, and these fandom spaces will continue to be a positive place for people to exist online. Lets keep it that way.

[isaacthedruid]

Beekeeper castiel or buck. Or both. Maybe their boyfriends watching from a safe distance. Whatever floats your boat

(I asked from some art inspo and ended up writing a little buddie drabble instead so enjoy! <3)

It had been a while since the whole Beenado and bee-induced-plane-crashing fiasco and Buck found himself reading absolutely everything he could about bees. They were fascinating and currently took up every part of his brain– buzzing around as his newest hyperfixation. Sure, he already knew some stuff that came quite in handy during that whole situation but he was one for just following the dopamine. 

And that led to him borrowing a big stack of books about bees and beekeeping from the library– which currently covered Eddie’s coffee table and couch. They were laid out evenly across the surfaces, organized between bee books, beekeeping books and books about both– which slightly annoyed him but a third category wasn’t bad, besides he preferred odd numbers anyway. 

He sat criss-cross on the floor, between the coffee table and the couch, flipping through the pages of a book with an old man in one of those white beekeeping suits on the front cover. Incredibly engrossed in said book, he didn’t even notice Eddie watching him for the doorway. Two beers held in his hands, the bottles sweating from how long they’d been out of the fridge already. 

Eddie smiled to himself at the sight, he’d been watching Buck for a while but couldn’t bring himself to interrupt just yet. Flipping the page, Buck perked up as Eddie shifted his lean against the doorframe. 

“Oh hey!” He smiled, looking at his surroundings, “Sorry, I kinda commandeered your couch.” 

“I don’t mind,” Eddie shrugged and joined Buck on the floor with a joking groan. 

“Can your old bones even handle getting down here?” 

“And here I was going to share this beer with you or am I too old to enjoy some beer too?” He said, pulling the second bottle away from Buck’s trying grab. 

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry, you’re not an old man.” Buck laughed, “You just act like it sometimes.” 

He added that second quietly under his breath. 

“What did you say?” 

“My point exactly. Now, give me the beer so I can read my bee books in peace.” 

Eddie laughed, leaning against the back of the couch and wordlessly handing Buck the beer. 

“Don’t tell me I never give you anything.” 

“Eddie.” Buck said flatly, oh. He sounded serious.

“Buck?” 

“You have given me so much that you can’t even joke about it.” 

“I-” 

“Do I have to list them? Because I will-” 

“You don’t have to.” 

“You have given me Christopher, a place in your home, your couch, you’ve given me-” Buck listed on his fingers. 

Eddie just listened to him for a moment before he leaned over, resting a thumb under Buck’s chin. 

“Eddie?” 

“Hey.” 

“Hi?” 

That hand shifted, his thumb grazing just below Buck’s bottom lip– “Can I kiss you?” 

Buck froze, “What?” 

“Can I kiss you?” He repeated, his gaze was warm and locked with Buck’s. 

“Uh, yeah. I’d like that.” 

Eddie leaned that last little bit into Buck and pressed their lips together for one sweet kiss. He went to pull away but Buck surged forward and kissed him again, far less gentle than the one before. He tasted like their beer but also sweet like some nondescript flavoured chapstick and Eddie knew he was already hooked on it. 

Fingers carded through Eddie’s hair as his own cupped Buck’s face, trailing down his neck. 

Suddenly, having to pull away for air, Eddie realized he’d migrated into Buck’s lap. His unoccupied hand caged Buck between him and the couch. 

He smiled down at Buck, who had his hand under Eddie’s shirt and traced shapes into Buck’s back. 

“Can I keep bees in your backyard?” 

“Is that some kind of euphemism?” 

“No, I want to take up beekeeping and obviously can’t have bees in the loft.” 

“You want to have a colony of bees in my backyard?” 

“So, can I?” 

“Buck,” Eddie laughed, “We were just making out– might I add, the best makeout session of my life– and you were thinking about keeping bees?” 

“Yeah.” Buck said quietly, looking away from Eddie for a second

“God, I love you.” He smiled, kissing him again. “And of course, as long as I get to take a bunch of stupid photos of you in the suit.” 

“Deal. And-” Buck paused, “I love you too.” 

“Oh shit, I said that.” 

“Yep, no take backs. I mean, don’t kiss me unless you’re serious.” 

“I am! I am very serious.” 

“Good.” 

Buck nodded, continuing the supposed “best makeout session of Eddie’s life” for a little while longer, savoring every kiss he could. And Eddie tasted sweet too, in case you were wondering, like the honey Buck soon would be gifting to all their family and friends. 

[sultrycomets]

Hot Springs

Warnings: 18+ ONLY!

Word Count 1,596

Art Credit: @/toon-topaz

Celeste breathed in the rich, cooling air of the snow, her green eyes scanning the old but familiar environment in the mountains. In front of her, there was a hot spring, forgotten and abandoned. Steam lifted from the pools as she shuffled forward in her coat and boots. Thanks to the upcoming heat, she knew that she wouldn’t be trembling for too much longer. Delighted, Celeste glanced at the two minicons beside her. Swindle and Short Circuit beeped and whirred at her, sharing her excitement. 

She turned towards the robotic jet behind her, looming over her like some titan.

“Thanks for joining me, Starscream.”

The mech said nothing, but he nodded at her. Due to the snow and the darkness of night, she couldn’t make out all of the features of his faceplate. Well, except for his optics; his golden optics gleamed like stars. 

Celeste turned towards the hot spring, adjusting the glasses on the bridge of her nose.

“This used to be a public hot spring years ago…until it closed down, probably due to safety concerns. I took photographs here all the time.”

As Short Circuit and Swindle made a break for the steaming waters, Celeste began to strip. First, she removed her coat. And then, she intended to lift her dress. 

Starscream was taken aback.

“W-Wait! What are you doing? You told me humans couldn’t survive high temperatures!” 

Celeste snickered, tossing part of her clothes to the side.

“Don’t worry. Think of it as an energizing bath. I’ll feel much better after I bathe, but I have to get rid of my clothes for a while.”

She paused, a dash of heat covering her face.

“Um,” she twiddled with her fingers, “can you turn around for me?”

Starscream tilted his helm.

“Why?”

The woman couldn’t help but blush harder.

“It’s the proper thing to do.” She lifted a finger. “For humans, it’s considered rude to stare at someone when they’re undressing.” 

Although firm, she was also gentle with him. Not because she had to be, but because she wanted to be.

Starscream frowned, but he didn’t complain.

“Fine. I won’t look.”

As he turned, Celeste carefully undressed, slowly peeling off the layers of her clothes, including her bra and underwear. After she set them to the side of the rocks, she joined the minicons, first dipping her toes into the pool, and then, gradually merging her body with the hot water. To her, it felt like a dip in heaven. Sure, it was a bit overheated, but it was nothing that she couldn’t handle. The floor was slippery beneath her rear as the pool itself melted away her aches and pains.

Celeste didn’t find herself relaxing for long.

“Guys,” she frowned at the minicons splashing themselves with the hot water, “quit that!”

Before she could stop them, however, Starscream humphed. 

“Am I allowed to look now?”

Celeste thought for a moment, setting a wet finger to her lips.

“Not until I’m done bathing!”

Starscream didn’t seem to enjoy her answer. Instead, he huffed.

“But! Swindle! Short Circuit! How come they can look at you while I can’t?”

Celeste pondered his question, trying to search for the correct reply to give him. She didn’t feel awkward around the minicons. She didn’t feel awkward around Starscream either, but this was different. 

It’s because she crushed on Starscream. 

But how could she say that to him?

“Well, that’s because they’re like family to me.”

Starscream’s voice lifted above the roar of the wind.

“So…what am I to you?”

Celeste opened her mouth before closing it shut. The minicons stopped splashing to exchange glances with her, tilting their boxy helms at her. The naked photographer dismissed her thoughts, choosing to change the subject.

“It’s okay, Starscream. We can explore the mountain afterwards-”

“Well, I won’t wait around for you!”

With a final grumble, he marched onwards in the opposite direction. Celeste watched him leave with a pout on her face. Soon enough, his giant, hulking frame became a mere blurr in the snowy darkness.

…

Of course, Starsrcream didn’t wander far, not when Celeste was nearby. Besides, two minicons accompanied her. She was safe. And, as far as he could tell, there were no threats in the area.

Still, he mulled over her words, frustrated by her responses.

Who was he to her?

It wasn’t a difficult question for her to answer. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he was incorrect as a new question floated into his helm.

Who was she to him?

He stomped forward, his pedes leaving imprints in the snow. The longer he walked, the harder the snow fell. Starscream’s thoughts faded to the back of his processor as he gazed out into the distance. 

He came to a slow halt, his optics softening. Near the cliffside, there was the moon out in full view, where the Decepticon base resided. He didn’t think much of it other than that. However, when he truly made out its shape, its form, and its color, he began to think of it as something more.

It was beautiful. 

He gasped.

“Celeste!”

Quickly, Starscream turned around and started to make his return. What was he thinking? He couldn’t leave her alone, not in this area! Shame flickered across his faceplate, but he shook himself free to trek forwards. The hot spring wasn’t far away.

In fact, thanks to his large size, he came up to it within seconds. When he finally arrived, however, he came across a sight that forced him to stand still in his tracks.

Now, he understood why it was rude to stare while she was naked.

In front of the pools, below the lamppost lights, there was Celeste, her body exposed to the harsh elements. Her flesh, usually pale, was now dipped in a pink hue, possibly due to the heat of the hot spring. Water trickled down her form, the moonlight glistening freely across her skin. Her hair, brown but tinged with red highlights, draped over her bare shoulders. She was soft without her clothes, soft but petite with her star locket around her neck. It was alien. She was an alien. But that didn’t matter to him in the slightest. There was a beauty to her that just couldn’t be matched. It was enough to send his internal mechanics into a frenzy. His faceplate burned, spreading to his wings. Beneath his interface panels, he felt his spike twitch.

And he wondered why.

He desired to study more of her, he really did, but he failed. The sound that left Starscream’s dermas drew Celeste’s attention towards him. Immediately, the human gasped and hugged herself, the fleshy sacks on her chest squishing together. Her body was pink, but her face turned even pinker. 

“Starscream!”

The mech shielded his optics with his digits.

“F-Forgive me, Celeste! I was- I was just- You forgot…”

He lowered himself and grabbed her towel with his free servo.

“The towels! Yes! I wasn’t peeking, sorry!”

He offered them to her, shaking. Surprisingly, however, Celeste reached forward and took them from his digits. She smiled, wrapping herself in the towels, concealing her naked body. As the minicons left the pool, she giggled at him.

“It’s okay, Starscream.” She grabbed her bag and a bottle of liquid, beginning to refuel herself with some sips. “It’s okay, really.”

She sat near the empty benches.

“Did you have fun exploring?”

Starscream gawked at her, still stunned by the shock of seeing her nude.

“Well, I…”

And then, something frightening happened. In an instant, Celeste closed her eyes and started to fall. Quickly, Starscream caught her with his palm. 

“Celeste!”

She groaned, her eyes still closed through foggy glasses and her body trembling. In a panic, the mech carried her in both of his servos. The minicons beeped frantically around his pedes, concerned for her.

“I…I don’t know what happened to her!”

Much to his relief, however, she opened her eyes. Starscream’s optics glowed with relief as he held her to his faceplate. 

“Celeste! Are you alright?”

The woman touched a hand to her head.

“Woah, I may have overstayed my welcome in the pool.”

Starscream frowned.

“I’m taking you straight to Red Alert.”

Celeste shook her head.

“I’m fine, Star. Really. I just stood up too fast.”

But Starscream was having none of it.

…

At the Autobot base, Starscream stomped outside the medical laboratory, walking back and forth in the hallway. It felt agonizing to wait for his clearance. He didn’t even know if she was okay! 

But before long, the doors opened and Red Alert appeared.

Starscream wasted no time.

“Is Celeste okay?”

Red Alert nodded at him.

“She’ll be fine, Starscream. Her body just needs time to recover from overexposure to the extreme temperatures.”

The jet bot stepped forward.

“Is she awake? Can I see her?”

Red Alert frowned, standing in his way.

“I suggest that you-”

“Starscream!”

Hearing the voice belonging to Celeste, Starscream brushed past the medic bot and into the medical lab. In the corner, he found her resting on a table, wrapped in a thin blanket and surrounded by blowing fans. 

She gave him a weak but glowing smile.

“Hi.”

Starscream lowered himself to meet her better.

“Celeste! Are you…”

She laughed.

“I’m okay, Star.”

She grabbed his digit. 

“Thank you for coming with me.” Her face fell. “I just…wish we could’ve stayed longer. You didn’t even get to have any fun.”

Starscream cracked a shy smile, enjoying the warmth from her palm.

“On the contrary, my lady, I had quite a bit of…fun.”

Divider Credit: @/mikeykuns

[livesincerely]

i was just reading back through your writer’s desks and remembered how much i loved the slideshow au! no pressure but do you have anymore thoughts on it? it’s just one of my faves <3

The outline/notes for that one are still in the very early stages but I’m happy to share what I’ve got so far!

00000

He’s waiting for Tony to come back from the bathroom, the next episode of Crime Scene Kitchen queued up on the tv, when his phone vibrates with a text from Jack.

this prod meeting is running long, probs won’t be back until late. Go ahead and watch w/o me

Everything ok?

ya but part of the set got busted during a scene change so I gotta figure when/how to fix it before tomorrow night

I’ll put your takeout in the fridge and save you some egg rolls

and that’s why you’re my favorite

Say hi to Medda for me

of course

“Jack’s not going to be home until late,” Davey announces as Tony wanders back into the living room. “He says we should start without him.”

….

“Dave,” Tony says, sighing deeply. “Why am I looking at a PowerPoint titled, “Jack Kelly + David Jacobs: A Comprehensive Argument for Maintaining Equilibrium.”

Davey pins him with a scathing look. “It’s a Google Slides presentation, you godless heathen.”

“What the fuck?” Tony asks, ignoring him, clicking rapidly through the screens. “When did you even make this?”

Davey shifts in his seat. “I mean, it’s more of a living document, so it’s never really finished—“

“Davey.”

“A couple years ago, I guess,” Davey says. “Give or take.”

Tony squints at the computer screen. “It’s saved on your old university account.”

“Okay, or maybe it was three months into junior year!” Davey admits, crossing his arms over his chest. “It was a stressful semester and I was super nervous about failing my animal science midterm and Jack was out on a date with that PoliSci major that lived upstairs and— And the when isn’t the point! The point is, according to my research, telling Jack isn’t worth the risk of ruining our friendship.”

“What are these graphs even measuring?” Tony asks, staring at one of the slides. “‘Overall Happiness, Jacobs v Others’?”

….

“Well, your math is absolute shit, for one thing,” Tony says, frowning at a graph entitled ‘Art Pieces per Subject’. Davey’s name is sitting in dead last. “There’s no way these numbers are right. Jack draws you literally all of the time.”

Davey frowns right back at him. “No, he doesn’t.”

“Uh, yeah he fucking does,” Tony disagrees. “You’re, like, one of his favorite things to make art of, period. He spends about half his time bitching about how copic doesn’t make a marker that matches your eyes—at this point I’m pretty sure he’s got more drawings of you than actual pictures.”

“I think I would’ve noticed if Jack suddenly started drawing me,” Davey scoffs, shaking his head. “It’s not like he’s subtle when something’s caught his eye. Plus, he lets me flip through his sketchbooks whenever he finishes filling one and I’m almost never in them.”

“Which one?” Tony asks.

Davey blinks. “Which one, what?”

“Which one,” Tony repeats, oddly intent. “Which sketchbook does he show you?”

“What do you mean, which one?” Davey asks, irritated. “The only one! The one he always— it’s not like it’s some big secret!”

Tony stares. Then Tony sighs.

Very quietly, Davey hears him mutter, “…pair of fucking morons.”

…..

“Okay, but, riddle me this,” Tony says. “Why don’t you just tell him? What’s the worst that could happen?”

“What’s the worst that could— I literally just went over all the reasons why that’s a horrible idea!” Davey exclaims. “It would ruin everything!”

“I really don’t think it would, Dave,” Tony says. “You and Jack… will ya at least think about it?”

“I’ve done nothing but think about it,” Davey says, and to his horror, he can feel his eyes starting to sting. “I can’t.”

“Want me to do it?” Tony offers, and he says it like a joke but Davey knows him too well to think that he’s anything but absolutely serious.

He jolts forward, arms outstretched as if to preemptively cram the words back down his throat. “Don’t you fucking dare, Tones, I am so fucking serious—“

“Okay, okay!” Tony says, holding up his hands in surrender. “I won’t snitch on your neurotic ass, even if it’d make you happier in the long run. My word as my bond or whatever.��

Davey huffs out a laugh, and it’s only a little teary. “Fuck you, my neurotic ass is the reason you made it to graduation, shithead.”

…..

“Hey, can I borrow your laptop?” Jack asks. “Mine’s dead and I left my charger at the theater.”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Davey absently responds.

…..

“Davey,” Jack says, voice straining. “What the hell is this?”

“What is what?” Davey asks.

“This.” He turns the laptop around and— oh shit. It’s The Argument.

He feels his blood run cold. “Oh,” he says. “That.”

“Dave,” Jack says, his mouth set in a hard, thin line. “Did you make a fucking PowerPoint about me? About us?”

Davey swallows. “…It’s actually a Google Slides presentation,” he says weakly.

…..

“You’re telling me this is nothing?” Jack demands, incredulous. He tilts the screen back to show Davey the current slide, which is just an enlarged photo of Jack’s handsome, smiling face, surrounded by a halo of red arrows and the caption, ‘JUST LOOK AT HIM,’ written in boldfaced text. “Nothing? Nothing at all?”

“Maybe we can stop looking at it now,” Davey says, loudly. He leans over the back of the couch, making another panicked grab for his laptop, but Jack dodges out of the way, clicking to the next slide.

[doki-doki-imagines]

author note: Kuai Liang (scorpion) x Kitana little drabble. Inspired by @mkmkk2 art.

“Princess, please. This is important, take this seriously.” Liang is serious, his voice the same he has when concentrating on a difficult mission, gazing straight into Kitana’s eyes.

His right hand stays still on Kitana’s back, pushing her forwards, steps fast almost as if they are running from someone or something.

“I am taking this seriously!” Kitana snaps back, no veil to cover her face, her annoyed expression clear in front of Liang.

They both walk a few more steps, before Kitana regains control, pushing both her and Liang towards a closed door which opens at the slightest push of the ninja’s back.

“We are safe here.” Kitana says, voice now barely a whisper not before locking the door behind them.

“Go-“ The princess kisses him swiftly, her plush lips locking with his. Her hands interwine with his hair, high bun long forgotten, onyx hair free to be played by Kitana’s deft fingers.

“I missed you so much.” She whispers, lips an inch away for Liang’s, before kissing him again, hard but fast. It’s the kind of kiss that is filled with desperation, the one of a lover that had to stock all their love to release it in the few moments they can share with their partner.

Liang drinks from her lips, her desperation and whimpers fueling him, hands roaming and caressing, never groping. Equally in love, but never daring to touch her harshly, hands caressing like they are dealing with the finest porcelain.

They break the kiss, foreheads knocking against each others, like the apex of their noses.

“Maybe I miss you too much.” She looks at him with doe eyes and warm smile, making Liang’s heart skip a beat.

“Me too, princess. Me too.” His reddened lips kiss her forehead, brushing some of her black hair away. Now both their breaths calming down.

“Princess Kitana! Where are you?” They both jump at the sudden voice, of one of the royal soldiers calling for her. They stay silent, both looking towards the door, breath hanging, muscles tense ready to escape at any near movement. Then the footstep fades, and they both sigh in relief; thankfully they weren’t caught.

“If they are calling me it means my sister needs me.”

“I know, firefly.” Liang's rough hand holds the princess’ face, thump drawing circles on the apple of her cheek “Time is always against us.”

Kitana nods, looking down clearly hating the situation. Liang is the first to break the touch, his hand sliding from her face to her arm, to her fingertips, leaving her hand hanging in the air for a second, before moving to a nearby window.

“Wait Liang!” He looks back at her, the window now open, a soft breeze moving the lilac curtains around.

“One last kiss.” It sounds more like an order than the soft request of a lover. It makes a chuckle bloom in Liang, but he gladly obeys, one last brush of their lips.

“Now I have to go for real, princess.”

“Be safe.” He nods, jumping off after looking around trying to avoid any guard.

He looks up, Kitana is leaning on the window, her black hair flying around framing her face, the moon reflecting on her skin; she is so beautiful that he tries to print this moment in his mind.

He runs away, deep into the forest where a portal will bring him back to Earthrealm.

Kuai Ling thinks the entire time about his lover. Maybe this time, thanks to Mileena, old tradition will be abandoned, and finally, an Outworlder will be able to love an Earthrealmer.

‘Till then, he’ll hold these moments close to his heart.

[omeletcat]

ALRIGHT So i'm planning on making Luca's attacks soon, well i would be working on them but i hit a road block, i am not rly happy with the old design/vibe of Luca's attacks.

These are Luca's old attacks in their old design! as you can see the animations aren't very good, and neither is the art, since then i have improved a LOT when it comes to pixel art and now i am going to remake these attacks to add to my game, i need to redo the animations in the new palette and with the new design!

BUT that is kinda hard.. since i want their attacks to look.. good you know? and that old boring slash is kinda boring, so i want to add more!!

So my first attempt to make the vfx better was to make it more round? and have little twirly lines, but that.. looks weird, it doesn't give off the right vibe.

i'm rly struggling rn cause i don't know what i want maybe i should go the same route as i did with Rae's attacks!

For example here is Rae's original Parry attack! and i changed that attack to be a combo of 3 different animations/attacks that do more damage each time!

its obvious that the right image is WAY better in quality and colors and.. everything, but that attack was a sword slice, no Magicy things yet.. and Luca uses more magic.

Luca's attacks are: 1 --- A long range attack the animation has to be some sort of slice, because if i don't and i make it like a punch or smth, it would look rly weird if the player aims anywhere that isn't exactly the same direction as the punch. that is why the old version was a slice and why the new version probably will be too.

originally the projectile that got shot was a fist, because i like the spell mage hand in D&D and thought it would just be a cool magic thing they can do, but maybe i should change that as well.

2 --- A gravity punch, basically Luca just does a punch and circles will appear that make the enemies shoot away, if they hit a wall while being thrown away, they take damage!

And besides attacks Luca can also dash, pushing themself forward with the gravity rings! i am also unsure how i want this to look.

I basically need to decide on a general vibe for Luca's magic!

if you have any idea's tips or comments pls share!! any kind of help is insanely appreciated!!!!

[keitorin3]

OK so I'm new to Tumblr but I had this weird (but I think is awesome) idea that I really just wanted to share.

So I am a big fan of the Damien/Merlin AU idea. It was actually inspired by a book I once read in Ao3, full credits to the author.

Damien AU

I imagine Merlin was obviously immortal and been around waiting for Arthur, and during this time ~ like 4 to 5 years before Damien's 30th birthday ~ he was about to go on Vacation to the Pacific but got news of a new medicine program ~ or something ~ in America and changed plans.

He's a 21-22 year old meds/arts (idk either sound plausible) college student who befriends a girl, Kelly, due to an unfortunate encounter (Kelly was in the wrong place at the wrong or right time, and Merlin jumps in to help but it was unnecessary as Kelly being a badass takes them down. She's an aspiring war photographer, she got to know some fight moves!)

Their friendship was built and thanks to Kelly with her connections and friends, Merlin meets Damien Thorn at a get-together he was invited to at the pub.

Picture Merlin seeing this dark haired and scruffy version of his dear friend wearing modern clothes and a brown leather jacket. His accent American and Merlin's magic is suddenly gooey and vibrating under his skin when they shake hands. But his smile... Merlin was gone for that smile.

Kelly: *Introducing Damien and Merlin*

Damien: *Smiles* "Damien Thorn, Pleased to meet you."

Merlin: *Dazed and goofy because he's magic high and hooked* "Merlin Thorn, I met you pleased..." *Suddenly realises, and blushes bright red* "Wait! No- I meant Emyrs! I'm Merlin Emyrs! Your not Thorn, wait no! I'm not- I mean uh... Pleased you met me-- NO-?!!"

Kelly: *At some point pulled out her camera and start recording*

Damien: *Surprised and charmed by the adorable guy with cute flushed ears* *Smirks pleasantly and flirts back*

Merlin: *Scrabbles on what to say, unknowingly flirting back*

Kelly: 'Oh just wait until I show Simone this!'

And so not long after the two met they started dating. At first Merlin thought he could help Damien remember, but over their time together Merlin came to really Love Damien. He loved Arthur and a part of him always will, but getting to know Damien, Merlin fell fast.

Meanwhile Kelly is being the ultimate Wingwoman who's looking forward to the day they get married so she can play all the *cough*blackmail*cough* memories shes caught of them.

Now, Damien who has never been so happy before meeting Merlin, saw Merlin as like his Ray of light and lucky charm. Since his entire life has been a series of misfortune all around. Merlin, this skinny, pale white, big earred, doe eyed guy with a heart stopping smile. Never has he fallen in love so seamlessly.

Damien: *During their third Date where Merlin is arguing over something with sparkles in his eyes. Damien not even sure what he's saying, smilies fondly at the adorable man.*

Merlin: "Damiiiienn! Are you listening to me?! What's going through that thick head of yours?"

Damien: *Laughs* "Nothing, it's just, there's something about you Merlin. I can't put my finger on it." *Gives Merlin a significant look* "But you're special."

Merlin: *Flushes red while flailing in embarrassment*

They are together for a year before merlin gathered the courage to tell Damien about himself, his magic and his past. He has made the mistake of lying to Arthur in the past and after recent years of therapy, he could not live in another lie with Damien.

It took time to process after being shown evidence of magic and weeks of discussions ~ a lot of them hard for Merlin to tell as he cried at times like Arthur's death and Camelots fall, going through depression while isolating in a cave for a century.

In the end, Damien determined Merlin's character and love to be true. And honestly wasn't even mad at the other. Damien could never fully be mad at Merlin. Not when he can see the cracks of a too worn heart, hidden behind a youthful face. It makes his own heart break at the seams.

So Damien held on to this impossible man, and swore he would not let him go.

Merlin: *Makes a butterfly with his magic, eyes glowing like golden stars, gazing back at Damien like a miracle come alive*

Damien: *Laughs when the butterfly lands on the tip of Merlin's nose, who makes a cross-eyed at the small creature.* 'You were a fool Arthur. The world was by your side and you left him alone.'

Damien: "I Love You, even if you're an old magical man of legend."

Merlin: *Hits him lightly for the old comment before kissing him* "And I love you, even if you're a bit of a sap."

Damien: *Kisses back* "Not that your complaining."

Merlin: *Heavily in love* "No, no I am not."

It is not long after this where their bond has gotten stronger, that Damien proposes to Merlin.

Kelly is there to film and photograph the event with Amani as help (the two helped plot to get their besties together after all). It was beautiful and made even more magical when Merlin, overwhelmed with such happiness, released some of his magic and caused it to rain flowers and sparkles.

This was so fun! And I wish I had the patience to actually write a book of this. I'm not done yet, I've still haven't reached to Damien's 30th birthday, when his powers Awaken. I've got ideas, and even more crossovers to think of for this and other AUs.

I'm still thinking if I should make this mpreg like the fic (the top Ao3 link). I quite like the idea of children honestly. Like bring back Aithusa as DamienxMerlin's kid.

Till next time, fellow dreamers~! 👋🥰✨

[soupandspoonies]

I think something that people without chronic illnesses/disabilities find it hard to understand is the grief that we have surrounding the lives we had before our illnesses/disabilities appeared (or got worse).

I was 10 years old when my symptoms first came about. I was an incredibly physically active kid, involved in things like track and field, cross country, softball, and competitive canoeing. After my symptoms began to get more severe, the physical activities I enjoyed and considered a large part of my identity slowly got picked off until I couldn't do any of them anymore.

I've also been playing the acoustic guitar since I was 8 years old. I've been a lover of music and art since I was young and it is something else I consider to be a large part of my identity. In the last few years with the increase in my joint pain - I have lost the ability to play my guitar, and I'm slowly losing my ability to draw and paint.

It feels like losing my spark.

It's incredibly hard to look back at the person you once were without a sense of melancholy - thinking on it always feels like a reminder of what has been taken from you. When there's no cure to what's wrong with you, you live with the understanding that your life is going to be changed indefinitely. You will feel the things you loved slip through your fingers and wonder if you just didn't try hard enough.

It's like a piece of you has died.

You can't go back to your 7 year old self who doesn't know what it's like being in pain every day. The little kid who went to regionals for their track meet and placed first in the district 800 meter doesn't know what it's like to feel winded going up the stairs. The kid who is on stage playing itsy bitsy spider at their music school's winter recital doesn't know that they won't be able to play their instrument for more than 10 minutes in the future.

We are plagued with the memories of the people we once were.

There will always be people who say "well you can still do x" - but that was never really the point. I want to be able to play my guitar, to run, to race my canoe on the water and feel the sense of accomplishment from crossing the finish line.

Even with all of these feelings, I can't help but want to keep that little kid alive. They may not have known the pain and suffering that I do, but I am so grateful they didn't have to. Everything we are is part of a mosaic created by our past selves. We should feel the joy and grief for those little kids, but feel proud of them for doing what they did.

I am very lucky to still have the control and strength in my hands to continue doing my art, even though it hurts. To honour who I was before I continue pushing forward, and I do my best to make the most of what I have. I will always look back on who I was before the pain crept up on me, I will always feel like a part of me has died, and I will always grieve what could have been.

It is okay to grieve. It is natural to grieve. People may not understand your grief, but that doesn't make it less real. Everything you feel is real.

This thought came to me as I finished my most recent sketch and felt the ache in my hands telling me I pushed a little too hard. I thought to make it feel a little bit worthwhile I would share some of my favourite artworks I have done and also encourage others to do the same. Talk about who you were before, mourn them, and show yourself and others what you can do in spite of your illness or disability - big or small. Feel proud of yourself, you deserve grace, you've done well.

Soup :)

[jils-things]

promo post! (i moved blogs!!)

💚 hi hello! i'm jil (19, she/her), i recently moved blogs and wanted to start brand new! my now old blog is @aqqleshiqqing, it will now act as an archived blog - but you can still visit it if you want to! i'm a yumeship artist and sometimes writer. i'm a huge fan of making deep lore, so expect a lot of me rambling too

💚 my main rom faves are red (pkmn: sm) and ste.ven stone (pkmn: r/s/e + oras. more on the manga), not really okay sharing both at the moment. my other fave is tom from edd.sworld, i'm a bit inactive with him, but i still care about him a lot! (okay with sharing too :]) i have many more faves, but they're at the back for the most part.

💚 i have a special fondness for a lot of my familials from the same media, expect me to talk about them a lot too!

💚 it's still a fresh blog, so i might be queueing up some old posts made by me and others just to fill the void

💚 i'm currently very invested in all things poke.mon related (including poke.spe and (fri.day night fun.kin') poke.pasta (lullaby + perd.ition mods) so do expect majority of that~ but i am a very big fan of video games as well :]

💚 my blog MAY contain a lot of capitalized texts (me talking, im usually very "loud"), horror, violence, and suggestive humor. i tag for the last category.

💚 don't follow if you're a: pro/com.shipper, a minor (+16 only, but current minor mutuals are okay. new ageless/minor followers will be blocked on sight), not supporting of yumeship/oc x canon content (because that is 99% of what i do here.)

💚 i take art commissions as well (will be linked on pinned soon, still working on it!)

that's about it for now, looking forward to say hi again~

[andrew-ism]

Hey, I just wanted to ask as a person from the Caribbean also. What got you so passionate about, or I guess got you into the political sphere. A lot of the things you speak about aren't typical of a lot of Caribbean YouTubers one of the reasons your content stood out to me.

From a very young age, I noticed the problems in my country (Trinidad & Tobago) just from looking around and I wanted to change things. Many of my old drawing and writing books were thus filled with ideas for change or worldbuilding fantasies. I've always loved writing and seen it as my way of shaping the world. As I got older, I spent more time trying to understand the issues, the history, and the contemporary situation by reading, chatting with folks in person and online, and consuming edutainment. My passion for learning was also helped by my homeschooling experience.

Without getting deep into my whole life story and political journey, this pursuit of knowledge and solutions was kicked into overdrive in 2019 as I was introduced to the ideas of socialism and anarchism and later in that same year experienced the depressing and life-draining nature of full-time work for the first time (previously I had done a few part-time internships, short-term contracts, and sole trade work). While in the office, I read digital copies of both The Communist Manifesto and The Conquest of Bread, which led me to start a blog in 2020 where I would be able to publicly share what I had been thinking about and learning about for so long. That was on Medium.com. At that point, I wanted to be an art journalist.

Before long, radical ideas explored through a local lens became the prime focus. But due to low readership over months of consistent effort, I came to see blogging as a medium with limited opportunity for reach in our increasingly video-dominated age, which culminated with the creation of my YouTube channel.

However, as much as I wanted to keep my focus on the country and the region, I couldn't limit my message. I don't tailor my voice and message to either a local audience or an American audience. I grew up on content that acted like America was the only country and audience in the world, but I knew there were people like me globally going through the same issues who didn't want to hear every message filtered through the American lens.

I think both globally and locally when I make my videos, and I believe my approach has allowed me to reach folks internationally, which has gotten me to a size where people across the islands can now more easily take notice of my work and hopefully get some good out of it. My heart remains here in the region, and I would like to expand my reach here in the region, but it's easier said than done. I've seen an opportunity in TikTok, but I really can't add more to my plate at this point. A burning passion for learning combined with consistent effort, the help of various folks, and luck sprinkled in has brought me to where I am now, and that's what I'm trying to maintain going forward.