#I’ve been wanting to draw him for so long

[whenstarsundress]

— d is for drunk confession

you swayed on your feet a little, clutching your water bottle like it was sacred, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling from the wine someone had poured way too generously. zayne stood just a foot away, watching you like he always did. quiet, careful, intense.

“zaaayyyne,” you whispered, drawing out the vowels, as if his name was a secret.

he blinked once, then again. “…yes?”

you looked around like someone might overhear. but it was just the two of you now, tucked into the corner of the rooftop party. music thumped faintly in the distance. the night breeze was cool.

“don’t tell zayne,” you whispered, swaying closer, your finger pressed to your lips like it was classified. “but…”

he tilted his head slightly. “…but?”

you leaned in, eyes wide. “but i like him.”

zayne’s heart stopped.

you nodded solemnly, like it was the confession of a lifetime. “like… a lot.”

he swallowed, breath caught in his throat. his hands twitched at his sides, wanting to reach for you, desperately, but not daring to.

“and he’s so…” you hiccupped, face scrunching up. “so tall. and quiet. and he listens, you know? he really listens. even when i talk about stupid stuff.”

“none of what you say is stupid,” he said before he could stop himself. his voice was rough.

you blinked up at him, lashes fluttering. “you think so?”

he nodded slowly, like any sudden move might shatter the moment. but then your smile faded, and your brows furrowed just a little.

“…but what if he doesn’t like me back?”

zayne exhaled like he’d been stabbed.

you looked down at your feet, swaying a little again. “what if i ruin everything?”

he couldn’t hold back anymore. one step, that’s all it took. and then his arms were around you in steady, warm, protective hug. you blinked up at him, stunned, cheeks still pink and lips parted.

“i’ve liked you for so long,” he said quietly, like it hurt to say. “i just never thought i could… have you.”

you stared. “you… you do?”

his fingers brushed your cheek. “you have no idea.”

you melted into him with a little breathless laugh, pressing your cheek to his chest.

“don’t tell zayne,” you whispered sleepily, “but i think i wanna kiss him too.”

he smiled for the first time that night. “i think zayne would really like that.”

and when you woke up in his bed the next morning—fully clothed, headache pounding, and a glass of water beside you—you found a little note tucked under your hand:

you confessed last night. i won’t make you say it again sober. but if you do, i’ll kiss you properly. —z

[kxsagi]

I always pronounce your name as Kissagi because you love Isagi so (Kiss Isagi) 😭

Also every time I see you post about Sae, I have to take a breath to not go feral cause he’s my favorite and it’s bad for my heart 😞

And to all the people thirsting about Sae, I love you all, I relate so hard like you have no clue– He takes up like 30% of my brain at all times (⸝⸝๑﹏๑⸝⸝) I’ve made 3 playlists (about to be 4) for him and drawn him multiple times, guys help me–

~ ���� anon

“𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟 𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞”

a/n: OMG I PRONOUNCE MY USER AS KISSAGI TOOOO like kiss isagi yessssss mwah mwah 💋💋💋

please don't be shy and share the playlists and drawings 😩 (only if you're comfortable!!)

also, for your kind message, take this sae drabble i had in my drafts ❤️

the rain isn’t heavy, but it’s persistent, enough to soak the hem of your jeans and leave misty streaks on your cheeks. the train station is quieter than usual, the fluorescent lights above humming with an indifferent buzz. you’re standing there like a character in a drama you never asked to star in, arms crossed over your chest, waiting for the person who always makes you wait in ways that aren't just about time. 

sae itoshi shows up five minutes late, umbrella tilted lazily over his shoulder, hair slightly tousled by the wind. he doesn’t apologize. of course he doesn’t. he just glances at you, lips pressed into that unreadable line, like your presence here is both expected and inexplicable. 

“you’re wet,” he says flatly. 

“great observation,” you reply, deadpan. “next you’ll tell me the sky is blue.” 

he doesn’t respond, just lifts the umbrella higher so it covers the two of you. his arm brushes against yours, barely, but you feel it like a spark anyway. 

you hate how calm he looks. you hate how he does this – appears in your life again like he never really left. one text. that’s all it took. “you still take the 7:15?” and you said yes. gosh, of course you said yes. 

“so… what is this?” you ask, voice low. “you miss my sarcasm or something?” 

his eyes move to yours then, slow and deliberate. sae’s always been like this – silent, heavy with meaning, like he communicates in pauses more than words. and you’ve known him long enough to read between them, even if it hurts. 

“i saw that photo,” he says finally. “the one with you and that guy.” 

you blink. “what?” 

“the one where he’s got his arm around you. you were smiling.” he says it without inflection, but there’s a sharpness to it, like he’s testing you. or himself. 

you cross your arms tighter. “so? people smile in photos.” 

sae looks away, jaw tight. “you looked happy.” 

“and that bothers you?” you ask, stepping half an inch closer. “why? because i moved on?” 

he doesn’t answer. just stands there, rain dripping off the edge of the umbrella like it’s marking time. you want to hit him and hug him at the same time. classic sae effect. 

finally, he says quietly, “i didn’t think i’d care. but i did.” 

that makes your heart thump in a way that makes you furious. you hated how he left things. always cool. always distant. always expecting you to read the fine print of his silences. 

“you could’ve said that months ago.” 

“i know.” 

“so why now?” 

he shrugs, but it’s not casual. nothing about him is, when it comes to you. “i thought if i gave you space, you’d forget me. or i’d forget you.” 

“did it work?” 

his eyes flick to yours again, sea-green and solemn. “no.” 

you should be angry. you should tell him it’s too late. that you’ve built a life without him. that you learned how to stop checking your phone every five minutes. but somehow, all you do is sigh. 

“i don’t know what you want from me, sae.” 

he’s quiet for a moment. the kind of quiet that aches. 

then he says, voice barely above a whisper, “i don’t want anything. i just… wanted to see you. make sure you’re still real.” 

your chest tightens. 

the train screeches in the distance, and the moment feels like it’s suspended between then and now, like you could choose to walk away and it would hurt, but it wouldn’t kill you. you’re not sure you could say the same for him. 

you glance up at him, still standing close, still sharing his umbrella with you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

“you don’t have to say anything,” he adds. “i know i messed it up.” 

your voice is softer now. “you did.” 

he nods. doesn’t try to defend himself. doesn’t move away either. 

but as the train pulls in and the wind gusts again, you feel his fingers graze yours under the umbrella – tentative, like he’s asking for a second chance without the pride or the words. 

and for some reason, you don’t pull away. 

not yet. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[thelocalcoyote]

So I dunno if anyone’s noticed this or not, but I’ve been trying to make my own designs for the voices lately, and I haven’t been very satisfied with my results so far. More specifically, I’ve been working on (aka struggling with) my Smitten design. I asked myself, “what could be wrong with him? Why doesn’t it feel right?”

And you know what I answered myself with?

“Ma’am, that’s a literal dog.”

(I tried my best at making a ref sheet, but I haven’t really ever made a real one before, sorry it’s pretty chaotic, sorry. Not that it’s really needed-this whole process is meant to help me edit the design, anyways)

(More thoughts under the cut)

So apparently, I somehow made Smitten into a little creature equivalent of a little lap dog or smth. And that’s the problem.

It’s not that I think he looks bad. I actually think he looks super cute like this, I’m happy with that part. And I still think it fits his character pretty well, too-he’s a loyal, silly, fluffy, loud little guy who wants nothing more than to spend every waking moment with the person he loves.

So at this point, you’re probably wondering, “Coyote, just what IS your problem with him then?”

Well, I don’t think he’s exactly husband material. And that’s kind of an essential factor to a Smitten design! (it is to me, ok?) Like, I think people would start to get very concerned with me if I called him my fictional husband and I pulled out a picture of a bird dog. And it’s not like a cool usage of a quadrupedal design, like I’ve seen some people use, he’s just, like, a modded Shih Tzu. I don’t think me (or most people) are comfortable with the idea of trying to romance a modded Shih Tzu.

But at the end of the day, I’m kinda conflicted about the whole thing, because I lowkey love his design? It’s really funny and cute, I can picture all sorts of humorous drawing ideas with him, and I can so easily see it fitting the bill character wise. But I just need him to be attractive.

I think at the end of the day, I have to edit his design so as to allow him to stand upright. Just enough for him to feel closer to human than dog. Should I do that?

if anyone has any ideas, I’m always open to art advice! And this goes for anything here, whether for specific feedback about the design, or just drawing tips in general. Or just talk to me. I like talking. Please talk to me about this. I crave interaction. Please.

Uh but thanks for reading my post, sorry for rambling so long, hope you have a wonderful day!❤️❤️❤️

[retireddaddyric]

PAINT STAINS AND ALL

(Painting Palette pt IV)

Synopsis: (last past of 4) Daniel and fem reader give each other longing stares until they’re alone again. Then he becomes the muse of her paintings again and.. it gets cutely messy.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, smut, fluff, flashbacks, unprotected sex.

Notes: this is the ending, not english native speaker, this is all fiction. Feel free to reach out, even in private if you’re shy to comment! I love it!

For two days, we’re perfect actors. I say “morning” with a smile I don’t mean. Daniel pours me coffee without a word. Mick watches us from the kitchen table like he’s trying to solve an equation. We don’t touch, we don’t fight. We don’t speak unless Mick’s in the room.

But god, the silences. Every brush of air between us feels like it could ignite. Every accidental glance is a dare. Every shared breath tastes like the thing we didn’t finish.

I’m painting again, my back is bent over canvas in the living room, headphones in, tank top riding up my spine and then I feel it. That look. I glance up and Daniel’s on the couch across the room, pretending to read. As if he reads. But he isn’t flipping pages.

He’s watching me like he’s starving.

He doesn’t even flinch when I meet his eyes.

He just smirks. Then shifts slightly in his seat, legs spreading lazily, like he knows I’m looking now too.

I roll my eyes. He raises an eyebrow.

Then I dip my brush in red and very deliberately paint a curved line that is, unmistakably, the dip of a collarbone.

His collarbone.

That night, when Mick’s asleep, I find Daniel in the kitchen in just sweatpants and nothing else, eating a slice of cold pizza by the fridge light.

We don’t say anything.

I just walk past him slowly, open the cabinet, and reach for a glass knowing full well he’s watching my ass the whole time.

“Wanna finish what you started the other morning?” he murmurs.

I turn, lean against the counter, and sip water like I’m bored. “Maybe. If you’re good.”

He steps closer. One hand on the fridge door, the other on the counter behind me. His body cages mine in.

“What makes you think I’ve ever been good?”

His voice is low, wicked and his mouth is too close so my breath stops.

But then footsteps creak down the hallway. Mick’s cough from his bedroom.

Daniel swears under his breath and steps back and I smile around the rim of my glass. “Guess you’ll have to wait.”

And I walk away, hips swaying.

Mick leaves on Friday afternoon with an overnight bag and his usual warnings. “Don’t kill each other,” he calls over his shoulder.

“We’ll try,” I say, deadpan.

Daniel just lifts two fingers in a lazy salute.

The second the door closes, the apartment goes quiet. Too quiet.

We spend the first few hours pretending nothing’s changed: he’s on the couch, legs up, flipping through some dumb car documentary. I’m at my easel, trying to sketch with hands that won’t stop trembling. My pencil skids over the paper. Nothing sticks. Every line looks wrong.

He glances at me over his shoulder. “You’re pacing with your hands again.”

“I’m drawing.”

“You’re sulking.”

I sigh and toss the pencil down. “I can’t focus.”

He hums like he already knows why. “You wanna paint me?” He asks.

I blink. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs. “You used to. I figured you might want the real thing this time.”

My mouth opens. Closes. My heart thuds once, low and deep.

“Right now?”

He stands slowly, stretching. “Why not?”

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, a challenge maybe. Or maybe it’s surrender.

“I’ve got nothing better to do,” he adds, voice soft.

I swallow hard. “Fine,” I say. “Strip.”

His brows lift but he doesn’t hesitate. He peels off his shirt first, tossing it onto the couch. Then his sweats, leaving just black briefs that do nothing to hide how very ready he is for this. I try not to stare but fail.

“Don’t be shy now,” he says, smirking.

“You’re lucky I don’t blindfold you,” I mutter, grabbing a fresh canvas.

He settles onto the stool in front of me, one leg stretched out, arms relaxed at his sides. His body is shameless: golden tan skin, lean muscle, a little almost invisible scar under one rib I never noticed before.

I start to paint. At first, it’s safe.. shoulders, lines of his throat, the shape of his sternum. But the longer I look, the more I lose the thread of what I’m doing. My hand slows. My breathing doesn’t.

“You’re not painting anymore,” he murmurs.

“No,” I whisper. “I’m not.”

He stands and walks toward me, I don’t move. When he’s close enough, he dips two fingers into my palette, crimson, and drags them gently across my collarbone. Paint streaks my skin like war paint. Like a warning. Or a promise.

“You said you’d make it indecent..” he murmurs.

I drop the brush.

And then we’re kissing hard, filthy, urgent. Nothing gentle this time. Nothing patient. His hands are on my waist, lifting me. I wrap my legs around him instinctively, and we crash into the wall, smearing paint between our bodies. I feel it on my thighs, my ribs, his chest.

We’re a mess. We don’t care. He pulls my tank top over my head, smearing blue across my shoulder in the process. My breasts are already flushed, nipples tight, and he groans when he sees me.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he rasps. “You always were.”

I grab his face, drag him into another kiss, deeper this time, more desperate. My hands tug down his briefs and he kicks them off. His cock presses against my stomach, hot and hard and slick at the tip.

“I need—” I gasp.

He lifts me again, carries me across the room, and lays me down right on the drop cloth I’d been using under the easel. Paint streaks across the fabric, and our skin with it.

I reach down and guide him to me and when he slides in, it’s a shock to the system.

We both gasp, I arch my back so much.

“Jesus,” he groans. “You’re—fuck—tight.”

“Don’t stop,” I pant. “Please—don’t you dare stop.” My breath is cut out.

And he doesn’t. He thrusts into me with purpose, messy, rhythmic, real. Our bodies slap together, paint slicking us, drying on our skin and smearing into new colors. He pushes one leg higher, angle deeper, and I cry out, fingers clutching his back, nails raking down to his hips.

“Say it,” he pants against my neck.

“Say what?”

“That you want me.”

“I always wanted you.”

He curses, losing rhythm for a second, hips stuttering. He kisses me again,open-mouthed, ravenous and I’m right there, spiraling.

And when I finally come, it’s like something shatters. Years of pretending, of silence, of fear.. they break all at once.

He follows with a groan so deep it shakes me. He stays inside me, forehead pressed to mine, our bodies a canvas of proof.

We don’t speak for a minute.

Just heavy breathing and the tick of the radiator.

Then, quietly, he says:

“You destroyed me, you know that?”

And I whisper, “Good.”

Mick walks through the door late Sunday afternoon, carrying his overnight bag and the faint scent of his girlfriend’s perfume. He looks relaxed, maybe even happy. For about two seconds. Then he stops cold in the living room. “What the fuck is that?”

Daniel and I are sitting on opposite ends of the couch, very not-touching. I’ve got a mug of tea in my hands like it’s a weapon. Daniel’s flipping through the TV guide like it’s 2006.

But Mick’s staring at the rug. At the giant, irregular, very obvious red paint stain near the corner of the drop cloth.

Right where Daniel had me two nights ago. My stomach drops, Daniel stiffens slightly but keeps his eyes on the screen.

Mick turns slowly, gaze ping-ponging between the stain and the two of us.

“You didn’t use the cloth?” he asks. His voice is deceptively casual.

I open my mouth. Nothing comes out. Daniel clears his throat.

“I mean, technically we started on it,” he mutters.

Mick squints. “Started what?”

I shoot Daniel a look that could kill. He shrugs one shoulder like might as well.

Mick’s eyes narrow. Then widen. Then narrow again.

“Oh my god.” He looks at me. Then at Daniel. Then back at me. “You two—”

“We didn’t plan it,” I say quickly.

“And we definitely tried to hide it,” Daniel adds, not helping.

“Unbelievable,” Mick mutters, throwing his hands in the air. “Is nothing sacred?”

I wince. “It’s not like we were gonna tell you over breakfast!”

“And when were you gonna tell me? After you accidentally conceived a child in my living room?”

Daniel coughs behind his fist. I bury my face in my mug.

Mick runs a hand through his hair, pacing once. Then he stops, facing us again.

“So. You’ve been… what? Hooking up? Behind my back?”

I lift my chin. “Not behind your back. Just… quietly. Around corners.”

Daniel finally looks up, eyes steady. “We didn’t mean to lie to you.”

Mick just stares at him.

“And we’re not planning to stop,” Daniel adds, voice low.

My heart skips. I glance at him. He’s dead serious.

Mick sighs like it physically pains him. “Jesus. Just.. please don’t have sex near my laundry again.”

Daniel grins. “Deal.”

Mick groans and storms off toward his room, muttering about bleach and siblings and betrayal.The door slams.

And Daniel looks at me with a sly smile. “That went better than I expected.”

I laugh, actual, breathless laughter. The kind that bubbles out when the truth is finally out and the world doesn’t burn down.

“I guess we’re official now,” I say.

He leans closer, still smiling. “Then I guess I can do this—”

—and kisses me, right there on the couch, tasting like coffee and freedom.

Paint stain and all.

He kisses me like it’s easy now as if there’s nothing to hide.

But as my eyes flutter shut, I see something else behind them, a flicker of then:

A summer from years ago.

We’re sitting under the tree in my parents’ backyard. I’m sixteen. He’s twenty-two. I’ve stolen one of Mick’s graphic tees, knees scraped from falling off my bike, sketchpad in my lap. Daniel’s stretched out in the grass beside me, one arm behind his curls, sunglasses hidden in that bush of his head. The sun catches the honey color in his hair.

“You’re gonna be trouble someday,” he says casually, watching me doodle.

I smirk, not looking at him. “Someday?”

He laughs, easy and bright. “Shut up.”

I don’t realize I’m in love with him yet.

But he’s already looking at me like it’s dangerous.

I blink back to the present, his mouth still on mine, hands warm on my hips, the air still humming with tension and relief.

And I wonder if he remembers that day too.

If he always knew it would come to this.

Paint stains and all.

The End

( I hope you guys liked it!)

[dead-dolphins]

okay, i’m going to post the gladiator eren headcanon,

if it's not your thing, feel free to skip it. no hard feelings. i'm just sharing something i enjoy, and i totally understand the difference between fiction and real life etc etc. hope that makes sense!

okay so. gladiator eren. it’s honestly been my dream concept forever. i can just see him: wild hair tied back, dirt and sweat on his skin, those carved abs glistening under the sun, the way the fabric of that skirt barely holds onto his hips while he stands in the middle of an arena, victorious... god, so hot.

but beyond the aesthetics, i’ve been building this whole au in my head. so, as you know, gladiators were often war slaves, captured and forced to fight for the entertainment of others. they didn’t fight by choice, they were trained, displayed like weapons, and thrown into arenas to survive or die. the ones who managed to win enough battles could sometimes earn money and buy their freedom, though that was rare. most didn’t live long enough. but a few, the strongest and most cunning, made it out.

so in this version, eren is one of those gladiators. a war slave, captured and forced into servitude under none other than willy tybur. tybur sees eren’s strength and potential from the start, and quickly realises how much profit he can make from him in the arena. and he’s right, eren becomes a star. brutal, relentless, and brilliant in the ring. match after match, he earns victories and draws crowds. tybur places bets, wins fortunes, and eren becomes his golden prize.

but eren has a plan. every drop of blood spilled is a step closer to buying his own freedom. and he's close. after years of fighting, he’s finally earned enough to make his escape, to reclaim his life.

but tybur isn’t about to let his most valuable asset walk away so easily. of course not.

so, he makes a move. right before eren is about to seal the deal, tybur presents him with mikasa, another slave, newly acquired, and placed under eren’s "care." tybur presents her to eren like a gift, but it’s not generosity. it’s a trap. he tells eren that she now belongs to him, that he can do whatever he wants with her. but if he wants to leave, if he truly wants to walk out of this life, he’ll have to pay for her freedom too.

eren is furious. not just because his escape has been stolen from him, but because he understands exactly what’s being done. this isn’t about ownership. this is control. tybur knows eren won’t leave someone behind, not when he’s been in that place himself. and especially not mikasa, who stands in front of him not as a stranger, but as something hauntingly familiar. maybe he doesn’t know her, not yet — but there's something in her that reminds him of a past life... (a childhood friend???)

so eren takes her under his protection. he doesn’t speak much at first, doesn’t even look at her. the frustration is eating him alive. he was so close. and now he has to fight again, bleed again, for two. he resents the situation, but he never once resents mikasa. deep down, he knows it’s not her fault, and more than that, he knows what kind of fate awaits her if he ever lets his guard down.

and yeaaaaah i want it to be so kinky and hot. gladiators slept in cells, just imagine the nasty cell sex??

aaaaah goodbye. i will dissapear for a couple of hours!!

[writing-for-life]

The Weight of Goodbye

Dream’s SoM-meetings with Hob Gadling, Lyta & Daniel Hall and his subjects

Sorry not sorry for using this one again, because I’m Jon J Muth’s no. 1 fan, plus it helps me to get over Kelley Jones’ art which I find… challenging 🤣

I’ve been thinking about The Sandman #22 for our reread, and while there are many gut-wrenching issues, this is one of the most quietly devastating ones. It’s a bit like Dream writing his will while pretending he’s just going on a business trip (and of course we get something similar again later on in The Kindly Ones 🥺)

The Speech to His Subjects

Dream addresses the denizens of The Dreaming before departing for Hell. He frames it a bit as instructions for his absence (and sounds super awkward when admitting he made mistakes—it’s honestly like car crash TV), but the emotional undertones suggest something far more permanent:

He tells them about how to maintain the realm if certain situations arise (like him not coming back, either because he dies or because he gets captured) and presents it like contingency planning (for lack of better term). But the truth of the matter is that he’s putting his affairs in order. The formality of it, the careful way he addresses potential concerns: This isn’t just someone covering all bases, this is a ruler preparing his kingdom for the real possibility that he won’t return. And it’s the first time we get told, in no uncertain terms, that if he gets destroyed (his choice of words, not mine), another aspect of Dream will take over.

[Also: Is it just me who thinks that Kelley Jones draws him at his most beautiful when he’s vulnerable? Because some of his other artistic choices are… well, definitely choices 🙈🤣]

What truly gets me is the narrative use of Matthew. He’s concerned, but he doesn’t grasp the hint of finality in Dream’s tone. And at this stage, the reader may not either (we need to remember that we didn’t have the type of hindsight we have now back when the comics first came out; we didn’t know how the whole run would end). So Matthew is, once again, a stand-in for us, the reader (that always makes me think of The Wake, and even after decades, I’m still not over Matthew's speech and his grief). It doesn't help that we’re starting to see their growing bond, and the cracks in Dream’s armour he hid only a minute ago when everyone else was still there:

“I wanted to stick around. Do you mind?” “No.” 😩

The Meeting with Lyta and Daniel

Dream’s visit to Lyta Hall and baby Daniel often gets brushed to the side a bit, and without the knowledge of what’s going to happen, I get it.

But of course we do know what has already happened in The Doll’s House. Even there, it was painfully obvious that Dream, at least on some level, had plans for Daniel. So yeah, this is not a social call; he’s checking in on his replacement (for lack of better term). They have a bond because Daniel was conceived (show)/gestated (comics) in the Dreaming. It’s not Morpheus who gives Daniel his name—it’s most likely Daniel who told him his name.

Lyta’s discomfort throughout the scene isn’t just about supernatural entities dropping by unannounced, or about her deep-seated hatred of Dream because she considers him responsible for Hector’s death. She knows, on an intuitive level, that he is marking Daniel in some way because he already told her back in The Doll’s House that he’ll one day come for the child. At the same time, he’s acknowledging here that this might be the last time he sees the child for a very long time, and that he means Lyta no harm (“today” 🙄). And maybe that’s the only explanation for this:

Because I don’t know about you: If a strange guy whom I deem responsible for my husband’s death tells me the “true” name of my yet unnamed child, I'd certainly not consider that name and smile about it happily…

Hob Gadling and the Toast

Dream appears to Hob in a dream, and that’s a deeply significant choice. He could have met him in the waking world just like Lyta, but instead, he chooses to visit Hob in his own domain, where he has absolute power. But he doesn’t really use that power here, other than for getting in contact in the first place. He rather reveals something that could almost be considered vulnerability:

That’s the same Dream who stormed off in a huff in 1889 because Hob dared to suggest they were friends. The same Dream who tentatively acknowledged that friendship in 1989. The same Dream who now decides to say goodbye to the one person he actually considers a friend. For someone whose entire existence is built on pride and hierarchy, this shows character growth. But it also shows how desperately alone he really is, and that he doesn't want to be a burden to anyone (and that's compounded to the umpteenth degree when they meet the next time 😔).

But there’s subtext here that’s even more heartbreaking: Dream is settling his accounts. He’s making sure that if he doesn’t return from Hell, Hob won’t spend the next century wondering where Dream is, or if their friendship was real. By choosing to appear in Hob’s dreams, he’s giving him something lasting: a memory. And many of us know that this will be one of the cornerstones of Sunday Mourning.

The tragedy is that Hob doesn’t even truly realise this is a goodbye, and he hopes he’ll be back “eventually”. He's happy to have seen his friend, even if it was "just a silly dream"...

Patterns...

When you read these three sequences together, you can't help but see that Dream is systematically saying goodbye to the, at least at this point, three most important cornerstones of his existence: his successor (Daniel), his one true friendship (Hob), and his realm.

This isn’t the behaviour of someone who expects to return unchanged from his mission. This is someone who understands that going to Hell to demand the release of an ex-lover he condemned 10,000 years ago is likely to have consequences he may not survive.

Which brings us to the most important question of this issue:

Does Dream already know he will die?

I don’t think he knows, at this point, specifically how or when. But I think he does understand that his existence is reaching some kind of conclusion. The family intervention, the guilt over what he has done to Nada which makes him return to Hell: They’re really only the culmination of ten billion years of accumulated mistakes and regrets, and it’s only going to get worse from here.

The paradox is that Dream is finally ready to change, but change is antithetical to how he perceives himself. So perhaps, on some level, he understands that real change might require becoming someone else entirely. And that is something I think he does know at this point.

What makes issue #22 so powerful is how it recontextualises everything that comes after. When he eventually faces his final choice in The Kindly Ones, we can look back and see that he was already preparing himself here (and if you know me, you will also know that I staunchly insist he already made an, albeit subconscious, choice in #8). Maybe it’s a masterclass in dramatic irony: Dream thinks he’s being practical with making his contingency plans. But we can see him subconsciously preparing for an ending he hasn’t yet acknowledged to himself. But he also has...

Kelley Jones’ Art

I just briefly want to brush (no pun intended) on how Kelley Jones’s art reinforces these themes. His Dream is somehow always in shadow, even if it’s just his face. There’s a weight to him in every panel, a sense of someone carrying an enormous burden. I am generally not a fan of Jones' art (sorry), and I find his constantly changing Dream difficult to get used to (but I guess that's the point, and I totally get it on a conceptual level). But one thing stands out to me: The way he draws Dream against various backgrounds (Lyta’s apartment, the dreamscape with Hob, the throne room) consistently makes him seem isolated, separate, already partially absent. Even when he’s surrounded by other people/beings. But maybe I'm just reading too much into it…

Anyway, to put it all in a nutshell: The real tragedy, but also the deeper meaning of The Sandman, is that Dream tries to make amends for a lifetime of mistakes, only to discover that some changes require transformation so complete that the self doesn’t survive the process. But in metaphorical terms, the death of the ego is also a beautiful and necessary thing…

[paperbacksinner]

Party favors was so good omg

That has me dying for a best friends -> fwb -> lovers trope with Luigi if you have something😝fluffy and smutty!!

Familiar

———

It started with a kiss on your couch.

Not even a real kiss. A dare. A “we’ve known each other since middle school, what’s the worst that could happen?” kind of kiss. But then his hands found your waist and your heart dropped into your stomach like, oh. Oh no. This isn’t just best friends anymore.

Now it’s been weeks. Maybe months.

Nights blurred by stolen glances and late texts and Luigi’s voice low in your ear: “You wanna come over? I can’t sleep.”

And you always do. Always go. Always let him touch you like you’re his, even if neither of you will say it.

But tonight is different.

You're in his bed. You’ve done this a hundred times — your shirt half-off, your hands in his hair, your laugh caught in your throat because he just said something stupid again.

“Lu,” you whisper, “you’re so annoying.”

“Say that again when I’m making you come,” he mutters, tugging your shorts down with one hand, kissing your knee like it’s a promise.

You gasp as he slides two fingers between your legs.

“You’re soaked,” he says, voice gone low and warm. “I haven’t even done anything yet.”

“You exist,” you whisper back. “That’s enough.”

That makes him pause.

But then he smiles, climbs over you, and presses his mouth to yours like he doesn’t want to waste another second.

Sex with Luigi is always messy. Warm. Laugh-filled. Pillow talk before and after. He makes you feel good even when you’re nervous, even when you’re in your head. And tonight, it’s slow.

Not just teasing — careful.

He keeps whispering things he shouldn’t say.

“You’re so fucking pretty under me.”

“I dream about this. About you.”

“Why does it feel like more when it’s you?”

You pretend you don’t hear it.

Pretend your heart’s not aching when he comes and says your name like it’s the only word he knows.

Afterward, you lie there, tangled in the sheets. He pulls you into his chest, still breathing heavy, his lips in your hair.

“Lu?” you say quietly.

“Mm?”

“This doesn’t feel like just sex anymore.”

He goes quiet.

Then he exhales. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ve been pretending it didn’t for a while.”

You lift your head.

He’s looking at you — eyes honest, jaw tight, scared as hell.

“I’m in love with you,” he says. “Have been since forever. I just didn’t wanna lose you.”

You blink. Your throat tightens.

You kiss him once, then again, then again, and whisper, “You’re not losing me. You already have me.”

And you fall asleep like that.

Pressed to him.

Heart full.

Home.

———

You wake up before him.

His arm is draped around your waist, legs tangled with yours like they were always meant to be there. His cheek is smushed against the pillow, lips slightly parted, a little snore caught in his throat. He looks so soft like this. Like something you’d protect with your whole heart if he’d let you.

And now you know.

He wants to let you.

You stay like that for a long while — soaking in the stillness, the safety, the warmth of being held by someone who doesn’t just want you in the dark but wants to keep you in the light, too.

Eventually, his eyes flutter open.

He blinks at you.

Then smiles, small and sleepy.

“Morning,” he mumbles, voice gravelly and warm.

“Morning,” you whisper back, fingers drawing lazy circles on his chest.

He stretches, shifts, then leans in and kisses your forehead so casually it kills you a little. Like it’s second nature. Like he’s kissed you a thousand mornings before.

You pull back slightly. Just enough to see him.

His lashes are messy. His hair is flattened on one side. And for a second, he looks nervous.

He bites his lip. Then lets out a breath like he’s bracing for something.

“Can I ask you something?”

Your stomach flips. “Anything.”

Luigi swallows. Sits up a little, arm still around you.

“I know we’ve been dancing around it, and I know last night was…” He trails off. Rubs the back of his neck. “More.”

“It was,” you say softly. “For me too.”

He looks relieved. And a little overwhelmed.

“So then,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, “can I be your boyfriend?”

The world tilts.

You blink, heart catching in your throat. “You want that?”

“I’ve wanted that,” he says, suddenly braver. “I just didn’t think I was allowed to ask.”

You smile so big your cheeks hurt.

You throw a leg over him, straddling his lap, arms looped around his shoulders, and whisper against his lips, “You’re allowed. You’re mine.”

He kisses you hard — like he’s sealing something. Like the breath he’s been holding finally lets go.

And when you pull back, his cheeks are flushed, eyes wide.

“You’re really my girlfriend now,” he says in disbelief, hands squeezing your thighs. “That’s… that’s crazy.”

“Crazy hot,” you tease.

He groans into your neck. “I’m so fucked.”

You laugh. “No, you’re lucky.”

And he knows it.

Because he’s loved you for a long time.

He just didn’t know you’d ever love him back.

[bwoahtastic]

I tried sending this before but I think it messed up cause I tried linking something :((

Anyways, inspired by the confusion au and also the Drabble you did recently of Oscar and Carlos hate sex turned dating!

Basically Oscar hates his apartment . Fortunately he has so many great friends in Monaco! He loves to hang out with them and if maybe he happens to stay a little late and crash in the spare room or on the couch well it’s just because he likes to spend time with them not because he can’t stand the thought of being alone kin his sterile apartment.

He’s a little self conscious of the facts he’s a grown ass adult and can’t live on his own so he devises a plan… he creates a roster, Max, Carlos, Lando, Charles, repeat. He has contingencies too, Max and Lando playing video games? That’s fine, he’s still got Charles of Carlos, in the event that all four of them are doing something he might even be able to pull of crashing at Alex’s place.

He manages this for about 6 months without seeming to draw too much suspicion, of course being away most weekends helps disguise the fact he’s over at their places so much. But eventually they corner him after a race and he’s expecting at best some questions about why he never invites them to his place and and worse to be banished from their hospitality doomed to return to his empty flat.

The last thing he’s expecting is for Charles to point and accusatory figure at him and say “you can’t just date all of us at once with out letting us know, that’s just rude.”

Date???? Oscar is confused.

“I can’t be dating all of you at once what are you talking about? I’m not dating any of you?”

He’s met with four cries of outrage

Carlos: I’ve been wining and dining you at expensive restaurants for months!

Charles: We coparent a dog together!

Max: We sleep in the same bed and cuddle most nights!

Lando: you literally had my dick in your mouth this morning!

It’s not Oscar’s fault that his perception of friendship is weird, he just liked spending time with them all especially if it meant not having to be alone in his damn apartment. Besides none of them ever said it was anything more than friendly.

“You can’t lecture me about communicating who I’m dating when not a single one of you thought to tell me that we were dating!”

KSKSKSKSK

Pls Oscar fucking HATES his apartment!! Its the worst, sterile, most boring place he knows even after Mark painted a random wall in a bright color to try and make it better skks

But luckily Oscar happens to have a lot of friends, a lot more than he ever think he would have amongst his fellow drivers and he keeps managing to crash at their places which are so much nicer and more homely

Oscar keeping a schedule in his calendar so he never stays somewhere too long because he doesnt want to overstay his welcome, and if everyone is busy he goes bully Alex (or even Mark, who would say no because he knows Osc is avoiding his aparmtent, but then Seb let's him in anyways sksk)

Oscar getting away with it pretty well and actually enjoying his time in Monaco now he is sharing it with them and he is just thriving! But naturally he didn't expect to get away with it forever so he isnt surprised when he gets cornered by the four of them, expecting rhem to ask why they never go to his place. But he doesnt expect to be accused to dating them all!!

Pls carlos who has been wining and dining Osc for months and being a true gentleman and he had been SO close to asking Oscar for a kiss okay!!

And Charles being offended that Leo's 2nd dad doesnt feel part of the family?? Like wow what a bad coparent!

With Max, Osc has never slept on the sofa or spare room, Max just alwsys made him sleep in his bed with him cos the cuddles were great and comfy and that means something right??

Oscar just being baffled cos to him, it was just classic friendship stuff. Also why did not one actually ask him to be their boyfriend?? Isn't that supposed to be a thing??

[fantasticalleigh]

Thanks for the tag! This is such an interesting idea and I’ve enjoyed seeing all the responses. I had to do some digging to find my oldest art and turns out i don’t remember where much of it is and i guess i haven’t backed it up anywhere so as of now some of the oldest stuff i have is from 2017/18.

OLDEST ART I CAN FIND: 2017-18

For a long time I considered myself as mostly a portrait artist. I loved drawing people's faces and had a fear and aversion to drawing full bodies. All of these are from 2018 (the black and white one might be 2017) but I wish I'd been able to find even older art than these because the skill jump was huge between high school and my first couple years in uni. In high school I never really used references when drawing and despite taking a ton of art classes I never really paid attention to the fundamentals so whatever I made would come out looking wonky. So fast forward to freshman year of uni and I really started taking that more seriously and I would find images I liked of celebrities and draw them as closely as I could. I was also dabbling in ballpoint pen drawings at the time but couldn't crack a proper technique until later.

I mainly did only traditional art until I got my first job after high school and could save up for an XP Pen drawing monitor and I started dabbling in digital art. I'd owned a pen tablet before from Wacom years before but it was also the kind that had no screen on it and I hated the experience of drawing on a blank slate but needing to keep my eyes on my laptop screen. It felt extremely unnatural so I only used it a few times and then gave up. So having a tablet with a screen directly on it opened up a whole new world for me but I really struggled with learning the ins and outs of digital art. I hated everything I was making but was determined to get better, and the most important thing was I knew I didn't want to go for the level of realism that I usually liked in traditional art. I liked doing cartoony stuff a lot too so I wanted to explore new styles through digital.

FIRST ART POSTED ONLINE

It was difficult to find the actual first art I ever posted online! I have some ancient Deviant Art accounts that probably still have that old art but I don't have the login stuff anymore ;-; I started using instagram in 2012 but sort of don't use that account on the left anymore. Once Instagram implemented AI a couple years ago I sort of nuked it and ended up deleting most of my archive on that account. I mainly use that account to message irl friends. But my earliest art on IG was all straight from my sketchbooks and most of it was like chicken scratch. Very messy, unpolished, and rushed.

I've pretty much always done tons of fan art. I drew the Draco Malfoy thing in the middle for a Dramione fic I was writing at the time--this must have been 2016 or 17... I was/am obsessed with Kylo Ren (and reylo in general) so I drew him a ton. I also was working on my own OCs (the Knight lady in the second image at the top of this post). My art professors at uni kept pushing me to get out of my box and focus on more conceptual/non fan art stuff which I found terrifying. By this point I was growing more comfortable with digital art--in 2020 I (perhaps irresponsibly) used my pandemic stimulus check to buy an ipad and apple pencil and procreate and having a smaller, more portable tablet made it so much easier to practice more often and I think that's when digital art really started clicking for me even though it took a lot longer to actually start developing my own style. I made a second art account on instagram (with this current username) to post all my fanart in since one professor told me it might be unprofessional for me to host fan art on my "serious" art account.

MOST RECENT STUFF:

The top two are admittedly from 2021 but I was and still am super proud of that entire body of work. For my art major senior 'thesis' I had to develop a body of work and set it up in an exhibition at uni. I threw myself into that and by then had really managed to nail down a good ballpoint pen technique that satisfied what I wanted to portray in my art. This process involved layers and layers of delicate hatching with ballpoint pens and it ruined my eyesight and because each piece took me so long I was experiencing wrist pain often. The whole series was supposed to be about fear and madness, hence the super garish and intense colors and weird imagery. I made like 10 or so drawings like this but I haven't really made any more ballpoint stuff since. It just takes way too long and I burnt myself out severely just completing that body of work but I'm still really proud of it. Maybe I'll return to the pens one day...

As for the digital stuff, since I graduated uni I jumped headlong into further developing my digital body of work. Most of it still is admittedly fan art but nothing else has helped me grow quite like fan art so no issue there. I've made several short and long form comics and worked on more illustrative stuff. I have other/new OCs and ships that I draw quite often when I'm not making wrestling fan art and I try to push myself to keep going out of my comfort zone. I have always haaated drawing backgrounds or ornamental stuff but for the past while I've challenged myself to really give a shit and actually put in the effort and it's slowly paying off. I'm still not 100% satisfied with where I am now but compared to where I started I think it's pretty neat :')

Ok here's a little thing i thought would fun for any artists to show off their progress at learning art (plus I'm nosey🤭).

Show off the oldest drawings you did (or the oldest that you can still find), the first things you were confident enough to upload online, and your most recent drawings and talk about them and show off how much you've progressed :)

Probably gonna end up missing some people, but I'm tagging a bunch of cool artists I follow/am mutuals with and am nosey to see how they started out, but no pressure :)

@fantasticalleigh, @thlayli-ra, @heelhausen, @stupidmarkzone, @2ndcitynightmare, @punk-o-ween, @normallypassingby, @tvheit, @seasonal-depression-of-punk

And if you wanna have a look at my old stuff, I've got it below =)

Oldest Drawings I Can Find

Of course, the first is an OC. Never did anything with her tho. Notice the lack of forehead and elbows, the arms that barely reach the hips, how indishtinguishable each part of the body is from one another. They're a perfectly smooth pole. and of course those wings. This is the first thing in my first proper sketchbook when I decided I was gonna start taking art more seriously. This would have been when i started secondary in 2014 at 11 years old. And I can't find anything from before that, since I never kept anything in a proper book/folder.

Second image is another of the first drawings in the book. It was my first closeup of a face, and also my first time drawing anime. I know I'm not the only artist who was desperate to learn to draw an anime-style as a kid. I remember doing this while on holiday, trying to follow an online tutorial, taking about 4 hours to get the outcome I did, and getting so frustrated that I couldn't get it to look right, that I was almost brought to tears. I'm pretty sure this was one of those "I'm never drawing again! >:(" moments, lol. Looking back, it was a pretty good first attempt. But I guess I was always a bit of a perfectionist, lol. Funnily enough, while I carried the anime eyes forward in my art style for years, to this day, I still can't draw a proper full anime style character.

First Drawings I Uploaded Online

I put these on insta to show my mates from school. The first picture was an attempt at a close up face with the new brush markers i'd got for christmas. This was 2017 just before i turned 14. Pretty sure I copied the design from an art tutorial book, that was supposed to be hyper-realistic (another christmas present). But I just couldn't bring that to life so just did what I could. Also, first time I used a signature. My signature's very different nowadays cos it's based on my tumblr username and not me actual name. But yeah. I was tryna get more professional I guess.

Second pic is the first full body piece I uploaded a few days later. Again, used the drawing books trying to learn how to draw flowy clothes. Think it was a book about drawing anime clothes that I used for this (another christmas present). By this point, each body part could move seperately and had joints. Also note the anime eyes, cos my simpler-but-still-anime-inspired eyes were something I stuck with a long ass time. This was the style I drew most often, and could usually do without having references (but obviously for this drawing specifically, I had the reference for the clothes). Had a lot of trouble with perspective, so all my characters faced forward, and later they would always face a 3/4 angle. And they could never lean or reach forwards cos I just couldn't get that to look right.

Most Recent Pieces

The most most recent is on the left, being my most recent closeup of a face. Still has a cartoonish edge with the lineart but much more realistic. And I'm fucking with this semi-realistic look atm. Tbh I dunno if i'd have the patience for the tiny details in hyperrealism. Also, fun story, in 2021 when I was doing my a-levels, I did an art piece that we were free to do in any style we wanted, and my teacher saw mine and was like “I wish you’d done it as realism instead of a cartoon style :(“ but it was actually my best attempt at realism and she hadn’t even realised. So I dunno, maybe I’m not cut out for realism 😂😂 I like my style rn tho so who cares

Then I got my most recent drawing of a (almost) full body. I got joints and decent hands and proportions and more body details.

Also this last year is the first time I've really got into digital. I always used to just do pen and paper. I even got a cheap drawing tablet, but couldn't get used to drawing on one surface and the image being up on a seperate screen. So I could never get the lines right. I did draw on my old ipad for a while which was easier, but the stylus was one of those with the thick rubber ball on the end, rather than a fine nib. Again, I had trouble cos I couldn't tell where it would register the contact with the screen and draw the line, which made it hard to do details. I got a new ipad a little while back that supports apple pencil, so I got one for it. And it's so much easier now that I've got a fine nib and can see where I'm drawing. I'm in love with drawing digital atm.

But yeah. That's how i've drawn over the years. Mental to see how much my style has changed and improved :) makes me feel better when I get frustrated with a drawnig and think I'm shit. Cos I know I'm getting better with each new drawing, even if it's only baby steps.

First: Now:

[girlasterisk]

@transnaturalweek ⊹ day three + day four ⊹ color prompt + characters of color

↳ ˗ˏˋ ⊹ demiboy colors + kevin tran ⊹ ˎˊ˗

[sonic-adventure-3]

unmmmmm outfit concept or something

[codgod-moved]

CUPID 💘

HI HI HI ITS BEEN SO LONG HERES A JIMMY FOR HEART SHAPED STUFF MONTH

@veryfoolishgamers @t4tcecilos @empiressmp @the3rddenialist @moonlight22oa @rockydrago @funkily @jackzmms @manwhorechip @thatonesheep @cabbagegunk @waspcup @weaselmcdiesel @peskybirb @fuckingfish1234 @cobrawaifu @griancraft @c0nstantparanoia @yawningawning @f4rlands @cshrub @aquello-main @finalgirlyuri @itsafangirlthing416 @booisghost @angiemelon @mxmallory @crazy-dyke @laffengas @oakskull @galatoma @frootyloopy @sweetsweetemo

[sco07ut]

fantasy au doodles but there is a common denominator 🤨🤨

these bitches r bloody and insane ! !

[boygirlctommy]

good news I’ve created a nineteenth outfit for ctommy

[dahldahlbills]

adam sandler yuuji for @mothcryptids happy belated birthday ^_^

[sucharandomwolf]

Hi 👉🏽👈🏽 I made a ROTTMNT OC

Yes I changed his color palette 💀