#my first nos drawing

[scribesofcalamity]

Art trade with @casuallycryptidcider of their lovely Nosferatu Lattie ❤️

[hballegro]

okay okay okay you clearly have enough on your plate BUT. I need to ask if you've thought about Flagg for the field day art. I'm imagining him dressed as every gym coach you've ever seen. whistle and big stupid sunglasses. probably a wifebeater tanktop. sweatpants. baseball cap for a team that you hate. This isn't even really a request because I absolutely do not expect anything to come out of it (rude to ask artists for stuff out of nowhere for real for real) I just need to also make you think about it

it is true i have much on my plate and i have the attention span of a gnat,

and i realize i am under no obligation to suddenly make this a reality, as i am obviously dead-set on potter-charles-klinger as my next three artpieces and also it is a random thought being shared with me,

however

i saw the image so crisp and clearly in my mind. red shorts and red hat of some kind, a big clearly fake mustache. sunglasses. big whistle, big lanyard. sweatbands on every limb. jaw jutted out. not suspicious at all. ominously in the background.

it is now on the corkboard as a To Do so i dont fuckin FORGET because i am LIABLE TO

it will be my victory lap after klinger. ive decided. thank you for this gift 👏

[milangakokoros]

Random paint shit (ft La pc del gobierno)

[myownwholewildworld]

Love is heartbreak

↪ a the age of adaline inspired fic

pairing: marcus acacius x ageless!f!reader. summary: kissed by the goddess juno on your day of reckoning, you are brought back to life, condemned to wander the earth for a century. until you meet the other half of your soul who offers you the life you yearn for. but will you be strong enough to accept such promise? author's note: yes, i've cheated on my other wips, I'M SORRY. but when the angst and romance call, i can only answer - i am only human afterall. hope you like this little story that was supposed to be a drabble but ended up being this long, oops! comments and reblogs appreciated. enjoy! x warnings: 18+, mdni. soulmates trope. angst, romance, smut. mild breeding kink (soz). infidelity. mention of SA (not by Marcus) and death. dual pov. reader is female and a blank slate. reader is close to 150 years old (stopped ageing in her twenties) and Marcus is in his fifties. not beta'd and very lightly proofread, apologies if you spot any mistakes lol wordcount: ~8.4k. divider by @\saradika-graphics

“I’ll do anything to stay by your side, amica mea (my beloved). I don’t care about what the future holds if it’s not with you,” Marcus’ broad hands held yours, his thumb drawing invisible circles on the back of your hands.

You hated this — how your heart twisted inside you, torn apart by the choice you had to make. Was this never-ending life not enough punishment? No, you also had to go through heartbreak — your own and Marcus’. For love, you had to.

With eyes averted, you looked down at your worn sandals. Tears teetering on the edge of your waterlines as your vision became blurry with sadness, regrets and fears washed over you like the Tiber kissing the shore goodbye.

In your hundred years wandering the ground beneath your feet, you never had to go through this. Always so careful not to feel, not to grow close to anyone, not to really live the life you wanted, and now you were in a position where it almost felt too real.

Within reach — you only had to extend your hands and hug him in a tight, soothing embrace. Only needed to accept the life that Marcus was offering. Though as much as you wanted to—you wanted it, him, so badly—you could never.

And what was worst, you couldn’t explain why. First you would see the horror in his eyes, that frightened look glittering, then incomprehension, and finally disgust. Your heart couldn’t take it.

“But I do care, Marcus. Yours is bright, your military career is about to take off. I would only hinder you, your dreams. I am no one, and—” you tried to reason with him.

But love was blind. Love was deaf. Love didn’t care about impossibilities, because love was defiant.

At least his was.

“Do you think I care about being disowned? Do you truly believe that I would choose such dreadful life over you? Over a wonderful life with the person I love most?” Marcus squeezed your hands before one of his found your chin, tilting up your face to him. “Omnia vincit amor, et nos cedamus amori (love conquers all, let us too yield to love).”

You shook your head in denial, his words ringing in your ears like chants of war. Because Marcus waged war in all aspects of life, even in love — he’d conquered your heart so fully, you’d never asked him to return it. It would forever be his to cherish, to cry over, to destroy, to hate.

Because he would need to hate you to overcome the heartbreak you were about to cause.

“You don’t have a choice here. You are to marry the lady your family has arranged for; her family’s prestige will do you good. You’re just infatuated, Marcus, it isn’t true love,” you forced yourself to let a soft laugh out, wiping your tears as you took a step back. “At least, for me, it isn’t.”

Marcus’ expression folded and your heart with him. You hated yourself for saying such a vile lie, but a necessary one. The passage of time would not affect you, always stagnant in your early twenties after a fateful day when Juno decided to save your life from certain death. The Goddess of love and marriage was also one known for Her eternal youthfulness — one She would only share with those who had been wronged. And you had been so wronged in your mortal life.

And here you were, so close to committing the same mistake all over again. But you knew better this time — not because you didn’t trust Marcus, but because Fate was capricious. It didn’t matter if Juno was watching over you.

“You don’t mean that. I know you don’t. This is true love, lux mihi (my light), one that would live through eternity,” Marcus muttered breathlessly, reaching for you again, looking for that unbreakable connection you both strongly shared.

“Eternity? Don’t speak of things you don’t understand, Marcus,” you retorted, forcing your tone to sound mocking.

Another step back with an unmovable expression and you saw realisation dawning on him. Slowly like a river widening its meanders, steady like the constant flow of water. Relentless you were, steadfast in your resolution.

“Ave atque vale (hail and farewell), Acacius,” were your last words to him.

35 years later...

“Father, may I marry her?”

Marcus gazed down the dining table, eyeing his son with consideration. He knew what it felt like, how true love messed up your head to the point of madness. He had felt that way only once in his life, and it wasn’t for the woman sitting beside him.

As cruel as it sounded, Marcus never loved his wife, because his heart belonged to someone else — the now hazy memory of a woman who always lingered on the edges of his mind. A cruel reminder of how feeble and fleeting love was, how love turned into heartbreak with just a few words.

“At least, for me, it isn’t.”

That sentence alone had broken him, his ability to feel some sort of romantic connection died that very same day. At night it would haunt him, filling his dreams with nightmares. The same scene playing over and over in his mind, his heart cracking even more every time those words would hit him.

He’d waited for weeks, months. A year it took him to realise you truly were not coming back, that you meant it. He’d only been a plaything for you, a toy you discarded once things got too real. And at that point he surrendered to the pressure his family put on him. Marcus had followed through with the arranged marriage in the end, despite the agony and the empty hole in his chest.

And now his son was following in his footsteps. His heir looked so much like him, like a reflection of the past staring back at him. It pained him — he saw himself in Magnus, almost as if the roles had reversed and he was his own father thirty-five years ago. Pleading, asking to marry the love of his life even though his hand had already been promised in holy matrimony to another.

His wife, Prisca, waved one of her hands with disdain, the spoon clattering on the porcelain plate.

“Nonsense, Magnus,” she tutted at their son. “We’ve already been through this. You will marry Verina. You’d put us in a very compromised position with Gellius if you don’t.”

“But—”

“Quit your whining and man up, my son. Gellius is the Emperor’s best counsellor. It will bring our family great reputation,” Prisca reasoned, tone poisoned with greed. “And riches.”

“Father?” Magnus’ eyes shot to his, pleading him to intervene.

Marcus sensed Prisca stiffening besides him, gripping the arms of the chair like a vice. He didn’t look in her direction but knew how her orbs distilled venom. She would never understand what their son was talking about, but he did. Too damn right.

“I would like to meet her before giving you my blessing,” he spoke calmly, lacing his hands together on top of the wooden table.

Magnus’ eyes sparked up, a hopeful smile curling his mouth.

“Of course, of course! She’s waiting right outside,” and then his son hurried out of the room.

Prisca stood up, the screeching noise of the chair’s legs irritating Marcus.

“Like father, like son,” she muttered maliciously before disappearing too.

In this moment of silent respite, Marcus pinched the bridge of his hooked nose. The patience he had to muster was titanic. His life had been nothing but heartache and war, his son being the only reason he stood by his wife’s side in public. He’d tired of the pantomime, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

He would meet the woman who had stolen Magnus’ heart, just to make sure there was no deception from her part. Marcus wouldn’t wish for his son to go through the same heartbreak as him. If everything was at it should, then he wouldn’t oppose.

“Father,” Magnus called, and Marcus removed the hand from his exhausted, battle-scarred face.

His heart literally stopped.

A warm smile softened your expression when Magnus asked you to join his family in the dining hall. You had been sitting patiently in a small waiting room, wondering if this was right.

The first time you had laid eyes on Magnus a week ago, your heart jolted, and your mind went blank. He reminded you so much of your one and only true love, the one you ditched thirty-five years ago because you were too afraid to embrace the beautiful life he had offered you. The one you still felt in your heart, dormant yet very present in your everyday life.

Perhaps it was wrong of you to encourage this situation, whatever this was. When Magnus had asked you that morning to join his family for supper, he had caught you off guard, so you found yourself agreeing to it.

Deep down you knew why you hadn’t disappeared yet: you wanted to live this moment one more time. Wanted to remember how it felt to be loved so fiercely by Marcus, a yearning you’d been craving for over three decades. Only this man wasn’t Marcus, only someone who was his spitting image.

One dinner, a few hours more of playing pretend, and then you’d vanish again. Leave Rome behind after such brief visit before someone recognised you. You couldn’t afford to give any explanations, so you’d only visit this place once every decade.

You walked behind Magnus, head slightly bowed and hands laced in front of you. Magnus’ broad body blocked your vision, but soon enough he stepped aside to introduce you.

You curtsied, eyes averted, fixed on the marble slabs.

Before you straightened your back and introduced yourself, the man across the room spoke your name — your real birthname.

Inevitably, your heart sank to your belly with panic and your eyes quickly drifted up to meet the darkened ones you once had allowed yourself to swim in.

Marcus. Your Marcus.

Your heart raced in your chest and filled with pure joy. You couldn’t stop the smile that had started curling your lips nor the glassiness of your eyes.

Your one and true love was staring back at you with widened, tired eyes. He had gotten up off his chair and was striding towards you before he suddenly halted a couple of meters away from you with confusion painting his handsome features. Ones that had not remained impassible to the passage of time and war, but ones that you daydreamed about every single day without fail.

So within reach — you would only need to close the distance between you two and hug him, hug him till dawn and never let go. Oh, how much you missed him, how much you still loved him. With your whole heart, the one that ached and wept with regret in your chest right now.

Would he love you back? Did you break the love you shared past the point of mending?

“What? Her name is Aurora, father,” Magnus chuckled nervously, his eyes dancing between the two of you, puzzled. “This is the woman who has stolen my heart. I would like to marry the love of my life with your blessing.”

Your eyes flew from Marcus to Magnus at the revelation, bewildered. Marriage? Was this what it was all about, the purpose of his invitation to meet his family? Marcus’ son wanted to marry you?

You had not seen that coming, as it wasn’t your intention at all. You had only wanted to live this fleeting fantasy of yours for a few days, but there wasn’t love. Not like the one you felt for Marcus, that could never compare.

“Your name is Aurora?” Marcus’ question forced you to look in his direction, your heart twisting maddingly inside you. You nodded with hesitation, “I thought you were…” Marcus pronounced your real name again, the sinking pit of your stomach churning.

“That was my mother,” you quickly came up with a lie. You could never tell him the truth.

“Your mother,” he repeated slowly, shock and pain transforming his beautiful face. “I knew your mother.”

“What? Really?” Magnus intervened with a laugh, palming his father’s shoulder. “That’s such a coincidence!”

You looked at both of them, but your eyes inevitably lingered on Marcus’ darkened ones. Would he believe your lie? Again?

“The resemblance with her is… uncanny. You look so much like her, Aurora,” Marcus rasped, taking a step back and steeling his posture with determination.

He didn’t need to speak for you knew his hurt. Because the same memories that were flooding his mind, had been drowning you for decades.

The atmosphere felt heavy with unspoken truths, your face burning — you loathed yourself for the pain you had caused him. Pain that still contorted his expression every time his eyes flicked to yours.

Would he ever forgive you? Would he know that you lied so many years ago? That you truly and irremediably loved him? That you would always do?

You bowed down your head, mainly to conceal the unspent tears brimming on your waterlines.

“So I have been told, General,” you muttered softly as Magnus’ hand rested easily on the small of your back, his lips brushing your temple gently.

“I know this may seem sudden, father, but I know that Aurora is the one,” Magnus confessed shyly, pulling your body towards him in a warm half-embrace.

Never in your life had you wished yourself to disappear so badly. Marcus’ sight burnt through you and you couldn’t help but reciprocate him. The sadness—no, the heartbreak—in them was like a dagger through your heart, and you wondered if the decision you made so many years ago had been the right one.

By the looks of it, he had done well for himself, just as you had imagined he would. The villa was beautiful, sumptuous even. It spoke of his status in the Empire, how highly rewarded he had been for his enterprise. You assumed that Marcus had married eventually after you left, and you only hoped he’d married for love.

“I see,” Marcus murmured in reply to his son, walking back to his chair. “Let’s eat first. Prisca, my wife, won’t be joining us. She had to excuse herself because she wasn’t feeling well. Please forgive her absence.”

Prisca. So he hadn’t married for love, his family had won and forced him into an arranged marriage after all. Your heart cried for him, for the injustice you had showered upon him with your departure. Perhaps he ended up loving her so his life wouldn’t be as miserable.

That last thought stung, the dagger further twisting in your heart. You wanted his happiness, but selfishly you hoped Marcus still loved you. Undeserving of such love you were, that was clear to you, but you still hoped anyway.

“Of course, Dominus,” you hushed as Magnus guided you to an empty chair.

The food served was delicious, but the silence looming over the table tinged the atmosphere uncomfortable. Magnus did a remarkable effort to keep the conversation going, but Marcus’ succinct replies didn’t leave much room for chatter. And when Magnus pushed again about the marriage proposal—to you dismay—Marcus said that it could discussed tomorrow over breakfast.

Even though the man in front of you had aged, you still saw him as he was thirty-five years ago. He had a scar on his upper cheek and across the bridge of his aquiline nose, crows feet kissing the corners of his brown eyes, his thick curls were greying, and his demeanour was more stoic, but he was still your Marcus.

The only difference though was his lack of… life. His eyes didn’t sparkle anymore, they were tinted with darkness and sorrow. Had war changed him? Had you changed him?

Your throat collapsed on itself, tightening to the point of suffocation. Just in time, you reined in the tears as the last maid removed the plate in front of you.

“I should be going,” you announced, pushing back the chair to stand up.

Marcus sprung to his feet before his son did. And when he realised his promptness, he cleared his throat but didn’t speak.

“It’s late,” Magnus said, standing up to be by your side, throwing a confused glance to his father. “Could she stay the night, father, please?”

Marcus nodded.

“I will ask one of the servants to prepare one of the empty chambers,” Marcus conceded, walking around the table to meet his son.

“Oh,” Magnus sighed, and you knew he’d hoped to share a bed with you tonight.

Your face burnt once more with shame when Marcus’ eyes looked for yours. However, you didn’t meet his gaze, scared of what you would find in it.

“Thank you, General, you are most generous,” you husked in a low voice.

“I will show you around the villa in the meantime, amica mea,” Magnus said, his hand quick to rest on the back of your waist.

You subtly flinched at his endearment. That was what his father always called you. It felt wrong when he said it now, completely out of place — it didn’t at first, when you looked at him and imagined he was Marcus instead. But with the love of your life standing firm in front of you, it sounded so vile.

This fantasy of yours was a dangerous game, one you didn’t want to play. Not if it meant hurting Marcus again, because you could see the way he studied you. How his pupils dilated with anger every time his son would seek your touch. It was killing him, and you in the process. When everyone went to sleep, you would leave in the middle of the night, as the shadow you were condemned to be.

Magnus urged you to turn around and walk beside him, when you heard Marcus gasp.

“Your birthmark,” his words stopped you right in your tracks.

When Juno touched you to bring you back to life over a century ago, Her caress left a mark on the back of your left shoulder. The shape resembled that of a peacock, the loyal animal known to accompany the Goddess.

“What about it?” Magnus intervened, confused by the interruption.

Slowly you looked over your shoulder to glance at Marcus. His eyes were a window to his restless, half soul, desperate and blown — he knew. He searched your face for a crack, a way in, but your expression didn’t tumble.

You wished you could veer around and throw yourself in his arms, kiss him and apologise, ask him to take you back. But you just couldn’t. Love was heartbreak, and it would have to remain that way if you didn’t want to hurt Marcus even more than what you already had.

“Nothing,” he grumbled, jaw tight with a tic on the muscle.

Marcus stirred in bed, unable to get any sleep.

Your face haunted him brighter than ever — every time his eyes shut, your sorry expression would gnaw at the confines of his mind. Seeing you right in front of him after so many years, all curled up to his son’s side, drove him mad.

At first, he thought himself crazy. You looked exactly as you did thirty-five years ago — not even a wrinkle kissed your skin, not a greying hair anywhere to be seen in your plaited hair. So when you explained you were the daughter of the woman who broke his heart, he had believed you.

That was until he saw the birthmark on your shoulder. The unmistakable shape he had joked about in the past, telling you that you had been kissed by Juno Herself at birth. It was impossible that you had inherited such a peculiar mark.

But it was even more impossible that you had remained as youthful as you were, as if not a single day had passed. How was that even possible? Some people were gifted with slow ageing, he had seen some, but to remain exactly the same? No, there was something else lurking, an explanation he could not grasp because it was too surreal, too unfathomable for a mortal.

Marcus needed answers. His mind was a tangled mess, this new discovery shining a different light on the conversation that destroyed him over three decades ago. Did your words have a meaning he had not been able to see before?

“Eternity? Don’t speak of things you don’t understand, Marcus.”

What had you truly meant by that? Did you understand what eternity really was in a level he couldn’t even start to comprehend?

Heart pounding, he quietly removed the covers and sat on the bed. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that Prisca was sound asleep. Not that she would miss him anyway.

In darkness, Marcus palmed around until he found his toga and quickly changed to then walk out of his bedchamber with a clear destination in mind.

He trudged along the cold corridors of his villa until he found the door to the room you were sleeping in. For a second, he doubted, thinking he was crazy for the implausible reason taking form in his mind. But if it wasn’t that—that you were, somehow, ageless—he still needed to know why. Why hadn’t you aged? Why leave him? Why not tell him the truth?

As his shaky hand lifted and curled to knock on the wooden plank, the door swung open.

You appeared under the doorframe with a wild expression and widened eyes, obviously in a hurry to leave. Again.

“Marcus,” you gasped, one hand flying to your chest in surprise as your beautiful eyes met his.

He froze in place, all the words he had planned to say stuck to the back of his throat, forming a lump that would not let him speak. Your beauty was dazzling, but it was the buried love he harboured for you what stopped him from talking as it resurfaced.

His memory of you had not faded, able to remember every single feature of your face regardless the passage of time. Everything about you was engraved in his mind, but he had almost forgotten how sweet you smelt. Roses, with an earthy hint of grass.

As your scent numbed his mind, Marcus finally found his dry tongue.

“Don’t leave, please. Don’t leave again,” he begged in a hoarse whisper, his eyes diving in yours.

You looked up at him and he felt himself under a spell. The same one you had him under years ago, when the heart was shattered and the mind bleak. Because even when you waved him goodbye, he still loved you. Never stopped, was never able to hate you for what you did, what you said.

“Can we talk?” he pushed before realising your eyes were glassy with sadness. “I know your name is not Aurora. I know it’s you.”

Your bottom lip trembled as a single tear fell from the cliff of your lashes. Moved by his own ghost of the past, Marcus reached for your cheek with his palm, the thumb brushing away the tears that followed the first one.

You let go of a deep sigh, kissed the palm of his hand and nodded. His heart was beating so loud, so fast, he almost missed your words.

“I owe you an explanation, Marcus,” you finally spoke, a broken sob almost tearing his resolution.

As you stepped aside, Marcus came into the room you were so eager to leave behind. Your heartbeat had spiked the moment you saw him and hadn’t slowed down since then. Perhaps you didn’t die of heartbreak but could die of a heart attack.

For decades you had been running until you found him. Until Marcus made you believe you could have everything he promised. It had been the first time you had actually considered growing roots. But the thought of not being able to grow old, to see the love of your life wither away while you remained sane, was paralysing. You had panicked — too scared to accept the love of a man who would give up everything for you, too frightened to trust someone again.

But was Marcus not worthy of your trust? He demonstrated repeatedly how he would always protect you, always cherish you. Not only with words, but with actions too. He had been so considerate, so loving, for a moment in the past you thought it a ruse. How could someone be so damn perfect and still be real?

Your heart clenched in pain, seeing him latch the door behind him and turn around to face you. The look of confusion, of sorrow, ate at your conscience. Under the candlelight, his torn features stuck out, time unforgiving. He was still gorgeous, would always be in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing that slipped out before the quivering of your bottom lip let out a sob. “I’m so sorry, Marcus. I didn’t know Magnus was your son, otherwise I would have never—” you shook your head, taming your cries. “I should have known. He looks so much like you. When I first saw him, I thought it was you. That somehow you had been able to still time and be with me.”

You sobbed a pitiful laugh, unable to look him in the eye. It was shameful having to admit something like this — that you had chased after a boy because he reminded you of someone you loved. But despite your immortality, you were still capable of human mistakes.

“So you didn’t know he was my son?” Marcus asked quietly. You could see the inner workings of his mind ruminating as you shook your head no. “Do you love him? Were you really going to marry him?”

The questions caught you off guard. Although at some point you were expecting them, you didn’t think it would be this early in conversation. It might be for the better if it got out of the way as soon as possible, so you could explain yourself.

The first cut would be the deepest, although the rest would still hurt.

“I love the idea of him,” you emphasized, ashamed of yourself for giving in to such fantasy. “I thought I could love him the way I did you, that he could be a vessel of my love for you. That I could, for a few days, remember how it felt— how you felt. That I could have you one more time,” you paused and sighed, intertwining your hands together to twist them nervously. “I only met him a week ago, marriage did not cross my mind at all. I was going to leave once—”

“Once it got too serious,” he finished for you.

Marcus went quiet again, his eyes transfixed on you. You wished Juno blessed you with the ability to read minds, to know what he was thinking right this moment. Did he hate you for what you just revealed? Did he think you were sick for trying to live out a fleeting dream? Would he forgive you for such despicable behaviour?

“Do you still love me?” his gravelly voice was so low, for a moment you thought you had imagined it.

But the doubt, the fresh hurt in his wounded gaze, told you otherwise.

You gaped for air, your lungs strained with sorrow. You should fib, stand by your initial lie, tell him you didn’t. But what had that gotten you the first time around except for a life of misery and loneliness? What had that gotten him?

“I do. I do love you, Marcus,” you whispered, out of breath due to the pounding of your heart. “Couldn’t be any other way. You’re the other half of my soul that I’ve been missing for so long.”

Time stilled as you looked Marcus dead in the eyes. You were not expecting anything out of your raw confession, because the time for those had passed. It was what you should have said thirty-five years ago, not now. You were too late to mend the love that had slipped through the cracks of time.

“Then that’s all that matters,” he finally broke the silence, his voice laced with emotion.

The admission shook you. Could this be true, really happening? Did he still love you after all this time?

In a couple of strides, you found yourself in his arms, the way it should have been ages ago. His forearms wrapped around you like a warm blanket as his head bowed down to taste your lips.

You kissed him back, first sweetly, then fiercely. You kissed him with all the unexpressed love you held in your heart, with the passion your true love deserved. His tongue was as sweet as you remembered, as soothing as your memory recalled. A dance ensued, his tongue reading a love letter to yours.

Your hands, which had been resting on his chest, drifted up to cradle his face — his moustache and stubble pickling the skin of your palms. Marcus untied his mouth from yours to kiss your tears goodbye, then pressed a peck on your forehead. His heart was beating as loud as yours, in unison like true soulmates.

“I’ve missed you. I never stopped thinking about you, lux mihi,” he confessed under his breath. “Life was never the same after you left.”

His admission made your heart flutter even further, and you couldn’t help but let your hands roam his back. Your fingers played with the knot holding the toga in place, his seeping warmth beckoning.

“I need you, Marcus. Make love to me,” you pleaded, leaving a love trail of kisses on his neck.

Marcus’ chest rumbled at your plea, his lips hunting down yours in a heartbeat. His hands were quick with your clothing, worshipping the curves of your body as it was revealed to him. You did the same with his toga, until you were both bare, standing in front of each other.

You saw his eyes lingering on every nook and cranny of your skin before they found yours. A thunder of connection ran through you, of yearning. On your tiptoes, you kissed him again, pressing your breasts onto his chest while your fingertips traced the map of his back.

You didn’t expect all the bumps and grooves you found on his skin; battle scars dotted around everywhere. Some thick and protuberant, some thin and soft. Marcus keened at your touch, silently letting you know that some of them were too sensitive to be caressed.

How much hurt his body and heart had endured, a life dedicated to war and duty. Your heart cried for him, for not being able to be by his side when he needed you most. Had you taken up his offer, had he run away from responsibility with you, his skin would tell a different story.

But the past couldn’t be changed, only the present was malleable enough to shape a new future.

Slowly he pushed you towards the bed, his hands resting on either side of your waist while his thumb drew lazy circles on your bristled skin. Raking your fingers through his silver curls, you leaned back on the mattress, his warm body blanketing yours.

His hands found the apex of your breasts, soft fingers rubbing your taut nipples as your head tilted back. Marcus licked the salt of your exposed neck, finding your pulse point. He kissed the spot and lingered, your vein pulsing against his lips as one of his hands discovered the slick your thighs harboured for him.

The feathery caress of his ring finger outlining your seam turned you into a whimpering mess. His pad stroked your nub, a slight flick followed before it slid down your slit and found your weeping hole. He circled it a few times, taunting you effortlessly, before returning to your clit.

You heaved, lips pursed so your moans would stay contained. In the dead of the night, you worried this show of love would seep through the walls. But not even the thought of his marriage, the thought of Magnus lying in bed a few rooms over, could stop you from joining your bodies together the way the Gods intended.

Marcus’ mouth travelled down the column of your neck, kissing the center of your clavicle before he went further down. Your unattended nipple was soon enough smothered by the wetness between his lips, and you fisted his hair in response, gently tugging at it.

“Marcus,” you moaned, eyes shut. Rejoiced.

One nipple drowned in his spit, the other pinched between his fingers, and his ring finger pressing tight circles on your thudding clit had you fighting to remain silent. But the moment the hand between your hands moved down and his digit teased your walls apart as it sank in your slick warmth, you couldn’t stop the muffled yet loud moan.

“Sing for me, meum corculum (my little heart),” Marcus husked. The gentle pumping of his finger in your wet heat had you quietly howling a few seconds later. “That’s it.”

Your felt your walls contract, pulse around his finger, holding onto him for dear life. Feeling your need as his own, Marcus dunked his middle finger in your pussy too, stretching you while his thumb stroked your clit. The combination of it all made you clench around him, almost begging for release.

“Let go for me,” Marcus asked between licks, and you couldn’t resist his prayer.

The coil that had been tightening inside you finally snapped, releasing a wave that coursed through your quaking body like a tumultuous sea. Your back slightly arched as your thighs trembled around his forearm, chest rising with a dire need for oxygen.

Marcus chuckled softly, setting your nipple free as he searched for your mouth again. He devoured you as you came down from your high, his erect cock gently resting on your mound. The weight of it on your sensitive skin felt like it belonged. The anticipation of welcoming him inside you made you gush.

“Let me drink you, kiss you, savour you,” he pressed a kiss on your mouth after each pause.

Your skin flushed; the proposition was somewhat indecent. It was lewd, frowned upon, and you were tethered to the chains of social decency. But there was nothing decent about infidelity, after all.

“Please, mea vita (my life). I can make you reach for the moon and the stars in the ceiling above if you let me, make you touch them,” he promised.

You shyly nodded, and his boyish grin grew wider, his lips tensing. So contagious, you smiled back as he came off you and moved your body until your butt was on the edge of the mattress.

He scooted you over towards him until the back of your knees were resting on his shoulders — leaving you completely exposed to his hungry gaze. His eyes lingered on your leaking dampness, his dilated pupils tracing the outline of your seam. The intensity of it all, the deep connection, made your thighs press together against his neck, wanting to hide your core from him.

You had nothing to be shy of, as Marcus had already seen you bare before. Sex with him had always been ardent, fervent — the heat of passion always got the best of you both, a certain urgency to consummate your love. But now? Now was different. There was no rush in his movements, in how his thumbs pried your pussy lips open, in how his warm lips brushed the sensitive skin on your inner thigh. His calm confidence in taking you as he had promised was new to you, who never had all the time in the world. But right now, you did. For Marcus, you did. Always would.

Your lashes fluttered, kissing the apples of your cheeks the moment the languid strokes of his tongue met your swollen flaps. He kissed one gently, then the other, before the wet muscle lapped from your gushing hole up to your clit. So venerating were his licks, your limbs relaxed at the intimate kiss.

“You taste like ambrosia, lux mihi. The best relish I have ever been graced with,” his hot breath collided with the cold skin on your slit, your body trembling in response.

“Marcus, please,” you begged, although you were not sure why, or what you were asking of him.

He didn’t leave you waiting again. His fingers sank in the flesh of your thighs while his tongue dived inside your slick furrow. So dextrous were his charges, you couldn’t help but mewl like a starved kitten in a back alley asking for leftovers. First, he flicked your excited bundle of nerves, and then he suckled on it, his jaw working you through the climb to another orgasm. The buildup was intense, but it became feverish the moment his finger joined the action — it slid easily inside, curled to caress the precise spongy spot of your arousal.

Unaware of your own actions, one of your hands slithered down your belly until you fisted his curls — pushing him towards the centre of your heat, not away from it. He hadn’t lied — the stars appeared behind your eyes, bright like the future you wished you had with him. A sea of constellations, all imploding at once in an amazing rain of stars that blinded you as you came crashing down from the skies.

You heaved and wailed his name in ecstasy, your entire body quivering with the strength of a thousand suns. Your entrance clenched around his finger as you held your breasts, your thumbs ghosting the taut buttons. You leaked your pleasure on his mouth, and he drank unashamedly, grateful of your offering.

A sweet kiss on your mound before he towered over you, and you could only look at him in awe with raw, true love. When his battered body blanketed yours, you draped your arms around his waist, hands lightly resting on his lower back. The knowing smirk on his lips spoke of a muted “I told you so.”

“I love you,” he whispered instead.

Your heart swooned and healed and cried and exploded. All at once. He hadn’t said those exact words yet, but they were veiled in every sentence, every action he had said or done tonight. Deep inside you were eternally grateful that he hadn’t grown to hate you, that his love for you remained intact despite heartache, circumstances and time.

Unbeknownst to you, tears welled up, ones that Marcus drank too. As he did, your palms stroked his ribs, careful to avoid the scars you had come to learn were too delicate. Eager, one slid off his skin until your fingers wrapped around his throbbing manhood. Eyes down, you saw the pearly bead of pre-cum commending you to butter it on his flushed head. With your thumb you caressed the tip, and Marcus’ lips parted in need — an invitation you quickly accepted, dunking your tongue in his mouth.

A few pumps had him groaning and soon enough you were guiding him to the pocket of heat between your thighs. His cockhead kissed your gushing entrance the same way his lips did — knowing, denuded, possessing. And slowly he made his way in, parting your flesh like a new stream disturbing the earth beneath. The burning sting was most welcomed, blossoming into a fullness you had craved for decades.

“I’m home,” Marcus rasped when he was fully seated in your cunt.

Your throat clamped a little, emotion overtaking your senses the same way his erection did.

“Welcome home, dilectus (beloved),” you muttered with a loving smile and teary eyes.

You melted into a slow kiss as Marcus rocked his hips, rutting into you almost lethargically, wanting the moment to last. You let him set the pace, the drag of his cock in your pussy a delight that had you reaching for the stars again and your inner walls squeezing him tight. The sweet rhythm of his swaying tightened the slick, hot coil that pooled low in your belly, and the moment Marcus gained momentum, you followed.

Needily he started fucking into you with precision, chasing both of your highs. His dick pulsed inside you, your heartbeat instinctually adapting to his in a second. Both so close to the sky above, gasping for air now, you rocked underneath him to amplify such pleasure.

“Marcus,” you whimpered, your hands now cradling his face. You lost yourself in his eyes, blown and loving. “Please, inside,” was everything you murmured.

Even after your petition, the snap of his hips against yours didn’t falter. Instead, the pace increased as his wild orbs studied your blissed out expression.

“Do you mean it?” You nodded effusively. “Do you want your belly round with my child?”

You didn’t even know if it was possible — yes, you looked young but were closer to a hundred and fifty years on this earth than to the day you were born. The fertility of your womb was one you never dared to test in your immortal life, but the thought of having such a memory—someone—to remember him by when the days grew cold and the nights dark was overpowering reality.

“Yes, I do,” you reassured him, pecking his lips softly.

His head fell, his face resting on the crook of your neck, while he made love to you. His moves stuttered, announcing his climax, and your pussy hugged him tight in a natural response. The moment the first ropes hit your cervix, you came undone too. As Marcus filled you with his warm spent, you creamed around his beating girth, your hands holding onto his shoulders as your back arched and your nipples kissed his chest.

It took both of you a few minutes to come down, for the haze of lovemaking to slowly dissolve in the musky air. Marcus hungered for your lips and he hunted them down with eagerness. Your bodies finally untied, his cock leaving you empty yet satisfied.

You hoped—prayed—his seed would take root in your womb. Even if it was impossible, the sliver of a miraculous possibility gave you a resemblance of hope. So you pressed your thighs together, greedy of his gift.

Marcus rolled off you, falling onto his tummy besides you. Quickly you laid on your side, your fingertips tracing the lines of his skin again. A feathery touch to alleviate the harshness of life. He unburied his face from the pillow and turned to look at you.

His smile was instant, and so was yours.

For an hour no words were spoken at all, no sleep was achieved either. You both remained silent, staring at each other, soaking up the love that flooded the chamber.

Replacing your fingers with your lips, you kissed the scars on his back, his shoulders, his arms. And finally his nose and cheek, where you dawdled as if your caress could erase the pain they inflicted.

“What are we going to do, amica mea?” Marcus husked after what felt like an eternity.

Reality set in, leaving a gaping hole in your belly. What could you do? Would you be strong enough to stay by his side for however long the goddess Mors took to claim him? Strong enough to build a life you knew was ephemeral? And once he was gone from this mortal plane, what would be left of you?

The choice was an impossible one. One that you should have made decades ago, when the heart was whole and the mind still strong. Now you knew how arduous life was without him, how—for years—you had looked for him in the small details and every single man who resembled him, how the regret and the grief haunted you at every turn of a decade. Now you knew that life wasn’t worth living if you didn’t have Marcus to share it with.

You traced the profile of his nose with your lips before pressing a soft kiss on his.

“I am not sure, but I am willing to try… if you are,” you whispered, leaning back.

The implications of such life were huge for him. Married, with a son who though himself in love with you, an acclaimed General who served Rome even when Rome didn’t serve him. His responsibilities were greater than yours, Marcus had so much to lose. Had you accepted his proposal when you should have, neither of you would be in such dire situation.

Marcus sighed heavily, rolling onto his side to face you. His calloused hand cradled your cheek, his eyes filled with a determination you wished you had back then, when life was easier.

“There is nothing nor no one that could stop me from spending the rest of my life with you, lux mihi,” he mumbled, hand dropping to your hip. “I said it then, and I will say it again: I do not care for this life if you are not with me. I don’t care about reputation nor retaliation. For over fifty years I have done what was expected of me, and I am done living my life for Rome and her vice. You’re the stars that light up my path in the darkest of nights, the warm sun that guides me home. For however long you’ll have me, I’ll be with you. My heart was always yours, mea vita, since the moment I landed eyes on you. And I don’t want it back, ever, even if you have to leave again.”

The softness of his delivery, the truth his words emanated, brought tears to your eyes. You thought yourself unworthy of his love, his devotion, when you had only caused heartbreak. But this was your second chance, one you were not going to let go.

You moved closer to him as his arm wrapped around you. With your forehead resting on his naked chest, you traced invisible lines on his ribs.

“I won’t leave. That broke me once, can’t handle it a second time. I love you and want to spend the rest of our time together showing you how much I do, making up for lost time. For however long,” you repeated, kissing his chin.

There was a brief pause, and you knew what his next words would be.

“How old are you?” the question you had always avoided, dreaded.

“Close to three times your age,” you confessed, looking up at him through your lashes.

The answer slowly sank in, but instead of horror, incomprehension and disgust, you only found acceptance. As if it was just another fact about you, nothing of major importance.

“You look amazing for being close to one hundred and fifty years of age,” he joked with a grin to lighten the mood. You let out a soft laugh in response. “How? If you want to share.”

The story of how you came to be ageless wasn’t a pleasant one. But your life was full of secrets that had ruined every human link you had to this earth, and you wouldn’t let them spoil the only real connection you had left.

“I… I was promised to a man, one who I thought was worthy of my love. There were things I was blind to at that time, and only time showed them to me. I thought everything was going as expected, he was always so courteous and respectful in public. Until our wedding night, when he…” you paused, the memories too painful even after all this time, “he abused me, and let his friends use me. When they were done, they left me for dead in a ditch.”

Marcus’ arm draped around you tighter, his heart beating so loud you could hear it thumping against his chest. He hugged you close, his warmth calming and reassuring. Marcus was nothing like that man, if your abuser could even be considered a person. You knew he never would be so despicable — you were as sure as the first lights of the sun would wake you up tomorrow.

“It took me hours to finally drift away. And when I did, Juno greeted me. Said the man had wronged me, and that I should have a second chance to understand what marriage and true love actually were about. Then she touched me right here,” you caressed the peacock-shaped birthmark, “and breathed life into me.”

Marcus leaned back a little to inspect your torn features. The heartache he had to endure paled in comparison to yours. How could someone inflict such hurt on another? He couldn’t even fathom such disgusting scenario. That man was the reincarnation of evil, and he wished he suffered the most agonising death.

He had only seen your soul’s purity, your kindness, your benevolence. Anyone who didn’t was blind.

“You did not deserve that ending, amica mea — no one does. He didn’t deserve you,” his heart cried for you, for the weight you had carried for over a century. “You’ve got the purest heart I have ever known. A soul that I will protect until my dying breath.”

“A half soul,” you interrupted him, and Marcus looked at you confused. “Because your other half completes mine.”

His heart jolted, this time because of the sweetness of your confession. That muscle had grown bigger in the last two hours than in his entire lifetime. He sworn himself to stand by your side, come what may. You would never be wronged again, not if he could avoid it.

“We’re leaving tonight,” Marcus declared without skipping a beat.

“What? What about your wife, your son?” your eyes had widened, but his resolution was firm.

“My wife… she’s not been my wife for years. She’s poison. And my son…” he shrugged, conflicted. “He’ll eventually understand, or so I hope. I believe he might already have an inkling that something weird was at play from the moment I said your real name.”

“Marcus, are you sure? You’d be sacrificing so much for me, I wouldn’t want to—”

He didn’t let you finish, his mouth covering yours in a passionate kiss that slowly turned gentle and soothing. Your hands caressing his battle-scarred skin was like a balm; your touch the first and only one to cure all his ailments. Unhurriedly, he sat back up on the bed, dragging you with him.

“Let’s leave now. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you, lux mihi,” Marcus purred against your lips.

Fifteen minutes later, you were both clothed and atop of two horses, blending in with the shadows of the night that concealed your departures, in search of a new life. Together.

taglist: @orcasoul @lilac-boo @picketniffler @almostfoxglove @gothcsz @liciafonseca @namenotimportant1373

[zombaebitez]

I have an idea but if you don't like it you can discard it!

Maybe something like Ellie x reader where reader is a runner?

It's 3am and that's the only idea that came to my mind haha. Love your writing btw.

-🌮

I Love You (Too)

ellie williams x runner reader

synopsis: it went too fast, you got bit; now she’s alone again.

zom’s note: im so glad you like my writing, tysm! since there was no specifics, i wanted to branch out and write smthg angsty, bc why not. i lowkey feel bad… my shayla.

word count: abt 955

warnings: angst, death (ellie shoots reader), just pure sadness not gonna lie.

Love

noun

A deep feeling of adoration and affection. Complex and utterly fucked.

—

God- It wasn’t supposed to make this turn, literally and figuratively. It was supposed to be a simple scout… in a foreign area. Red Flag. It was quiet, Green Flag? No infected, right? Fuck no. A major fucking fuck of fuckest nos. Open street, Green Flag, Houses… Red Green Flag? It all happened way too fast. One minute you and Ellie were walking, chatting quietly, still alert, but not as sharp as you both should be.

First came one, round an abandoned truck. Then came another… then another… that alerted another. Then before you know it, A WHOLE DAMN LOT OF THEM. Two people against what felt like hundreds, constant moving, running, dodging, shooting, stabbing.

A means for survival, you had Ellie’s back, Ellie had yours. Well for the most part… Ellie split from you just for a second? A minute…? Three or seven. It was a frenzy, her mind was running miles. Yours also in a panic until then last infected.

—

She had an arm around you as support, holding your waist with the other. Both covered in grime and blood, that was hopefully not your own. With an effort you both managed to huddle inside a safe house, deemed that way by Ellie’s check through. Green Flag. It's okay, everything was fine.

Until it wasn’t… that’s when Ellie noticed the copious amount of blood near your calf, running down your to your ankle like a fucking river, splitting into streams. Red Flag. Ellie damn near felt her knees buckle, immediately drawing your attention to where she blankly stared. You assured her it was nothing, before turning your leg fully to reveal the ripped fabric of your jeans… a few scratches littering under the rip… then a bite. No that was fucking obvious…

“Oh…” was all you could muster out, before glancing back at Ellie. She stood there, frightened as you tried to console the situation. She was gonna puke.

—

That was almost a week ago. Maybe a week. Ellie couldn't be certain… a few days definitely. You told her you weren’t going to let her see your certain demise. You both knew what was meant to happen. That was days ago, She didn’t let you. She said… she’d do it, so you two can savor each moment left. Red Flag.

‘Ellie, pull the damn trigger’, is what she’d tell herself.

She wouldn’t… not now… not on you.

So here we are, Ellie sitting outside the house you ultimately turned in, because she couldn’t do it. Reminds her of that couple that ran from Jackson some time ago. She understood… well related.

Life was a cruel mistress. The amount of times she held the pistol to you, your cordyceps infected brain not caring, body working on instinct. She knew you were gone… but the moans and cries felt a little too human each time.

She grabbed her journal, scribbling in the worn book, scratching your face… a face that made her feel more sane… especially after Santa Barbara. Or maybe she never was. She felt the same as she did on that goddamned beach.

Broken down, lost without him, or her... Or you. Alone again. No one. Just her mind. Cruel.

Did you feel alone in that head of yours too? Was sitting prisoner in your own body as your last bits of sanity where taken from you by a fucking fungus petrifying? Did Ellie being the last thing you could grasp mentality give you peace… or sadness?

It didn’t bring her peace thinking about it. She found it hard to even think about you without the fear in your eyes, a primal fear that sinks deep into your bones. You unknowingly clawed her down with you once you turned, or maybe it was the other way round. She knew it was fucked up, keeping you here… she knew it was wrong. It was selfish. You aren’t even you anymore, yet she still holds onto the thought of you. It's twisted. It’s sick… it’s the second time this has happened. One time too many. Melancholic.

She tossed the journal down next to her; thinking was too much. She couldn’t, her hands shook, her body trembled. In, out. Inhale, exhale, she reminded herself.

Standing, Ellie looked at the house behind her. Quiet… Red Flag. She wanted to hug you, play ignorant to the fact you got bitten…

She went inside, your reaction is always immediate and hostile. Could there be guilt lying somewhere in your brain…? Maybe she was personifying you too much, you weren’t human anymore. She watched you attempt and attempt to reach her, bound by some old rope she found in the garage of this stupid house. Inhale, Exhale. She grabbed her handgun, trying to tune out your screams and snarls, struggling.

She adored you, she tried to hold on to what she had of you… she couldn’t. Red Flag. All she could grasp is your last words, before the day your mind wasn’t yours. The sobbing, and the denial.

“Ellie, you know meeting you was amazing…

She steadied her hand.

…I wish we could have had more time together, you’re so so special to me…

Ellie aimed towards… the runner? you.

… don’t worry too much, and please don’t lose yourself…

Ellie fired ???

… I Love You, Ellie.”

—

She slung her backpack on her shoulders, walking outside. Her movements— mechanical. Ellie crumpled, she sobbed. Alone, scared, tired. Her own type of infection clawed through her body. One that didn’t kill her, not physically. Dissociated… it all went too fast, yet too slow, like trudging through tar.

Ellie took a deep breath, shaken up and ragged.

“I Love You Too.”

[elenthyaolyenths]

Ok, it's time, isn't it? My first "Art Versus Artist"! and always, my complete Good Omens Art Gallery if you are curious!

Hello my dears! Your little Frenchie wing-addict here! 2024 has been a hell of a ride, so many great things happened since I decided to join the Good Omens fandom ! What a ride, yeah, from my first Red Art sketches in January to my most recent full-colour tries and experimentations - most of them still secret, sorrryyyyy. My wrist surgery and the physiotherapy still going on, depression and health problems hitting hard again... BUT I KNOW I wouldn't be here without the fandom and without your wonderful support.

The constant research of my own art style, while i was granted the chance to work with amazing writers and artists. The pleasure to share my improvements with you all, dear followers and friends!!!

Thank you so much, for everything. Wishing you the best for 2025, I hope I'll be able to make you smile and dream even more!

Linktree - Masterpost - Ko-Fi - Prints of my Art here!

And, here, I'll have to stop a minute and try to remember ALL of you dear people I'd like to thank even more personally... with all my love and my gratefulness. (!long text under the cut!)

@vavoom-sorted-art dear M'am, I have already told you how one of your Tumblr posts litteraly saved me in the beginning of 2024 and gave me back the courage to continue to make art. It was probably a very small thing for you, but for me it has been a life-changing thing for the best. Thank you again, thank you so much for your kindness, and your advice about my art during this year. I wish you the best for 2025, for your studies and everything else <3

@malohkeh-main My dear, you're the first one who encouraged me to do this personal Red Art Daily Challenge in January. Thanks for your wonderful support and our translation teamwork, life happened between us but I'll never forget our discussions.

@floscrap-blog, my dear frenchie friend I have met on international GOAD sub, while we were living almost right next door, how was it even possible?? Dear Hun, thank you so much for your kindness, I'll treasure our friendship forever.

@kotias, the one and only! I can't even say how much I'm grateful for you finding me and dragging me into the wonderful behind-the-scenes of this awesome fandom. Because of you (and it's a compliment) I was suddenly drawing even more, writing again after a 3-years-blank-page-syndrom, meeting so many new people and collegues and friends. My life has definitely changed the day we started to talk, and I discovered what the tag "found family" might mean. Thank you so, SO MUCH, Madame.

Thanks to @goodomensafterdark for creating the best goblin nest ever. Your whole community supporting me when I was about to get my wrist surgery and when I was scared as hell? Probably my best wonderful memory ever of this summer. Still crying about it. Thank you so much, for everything.

@demonsandpieohmy, dearest, I still remember this comment on my art on GOAD, mentioning your fingers tingling... and then, "To Shreds" was born, and it was just the first of our several collabs together. Thank you so much for your trust and your support on my very first NSFW artworks! Thank you for your friendship, we might have talked less these last months but it's always a pleasure. Wishing you the best for your ulterior writings!

Thanks to @the-bentley and @cassiecasyl for choosing me on the Reverse Bang Minisode and for our wonderful teamwork!! I have been uncredibly lucky to have you both.

Greatings and many thanks to the people who supported me on Ko-Fi and/or commisionned me this year. It's been an honor and a true pleasure. <3

Hugs, love, and big thanks to my dear friends and fellows artists/writers: @daneecastle (your kindness and your advice still help me everyday, dear), @gribouli (tellement heureuse d'avoir pu te rencontrer, merciiiii pour tout!), @nosferatini (Thank Mama Nos for everything, can't wait for 2025 ;-D), @sweetmascherari (the "BIG" project was so much funnier by your side!<3), @eybefioro (my dear I'm so happy to finally be able to work with you!)... and I probably forgot people and I hate it but be sure I'm so so grateful T.T

Thanks even more to all my lovely friends from the TNAN discord - and specifically to @itsscottiesstark, my dear friend and co-moderator. I love what we have created there and even if this BIG BABY of a network is sometime a little bit overwhelming now, it's always a pleasure to co-event with you and having fun during your Story-Times.

And, last but not least, thanks to my dear internet Spouse, @captainblou. Writing and arting by your side has been one of the most wonderful things I was able to do this year. Thank you for that, and for everything else, each day, every day.

Happy NYE everyone! See you in 2025!

Tag-list (ask in comment to be add if you want to be notified next time I publish my Good Omens arts and WIPs! A lot of secret work is almost done and is coming!!!)

@goodomensafterdark ;

@floscrap-blog ; @demonsandpieohmy ; @amagnificentobsession ; @captainblou ; @mamamissy

@ineffable-hyperfixation ; @itsscottiesstark ; @moralsofanalleycatsposts ; @featheredboaconstrictor ; @lenareadly

@fearandhatred ; @eybefioro ; @crowleys-bentley-and-plants ; @ashfae ; @crowleys-hips;

@paperclipninja ; @silverdphantom ; @neverlet ; @naturallyteal ; @goodoldfashionedlovergirls-blog ;

@madaims; @daisydimple20092 ; @seraphhiim ; @rebeccakatmauri ; @cobragardens

[tharett]

**** This is going to be the last ranfren post I'll make ****

I'm pretty sure some of you may know (and by looking into the community, will probably tell me to "grow up" lololol), the ranfren creator has... a VERY problematic past (that i properly searched and educated myself about)... and I no longer want to associate with their work (simple as that, really)☝️🤓

[Context as to Why I'm Uploading this xd]:

I was in the process of drawing this page (with the intention of uploading it ywy) before finding about the LORE about the making of the Ranfren series, so I couldn't bring myself to NOT upload this after putting a lot of work in for it... and we find ourselves here in this awkward situation :v

So with this, I will bid the series adieu and continue uploading art of my other interests 🙇‍♂️

Eng Translation of my Chicken Scratch Handwriting:

Nyon and Nyen photo:

- ok 1/2 (letters on his shirt)

- Nyon looks too feminine lmao (in my style)

-Nyen (why is he always drawn all muscley??) (Future thare: I now know (HAH))

Luther photo:

[Headcanon Box]

- always unprepared for visitors (doesn't have enough drinks each visit somehow)

[Dialogue]

Luther (L): "I hope your friends like them..."

Randal (R): "thanks big brother! Woah, an ash tray for a cup!? Cool"

Avalona and Spider Girl photo:

[Dialogue]

Avalona Mercury (A): c'mon guys! Hurry up! N'hee hee hee!"

R: "I'm on my way ladies!!"

A: "ew you're drooling again hee hee!"

[OC]Hirose Daiki (H): "I'll stick around a bit!"

[Extra Notes]

- HS AU ☆ high school alternative universe

- they all get along like normal teens <3

Comic Strip (LEFT TO RIGHT! Also Numbered!!):

[Contex Box]

- meeting the Ivory Family

[Dialouge + Action Boxes]

H: "oh! Hey Sebastian (S)! What a coincidence! Wanna hang later?"

S: "H-Hirose? What are you...?" [First time meeting Hirose out of school]

H: "I'm also here for groceries?? Lol. Why else would I be here?"

L: "oh? Is he a friend of yours, Randal?" [Lean--]

R: "eeh, I guess? He's a friend of a friend" [uninterested]

H: "hello! I'm Hirose Daiki, Randal's and Sebastian's friend! You must be Randal's big brother, Luther, right?" [Offering hand for handshake]

S: "I told you, you don't have to greet them..."

H: "nonsense!! It's a pleasure to meet you! Hi Randal ^^"

R: "ugh... hi..."

L: "(Oh, he's nicer than the other one (Satoru)!) Well yes! Yes I am- it's a pleasure to meet you, too!" [Flattered Blush]

H: "the pleasure is all mine!"

R: "Seb, let's go to the candy section!"

[Contex Box (2)]

- later made plans to introduce his (Hirose) parents

Traducción de Todo lo que Dije antes pero en Esp xd:

**** Esto será el último blog de Ranfren que haré ****

Estoy seguro que algunos de ustedes saben (y al mirar los tipos de la comunidad, probablemente me dirán que "ctm/no mms" xdxd), el creador de Ranfren tiene... un pasado MUY problemático (en la cual yo tome el tiempo para buscar para que me eduque adecuadamente)... y ya no quiero asociarme con su trabajo (así de simple, la neta JAJA) ☝️🤓

[Contexto de pq subo esto xdxd]:

Estaba en el proceso de terminar este dibujo (con la intención de subirla ;-;) antes de enterarme de la HISTORIA sobre la creación de la serie Ranfren, así que como no subir este dibujo después de ponerle tanto esfuerzo para terminarlo, y pues... ahora nos encontramos aquí en esta situación incomoda :v

Así que con esto, me despido de la serie y continuaré subiendo arte de mis otros intereses 🙇‍♂️

Traducción Esp de mi letra culera JAJAJA:

Foto de Nyon y Nyen:

- ok 1/2 (lo que tiene escrito en su blusa)

- Nyon se ve demasiado femenino JAJAJA (en mi estilo xd)

- Nyen (¿pq siempre lo dibujan todo musculoso?) (thare del futuro: ahora lo sé (JAJ))

Foto con Luther:

[Caja con Headcanon] ("Headcanon" son ideas que son implementados en un personaje(s) de cómo interactuan/como reaccionaría en ciertas situaciones, etc)

- Siempre no esta preparado para sus visitantes (por alguna razón siempre no tiene suficiente bebidas para servir en cada visita)

[Diálogo]

Luther (L): "espero que a tus amigos les gusten..."

Randal (R): "¡Gracias, hermano mayor! Gau, ¿¡un cenicero para una taza!? Chido"

Foto con Avalona y Chica Araña:

[Diálogo]

Avalona Mercurio (A): "¡Vamos chicos! ¡Apúrense! ¡N'hji ji ji!"

R: "¡¡Voy llegando chicas!!"

A: "¡Que asco, estas babeando de nuevo ji ji!"

[OC]Hirose Daiki(H): "¡Me quedo con ustedes por un poco!"

[Notas Extra]

- UA de Prepa ☆ Universo Alternativo de la Prepa/Secundaria

- se llevan como adolescentes normales <3

Tira Cómica (¡LEER DE IZQUIERDA A DERECHA! ¡¡TAMBIÉN ESTÁ NUMERADO!!)

[Caja de Contexto]

- conociendo la Familia Ivory

[Diálogo + Cajas de Acción]

H: "¡oh! ¡Que tal Sebastian (S)! ¡Que coincidencia! ¿Quieres pasar el rato?"

S: "¿H-Hirose? ¿Que haces aquí...?" [La primera vez que mira a Hirose fuera de la escuela]

H: "¿¿También estoy aquí para el mandado?? Lol, ¿para que más estaría aquí?"

L: "¿Oh? Este es un amigo tuyo, Randal?" [Se inclina--]

R: "eee, ¿yo diría? Es amigo de un amigo" [desinteresado]

H: "¡Hola! ¡Soy Hirose Daiki, amigo de Randal y Sebastian! Usted es el hermano mayor de Randal; Luther, ¿es cierto?" [Ofreciéndole la mano para saludarlo]

S: "te he dicho, no necesitas saludarlos..."

H: "¡¡Tonterías!! ¡Es un placer conocerte! Hola Randal ^^"

R: "ugh... hola..."

L: "(Oh, ¡es más amable que el otro (Satoru xd)!) ¡Por supuesto! Soy el hermano mayor- ¡Es un placer conocerte!" [Rubor Halagado(?)]

H: "¡El placer es todo mío!"

R: "¡Oye Seb, vayamos a la sección de dulces!"

[Caja de Contexto (2)]

- después hicieron planes para introducir sus padres (de Hirose)

Con esto, me despido y les deseo que tengan una buenas/os días, tardes, o noches 🫂💕

And with this, I say goodbye and wish all of you a good day, afternoon, or night 🫂💕

[friskafriskito]

Charity Commissions 🇵🇸

Hello guys, it's been a while!

To cut to the chase: I would like to help spread both awareness and support for those suffering in the ongoing genocide in Palestine. So, in light of this, I will open up some commissions where rather than paying me, you simply provide proof of your donation.

I know this blog is mainly just for my art, but if I can use my art for any good I would like to do so. If you cannot donate, please reblog!

Here are some recommended links:

E-sims for Gaza: https://gazaesims.com  

Palestinian children’s relief fund: PCRF

Women for women (hygiene kits, blankets, food): Urgent Support for Women in Palestine Women for Women International

Anera dignity kits: https://www.anera.org/stories/gaza-emergency-aid-includes-dignity-kits/

A website for vetted fundraisers: https://gazafunds.com/all

But of course you can donate to any related organization and fundraiser you like, even if it’s not included here!

If you are Egyptian you can also donate to any of the organizations listed under the Instapay, Talabat, Fawry apps, or your bank app under their ‘donations’ services with the equivalent price in EGP (based on the bank rate). Just provide a screenshot.

For a written list of the prices, the do/don'ts, and so on, please look under the read-more for more details!

How Does this Work?

Send me the idea you have and I will let you know if it’s good to go or if it’s not appropriate (or if I can’t do it due to time/work)

When you get the okay, I will ask for more details (references, colour schemes, poses, which charity you plan to donate to, etc.)

I will draw you a basic thumbnail for your confirmation (these are very vague sketches to just pinpoint the pose).

Once you confirm the pose, I will ask you to donate and I will get to work

Send me a screenshot of the e-mail confirming your donation (blur out/colour over any personal info!), or the “Thank you for your donation!” screen if there is no e-mail

You get your drawing in exchange!

NOTE: I will likely post them on my artblog and Instagram, so if you don’t want them posted there or would like to remain anonymous, please let me know!

Also bear in mind I have a full-time job, so they might be a while! But you WILL get your commission.

HALF-BODY

$5-$9: Lineart $10-$14: Monotone $15-$19: Colours, flat $20-$24: Colours, shaded Above $25: Colours, shaded, with background

FULL-BODY

$10-$14: Lineart $15-$19: Monotone $20-$24: Colours, flat $25-$29: Colours, shaded Above $30: Colours, shaded, with background

Yes-es:

Fan art is fine (I won’t be getting any monetary profit from this)

Characters from original stories

Personas/self-inserts/fan characters/Tabletop RPG characters

Real!you, family members, friends, etc. (at the risk of them not looking like them at all :’D)

Animals (they might be a bit less cartoony as I'm not used to them but yes)

Personifications/anthropomorphic/strange creatures in general

Nos:

No discriminatory content

No religious figures, symbolism or content (I am Muslim so… Cannot Really Do That)

No extreme gore or suggestive themes, or characters from media that feature a lot of either (this is because my art blog is PG-13, and I’d rather not anything off-colour for a charity commission anyway)

No using these with AI or NFTs

Do not use for commercial purposes. These are for charity!

I reserve the right to decline your commission if I feel like you have insincere ulterior motives, or if an emergency comes up.

Generally, keep this PG-13/grandma-friendly!

Pleases:

References (preferably image based, but text is fine if there is no visual depiction/canon design)

Colour you associate with the character if monotone

Poses (just not lewd or rude)

Context (like description of their personality, what they like, their setting, etc.)

Ask first:

You are free to repost the artwork on another platform as long as you credit me as the artist. Absolutely use them if you need a picture for something like an RP account!

If from your original work, you may use them in non-commercial projects, just please credit me (and give me a heads up so I can go check it out! :D).

If an original character from an original story, you are free to use the artwork to help with things like visual development (let’s say, you are creating a game, comic or pilot, and you want a reference for the artists on your team to use), just once again give me a heads up and credit me as the artist.

If you've made it this far, and can't donate, thank you so much for your interest anyway. At the very least, this reached someone.

[the-headache-realm]

First reference sheet of my fallout equestria OC- Noed. I’m very much obsessed with her, she’s so fun to draw too. Want me to lore-drop about her? Lol

[gikabizine]

QNA time!

The forms are closed, and there's been a total of 82 responses! Woo! Thank you so much everyone <3 (Also, psst, mods applications open tomorrow, for those interested hehe)

Though of course, you also left a lot of questions which we shall answer below!

All of these answers are being written by @somethinginworl

Why do you want to make the zine in the first place? Since the Kirby gijinka fandom is rather small and some people are either too shy to share their designs or haven’t considered even making it, I thought making a nice cozy event would be the perfect opportunity to bring the fandom together and even inspire new people to make them!

I know I said "first come first served here but like. Why can't we just. Draw whichever gijinkas we want. Just curious

Firstly, we do want to push people into making new gijinkas, or artworks of characters people usually don’t consider! Secondly, if that were the case then the zine would just be 50% Magolor. With all due respect I don’t find it exciting and I’d rather have more variety.

Will there be limited slots? Or as more people join more characters added for gijinkas.

If you’re talking about slots of the zine itself, we’ve decided 35 participants is good. If you’re talking about character slots, we do have characters planned to put in a list so people can pick, but if someone wants to pick a character that is outside of the list provided we’ll allow it to as long as it’s from Kirby.

Is this whole thing basically like a newspaper?

It’s more akin to, well, a magazine. Each page consists of one artwork/photo/illustration.

Will only certain people get certain characters?

No.

Is there a problem if you’re under 16? Does this make you unable to participate? || I was just curious since I am 16 years of age, would I need to be older to participate?

The team believes working with folks over 16 will make the event run smoothly and be more active :) So yes, you need to be 17 and over to participate.

I wonder if the anime counts in this, but if not that's fine too || Does Gijinkas of like places count? Like i have a Fountain of Dreams Gijinka and I’m like really obsessed with her, but not sure if she would count or not

We’ll count anything that is within Kirby canon, including anime and places.

After the survey time, will you send us a message?

The survey doesn’t collect emails or usernames, so no.

Would quilting or plushy making count and would that fall under arts and crafts?

Yes!

has the timeline of the zine been figured out yet? are there limited spaces?

It has! Take a look

Mod Applications

9 Nov - 16 Nov

Mod App results send

by 20 Nov

Contributor Applications

1 Feb - 15 Feb

Contributor App results send 23 Feb - 28

Contributor Confirmation Deadline

4 March

Check-in 1 15 May

Check-in 3 15 August

Final submissions 1 June

Layout & Format Revisions June 2024

Zine ready for download July 2025

and yes, it is 35 applicants.

When do we know if we're picked or not ? So I don't bring on confusion like last time

Not sure what you mean by last time, but we’ll email you if you got in or not.

Will the event need a portfolio?

Yes, we stated it in the carrd FAQ

en que idiomas se presentara? hablo español y no entendi muchas preguntas

Inglés, tenemos dos mods que hablan español (Mod Capn y Mod Michi) pero lo haremos en inglés, si tienes alguna duda nos puedes preguntar de todas formas.

Would cosplay be an acceptable medium for the zine? If so, that may affect some of my choices haha but my current answers are for 2D art ATM!

Yes! You will need to send cosplays you have designed, and since it’ll be rainbow themed you have to have some photography experience, but we’ll be far less strict on the case of cosplays. Please look at the schedule to see if you can make a cosplay in the amount of time given.

Will everyone have one character to draw or can you draw two characters together?

The character you will be assigned is supposed to be the main character within your illustration, but feel free to include any other character as long as it doesn’t take the focus away from the main.

-

And that's all folks! If you've got anymore questions, feel free to shoot us an ask! Have a nice day!

[2024-grimoire-challenge]

January week 5

We're gonna start this week with some broad ideas that are going to make us think. Take a look not only at what you practice and how you practice, but the why behind those things. What are the rules and philosophies that you follow?

Monday - Rules

Introspection/ lab notebook -what are the ground rules you set for yourself in your practice? Put these in your lab notebook, as these may grow and change with your practice through the years. What are the hard nos you have in your life and practice, things you absolutely won’t do spiritually or magically? What are the things you do every time you practice, the “have to” dos? Setting yourself these rules and having them written or even just said out loud can help you understand yourself. Once you have them down, think about the why behind each one.

Journal- think back about what got you into your practice in the beginning. What was it? What is the how and why? What were the reasons you got into witchcraft in the first place.

Tuesday - Morals and Values

Lab notebook - think along the lines of the seven deadly sins and the nine noble virtues. Do you hold stock in any set of moral standpoints or pillars within your craft? What are there? Where did you learn about them? How do you go about navigating them and handling them? A great deal can be learned from understanding oneself.

Study - Pick another herb off your list and study all you can about it! Magical, mundane, medicinal, history, culinary uses, myths and legends, everything you can!

Wednesday - Doing The Work

Lab notebook/ practical- do a spell! Find one or make one and outline it in your lab notebook. What will you use? When and where will you do it? What will you actually do? Why will you do it? How will you do? Once it is outlined, do it! Then take notes on how it went and what needs to change, if anything, to make it better!

Study - Like before, pick a gem and study everything possible about it!

Thursday - Philosophies

Study - what’s one thing in witchcraft you’ve always wanted to learn? Whatever it is make a page for it! Be it scrying or cursing or protection magic or sigils. Whatever it is, study up on it! Add the notes to a notebook or your lab notebook!

Introspection/ Journal - What ideals do you stand for when it comes to your craft? Personally, my practice both spiritual and witchcraft related, pertain almost entirely to balance. What ideas or places do you draw inspiration from?

Introspection/ journal - what are three goals you have to work on in your practice this year? Journal about them now. How will you do it? What steps will you take to achieve these goals?

Friday

Catch up day- use this day to catch up on any work you’ve not gotten done so far this year.

Design- design a new page for your book! Add stickers, colors, pictures, leaves, flowers, cards, anything!! Whatever style your grimoire is, let it show! Be creative!

Ah! Another week down! There’ll be more bonus prompts in the coming weeks. I hope everyone is enjoying the posts and the challenge and again feel free to tag, message or inbox me at any time! I’ll reply as fast as I am able and am enjoying the feedback I’ve gotten so far!

Good luck and happy crafting witches!

-Mod Hazel

[viickairinmuak]

Thank You, Cass.

English:

This video is made to show Cass all the comments left by all the Spanish-speaking people who are grateful for your comic, this is more than just a small detail for you. I took up translating the comic as a hobby and you have no idea how many comments they left for your wonderful work.

Since your comic came out and I have been a fan of it, you left a great mark for recreating every moment that is canon in my heart and giving us an adventure that not only made us laugh but also brought tears, small tantrums and not forgetting the moments in which We felt desperate to know, what will happen in the next update?

For my part as @_WAFFLES_200 on Wattpad, I am so beyond grateful I could cry. I will always have great appreciation and admiration for you.

(If I'm honest, I'm shaking because it's my first time posting drawings on Tumblr and I really hope the translation can be understood. I also apologize for not being able to translate all the comments dedicated to you. I hope you can see it 🐢💔)

It's not much, but as we say here. The intention is what counts 😿❤️

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

Español:

Este video está hecho para mostrarle a Cass todos los comentarios que dejaron todas las personas hispanohablantes que están agradecidas por tu comic, esto es más que solo un pequeño detalle para ti. Tome como pasatiempo en traducir el comic y no tienes idea la cantidad de comentarios que dejaron por tu trabajo tan maravilloso.

Desde que salió tu comic e sido una seguidora del mismo, dejastes una gran marca por recrear cada momento que es canon en mi corazón y darnos una aventura que no solo nos saco risas si no también lágrimas, pequeñas rabietas y no olvidar los momentos en los que sentíamos desesperación en saber, ¿qué va pasar en la siguiente actualización?

De mi parte como @_WAFFLES_200 en Wattpad, estoy mucho más que agradecida que podría llorar. Siempre te tendré un gran aprecio y admiración.

(Si te soy sincera, estoy temblando porque es mi primera vez publicando dibujos en Tumblr y la verdad espero que la traducción se pueda entender. También pido una disculpa por no poder traducir todos los comentarios dedicados a ti. Espero que puedas verlo 🐢💔)

No es mucho, pero como decimos aquí. La intención es lo que cuenta 😿❤️

@somerandomdudelmao

[raevenlyreads]

Daily Tarot Draws

November kicked my ass. It happens. With the end of spooky season, the election, my birthday, and the onset of the Christmas Crunch, November tends to be either a wild blur, or a deeply spiritual month as I take time to carve out little zones of peace. This November was not that kind of month for me, but in the past, I’ve done a 30 challenge I really love by Hillbilly Oracle, the Nonbinary November Tarot Challenge, or simply kept a daily draw journal.

November is a very special month for me. One, birthday (lol). But more than that, November is what I like to call the Void Season. For me, the year “dies” at the end of October, but it doesn’t return to life again until the Solstice. So all November and most of December are “void” months, separate from the rest of the year, a sort of limbo. It’s a time where I like to turn inside, underneath, and downward-- in other words, its a great time for tarot.

One of the things I love to do when life starts to feel too crazy are daily tarot draws. Fear not, I don’t mean “every single day” when talking about daily draws; I am so not an everyday anything kind of person (I’m lucky breathing is automatic or I’d surely forget to do that too :P). I mean “daily” as in “the scope of this card is for a single day”. On days where I remember myself and want to throw a few elbows to crave out space for myself, I really love just sitting with my favorite deck of the moment and my morning coffee, and just idly shuffle til one pops out at me. This card becomes my touchstone for the day (and often, I’ll carry around a literal pocket stone associated with that card to be a physical reminder), a place I can go to to center my thoughts and regain my equilibrium.

These kinds of daily draws are less divinatory in my usage and more sympathetic. Less “watch out for this today!” and more “You need more of this in your corner today”. Some folks absolutely use them the first way, and that’s totally fine. But for me, I tend not to get as much use out of daily divination. My life is simply not that dynamic. If I make a divination spread, it tends to be for broader strokes, longer periods of time. So my daily draws tend to be a lot less external event driven and much more about my internal landscape (This is the same kind of thinking behind my Advice spreads vs my Insight spreads.).

This internal check in is what makes these daily draws such a source of peace for me, why I use them to make room for myself in my own life. When things are hectic, it is so easy to get squeezed out of your own internal monologue, shoved aside by worries and fears and to-do lists and upcoming events and what-ifs and oh-nos and-- yeah. There’s always a million other things vying for our attention. Daily draws can be an excellent way to make sure you take time to listen to yourself and check in with your own needs.

Liked this post? Check out my kofi shop for more how-to's, beautiful deck selfies, and the spreads I have available for commission!

[pythonmelon]

Back when I first designed my BLoSC-sona a friend told me I had to draw them holding hands with Nos-4-a2 and this is the best excuse they would have

[delta-pavonis]

Dream Journal Rescue for the wip game, please

WHOO! Thank you for asking about this one, Nonny.

For the 2022 Dreamling Secret Santa I took a risk and wrote something that can be very divisive in fanfic and in fiction in general: first person narrative. I wrote the first half of i had a dream (i got everything i wanted) as a dream journal that Hob used to record his dreams after they came back when Dream got out of the fishbowl in 2021. It draws both from the early comics and from the TV show in terms of events/timeline. This fic got significantly less attention than the others I had written at the time, but it was also the one I was most proud of that year (and that's with Eros in Pragma and Hypnopompia turtur in there!). I am still extremely proud of it because it is, for me, I think very poetic writing. However, the first version of i had a dream wasn't post-fishbowl, but actually started before the fishbowl. Hob still kept a dream journal, and it still started in first person, but the idea originally was that Hob would figure out that something had happened to his Stranger because of his dreams stopping. Which meant that they needed to have enough of a relationship/rapport by the 1910s that Hob would trust that Dream would not miss a dream "date" of theirs without very good reason. Hence, "dream journal rescue" as the name. I only have pieces of the fic, but I keep them because I still viscerally love what I did with i had a dream SO FUCKING MUCH that I want to return to that style at some point. If you have read i had a dream you will see the bits I took from this and transferred to that.

This is totally G-rated and starts before 1889, as Hob is anticipating that next meeting, and then keeps going into 1914. Here's what I have in that WIP file:

1:

21 October 1885

I think I need to write these down. Olive suggested I start writing these down. She is usually right about such things.  

Maybe it will bring some clarity to this… mess. 

I’m in the White Horse Inn. (It is always the White Horse.) 

The year is not obvious from the decor, which is a riotous mix of 1389 and 1489 and 1789. Delicate teacups and straw-covered floor and fireplaces with chimneys. Of course chimneys. But I know, in the way of dreams, that it is the day of our annual appointment, the next one, in 1889. 

I shake my coat and hat free of the London morning rain. I am many hours before the time of our appointment. This my usual - I always arrive early. To ready the table and, more importantly, myself for our meeting. 

But in this dream I enter the White Horse to find the Stranger already there. He looks exactly as he did in 1789. Which must say something about my imagination since he has always been in impeccable fashion specific to the era of our meeting. 

Or perhaps it is because he looks at me with the same burning intensity that made our last appointment so spectacular. His eyes devour me, just as they did when we parted last, and I am absolutely helpless to resist.

I am sitting then, across from him, cups of tea and venison pasties between us. His beautiful pale fingers trace around the gilded edge of the teacup. I am speaking, words tumbling forth, I can hear the droning vibrations in my ears and throat, but it is not where my attention lies. 

My attention is riding the wave in his coalblack hair. My attention is wafting the bob of his throat above his high collar. My attention is tracing the sweet pout of his pink lips. My attention is flying through storm-sky eyes. 

He reaches across and

Fuck. I can’t write this.

2:

[There are several attempts at starting entries after the previous one. None manage more than a sentence.]

[No attempts at entries are made after 1889.]

3:

1 November 1898

I woke up still drunk and still in very rural Wales (note: never ever always maybe return for Nos Calan Gaeaf in the future) and found this old journal in the bottom of my trunk, so I suppose I shall once again make a valiant attempt to take dear Olive’s advice to sort out the dreams of my Stranger that ever plague me.

(I have heard tell of work by a man named Freud who claims dreams can be used to better understand someone’s psychology and potentially even relieve psychosis. He'd have a field day with me. May I never come within 400 miles of him.)

My drunk mind lacks creativity for scenery and so when I sleep this night I find myself in the same village square I was in only hours prior… however, I am back in time about 400 years? Long before the industrialization of the region, before the extermination of these old traditions by the expansion of “civilization.”

I have just won the silly harvest mare from the clutches of the other young men bringing the last of the harvest in, a horse-shaped horror made from the final stalks of grain reaped. I am now expected to try to sneak this rustling beast into the home where the bulk of the feast is being prepared by the womenfolk without one of them dousing me with washwater. If I succeed in getting into the kitchen unscathed I will win their finest beer and an honored seat at the feast-table. I am always up for new games.

(This is all Iwan’s fault for convincing me to accompany him home for the holiday yesterday and for me getting drunk while they all told me stories of the Old Days. Let it never be said that I abandon a friend in their time of need.)

I easily weave through the crowds of women and children, in their dresses and aprons and smocks, clothing I haven’t seen in centuries but are still as real as yesterday, and cross the kitchen threshold only to find the room empty. An empty kitchen except for the crackle of the hearthfire and my Stranger sat on a barrel in front of it. 

The large fire paints him in oranges and golds and he looks warm and inviting in a way that I have never experienced outside of my mind. It is the moment I know for certain that this is a dream. 

When he looks up to me he appears confused, brows drawn, lips parted. 

I am the first to speak, although words do not come easily to me. “What…?” After our parting in 1889 I can scarce understand why I am seeing him before me now. Although nightmares of the night plagued me in the months afterwards, I had been blessedly free of any night-time visits from my Stranger for almost a decade now. It has been an unexpected boon after so many years of dreaming of him more carnally. I know these facts within the dream. “Why are you here?”

He doesn’t stand, cranes his neck back to look up at me, and I realize he has a low collar this night, lower than it had been even in 1489. I can see flame-gold arcing around the shadowed hollow of his throat.

“It is a Ysbrydnos.” He explains in perfect Welsh, as if I am some child. I do not question why I can so easily understand him despite my mediocre grasp of the language. It is a dream, after all. “Many call on me such nights.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Yes, ‘tis a Spirit Night and you a spirit.” 

He tilts his head to the side, bird-like and distinctly not human. “Not as such. But I will attend the dreams of many who call me here this night.” The Stranger’s voice is just as rich and decadent as it is in person. This detail my memory - traitorous bastard it is - does not neglect. 

“Of course. Even the version of you I make for my dreams gives non-answers and evasions.” I can feel my whole body hunch in defeat. I wrap my arms around myself, look to the floor. “Just why…” Even my dream cannot steady my voice. “Why does my mind show you to me now? Why this torment?”

“Ah.” Now his voice is choked and staccato. “You did not call me here yourself this night.” Perhaps he is surprised, or ashamed, I cannot tell. 

Still, I want to scream. “After last time…” I grit my teeth and continue to stare at the floor. 

I see the toes of his black shoes enter my field of view. His chest is perhaps a handspan from mine. “Do you truly wish to never dream of me?” This inquiry is a mocking echo of his usual question, but there is no mockery in his tone. “Given…" He shakes his head, unable to say the words. Say the words he should say: Given what I did to you… Instead he restarts the sentence, "It would be well within your right to request it.”

I sigh. He almost sounds remorseful. What a fantasy this is. How contrived. “No.” And if I ever doubted before that this was a dream the tiny bits of relief I see wash over my Stranger confirms it. His eyes soften minutely. His shoulders relax a hair's breadth. “This might be the only chance I have to ever see you again. And I would take the machinations of my mind, I would take delusions of your regard, over nothing.”

He hums, looking back to the fire as he takes a step away from me. I feel cold and bereft. “This dream is over.”

And then I woke up.

3: 

1 Nov 1898  I have not dreamed of him in six months. one year.         three years.         seven          ten          fifteen 

4:

25 May 1914

After almost 17 years I found myself dreaming of the White Horse last night and when I focused upon it in my mind’s eye I almost burst into tears.

Wait, Olive always said that this was more effective if I narrated as if I was reliving the dream. That I would get more details back that way.

I begin the dream standing outside the White Horse Inn and knowing that I am dreaming. It is the first time I have begun a dream this aware and therefore it is noteworthy. 

When I enter I feel his presence before I see it. Through the doors in the back, to the private room that had been set aside for us in 1789. He is once again in front of a fireplace, standing this time, hands clasped at the small of his back as he looks down into the flames. 

(Note: Ponder this pattern more later, that I associate him in dreams with fire.)

The door to the room automatically closes behind me and he turns. Despite the venue, he is dressed, as always, in the pinnacle of fashion. All black - of course - but a suit with long jacket and waistcoat and tie nonetheless. The ever-present ruby sits heavy and dark just below his throat.

“I did not intend the delay, Hob.” And doesn’t that throw me for a loop. I did not know prior to that moment that one could get dizzy in their own dreams. “I sometimes forget that time flows… differently… for you humans. But I did think on our last conversation.”

Thirty questions stampede through my mind at once. Everything from ‘Did he just directly admit that he is not human?’ to ‘Which last time?’ I throw all of these aside and instead opt for a cautiously lilted “And?”

A magnanimous wave of his hand and we are sitting, the same tea and sweets that were present in 1789 grace the table between us. I hold my breath. “Perhaps we can pick up, as much as we can, where we were in 1789 before the Lady Constantine interrupted us.” I am so taken aback by the turn this dream has taken that I cannot for the life of me think of what to say next. Luckily, my mind does not require me to as he continues. “I believe you asked my name.”

I almost fall over myself to give him leave to avoid it. “Only if you wish it.” Just don't leave again.

He smiles, something brighter than usual, and it feels like looking into the Sun. “I have a list of titles, which we can get to later, but the simplest name is Dream.”

I clamp down on the anguish that’s in my throat, but it still comes out as a high-pitched wheeze from between my teeth. “Dream?! DREAM?!?” I let myself slump boneless into the chair, impropriety be damned, and splay my legs out in front of me, hands over my face. “Oh fuck my mind and these GAMES. Why can it not send me sweet dreams of you? Of COURSE you are named Dream… you are a dream! Has my subconscious no creativity? Christ in heaven…”

“Hob!” He shouts. He has never shouted at me before. I look to him through my fingers, meet twilight-blue eyes. “My name is Dream of the Endless and I am the King of Dreams and Nightmares.”

Shock, bright white and violent, runs through me and I quite literally fall out of my chair.

And then I wake up.

5:

26 May 1914

I do not think I have ever been more wrong about something in my long long life.

Fuck. 

My Stranger is Dream. He lords over dreams and nightmares. They are his Domain, his Kingdom. 

F U C K

I knew that he was something Other. But this. This. 

We met again last night, in my dreams. I don’t need to work at this anymore (thanks for trying, Olive) because he asked me last night if I wanted to remember this, remember meeting him. Apparently he has some manner of control over such things.

I told him yes. Of course I said yes. But I think I want to continue to keep track of what has happened, what will happen, in my dreams, here in this journal. If only so that I have something to refer to later when I have absolutely zero confidence that this is real. Some proof that I haven’t gone completely barmy. 

Last night we talked. Just talked. It was in a liminal space, barely distinct as containing a floor and walls and chairs. All monotone, in blacks and greys and faint whites. It still reminded me of the back room from 1789.

He - Dream - told me so much. More than he had ever said to me in one go ever before. He told me some of his other names: Lord Morpheus (or just Morpheus), Prince of Stories, Oneiros, Shaper of Forms. He has a kingdom, home to dreams and nightmares alike. They are not only his citizens, but he creates them. Creates!

I have so so many questions.

But I must parcel them out carefully. Each answer is a treasure I will hoard. 

I returned his generosity with words of my own.

[narcfyodor]

Hiii, I saw your message about asks, and I wanted to ask if you had any specific coping mechanisms for homicidal ideation. Mine has been awful lately, and my usual coping mechanisms aren't working as well anymore.

Also, you noted that you have NPD, BPD, and ASPD traits. How'd you figure out you had all of them, and not just a 'PD NOS' type situation? /gen I myself fit traits of all four cluster Bs (going through all the official diagnostics, I fit the criteria for all four), and I'm struggling to figure out if like. I might have traits of each (like described it'd be ASPD traits, BPD traits, HPD traits, and NPD traits), or if I'd be considered to just have general cluster B traits, or if I'd have 'PD NOS', or if I would straight up just have all four PDs, etc.

REMINDER/TW

Some of this is personal experience, it won't be the same for everyone. I will mention a mental hospital I went to. I am not a professional.

About the coping mechanism for homicidal ideation

First of, thank you so much for the ask! To answer your first question. I sadly don't have any healthy ones. But I have one that doesn't harm others. Usually when I have homicidal ideation and I'm at home I go to my room and try to distract myself by reading and watching a video. That on it's own is good I just tend to isolate myself for a few hours until the feeling has completely passed. What's unhealthy about this is not only the isolating but also repressing of the emotion (anger/rage wtvr.) Because it will come back eventually and then it's over 😭 I do plan on working on better coping mechanisms in therapy but the last time I talked about it with a therapist I was not met with a friendly reaction at all.

So my Tipp is to take time for yourself when you can and try to distract yourself. Just try not to make the same mistakes I do and don't isolate yourself and try to let the emotion out in another way (like writing, drawing, sport) at a later point in time.

How did I figure out I have NPD, BPD and ASPD traits?

I knew I have BPD since 13. I did the test for personality disorders where you fill out a sheets of paper with over 100 questions. The results showed that I had a high score for BPD. But since I was 13 I didn't get it diagnosed. NPD is more recent. At the start of 2024 I found myself looking at the diagnostic criteria and symptoms for npd for reasons I can't remember. I went over them and compared it to my expirence only to realize that I fit every but one diagnostic criteria that is "arrogance, haughty behaviors, and attitudes." (I do experience it to some degree I just often don't tell people what I'm actually feeling/thinking for personal gains). After a lot of research I decided to self diagnose with npd but even then I was still in denial. Towards the end of last year I was in a mental hospital to work on my "bpd like symptoms" among other things. There I finally did the personality disorders test. At first I did the test I'd already done when I was 13. Then I sat down with a psychiatrist for 6 and a half hours. We went thru all clusters and all personality disorders. She asked me questions and I had to answer and give examples. Once the results came back it was clear, I have NPD and BPD. I got diagnosed with both as the score for both, especially NPD, was high. So that explains how I figured out I have NPD and BPD. But what about my ASPD traits?

Aspd is more complicated and way more recent. While I was suspecting NPD since may last year and BPD for years I only realized my ASPD traits about 2 months ago. During the whole testing I was very focused on my BPD and NPD symptoms. Especially after I got done with the section of npd and bpd, all I could think about was thoes two disorders and my symptoms tied to them. I unintentionally ignored all other symptoms I was showing and that paired with the psychiatrist who basically skipped over aspd during the testing process for whatever reason resulted in me not really being able to talk about anything relating to it. The next few weeks after I got the diagnosis all that was in my mind was NPD. I was struggling with the diagnosis and what it means for me. Due to the diagnosis I was paying more attention to my behavior, thoughts, feelings and urges. After some time I was able to think about other things than NPD but I still payed attention to my behavior and such. Over time I saw things in myself I had not seen before as I just considered them a part of me, and/or something that's completely normal. They weren't and while some of it fit NPD or BPD other things didn't. I was confused. One night I was thinking a lot so I went to the person watching over us that night (reminder, I'm still at the mental hospital at this point). We sat there and talked for 2 hours until it was 12am. I talked about my symptoms, my need to control others and the situation generally, my homicidal ideation, not being able to understand what is right or wrong and generally not understanding social norms, my non existent remorse and regret and so on. The person I was talking to listened to me and at the end asked me a question "Do you feel emotions?" This question absolutely destroyed me. Because while I felt the urge to say yes, it didn't feel right. My next few days were spent thinking about that question, I asked people with ASPD how they expirence emotions. It took time until I found a answer to the question but either way, the symptoms where still there. I wasn't sure what to do with all of this new information that hit me all at once. I decided to talk to my therapist there. And while she did recognize the ASPD traits her reaction was far from nice. To put it simply, I was almost thrown out the clinic and in the next therapy session she told me I'd be released way earlier than expected and planned. Her reasoning was that I have too many problems. She said until I get released we'd just work on making sure I don't relapse into dysfunctional behaviors at home. So I didn't have a opportunity to talk about it again with her.

I am still kind of in denial about my aspd traits even tho I know I fit a lot of the criteria and I'm not talking about thoes that overlap with bpd and npd.

How do I know it's not PD NOS?

First of, the official diagnosis. But outside of that it isn't a mix of different traits without filling enough diagnostic criteria for a personality disorder, I fit all the criteria for BPD and NPD separate from each other. Yes my BPD is influenced by my NPD and the other way around but even so, I still fit the diagnostic criteria enough to get a diagnosis. If I did a testing for BPD and ignored the ways NPD influences it, I'd still fit the criteria. When I have time I'll draw what I mean to visualize it and explain it better.

General cluster B traits, PD NOS, or all four?

If you fit all diagnostic criteria for all personality disorders you probably have all four personality disorders. But it depends. As an example on how strong the symptoms are, you might experience all symptoms of a pd but a professional will call it traits as some of the symptoms aren't strong enough to be considered a pd on it's own. Everyone goes in the direction of specific personality disorders but it is considered a personality disorder or symptoms when it's exstreme. (Not saying you don't show all cluster B traits!)

A professional will probably be very hesitant to diagnose you with all 4 PDs. They might look for other similar disorders first that overlap. In the end it's in the hand of the professional what they diagnose you with. But my original point stands, if you fit all diagnostic criteria for aspd, bpd, hpd and npd, then you probably have all 4. Tho please note that I'm not a professional!!!

This got really long I hope I could help you somehow anon! If you or anyone has any follow up questions feel free to send a ask! Have a great day ahead and thank you for the ask!