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

[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

[rink3]

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

[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.

[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.

[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

[cramathonn]

Masterpost

Status: CLOSED!

Hello, dear stranger on Tumblr. You may call me Cramathonn or Cram. I am just a silly guy who wants to write about his favorite characters casually, accepting requests every now and again. I prefer to be referred to with he/they/it pronouns, eventually the neos bomb/bombself.

Instead of sharing the fandoms of which I will most likely write/yap about, I will share the characters in specific, for I find it easier and less stressful for myself. That way, I won't feel obligated to write for charactes I'm not that interested in.

I will write for gender neutral and male readers only. However, when requesting nsfw scenarios, please do specify if the reader is afab or amab, solely for clarification and to make my writing experience easier. If not specified, I shall try my utmost to make it as generalized as possible.

However, if you desire to see some of my art, please go back to the main blog, @cram-cram ! I have recently wiped its history so uhhh yeah. An archive blog is tagged on the intro post if you wanna see my old stuff tho!

Without further ado, back to this blog and the info about what I write:

Green means go

★Fluff, angst and NSFW are all game

★Gore is on the table (be aware for my gore writing is VERY explicit)

★In NSFW content, majority of kinks are ok, the ones I won't do will be specified later

★Platonic and romantic scenarios

★Poly relationships!

★Monster x human

★Heavy subjects such as abuse and mental health (all with their due care and respect)

Red means stop

† Dubcon and noncon are a no go

† Watersports and age regression are a red in NSFW (if more surface, they will be added here)

† Very big age gaps! No thank you!

† Incest (not even stepcest)

† Character x character (more of a "don't feel like it" type of thing)

As for writing styles, you might get a drabble, a headcanon or a one shot. It all depends on my mood and how packed that week/day is for me. Please be aware that I am a college student and have a job, so I will be very very slow with publishing stuff.

Sensitive subjects will be properly tagged, so please pay attention as to not trigger yourself.

Now, finally, the list of characters I am currently obsessed with and desperately want to write about/read about. The sources to which they belong to will be in parentheses.

The menu

Billy Kid (ZZZ)

Anton Ivanov (ZZZ)

Grace Howard (ZZZ)

Alexandrina Sebastiane (ZZZ)

Seth Lowell (ZZZ)

Qingyi (ZZZ)

Piper (ZZZ)

Pompey (ZZZ)

Lighter (ZZZ)

Kafka Hibino (KN8)

Reno Ichikawa (KN8)

Iharu Furuhashi (KN8)

Meursault (Limbus Company)

Heathcliff (Limbus Company)

Gregor (Limbus Company)

Rodion (Limbus Company)

Outis (Limbus Company)

Welt Yang (HSR)

Kafka (HSR)

Gallagher (HSR)

Kuro Kiryu (ES)

Rinne Amagi (ES)

Scar (Wuthering Waves)

Yuanwu (Wuthering Waves)

Yinlin (Wuthering Waves)

Please keep in mind that I haven't met Yuanwu in the story yet and that I haven't finished the main story of Wuthering Waves! So those two characters are the ones I am least familiar with.

These are the characters for now. This list will be constantly updated, with additions and removals always being a possibility, so please do keep an eye out! If you want to check if I write for a character, don't be afraid to ask! I tend to be rather forgetful, so ask away.

If you simply want my take on a headcanon you have about one of the aforementioned characters, please do send them! I love debating about headcanons and sharing my thoughts (I am a yapper at heart)

There will be no masterlist! However, the posts will be tagged by fandom, characters and writing style. So, if you came looking for specifics, clicking on my profile and using the desired tag should filter everything properly!

As to differ random yaps from requests, here are the following tags you should look for:

#yappingdemon → for headcanon debates and just me being absolutely deranged/insane about something (mainly a character or game)

#storytellerdemon → for actual writing, be it headcanons, scenarios, drabbles or oneshots

This masterpost will be tagged as both yappingdemon and storytellerdemon, to mark the beginning of both categories in the blog.

Thank you for your attention and for considering requesting from this blog in the first place! Yapping request shall always be open, however request status will be updated both here and in random posts, so please do keep an eye out.

I wish you a pleasant timezone

- Anxious Demon

[fictionallystable]

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games)

Relationship: Phillip Graves (Call of Duty)/Reader

Characters: Reader, Phillip Graves (Call of Duty), Original Male Character(s)

Additional Tags: Author Has Played Call of Duty, Childhood Friends, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Civilian!Reader, Pre-Canon, Jealousy, Angst, Kissing, Mild Smut, Time Skips, Brother's Best Friend, Toxic Family Dynamics, Eventual Smut, Drama, Misunderstandings, Getting Together, Minor Age Gap

Words: 9,080| Chapters: 5/6

Authors: @orphancains & @collinnmckinley

Chapter 5: Reminiscence

Chapter summery: You spend more time with Phil than you expected during your visit, and more old memories and new emotions start to surface.

A/N: Apologies for the long wait! Here is another longer chapter. Next chapter should be the final one in this story. We hope you've been enjoying it so far. ////

the fic can also be found on AO3

tags will be updated!!

When you woke up, your eyes still felt swollen from crying the night before. But you trudged out of Matty’s room, surprised to hear voices already from the kitchen of your parents’ home. You were expecting to see your mom in her same old bathrobe and your dad sipping his usual black coffee as he read the paper. But instead you saw Matty making fluffy pancakes at the stove and Elaine cutting some strawberries. 

“Mornin’, sleepy head,” Matty said when turned and saw you. “Pancakes are almost done.”

You rubbed your eyes. “Good morning,” you said to both him and Elaine, who smiled back. “Where’s mom and dad?”

Matty placed a plate with a tall stack of pancakes on the table and took a sip of his coffee before answering you. “They went to the beach house a few days early. To clear their minds a bit.”

You frowned. “What? Why? I thought they were gonna stay the day with us and catch up.”

“Because if either of them had greeted you this morning it would’ve been another shouting match.”

Elaine came up to the table and shot Matty a pointed look, as if telling him ‘You could’ve explained it a bit more gently,’ before setting down the bowl of fruit. 

You groaned and sat down at your usual seat at the kitchen table. You let out a long sigh wishing you could crawl back to bed and that this was all a nightmare you still hadn’t woken from. You weren’t sure if you were sighing from defeat, shame, or even relief from learning your parents had fled from their house because of last night. You scratched your head in frustration, remembering the furious look in your father’s eyes and the disappointing glazing your mother’s all night just a few hours prior. 

Matty shrugged but still smiled his usual relaxed smile. “It’s alright, that just means there are more pancakes for us three, so let’s dig in.” 

Elaine pursed her lips, feeling the awkwardness begin to build in the air. “Did you want coffee, [Y/N]?” Elaine asked. 

“Yes thank you, with some milk please,” you replied, and she replaced the mug with a glass instead. Usually you were excited to eat some of your brother’s famous fluffy signature pancakes, with chocolate chips throughout the soft dough. But the headache still lingered in your temples from last night and your eyes still burned from the tears. 

Above all, you felt embarrassed for what happened the night before. You knew it was neither your fault nor Matty’s. If anyone was to blame, it was your father and Richard conspiring a surprise proposal on you without any regard for your actual wishes, or Matty’s for that matter. And you knew Matty, even after all these years, was still protective over you. Still, you realized that your relationship exploding overnight had also upended and shattered a night that was supposed to be for him and Elaine. You felt like you once again felt like the little sister who brought unnecessary drama to his life.

But your family life had possibly never been this messy before. You’d bickered with your father about trying to make more friends in high school and of taking your studies beyond art more seriously. But the fury that reddened his face and made him grab and shake you was something you’d never seen. You only hoped that somehow things could get better between you all by the time you were going to meet up with them at the beach house in several days. You hoped it would just be the four of you, plus Elaine, at the beach house. You always dreaded when your social butterfly of a father would invite other families to join along during your beach trips. But for once, you prayed others would be invited to melt some of the bitterness and tension that you were confident you’d run into once you entered the house.

You pondered deeply before taking a sip of the orange juice and grabbing a few pancakes from the tower that your brother had practically constructed at the center of the table. Already he was digging in, dousing his pancakes with nutella and syrup. But he took a break from wolfing down his breakfast to continue his conversation with you.

He lifted his coffee mug with the faded maroon Texas A&M University on its side, but before he took a sip, he decided to break the silence “So…. I saw you and Phil caught up with each other a bit last night too.” He took a loud sip from the mug and peered at you over the mug.

Your fork clanked against your plate. You breathed in sharply, remembering the butterflies and emotions that flooded you when you saw him. The anger, the relief, the nostalgia, and even the old adoration you always felt for him even as a kid. Along with another emotion you still couldn’t quite put your finger on. Upon seeing your reaction, your brother tried to contain the smirk that wanted to appear on his lips. 

“Yeah, he changed a lot but also didn’t change one bit.” You bit your lip, puzzled. “How’s that even possible?”

Matty chuckles with a glint in his eye, making you raise an eyebrow. “Well, little sister, that’s what happens when boys become men .”

You shot him an unamused look, almost glaring at him. Beside him you could see Elaine rolling her eyes but also holding back a grin before she ate some of her fruit. Seeing your annoyance, Matty only laughed more. 

“Something some jackasses I know of are still struggling to do,” you muttered darkly while you stabbed one of your pancakes with your fork. 

Your brother still grinned widely. “What did you guys talk about?” 

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “Nothing too amazing, Matty. Probably the same as with you. His time in the Marine Corps, some of the friends he made while there.” You tried to downplay it.

“Mhmm.” he narrowed his eyes with a smirk. 

You gulped nervously. “Anyway, can we talk about something else?”

“Sure, sure…” Your brother held up his hands, feigning defense. “We can talk about whatever, as long as you're comfortable, [Y/N].”

“Thank you, Matty.”

Elaine hummed approvingly beside him, impressed with how gentle and open he seemed to be acting with you.  

Matty cleared his throat and filled his mug with more coffee. “So, what did you think of the catering? The Mediterranean food we ordered for dinner?”

You squinted trying to remember. “It was pretty good, actually.”

“Right? I thought so too! I thought it was a great idea.”

You blinked. “Yeah…” you paused. “I guess I was surprised you guys didn’t just settle for a barbeque just because it’s summer. Where was it from?”

“Oh, it was from Calypso’s Bistro, close to the plant nursery you liked as a kid.” He said with a cheeky grin.

You furrowed your brow, wondering why he was acting so oddly. “Okay… that’s nice.”

“Phil recommended it to me.” He grinned again.

You clanked your fork again against your plate as you dropped it. He was not going to drop Phil from this breakfast conversation, was he? You glowered at him and crossed your arms. From the corner of your eye, you could see Elaine shaking her head but also holding back a laugh.

“Come on, what else did you guys talk about?” He said. “I know he talked about his work, but I’m curious about what he asked you !”

Rolling your eyes, you sighed as you poured yourself some more coffee in your mug. “I dunno, Matty! I don’t know what you want to hear! I mean, he did ask me about my designs and architecture plans. He seemed curious and interested about that!” 

Matty ogled curiously. “I’d bet he’d like the designs you worked on, you know. Maybe if he gets a building of sorts for his work one day when he retires from the military, you can design it for him.”

“Okay, that’s a big if, Matty,” you grumbled back.

“But it’s possible! Good thing you guys probably exchanged numbers, right?”

You ignored him but noticed your coffee was still black. “Could you pass the milk, Elaine?”

“Remember when Phil bought you three of those little school lunch chocolate milk cartoons because you mentioned to him that you liked them? And then his mom gave him an earful for spending so much of his allowance on that?”

Elaine was starting to have enough. “Matty, give it a res—” 

But your eyes narrowing into another glare, they widened. “Yes! I think I actually drank two of them but he and I split the third one because I was starting to get full.”

“Oh yeah! That’s how he defended himself when his mom was yelling at him. ‘Ma, we drank ‘em together after school, because we both like chocolate milk. And plus she’s Matty’s little sister.’” You both chuckled together. Suddenly, you felt the pulsing tension at your temples and behind your eyes started to melt away a little. 

“Yeah, that was something I totally forgot about. I mean, last night we did talk a little bit about when we were kids. Like, I remembered how he helped carry my books when I broke my ankle and you were stuck at baseball practice.”

“Oh yeah, you could barely use your crutches.” He snickered.

You tried to ignore that. “And we did talk a little bit about when… he left for bootcamp out of nowhere.”

Matty knew that was a sensitive nerve and he grimaced slightly before looking back down at the puddle of syrup and nutella on his plate. He knew that roadblock in the conversation might pop up but he was hoping that somehow both of you had agreed to not touch that topic. But now he was worried the two of you didn’t want to face each other again.

“But… I think both of us understand we were both kids with shitty communication skills and have moved on from that.”

At this Matty perked back up. “Really? Thank God!” He paused. “I mean, I’m glad y’all have made peace over that. I’m sure it’s a weight off both of you.”

You nodded pensively, actually agreeing with him. In spite of all the discord and pain that surfaced last night. You still felt a blackhole gaping in your chest, knowing how disappointed your parents were in you. But there was also a flickering happiness and relief that you felt when you remember that you and Phil were back on speaking terms. Maybe you could even stay in touch after this vacation…

Matty continued. “See? I mean, you and him—a-and of course me and him—go so far back. I know you maybe weren’t expecting to see him last night, but I’m glad that at least I know I can invite him to Elaine’s and my wedding.”

Elaine piped up. “You sure he’d want to come?”

You stared in confusion. Elaine noticed.

“What I mean is I know it would mean a lot to you, Matty, but he’s military. I don’t know too much about those guys, but I can’t exactly picture him being excited to put himself in a suit and bowtie for a long ceremony in a church.”

Matty shook his head. “No, no no. I know, Phil. He’d be totally happy to come. He told me himself that he would also invite me to his wedding when his time comes. I mean, come on, we're practically brothers. We’d do anything for each other. We even joked about naming our kids after each other.” 

You wanted to almost scoff at that in disbelief. “Phil with kids?” 

“Oh yeah. I know for sure Phil wants a family. He said that he wanted at least three kids.” 

You nearly staggered back at this. “Three ki—What? When did he say that?” Maybe you’d gotten so used to seeing Phil as a protective friend that the thought of him being a family man himself felt foreign to you. The image of little kids running behind Phil in a Texas backyard or him cooing at a swaddled baby in his arms was one that you’d never thought about before… but it was one that for some reason made your chest clench for a split second.

“Uhh, right after graduating from high school I think. He seemed pretty dead set on it too.” Matty replied nonchalantly as he picked up his plate, heading to the sink to rinse. 

You scoffed. “Matty, that was ages ago. He was still a kid himself then! He could’ve changed his mind since then. You never know what he might’ve seen while in the Marines and it could’ve changed his perception on his family and kids.”

Matty laughed, walking back to the kitchen table to pick up Elaine’s now empty plate too. Before he returned to the sink he bent down to look at you closer. “Never underestimate a man’s dream when he’s serious about it, [Y/N].” He turned around and continued chattering on. “Plus, the military sometimes only enforces your plan of wanting a family.”

You crossed your arms over your chest again, amused with how your brother seemed to know everything about the military now because of Phil. “Oh yeah? And how in the hell would you of all people know that? Did he tell you that himself? I doubt—”

“Actually, yes he did. Last night.” Your brother smirked at you. “And that's exactly what he said to me. Because you never know what will happen and when it will happen when you’re in combat overseas.”

You sank down on your chair, feeling a little defeated from your bickering match with your brother. You were glad he was able to catch up with Phil too. But your chest continued to strangely clench at the thought of Phil looking for a wife and planning to have a big family with them. You weren’t sure what you were expecting. That he’d always be the nice guy in the neighborhood  who’d play with you and your brother, but also treat you gently and whom you could always count on to protect you when you were playing too late outside at night?

You didn’t know how to answer. “Good for Phil”? You felt at a loss for words. You were surprised too that this conversion never appeared when you were chatting with Phil last night. But you also knew it was foolish to not realize Phil was probably dating other women all the time. He was handsome, he was charismatic and smart, and he had a successful military career. He checked off all the boxes and knew he was probably a women-magnet wherever he went. 

You felt a small pool of jealousy begin to well up in your gut. But you didn’t understand why. He had every right to date other women. Just like he had every right to date girls when he was a teenager—even if it broke your heart—and to invite them to his home, and to kiss in his pool in his parents’ backyard even if you were clueless to it all. The memories of that day suddenly flashed back. You shook yourself out of it and brought a banana slice that Elaine had cut earlier to your mouth, trying to blink the memories away from your vision. 

“Soooo…. What’re your plans for the rest of the day?”

You shook out of your reverie “I’m not sure to be honest. I’m back in town after so long—but after last night I don’t feel like doing much. So I might just stay home. Plus I have a few emails from work I need to look at—”

“No, no, no, no, no. You’re here on vacation, [Y/N]. No work. No emails.”

Elaine nodded vigorously as she added the last pancake onto her plate. “Absolutely no work.”

You groaned. “Fine. What do you want me to do today then? You’re the engaged couple whom we’re meeting in honor of, after all.”

Before answering, Matty glanced over at Elaine and gave her a knowing look, one with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Oh, we’re ain’t planning to babysit you. And you’re definitely not gonna be third-wheelin’ us. You gotta get your own plans going, lil sis.” 

Once again, you groaned and rubbed your hands over your face in frustration. “Then why bother asking me?!” You really didn’t want to leave the house. Word of Richard’s horrible from last night would’ve probably traveled across your friend and family groups. The thought of them asking you about it made your stomach churn. The idea of crawling back into bed and burying yourself in blankets was the only thing that appealed to you. But you knew that you would only lie awake in bed, staring at the ceiling fan, replaying all the horrible events from the party in your head over and over again until you went insane. 

Elaine chimed in, her soft voice catching you by surprise. She was always soft-spoken and quiet, a total opposite to Matty’s outspoken and blunt nature. You were surprised she’d be offering an idea. “Honey, didn’t Phillip say that he was staying all by himself at his parents house? Maybe [Y/N] and him could keep each other company while we go visit the bakery about our wedding cake.” 

You looked at her with wide eyes, totally baffled by that suggestion. That was something you’d expect from Matty who kept on teasing you all morning about Phil. Even Matty looked at her in bewilderment. But, holding his gaze with his fianceé’s, he mouth fell ajar as if he suddenly understood what Elaine said. As quiet as Elaine was, she always paid attention and caught small cues around her. It was one of the advantages of listening instead of constantly speaking. And she definitely noticed Matty constantly bringing up Phillip Graves throughout their breakfast with his little sister.

“Oh! That’s right. Yeah, I’m sure Phil would be more than happy to catch up with you. He’s actually kind of on the same boat as you. You both have been living out-of-town for so long. Y’all would be a good pair—t-to spend the day together and see how the city’s changed.”

Elaine nodded, a small smile on her rosy lips. “I obviously didn’t grow up with y’all, so I only know anything about your past from what you’ve said, but you and him seem to still have a lot of chemistry from when you were kids.”

You wanted to blush. Maybe even disagree and meekly explain you were just making small talk and being polite with each other. Instead, your thoughts were interrupted when your brother said, “Well, we’re gonna go wash up and get ready to head out. We made an appointment with a wedding cake business the town over.”

Oh . You were hoping you could spend the day with them. You rarely got to see Matty due to your work. Usually you could only catch up during Christmas, Thanksgiving, maybe for a birthday or for a special Fourth of July party your parents would throw every couple of years when they were in the mood. You also wanted to catch up with Elaine. As a child, you always wanted a sister. And she was like the sister you never had. Growing up, you struggled making friends, sticking instead to becoming a shadow behind Matty and Phil when they would hang out after school. Usually, you watched as they played video games or played basketball, drawing in your sketchbook when they didn’t invite you to join in. As a younger girl, you did play with dolls with some girls. But it was harder to make friends once you got intensely passionate about your art. Yet, Elaine seemed sweet enough to form a friendship with. 

“Then, after that, I wanna show Elaine around town a little more. We’ll probably be home maybe for a late dinner. So until then, try to keep busy, alright? No emails! No work.”

You raised your hands up in defense. “No emails,” you repeated.

“Maybe give Phil a call. He can keep you busy while we’re out.”

You rolled your eyes, averting your eyes in embarrassment early enough to miss the smirk on Matty’s lips. It was one that made Elaine want to roll her own playfully, but she giggled quietly instead to herself. The two of them headed to their quarters to get dressed, while you trudged back to the guest room. You also needed to get washed up, but the thought of strolling through your hometown by yourself, especially after the embarrassing scene of last night that surely spread like wildfire through your family’s social circles, seemed unpleasant.

It was almost lunch time, and you still could not budge out of bed. Still in your pajamas, you were laying in bed idly, watching as the time passed as slowly as ever. You found yourself scrolling through social media, eyes scanning everyone’s elated comments under Matty and Elaine’s photos from last night’s engagement party. You were tagged in a few of them, earning you a few new friend requests from former high school classmates that you wished you could’ve forgotten entirely. 

In some photos, your eyes snapped to find Phil among the group of family friends. When you first found him smiling next to Matty in one photo, you swallowed hard and felt butterflies form in your stomach. Your eyes lingered over his photographed form longer than others. How did his smile seem to become even more handsome and radiant after all these years? You felt yourself grow tense, even while laying down, when you noticed how toned his arms looked in the shirt he wore last night. You remembered thinking the same when watching him as he talked to you in the living room after… the incident. In Matty’s room now and with the photo, you couldn’t stop staring. Your mouth grew dry when you saw there were at least four other photos of him and Matty in the collection of photos. But you found yourself disappointed to see that, no, Phil himself was not tagged. In fact, Phil didn’t have any social media accounts. Probably because of his sensitive line of work, you figured. Still, it would’ve been nice to learn more about what he was like now as an adult.

Wait , why are you thinking about him so much?! You wondered how you got to this point where you were practically drooling over photos of your brother’s best friend and staying inside all day like a hermit during your free time back home. You found yourself blushing by yourself in Matty's old bedroom, realizing what you’d spent the last ten minutes of your morning doing. You groaned as you threw your phone down against the pillow on your bed. You decided, come on, you need to get up. You need to at least get some lunch. 

Preferring not to look through the pantry of healthy, over-priced super-foods your mom kept in stock, you knew a diner or fast food joint was your best bet for something that was actually tasty. It was warm outside, but thankfully the diner you had in mind was close enough that an Uber would not cost too much to take you. It was the very same one that you and Matty would take you when you were feeling sad or discouraged from schoolwork or from drama with some of the girls in your class. He’d always buy you a milkshake and fries. That paired with a pep talk from your big brother always managed to cheer you up.

The diner hadn’t changed much. As usual, blue, red, and white jerseys of the Houston Texans football team were draped proudly on some of the walls and old photographs of the owner with other football players from the nineties were framed for visitors to marvel at while they ate. You were almost as shocked by how unchanged it was as you were by the fact it was still standing. Such an old business still managed to remain alive after all these years. The same smell of french fries and the sound of sizzling burger patties in the kitchen while old classic rock played made you feel like you were a little girl again waiting for Matty in his letterman to ask the server for a booth instead of a table. 

Milkshake and fries, you ordered by instinct when the server, a nice woman in her fifties and short cropped graying curls approached your table with her notepad. You were starving. The growling of your stomach made you add one of their new bacon-and-kimchi burgers to your order that the server had hyped up. “I’ll get that right out for you, hun,” she said with a smile and left you to your thoughts.

You felt tempted to scroll again through the photos from last night. But you tried desperately to pull yourself away from those thoughts whirling down that rabbit hole again. You played aimlessly with the paper napkin on the table in front of you and watched around you as families and couples sat together. They chattered endlessly, some even bursting out laughing in joy, as they enjoyed their lunch together. You huffed out a long sigh seeing this. You had gone out to feel less alone, to feel like you were doing something. Instead, you were reminded of how alone you were now that everyone in your hometown and your brother were busy.

You opened your phone under the table, averting your gaze from everyone else. You almost felt embarrassed by what you were about to do. Matty definitely would’ve disapproved. You pulled up the Uber app again. You would just ask for a to-go box and eat your food in peace at home without the cacophony of other people around you in your own lonely company. Next time, you would just order delivery instead of wasting money on Uber, you scolded yourself.

While you were going through the app, someone slid into the booth to sit across from you. You tensed up. Annoyed, you were prepared to tell this person that you were in fact saving that seat for someone else—a lie—and that they needed to leave you the hell alone. When you lifted your head back up to glower at the uninvited lunch guest, your mouth fell agape. 

Seeing the look of shock on your face, Phil chuckled in amusement and beamed knowingly at you. How in the hell did he end up here at the same time as you? You spent all morning thinking about him and practically studying his photos from last night, you felt like you were now simply imagining him sitting across from you. 

The almost smug look on his face told you that he knew he was confusing the hell out of you. You had a lot of questions but were left speechless at the sight of him. His hair was slightly damp, as if he’d just finished showering a while ago. He had on a plain white t-shirt and had his keys in his hands still, making you realize he had just driven and parked his car here not too many minutes ago. He also held a paper cup with no lid, revealing some black coffee he must’ve picked up before he got here. Phil himself wanted to break the ice and brush away the confusion clearly still in the air. But he couldn’t help but continue to bask in the hilarity of the baffled look on your face, like a deer stuck in headlights. Since a kid, he always loved how expressive you were with your face. But now, as an adult, he also couldn't help but admire your face for how bright and warm your eyes looked, your cheeks for how you blushed furiously at some of his comments, and your lips for how soft he imagined they could be-.

“Hi there,” he chirped.

You were still totally bewildered but slowly began to shake yourself out of it. “H-hi…”

“So, are you here to try the new burger? I heard good things about it.”

You couldn’t believe that of all things to bring up, he decided to mention the damn bacon-and-kimchi burger. “Um,”  you stammered, “yeah, Matty mentioned that they were trying new ‘experimental’ burgers now… Honestly, I intended to come here for the shake and fries.”

He hummed in understanding before taking a sip of his coffee. All you could do was stare, and he stared back at you sharply over his cup as he sipped his drink—his eyes never once leaving your face. Last night, you two never stopped chatting. Yet here, everything between you was nauseatingly silent so far, and you clicked your phone’s screen off, forgetting about your Uber plans immediately.

You studied him closely again. This time you noticed the veins running along his hands as he sipped his coffee, his rolex his father gifted him ages ago adorning his wrist too. You noticed even a small scar running across his outer forearm that you didn’t notice the night before. Then, your eyes traveled back up to glance at his neck, leading up to the curve of his jaw. You bit down hard on your lip as you began to rip away little pieces of the napkin you were toying with this whole time. You were growing frustrated by how nervous you felt around him, at how a heat seemed to rise from your skin when you noticed how his eyes didn’t leave your own form while yours couldn’t seem to stay still on him. It was like staring at the sun. You felt like you couldn’t stare too long at him, otherwise you would tread into dangerous territory. You felt your soul tremble under his eye. From your small glimpses, you could see that his eyes harbored a lot more untold memories and hardships that he’d collected over the years since he left your hometown. Still, the hardened look in his eyes made something in your stomach stir, and you felt yourself crossing your legs at your ankles nervously. 

He placed his coffee back on the table, a smile now on his face, his eyes softening once again into a much for familiar gaze. Still, you looked away frantically, studying instead now the dead ants and dust that collected in the window sill beside your booth. You took a deep breath and let it out sharply, before plucking the courage to ask Phil, “So, was it Matty? Or was it Elaine?”

He blinked, feigning ignorance. “Hm? What are you talking about?” 

He couldn’t fool you that easily. You almost rolled your eyes. Instead you gave him a pointed look, raising an unamused eyebrow at him. He was aware that you knew that him finding you eating a burger all by yourself in your favorite childhood burger joints was not simply a coincidence. And that he just happened to be going to that diner the exact same day and time? Not a chance. 

But as much as you wanted to pry the truth from him, Phil was also stubborn. Sure, it wasn’t a coincidence that you met in this diner once more, but he wanted it to be one. He wouldn’t give Matty or Elaine the credit for him running into you. Maybe Matty did send him a text this morning that you’d be spending the day alone, since Elaine and him would be in the next town over. Maybe he also did add that he suggested you try that kimchi burger from your favorite  burger joint. But it was him, Phil, that put one and two together and knew you’d probably end up here of all places for lunch.

He leaned in across the table, his eyes still locked on you sharp. “Remember what I told you last night after we exchanged contacts?”

You furrowed your brow. So many words were exchanged that night, your mind was scattered with how he was looking at you. You felt speechless, breathless.

“If you don't come by my house today, I would snatch you myself,” he quotes himself from last night with a mischievous glint now in his eyes. You, on the other hand, felt your heart start to pound in your chest. Once again, you felt something stir in your lower stomach. You didn’t know how to respond, instead staring at him like a deer caught in headlights.

The server from earlier sauntered over to your booth. You expected her to be carrying just one plate with your burger. Instead, you saw that on either hand, she had two plates with the burgers. “Here y’all are,” she said as she placed both plates in front of you and Phil. Instead of a kimchi burger, he had a classic bacon cheeseburger. You actually smiled at the sight. It was his same order from when he was a kid. Looks like his taste buds hadn’t changed too much since then.

You watched instead as Phil thanked the server, using his best southern manners.

“And that milkshake will come in a few minutes, miss,” she added before leaving once more.

Phil glanced up at you, smiling calmly. “Looks like great minds think alike, huh,” he chirped.  

You scoffed. You wanted to snap back at him, but you were starving. Both you and Phil devoured your burgers. It felt nice to just sit and have a meal with him. At first it was silent but not the awkward silence that would engulf you and make you feel small. Instead, it felt relaxing. There was little pressure to be someone you weren’t, to put on a performance or slip on a mask, when you were around Phil. But as you started to finish up your burger, he began to pipe up again. “So, how are you feeling today? After…”

“Better,” you sighed. “I mean, thankfully my brother and Elaine were okay with how the party kind of turned into a disaster. But I haven't spoken much to my parents… they’re, um, out of town already.”

This caught Phil's interest. He narrowed his eyes slightly, but nodded along as he listened. 

“Your dad was always a man with… high expectations. High standards. My dad was the same way, as you well know. No one was immune from my dad’s criticism. I think that’s why they got along so well. Because they could turn their nose up at everyone.”

You chuckled. “Right.”

“That must be why he liked Richard, too.”

You nearly choked on your water. You coughed, looking up at him in shock, but he wore the same nonchalant, innocent look on his face while he dipped the last of fries into the ketchup on his plate. “Speaking of which, have you heard anything from him? Spoken with him since?”

You couldn’t scowl as hard as you wanted to. A part of you wanted to ask Phil why it mattered to him in the first place. But another part wanted to flood him with the disappointment you were feeling in knowing that Richard had not bothered to call you, to visit you. Instead, he sent you a text message this morning with nothing more than a link and phone number of a local moving and shipping company in Seattle—as if to say, “Here, move yourself out or get someone else to do it. But don’t count on me.”

You sighed. “No, I think it’s clear he’s done with me… just like I am with him,” you confessed to Phil, who furrowed his brows as if he was in deep thought as he listened to you. In reality, gears were turning in his head. “I, um, will probably move out of his place once I return to Seattle. Honestly, with all he said to me, I’m just trying to avoid him right now, as much as I can.”

He nodded in understanding. “Well. I know your parents didn’t react in the most ideal of ways last night. But you always have Matty’s and my support, alright? How’d you even get here anyway?”

“Uber,” you admitted.

He rolled his eyes. “Well, in addition to offering you my unconditional support in this moment of your life, I will also offer to drive you anywhere you’d like while you’re in town.”

“You sure?”

He scoffed in disbelief. “Of course! An Uber? Really?”

Before you could reply, however, the same server returned with your chocolate milkshake to-go. You smiled and gave thanks. As you dug into your purse to look for your wallet, you heard Phil. 

“Oh, no, no, no. I’m covering this,” he said firmly. “You do not have to worry at all.” From his own wallet, he pulled out several bills to cover the cost and enough to give the kind server a hefty tip for her attentiveness. 

“Phil!” you hissed in panic. “You don’t have to do that!”

The server chuckled as she collected the bills. “Don’t worry, hun. You found yourself a nice gentleman with manners who knows not to let the lady pay when on a date, right?” she grinned at Phil, who only chuckled back. Of course the cocky bastard didn’t bother to correct her. With that she turned away, wishing you both a good rest of your day, and left you alone with Phil once again.

“Just being polite, huh?” you looked at him pointedly, both of you heading out the door of the diner now, getting immediately engulfed in a warm, but gentle breeze.

“Like my mother taught me,” he replied, winking at you slyly. You both walked to his car, your mind in deep thought. You had gotten snacks and lunches with Phil and Matty in the past as kids, but Phil never covered your meal for you. And you never felt the buzzing in your stomach around him with anyone else before. You swallowed hard and took a deep breath. Phil had changed a lot, hardened by the military and by life under his draconian father’s sometimes unfair expectations. And some parts of him hadn’t changed a bit, especially his boyish and sometimes cocky humor. Yet, it was undeniable this was the kid Phil that you only tagged along with sometimes. He looked at you, spoke to you differently, in ways that made your heart race, your palms sweat, and made you bite your lip in frustration. 

As he unlocked the doors to his car, he asked, “So, where’d ya wanna go?”

You shrugged. You frankly had no plans laid out for the day, other than lazing around at home waiting for Matty and Elaine.

You both slid into the car, him behind the wheel and you at shotgun. He looked over at you after starting his car, the A/C blowing gently against both of you. You sipped on your milkshake, as he lowered the music that was playing to continue chatting with you without interruption. You noticed he still liked classic rock, just like the bands you and Matty would listen to with him after school. “You wanna come by my place?”  he suggested. “I did tell you I wanted to cook you dinner at some point while we’re both here.”

You nearly gasped, but still looked at him in disbelief. But you couldn’t conceal the contagious, sheepish smile that was crawling onto your face at this offer. “Phil, you just bought me lunch, you can’t make me dinner either! What am I supposed to give you in return?”

He shrugged but shot you a cheeky grin. “I dunno. Your company?”

Again, you felt your skin start to grow hot and you bit your lip. “Phil, do you always try to charm your friends like this? Or is it just me?” you chuckled.

As he turned into a new street, he hummed as he feigned contemplation. You didn’t realize he was taking your question seriously. He glanced at you through the corner of his eye, “Maybe just the ones I really like.”

At this you blushed and toyed with the straw of your milkshake. He’s joking, maybe flirting to be funny , you thought to yourself. Nonetheless, you considered his offer to visit his home with him. “Fine,” you said in surrender. “I’ll go.”

“Attagirl,” he said cheerfully, his smiling beaming even more now.

“Just dinner, correct? It’s not like you are going to kidnap and murder me, and then have me as your dinner, are you?” you joked with a chuckle, deciding to poke back at the man who didn’t seem to know when to stop with the jests and jokes. 

But Phil didn’t laugh back. Instead, he was silent for a few seconds. You thought maybe he didn’t find it funny, offensive even. But your last sentence has brought many ideas in his head, many images that he never thought he could conjure with you. But he decided to join your banter, seeing how your laughter was beginning to nervously die down with his silence.

He leaned in, his lips inching closer to your ear. With the hazy music playing in the background and with you clutching your milkshake tighter, he muttered, “No promises.”

He pulled back and chuckled, especially seeing the way your eyes widened at this. Now your own mind was racing with thoughts and scenarios you would feel embarrassed to share with anyone. You could imagine him devouring you in more ways than one, especially the look in his eyes he’d hold as he consumed you. Before you could submerge yourself into those daydreams, you cleared your throat and fixed a strand of your hair that had fallen near your face. 

Silence fell once again between you, only the muffled sound of grainy guitar riffs and solos filling the rest of the short drive back to his house. You struggled to relax. Around Phil, you felt calm, relaxed, like you were at home. But other times like now, Phil fuckin Graves knew how to leave you utterly breathless. It always felt like that, now that you tried to reminisce on your childhood with him. Just when you were in your early teens, you thought you were going through puberty, your hormones making you think and feel things that you normally wouldn’t. Years later, you figured your feelings for him as a teen really didn’t really amount to anything other than small childhood crushes and you making sense of your sexuality for the first time. Yet, years later, here you were in his car crossing your legs nervously and squeezing them when you remembered his gravelly voice against your ear when he muttered, “No promises.”

Looking at him now as he drove, you realized how touch- and love-starved you really were, especially after such a miserable relationship with your ex. It was hard not to gawk at Phil, to study how his hands held onto the wheel as he drove, or to stare at how his arms flexed when he turned his car or shifted gears periodically. How his voice uttered your name so smoothly and how his cologne made you want to breathe him in deeply now that you were around him. It was becoming almost impossible to deny that you were feeling something serious for Phil now even as a grown woman. But you felt that if you admitted this to yourself, you would be in grave danger.

“We’re here,” he said moments before you both hopped out of his car, heading to his house’s front door. You walked in with him, and immediately noticed not much had changed, not even now that his parents had converted the place into an AirBnB rental spot. It still had some of the same white, minimalist furniture that Phil’s mother liked so much, with a sparkling chandelier hanging over the entrance. One thing you did notice was the lack of family portraits. No photos of strangers probably for the sake of whoever was renting the home for a brief stay. Still, you were flooded with memories of swimming in the backyard with Matty and Phil over many summers, of helping his mother bake cookies while he and Matty played video games, and of the time the three of you accidentally shattered one of the family vases with a baseball one day. The three of you had quickly hid the shards far from any place his parents could ever find them.   

“Not much has changed,” you noted, while he hummed in agreement. You slipped off your shoes, just as Phil did, while you remembered all of this. He placed his keys on a table and turned to look at you. 

“So, you never did mention how long you’re in town for.”

“Hm?” You suddenly remembered that, indeed, you were only here for a brief visit. Phil wanted to laugh seeing how dazed you still seemed around him even after all this time. He held back, however. “Right. Well, I’m not leaving any time soon. I Took my yearly vacation, so I have the next few weeks free from all work while I’m here.” You groaned. “And even if I wanted to, Matty and Elaine will have my head if I even try to go near my work laptop.”

He nods as he hums in thought. It felt like he was going to say something, but remained silent.

He slipped off his leather jacket he had worn this whole time. Your eyes trailed over him as he did. You couldn’t help but admit how his back’s muscles rippled as he did this, how his biceps muscles flexed through the shirt he was wearing as he bent his shoulders back to get the jacket off it. Was your staring too obvious? Was it obvious you were daydreaming of the many different ways you would hold onto his shoulders, arms, and back? You breathed out sharply and tore your eyes away.

When he finished hanging his jacket, he turned and looked at you. You both strolled to the kitchen, where the silver, shining appliances and marble counters reminded you of Phil’s father’s wealth once again. Despite how empty and sterile parts of the home now seemed, Phil seemed calmer here, his smile still warm but more relaxed and maybe less mischievous. “Did you want something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”

“Oof,” you said, “I just had that milkshake, so, um, maybe just some water to help it go down. I don’t want to have something that’ll make my stomach upset or something, you know?” you squeaked out. You didn’t know if it was because it was just you and Phil now, no passerbyers at the restaurant or anything, or because of how big his house was. But you felt small. You felt like shrinking yourself. Maybe it was a stupid idea to come here alone with Phil, you chastised yourself , especially since I’ve been acting so weird around him already today. But you glanced back up at Phil’s reassuring, calm smile with his same caring eyes he always shone at you. You felt some relief and calmness from that. 

“I do need to use the bathroom, though,” you said. “Just to wash up.”

“There’s the one attached to my room upstairs, since the AirBnB guests don’t use it.” As he spoke, he grabbed one of the expensive glass bottles of flavored water from the fridge. Even though your parents were also well-off in their own way, his family’s wealth was on a different level, one that managed to still baffle you. “Oh and I should add that my room is upstairs, just to the left as you climb. But you already know that.” He started pouring the glasses. “Just go on up, I’ll be right there.”

You left Phil in the kitchen as he continued to pull glasses from the cabinets. As you climbed the stairs, you noticed how the varnish on the wooden rail had worn from years of his family’s use. You couldn’t help but remember all the times you gripped and slid your hand down it when you dashed down the stairs, the promise of football or a relaxing drive with Matty and Phil waiting for you outside. So much had changed. The house was dimmer and quieter now than in those days. But the memories still lingered like wisps of smoke, especially once you reached the second floor.

The bathroom was unchanged. All you noticed once you used it was how flushed your cheeks were, a little bead of sweat tempting to form near your hairline. Was it from the Texas heat having an effect on you after living up North for so long, or was it because of how Phil made you feel under his gaze this afternoon? You decided to splash some water on your face after washing your hands. Maybe you should pass Phil’s offer for some drinks instead grab a cold water before you pass out in his home.

You were about to head back down the stairs to do just that. But instead you noticed how the door to one of the rooms was left ajar. You peeked inside curiously, expecting it to be a sterile, bland room you would find in any AirBnB. It was dim, the blinds shut securely, but you were still hit with a flash of nostalgia when you saw that his blue comforter and sheets in his bed were the same as the last time you were here. You were still barely a teen, just a few weeks before Phil departed for the Marine Corps without a word. Matty and him were sitting in the very same room, some slightly trashy MTV show playing low in the background while the two of them were planning to go to GameStop in a few minutes. 

Memories of that evening inundated your senses as you mindlessly stepped inside. The posters once splayed on his wall, now years later, were stripped from them. His TV with his Xbox no longer were there—you figured his parents sold both when he left for boot camp. Yet, his bed was no longer the messy pile of blankets. Instead, it was neat. The corners were tucked in sharply, and the blankets were spread as cleanly as possible so that you could practically bounce a coin on them without a problem. Yes, this was Phil’s room, the same one from years ago. Yet, the man who made the bed was not the seventeen-year-old, still immature boy you sometimes ogled at from afar. Things had changed, even if memories still clung to your mind. 

You floated over to his desk near the window, only a picture frame and a lamp sitting simply on it. You reached down, taking the photo frame in your hands . You brought it closer to your eyes, feeling your heart skip a beat at the photo. 

It was you, Matty, and Phil, of course. You had clearly taken it with an old disposable camera—you remembered you’d bought it at the drugstore. The flash made the skin on everyone’s face shine oddly, and even one of Matty’s eyes turned out red. Both of them had more flesh on their baby cheeks. Matty stood next to you, holding a football; his other hand held onto your forearm gently. He was always worried about you leaving his sight. On the other side of you was Phil, his hand resting on the top of your head, the other nestled gently on your shoulder. You could tell from the flyaways and frizz framing his hand that he had just ruffled your head full of hair, a usual trademark of his when he hung out with you. Meanwhile, you shined with a toothy grin, your eyes squinting a little at the exposure of the camera’s harsh flash hitting you all. 

“That’s my favorite picture of us, you know.”

You gasped at the sudden intrusion. Whipping around, you saw Phil standing just a few steps away from you. Relieved at seeing it was just him, the frame still in your hand. Slowly, he inched toward you with just a few steps. How long was he there? How long were you there, just snooping through his childhood bedroom? You were perplexed as to how you didn’t even notice him stepping into the room from the hall, or feel his form lingering just a few meters away from your own oblivious one. 

You felt a little nervous, embarrassed at being caught in his room. You glanced back down at the picture, noticing that he actually did take the time to encase it in a black metal frame. Even if it was just a somewhat crappy, overexposed photo you took as a little girl—he still took the time to find the right size frame for it. You had so many similar, amateurish photos from back in the day sitting—perhaps “rotting” is the best word for it—in a scrapbook somewhere in the back of your closet in Seattle. Maybe you would revisit them when you got back home… especially when you would have to pack all your things to move out and abandon Richard’s lease. 

You cracked a smile as a finger ran across the photo, brushing a few specks of old dust away. “Yeah, it’s one of my favorites too. I still remember that day a little.”

Phil stepped closer to you nonchalantly, a hand of his reaching out to touch the frame too. A this, he noticed how you stiffened just a bit. He glanced up from the frame to look closer at you. When your eyes met, he noticed how yours widened ever more slightly before you gulped. His eyes couldn’t help but notice how your throat moved. His thoughts began to wander. He blinked quickly, trying to banish the images and ideas that had formed cross currents in his mind, before his eyes returned to yours. They scanned your face slowly, like a student observing every detail and brushstroke on a painting’s canvas hanging on a museum’s walls. His hand encroached yours on the picture frame, his warm fingers making contact with your hand. They barely grazed yours, but it was enough for your heart to speed up and for it to feel as though your fingers were now tingling. 

You noticed then how his eyes strayed from yours, traveling lower. They landed on your lips, you could tell without a doubt, making you hold your breath silently. Phil noticed how pink and plush they looked. He had been admiring your beauty, realizing just how alluring you’d become in a span of years. He wanted nothing more than to lean down and taste your lips, to draw your body closer and to envelop it in his. He couldn’t help himself… he even noticed how you seemed to be relaxing, your eyes fluttering and lips slightly parted. He could swear you were leaning in too.

Yet, you flinched hard when you heard a phone start to ring out of the blue. Phil leaned back slightly with an annoyed sigh. He dug his hand into his pocket to pull out his phone. He steps away once more and answers it, greeting the person with faux amiability. You, meanwhile, took a sharp breath in and loosened your shoulders. Prudently, you placed the frame back on the nightstand, just as you had found it minutes before. 

After a “yup” an “of course,” an  “Around what time?” and a “I’ll see what if I can,” he hung up the phone. He looked at you with pursed lips before placing both his hands on your upper arms. 

“Everything okay?” you gently asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said while wrapping an arm slyly around your waist. You nearly didn’t notice. “Now, didn’t I promise you dinner?” 

You sat next to Bear and Matty in the living room of your family’s beach house, wishing you had gotten a better pedicure before this beach trip. The beach house was gorgeous, of course, just as you remember. The sofa was turquoise and the sound of the distant waves crashing onto the shore would be soothing you if it weren’t for your father sitting across from you with a grave look etched on his face. This was Elaine and Matty’s idea to mend the latest strains in your family ever since you rejected Richard’s “surprise” proposal. A few days at the beach by the Texas coast could heal your family’s freshly formed wounds, they figured. 

As much as you sometimes detested Houston, you wanted to stay. First, you didn’t have a bathing suit from Seattle packed for a beach trip. Second, you had to admit that one of the highlights of returning home was rekindling your friendship with Phil. Just two nights before, you had sat down in Phil’s home. You sat at the kitchen island, chatting idly about his life in the military and your time in university. Jokes sprinkled in the conversation kept it lively too, dissipating any awkwardness that might’ve lingered after your short conversation and moment in his bedroom upstairs. His parents’ finest wine and a home-cooked Italian meal filled your bellies while you chatted at the dining table. At one point, you nearly fainted when he did the classic “You got a little in the corner of your lip,” bit that you thought only happened in the movies. And knowing how guileful Phil was, you knew that he knew he had an effect on you and was relishing in it that night. 

You almost wanted to ask him for more nights together like that, at least until you both had to part your ways again. That was, until Matty and Elaine called you later that night insisting that you accompany them to this beach trip. “Think of it as a proper celebration of mine and Elaine’s engagement with less… interruptions from our invited guests,” Matty had spelled out for you. You groaned at this, the embarrassment of Richard ruining that night creeping back up inside you. Matty had done so much for you, and you really wanted Elaine to feel a truly warm welcome into your family as your new sister-in-law. Begrudgingly, you agreed, even if it meant that dinner in Phil’s home would be your last you could share with him until God knows when. 

You ran your hands along Bear’s thick, albeit graying, mane, while your brother and Elaine gave your mother a hand in the kitchen with the watermelon she was carving and dividing up for later. Your father, meanwhile, averted his gaze from meeting yours. He tapped his foot against the leg of his chair idly, while scrolling through his smartphone. He sipped on his black coffee as he scrolled, while you sipped on a glass of cool water. You couldn’t imagine the news was so interesting that he would suddenly be glued to his phone during a beach trip. Rolling your eyes, you focused on massaging Bear’s ears in the awkward silence of the living room. 

“Oh!” Matty suddenly exclaimed. “Finally, he’s at the door.”

You frowned. “The bell didn’t even ring.” Was there even a doorbell in this cabana?

“You messed up the food so bad that you had to order takeout?” your father grumbled, not lifting his head from his phone. You rolled your eyes at his sour comment while you sipped on your water to hide the extent of your frown.

Matty scampered excitedly to the door, his sandals squeaking as he did so. “No, I never said I ordered take out,” he said with a mischievous grin. 

Without answering, he opened the door dramatically. “PHIL! You made it!” 

You choked on your water. There he stood. You almost didn’t recognize him in the state he was in. Rather than the polo and slacks he wore the other days you met up with him, he wore a simple cotton t-shirt that hugged his body deliciously, as well as some shorts. His hair was slightly disheveled, possibly from the beachside breeze brushing through his locks. Lastly, you noticed how his eyes were covered by a pair of dark shades. His pearly white smile, radiant as ever, was too recognizable. 

“Of course, I’m not gonna let you down,” Phil said as he hugged your brother, who took Phil’s bag from him and placed it in one of the bedrooms down the hall.

You, meanwhile, were in shock. You would’ve frozen were it not for the coughing fit the water you choked on caused. Sure, just a few minutes ago you were totally downcast about how any plans—imaginary or real—with Phil in Houston had to be put away due to this beach trip. Yet, you had no clue that your conniving brother had managed to invite the man you were crushing on since you were a kid to this trip.

“Phil—” you choked out. “What are you doing here?”

“Ooh,” he said, grimacing slightly at slight shock, maybe offense, he thought he detected in your voice. He sheepishly scratched his head. “I, well—I uhh-” Phil didn’t have anything to use as an excuse, he didn’t know why he thought of making excuses to begin with.

You swore you could hear your brother snickering quietly, as he returned from putting Phil’s bag away. 

“It was actually my idea!” Elaine chimed in calmly as she sauntered in from the kitchen, too. “The fish tacos are turning out fantastic by the way. I highly recommend it.”

“I wasn’t sure if I was gonna come to be honest.”  He crossed his arms, and continued. “But Elaine here insisted very kindly so I said—why not.” he finishes with his signature grin.

You wanted nothing more than to strangle your brother. Yes, you had to admit seeing Phil here was a pleasant surprise, especially with how he looked in that shirt that you couldn’t stop your eyes from darting to. But you could swear on your life that he and Elaine were scheming this ever since that day. Of course, you had no proof of that, but you knew how cunning your brother could be. And Elaine? It seemed like they were starting to make more sense together as a couple with how devious she could be too. 

Elaine continued. “Your mom was totally okay with it too… and we could use a third party to join us to clear the, you know, the awkward fog that is hanging in the air… which clearly she was right about.” Matty and her both stole a glance toward your father who sat now with his arms crossed. You noticed, however, that he had placed his phone on the coffee table moments ago. He was now actually glancing at the three of you, the frown on his wrinkled face a little softer. 

“Phillip, it’s good to see you as always,” he said curtly with a nod. “Let me see what’s taking so long in the kitchen. I’m starved.”

Your brother and Elaine trailed after him. “It’s really not going to take much longer,” Matty said in annoyance. “We have some fruits ready to eat as well if you’re really that hungry…” 

With that, it was just you and Phil standing alone in the living room once again, save for Bear. The German Shepherd got up from the sofa and padded over to Phil. He jumped up, his two front paws landing and holding onto Phil’s hips. “Hey, buddy,” he cooed to the dog. “I missed you too, Bear.”

Once Bear landed back on the floor, Phil returned his attention to you. He stepped closer to you, you glanced around, realizing and relieved that neither your parents nor Matty and Elaine have returned from discussing lunch in the kitchen.

He placed a heavy hand on your shoulder, part of his hand just grazing part of your neck for a few moments as he did so. Once again, his eyes scanned over you, from head to toe. Anyone else whom he would’ve studied so intensely would have been shaking, but he noticed you stood , your eyes not leaving his.  He noticed how your chest rose and fell with each breath a little more rapidly than before. Seeing how you looked up at him, wordlessly, with your soft doe eyes he felt his heart flutter in his own chest as well. 

You put down your glass of water, clearing your throat one last time. “Make yourself at home, Phil. I’ll see you at dinner.” You smiled sheepishly, patting his hand on your shoulder before gently guiding it off you. And with that, you turned around, and tried to scurry to your room.

You woke up from a nap you didn’t remember deciding to take. Rubbing your eyes and feeling a headache creep into your skull, you got up from your bed in your room in the cabana to find some water. The heat of the Texas summer was getting to you, and you kept forgetting to hydrate. Your mom would scold you for that if you found out.

When you dragged your feet over to the cabana’s kitchen, you were surprised to see your parents, Matty, Elaine, and Phil also sitting in the living room together. Your mom was reading a magazine, your father a thick, hardcover biography of what was probably an unfamiliar nineteenth-century politician. Your brother, Elaine, and Phil sat around the coffee table on the floor. On it, was a messy, nearly scattered, stack of UNO cards, and each of them held small decks in their hand. 

“Oh, [Y/N], you slept through dinner,” your mother said when she noticed you walking in. “We saved you a plate covered in the kitchen. You can bring it here and join us if you’d like.”

You furrowed your brow, “What time is it?”

“9 p.m.,” your father huffed, his eyes not leaving the dense book in his hands. 

Your eyes widened, but you could feel your stomach rumbling as you could hear Elaine bickering with Matty about whether they should be stacking the cards they’re playing. You decided to take your mother up on her idea and carried the plate of dinner with you back to the living room after warming it up briefly in the microwave.

Phil smiled briefly at you as you sat beside him on the floor. You watched as the three of them played another round, Phil shrugging and accepting defeat when Matty managed to beat him and Elaine. You munched on the tacos for the next several rounds. Phil let you glance over his shoulder to peer at what cards he had in his deck. Whenever he made a shrewd play, he would look over at you with a glint in his eyes to see how you reacted. Seeing you breathe in sharply, impressed with one of his plays, made Phil’s chest swell in a form of pride. 

After you finished your dinner, you noticed that your mom and dad were yawning among themselves before heading back to their room. Your dad’s coffee didn’t seem to have helped him stay up as long as he’d hoped. You glanced down at your watch, seeing it was almost 10pm You thought that maybe you should head back to your room to wash up. 

“Oh, no. You have to join us for a few rounds,” Elaine exclaimed as she shuffled the deck. “Just for one or two. Then you can go.”

“Yeah, remember we used to play all the time with Phil?” Your brother chirped. “You always were close to beating us.”

At this you remembered indeed staying up at night during various thunderstorms and low-category hurricanes at Phil’s house when you were barely 7 or 8. Your parents, meanwhile, would usually be with Phil sharing wine downstairs discussing local politics and stocks. The windows in Phil’s bedroom would be covered with metallic shutters. The electricity and Phil’s bedroom light would have flickered and cut out hours before from Houston’s strong winds and rains. You, him, and Matty huddled in his bedroom with a flightlight weakly illuminating where the three of you sat. The sound of the howling winds, sounding almost like ghosts, would usually send chills down your spine. The thunder crashing would make you flinch.

But in the company of Matty and Phil, you would forget about the howling. By the lantern, you played Go Fish, Uno, and even Monopoly. Knowing you were scared of the thunder, Phil had the habit of draping you with one of his blankets. When thunder clapped or lightning flashed, he distracted you with the cards. Cards, something you almost never play now as an adult, was still something that you remembered fondly. Even as you got older, before Phil left for the Marines, you remembered seeing Phil go through his nightstand’s drawer to find his deck of cards if it looked like the lights might go out again. 

Memories still swirling in your mind faintly, you felt Phil shift beside you slightly. His shoulder lightly grazed yours and you felt a warm feeling blossom in your chest. You brought your hands to your face, fingers touching your cheeks, as you felt them grow warm too. You glanced at Phil tentatively and saw that he also was looking at you in anticipation for you to join in. 

You sighed in faux defeat, “Alright maybe one round. Then I’m heading back to bed.”

Next thing you knew, several rounds had passed. More than a decade after having last played against Phil and Matty, you finally managed to win. Elaine won most of the rounds, however. She teased him several times by stealing very obviously glances at his hand, making Matty dramatically call for a rematch or to disqualify Elaine. Witnessing this kind of back-and-forth bantering normally would make you feel like an awkward third wheel. But, thankfully, Phil was there to crack jokes with you about how their bickering felt like a strange sneak-peek into their future lives as a married couple.

After a few rounds, you decided to take another break and watch. You got comfortable laying down on your side on the velvety sofa behind Phil. Knowing you were behind him, Phil also felt it was hard to hide his grin, especially when he could feel you shifting and breathing while he played. After a while, he could almost hear how your breathing slowed and you seemed to sink, more relaxed, into the cushions of the sofa. He glanced back behind you, noticing your eyes were closed and how you nestled your head into the pillow shams in the shape of a beach palm tree. The corner of his mouth twitched into a soft smile at the sight. 

Your brother stretched his arms above his head and yawned, while Elaine gathered all the discarded cards and shoved them back into the main deck. “I think we’re gonna start winding down now,” Matty mumbled out. “I can’t believe it’s almost one in the morning.”

Phil checked his watch, the same watch his father gave him many years before. “Oh, shoot. Time sure flew by.”

Matty and Elaine got up. “Well, we’ll see you tomorrow morning, Phil. Hope you can get some rest,” Elaine said.

“G’night!” Matty said, his eyes noticeably growing heavier. Phil waved them goodbye with a polite smile, wishing them a good night’s rest as well.

Phil stared at them, slightly bemused, as they shuffled away from the living room toward their shared bedroom. He was shocked they didn’t bother to wake you up so you could go to your room. He turned around, noticing you were still sound asleep. He peered down, not sure how best to wake you. For a few moments, he just studied your features. At times, when you breathed out slowly it sounded like a soft, almost airy snore. Your brows were knitted, as if you were in deep concentration in whatever images were flickering in your dreams. 

Sometimes, Phil found he was still in denial of how much you had grown—how much you had changed . Of course, he still felt the same protective affection toward you, much like Matty did as your older brother. But along with that affection, he also felt new things that he couldn’t quite nail down. Sometimes, he wanted to curse himself for staring at how your hips moved when you walked or how your clothes hugged your body. When he saw that Richard was your partner, he even felt some jealousy bleeding into his thoughts. He brushed off those thoughts as him just being a man—and a brutish one at that sometimes. Still, other times he found himself growing anxious over you. He thought, yes, it was obvious you’d grown so much, but you still were better fitted with someone who understood you better, someone who would protect you rather than talk down to you, unlike Richard. He felt this inexplicable instinct to simply bring you closer to him, whether it meant embracing you in his arms, to weave his fingers with yours, to never stop talking to you or observing every one of your little movements and quirks. How he wanted to flee from his hometown of Houston during his vacation time if he meant he got to spend more time with you—and yes, your family, but especially you—at this beach house. 

Phil shook himself out of his thoughts. He glanced again at the watch on his wrist and told himself it really was getting late, and he didn’t want to end up sleeping in tomorrow if he was here as a guest. But he also didn’t know what to do with your sleeping form on the sofa. He didn’t want to wake you with how deep in slumber you seemed to be. 

Without thinking twice, he strode over to his guest room. He saw that he had about three blankets neatly folded on top of his bed. He snatched one and returned quickly to the living room to find you still there. Carefully, he draped the fuzzy blanket over your form, making sure it covered your shoulders and feet just right. You started to move, making him freeze where he stood. But his muscles relaxed in relief when he saw that you were only snuggling into the blanket more. Your brows were slightly furrowed before, but now they relaxed and you seemed truly at rest. Good . You at least seemed comfortable. 

He turned around and headed to the lightswitch. He admired your sleeping form one last time, before deciding that he too was also exhausted, especially after a day of travel. He flicked it off, and headed back to his room.

[starhaloeklypse]

Ladies, Gentleman, Those who identify as neither or both, It is FINALLY here. I am so excited to bring this comic to you all and I hope it resonates with many of you out there. Here is my cover of the Undertale Fan Comic I’m working on; “JigsawTale : The Ascension of the PuzzleMaster”. A Post-Pacifist ending long-running Undertale fanwork that centers the perspective of Papyrus. He’s our main character, and we’ll get to see how well he integrates into life on the surface in the human world , along with all of his friends and found family. How difficult is life for monsters who are perceived as even stranger than the average monster is ? He’ll have many obstacles to overcome because Papyrus just isn’t like most monsters. I’m very excited to share my work with you all, this story means so much to me and so much of it is inspired by and informed by my own lived experience. Papyrus is the character I relate to the most in pretty much all of fiction and I feel like I’m telling my story through him, sort of, but also his own at the same time. He’s my favorite for a reason and I think it’s time we give him a moment to shine. The story may contain some potentially triggering topics and events , but when the time comes I’ll be sure to give multiple detailed warnings for anything that needs it. It’s also meant to be viewed by older audiences as such, I’m not really intending for this story to be viewed by kids, it is a story that centers the perspective of an adult who doesn’t always get to feel like one and not only do I think it’ll resonate with that audience more, but it may not be suitable for those who are younger at all times, so I’d proceed with caution. Also I feel I should clarify, I don’t personally see this as much of an “AU”, To me it’s not an alternate universe, so much as it is an extended timeline that asks “What happens to everyone after the end of the ‘pacifist’ run, and what if we looked at all of that from Papyrus’ perspective ?” It’s closer to an epilogue story. Outside of Asgore and Toriel not being immortal in my version of the story and closer to middle age, there are no major differences to the original game, not enough to be considered an AU anyway, but if you see me tag it as one, that’s just to make it easier to find. Regardless , I hope everyone who’s interested gets a chance to read my story when it’s out, it’ll still probably be a while before that happens as I have a lot of things to work on and art skills to improve , but when the day comes , you will know. I plan to continue trying to update when I can. This is just to promote the comic and I hope it reaches as many people as possible. Thank you all for your time and patience, I’m beyond excited.

If you’re interested in the comic and would like to support its development financially , considering I’m a one-man band working on all of this by myself, I’d really appreciate it. If you’d like to request art from me I’d be happy to do so in exchange for donations as well. Any amount helps, and I’d be eternally grateful. Of course however, do not feel pressured to donate. I appreciate you tuning in either way and I hope you all enjoy the story.

[delta-pavonis]

Dreamling Week 2024 Day 2

banner art via WorldAnvil

Dreamling Week 2024 Day 2 Prompts (from @mr-sadman): Pirates, Hourglass, Flowers, Exhibitionism

Dreamling || Rated T || 975 words

tags (other than the prompts above): fantasy, urban fantasy, solarpunk, drow druid/sorcerer Dream, half wood elf bard/gunsmith Hob, investigator partners with a history, discussion of sex in public, discussion of kink, Dream is a little shit in every universe I don't make the rules

Read Part 1 here.

Hob cackles as he tucks the ornate hourglass under his arm and fucking runs.

“Oh, what the hell…” Dream drops the vase of flowers he had been planning on using as an improvised weapon and takes off after his partner. A partner who is rapidly climbing the rankings for stupidest sentient being Dream has ever known. “Gadling! What in the name of every god extant and extinct do you think you are doing?”

The half-elf startles for just a moment as Dream easily catches up to him despite the head start and the crowded market streets. “This is evidence, right?” He tilts his head towards the hourglass.

At this rate Dream is going to pull a muscle rolling his eyes at Hob. “We do not steal evidence! I do not have the least idea of where you learned how to be an investig–”

“Pirates!” He chirrups happily, skidding around a corner as horns start to sound the alarm throughout the resonant underground halls of the Duergar city. 

The answer is so absurd that Dream is struck speechless. 

Then a rumble sounds to their right and it has Dream reaching across Hob's chest to grab his gun in its shoulder holster under his duster. Luckily the gun and the hourglass are not under the same arm, because Dream is completely out of spells, both divine and arcane. He jumps ahead up the stairs and twists, taking two shots at their pursuers and grinning when he hears a shout of explicatives.

Another set of stairs, then they are scrambling up a wall, grabbing the bottom rung of a camouflaged ladder, and are back in the surface’s sewers before the next round of horns sound. Dream slides the cover over the secret entrance and breathes a sigh of relief as, with a golden shimmer, it seals itself once again.

Panting and apparently completely uncaring of the state of the water around their feet, Hob drops to his arse with a thud. Little bits of duckweed and algae slop up onto Dream’s boots.

“We should keep moving.” Dream scowls at his footwear as he also breathes in huge, heaving gulps. “We don't know the power of their artificers and–”

“Don't have ‘em,” Hob shakes his head. “It made bartering for certain items with them a total crapcircus because they didn't value the same basic material goods. Everything they do is mechanical. Non-magic. Luckily we didn't get stuck down there often.” Dream just stares at him; theoretically those are all common words, but fuck if he parses their meaning right now with the adrenaline crash just starting to take its toll. Hob smirks, lopsided and definitely not charming. Absolutely not. “Pirates, remember?”

He feels a headache coming on and so pinches the bridge of his nose. “Are you actually trying to tell me that before joining the Houndsguild you were a Hawkshaw?”

“Uh… yes?” Hob blinks at him as if Dream is the one asking the dumb question. “Thirteen years. Is that so hard to believe?”

Dream just stares. If this half-elf was a Hawkshaw, one of the pirate codekeepers (the closest to lawmen such outlaws might ever get), then there is so much more here to uncover, so much more to Hob, that he isn't even sure where to start. Hob drops back down in Dream's mental rankings of stupidity. Dream breathes out and now, a little calmer, some of Hob's behaviors slot into place. The impulsivity. The recklessness. The charisma to get himself out of just about any problem caused by said impulsivity and recklessness. “No, actually, now that I think of it. It makes some sense.”

The smile that brightens Hob's face is also extremely not charming. Or cute. No. Not at all. “Help me up?” He holds out his hand and Dream automatically grips his forearm as he continues to speak, “I know we got off on the wrong foot when we first met, but I hope you are coming to realize that in this, in solving cases like these at least, I am actually competent.”

Dream nods, but also cannot resist the opportunity for a good jibe. “It at least explains why when we first met you were balls deep in the barmaid bouncing on your lap in the middle of a crowded tavern.” He smirks back, trying to convey that he isn't really judging, just teasing. “Never met a Hawkshaw who didn't want to be the absolute center of attention.”

Hob splutters out a laugh and gets his feet under him, blushing all the while. “Hey there! It is a specific tactic! Think of it like slight-of-hand and bardic performance had a baby, but it acts on a group level. While everyone is busy watching me…”

“Your fellows are working without being noticed.” Dream shakes his head ruefully, ceding the point to Hob. “Not bad.”

“Fun, too.” Hob's grin goes lopsided again as he waggles his eyebrows and he stares at Dream for a beat longer than necessary. Dream has to resist fidgeting under that warm gaze and so distracts himself with their usual banter.

“If that is your kink, then I am sure it is fun.” Speaking of fun, watching Hob's eyes widen and his neck flush when Dream says ‘kink’ is extremely fun. He studies his fingernails and tries to exude nonchalance. “Exhibitionism isn't really to my taste, though. More of a leather and ropes type myself.” He hears Hob inhale sharply and smirks, still not looking up. “Did you know that if you get strips of leather soaking wet they shrink and constrict as they dry?”

Dream looks at Hob through his lashes, sees him open-mouthed and panting, eyes dilated. Delightful. 

Maybe he will be able to get through this partnership with his dignity intact after all. Or, at least, Dream certainly won't be the first one to lose his composure.

[crow-and-vespertine-comic]

Hello! Welcome to the comic blog!

Crow and Vespertine Paranormal Services is a queer horror-comedy webcomic following the titular Crow and Vespertine on their ventures into ghost hunting. Rent is due, and after Crow gets fired, the two of them decide to turn to a more paranormally inclined solution for not getting evicted. Their new freelance career will find them dealing with ghosts, cursed necklaces, abandoned gas stations in the woods, and perhaps even more mysteries lying under the surface...

Interested? Awesome! You can read it right on Tumblr starting here or here on Tapas! It updates weekly on Fridays. This is a short comic project I'm completing over the school year (figured I should try to do something manageable for my first one), so it'll wrap up in June 2025. Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoy it as much as I'm enjoying making it!

this blog will have extra art, lore, possibly some sneak peaks of future pages, and more! feel free to send me an ask about anything comic-related. if you're ever inclined to make some fanart please tag me, i'd love to see it!

i will add more things to this pinned post as i think of them, but that's all for now!