#i should tag all of the surface art with some tag

[rink3]

More cat stuff!!! I don't think P.ai.nter likes them very much :( kinda continuation

[szilverer]

finally got back to my computer after ages & immediately did the most textured digital thing i could think of. album cover study feat my ghostie

heres the og cover! drew from scratch n couldnt exactly replicate the wall graffiti style but i still like how it came out anyway

rly recommend this album if u dig alt rock/metal/etc btw. theres a very distinct eletronic reggae beat to some of the songs + rap n screaming and i LOVE this kinda music hehe. link for quick perusal below

[vampiredaisiesss]

❝ all a ghost can do

is haunt ❞

— part one

★ dofp! logan howlett x younger reader

tags & warnings - mentions of domestic violence and daddy issues, age gap, (reader is in her early 20s), mentions of logan being referred to as an 'old man' and him calling the reader a 'kid', fluff, itsy bitsy angst, time has softened logan a bit.

word count - 1.7k

part two

★ ★ ★ ★

The whiskey burns, but not enough. Never enough to dull the edges of memories that cut deeper than any blade could. 

Logan sits at the kitchen counter of the mansion, darkness pressing in from all sides. His demons always seem to find him here, in these quiet hours when the world narrows down to silence.

Even the adamantium in his bones feels heavier tonight.

He catches your scent before he hears you—that vanilla body lotion you always use. Your bare feet pad against the hardwood floors, and he takes a long gulp of his Jack Daniels when he feels your eyes land on him.

Your eyes are full of worry, as they often are for him. You can’t help it. You both know he drinks too much, smokes too much, gets angry too fast and doesn’t sleep enough. You might be a lot younger than him, or seen half the world he has, but that doesn’t mean you are incapable of distinguishing his self-indulgent tendencies from self-destructive ones.

"You're brooding again," you murmur, voice soft in deference to the midnight hour. The gentle concern in your tone makes something in his chest twist uncomfortably.

"Ain't brooding, bub. Just thinking." The lie tastes bitter, worse than the whiskey.

"Same difference with you," There's no judgment in your voice as you pad closer. You slip onto the stool beside him, close enough that he can feel the heat of you against his arm. "Share your demons with me, old man."

Logan's grip tightens on the bottle, knuckles white. "They ain't your burden to bear, kid."

"Seems like they should neither be yours to carry alone anymore," Your hand finds his forearm, fingers gently coaxing his own to uncoil from the bottle. "They’re tearing you apart, Lo."

“I’ll heal,” his voice turns assertive.

For the first time since you walked in, Logan looks at you. There’s no real heat behind his hazel eyes, but the intensity of his gaze makes your mouth go dry. 

Logan's the kind of handsome that gets better with age, with grey starting to streak through his dark hair at the sides. You've spent more nights than you'd care to admit thinking about running your fingers through that hair, wondering if it's as soft as it looks. 

“There are some scars that can’t heal on their own.” Your voice catches, vision blurring as memories surface. His expression softens, recognizing your demons as they dance in front of your eyes.

You grew up in a small house on the outskirts of town, where the screams couldn't carry far enough for neighbors to hear. Your father worked construction, coming home with anger burning through his veins, fueled by whatever poison he'd picked up at the local store. The bruises started small—a grip too tight around your wrist, fingers digging into your shoulder. By thirteen, you'd mastered the art of layering clothes in summer without breaking a sweat.

Your mother watched it all happen through a veil of willful blindness. She'd whisper "I love you" while dabbing antiseptic on split lips, promising "things will get better" as she covered the marks with a drugstore concealer. But she never left, trapped in her own web of shame and financial dependence.

The day Charles Xavier found you was the day your powers manifested. 

Your father had been in one of his rages, when something inside you finally snapped. The resulting telekinetic burst had sent him flying across the room. You ran, terrified of what you'd done, of what he'd do in retaliation. That's when the professor's black car pulled up, offering sanctuary within the walls of his school.

Xavier's became more than just an escape—it became home. A home with an unlikely collection of mutants who’d soon turn into family. As far as you were concerned, Charles Xavier was your father and Storm had taken on a motherly inclination when it came to you.

And then there was Logan… gruff, protective Logan who understood you without you having to explain. You both sat in this very kitchen the night you finally told him everything.

You'd watched his knuckles whiten, saw the rage build in the set of his jaw—not at you. Never at you. You remember thinking that your father wouldn't survive the night if Logan decided to pay him a visit. But instead of violence, Logan had offered something far more precious than revenge.

Understanding. 

And that was the first time you fell a little for him. 

Logan lets out a breath that shakes more than he'd like to admit. "Been thinking about Stryker. The lab." His voice roughens as he admits. "Sometimes it all just... comes back. Can’t close my eyes, for the life of me."

You don't flinch from the roughness in his voice—you know too well how memories can become monsters in the night. Instead, your fingers slide down to cover his hand, "Would you like to spend the night with me?"

"That's how rumors start, you know." The corners of his eyes crinkle, and his hand turns beneath yours, rough fingers catching against your skin. He shouldn't enjoy your touch this much, shouldn't let himself notice how perfectly your small hand fits in his giant one.

"You worried about your reputation, Howlett?" You lean closer, unable to help yourself. Everyone else might see your relationship as purely paternal, but the thoughts that race through your mind when he looks at you are anything but daughterly.

"Hell nah, never been." His voice drops lower, rougher, allowing himself this small indulgence. "You sure you wanna be associated with a sleazy old bastard like me?"

"I'm afraid it's too late for that." The words come out playful, but your mind floods with memories. 

Ever since you joined the team, Logan's been your shadow, protecting you during every mission. You think of training sessions in the gym, how good his hands feel when they’re adjusting your stance. You think of the day he carried you through the mansion when your leg broke after a mission gone sideways. You'd been mortified at first, but when you felt him cradle you against his chest, you'd buried your face in his neck.

When it comes to Logan, it's more than just physical attraction. It’s the way he’ll jump in any fire to save you. It's the way he'll sense your fear and comfort you whenever you have nightmares. It’s the way he can make you laugh just by raising that eyebrow in exactly the right way at exactly the right moment.

You felt safe with him. You wanted him to know he could feel the same with you too.

Logan watches you lose yourself in thought, fighting the urge to brush back the strand of hair that's fallen across your face. 

He's spent too long trying to convince himself that his feelings are purely protective, that the way his chest tightens when you smile at him is just paternal instinct. But there's nothing fatherly about the way his body responds when you're close, about how often he finds himself thinking about the sound of your laugh.

"And call it daddy issues or whatever," you add with deliberate casualness, though your heart is hammering against your ribs, "but I like older men. So you're in luck, old man."

Logan knows he should say no. Should keep his darkness away from your light. But when you stand and offer your hand, he takes it, letting you lead him through the silent halls like a ship following a lighthouse home.

He has been in your room before, though never like this. Your room is almost the same as his. Almost, with bits and pieces of you sprinkled throughout. A huge antique bookshelf, courtesy of Charles, is one of them, covering an entire section of the four-walled space. 

You watch Logan from your perch on the bed, the way his hands are curled into loose fists at his sides. "It's okay," you let him know softly. "Let me help."

He draws a breath at your words. His hand falls from the doorframe, and the door closes behind him with a soft click, separating the two of you from the rest of the sleeping world.

The mattress dips beneath his weight when he finally sits. You resist the urge to immediately touch him, letting him arrange himself comfortably, until he's lying down with his head in your lap. 

His breathing is too measured, too even to be natural. You watch his hands, curled still into loose fists against his chest, and wait.

Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the rigid line of his spine begins to soften. He drapes his left arm over your legs, and your fingers find their way into his hair. And fuck, if it isn’t as soft as you imagined. 

"Is this okay?" you ask softly, working your fingernails through his scalp; The first stroke sends a shiver down his spine.

He responds with a barely perceptible nod.

"You're safe here," you murmur, tracing patterns against his scalp. "No labs, no Stryker. No pain. Just you and me."

His eyes flutter close, though he fights it at first but all protests die in his throat. Your fingers continue their gentle journey through his hair, across his scalp, and you feel him surrendering inch by inch to the comfort he's denied himself for so long.

"Those memories? They're just ghosts now. They can haunt you, but they cannot touch you. They can't hurt you anymore, because you survived. You got out, Logan. You're here. You're loved. You're safe."

A soft whimper escapes him. Slowly, so slowly he almost doesn't notice, the tension begins to leak from his muscles. The metal in his bones feels lighter now, smoothing the worried crease between his brows.

"That's it," you whisper, and he feels the smile in your voice. "I've got you, Wolfie. Rest now."

Wolfie, he smiles sleepily. The nickname is the last thing he registers before sleep claims him whole.

★ ★ ★ ★

a/n: Do we want a part two???

[alithographica]

As promised, welcome to

Fun biology in TOTK’s designs

I'll keep this post updated as I go through the game. I'm going to skip the more general identifiable things like apples (they're based on apples!) because there are tons of more unusual species to talk about.

Overall, the really interesting thing I've noticed is that many of the more unique Earth-based lifeforms in TOTK are super ancient, like predating dinosaurs ancient, which is a really cool tie-in to the overall time-hopping plotline of TOTK. Specifically, they're found in the new areas (caves, depths) while the surface remains a bit more normal.

(There will be no plot spoilers in this post, and also I've barely gotten into the plot because I'm spending all my time wandering, so shhh no spoilers in the tags for like a month please.)

Most recent additions: More lilies, irises, wild ginger, spiny bones, pigeon extravaganza, plus added some more real photo comparisons to old stuff.

PLANTS

Bryophytes my beloved. Bryophytes are among the earliest land plants, waaaay predating flowers and even seeds. In our world, they’re small by necessity—they lack vascular systems to help move water around like other plants, so they have to stay small and moist (hence their frequency in caves in TOTK—though they do need some light in real life.)

In TOTK they’re quite large and I think that’s very sexy and art directors should give us big bryophytes more often

Anyway, there are three types of bryophytes: mosses, liverworts, and hornworts. First image pair is a moss, second is a liverwort. Those red-brown and palm-tree-like structures, respectively, are their reproductive structures.

Real liverwort photo © Graham Calow, NatureSpotUK

Not yet spotted: Hornworts! Did they forget the third bryophyte sister :(

I think these next guys are probably lycopods (specifically club moss, which is not a true bryophyte moss, thanks science.) Very old, but vascular, so they're a bit more evolutionarily recent than bryophytes.

Real photo © Gloria Hanley Schoenholtz, virginiawildflowers

All the enormous curly-topped trees in the depths: Ferns! They curl like that until they unfurl. Another very old plant, though younger than bryophytes and lycopods.

Real photo via The Cosmonaut, Wikipedia

Brightblooms and some of the other giant plants in the depths: Possibly based on a cycad? Again, a very ancient plant lineage. At this point, evolutionarily, they've developed seeds—that giant cone in the center is called a strobilus, and that's the seed structure.

These next few plants are angiosperms, meaning they produce flowers. Angiosperms are a more recent evolutionary lineage—still many millions of years old, but it took a while to develop flowers as a reproductive tactic.

Sundelions (left) are a fun recolor of a lily. There are also some scenery lilies (right) in various places—there are yellow ones that spring up when you turn on a lightroot (which gives them literal and thematic connection to the surface) and several other varieties, including tiger lilies, throughout Hyrule. Fun note, the sundelions appear to only have 5 stamen, while other lilies in the game (correctly) have 6. Seems to be an intentional decision to make it a more distinct fantasy species.

These next ones are Peruvian lilies/Alstroemeria, just used as a scenery plant but a very fun inclusion. Fun fact, not true lilies, so they're not deadly to cats like true lilies are.

Real photo © Dick Culbert, Wikipedia

Plum trees: These are also called out as plum trees in game! There's a journal in Kakariko that refers to the plum orchards.

Okay I'm a little proud of figuring this one out. Bomb flowers blend a few botanical references. Superficially, the fruit resembles a type of seed pod called a capsule—specifically it's very similar to a poppy capsule. The little red thing in the center is a nice addition to resemble both a flower stigma (reproductive part that leads to the ovary) and a bomb fuse. Now, poppy capsules disperse their seeds via wind, but there are other plants who do explode their seeds outwards as a dispersal tactic! This is called explosive dehiscence.

There is one tree in particular called the sandbox tree, AKA monkey-no-climb or dynamite tree (yes, really.) Their capsules look more like little pumpkins, but are known for violently exploding when ripe—they can launch seeds at 150 miles per hour (250 km/h) and spread them roughly 200 feet (60 m) away. The photo comparison is a poppy capsule but you should def go look up dynamite tree videos.

Real photo © PommeGrenade, pixabay

Fire fruits (and the other elemental fruits) grow on the same generic plant that looks kind of like it has grape leaves. Fire fruits resemble a specific botanical thing too though—the black netting is a papery calyx (part of the flower) seen in a nightshade genus, Physalis (golden berries, tomatillos, etc.)

Real photo © Helene Rogers, Alamy

I think this stuff is an Asarum, AKA wild ginger. I was actually puzzling over it until I walked past some today and went HEY

Not sure of the exact species but they're very green and heart-shaped and love being dense and low to the ground.

Real photo via David Stang, Wikipedia

Irises: Love irises, one of my favorite flowers and words, very happy to see them in game.

MISCELLANEA

Cup lichen! Lichen is not a plant, but a symbiotic structure of an algae + a fungi. Cup lichen is just a type of lichen formation that has a kind of vertical cup-like structure.

Real photo via Bernard Spragg

Geology crossover! Go look carefully at some of the whiter walls in the depths—they look like they have fossils of coral and other undersea hard-structured animals in them.

ANIMALS

Sticky lizards: Based on Diplocaulus, a very early (now extinct) amphibian! Their skulls are wacky. We're not sure whether the long sides stood out separately or were smoothly connected to the body by skin flaps, but the separate arrow-like shape is the most popular rendition.

Deep firefly: Might be a stretch because it could just be a multi-winged fantasy critter, but I think the "wings" and antennae are very reminiscent of Anomalocaris, an ancient aquatic arthropod.

Update: Other folks in the notes/tags have pointed out that they're probably based on a cryptid that's especially popular in Japan: skyfish AKA rods! They show up in photos and people think they're an alien lifeform. In reality, they're an optical blur created when a lower quality video captures intermittent flaps of an insect's wings, leaving sort of a many-winged smear in the photo. Thanks to all who left info!

Little frox: Another stretch because it totally could just be a Hinox-like frog, but every time I see the little ones I can't help but think of like...Ichthyostega, Mastodonsaurus, Eryops, and other early amphibians. They were pretty hefty—little frox size or bigger—and had with little waddling legs. This is less "I think it's definitely this" and more "it makes me happy when I picture frox as primitive amphibians."

I haven't detailed many of the scenery animals around Hyrule because most are identifiable with the camera function—it'll tell you that a certain animal is a heron or porgy, for example, and those groups are real, even though the exact species is made up. But I think the pigeons are fun because they're all crested pigeons. Pink-necked green pigeons may have also been the inspiration for the color palettes on the wood and rainbow pigeons.

Both pigeon photos via JJ Harrison, Wikipedia

Spiny bones: Not a specific critter, but those spiny bones that you can find lying around Eldin Canyon are vertebrae—possibly from the same thing that left those big rib cages around? The top spike is the spinous process where muscles attach, the littler spikes on the side are the transverse and articular processes. The dark O in the center is the spinal cord.

Also I made a friend who finally recognizes my purpose in Hyrule.

That's all I've got for now! Will add more as I keep playing.

[fangdokja]

Your Idea of Flirting? A Box of Body Parts.

♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Word Count. 622

♡ A/N. Yandere! Neurosurgeon stories have officially been subjected to my comedy shiz posts. Also, getting mindblocked in dead dove stuff, so have some shiz posts.

♡ Yandere! Neurosurgeon who prides himself on being stoic, composed, and borderline unshakable. Until you came along—chaotic, deranged, and so unabashedly you that he’s pretty sure you exist solely to spite the Hippocratic Oath.

It’s his birthday, but he didn’t tell you that. Why? Because he didn’t trust you not to make it weird.

And yet, here you are, standing at his doorstep with the kind of grin that makes his stomach churn. You’ve got a gift-wrapped box in your hands—wrinkled paper, suspicious stains on the edges—and the sort of twinkle in your eye that screams: I’ve done something illegal, but it was for you.

“Happy Birthday, Doctor!” you chirp, thrusting the box into his chest before he can shut the door in your face.

“How do you even know it’s my birthday?” he asks, his voice flat and skeptical.

You tap your temple knowingly. “Oh, I have my ways. Now open it!”

Against his better judgment, he does. The second he peels back the wrapping paper, the smell hits him—iron, formaldehyde, and something disturbingly organic.

“What the hell is—”

“It’s a brain!” you announce proudly, like a kid showing off a macaroni art project. “Actually, there are three brains. Plus a couple of spinal cords. And—oh, my favorite—a perfectly preserved vagus nerve! Took me forever to get that one out intact.”

♡ Yandere! Neurosurgeon stares at the contents of the box, his gloved hands frozen mid-air. A human brain, alright. Two, actually. The third looks like it might belong to a chimpanzee. Nestled alongside them are neatly coiled nerves, a few bloodied scalpels, and—What the hell, is that a severed hand?

“Where,” he begins slowly, voice tight with barely restrained horror, “did you get all of this?”

You blink innocently, as if the question is offensive. “A magician never reveals her secrets.”

“This isn’t magic, this is felony-level desecration!” he snaps, stepping back as though the box might spontaneously combust.

“Oh, come on,” you pout, stepping into his space. “You’re always going on about how fascinating the brain is, how every nerve tells a story, blah blah blah. I thought this would make you happy!”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, willing himself not to scream. “I’m not happy. I’m horrified. This is—this is insane.”

“You’re blushing, though,” you tease, leaning closer.

“I’m not blushing—”

“You are! You love it, don’t you? You’re secretly flattered!”

His lips press into a thin line. Is he mortified? Absolutely. Does a small, twisted part of him feel a twinge of pride that you’ve tailored your madness so specifically to his work? …Also yes.

“I should call the police,” he mutters, setting the box down on the nearest surface.

“You won’t,” you say smugly, plopping yourself onto his couch like you belong there.

“No, I won’t,” he sighs, rubbing his temples. “God help me.”

“Happy Birthday, Doctor.”

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. 🔞Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

[fanaticsnail]

How They Kiss

Masterlist Here

Word count: 200+ x4

Synopsis: four very different kisses with your favourite one piece characters. Small drabbles for four different scenarios.

Notes: I needed to write some kisses. Just some sweet kisses with our favourites. I adore writing kisses. There needs to be more kisses. This is me procrastinating. Art link

Apprehensive Tag List: @sordidmusings @feral-artistry @i-am-vita @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @mfreedomstuff @carrotsunshine @vespidphoenix

Aggressive Passion

Zoro, Kid, Killer, Doflamingo, Buggy, Crocodile, Luffy, Roger, Garp, Arlong, Lucci, Nami, Alvida, Ikkaku

Hands heaped in bunches clutch behind your head, fistfuls of your hair scrunched firmly against your scalp. Each moment you attempt to pull away and gasp for air, they're back on you and holding you firmly while their lips latch themselves desperately against your own.

All raw, all passion, all encumbering; consuming all of who and what you are and forging their claim upon you by the brutality of their embrace. Should you struggle to flee from their vice-like grip, desperately in need of a reprieve; their relentless tongue enters your mouth and captures your essence while simultaneously molding themselves into you.

When a small amount reprieve is granted; their lips find your jaw, your chin, your neck, and your shoulders. Wandering fingers scrape and claw at your back as your body is held at ransom to their vivacious lust. They have to claim you, they have to showcase their ownership of all that you are, they have to demonstrate to all surrounds that you are theirs and theirs alone.

Their lips write threats on your skin, and their raspy, lustful voice growls between bites, licks, and kisses.

“Mine,” their voice growls in a predatory rumble, their intentions not only convincing you, but themselves, “All mine.”

Silent Romance

Mihawk, Beckman, Rosinante Corazon, Rayleigh, Law, Shanks, Marco, Aokiji Kuzon, Robin, Vivi, Boa Hancock

Eyes glazed before shrouded beneath their fluttering eyelids, their lips caress yours with more words than lips could ever speak. A whisper calls to you, beckons you in as they rotate their chin to deepen their tantric oscillation.

Their hands wander up to cradle your flesh, gently raking the brush of their fingertips over your exposed skin before dipping beneath your shirt to seek out your body heat. Soft calls of their unspoken plea to open yourself up to a little more, they pull away from your lips to brush their nose and nuzzle their forehead against your own.

Your eyes flutter open, noticing their eyelids are partially cracked and gazing at you with longing. Their bruised lips softly upturn, their squinted smile showcased in the corner of their eyes. Anchoring yourself against them, you reignite their desire by pressing your lips once more to theirs.

As they part their lips, you feel the furrow of their brow in deep concentration, wrapped up in sharing the small carving of their personal bliss painted against you. It was portraiture, mapping your lips with their own and tasting the brushstrokes within each small change in momentum.

They whisper a call of your name, as their lips hover over yours. Their eyes hold more emotion than their words could ever speak.

Desperate Longing

Sanji, Ace, Shachi, Penguin, Helmeppo

The final lunge towards you held you captivated and in awe. Hands gripped at your waist, hips stapled your body between the hard surface of the cool floor, and the warmth of their body caging you beneath them.

Their warm tongue darted out to dominate and consume your own, breathy pants and whimpered whispers pleading a chant of, “More. Please more.”

Your hands reach up to caress their cheeks, hovering over the subtle dips and grooves you have mapped from memory. As they groaned through their struggle to claim more of your flavor over their palate, you met their desperation with only reciprocated passion.

Tugging at their hair has them whine against your lips. A strangulated groan followed by a roll of their eyes in bliss as you rolled them beneath your body with expert skill. Placing your hands beside their head and dipping down, you pressed an equally overemphatic kiss against their bruised lips.

Breath stolen from their lungs, heart beating with anxious rapidity, and hands wandering and roaming over your body; you bit, licked, caressed and sucked on their lips, jaw and neck as they cried out for you.

“Please,” they sniffed a soft sob, gasping their plea with the call of your name, “Please, I need more. Let me have more.”

Nervous Uncertainty

Usopp, Koby, Katakuri, Sabo, Franky, Hongo, Uni, Jimbei, Bartolomeo

A soft quiver in the corner of their lips, their brows elevated into a peaked triangle centralized to their forehead. Your eyes were darting between theirs, watching them wordlessly begin leaning in towards you.

Stuttering in their momentum, they hover their staggering lips over your own and their breath brushes against your skin. What felt like an eternity to them, they waited the turn of your cheek to reject their advance.

Your lips draw up into a broad smile, your eyelashes flutter as you lean in to take that final plunge and meet their lips. A shocked gasp is pulled from their throat, your smile only making their nerves spark with more intensity.

A hum of surprise fled from their lips the moment you parted your mouth to brush your tongue against theirs. Caressing their cheek, you support and guide them to make bolder movements. When their right hand finds your left, they interlace their fingers within your own while drawing their left hand to your hips.

What started with a steady and unsure stagger quickly sprung to more deliberate and intentional movements. They deepen the kiss with an angle of their chin, the brush of their nose and several open presses of their lips on yours.

“I don't do this often,” their voice quivers out their hushed confession, “But I want to keep doing this with you.”

[centrally-unplanned]

I will add my voice to the chorus that chronological feed is at this point one of Tumblr's biggest selling points, because chronological is a default form of ownership. I can edit my feed to match exactly my expectations by following & unfollowing who I want, because chronology as a concept is completely scrutable to me. Algorithms are fine as everything is an algorithm; its the lack of comprehensibility and agency most platforms inflict on you that makes them so hostile to users who actively curate what they engage with.

I in fact think Tumblr would benefit from more feed options! I would absolutely enable deviations from the chronology based on the people I follow and the moods I am in - but they again would need to be under my control.

The discoverability problem is real, and I do in fact think that there should be better ways. I don't object to the "you may also like" in the corner for example. In reality Tumblr's search functions are the place to do this; they aren't as bad as many claim but they aren't great, they are exactly the choice-focused place to surface new blogs. Make that tool better and I will find others like me and give them a shot.

But. Another thing that makes tumblr great is the fact that it is 'community' based over 'content' based. I follow the people I follow, and they follow me, because we interacted with each other over time. It is a facsimile of actual socializing; you make a few comments on a post, you build up the courage for a reblog or two, you are discoursing, you tag them on a meme, now you are mutuals. Content creators are not community members - that is a hierarchical relationship, the 'lead' and the 'fan', and is defined by parasocial and weak connections. Tumblr can be more than one thing ofc, I follow some art blogs who never talk to their followers, that is a content-follow. But in the main I don't think most people want their community-based feed structure to be disrupted by attempts to content-itize it.

This is again one of Tumblr's strengths - every other site (besides partially Facebook) has pivoted to content-style models over community-style models due to inherent winner-take-all dynamics and greater monetization applications. But Tumblr cannot chase YouTube, it is going to lose, YouTube already exists. I don't see much of anything in that post that recognizes that, and that is imo a huge mistake.

[quona]

fires beyond the lychgate --- --- ---

prints | ko-fi | commission

May I interest you in some Beltane-themed witchy pollen magic? Revelers dancing around May Day bonfires in the woods? How about we add some lust-addled Crowley and sweaty Priest!Aziraphale to that, too? Yes? I thought so! I painted this for the Spring is Here! High Pollen Count Event in collaboration with the absolutely fantastic @tawnyontumblr. I know you know Tawny's fics. I don't need to tell you how good they are. You can and should go read the fic that inspired this painting on AO3: 🔥 All Fired Up by TawnyOwl95 🔥 (Rated Explicit, mind the tags!)

The trunk of the birch tree was smooth against Aziraphale's back. He held on to one of the branches above his head, getting bark dust in his nails as Crowley sucked on his jaw. The last of Aziraphale’s buttons came open, his shirt now only held in place by his clerical collar. Crowley's hands moved down, and Aziraphale's belt hissed as it was drawn from its loops. If Aziraphale turned his head he could still see the fire flickering through the trees, the shadows flitting back and forth. If someone came this way - Aziraphale didn't care. His mind was full of Crowley. The drums still beat in time with the blood pounding, rising up as Crowley's mouth coaxed it to the surface of Aziraphale's skin, fed on him like a starving man.

The full piece:

...and some detail shots from the high res:

@goodomensafterdark, love you goblins, hope you like my art.

[wystiix]

❥ pairing: siren!robin x sailor fem!reader ❥ synopsis: The ocean listens keenly—you should have known that. You were a curious individual, so you decided to test out an old fisherman's tale. A silver offering, a song at sunset, and a voice that hums back from the deepest parts. You should have never sought an answer—but now, the sea has heard you. ❥ cw: major character death, slight mind manipulation ❥ additional tags: second person perspective, siren au ❥ word count: 3.3k ❥ notes: haha i saw the hoyofair art... holy shit robin is gorgeous i just had to write about it. yeah uh ig this is my first hsr work. not sure if i'll write more. i hope to god i didn't mischaracterise her cuz i was just writing about how sirens usually act. and yes i know i know I KNOW SIRENS WERE ORIGINALLY DEPICTED AS HALF BIRD IN GREEK MYTHOLOGY. i was mainly basing this off on how the philippines depicted these creatures (sirena), because "sirena" in tagalog means "mermaid". so ya!! i would also like to give a special thanks to bbg @papiliotao for proofreading this for me <33 love you rei, to the moon and back /p

The ocean was no stranger to you—you had known it throughout your whole life. Since you were a little girl, staring at the shimmering surface turned into a routine. You admired how it seemingly stretched out an eternal expanse of azure blue that met with the sky’s horizon before you. 

You’d dip your feet beneath the shallow waters and allow them to sink into the sand without a care in the world. The tides would crash and the waves licked up your legs. The ocean was your comfort. It was your home.

And yet, you often wondered: what laid beyond the reef?

You had come from a long bloodline of those who were masters of the sea, men and women who lived and died by the waves. Like the masters they were, they taught you everything you needed to know—how to read the stars, predict the tides, how to navigate your way through the waters to avoid getting lost. But above all, they never fail to warn you about the dangers of the deep.

Countless legends and stories have been told to you about the lives of your ancestors being taken by the same waters you had come to love. Monsters, storms, mistakes which eventually led them to their demise. However, one tale above all haunted your family’s stories.

They said the waves would often get mischievous. They led sailors’ boats further astray into the mist where the rocks waited. Among numerous creatures of the deep, none would come as close to dangerous as the ones your ancestors perceived to be beautiful singers.

They had voices like honey, sweet enough to drown out any coherent thought. They often appeared to sailors as women who were part-fish—beautiful beyond words with skin that glittered like the sea itself.

But looks can be deceiving. For those who followed their songs never returned.

However, it didn’t stop there. Some believed that you didn’t have to wait for them to find you. Apparently, you could summon them. 

It was stated that when the sun bled into the water with hues blossoming red and gold, the summoner should bring a gift—something precious, an offering of silver. Toss it into the waves and wash your face on the shore as the waves slowly take it away. Hum a tune, preferably one expressing your deepest yearnings and desires, for it will attract and bring them closer. Then, wait for the sea to answer as the sun fully sets. 

Old fishermen warn you not to cease your melody, for the sea listens keenly. These creatures aren’t particularly known for their patience; silence could summon their wrath instead. Keep your melody alive and listen closely. When you hear a tune drift back to you from the depths, you know you’ve been heard—the ritual is then deemed successful.

If you were lucky, a benevolent creature may grant you mercy. It was a common belief that they may offer you a kiss—one that could grant gifts and blessings. Stories claim that this kiss could fill your lungs with the ocean’s breath and grant you the power to swim as one of them. 

But luck was a dangerous, fickle thing to gamble. More often than not, when these creatures appeared, these gifts weren’t given freely. If they came at all, they never left any witnesses behind. They were more of a misfortune than a boon.

Now, you were a skeptic. You weren’t one to believe in such things. They were merely fairytales to you, and you knew that the ocean was more forgiving than that as long as you didn’t go beyond the reef. Though, you couldn’t help this lingering curiosity eating away at the back of your mind like a swarm of pests.

And so, you decided to test this theory.

One evening, you found yourself standing at the rocky shore. You knew the stretch of this coast well, the rocky areas always seemed to slope faster into the deep strangely. This seemed like a perfect spot to do the bidding.

In your hand was a hooped silver earring, one from a pair you had lost a long time ago. It glinted as it caught the last rays of sunlight as you watched the sun set. While it was precious, it was merely a trinket. You could live with its loss.

This was foolish. Childish, even. Testing an old sailor’s tale? You should have laughed and left it at that.

The faint smell of the salty breeze met your senses as you took a deep breath. Your pulse quickened with anticipation—or was it fear? Either way, there was no turning back now, not after all the trouble you went through to find a trinket you thought no longer mattered and to travel all the way to the beach.

You let the earring fall from your fingers. The silver flashed briefly before the tide claimed it, and it evanesced into the water. 

A sigh slipped past your lips as you crouched by the shoreline. For a moment, you hesitated. What if they were right? What if these warnings weren’t just tales after all?

No, you were here now. This was merely a ridiculous test because you had nothing to do. Nothing was going to happen. Even if it were real, you weren’t one to give in to temptations so easily. You were not exactly easy to impress after all.

The cool water lapped at your hands and you splashed it onto your face with the salt stinging your skin. A stray drop had managed to slip into your lips and you immediately spat it out, grimacing at the bitter taste that settled on your tongue.

Then, you parted your lips and sang.

A gentle tune floated from your lips. Simple and familiar, no grand notes or anything. It was the kind that was second nature to you as if it had always belonged to the waves itself.

The sun continued setting slowly, and the waters were painted with deep crimson and orange. The final note left your lips and you waited. You were unsure if you had done it right. Would anything happen at all? Did you make a fool of yourself?

Your ears strained as you listened. To keep the melody alive, you hummed the whole song over again. The last rays of the sun disappeared beneath the horizon and the ocean seemed to grow still when you finished.

Nothing. You heard nothing. You almost felt foolish.

A frustrated sigh spilled out of you and you stood up. You had just practically tossed your silver jewellery into the water to test out some absurd myth. There was no one to blame but yourself in this situation. You turned on your heel, about to walk away with humiliation.

Until you heard it.

The waves crashed against the rocks. You backed away from the edge so the waves wouldn’t catch you, but you listened closely. 

A note. It rose faintly from the waters, and the sea seemed to hum it.

Upon one summer's morning, I carefully did stray…

Your blood froze.

Down by the Walls of Wapping, where I met a sailor gay.

You weren’t alone.

Conversing with a young lass who seem'd to be in pain,

Saying, "William, when you go, I fear you'll ne'er return again.

Your heart thudded in your chest painfully as you glanced at the water with your eyes wide, straining to see among the shifting tides in the darkness. And there, you espied something.

A head popped out from beneath the surface. Lilac-silver hair and emerald eyes stared straight at you. Confused, you blinked a few times and rubbed your eyes, unsure if your vision was deceiving you. But when you opened your eyes again, it was gone. The water was empty, and the eerie hum of the ocean was the only sound to be heard.

Your pulse quickened.

Had you imagined it? Something told you that this wasn’t a coincidence.

This time, you decided to be a little risky. You stepped near the edge, feeling the moss and jagged rock beneath your feet to take a closer look. Your eyes fixed on that one spot where you had seen the head. 

There was… definitely something beneath the surface. Something was moving, and it looked like a fish tail. Ripples lapped gently at the water’s edge as the head emerged again.

This time, however, it was closer to you, and you could see a few more prominent features. A crown of coral adorned her head, and gills of fish rested by her ears. The same emerald eyes stared at you as if her gaze was piercing into your soul.

“Hello?” you blurted out almost foolishly. “Did I disturb your swim?”

Her intense gaze made you nervous and made your heart race. The figure simply tilted her head as she looked at you, almost with deliberate slowness as if she was sizing you up. Then, she smiled.

“You summoned me.”

A chill ran down your spine. You blinked momentarily, your mouth parting as you thought of what to say. And then the realisation hit you, and you smacked your forehead in embarrassment. Fool, you scolded inwardly. Why in the seven seas would you ask such a thoughtless question?

“I—uh—” You cleared your throat and you felt the heat rise in your cheeks. “I didn't think it was… possible?”

She merely chuckled and rose slightly from the surface, sitting on a rock just close to you. Droplets of water dripped down her face and neck, and for the first time, you could see a creature like her in full display. Her hair swayed gently as if caught by an unseen breeze. Her hair colour reminded you of periwinkle flowers; ethereal, elegant and eye-catching. The three E’s.

Her tail glistened with rich shades of violet and curled around her as she sat. Its scales were arranged perfectly with iridescent patterns that shifted in the light, creating a stunning display of brilliant colours. Were those tiny wings hanging behind her ears? Your ancestors hadn’t provided many details on these beings’ appearances.

The sight of her made your breath catch in your throat.

“Did you think I was going to leave without greeting you?” she asked, breaking you out of your trance. Her voice was smooth and soft like silk, and it almost sounded like a lullaby.

You swallowed hard. The weight of your reckless curiosity was starting to sink in.

“No…” you mumbled. Her fixed gaze on you wasn't making this situation any less frightening. The darkness didn't help either, as the sun had just set. It was as if her eyes were the brightest thing around, glowing faintly.

The sea listens keenly. You should have heeded that warning from your masters.

“I had no idea what I was thinking,” you continued sheepishly, attempting to salvage every last bit of your dignity. “I guess I wanted to know if the old tales were real—”

“Tales.” Her smile widened. “You didn’t think they were true?”

Not until now. The truth had punched you in the gut and you were left feeling lightheaded. Of course they were true.

You didn’t know whether to cry, laugh or flee. Or all of the above. Perhaps the ground could open up a hole and swallow you instead, that’d mostly be preferable.

The silence stretched for a long moment. Then, she spoke again, breaking that silence.

“My name is Robin,” she said lightly, as if offering the name was some casual gift. “And what’s yours, sailor?”

Your heart pounded in your chest, unsure if you should be terrified. However, provoking these creatures wasn’t exactly encouraged. Swallowing, you crouched down and answered nervously. “[Name].”

Robin eyed you for a moment before smiling. “[Name], how lovely,” she hummed looking down at her reflection in the water. “Well, [Name], how fortunate for you that I’m feeling quite generous tonight.”

You knitted your eyebrows together. “Generous?”

Her finger traced lazy circles on the surface of the water. “What is it that you desire the most?” she asked. “You had a reason to summon me, did you not?”

“Oh.” Shaking your head, you waved your hands dismissively. You had completely forgotten about that. “No, not at all. This was… merely a test of courage.”

“Shall I reward that courage?”

“What?”

Her tail flicked, scattering droplets into the air as she slid off the rock and sank into the sea once again. “Shall I grant you a blessing to reward your bravery?” She pressed herself against the crag and leaned in just enough to make your pulse quicken. “A curious sailor like you deserves such a gift.”

The water curled towards the rock at your feet. Had you heard her right? A gift? Something about it made you suspicious, yet her gaze seemed sincere.

When you didn’t answer, her eyes gleamed as she continued, “I don’t offer my gifts lightly, dear. A kiss from me, and you could have it all. Swim with the tide, breathe beneath the waves, see the ocean as I do…” Robin sighed and rested her head on her hand. “It’s a rare offer. One that most sailors would beg for.”

“That easy, huh.” You eyed her warily, crossing your arms. There had to be a catch.

Robin’s smile didn’t falter. “Would you rather I make it difficult?”

You blinked a few times before shaking your head. “No, I—” A sharp exhale slipped out of you. 

You were going to say no. You were sure of it. So why couldn’t you?

“So what’s wrong?” she asked, watching you closely. “You troubled yourself to come all the way here and summon me. Surely you wouldn’t just leave empty-handed? Ridiculous. Why hesitate?”

The waves lapped slowly at the rock and the rhythm of your pulse quickened. The ocean seemed to stretch endlessly behind her.

Why hesitate?

The question should have been easy to answer. So many answers, so many reasons. Yet, you just… couldn’t seem to name them.

“You’re thinking so hard,” she mused. “Is it really so difficult?”

You stiffened.

Yes, it was.

“I-I just…” you murmured, sheepishly rubbing the back of your neck. “As much as I appreciate the offer, I would much rather have my feet stay on land.”

Silence enveloped the both of you like a blanket. Robin narrowed her eyes at you, putting her hand down, and her eyes were locked onto your face which made you more nervous. It seemed like she was examining you. Closely.

Did you perhaps tick her off?

Dark waves rolled in like silk as the ocean shimmered. The air felt a lot heavier. It clung to your skin, thick with salt and something else you couldn’t name. Words are unable to be formed and for a moment, you swore you heard the tide humming. 

A haze settled into your mind, thick and intoxicating. The stars had just come out, and they shone in a way that felt unreal. In fact, your surroundings felt unreal.

She was closer now, humming a soft melody to like the lull of the ocean itself. When had that happened? Her cold, damp fingers brushed against your cheek which made your breath hitch.

“You’re trembling,” she spoke softly. “You're not afraid, are you?”

Afraid? No, not at all. In fact, the fear had eroded away the moment you heard her sing. There was something about her voice, something that allowed each note that spilled out of her lips tug at the threads of your heart. Any thought seemed to wash itself out as you drowned in the pools of her emerald eyes.

You felt her hand gently caress your face, inclining your head closer. Before you knew it, soft lips brushed against yours in a tender kiss. Your heart pounded loudly in your ears and your head spun as the kiss lingered for a moment, unable to bring yourself to pull away.

It was an unexplainable, intoxicating allure that had you trapped, rendering any attempts of resisting fruitless. Her lips tasted like sin itself, enticing you deeper—and you wanted more of it. Your mind melted as the world around you seemed to blur at the edges. It just urged you to lean in a little more, fearing that to pull away would shatter this utter bliss.

“Still with me?”

Robin’s voice was a sweet and sugary lilt as she murmured against your lips, and it wrapped around your senses—lingering like the taste of salt on your tongue. You nodded, unsure if you even remembered how to speak. Or think. Or breathe.

Her lips were warm. But why was the water so cold? You could feel it rise to your ankles. Then your knees. Then your chest.

Wait—when did you step into the sea?

Your body swayed and it felt weightless. Somewhere far away, you heard the tide singing and Robin singing along with it. You could feel her hands cup your face and tilt your head deeper into the kiss. A low hum rattled in your chest, vibrating throughout your bones.

The ocean listens keenly. You should have known that.

The ocean listens keenly. You should have known that.

Your lungs felt full as she pulled away. Not tight. Not desperate. Just… full.

She was still so close. You hadn’t moved, had you? But you were closer. You blinked slowly at her as she swam in and out of focus. Were her eyes glowing? Or were yours just dimming? It was hard to tell. She hummed a soothing melody that eased your thoughts.

“I thought you sailors were clever.”

Huh?

The realisation came in slowly like thick syrup, a heaviness that settled in the pit of your stomach. You were sinking. Or had you already sunk?

Something delicately grazed your cheek. A strand of hair, drifting freely into the water. Yours or hers?

…Had you been holding your breath all this time? The ocean was in your ears. Your lungs. Salt was burning your throat and your mind. Your head tilted back instinctively to take a breath as you struggled.

But there was no air left to take.

You tried to lift your legs, but they felt heavy and sluggish. The cold ocean wrapped around you like a blanket, pressing against your skin.

The only thing you could see was Robin’s face. Crown of coral adorning her head, and gills of fish resting by her ears. The same green pools of eyes you drowned in pieced into you.

She was smiling.

“Close your eyes,” you heard her say. At least you think you did. “It’s easier that way.”

The pressure in your chest was heavy but no longer frightening. It felt familiar—like the hundreds of warnings you have heard from your masters the moment you were old enough to walk. They echoed in the back of your head.

You remembered the tales, the stories. How they had lured those before you. How the sea listened so carefully to their songs they were later consumed. You remembered the warnings passed down from generation to generation. The fear it was supposed to ignite.

But now, as you sank deeper, there was no fear. Only acceptance.

Robin’s hums echoed in the depths. It seeped into your bones to your very essence. It was the same melody you heard her sing, the same lullaby your ancestors must have heard. The one they couldn’t escape. You thought you were clever. You thought you weren’t easy to please. You thought you could even have a chance of escaping. You thought wrong.

You parted your lips, perhaps to call out the name of your family, perhaps to scream for help, but your words got lost in the water. They were swallowed by the depths.

Now you understand. Now you understand why they didn’t run, why they didn’t escape—the allure was not just the beauty, but the temptation. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t resist it. The sailors were left with no choice. Neither were you.

The ocean listens keenly. And, like it did to your ancestors, it answered.

You felt Robin’s hand graze your cheek as she gazed at you with that deceptive, soft look in her eyes. You both then shared one last kiss. Her breath—the sea’s breath, rather—filled your lungs.

And you let it. You succumbed to what was promised eternal bliss. It was easier that way.

[milonogiannis]

Since late August of 2022, Barry Topping and I have been working on a shoot ‘em up game called BIRDCAGE.

Now 2024 is wrapping up and – surprisingly – so is the production phase of BIRDCAGE. There’s still plenty of work to be done, but the game itself is all there, playable and asset complete.

Now we’re left with an ever-growing lernaean hydra list of other tasks to handle – emails, wider testing, stability, updating store presences, promotional stuff and in general, just trying to maximize the reach and polish of what we’ve made.

The final stretch of production (roughly the last 5 months?) was really fun. The game had matured enough that we just instinctively knew what would work and what wouldn’t.

We’d become comfortable enough with the tools we built and our process where we’d just be constantly in hyper mode. The game really came together in this final leg of development.

POLYGON BIRD, our studio name, and EXCEL Framework, the name given to the "shmup tools" we made for the game.

I was expecting ending full-on production on BC to be frustrating and depressing, but some switch flipped in my head and now all I want to do is email people about the game, optimize our Steam tags and figure out how to get this in people’s hands – and I’m finding that fun, at least for now. The game isn’t this ideal brainchild piece of art to me, suddenly. We did the work to make the thing, now it’s time the thing worked for us.

It surprises me how often I find myself thinking ridiculous things like “we need to activate our discord members” – but I’ll take this over the usual pit of despair I fall into after finishing a big project.

I guess this is what motivated me to write down these thoughts in the first place – I was bracing to be fully depressed and lost right about now, resenting the game and the time we spent on it. Maybe this will serve as a reminder that finishing a thing doesn’t have to feel so bad?

So now we’re kind of going back into uncharted waters – promoting, releasing, dealing with feedback, hotfixes and support. There’s going to be a lot of “learning on the job”, I guess, but I’m excited to see that aspect of game dev.

I’m really glad we were able to hit our goal of wrapping up this phase of BIRDCAGE as the year comes to a close – it makes it easy to look back on the past 2 years as a whole and see how much we’ve learned. I can’t wait for us to make another game, knowing what we know now.

There is still nothing to announce regarding the release of the game, but it still felt important to make note of this milestone.

For now, just know we’ve made a game and are working on getting it out there! We should have a lot more to say soon.

In the meantime, you can help us out by adding BIRDCAGE to your Steam wishlist.

Thanks for sticking around all these years.

Happy holidays!

-G

[wellzofyouth]

🔥 superbat superbat superbat superbat 🔥

BOY OH BOY DO I HAVE SOME HOT TAKES!!!

1. People who act like they're boring are wrong, but that's just a personal opinion at the end of the day. However, the idea of Superbat being a "sad wet black cat x golden retriever sunshine himbo" ship doesn't help against those allegations. Superbat is so much more than emo x sunshine. I've posted about this before, so I don't wanna get into it too much, but they have such an interesting dynamic pre crisis, and its by far my favorite relationship in the dcu.

2. I do not care about battinson x corensupes at all. Sorry lmao. The reason a lot of people actively ship them is because they're two cute, young, white men. That's it. They have no canon interactions whatsoever, and the movie hasn't even come out yet. I don't ship Superbat because I find them attractive, I ship them because I like their dynamic and storytelling potential.

Random batman hot take ig, but Superman does not and should not be in Battinson's universe at ALL. Anyway, the art is good, and I'm glad people like it, and its getting them into Superbat, but its so so so basic. It's like every yaoi stereotype comes true. I don't want to be a hater, but it's true, sorry. Live your truth tho. x

3. Inspired by my last post, but Superman fans who act like the Superfam are oppressed because of Batfam and Superbat enjoyers annoy tf out of me. Sorry. Superman is the most popular comic book character of all time (the first modern superhero, in fact), and he's not suffering because you have to scroll past Superbat and unfunny incorrect posts every once in a while. Literally join a Superman forum or a tumblr community (PLEASE WE'RE DYING) and shut up. Filter the tags if you don't like a character or ship. Like I barely ever complain about a character or ship I dislike because I filter and move tf on. Actually, this pisses me off a little more when I think about it because so many characters get dust from DC, and you're out here complaining about being a SUPERMAN fan?? I'm in your walls.

4. Sort of related to point one, but I do have to agree with the fact that Clark can get paid dust by Superbat fans. All of his edges tend to get sanded down to fit fanfic tropes, or he's like a full-blown overly masculine evil rapist. I don't think this is a serious problem because it happens on a massive scale to ever popular ship, but it does happen, and I do it notice it. Let him experience horrors beyond his imagining. Let him kill their simulated children to stop the universe from collapsing. Let him gaslight. Let him traumadump. Please let Clark be pathetic! 🥺 can anyone hear me?

5. I'm sorry, but if I'm reading Superbat fic, I don't want any Batfam shenanigans. Leave those damn kids at home! The Batfam is just too bloated at this point, and it almost takes up all of the fic if you try to include them all. Also, another random Batman hot take, but idgaf about the modern Batfam dynamic whatsoever. They're usually written in an annoying way, and I only enjoy the characters separately. But that's just me.

6. The original World's Finest is the best superbat material. I actually really like the new one, and I think they do an amazing job of adapting the dynamic to fit modern times while keeping the same spirit. But the original WF is superior to everything, even despite the shlock. If you see me posting about Superbat, I'm probably talking about Silver Age.

7. I hate to bring this up, but I've seen this discourse in the past and this accusation has even be leveled against ME personally, but Superbat isn't misogynistic because their love interests aren't included lmao. I hate that this is even discourse because it's so deeply stupid beyond a surface level. Yeah, the gay ship between two men isn't going to include women, who knew? Unless the content itself is overtly sexist or someone is spreading blatant lies about them, it doesn't matter.

I think some of you guys forget how much gay people are hated in the real world, so you internalize all the fandom you see and let it warp your worldview. Which is just so stupid. Also, I feel like you guys forget the fact that Superbat is the most popular ship with gay men (including me!), and they also enjoy it. Would you go up to a gay guy and demand him to be more inclusive of straight people?😭 I feel like I'm going crazy because this is always something leveled against Superbat specifically and never any other ship. Superbat isn't even involved in any ship wars??? I'm starting to think some of you guys have weird opinions on gay people because it's just absurd. Either way, keep that shit away from me.

(Also side note, the most misogynistic discourse in this fandom is dickbabskoryby far, and I feel like nobody talks about it? I've seen some pretty prominent people on here call Kory oversexualized and vapid--which has some pretty weird connotations--and babs an evil bitch. I feel like I'm going crazy when I see people ignore or even agree with it. Hello, can anybody hear me?)

8. That being said, a lot of you guys do use Superbat to replace women and not center queer men. Some of the ways you guys talk about bottom and topping is weird, and that's coming from the number 1 bottom Bruce truther himself. Stop trying to place heteronormative dynamics on them. They're not Clois but with men. They have their own thing. Ig this is a fandom wide issue tho so whatever.

9. SUPERBAT IS NOT OLD MAN YAOI EXCEPT IN SPECIAL CASES. THEY'RE MIDDLE AGED YAOI. THEY'RE NOT EVEN DRAWN WITH GRAY HAIR. REAL OLD MAN FUCKERS KNOW WHATS UP!

That's it to be honest. I can't think of anything else.

[writerfae]

Wow, I wrote something. And it’s even canon!

Well, of course it won’t be in the story word for word, but it’s a scene that somehow like this will be included. Yay!

Takes place after Aiden got freed from the Knights.

The night was full of stars and the surface of the starlight lake, too, was littered with the sparkling reflections of the same bright lights that decorated the dark sky.

Aiden sighed as he lowered himself deeper into the water, the cool sensation a boon for his heated skin.

It felt good to wash off the dirt from the last couple days. And to get a few minutes of quiet to clear his head.

He had always hated to be alone, but after the last few hours he almost found himself missing it.

His head was brimming with all the informations he was confronted with, with thoughts of his mother, his brother, of the insanity he found himself in.

Never would he have expected such a mess when he followed Halea into the other realm to find Henry.

Find him he did, but he also found so much more. It was almost too much to handle.

Aiden wanted to run. He genuinely planned to do so, to leave everything behind and go home to hide from the truth he learned.

And then the Knights had captured him and everything changed yet again.

With what he knew now, he couldn’t possibly leave. He had to warn Henry. To help him and the others.

He lifted his hand and let the water slip through his fingers. The water made his skin sparkle just like the stars above.

Whether he liked it or not, he was now right in the middle of this whole disaster and he had his part to fulfill. People were relying on him to help and stop Morena.

Only he could do it. After all, the sword had chosen him. After all, it was in his blood.

He stared at his fingers, at the starlight on his skin, then he clenched his hand into a fist.

Yes, he would stop this. He’ll warn Henry, stop the madness and when all of this was done, the two of them could talk.

When they survived, whispered a voice in his head, but Aiden decided to ignore it.

He wasn’t alone anymore. He stood a chance. They stood a chance. If only they worked together.

“Aiden,” a voice called to him. As he looked over his shoulder, he could see Talon standing at the lake side.

Moonlight caught itself in his light hair and made it shine almost like a saint’s halo, which was an irony Aiden didn’t miss out on.

He slowly rose from the water, making his way over to the other boy.

When the water barely reached his navel, he stopped, suddenly realizing that he was very much naked underneath the water surface.

Not that Talon would have noticed it if Aiden had broken the rules of modesty, since he still refused to look at him.

Aiden wondered when he’ll ever have the courage to meet him eye to eye.

“You should come,” Talon said, eyes lowered, his voice barely loud enough so Aiden could hear.

“Get some rest before we make our way back to court. Nyx says we are safe here, but we should make sure to leave before sunrise if we want to be there before them.”

Aiden nodded. “I will. Give me a second to uh…” he looked down at himself. “get dressed.”

Talon didn’t say anything to that. He just nodded quickly, before turning around a bit too fast and making his way back to the bonfire.

Did Aiden only imagine it, or did the fae’s ears seem a little red in the light of the moon?

He shook that thought off and made his way to the water’s edge to gather his clothes.

Talon was right, he’d need some rest. They had a long day ahead.

*

tag list: @andifthestarsweretodie @bloodlessheirbyjacques @bluehourskyeli @deadlycupid @dustylovelyrun @justafrogandherumbrella @ladywithalamp @magic-is-something-we-create @myhusbandsasemni @my-cursed-prince @phantasticdomains @rhikasa @sleepy-night-child @soupopoireau @theguywithnonickname @vampywriter @vsnotresponding @writing-is-a-martial-art (if you want to be added or removed from the tag list let me know!)

[secondjulia]

Necessary but Stupid -> The StarvingArtist!Dream/Plasma AU You Didn't Request

UM. So. This was definitely just a weird little AU idea I had... definitely not while hooked up at csl daydreaming about Dream & Hob... that I was just going to dump in @gabessquishytum's Ask, as one does with weird little AU ideas. And then it kind of exploded. Into an actual story.

---Rated: G. Logistics in the tags. Ao3 link ---

There's no stopping the dark cloud that passes over Hob's head the moment he opens the door to the plasma center. But now he can smile brightly through it and let the storm blow quietly away. The dark memories this place holds still surface every time he walks in, but he's never once considered not going. Even though it's been ten years since Eleanor and the babe died of some rare blood condition that triggered childbirth complications, Hob's still there twice a week, every week, rain or shine.

He waves to the clerk at the desk. The security guard greets him with a comment about the latest football match, and Hob makes an appropriately pained, commiserating expression. He asks the technician taking his blood pressure how his honeymoon went — Côte d'Albâtre, right? — and Hob reminisces cheerily about his own trips to France.

Nobody’s ever exactly happy at the plasma center, but the sunny professor’s relentlessly friendly chatter brightens everyone’s day. All the staff know him by name, his surprisingly colorful stories can help pass the time on those long-line days, and his smile always lights up the room. 

Sure, Hob can be kind of opinionated — like whenever he declares that death is stupid and nobody should have to die of preventable diseases! Everyone just goes along with it, and it’s so cruel! (Nobody actually disagrees, but he is very vocal about it.) The first time he said this — sitting hunched with downcast eyes, just weeks after his wife’s death — his voice was soft with hopelessness, and it cracked as he held back tears. But ten years later, when people ask him why he’s still doing this when he’s a tenured professor with a summer cottage and a retirement plan, Hob declares jovially that death is stupid! Nobody has to die when he can give them something they need from his own arms — it’s a renewable resource! 

Hob, it cannot be said enough, brightens everyone's day — usually.

But not today. Not everyone's.

Dream cannot believe the insufferable words coming out of this man’s mouth. It's the first day Dream’s set foot in this particular center, and he already wants to go home. 

But home is the problem. Dream's new apartment is much cheaper than the building that just evicted him, but this latest series of paintings are taking far longer to complete than he'd hoped. And also, the art world just fucking sucks. Dream can't fool himself. Even when the paintings are ready, it's unlikely they'll sell well enough or soon enough to plug the gaps in his income. 

For years, Dream played the whole shitty-jobs roulette to support his art, but ever since he was kidnapped and spent years in a glass cage in a basement, he can’t even manage that. Seriously, try explaining that kind of resumé gap to a job interviewer. When he does manage to get work, it always goes bad fast. Dream wasn’t exactly totally undamaged before, but now he feels like he's all scars.

Dream is not here by choice. He cannot imagine who would be. 

He'd gone to his old plasma center for years — till he was forced to move — in order to make ends meet. Today, he's here to fill in the glaring gap between the meager payment he got for a small watercolor last January, his savings, and a near-maxed-out credit card. (Nearly maxed out in the hasty scramble to get to a cheaper place to live. Moving was expensive. Funny how that works.) The plasma center is, in some ways, far preferable to many of the jobs he's had in the past, and it allows Dream to spend more time on his art. But it is absolutely unfathomable how anybody could pursue an eternity of this if they didn’t have to. 

Dream keeps his head down avoiding the attention of the chatty professor. He stays quiet. His cold, bony hands are tucked into his long cardigan sleeves except for when he's chugging water, nearly by the gallon. He's about 2kg from the next weight class. Unfortunately, he's lost weight since his eviction, but if he could bump the scale a little higher, it would mean a higher draw — and a slightly higher payment. He's always cold these days, so the heavy sweater isn't a hardship, and the water fills up his stomach and supplements his inadequate lunch of oatmeal and stolen sugar packets.

The first time Dream meets Professor Hob’s eyes is when they’re sliding the needle into his arm and Dream has to turn his head away sharply. Dream was never afraid of needles — not until that night when someone (he later learned it was a twisted old cult leader named Burgess) stuck him with… something that knocked him out cold and he woke up in the basement. These days, although he's done this many times before, when the metal pricks his skin, Dream still lays frozen like an ice sculpture as his heart pounds against his chest.

He has sold his vintage leather jacket, his treasured collection of elegant handmade cloaks (there was a theatrical phase, it’s complicated), and most of his books (the shelves of his sparse apartment now hold only a few cheap volumes of blank paper for his sketches). But it wasn’t enough. 

Burgess was years ago, but Dream's life still lies in ruins.

He does not like being here. But it seems that this — his body's materials, his very essence — is the only thing of value he has to offer the world. This most basic biological function, the blood pumping through his veins, is all anyone wants of him now.

So despite his fear, he lets them bleed him.

Hob is usually quiet when he’s hooked up to the machine. He'll chat in the line and in the lobby and at the vitals check, but on the donation floor, he politely minds his own business. Here, everyone retreats into their own world, usually scrolling on their phone or staring at the clock. People don't usually feel like talking when they’ve got a needle in their arm. And Hob’s an extrovert, not an asshole. 

But today, the man beside him looks over, and Hob can’t wrench his eyes away. The man is thin and sheet white and his eyes are huge and watery over jutting cheekbones. His lips might be trembling.

“Alright there?” Hob asks kindly. 

The man’s head twitches. It might be a nod.

Hob has seen people pass out here before. With the way this guy looks, Hob’s mildly shocked that anyone thought it was a good idea to drain him of vital fluids. But the people here know their business. His numbers must be under control, or else he wouldn’t’ve been allowed in.

Still, under control doesn’t necessarily mean ok.

So Hob gently keeps the conversation going with the man. Dream, he learns and his heart flutters at the name. He weirdly doesn’t seem bothered by Hob’s donation floor chatter (maybe because he's too bothered by the needle in his arm to notice anything else). Dream doesn’t even pull out a phone. He seems to hang on Hob’s every word of small talk. 

“I can shut up if you’d life,” Hob offers when he realizes with a shock that he’s babbled through the entire first draw. “It just seemed like you needed some distraction.”

“Please.” Dream blushes slightly. Well, at least his skin is getting some blood. “Tell me about… your experiences. What… have you been doing?”

Huh? 

What has he been doing? That’s vague. 

But if anyone can find a way to fill a vague prompt, it’s Hob. So he chatters some more about the union organizing at his university and a ridiculous new scheduling system for the adjuncts — it’s like they’ve taken all the worst aspects of on-demand scheduling from the fast food industry and applied it to higher education for some incomprehensible reason. One of his colleagues had a class — and £2000 of pay — cancelled two days before term started. But not everything’s bad. Hob knows the students are planning a walkout next week, which he fully supports and has already adjusted his lessons to compensate for the lost time. Also, there’s a new pizza place on campus which is rather decent.

He really is just rambling. 

But Dream seems to need it. He hasn’t looked down at his arm once, and Hob’s certain that’s for the best.

Dream has to admit that the insufferable professor has made the time go by a lot quicker. He’s shocked when they’re sliding the needle out of his arm, then wrapping his elbow up, and he’s free to go. He mumbles what he hopes is a polite goodbye to Hob, who is also finishing up, and then practically stumbles out into the rain.

He clutches his cardigan around him and pulls up his hood and plods away from the center. This place is closer to the new apartment than his previous plasma center, but it’s still a half hour hike home. The buses take even longer — his crappy apartment isn't exactly on a convenient route. But at least walking saves him a few quid.

“Hey!” 

The voice makes Dream flinch. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a car slow down beside him, and his heart ratchets up in his chest. He doesn’t look over, only hunches deeper into his wet cardigan and walks faster.

“Hey, Dream!”

Oh.

Belatedly, Dream recognizes Hob’s voice. He finally looks up to see Hob looking out his car window and smiling despite the rain streaming onto his face.

“Looks like you could use a ride!” Hob jerks his head toward the passenger’s seat. “Hop in!”

Dream stares at the kindly professor. Who offers a stranger a ride in their car? Sure, Dream spent the last forty five minutes listening to every mundane detail of this guy's super normie professional life, but they still barely know each other! And if Hob actually knew Dream — a failed starving artist and all around fuckup, consistently two minutes away from homelessness — there’s no way he’d want to associate with him outside of the polite minimum of chatter at the center. 

So what the fuck is Hob playing at?

“Come on, you’ll get soaked!” Hob prods.

Fear strikes Dream, and he recoils, stumbling away from the vehicle.

“Dream? You alright there?”

But Dream is already running, tearing off through the rain. He cuts through a shitty neglected park, climbs a fence and gets chased by a rottweiler through a closed off parking lot, and dashes across a highway — almost getting hit twice.  He doesn’t stop running until he’s home.

Or, well, what passes for his home now. 

Dream dries off, makes some tea, and grabs a sketchbook. His hand shakes as he doodles, but the process calms him and grounds his mind. 

Then, as usual, after his fear begins to ebb, he feels stupid.

His mind replays the afternoon's events. Hob’s smile is brilliant in his memory. Though the initial snatches of overheard conversation were insufferable — not to mention incomprehensible — his recitation of the mundane details of life had been oddly calming. And, though Dream had perhaps not appreciated it in the moment, Hob had seemed genuinely concerned. 

The more Dream thinks about it, the stupider he feels. Worse, he feels ashamed. How rude to run from Hob, who’d only wanted to help! 

The scar tissue that has proliferated over Dream’s heart has truly damaged his ability to function among decent people. That night, he lays awake for a long time thinking about this. He should probably just never go back to the plasma center. He can’t imagine facing Hob after reacting so poorly to his kindness.

But the next day, after he scribbles up the month’s expenses and tries to make the math work, Dream realizes he has no choice. 

The day after that, he’s plodding back to the plasma center.

The feelings of shame are almost overwhelming, and Dream slouches in with his head lowered, shoulders hunched, and eyes averted from everyone. 

“Dream!” Hob’s voice is like a warm bubble bath. “Hope you got home alright.”

Dream can barely look at him, but Hob's smile is like a ray of sun on Dream’s face. There’s a cloud of concern shadowing his eyes, but he’s otherwise as cheery as ever.

“Forgive me. I…” Dream cannot explain. 

“Look, I’m sorry. I totally overstepped,” Hob says. “I know I can be a bit much, and I shouldn’t’ve pushed.”

Dream cannot believe that Hob is apologizing to him. 

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Hob said gingerly, “was that your first time? It’s just you didn’t seem particularly pleased with the whole process. I thought I’d likely never see you in here again.”

“It was not. I have done this…” Too many times to count. “…frequently.” Dream finds the prospect of explaining the complexity of his situation too daunting. But he is touched by Hob’s concern. “I do not enjoy the process.”

Hob makes a sympathetic noise.

“But I did enjoy…” Dream pauses. What the fuck is he doing? Hob’s been kind enough to overlook his rudeness; Dream should just shut up and leave him alone. But maybe Dream has been alone too long, been too long without a sympathetic ear, because he keeps on mumbling, “I enjoyed hearing about your university. With the union… and the pizza… and everything.”

Impossibly, Hob brightens even further. “I could take you! The pizza really is delicious—Oh, shit, sorry, I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” The cloud of concern is back as he takes in Dream’s downcast gaze. “I’m being too much. Sorry, I didn't mean to push!”

“No, not at all. It sounds lovely. I just…” Dream shifts awkwardly. “They don’t exactly pay us enough here for going out.”

“Oh, I’ll get it!" Hob says with a wave of his hand. "It’s no problem. I’d love to take you out. You looked like you could’ve used a good meal after that last one. Have you at least eaten something so far today?” Hob tries to keep the worry out of his voice so he doesn’t sound like a mother hen. All the instructional materials are very explicit about not donating on an empty stomach, but he knows that people do what they have to. 

“I have,” Dream says honestly. His lips twitch as he takes in Hob’s worried look. But Hob's smile, even suppressed, is a beautiful thing. “Really,” Dream stresses. “Oatmeal is cheap. I've had enough to be getting on with things. But later…”

“Great!” Hob’s heart flutters, but he stamps down the feeling. The memory of Dream running from him twists at his heart. He never wants to make him afraid again. 

On the donation floor, they're next to each other again. And again Hob chatters happily about whatever he can think of to keep Dream distracted. It all seems to go well until they emerge together into the parking lot and Hob notices Dream tense as he glances at Hob’s car.

“We can hop on the bus, if you prefer,” Hob says. “The campus is just down the main line, and I've got extra passes.”

Dream blushes, and his shoulders hunch like he's ashamed. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

“It’s nothing of the sort! It saves on gas and it's good for the planet!”

At the bus stop, Hob notices the way Dream’s gaze constantly flicks around his surroundings. Even when he looks down and hunches in on himself, his eyes remain alert, as if he's still hyperaware of every movement on his periphery. Hob wants so badly to reach out and comfort him and wipe away whatever has caused him to move through life with such fear, but he doesn't dare overstep. 

Hob is glad that the pizza place is in the bustling, well-lit central food court. Dream's body relaxes somewhat, and that specific tension which Hob had notice in the parking lot doesn't return. Hob buys him a giant slice of spinach, mushroom, and feta and a sealed bottle of water, and Dream even cracks a smile.

“I apologize for my behavior,” Dream says as they find seats at a plastic table in the middle of the food court. 

“No need," Hob says. "I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“You were being kind, and I reacted… extremely.” Dream takes a deep breath and then a long sip of water.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Hob hastens to assure him, "about… whatever happened… if you don't want to."

Dream nods. He knows. Despite his annoyingly resurgent fear, he feels safe around Hob. So slowly, hesitantly, he begins to explain. 

It’s an abbreviated form of the story. Dream avoids the details of how Burgess thought he could siphon the life force from vibrant young adults. How he'd drawn a whole following into his delusion, even though he'd ultimately kept Dream for himself. How (Dream had learned later) Burgess had boasted about having a fresh young man, the font of youth, trapped in his basement — and no one had done anything, whether because he was just a rich eccentric who could get away with a "joke" like that or because he'd paid enough people off. He didn't tell Hob how the elder Burgess hadn't ever been held accountable because he'd died before any of it had come to light, and the younger Burgess had fallen into a coma. A care worker had ultimately taken a wrong turn, stumbled into the basement, and that was how the police were finally called to Fawney Rig. But since no one was alive (or conscious) for a big, thrilling trial, the entire ordeal just fizzled quietly into the background.

It’s not the whole story. But it's enough. 

Hob’s face grows progressively more horrified. He's abandoned his half-eaten pesto and prosciutto slice. It sits cold in front of him now. He feels sick.

“I make art,” Dream says into the silence. “It is not lucrative, but I can work when and how I wish. I have not… had a great deal of luck with traditional employment. Especially not since… those events.”

“Right. Of course." Hob's voice cracks over his words. For once, he's struggling to extract his usual chatter. "Can’t imagine anything’s easy after that.” 

Hob doesn't touch the remainder of his pizza, but Dream polishes his off. He looks oddly relaxed now, as if, in the telling, some of the weight of the horrifying story has slid from his body. 

“I’d love to see your art,” Hob says on the bus back to the plasma center parking lot. Belatedly, he cringes at the presumption, wondering if it's too much, knowing now that he really ought not to push his interest onto a bloody kidnap victim.

“I have a website,” Dream says, bringing it up on his phone and showing the address to Hob. Then he stands, though they're only about halfway back to the center. “This stop is closer to my home. I… Thank you. For the meal. And the kind ear. Perhaps… I will see you next Tuesday?”

“Of course,” Hob says, and a little bubble of happiness rises in his chest. “It’s Tuesday and Thursday for me until the schedule changes next term.”

Over the next few weeks, Hob isn’t always next to Dream on the donation floor. But he asks Dream to tell him about his latest project afterwards, so Dream has something to think about during the donation. And also so that it's not just Hob chattering away at their post-donation dinners. Which are happening regularly now. Sometimes they go for pizza, sometimes a good curry or a hefty shawarma; Hob introduces Dream to the pubs with the best (and biggest) burgers. He knows all the places to get a solid, filling dinner, not because he's concerned about getting his money's worth but because Hob just enjoys a good meal and he's more than happy to help put some meat on Dream's bones.

And get the artist to open up. 

Slowly, Dream begins to do just that.

It starts to seem like Dream feels safe with Hob. When they're out, he stands close to Hob, as if comforted by his presence. His shoulders begin to straighten out, and he hunches less when they're together. Dream's gaze is still alert, but it rarely sinks to the floor now, and his eyes don't flick fearfully around so much when he's with Hob. 

Three weeks after they meet, Dream lets Hob drive him home.

Two weeks after that, he invites Hob inside to see his current projects. 

Hob knew Dream was a good artist from the first glimpse at his website, but seeing the bright canvases in person is just stunning. The glistening abstractions echo the swirling galaxies and deep, black voids of the universe. The colors blend in fantastic points of light or unearthly flames or brilliant streaks across the sky. The textures — flattened out in the photos — give an impression of looking into entire worlds. The brushstrokes are mountain ranges and deep ocean trenches and shaded valleys where, somehow, Hob can imagine entire populations living and thriving within the fibers of the canvas.

"The, erm… the university has spaces for community exhibits," Hob says, struggling to bring himself out of the captivating images as if wading out of a dream. How appropriate. "I could look into that, see if you could do a show. Maybe the Art Department could have you in for a lecture, too — you could talk about the real-life challenges of being an artist, the actual work involved, the practical—" Oh no. He's being too much again. "I mean, of course, you don't have to! I won't say anything without—"

Dream's arms are around Hob's shoulders before Hob can even turn away from the canvas. His wild, dark hair is tucked against Hob's cheek as Dream tightens his grip.

Hob's hands slowly move to Dream's back. He can't speak for a long moment. Instead, his hands gently rub against the thin material of Dream's shirt. Hob can feel the edges of his spine and ribcage, but Dream also feels softer than Hob would've imagined the first time he saw him, pale and shaking, weeks ago.   

"Thank you," Dream murmurs. He steps back, and his gaze lowers, but now it's not filled with fear and sadness. He's smiling shyly. "If you could do that, I-I… would be grateful."

Hob can do that!

He's in Medieval History himself, but he's friends with half the Art History department due to overlapping lectures, the occasional historical consultation or spontaneous debate, and just being a friendly guy. And the Art History people know a few of the more curious, historically-aware Art people due to various collaborations and consultations on the evolution of modern styles and techniques and the socio-political contexts of artistic development. 

Hob, with his talent for striking up conversation, takes less than a week to find several interested parties. And once he shows them Dream's work, everyone is extremely eager to invite the talented local artist to campus!

The next time Hob walks into the plasma center, Dream is already beaming. His smile is bright enough to singlehandedly banish the residual storm cloud that always follows Hob over the threshold.

"I hit the next weight class," Dream says. He leans subtly into Hob's side.

"Good on you!" Hob says, beaming right back. When he tells Dream about the interest in his work, Dream's arm snakes around his waist for a subtle but firm half-hug.

At Dream's first show (he's already scheduled in with both the Art and Art History Departments — the latter wants to address the reality of artist's lives across time — and, hell, Hob's even lobbying his own History Department to get Dream in as part of a series on creative work throughout history), Hob is enamored with one canvas he hasn't seen before. From a distance it's a dark oil-slick abstraction with iridescent slashes of green and blue, but up close, Hob can see the feathery edges of wings.

He cannot explain the sudden, confusing wave of sorrow-joy-awe it provokes deep in his chest.

"Departed souls," Dream says softly, coming up behind Hob, "come back as ravens. Or so it is believed by some."

Hob sniffs and tries to control the itch in his eyes as he turns toward Dream. "Oh?"

"I painted this one soon after I regained my freedom. It felt like a part of me had not survived the imprisonment. It was… necessary, perhaps, to lose something in order to regain my life, but it hurt nonetheless."

"Oh." Hob doesn't know what else to say, but he reaches out, gingerly wrapping an arm around Dream, waiting for any hint of refusal, but Dream turns into him and clutches him tight, and Hob's arms tighten around him in turn. "It's beautiful," he finally says, his words muffled against Dream's hair. 

"I think now… maybe… some part of me that had not survived… has come back. In some form."

And Hob is gone. Tears leak down into Dream's hair. Hob clutches at him for support, but he can feel himself shaking, and now it's Dream rubbing soothing patterns into his back and tightening the embrace.

When they finally pull back, Dream wipes Hob's cheeks with his palm. He tilts his head in a silent question.

"Just… death," Hob says. "It's bloody stupid, isn't it? In all its forms. Necessary, maybe but stupid. I don't want any part of it."

Hob laughs at himself, as if the brash declaration itself is stupid. 

But Dream only nods; he can see that there are deep forces moving beneath Hob's usually cheery exterior. 

On the way home, he listens as Hob finally opens up about his wife and the unborn babe. After a decade, Hob says, the wound has closed up, he has "moved on" in all the ways one is supposed to move on, he has a new — and rather wonderful — life. But the scar will remain forever. It still hurts, but he's grateful for the life he had and the new one he's grown into.

"Shit," Hob says suddenly.

Dream looks around and realizes they haven't driven back to his own crappy apartment building. 

"Sorry." Hob wipes his eyes. "I've blabbered so much, I wasn't paying attention. Driven myself right home."

"It's alright," Dream says. He peeks over at Hob shyly. "I've never seen your place."

Hob blinks at him for a moment — Dream's heart thuds against his throat — and then, despite the tear tracks still drying on his cheeks, Hob's face breaks into a brilliant smile. 

"Are you hungry?" Hob asks. "I can actually cook quite well. It's not always pub food and pizza."

With perfect timing, Dream's stomach gives an almost painful rumble. "I'm starving."

Inside, Hob cooks a delectable dinner. Dream watches Hob move about the kitchen, chattering happily — he's already inviting Dream back over for brunch and maybe a Netflix marathon and Christmas. And Dream's mind is blossoming with new paintings, these ones bright with twining paths and colliding galaxies and shared dreams.

Hob is vaguely aware that he might be babbling into too much territory again, but when he sees Dream watching him with that dreamy sparkly in his eyes, his heart is just too full to care. As they eat together, he lets himself just be excited and not worry about reining himself in. Truly, he might not mind an eternity of this.

And Dream is thinking much the same thing.

[hiddencityhijinksau]

I'm totally gonna create art for this - already have - but in the meantime I should probably explain this concept lol.

So basically, in one way or another, the turtles each stumble upon the Hidden City at around age 8 to 10, and decide to keep it a secret from their bros >:3

Leo is the first one, technically, when he goes out to explore NYC when he's eight, and discovers Run of the Mill Pizza, because I'm obsessed with the Uncle Hueso idea, but he doesn't go to the actual city until much later, though he knows of it's existence.

I actually kinda started writing this starting bit? It's totally unedited and missing bits but whatever, I'll include it under the cut.

Leo peered up at the manhole cover from the bottom of the ladder, imagining what he would see if he climbed up and lifted it. The young turtle mutant didn't get long to think about it, hearing his brothers call for him.

"I'm coming!" The 8 year old ran to catch up with his family, sending one last considering look at the rungs of the ladder.

Later that night, after his brothers were asleep and his father was dozing in front of the TV, the red-eared slider crept out of bed, utilizing all the stealth skills he'd learned from the lessons Splinter thought he hadn't been paying attention to. Once safely out of the Lair, Leo practically sprinted down the route to the manhole cover he'd spotted earlier. There were entrances closer to the Lair, of course, but this way, if he got caught sneaking back in he could say he was just wandering around the sewers.

Reaching the top of the ladder, the slider paused for a moment, savoring the adrenaline of what he was about to do. Splinter never even let them explore the sewers without him, nevermind letting Leo venture out on his own. And now he was about to go Topside!

Shoving at the metal disc with all his strength, Leo cautiously poked his head out, eyes wide to take it all in. Of course, this wasn't his first time on the surface – Splinter had taken all the boys with him once or twice for scavenging trips, especially when they were younger. But now, Leo was here on his own! This was so exciting!!

The slider climbed out of the manhole, tugging the cover almost back into place, but leaving a small gap so he could get in later, as he wasn't sure how to lift it from the top side.

Bouncing in place, Leo looked around the alley he'd surfaced in with a wide grin, wondering what he might find.

Hmm. There wasn't much in this alleyway. In fact, it was pretty much empty. Nothing but a few scraps of cardboard and a colourful graffiti tag decorated the concrete.

Well, Leo didn't come here just to hang out in one measly alleyway! Full of confidence, the eight-year-old marched to the end of the alley, pulling up the hood of his sweater as he rounded the corner.

Even with the late hour, there were still people on the streets, eyes focused on getting to their destination. No one paid attention to the small figure in a battered green hoodie hurrying along, sticking close to the wall.

Leo ducked into the next alley, heart pounding. Okay, so that was a lot more nerve-wracking without Dad or Raph than he'd thought it would be.

Luckily, he realized as he took in his surroundings, this alleyway was much more interesting than the one he'd come out of. There was a huge dumpster on one side, and the walls were covered in graffiti. Even better, the far end of the alley was actually a corner, meaning there was more to explore!

Leo started poking around, kicking at the small piles of trash and inspecting the locked dumpster. Not finding anything cool, he moved on, admiring the graffiti.

He ended up turning two more corners while following the trail of graffiti, and found himself facing the street again. The constant something of spray paint broke off at the corner, meaning the skull painting in this alley stood out sharply.

Bla blah blah some yokai open the door to run of the Mill while Leo watches from behind a dumpster or smth

Leo's eyes sparkled. Was that actual magic?! Donnie said magic was impossible, but Donnie also said it was impossible for the two of them to be twins, and Leo knew that wasn't true. The turtle bounced forward with glee, eager to see where those people had gone, only to stop short when the portal closed in his face.

Leo frowned. Clearly, he just hadn't been fast enough. Wait, what was that gesture they used to open it? Leo lifted his hand, trying to mimic the pose he'd seen, and wiggled it with great concentration.

Nothing happened.

Huffing, the boy tried again. And again. And was glaring at the wall, ready to shout at it to let him in, when he heard someone approaching the alleyway. Eyes lighting up with an idea, Leo darted behind the nearest dumpster and peeked out, watching carefully.

Sure enough, another mutant-like person entered the alley, heading for the graffiti tag. Leo stared hard at the gesture they made, but instead of waiting and trying to copy it, he darted in behind them as soon as the portal opened.

As soon as he was inside, Leo stopped. And stared.

There were so many people! And none of them were human.

"This is the coolest place I've ever seen," Leo whispered to himself in awe. He slowly started walking further in, craning his neck to stare at every little detail.

So entranced was he, that he didn't see the bony figure approaching until he nearly face-planted into their suit.

"Where are your parents, little pepino?"

Leo froze and looked up at the sound of the voice. Towering over him, arms crossed, was a frowning... skeleton?!

Instantly forgetting to feel guilty at being caught, Leo blurted out, "are you dead?!" His eyes were wider than they'd been all evening, he was sure. Because, come on, that was a walking, talking, skeleton man!!!

The aforementioned skeleton man, somehow, raised an eyebrow. "No, I am not dead. Have you never seen a skeleton yokai before?"

"No," Leo responded, eyes still wide. "What's a yokai?"

"Que pasa con este niño," the yokai muttered under his breath, then continued in a normal tone, "Yokai is what we are. You, me, and everyone in this restaurant is a yokai."

"Oh. Hey, what was that language you were talking in?"

The yokai looked at him weirdly, but Leo really did want to know! He'd only said one sentence but it sounded so cool! Leo already knew he wanted to learn it.

"Spanish. Why are you here, niño?"

"Uhhhhhh... Dad... sent me?" Leo cringed a little at the blatant lie, and decided to distract him with another question. "Can you say something in Spanish?!"

The yokai sighed. "Tell me your name and I'll consider it."

He beamed. "I'm Leo! What's your name?"

"You can call me Señor Hueso."

"Whoa, is your name in Spanish?! Wait wait wait you gotta say something in Spanish now! I told you my name!"

"Deberías estar en le cama, tortuguita."

"Coooool! What does that mean?"

"It means 'you should be in bed, little turtle'. Let's go, out, time for you to go home." Hueso began pushing at Leo's shoulders, nudging him towards the door.

"Whaaaat? Come on, you can't kick me out! I just got here!" Leo dug his heels in, refusing to be pushed.

"This is a restaurant, not a daycare. I do not have time to be babysitting lost children. Out!" With one final shove, Señor Hueso let go of Leo and prepared to shut the portal.

The turtle mutant stumbled and whirled around as soon he was free. "Wait! You're just gonna let a child wander around New York alone? At night? Isn't that illegal?"

"Well, since you won't tell me where your parents are..." Hueso trailed off with a raise of his eyebrow, waiting to see if Leo would offer any more information.

Leo huffed in defeat. He didn't want to admit it, but he was getting tired, as it was already far past his usual bedtime. "Fine, fine, I'm going! But I'll be back tomorrow!"

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

Leo did in fact come back the next day. Hueso wasn't there when Leo scampered in behind a weird frog yokai, so the slider was quick to scurry off into the restaurant, hoping he could hang out for a little while before Hueso found him and kicked him out again.

To be continued...?

[another-goblin]

2.1 Spoilers, Aventurine analysis

I regret to say that I enjoyed Aventurine's story much less than I should have. And not because it was bad, but because it was spoiled for me by people who don't tag their leaks, mostly fanartists. People call it one of the best stories in the game so far, and I usually love emotional stuff like that, but instead I was just going through the motions. 

Yeah, child Aventurine, Aventurine in shakles, whatever, I've been forcefed all this stuff a month ago, I already saw dozens of arts of it against my will, let's move on. To all these artists - I hope not adding one little "hsr leaks" to your tags was worth it.

(speaking of which - my current goal is to unhate that new cowboy guy before he actively enters the story. Currently, I can't stand the sight of him, and for exactly the same reason, untagged leaks. He seems like a potentially great character, and he's already quite popular. And hating a popular character isn't fun at all)

But not to be too negative, even though I weren't allowed to enjoy 2.1 story as much as it deserves, I still liked it quite a lot, and it's a testament to how well written Aventurine is. 

One of the worst things you can do to a character is to make them emotionally static. Aventurine doesn't suffer from this at all, it's shown very well in the different ways he talks to people, and that's what I wanted to talk about.

The first way is what I call "slimey creep." It's the way he mostly talks in 2.0 to TB and most other characters, and he's quite antogonistic and unlikeable, probably because it's his goal to seem antogonistic and unlikeable.

Second is the fear and desperation that's always under the surface, carefully hidden, what his future self talks about - we can see it when Sunday does his harmony thing on him.

And third, my favorite, is what I call "disarming sincerity." Not that he's neseccerily insincere in his other modes, but this is his dippest self, hidden under all the layers of pain, fear, and cynicism. He shows it when he talks to his younger self (btw I don't usually go there, but it made me think that he'd be great with children.)

We also see him using it for self-defense - when Ratio goes too far in 2.0, he retorts with this seemingly naive "I didn't go to school and my parents "left" me", and Ratio immediately apologizes.

But most interestingly, he uses it with Ratio, most of the time they spend together in 2.1 up until the "betrayal.". 

It might be a deliberate ploy to manipulate him, trying to seem more likeable, to assure his loyalty (Ratio's reaction to "I didn't go to school" showed that he's quite susceptible to it).

It might come from his realization that the end is near, and why not just be yourself and have some fun for a change.

Or, of course, it might be because he actually enjoys Ratio's company and feels safe enough to show this hidden vulnerable side of himself.

The truth is probably somewhere in between.

They both joke and bicker (with Ratio remembering from time to time that he's supposed to show his "hatred" of Aventurine), and they both seem to really enjoy it. They argue about birds, Aven gets excited about the sandpit, and so on.

Let's take the joke Sparkle made about Aventurine and Sunday (about undressing and kneeling down) - it's mean and maybe even cruel, considering certain things from Aventurine's past that weren't directly implied but can be assumed, probably. And let's compare it with the joke he himself makes about him and Sunday ("now that I'm tiny I can hide on Sunday's clothes and spy on the Family, hehe, uwu"). It's a joke you'd expect from a child. Or from an adult who feels comfortable enough in your presence that they aren't afraid to seem childish or silly.

So yeah I'd really like to see them interact in a less stressful situation after these events. tbh I think they'd talk in more or less the same way. Aventurine already feels as safe and open around Ratio as he can allow himself to. And Ratio is too rigid in the way he speaks, he won't change that easily. 

In defiance of a tired stereotype of an eccentric genius who is bad with people, Ratio seems quite good at understanding them. What he's bad at is expressing his feelings in a "convencional" way.

(he only sounds sincere and emotional when he talks about abstract matters he's passionate about, like his little speech to Screwllum at the end of his quest. He probably sounds like that when he talks about science too.)

But when it comes to his feelings towards people he becomes even more formal and strict (remember his messages from the valentine's day event on twitter)

I can imagine his thought process after he leaves Aventurine in 2.1.

"I verbally expressed my concern to him, which should reassure him of my loyalty and support. Furthermore, I provided him with an insightful and reassuring message in written form. So he should be fine."

btw speaking of that note, when I read it, I can imagine Ratio saying "Do stay alive" aloud. But I can't imagine how he'd say the next line, wishing him luck. I mean, he can't say it in his usual "I'm tired of idiots" way of speaking, right? Something to look forward to.

[shycroissanti]

Questions for Irina, Kinshin, Kenta, Satoshi, Alex (I FORGOT HIS REAL NAME IM SORRY MY SON 😭😭😭😭) and Sebastian (AND YOU! YES YOU, YOU CRAZY CROISSANT!!!!):

Do any of you guys like to decorate things randomly? Like water bottles, laptops (just pretend they know what some if these are lol), phones, desks, books basically any surface that can be decorated with things like stickers, paint pens or normal pens, tape stuff like that!

And follow up question for those who don’t:

If I were to give them a sheet of stickers, what would they do with them?

And for those who do decorate things:

Give me some items I should decorate with stickers. I have over 200 (around 300 I think! I’ve used some) stickers to use up 💀

(I’m the type of person who spends $72.00 [AUS dollars] on stickers without thinking where I’ll put them)

What an amazing ask!!! XD✨️

Well, starting with Irina and Kishin:

To sum up: Irina likes to decorate things that are important to her by putting lots of stickers on it. Kishin also likes to decorate things with different colored pens and some stickers on his notebooks and art supplies (which is exactly what I, le croissant, do. Especially the cover of my notebooks/sketchbooks and pencil cases. These are the only things I decorate, the rest of the stickers I keep and leave as a small collection, without knowing where to put them. xD).

As for Alex (or Akio :3), he probably likes to collect stickers, he just keeps them and likes to look at them. Kenta has already ridiculed him for this and stole all of Alex's stickers, but relax, Irina solved that problem xD

And now Satoshi and Sebastian

Sebastian would certainly make a mess of all this and Satoshi doesn't have much patience to decorate his things, so these two start a war between them, sticking the stickers and drawing on each other's faces lol

Le tags💖

@c00kietin @larz-barz @knyinfinity @demonslayerdoodles @night-mince10000000000000000001 @scaredyfurry2 @pinkwisteria @giyubabe @pulim-v @nothingtoseehere1-2-3 @tor-the-tortilla @zenitsustherapist @ayunakatsukiwolfhashira @sunbrokenswords