#express moment

[rivetgoth]

It's honestly crazy that discussion around testosterone HRT skews so much towards the beginning stages of it (to the point that you have dozens of guys thinking their transition is "failed" if they don't pass by like a year in lol) and what the initial changes of the first couple of months to years look like, like the classic laundry list of those early basic changes like bottom growth, voice drop, etc, when IMO literally none of that compares remotely to the depth and intensity of the long term total masculinization you start to experience like 3-5+ years in.

[hinamie]

morning glory

[sweetmapple]

So tasty

[artsy-splat1]

I LOVE HIM??? AUUU/POS

🔔❤️♟️Alan in My Style 🔔♟️❤️ {Incredibox Express mod fanart}

Hey!! Long time no see guys! It's been a long while since I drew something in general, For content I've been getting into the Incredibox scene in general and ofc I feel in love with a mod called incredibox express! And ofc I had to draw one of the characters of that mod! I was expecting myself to like the monster designs more but Alan is just honestly perfect 🥰❤️❤️❤️, don't worry I still love the monster designs and like seriously the best character designs if ever seen in a mod 🥰❤️🩷💕

Im honestly surprised that Alan gets very little fanart and I'm sitting here like BRO GIVE THE GUY MORE LOVE PLEASE 😭❤️🔔♟️ So of course I drew him so expect more Alan fanart in the near future he honestly deserves it, I honestly don't care if he has nothing else going on with him HE'S PERFECT IN EVERYWAY

Okay enough Yapping you already know what time for this ITS SHOWING OFF MY ART WORK TIME

Alan belongs to @sapphiel Make sure to give them a follow <33

Full drawing (with mask)

Full drawing (Without mask)

Without effects

Flat colors!!

[ksen-noodles]

Smth i didnt mention is that i'm. REALLY really enjoying the frienquests

They make me wanna draw rlly hard but i have no time

[renieule]

My piece from the Iconic Moments zine, based on Chapter 214!

[kkirexxovo]

gk doodles pt. 2/?

[pineapple-frenzy]

i really like your works of book 2 zutaraaa. i hope i get to see you draw them realizing that they might actually have feelings for each other.

Thank you anon!! Honestly, it would take them so long to come to terms with their own feelings and it would take even longer for one of them to just admit it. But when it does eventually happen, I'd like to think it'd happen pretty naturally. Like they would just be in the middle of a conversation, joking around and messing with each other and it just slips out

[emziess]

You are an uber. 9-1-1, S08E13

[venduri]

Only you could accomplish such art, Celebrimbor

Assad Zaman as Celebrimbor from JRR Tolkien's The Silmarillion and Unfinished Tales

[reunitedinterlude]

would love to hear more actually 💔 (1, 2)

bonus:

[egophiliac]

:) hello! :D hope you have a nice day and absolutely do not think of the possibility of one of the last story cards being of silver! and that his groovy will very probably be crying!!! THERE'S SO MANY CRYING PEOPLE IN STORY CARDS LATELY!!! SPECIALLY LIGHT USERS!! I AM!!! SCARED!!!! bc so far we got Lilia and Sebek in the beginning book 7.... so at the end.... so we're missing story Silver... and Malleus is the one with less cards, so they might add one for him... but... the tears... ego.... THE TEARS!!!! EGOOOO!! (LOVE YOUR ART BTW EVERYTIME I GET A NOTIF FROM YOUR BLOG I RUN HERE TO SEE!)

(thank you! 💚💜💚)

YES I am ALSO like...90-95% convinced that we're going to be getting a story card for Silver once we wrap around back to diasomnia. 👀 especially because the way things are going, Silver will be the only character whose dream we haven't seen -- yet???? -- and that just. y'know. makes me wonder!

although I do think it would be VERY funny if he got a story card and the groovy was just "regular Silver except with one beautiful single crystal tear". this is actually a lot coming from him.

(he used up all his emotion yelling at a baby that one time, there's none left for a proper groovy-level cry.)

[nevenvc2]

the poet: todd anderson

instagram

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

"ahh… that was a close call."

the wind nips at your skin. you're held in place, supported by a larger build — his arm looped around your body, steady, as the curse in front of you wails— fizzles and swirls into an orb on his open palm.

geto cradles it, for a moment. a perfect marble.

it’s pocketed, swiftly, as he helps you stand up.

"t-thank you."

a smile. when he lets go, you almost stumble. unsteady on your feet; embarrassed, because a second-grade shouldn't have spelled any trouble for you. you're familiar with techniques of concealment, but you still didn't see it coming, and the gash from its sharp talons would have been in your flesh by now if your classmate hadn't reacted — a splat of crimson on the cobblestone of the temple grounds.

"you should be more careful," he hums, and you wonder if he knows how much it stings. he must, because his next words are softer, a kind tilt of his head. "are you alright?"

"yeah," a shallow breath. "i'm fine."

a breeze curls around your spine, counts the vertebrae. cold. goosebumps blooming across skin. you shiver, pitifully shielding your midriff from the evening air sneaking in through the torn shreds of your uniform, sharp cuts through sturdy polyester. you'll have to ask for a new one, but that's a problem for later — right now, you just feel exposed.

geto parts his lips, a silent oh.

then he reaches for the golden button right above his heart. you watch him fidget with it, until he's slipped it through the gap, his own uniform unbuttoned — the soft muscles of his arms twitching idly as he lifts them enough to take it off. you've never thought of what he wears under it, if he wears anything at all. the button-up beneath shields you from those improper thoughts, a pure, uncreased white.

"here."

when you look up, he's got the jacket folded over his wrist.

offering it to you.

"… are you sure?" you ask, with mismatched blinks, meekly receiving the bundle of black cloth. geto nods, still smiling. "won't you get cold?"

"i'll be fine," he insists. "it's a little big, but it should keep you warm."

under the shade of the plum tree behind him, its branches flecked with burgundy, buds long past bursting into soft, foam-like blossoms — the brown of his eyes is barely visible. they're dark, abyssal, something like the surface of a frozen lake.

but still warm. somehow.

(you're long past agonizing over why it is you feel so safe around him.)

geto turns around, his broad shoulders on full display — the expanse of his back, the skin at the nape of his neck, loose strands of ink-black sticking out from his bun. he slips his hands into his pockets, and hums:

"you can change. i won't look."

your heartbeat sputters. it's not like you don't believe him — he's not like gojo or shoko, geto can be trusted with things like this — but it's still embarrassing. cautiously, you eye his uniform, held in place against your chest. standard, smooth fabric, a night sky expanse kind of black to hide bloodstains and grime. geto's is clean, though. geto doesn’t bleed at all.

(a boy blessed by god. favoured by the world.

that's what your parents would have called him.)

with a shake of your head, you discard the thought — the voice in your head saying he's not even from a clan and he's still better than you, isn’t that funny? just turning around, sheepishly, finding it hard to look at him. glancing left and right, just to be safe, but no one. gojo still isn't back. a stroke of luck; you'd rather not have him see you in such a shabby state.

you're glad it was geto.

once you've shrugged off your tattered uniform, you drape yourself in his own. sticking your arms through the gaps, fixing the collar, and buttoning it up. it’s warm, soft, you're practically drowning in it, waves of polyester like a blanket around your shoulders — and it smells like him. rich and sweet, a hint of something earthy. homemade herbs and wooden oil.

it makes heat bloom at the nape of your neck, a pinprick. the feeling of him surrounding you.

when you turn to look at him, his back is still facing you. (you wonder what he's thinking about.)

"i'm done."

geto was right, you think. it is big on you. the hem cuts off right above your knees, the sleeves dwarfing your hands and slipping down your wrists when you lift them up to rub the dust from your eyes. it makes you feel smaller than you really are. a little shy.

but it feels nice, too. nuzzling against the collar, absently, a soft smile blooms on your lips — tuft-like petals dancing just behind you, with the swaying of the evening air. you inhale it, taste the sweetness, burnt incense and clusters of soon-to-be fruit.

with gentle eyes, you lift your head, and there he stands. just watching you. watching your lips part.

"thank you, geto-kun."

the words fizzle out in the space between you.

the boy before you offers no response.

he stands there, strangely silent, like a marble statue — eyes wide, for a moment, looking you over, up and down, you can see his gaze stray — before finding its way back to your own. his adam's apple bobs.

(is that a flush to his ears?)

"ah," he clears his throat, regaining his ability to speak, a raised fist covering the parting of his lips. "— it's no trouble at all. as long as you're comfortable…”

"i am," you quip. "it smells good."

a moment passes. geto angles his head to the left, away from you, breathing in through his nose.

"i'm… glad."

in the shadows of the trees, the wide temple gate, his neck simmers cherry-pink.

(your cheeks bloom with heat.)

for a moment, neither of you speak. the air feels thick with something, a pleasant awkwardness, the tips of your fingers still buzzing with warmth. finally, he speaks; seemingly composed, a mask slipping back into its rightful place. eyes crescented, half-moons.

"we should head back, then." he turns towards the stairway, leading back to the village, meeting your gaze with a seamless smile. "are you hungry?"

you follow him, pliantly, as he begins his descent. the view from the top of the mountain is breathtaking, clusters of trees parting to expose riverbeds on the ground below, tiny wooden houses, fields of golden wheat; the silhouette of a cityscape at the edge of the horizon. a sparrow takes flight overhead, singing softly. the breeze ruffles your hair, smooths geto's bangs out of the way, gives you a good look at his pupil, the deep sea of cedar surrounding it — flecks of amber, like the first spark of a match catching aflame. when you don't answer, it catches your stare.

"um… a little bit," you sputter. averting your gaze.

geto smiles. you can hear it in his voice, honey-slicked and sweet. "let's stop by a restaurant, then. the one by the station didn't look so bad."

"… sure."

the stairway's steps give out a crunch, when your feet make contact, soiled by dirt and gravel, patches of grass breaking through the slate. you're careful not to lose your balance, with nothing for you to hold on to — nothing but the ripped uniform in your arms, his sleeves, the added length nothing but a distraction.

you exhale, softly, fidgeting with the hem.

"… it's a little embarrassing to be seen like this, though…"

a humoured breath. geto turns to look at you. ”you have nothing to be embarrassed about," he reassures you. steady, comforting. you almost believe him; his gaze mulling you over, softening, something breezy to the smile on his lips when they part. "really."

… it only makes you feel more exposed.

once you finally reach the end of the trail, a head of white hair is waiting for you — black frames catching the light of the sun, just before it disappears behind molten clouds. gojo, watching the sky.

as soon as your feet meet solid ground, he snaps his gaze towards you.

… and then he whines.

"suguruuu…"

you linger behind, as your classmate strolls closer. a furrow in his brow, hair tousled like whipped cream, thrown about by the breeze. he’s pouting.

”what's the deal with this place?” he asks, making a disgruntled noise. ”the gashapons were all —"

he goes silent.

even through the glasses, you can tell he’s looking at you. feel his gaze, as it falls on your frame; sliding down to your uniform, and then back up, to meet your eyes. he glances at geto, the white of his shirt.

for a moment, his expression is blissfully blank.

then he grins.

"… oh?"

heat sparks at the tips of your fingers, the sides of your neck, all the way to the shells of your ears — gojo looks delighted, looking back and forth between you and geto like a toddler deciding between two bags of candy. it makes you feel small, but geto only rolls his eyes, bumps his shoulder against yours; a gentle, silent don't mind him.

when he walks past his friend, he mutters, just under his breath.

"shut up."

[hitsuyou-fukaketsu]

The truth