#they may or may not work side by side in the future...

[annoyedbreadstick]

"There's one of them in every time. Somebody who's willing to help, who always has the necessary information. It's easy to spot them, if you know what to look for. A Guide always has short fluffy brown hair, and androgynous clothing. They have no makeup(or little makeup, depending on the time), and tired eyes. But most of all, they give off an aura that draws time anomalies to them.

After the Federation legalized heavily regulated time travel, time agents were trained in what to do when heading to the past. We would always appear near a Guide, and though confused, they would always relay the basic information needed to ground oneself.

Manipulating the fabric of time is not a precise science, which is why Guides are required. Unlike some fictional works, we cannot simply set coordinates and a date and be on our merry way.

My name is Mæřÿ, and this is the story of my first Travel.

I had manifested in what looked to be somewhere in the 2020s, during the height of the quarantine, judging by the scarcity of people out and about. That would make finding the Guide slightly harder than usual.

I let myself wander around until I felt a pull in one direction, then let myself be led by the feeling. I came across an unassuming house, with blue paint and an untended lawn. I knocked on the door, feeling apprehensive about meeting my first Guide. Had I got the wrong house? Were my senses wrong?

My thoughts were interrupted by the door opening; just a crack, but enough to see to the other side. A child stood there, looking up at me.

"Could you bring your mother or father to the door?" I asked him. The boy nodded and scurried off back into the house, leaving the door open. I peered inside, seeing if I could catch some hint of the year. The living room, from what I could see, was cluttered with toys, shoes, and other debris. A bowl of popcorn sat forgotten in front of the television, gone stale a long time ago.

The child returned with his mother in tow, this time wearing a cloth mask decorated with a tie-dye pattern of red and blue. The mother wore a mask as well, though this hers was paper, resembling a surgical mask.

"Yes?" She asked me, her voice weary. Her hair was cut short and tied into a ponytail, frizzy from LA of care.

"Apologizes, but if I may inquire about the year?" I questioned, confident she was the Guide I seeked.

She sighed, recognizing the question from years of experience. "2020, during the Coronavirus quarantine. The date is February 2, the current president is Joe Biden. The iPhone 12 is coming out this year, and there's a store with a bathroom you can use to finetune your time about 15 minutes from here.'

I thanked her, but as I moved to leave, she stopped me.

"Do I get a pay?"

"What?" I asked her, not understanding her question.

"A pay. I've been doing this since I was 16, shouldn't I be counted as an employee?"

"Guides aren't counted as employees, they're a Timelinal Constant."

"Well we should be. I have to keep track of all the relevant political data at all times, just in case one of you comes knocking at my door. Shouldn't I be counted as an employee?"

"Ma'am, without you Missions couldn't be completed, this is an obligation." Her child looked between us before walking back inside, evidently bored of the conversation.

"If I'm so important, I should get a paycheck, shouldn't I? If the whole future rests on my shoulders or whatever bullshit I'm being told this time, shouldn't I be compensated for my work?"

I dug around in my pouch before handing her the business card for the Time Travel Federation. "I don't know Ma'am, but you can contact my higher-ups if you'd like."

She took the card, staring at the number on it. "And this will work in my time?" She asked skeptically.

"Yes, it's a separate line. It shouldn't be affected by time or distance. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go. I've wasted too much time already."

I walked away to complete my mission, leaving the Guide with the business card.

"And that, dear friend, is how I unionized all the Guides."

Ĵæme§ looked at me skeptically.

"Mæřÿ, you work in IT."

You once made a promise to yourself: if you ever met a time traveler, it wouldn't be a big deal. You’d tell them the date, the most important political conflict, a recent technology, and send them on their way. You now encounter a time traveler nearly every week.

[veldenmire]

Apparently in times of crisis I turn to my most badly behaved of little guys, so here's me letting you know about First Blood upon this Pale Altar, the follow up to Last Light that takes place a number of months after the events of Book 1.

🩸With Bertie by his side, Father Ambresario is no longer the head-down shrinking violet of the Church of the Holy Protector. While he now acts with a new boldness, the change hasn't gone unnoticed, especially as a string of odd demises befalling the church's leaders has the clergy nervous for their future. As the bells are tolled to call for a conclave, Ambresario may soon find out that the scrutiny of the ritual brings an unwelcomed focus from some, and a draw on Bertie's attention that shakes Ambresario's newfound confidence. Cutting through the tangle of secrets and power struggles, and unexpected front runner emerges in the form of the notorious Father Rasmus, stepping back into the citadel for the first time in twenty years. Seemingly unburdened by any doubts, the man Ambresario once knew as a mere sickly boy knows far more than is comfortable. Worse still, Rasmus has stirred quite the fascination in Bertie. ✨

I've had to forfeit making Wayward for PCAF due to having to move at short notice (which has unfortunately also delayed my ability to open the Last Light reprint), so I thought I might as well just work on something bigger instead. Compared to Last Light, First Blood will be much longer, bloodier and steamier. I'll be posting a lot more on Patreon, including the very steamy stuff! 👀

P. S. I didn't expect to be announcing that the next instalment of my evil religious gays comics will center around a conclave at the same time as the preparations for an ACTUAL CONCLAVE

[wawawanwan]

So happy to see this post bc I love these two SO much but it is incredibly hard to find any food for them. So for my fellow starving fans of Uncle Vegeta and nephew Gohan, I want to share my favorite fics of them (also, if you already know these fics or end up reading them and want to talk about them or even Vegeta and Gohan in gen, i am on my hands and knees, PLEASE my dms are open PLEASE TALK ABT THEM WITH ME PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PL)

Anyway, fic list:

Completed:

Cold World By jjgp1112 on Ao3 [Rating: T+, Warning(s): Graphic Violence, MCD || CH(s): 44, Words: 363,613]

Ao3 Summary:

After being kidnapped by Raditz and sent off to space with him, a young Son Gohan must now navigate a world of bloodshed and war under the most ruthless space tyrant in the known galaxy with only the savage Saiyans by his side. Will he be able to survive the unimaginable horrors with his humanity intact?

Personal Notes: One of the most popular fics of these two to my knowledge, but still a fav. Big fan of this part of the fic in particular: >> "I hate you…I hate you, Vegeta!" Gohan screamed in between his feverish strikes. "Is that so?" Vegeta said before striking Gohan down yet again. Before he opened his mouth back up to speak again, he waited for Gohan to stand back up. He didn’t give him a chance to prepare for another attack when he began. “You should . I’d expect nothing less,” Vegeta said. He swung his arm to the door. “I walk through these halls every waking day hating everyone and everything around me.”

This scene is the core of the fic. Vegeta teaches Gohan how to hate. How to use that hatred to keep going. He wants to escape? Fight to make it so. Peak fucked up found family that somehow ends up working out, for better or worse. (Raditz is also there, which is a huge plus.)

Shades of Gray by niteryde on Ao3 [Rating: T+ , Warning(s): Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings || CH(s): 10, Words: 52,453]

Ao3 Summary:

Three years after the Cell games and his father's death, Gohan is having a hard time, physically and emotionally. Bulma decides to ask her husband to help… will her plan work or will Vegeta's involvement only make things worse? Some BV.

Personal notes: a lot more going on than what the summary makes it out to be. Seeing how Vegeta acts with all the halflings (including Goten) is real cute. Two child soldiers with daddy issues bonding.

That is sadly the end of the Completed list, yeah... but I still recommend giving these incomplete/dropped fics a shot, a lot have a bunch written and are really, really, really good.

Incomplete/Dropped:

DBZ: Hope of the Universe (series) by TheFriendlyCritiquer on Ao3 [Rating: , Warning(s): Graphic Violence, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings (final part) || CH(s): 25/? (Across three parts) , Words: 173,281] Status: Possibly Dropped, last updated: 03 Feb 2024. Updates were fairly frequent and quick in the past according to dates of older comments.

Ao3 Summary:

With an unexpected attack from the androids and an unlucky explosion, refugee Bulma Briefs with her young son Trunks and 14-year old Gohan discover that they have been zapped not only to the past, but to an alternate universe! The universe-hopping trio must now use their power, wits, and skills to survive. Hell is always on their heels, but strangely enough, they find refuge among the not-so-extinct Saiyans. Much to Gohan's distress, and Bulma's delight, he is catapulted to the top of Saiyan society - a society which he views as barbaric and destructive. Through a series of (mis)adventures, explosive battles, and political schemes galore the trio may just find their place in this universe.

Personal Notes: I am so normal for this series/au. I pray that one day it comes back, or at least the author is happy and healthy even if they don't return to writing it. This fic is so peak. Cinema. Planet Vegeta worldbuilding and Saiyan Culture. Saiyan Language, Saiyan tails, including Future Gohan's own tail. As a Super Saiyan, Gohan is seen as the strongest. Future Gohan is 14 here, but so much responsibility keeps getting dumped on him. He is a legend, seen as the strongest, by the Right of The Strong, he could order anyone on Planet Vegeta. He Does Not Want That. At all. To the Saiyans, the Super Saiyan is the legendary, undefeated warrior. The Strongest in the Universe. Gohan has only continuously lost against the Androids. He does not view himself as strong. Gohan also struggles because yes, Frieza is bad, Frieza definitely needs to die, but the Saiyans? They aren't much better, in fact, they're basically the same. Yet he's meant to train the Prince Vegeta to unlock the ssj power too? Also reminder: They're in an alternative universe, the Saiyans didn't go instinct. Things are different. I will let you read to find out what I mean by this. I strongly urge you to read it even if you don't normally read incomplete/dropped fics. I promise you won't regret it. The first three parts of the series are completed.

losers in some ancient war by Derogative on Ao3 [Rating: M, Warning(s): Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings|| CH(s): 4/?, Words: 39,081] Status: Likely Dropped, last updated 22/12/06.

Ao3 Summary:

A story about Gohan, Vegeta, the loss of cultural identity, and living with trauma.

Personal Notes: What the Ao3 summary says. It started post-Cell, when they were both dealing with the loss of Goku. When one was in need of venting dress, they fought. This continues far, far past Cell. Gohan really appreciates how he can express his more Saiyan-like thoughts and frustrations with Vegeta and not receive judgement or fear. Their bond here is incredible. I love it so much. There is so much trust and reliance on each other. Adult Gohan venting to Vegeta is so great. Please, please read this fic. Such a shame that so many banger fics of them get discontinued...

Language by unorthodoxx on Ao3 [Rating: NR, Warning(s): None || CH(s): 2/3, Words: 4,842] Status: Likely Dropped, last updated 2024/11/11 and the gap between the prior ch was not that long.

Ao3 Summary:

Vegeta glares at Gohan’s glowing form, the inconsistent spark of electricity and curses. Court Saladian drips acidic and rusty from his lips before mixing with the low tongue of his people. A bad habit left over from Nappa. The man bastardized the language and had no problem slipping in an uncouth word or two while respecting Vegeta’s pedigree. Gohan lands beside the small crater, myth draining from his hair. “What did you say?” ______ Or Vegeta's a warrior, not a teacher. Gohan wants to learn from him anyway.

There is one more fic similar to this, where Gohan asks Vegeta to teach him Saladian, but Vegeta doesn't want to admit that he doesn't actually remember how to speak it properly because Frieza forbade him from speaking it. All he knows how to do is write it and poorly speak it based off old fuzzy memories. Its really good but I can't find it anywhere and I bookmark everything, literally everything, I read, so I have no idea where it is or what it's name is. Tried finding it manually but alas. It lives on only in my memory.

thinking about gohan and vegeta and how their bond is underrated

the difference in their reactions to each other 😭

Gohan being the first one to step between Vegeta and Certain Death, twice, without an ounce of hesitation, and Vegeta saving him back despite his feelings about battle intervention.

Vegeta knowing Gohan's the best of all of them

Vegeta and Gohan both born prodigies assigned an unfair amount of responsibility to be Great and be a Saiyan Messiah(tm) way too young by a stubborn and proud if not (relatively) well-meaning father who didn't see any other option and I just think Gohan doesn't get enough credit as like. The first serious muscle behind Geets' personal growth.

[abusivelittlebunny]

did Charles fight off Max for no 1 harem wife position or because Max is married to someone else he doesn't have to?

Well it depends on the au BC in the Tight Leash Loose Collar universe Max will be married to other alphas but the bond they share will forever remain eternal but it's true that Carlos' unhealthy mutual obsession with Charles will take center stage in his mind (but whether that can be considered true love is questionable on so many levels).

But in the emperor au Charles becomes empress over Max in a whole different way.

You see before Carlos takes the throne he is given three brides as is tradition: Teto and Marc are from his country, they both come from families with sworn loyalty to the throne, high ranking fathers and uncles in the military etc so Carlos has grown up together with them and knew them to be good friends as well as great wives to him, no drama whatsoever, and his father also knew they'd make his young heir comfortable when introducing him to his husband duties. But Carlos' third wife becomes his main wife instantly as his first political responsibility. And that is Max.

Max, despite still being very young, holds a great deal of power as the crown princess of the Dutch-Belgian empire and their marriage would create an unbreakable bond between their countries hence why his father makes sure Carlos knows exactly how important it is that Carlos remains decent with the omega he only meets days before their scheduled wedding. Max is a sweet pouty kitten of an omega, extremely feisty and very clearly not happy with the arranged marriage but Carlos still finds him utterly adorable and works hard to make Max trust him. Which he does very well, showing Max the sort of gentle appreciation he's been missing his entire life, and when they wed it feels like something out of genuine love.

It's actually funny how Marc and Teto tease them for being so smitten with each other as if they were just regular kids not the future ruling family lol sweet times of Max being a bratty but secretly painfully sweet omega and Carlos being the kindest funniest alpha who runs around the gardens with his omegas like they were all just childhood friends playing.

That is until the war hits.

A war in which Carlos' father successfully occupies Monaco and causes international controversy. Carlos fights on the frontline too and he spares the crown prince's life when his sword is pressed up against his throat, wanting to end the war in the most peaceful manner but his father has other plans. The declaration that the king of Monaco fell in battle spread far and wide upon Carlos' instructions who wanted to avoid the worse truth to spread which was an all out execution of the man, and he barely managed to save Lorenzo from the same fate. Carlos Sr's reputation worldwide becomes that of a dangerous and power hungry cruel tyrant and to save further war upon his head he decides to step down from the throne and bestow the crown to Carlos who may not be ready for the immense responsibility but he wants to help his father with damage control as much as he can.

Hence why he takes Princess Charles as his wife, to assure their nations he does not wish to destroy Monaco but to unify it with their empire and upon Charles' silver tongue guilt tripping the absolute soul out of him, when Carlos' coronation ceremony arrives, he has Charles by his side declared empress, the highest title in his harem.

Max's family is outraged of course, Jos has a full on tantrum in the strategy room after the ceremony. The empress title was meant to be held by Max, that was their deal upon marriage. Max understands the difficult situation Carlos is in however much it hurts to only be holding the second highest harem rank, he's seen the pain Carlos has gone through after he returned from the front caked in dried blood, all the sunshine from his eyes gone as if he was an entirely different person from the young man he used to laugh together with on the tulip fields that Carlos has gifted him to make him feel more at home. He knows Carlos has a heart of gold and he's not making this decision out of his own greed or lust but because he genuinely believes that's the only way peace is guaranteed.

But not within the harem, Max also can tell as much seeing the devious emerald glint in the beautiful bride's calculated gaze.

Max gets given the special privilege of a new deal in which he can be the ruling empress of the Dutch-Belgian empire on his own, essentially elevating him to the same level Carlos is holding making him a separate sovereign with his own government and power and that satisfies Jos well enough rather than if Max was just simply married out to be second to his husband, but Max worries because this way he will lose the duties Carlos' first rank wife holds, mainly over the harem. So in a way Max is both part of and not when it comes to Carlos' harem. Charles has responsibility over the harems management which is bound to cause nothing but trouble as soon as he takes his position and the first wave of concubines start coming in...

[itafushi-week]

hiii everyone, here are some guidelines for participating in the event! hopefully everything makes sense, but if you have questions or concerns, the ask box is always open :)

general guidelines

absolutely no AI or otherwise plagiarized works will be allowed on this blog or in the ao3 collection! if you try to submit something that is plagiarized, you will be banned from this and all future events this blog may host.

please treat everyone with kindness and respect. if you don’t like a specific trope or dynamic, or someone’s writing/art/etc is not your cup of tea, just keep scrolling. it takes 0 energy to be a kind person.

side pairings are allowed, but your work must feature megumi & yuuji as the primary ship.

for writers

when posting fics/fic links to tumblr, please tag your post with the event tag (#itafushi week 2025) and tag this blog (@itafushi-week).

please include any major warnings in your post, including nsfw content, gore or extreme violence, or other heavy or graphic topics. if you have a question about something specific, please reach out!

if you are posting your full fic to tumblr and it contains nsfw content, please put a clear warning at the top and put the fic beneath a cut.

for posting to ao3, there is an itafushi week 2025 collection you can submit to. regardless of content, as long as your fic is appropriately tagged, it will be accepted into the collection.

for artists

when posting on tumblr, please tag your post with the event tag (#itafushi week 2025) and tag this blog (@itafushi-week).

if you are posting nsfw art, please hide full images below a cut or share them with a link to another platform, and include a clear content warning. sfw previews are welcome and encouraged.

as long as you follow these guidelines, your post will be reblogged and/or accepted into the ao3 collection. hopefully this is something that works for everyone, both those who want to see/create nsfw content, and those who do not.

if there is another type of content you would like to share, please reach out with any questions you might have!

note: there is only one mod at this time, so please be patient with having your posts reblogged and accepted into the collection!

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Video Games Continued

Alien: What is this floor, and why is there so much killing upon it?

Human: Have you not seen the things you meet on it?

Alien: No, why?

Human: You’ll understand once you do. -------------

Alien: Why are these humans going back for blood?

Human: What?

Alien: If they are going back for it why didn’t they pick the blood up when they were there last time?

Human: A world overrun by worm zombies and this is what you focus on?

Alien: Inefficient time management will always be the deadliest of threats. --------------

Alien: Why is this baby in an egg?

Human: No idea.

Alien: What are these invisible creatures are stalking us?

Human: Got nada on that one.

Alien: For what reason does that other human have a golden mask?

Human: I honestly couldn’t tell ya.

Alien: Well what can you tell me about this then?

Human: You’re basically an amazon delivery driver heading up to an isolated compound and hoping it isn’t 2024 again. -----------

Alien: If you are part of an army of super soldiers, why do they always send you out in groups of 3?

Human: What do you mean?

Alien: Wouldn’t deploying even 10 of their kind at once provide absolute success in any mission you embark on?

Human: Only if one of them wasn’t from the Lamenters chapter. -----------

Alien: Why would vampires want to be on an island?

Human: I don’t understand your question, please expand it.

Alien: By your own history vampires can not cross running water, ergo they can not cross over water to get to an island; so why would vampires wish to go hunting for humans on the one place they would end up trapped on?

Human: But oceans are not running water.

Alien: Ocean water is constantly in motion via the rotation of the planet, therefore it is running water.

Human: It’s meant to be more about streams and rivers.

Alien: Yet both of those feed into oceans.

Human: I would say focus more on the vampire killing than the story, but after trying it myself I would say this discussion is a more enjoyable experience. ---------------------

Alien: Why are these humans going into hell?

Human: For democracy! ---------------------

Alien: You would think with this being the fourth game of the series they would have learned how to deal with zombie outbreaks.

Human: What do you mean? They already have a solution.

Human: If shooting them in the head doesn’t work, use more bullets.

Human: If that doesn’t work use an RPG.

Human: And if THAT doesn’t work then just nuke the whole area.

Alien: You went from, what is the sayin…… “0 to 100”, rather quickly there.

Human: Yeah, we tend to do that a lot when it comes to zombies.

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

Alien: What is your fascination with apocalyptic fallout aftermath?

Alien: You have so many mediums focused solely on this subject yet showing the harsh reality of the situation.

Human:  In a way it is within our desire to break down society and from the ashes of the old try to make something better.

Alien: And has it worked?

Human: No.

Alien: Why do you say that?

Human: When the price for a better future is blood of innocents there are no winners. --------------------

Alien: Is this about going on a quest to destroy jewelry?

Human: No.

Alien: What about joining a fellowship to destroy evil?

Human: Nope.

Alien: Then what is the point of this?

Human: To grow potatoes and get high. --------------------

Alien: May I ask you a question?

Human: Isn’t that what you’ve been doing this entire time?

Alien: What is this event called the “Elder Scrolls Crusade”?

Human: It’s what happens when you dangle a game in front of gamers long enough without delivering and then the gamers get angry.

Alien: Ah, much like the “Grand Theft Massacre” then? ----------------------

Alien: Which Dynasty are these warriors fighting for?

Human: Whichever one has the most interesting color pallet.

Alien: What?

Human: I always side with blue myself. ---------------

Alien: I don’t know how I’m going to fight through this army of human soldiers with just a sword.

Human: Have you tried using the rotary grenade launcher?

Alien: What are you talking abo-

Human: *Proceeds to pull out M32A1 Grenade Launcher and blast their way through soldiers with spears and swords.

Alien: This feels unfair. ----------------

Alien: What makes this sequel different from the first one?

Human: It’s colder and there are even more pissed off people you need to deal with.

[just-french-me-up]

For Jayce and Viktor prompts, “scrawled on calendars”? Something about them finally looking far enough into the future to get a calendar and then getting comfortable enough to scrawl notes on days far into the distance

OR it shows their past, that they’ve been happy and at peace for long enough to look back on the doodles and notes from the start of their post-canon life?

Honestly I will chew whatever you make, you write the lads so softly it is tooth rotting and it is Good

This tickled my brain deliciously!

Jayvik | 1.1K | Rated G | Domestic fluff, Trans Viktor, Pregnant Trans Viktor, Slice of Life | Cottage by the Stream (they're working on that four kids situation) Viktor stumbles upon Jayce's secret hobby This may qualify as over-indulgent. And tooth-rotting doesn't begin to cover it. Just so you know

Their home was many things. A safe haven. A field of experimentation. A makeshift lab, once all the items that held any sentimental value had been put away to safety. (Viktor did not mean to set the dinner table on fire that one time, but did note pine made for remarkably good kindling.) (Jayce cared little for this finding. He, nevertheless, carved its replacement out of oak.)

What their home wasn't, however, was extendable.

They had made the most of the space available to them over the years. Built nooks for books that never seemed to stop finding their way into their house. Fortified and secured the shed to store various projects and tools. Shared an office, Viktor's neat piles clashing with Jayce's organised chaos in odd harmony.

Jayce had suggested building a whole extension once, collapsing one of the living-room walls to make more space, add a room or two. Viktor hadn't been too keen on the idea. Engineering and masonry were two different beasts, no matter how beautifully Jayce's mind worked.

Besides, the whole thing would take months. More than the five they had left, surely. No child of Viktor's would sleep in a half-built, draughty nursery.

They had taken to emptying the office instead, clearing the space of its usual hodgepodge of books, sketches and notebooks, electing to stack boxes around the house until they figured out a new home for them. Viktor would pretend not to notice Jayce insisted on carrying most of the heavier boxes. His back was killing him anyway. More than usual, that is. He did carry a couple or two to the bedroom, just to prove a point, to Jayce or himself, he didn't know.

Busy with yet another box, Viktor leafed through a handful of notebooks, diaries and planners, sorting them into piles, his and Jayce's. The box was almost full to the brim when he opened another diary, stopping in his tracks, his fingers lingering on the page.

His own eyes stared back, laid on paper, drawn in minute details, unmistakable. The sketch was incredibly indulgent in its depiction of him, yet somehow strikingly lifelike. The Viktor on the page was smiling, something soft yet felt deep, little creases at the corner of his eyes. Right under it, written in Jayce's loopy handwriting, was a simple description :

First sunny afternoon of the season. Viktor lying on the grass.

Viktor stared at it, caught off-guard by the tenderness of it all. Then, carefully, he turned the page. And the next. And the next. They were little vignettes, everyday scenes, mundane at first glance. Their garden in bloom. The snow falling outside the kitchen window. A project they worked on a few years prior. All beautifully rendered on paper, care radiating through the whole collection.

He was, by far, the most recurring subject. There he was, lying on their couch, book in hand, his face focused. New book. House needs more shelving space. Another had him facing away, busying himself in the garden, his cane laid by his side on the quickly drawn grass. First harvest incoming. Viktor tending to the garden. Another only featured his mouth, drawn in a smile, the paper somewhat grainy from erasing and retracing the lines to get it right. Viktor smiled today. First real smile.

"Jayce?" he called absently, mesmerised.

"Yeah?"

There were footsteps, then Jayce's head peeked from behind the door.

"Oh," Viktor heard, tearing him away from the page. Jayce was rubbing his neck, something shy, almost vulnerable in the way he smiled.

"What's this?"

"A hobby, I guess? Something I picked up a while back."

Jayce had always been skilled at schematics. His designs and blueprints were clean and sharp, always with a little flair that made them distinctly his. But this... This was art, nothing less. How had he never noticed?

"When?"

"Says it on the page."

Viktor's eyes darted to the top of the page. His brow creased.

"That was... three years ago."

Not that long after they made the cottage theirs. Flipping the pages to the beginning, memories crawled back to him. The garden, all tall grass, weeds and wildflowers. The nearby village seen from the hill behind their house, covered in snow and shining with distant lights. His own face, a slight yet obvious sadness lodged deep inside his eyes. Viktor's heart panged, and he flipped the page to happier sketches.

"Jayce, it's..."

He didn't know what to say. What would fit. 'Beautiful' felt both too obvious or too understated. This was a whole part of Jayce, a window into his mind right there in his hands, and words didn't feel reverent enough.

"You never mentioned."

Jayce shrugged.

"It's just something I do."

Every day. Something he did every day. As the page followed one another, the seasons changed. The garden grew lush with tomatoes and lettuce. Viktor's guilt and melancholy grew into smiles. The cottage into a home.

When Viktor reached the end, he found himself wanting more. More of this ode to the life they'd built from ashes, to the little things that made it what it was. How beautiful they were, seen from Jayce's eyes.

"Are there more?" he heard himself say, his throat tight.

Jayce blinked at him, struck, before shaking himself into action, kneeling by Viktor's side, rummaging through the box. He took out a mismatched set of diaries.

"This was the second year," he tells Viktor, handing him a red-leather bound one, "This is last year's. And this is this year's."

The last one was thicker, better quality. Bought on purpose. Viktor opened it delicately, his eyes detailing each page with unconcealed eagerness.

"If I'd known you'd like them so much, I would have shown them to you earlier," Jayce chuckled, leaning back on his hands, looking at the sketches over Viktor's shoulder.

"Why didn't you?"

"We weren't talking much at the beginning. I just... kept at it. Didn't think to. Out of habit, I guess."

Viktor looked back, covering one of Jayce's hand with his own.

"I would very much like to see them. Every once in a while. If that's okay."

"It is more than okay."

Jayce rested his head against his shoulder, breathing Viktor in. They stayed like this for a while, with only the sound of turning pages between them, and comfortable silence.

"D'you think I'll get to finish this one, with the dirty diapers and sleepless nights of it all?"

Viktor chuckled softly.

"Get good at drawing dirty diapers, I suppose."

There was a light, playful nudge against his shoulder. Then, Jayce leant a little closer, pressing his lips to Viktor's cheek, before tipping his chin towards the open diary.

"I'll give you fifty more of those, one day. Maybe that'll get you to agree to the house extension. Gotta store them somewhere."

"Oh, so there it is. Your master plan."

"I'm way ahead of you, my love."

Send me a domestic Jayvik prompt? ♥

[fedoraspooky]

I Only Have E̢̡y͓͜e̞͖̦ for You

Wrote a story starring these two dingdongs! (my Felix and Steamboat Willie ttrpg expies for the folks just tuning in XD)

Summary: While trying to get some shuteye, Frank's sleep is interrupted by a mysterious dripping noise...

Contains cosmic horror, mentions of smoking and drinking (these guys are 1920's-era toons and this is a noir 1940s Roger Rabbit kinda setting so, yeah comes with the territory), and two guys that may smooch eventually in the future but at this point in time are kinda woefully oblivious. Enjoy!

***

Sheesh... 

What a day. 

Didn't start off too bad for ol' Frank, all things considered; he and Ollie had just wrapped up solving one of their biggest capers they'd had in a while, in which the Mad Mechanic had stolen important mechanical parts from various labs to build an army of... "vampire robots". 

To be honest, Frank still couldn't quite wrap his head around how that was supposed to work- did they drink oil or blood? Were they supposed to only attack other robots? Who knows! They certainly didn't take well to quaffin' ink, that's for sure. They took even WORSE to the garlic crust pizzas Ollie had brought them under the guise of a pizza delivery guy. One bite, and they exploded on the spot. All the two had to do after that was scoop up the stolen parts from the floor, dump 'em off back where they belonged, and bam- Problem solved! 

Despite Frank being a little woozy at the time from getting bit to hell and back, the Mad Mechanic himself wasn't much of a fighter on his own, so Frank was still able to make short work of him. Tied that fella up in a nice little bow of his own body for the police to swing by and pick up, and the two were on their way, ignoring the angry villainous monologue about revenge and whatnot being hurled at them. To be honest, Frank wasn't really paying attention... Because at that point, he discovered he'd had seven whole dollars in his coat pocket the whole time! Hot dog! 

Needless to say, he ended up doing what he usually did when he discovered the writers of the current episode were kind enough to give him any amount of cash: blew it right away on a celebratory night of booze and good eats! Ollie couldn’t come with, but… eh, whatever, more for him! After all, what's the point of saving what you probably weren't going to have in the next episode anyways? 

— 

…‘Probably shoulda saved at least SOME of it to call a cab’, Frank thought miserably as he trudged along the drenched sidewalk later that night. It was raining like nobody's business out here, and the occasional gust of cold wind kept threatening to turn his umbrella inside-out. On the bright side, at least he hadn't drank himself completely silly to the point of fist-fighting lamp posts, thinking they were sea serpents... He did NOT want Ollie to find him like that, not ever again. As things stood now, he was a little buzzed, but to his credit he still had most of his wits about him. Enough to still be able to walk home, anyway. He only stumbled a coupla times! No big deal. 

Frank stopped in his tracks, grimacing as a car blew past and sent a tidal wave of cold, filthy puddle over him. With an annoyed growl, he grabbed his whole torso up in his hands and twisted, wringing the excess water from himself, before letting go and spinning back into place. He then smacked the side of his head a few times to get any remaining water out of his ears, until a live, wriggling tuna fish fell out of one, landing with a wet slap on the concrete. He paused, eyebrows raised as he watched it flop around. He then glanced to the side.

...Would it be weird if he ate that?

Making sure no one was looking, he whistled nonchalantly as he picked it up and slipped it into his hammerspace for later.

It took a fair bit more walking before Frank stopped, something in his gut telling him this was where he was supposed to be right now. Well... 'supposed to' was probably a strong way to put it. In all truthfulness, his continuity was a hot mess, but by this point in his life he was very well used to just rolling with it. Seemed like the only thing directly involving himself that ever stayed consistent throughout the years was, well... himself. The real him, anyway. 

Yes sir, just him and his baggage. Match made in heaven... 

Turning to face the building, he looked up at the mismatched brick walls, the dingy windows, and crooked rain spout that just seemed to be hanging on by a thread. Real charmin' place. And of course, as he resignedly reached into his pocket and felt his fingers wrap around a room key, he knew with a sinking feeling that this dump was where he lived... for this episode, anyway. Not permanently. 

Never permanently. 

"Guess this's good a place as any to park my carcass," he grumbled.

Not wanting to stand out here in the dark and the on-again, off-again rain any longer, he made his way inside, closing his umbrella and shaking off the excess rainwater before it turned back into his tail. It slithered over his arm like a snake on a tree branch, returning to its rightful place on his rear as he ascended the stairs and made his way to... whichever room felt right to him. The key fit.

Turning on the light, he half expected to see a sea of roaches scattering, but thankfully there were no bugs to be found. Actually, looking at it... It wasn't too bad! Despite this technically being the first time he ever walked in here, it appeared pretty lived in, and it did indeed contain several belongings that he recognized as his own. The place had its issues too, but thankfully on inspection, he could conclude that bed bugs were NOT one of them. Damn good thing, too, because he was exhausted. 

And going through the whole rigamarole of getting ready for bed would be even MORE exhausting! If only he had some kind of handy magical artifact of sorts that could do it all for him…

…But he didn't!

So instead, he just turned the lights off, unzipped the front of his outfit and stepped out of it like it was a costume, before crashing unceremoniously into bed in just his undershirt and a pair of boxers. He could deal with whatever he needed to in the morning, if it didn't fix itself already while he was out. 

... 

Drip. 

...As a toon, sleeping went one of two ways. Most likely, one would sleep like a brick through the night with little fuss, if any... However, there was also the possibility that it could end up being a night where everything in the world would seemingly conspire to keep a poor sap awake for the sake of comedy. 

Drip. 

... 

Drip. 

As Frank was roused from his sleep by what sounded like the drip of a faucet, his tired mind knew right away that it would be the latter. Groaning, he shoved his head under the pillow, but it was no use. He then tried shoving the pillow into one ear until it popped out the other, but…

Drip.

Nope. He could still hear it, and probably would until he actually DID something about it. Tossing the pillow down in frustration, he scowled in the direction of the sound and rolled out of bed to go look. 

In his tired stupor he'd grabbed up a sock off the ground on the way out of the bedroom, fully prepared to plug up the faucet with it if need be. Sure, it would probably explode the plumbing and cause a flood from too much water buildup or what have you, but he didn't care as long as he could get a few more minutes of shuteye before it did... 

However, when he got to the kitchen, he found the sink was bone dry. No leaks here. 

... 

Drip. 

Frank bolted upright from inspecting the kitchen faucet, his tail bristling into an exclamation point before tapping him on the shoulder and pointing towards the hallway like it was a hand motioning with a thumb. Oh duh, right! 

The bathroom! 

He hurried over and almost tore the door off its hinges from how quickly he flung it open, only to find the sink here... wasn't... leaking, either. 

Huh... 

Somethin' smelled off about all this. 

No, literally, there was a strange smell in the air, kinda... Ozone-y? Criminy, where was that coming from? Did an old television set crawl in here and die? Only thing he could tell with any certainty was that it wasn't a gas leak. No, those smelled different…

"This is really startin' ta give me a headache," he growled under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to fend off the growing sense of pressure in his temples that he knew would develop into an ache soon. No @#$!in' way he was starting to veer into hangover territory this soon, he didn't even have that much to drink! ...Or did he...? He had been a little bummed out that he was celebrating alone… But there’s no way he’d let himself go overboard because he was feelin’ a little blue, right? He struggled to recall exactly how much he had through the forming headache, but swiftly shrugged it off. Bah! Doesn't matter, he could still think just fine! He's fine.

Nothin’ a good night’s sleep couldn’t fix!

Drip.

Just as he was about to turn around and look elsewhere, he remembered that the sink wasn't the only faucet in a bathroom. Turning to the shower curtain, he reached out to pull it back, but... Then he hesitated, his hand stopping just inches from the plastic. 

It was faint, but he could hear what sounded like rushing water, and a genre-savvy part of him half expected for just a moment that if he yanked the curtain back, someone would inexplicably be showering behind it, only to scream and whack him with a scrub brush for peepin'.

However, as soon as he had that thought, he shook his head and let out a half-chuckle, feeling ridiculous about the whole thing. Sheesh, he really MUST be sleep-deprived if that sounded reasonable. Something like that might’ve happened in one of his older cartoons, but this current setting he was in was at least a little more down to earth than his earlier outings. Really hard to shake those old instincts sometimes, heh… Shower's not even running, stupid! That shhhh sound was probably just water goin' through the plumbing. 

Sure enough, he pulled back the curtain and no one was showering in his tub. In fact, the... faucet here wasn't... dripping, either. None of 'em were. 

…

Drip. 

-SO WHERE IN THE HECK WAS THAT SOUND COMING FROM?? 

Frustrated, Frank whirled on the spot, but just as he was about to storm out of the room, he felt it. 

A small drop of something cold and wet hit his back, and... Maybe it was something about the viscosity of it, or the way it sent an odd shock down his spine that gave him the heebie-jeebies, but something told him this wasn't water. 

And of course, his luck being what it was, in an effort to get out of the way of further drips, he stepped in a damn puddle of the stuff. Naturally. 

"YEEOWCH!" 

Not only was it searingly cold enough to send a shock of pain up his leg, but it immediately made his foot go numb, followed by a godawful sensation of pins and needles.

Frank reflexively pulled away and backed up so fast that he very nearly tripped over the toilet, but caught himself on the sink before he could hit the ground. He had to get whatever the hell this stuff was off his foot pronto, so in an act of desperation he jammed it into the toilet bowl and flushed.

And wouldn't ya know it, by some stupid miracle, it worked! The tingling dissipated, and as feeling returned to his limb, he could see faint trails of something washing down the drain... 

Couldn't get a good look at it before it was gone, but that didn't matter, because just a quick glance to the side was the puddle, and it- No. 

No way, it couldn't- 

He grimaced and slapped a hand over his eyes, not wanting to look.

Swallowing the lump of fear in his throat (or perhaps his heart trying for a clever escape route?), his fingers slowly parted and his good eye poked its way out between them to see if... If it was what he thought it was. 

Oh boy. 

Yeah. It was. 

He’d seen this before, but only once. It... hurt to look at. Clinging to the ceiling like some kind of incomprehensible octopus with far too many constantly-shifting limbs was a mass of rapidly cycling textures and patterns, colors blurring in and out of each other- some that he recognized from traveling outside of his cartoons, and others he could not even begin to describe- but ALL of which should not have been able to display themselves at all in this monochrome setting. Between that and the rapidly flashing patterns and shapes, trying to figure out even the silhouette of what he was looking at, or if it was even moving or not, was like trying to make out images in television static. 

And it wasn't just loud visually, oh no- being in the presence of this thing was a bombardment of ALL the senses! That smell of ozone was downright pungent now, that sound he originally thought was rushing water had turned into a roaring electrical hiss, and the air was abuzz with a distinctly uncomfortable energy that made his skin itch. 

...Oh, and he had a pounding headache too, but he wasn't sure if that one was due to witnessing this mess of a thing above him, or the drinks he had earlier. His vision was swimming a bit around the edges too, so really, could be either one.

He stood there transfixed for a good few seconds before a coherent thought finally broke through the cacophony: He had to get the $%@! outta here! 

Which was now kinda difficult, considering he had pressed himself up against the back of the bathroom, and this drippy nightmare being was now situated firmly on the ceiling (and increasingly on the floor with each drip) between him and the only way out, but... Ugh, here goes nothin'. Maybe if he was lucky, he could slip out without being attacked if he moved slowly enough... Maybe if he was REALLY lucky, this was just another bad dream about this thing and before too much longer he’d wake up having rolled face-down onto the floor or something. Still, better to work with what he knew for right now, so… He pressed himself against the wall as flat as he could get, which... wasn't very, thanks to his gut. Frowning, he sucked it in as best he could and held his breath as he began to sidle along the wall. 

…

Okay… 

…

So far, so good... 

He was about halfway there when the visual snow that his brain sometimes created to substitute for the complete lack of vision in his bad eye started... Changing. Forming vague, but noticeable shapes. He closed his remaining eye since the conflicting images were messing with him, and he kept inching along, the feeling of solid wall against his back a cold comfort. Unfortunately, without his normal vision distracting him, he realized something. It was hazy and difficult to make out at first, but... 

It- ... 

It was himself he was looking at. 

From above. In the half of his vision he shouldn't even be seeing out of. 

Startled, his eye shot open and he looked up. There, from the middle of the flashing patterns and colors, his own eye stared right back down at him.

He watched, partially through vision that used to be his, as the black ink and gray paint drained from his fur and clothes, leaving him a stark white on trembling lineart. 

It blinked.

He wanted to scream. In fact, he started to, but he slapped a hand over his mouth, forcing himself to stop. He did his best to collect himself, squeezing his eye shut again to try and fight off the disorientation that came with seeing two different things at once. Holding his head in his hand, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. As he steeled himself, the fear and nausea slowly started to subside, increasingly replaced by another feeling… 

Anger. 

This $&@! thing took his eye, and now it’s mocking him with it!

The ink and paint that had sloughed off of him moments ago popped back up into his shape before diving back into him. He growled, opening his eye to glare up at this %*#@in’ eye thief, and in what was probably one of the most bizarre moments of his life, he pointed and wagged his finger towards his own stolen eye.

"Ohhh, no. Nuh-uh. Nope! Dat's bait," he said, starting to sidle along the wall again. "Whaddya think I'm gonna do, huh? Reach inta all dat mess? And for what, so you can take my hand too? My whole arm? Pssh! I don't think so, pal!" 

The eye followed him as he moved, but aside from continuing to be painful and confusing to look at, the thing on his ceiling did nothing else. Feeling perhaps a bit stupidly emboldened by its lack of action, his scolding turned into taunting as he got closer to the door, escape finally within his reach…

"Yeah, dat's right, buddy... Stay put. And ya know what? You're probably not even real! How about DAT? How do I know ya ain't just some kinda stress nightmare? Or some kinda drunk halluci… uh, lucin… -Or I’m just seein’ things, huh?! Why, I bet ya couldn't even hurt me if ya wanted to. Go on! Try, it'll be funny-!" 

It had been watching him relatively calmly (or so it seemed anyway, it was REALLY hard to get a read on this thing), riiiight up until he said that last word- at which the mass almost seemed to grow... Excited? Agitated? Either way, the thing’s colors shifted more rapidly than before, its patterns now rapidly swapping between X’s and O’s as it burbled and bubbled, the air practically crackling with a strange energy. It then dropped down from the ceiling startlingly fast, taking on a different, less amorphous shape as it rose from the gooey puddle it made. His stolen eye was now positioned on a head-like lump and two arms burst forward, reaching and grasping wildly like it didn’t quite know how to work them yet as the whole thing made a lunge for him.

In a panic, Frank reached into his hammerspace for anything, and-

SLAP!

He’d whacked it with the tuna. 

Bits of color and noise flew from the impact and splattered the bathroom wall, sizzling with static. It seemed he’d actually managed to stun the thing, since it had stopped dead in its tracks, the flailing fish now embedded in its head where the rest of its face should have been- just beneath the eye. The goopy arms lowered a little in apparent confusion, and the eye swiveled unnaturally to look down at the fish. Then, four triangular shapes started forming- two above, and two below- like fangs closing over it. As the struggling fish started to sink away into the newly-formed mouth, the eye swiveled back towards Frank with a renewed intensity, just in time to see a bottlebrushed tail disappearing through the door.

Frank was NOT sticking around to see what happened next. Taking the opportunity for escape, he darted out of the bathroom and fled on all fours from the apartment, his fur standing on end in fright. He didn’t know if it was chasing him, and didn’t even dare a look over his shoulder to see. A blur of ink, he flew down the street fast as a rocket into the dark of the night.

—

Ollie was a morning person.

Maybe not a particularly bouncy and cheerful one like he used to be, but years of sailing had accustomed him to waking up at the crack of dawn. There was just something nice about it. Nowhere he had to be right away, no phones ringing off the hook, no one to entertain… no pressure at all. For a few hours, he could pretend he didn’t have a massive studio empire hanging over him like a sword of Damocles... Just some coffee, a cigarette, and a beautiful sunrise to watch. There was peace in being the only one awake while everyone else around slept.

Couldn’t help but wonder if Frank had similar reasons for being such a night owl… They were both animals that were typically nocturnal, but Frank definitely lived up to it the most. The big guy’d often come plodding into their office sometime around 10 AM, tousled fur and rumpled clothes, yawning and blinking like he’d just surfaced from a coal mine. Then, without fail, he’d make a beeline for the coffee maker and wouldn't say a single non-grumbly word until he’d had a few sips. Sometimes after a big enough yawn, his tongue would still poke out a little between his fangs in a way that was actually kind of endearing… -Just an observation, though.

Some mornings, however, Frank would actually be there first… His continuity being what it was, sometimes it left the guy without a place to stay, so he’d sleep on the old, lumpy couch they had in there. It never seemed to bother Frank all that much, but… then he’d get up and carry himself in a way that indicated a sore back. Maybe it was time to see if a new couch could fit in the budget…? Maybe one that pulled out into a bed… 

Ollie got somewhat lost in his thoughts as he made his way up to their rented office space, the morning newspaper tucked under his arm. He whistled a little tune to himself as he ascended the stairs, but he slowed a bit when he got to their floor and saw the potted plants in the hallway were knocked over on their sides, all pointing the same direction as if they'd been toppled by a strong gust of some kind…

Towards their door.

“Huh,” he said quietly, brow furrowed and mouth drawn in a straight line. “Okay…” He started whistling again, albeit more slowly and quietly, as he stepped over a toppled pot that had rolled over into the middle of the hall. Nudging it back upright with his foot, he continued to the door and pulled out a comically large ring of keys from his pocket. 

“Really oughtta organize these,” he muttered to himself as he went through them one by one. The irony wasn’t lost on him that it’d probably be faster to use a lockpick. Finally he got the door open, but only an inch or so before it was halted by a door chain. Okay yeah, Frank was here already.

“Frank?” He called in, “Hey, it’s me, open the door! And I swear ta god I hope you’re decent.” Instead of being greeted with the usual snore, however, he heard the rattling of window blinds, the sound of grawlix being uttered in a hushed, yet urgent tone, and then a few moments later- a loud crash.

Okay, something was definitely up. Not waiting for Frank to get the door, Ollie threaded his tail through the inch of space and, with a bit of trial and error, managed to unlatch the door chain with it. “Hang on pal, I’m comin’!”

“No, wait-!”

Ollie opened the door to find Frank on the floor in just his boxers and undershirt, leg successfully down one pant leg but the other tangled up. He’d apparently tripped over himself in a hurry to put on some pants. The cat froze, save for an anxiously twitching tail, and stared wide-eyed back at him for a few moments. Then, with a surprising burst of speed for a toon his size, he leapt up onto the couch, landing perfectly in what the author could only describe as the ‘Alone On A Friday Night?’ pose. On his side, propping himself up on one arm, the other on his hip, he grinned with a hint of nervousness despite his attempt to play it casual. 

“Oh heyyy, buddy! Didn't see ya come in!” He said with a small chuckle, now trying to slide his other leg into the pants as discreetly as possible. 

Ollie did feel a little relieved that his partner seemed to be okay, but at the same time… This was weird. Not Frank sleeping in his undies, that was normal- but something else… He sighed and shook his head.

“Coulda told me you were just gettin’ dressed,” Ollie said, looking away to give the guy some privacy. He went over to the desk and had a seat, unfurling the newspaper and busying himself with a quick skim of the headlines.

“Well hey, could be worse,” Frank said, now fully dressed when Ollie lowered the paper to look at him, but still in the same pose. “I used ta only wear a bow.”

“Things were a little different then,” Ollie started, but then he paused in thought, looking vaguely up towards the ceiling. “-Actually, no, pretty much everyone else I knew still wore some kinda clothes…”

Frank sat up, looking absolutely wounded as he held his hands out defensively. “C’mooon, it’s how I was designed! Besides, I came first,” he said, puffing out his chest with a big grin and proudly jabbing his thumb towards it, “so if anyone set the bar for what’s normal for cartoon animals, it’s me!”

Ollie put the newspaper down. “...Frank. Buddy. Ya can't possibly be implyin’ I’m the weird one for wearin’ pants,” he said in a flat tone.

…That got him. Frank couldn't keep a straight face. He managed for maybe a good two seconds before he busted up laughing, which devolved into a smoky wheeze.

Ollie smiled. A genuine smile from him was kind of a rare sight these days, but something about the way this big lug laughed himself silly just tickled him. The morning was almost starting to feel normal again, but… he still wanted to get to the bottom of this.

“No, but seriously, what’re ya even doin’ up this early? Also… didn't ya say ya had somewhere ta stay last night?” He said, hiding his smile and giving Frank a bit of a side-eye. 

“Oh, heh… guess I was wrong! It happens,” Frank replied with a small shrug, looking back towards the window as he slid his hand over the nape of his neck. “...And I couldn't sleep. What else is there ta say?” 

Ollie looked skeptical. “...I’m askin’ because usually when ya drink enough ta smell like you got trampled by a circus fulla pink elephants, it’d take the world endin’ ta wake you up.”

Frank just shrugged again, though he could feel himself starting to sweat. “Oh please, it wasn't dat much…” he muttered, before plastering a smile back on. “Anywho, I’m fine! So I’m up early, big whoop!”

“Ya ain't in any kinda trouble?”

“Nope!”

“Nothin’ that’d, say, cause you ta knock over everything in a mad dash ta get here?”

Frank paused. “...No?”

“...You absolutely certain?”

“Cross my heart!”

They stared each other down, Ollie stone-faced and Frank trying (and failing) to maintain an air of nonchalance. He usually kept his shirt collar pretty open, not liking the feeling of anything around his neck, but a finger slipped under to tug at it a little regardless. 

“...Okay, okay! If ya really wanna know, I had a bad dream. Spooked me real good. Dat’s all,” Frank said, crossing his arms.

Ollie let up a little. If Frank was in some kind of real danger, he wanted to know about it, but if not… It probably wasn't his place to pry. “Okay,” he said simply. “Ya wanna talk about it?”

“Eh, it's nothin’ I can't handle.”

“I wasn't askin’ if you could handle it or not.”

“...It’s nothin’ important.”

“Wasn’t askin’ that either.”

“-Nor urgent.” 

“Do I gotta repeat the question?”

“...” Frank breathed out a heavy sigh and his mouth dropped into a frown, the look in his eye briefly betraying just how tired he really felt. “No, I do not want to talk about it.”

“Alright, then. Offer still stands if ya change your mind.” Ollie’s words were punctuated by a flutter of newspaper as he picked it back up. 

“Mhm.”

Frank fished a cigar out of his shirt pocket, using the end of his tail like a Zippo to light it. Truth be told, a part of him really did wanna talk about it... It wasn’t for some macho meathead reason that he couldn’t, either… He wasn’t afraid to admit he was scared! Certainly not to his best pal. That… wasn’t the problem. 

“Thinkin’ of gettin’ a new couch,” Ollie said, helpfully changing the subject.

“Mm? What’s wrong with dis one?” 

“The fact it makes your spine sound like breakin’ celery… Also I dunno if our clients fully appreciate the big perfectly Frank-shaped indent in the cushion.”

“Pssh… Gives it character!”

“...Ya really don’t have to keep sleepin’ on that old thing, ya know that right? I have a guest room.”

“I know.”

Frank had never told Ollie what happened to his eye. Nor anyone else. Whenever pressed about it, he just simply shrugged and said he ‘lost it’, and that was that. @#$!, he wasn’t entirely sure what happened himself… He had no words for it. It’d happened so quick… All it took was one unlucky night. Stumbling home drunk off his gourd, winding up in the wrong place, at the wrong time… And encountering… that. Now he was left with chronic pain, one less eye, and the distinct feeling he’d seen something he shouldn’t have. 

And he’d do whatever it takes to make sure Ollie never has to see it either.

[technically-human]

Charles vs Charles

@i-am-as-normal-as-you-are has once again commissioned me for the Reverse Verse, and this is only part 1, so expect more comics soon!

[platoapproved]

iwtv ships + book quotes

[starry-sophrosyne]

Started stressing out abt this idea when I read through crashing's and eldette's reblog of my reblog of pen's post (GO READ IT IF YOU HAVEN'T BTW /srs HERES THE LINK.) so I'm gonna make this post for my own sake; and yes, even though it was so long ago, it's never left my mind.

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

I'm also gonna put this under a cut, despite my original plan not to, bc I've seen everyone sharing the same ideas about this whole "we might get found out" notion. However, this still is a conception abt/for myself that I sincerely want people to see and understand/to talk abt, even it's not directly related to the "rpf community exposure" itself, so yeah. While this post is definitely unnecessarily long, esp considering how long it's been since the incident that prompted me to write this, I still think it's worth posting; Especially considering the fact that I don't think the "rpf-community-exposure-situation" will get better from here. Either way, thank you guys for understanding and reading. /srs /gen

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

I've been pretty scared to reveal my really negative side within this community just bc of how I try to come off as/get perceived - i.e. the reason I use emoticons - so I haven't ever really fully crashed out in a post like I did previously. Even seeing Eldette's and Crashing's reblogs, they definitely put it a lot nicer than I did, which is fair and also credit to how probably they are irl; It's just that I think I'm very different regarding which parts of myself I expose to others, and you guys in particular, especially regarding my anger. I'm not going to edit that post because I think it's the blunt truth in the most unapologetic way possible, which is truthfully the way I am, but I hope that you guys understand that my negativity in those kinds of posts is not the same personality i have when I go about posting my regular things about the guys n stuff :_)

For that matter, I hope y'all don't see me differently or have a warped/changed view on personality/character. What I mean by this is that I'm hoping you all still like me despite seeing the bad parts of me. However, it's also something that's unavoidable, for people to not like you once they get to know the more uglier sides of you; So I guess what I want you guys to do more than genuinely like me is, that regardless of what y'all think now, you guys are all honest with me and yourself. If you don't wanna see "those" posts of mine bc they're a little extreme for you, but you wanna continue interacting with my other posts, that's fine, please do! I don't plan to post those seriously negative posts frequently at all. However, if you really find yourself really uncomfortable by those posts, esp knowing that I might slip up into that sort of personality in the future, please feel free to block me. I've blocked some pc crit blogs that I really wanted to see certain posts of theirs, but I couldn't stand seeing other posts they made, so I made a decision that was better for the both of us in the end, because I knew it wouldn't be worth it to continue interacting with them if that was how I truly felt. Either way, I won't take it personally if you do the same at all, because the truth is, if you don't like me, you just don't. Nothing I'm gonna do to try and change that, because more often than not, it's something that can't be helped. So uhh.. yeah- :,)

TLDR: If me crashing out in posts like this makes you uncomfortable, feel free to stop interacting; I won't be like that often but I do plan to let my true personality show a little more, hope you all still accept me despite what may be a very unnecessary fear of mine :)

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

This is a side tangent that was written after the initial post was drafted, it's more relevant to clearing up my identity and the differences between me, my personas and my self-inserts in aus. It's too complicated to be TL:DR'ed, however, so read at your own will; it's not as important for ppl to fully understand either as the previous point, but extremely important to me and my definitions. /gen /srs.

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

I've decided to label this alternate emotional state of mine (serious & comes out when talking about stuff regarding the pc rpf community, mainly as a whole/regarding the incidents that have and will continue to happen) as Rosyne, but not in relation to the april fools joke I did as "Rosyne". The personality of that "Rosyne" while blogging is more or less the personality of "Rosyne" as a character, rather than myself or my persona that's changed in regards to my self insert. I know that's all super confusing so let's just clarify:

Starry and Rosyne, by themselves, are just me; both part of my identity. Rosyne is my personality when I’m addressing serious stuff. Starry is my personality when I’m posting about anything else, aka my neutral state, and is (therefore) the name I go by on this blog. Starry and Rosyne, as self inserts, are representations of myself within fics/aus. They might have jobs/roles that are entirely inaccurate regarding my actual jobs/roles (or personal interests) irl, but they only have these in order to fit the narrative. Starry and Rosyne, as self inserts, are also two entirely different individuals, as it makes more sense than one person with two different identities. Either way though, they are supposed* to be genuine representations of myself, through and through. Starry and Rosyne, as general personas, however, are the designs of my identities; They still represent me, only giving me the ability to alter my appearance in a way I can't irl. However and more importantly, they also connect my self-inserts in aus to my identity, as they are the base design/reference for the self-inserts' appearances (which change depending on the au). I do have my general persona designs for both Rosyne and Starry, along with several self-inserts designs for diff fic aus, I just haven't posted them yet.

*This is where I've found this issue of some sorts. You see, I feel as if I've started to turn Starry and Rosyne into actual characters rather than my self-inserts within my writings about aus/fics. Especially Rosyne, although to a reasonable fault, as it's hard to characterize the part of you that only talks abt the actual pc rpf community issues. Either way, the writer side of me has become so obsessed with making them narratively-fleshed out that they don't really feel like direct representations of myself anymore; They feel more like ocs whose experiences & preferences are heavily influenced by the ones I have irl, and whose names are related to me, but they're unrealistic to what a direct 1-1 self insert/representation of myself would be.

I still plan to write about them, especially in regards to this post, but not only are "the-things-they've-experienced" not accurate to the things I've actually experienced irl, but they are also a bit more dramatized in general just for the sake of narrative/creative writing. Not to say that"the-things-they've-experienced" aren't influenced by my own personal experiences, of course. After all, aren't all of our ocs reflections of ourselves/our irl journeys/stories? Just expect me to continue anxiety tagging "dont-take-this-too-seriously!-(´ ᗣ ` )՞" in all my upcoming posts/drabbles about my TTOS "personas"-

[tearlessrain]

can I ask when you started on hrt? cause I'm just starting now (25) and although I logically know that's definitely not too late, I can't help but feel sucker-punched by grief every once in a while that I don't get to spend my early twenties in a body that feels like mine.

many internet hugs for you, anon. I didn't start hrt until I was around 26 and didn't come out at all until about a year before that, and I absolutely spent some time early on grieving the time I lost, especially since the pandemic struck just as I was finally starting to feel comfortable in my own body.

however, I'm now 32, and that sense of grief and regret has only grown more distant the more time I've spent living how I was meant to be. and I promise you have much, much more time than it feels like. at age 25 I was literally a bridesmaid in my brother's wedding (we joke about it now), and within like two years I'd completely socially transitioned and was working in a salon in cosmetology school where none of my clients knew me as anything other than the Obligatory Resident Gay Guy. I've made friends, I've gotten involved with the local kink community, I got comfortable enough to grow my hair back out and go full tolkien elf, and it feels fantastic. There's a lot of cultural emphasis on your early 20s in media and online culture, but it's really a tiny sliver of your entire life and pretty much nobody, trans or cis, has fully become themselves by that point.

That's not to say the grief doesn't have a place, I still have my moments where I think about what could have been and mourn the person I wasn't able to be, but the experiences you'll have going forward will more than make up for it.

[mariosecretsanta]

I am going to be so real with all of you I am probably not getting assignments out tomorrow like I had hoped as I have to finish a research paper and finish and print a book. At the LATEST I will be getting assignments out on Thursday. Which is later than I wanted but I hope this is acceptable.

[crypticvirago]

I had SO wanted to write something short and sweet, a few years or so post the ending of Wounding, for Christmas as a token of appreciation for everyone that read Wounding. But this holiday season at my job has been royally kicking my ass and the only thing I've been able to do is daydream about it

[runawaymarbles]

at this point i am simply uninterested in any opinion on a hot-button political topic that treats human beings as a mass of meaningless hypotheticals

[ourceliumnetwork]

finally tackled the absolute mountain of laundry in various states of cleanliness around my room. now all of it is sorted and put into its respective zones of "away".