#this is a drawing I made three years ago but I never published it in public

[van-skmugen]

Riku Merman 🧜‍♂️ (Poecilia reticulata)

Can you find the Lucky Emblem?

[drenix004]

𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐝 part2

Valeria Garza Headcanons

Part 1 here

Note: I plan to do headcanons of Valeria as chapters of Valeria's fanfic are published! besides, I also want to do the same with 141, Alejandro, Rodolfo, Valeria,Horangi and koning in different situations and contexts, especially if they are shapeshifters or hybrids feel free to ask for a headcanon, one shot or drable, I'll be happy to do it! And they'll be all soft, comforting and light angsty themes! Life is already too cruel and hard to make them suffer here too :)

Sadly there will be no smut or nsfw, I'm really bad at writing that kind of content, sorry. But, there will be slight superficial mentions of that as a reward.

Pairing: Valeria Garza x fem!Reader

Summary: You work at the bar of a night bar in Las Almas, you knew the menu backwards and forwards so you had a certain fame. One day you draw the attention of a certain narco when you kicked an idiot out of the establishment just as the armored van was passing by, not only did you draw attention because of the commotion, but also because not a sound came out of your mouth, not a whimper, curse or insult, nothing. Just a death stare at the man.

━━━━━━━━》❈《 ━━━━━━━

Valeria has always had women at her disposal, it was nothing more than something carnal, just physical. I had never had any other contact than that with people of the same sex.

●Until you came, you opened the forbidden door that The Nameless One kept in the depths of his being; their feelings.

●You reached to the depths of his being without realizing it, you were not a one-night stand. You are more than that to The Nameless.

●Now the consequences had to be paid.

●Valeria didn't let you go when you had already walked through that damn door, oh no.

● That's not how the game was played and Valeria was very clear about it, since you opened her forbidden place you were doomed.

 ● You were hers, as well as the consequences of having fallen in love with her to the point of insanity if possible.

●You calmed her inner demons, but you also teased them if she didn't have you around.

●Same as now.

●His office was a shit after a fit of rage, they hadn't heard from you for more than three days.

● Many bad scenarios had been generated in his head, did the rival cartel kidnap you?

●That couldn't be possible, even among criminals there was a code: never mess with one's family or partner. Something that could be very simple, but that was essential to avoid generating conflicts beyond the territory or the product.

 ●Although you were not Valeria's official partner, by now she had made it clear that she was very interested in you. 

 Valeria was getting tired after searching with no results, so she decides to investigate everything about you. She didn't want to do it because she wanted to respect your privacy, but that had already moved to another level.

●She found out that the name you gave her wasn't your real name, so she couldn't find you that easily... With your real name he was able to access your credit card records, he realized that you did not stay in the same place for more than two days in inns or small hotels.

 . ●Valeria recognized that pattern, you were running away. But what were you running from? It couldn't be her because she never gave you a reason to do it.

The more I researched about you, the more things came to light; you were three years younger than Valeria, you had gardening experience, years ago you had been admitted several times to the emergency room for assault injuries, but they never mentioned a neck injury.

●That fact became interesting to her, Valeria had noticed the scar on your neck that you tried to hide with chokers.

Valeria went to every hotel and inn you were in, looked at the security footage, and then left without saying a word. He had to admit that you were cunning, a challenge he liked.

●Unknowingly, you entered a hunting game, where you are the prey and Valeria was the hunter.

●Valeria followed your steps closely, the chase becoming more and more exciting, the beast within her moving violently every time it got closer and closer.

●But she was aware that she wasn't the only one chasing you, there was a man who was also looking for you; your brother. The man had complaints of domestic violence, and also had an arrest warrant and a restraining order.

●Valeria understood why you were running away, you were afraid that your brother would hurt you again. that's why you ended up in Las Almas.

●Valeria would help you escape your brother's clutches... to end up in his.

● Valeria was no saint, but at least her claws would be more careful and gentler than your brother's. She could not and would not change what she already was, but she could take care of you in his darkness. ●When she knew where you were, she left immediately. Your brother had also found your whereabouts.

●It was a race against the clock, who would get there first? ●Which demon would get to you first?

●You were the ray of light that the darkness wanted out of selfishness, to envelop you completely so that you could not escape, you were its complement… because without light there is no darkness.

Part3?

I had planned to upload this for hallowen, but I couldn't because I had an anxious crisis :) why do I feel this looks more like a one shot than a headcanon? anyway I liked how it turned out, I hope you do too. likes and reblogs are much appreciated!

[frc-ambaradan]

A long time ago in a... well... galaxy full of ducks and mice

Hello there!

How should we celebrate Star Wars Day? Uhm... what about a ride along some italian Disney "parodies" of Star Wars? And I use quotation marks 'cause, it'll probably surprise you but, as of today, there is no real Disney parody of Star Wars.

There are, though, many stories that draw inspiration from some elements of Lucas' saga, starting from "Topolino e la spada di ghiaccio" (1984) amazing fantasy saga by Massimo de Vita that has nothing to do with Star Wars but gives us the first Disney character whose design's been heavily inspired by Darth Vader: the evil Prince of Mists!

The nefarious Prince of Mists from "Topolino e la spada di ghiaccio".

Scattered throughout the years there are many other stories inspired by Star Wars from Silvia Ziche's Topokolossal (1997):

Mickey Skyrunner weilds his legendary catalytic baguette as he faces off Pietro Galactus.

up to "Paperoga eroe dello spazio" (2013) a splendid, touching story by Roberto Gagnor and Claudio Sciarrone that culminates in one of the best plot twists ever on Topolino's pages (this story is the dream of any Galactic Empire fan ❤️).

Easy, Gorgius "heir" to Behlpost's throne... who do you think you are? Luke Skywalker? (Spoiler: you're not).

You may call it Behlpost, but that's Naboo royal palace for sure... with imperial guards as it seems 😁 (or are they forerunners of Operation Cinder sentinels? 🤔).

The only story (well, saga actually) that comes the most close to a real parody is Giorgio Pezzin's "Topolino e i signori della Galassia" (1991) which draws heavily inspiration from Star Wars expecially in the second episode.

The main character of this story is Goofy, who finds out to have inherited special powers from some old relative. Powers that make him the only one able to help the Galactic Confederation in their struggles against robots named "the Metals" led by general Titanio who seeks to eradicate every biological life form from the galaxy.

Jeez, Titanio's soldiers may be robots but their aim is as bad as Stormtroopers'... 🤣🤣

That's definitely the Battle of Hoth.

I know for sure there are also Star Wars inspired stories starring Josè Carioca out there, and McGreals' "May the farce be with you" (2005), but, unfortunately, I never had the chance to read them 'cause they've never been published in Italy.

But today's biggest obstacle to a Star Wars parody is Disney's auto-censorship. Yes, 'cause there's a strict rule at Disney that forbids authors to write parodies of other Disney franchises... so any parody of Star Wars (and Marvel) it's a very loud no-no. Sad :'(

We do know, though, that there are at least three finished legit parodies that never saw the light of day. One by Francesco Artibani that was supposed to be published on Topolino and two made-in-Egmont drawn by Cavazzano and Freccero.

Of the latter we can appreciate a beautiful illustration and a single page thanks to Freccero sharing them online a few years ago:

Alas, unless Disney change their internal directives (and there's no way it's gonna happen anytime soon) we'll never get the chance to see these or any other Star Wars inspired story in the near future.

But we can sure appreciate the older ones and if you wanna indulge yourself in something different today... these are the stories you're looking for ;)

May the Force be with you!

(And LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!!! 💪)

[thatonebirdwrites]

Fandom creators tag game

1. What sort of content do you create, and what is the thing you’ve made that you’re most proud of?

I write stories. Usually original science fiction, but in the past two years, I've branched into fanfiction. I also create art and music.

I'm damn proud of my rewrite of Book 2 of Legend of Korra in my Shared Moments series.

I wish I could find a publisher for my original fiction; then I could share what I'm most proud of but alas. The publishing market is incredibly hard to get into and I don't have the health to self-publish, so we'll go with the Korrasami tales for now. For art, I'm damn proud of this piece I did of Lena.

2. What fandom(s) do you create for?

Korrasami from Legend of Korra.

Supercorp from CW's Supergirl

Rojarias from CW's Supergirl.

3. What is your current favourite ship (or brotp if you prefer), and how controversial is it?

Korrasami. Not controversial much at all. (As a side note, Supercorp feels like an angstier Korrasami. Might be why I like that ship equally well. Supercorp doesn't seem controversial?)

4. For your answer to question 3, are they canon?

Yes, Korrasami is canon. (Supercorp isn't necessarily canon, but there's so much evidence of it in the show that it might as well be.)

5. What was your first fandom, and how old were you?

First fandom I created something for? Or first fandom where I dived into and read everything I could? Because if it's read everything I could, then it's Star Wars before Disney threw out the old Canon (still salty about that). I'd have been pretty young -- still a kid when I was devouring all the Star Wars books. I didn't have any favorite ship though while I did this.

For something I created, Korrasami was the first one I wanted to create art and writing for to be honest. That was three years ago when I started writing Korrasami.

6. What is your most unhinged fandom creation to date?

Oh, that's a Supercorp one. I was inspired by a weird camera glitch, and wrote an unhinged horror set after season 6. The first part of it is in tumblr. I have yet to publish to AO3 mostly because I want to finish more of it before I do. Sort of loosely based on Lovecraft's Color out of Space.

7. Do you remember what started you off creating fandom content, and if so, what was it?

Three years ago I first started drawing and writing Korrasami. Then I branched out into Supercorp.

8. Do you let people you know in real life see your fandom creations?

Only my trusted friends and siblings.

9. How do you feel about fanworks of fanworks? Has anyone ever made something based on a thing you made?

If anyone did, they have never shared it with me. I would love to see it, and I'd treasure it always!

Though if I'm being honest. I doubt I'll ever get fanworks. Why would anyone go to that much trouble for something I wrote? I doubt anything I write is worth that much.

10. What feeling do you most often try to evoke with your creations?

I want to show possible healing journeys that aren't the most painful angstfest known to humanity. I want people to feel the journey too, to capture the world within the character's senses so that their tale feels real.

Whether I achieve this, I have no idea. Some people have written very kind comments stating that I have, and I am delighted by those comments.

11. Has someone ever paid your work a compliment (in any form) that has stuck with you, and what was it?

Two people have said I made a place feel alive through the storytelling and worldbuilding I did. That compliment haunts me in all the best ways, and I have done my best to try to keep that tradition going.

12. What’s your favourite thing someone else has made that you’ve seen in the last 24 hours (and link it if you can find it again!)

It was a Supercorp art piece, but after searching, I can't seem to find it again. It was Lena leaning backwards into Kara's arms, while Kara gently holds her. Colored piece, digitally drawn I think. They look almost like they were swaying back and forth.

13. Give a small sneak preview of something you’re working on right now (eg a couple of sentences of fic from a WIP, a gif set theme, a small piece of a larger picture, whatever you feel happy to share)

Korrasami:

Korra looked at their entangled hands. “Yeah, yeah, it’s just some stitching.”

“And yet, that ‘some stitching’ made something wonderful.” Asami was determined to remind Korra of what she could do. It’d been her mantra for the past six months. She wanted Korra to regain her confidence, but it'd been difficult. Thanks to Asami's foolishness they'd both backslid.

Korra had called it Asami’s paranoia.

Maybe they were both right.

Supercorp:

Lena rises before dawn, prepares her corporate armor, and heads to her full-time job as CEO of L-Corp. Today’s agenda includes four meetings, one of them with the board, an hour of lab time, a brief lunch, and a visit to Florence in late afternoon.

It’s the visit with Florence that troubles her the most. The exposure to the strange artifact gave her unsettling dreams, and she woke in a cold sweat after a particularly gruesome one. In that one, she’d had no control over her body, only watched in horror as another person used her abilities to harm all she loved.

Kara had woken too, and her gentle reassurances had helped Lena fall back asleep, this time with no dreams.

Diving into work to escape the nightmares is how she copes. Perhaps not the healthiest, but undoing all her bad coping mechanisms will take far longer than just admitting they exist.

Rojarias:

Tomorrow morning? Sam reeled from the news. That gave her very little time to pack and prepare Ruby for Sam being gone a week or two.

Yet here she was again, unable to say no. Especially not when two beautiful women were looking at her expectantly.

Damn, Sam was too gay for this. “All right. Tomorrow it is.”

14. Have you ever seen/read anything made by the person who tagged you? If so, what was it and what was your favourite thing about it? (pick a favourite if there are several)

Yes, I have. I'm not entirely sure what exactly they published on AO3 however. I found the tiny Kara piece absolutely hilarious.

15. Do you leave comments on fandom works, and if so how would you describe your comment style?

I do leave comments, yes. I share my enjoyment of the piece, sections that really stood out to me, and/or an overall feeling I got from the piece. I'm trying to be more consistent about it since I know how much comments mean to me as a writer, and I know other writers enjoy them too!

16. How many works in progress do you currently have? Will you finish them all?

Original fiction: (on hiatus but I do plan on finishing) 3

Korrasami: 2 (plan on finishing them, yes).

Supercorp: 3 (yes, plan on finishing them.)

Rojarias: 1 (yes, I need to get on this as it's due next month actually).

Art for Supercorp: 1 (I also need to work on finishing this before the due date next month. I got the rough sketch and need to run it by the author to make sure it's what they want, before I go to town inking it).

17. what’s the longest it’s ever taken you to finish a fandom project?

Shared Moments: Books 1 through 3 (the finished ones) took me a year. A million words no less. Whew. I'm working on Book 3.5 now. I tend toward longer works, which takes a few months to complete.

My shorter fiction (the ficlets) take less than an hour usually.

For art, it takes me one to three weeks.

18. Describe the thing you made most recently in a way that is technically true, but also completely misleading. Link the thing if it’s published!

These paralleled kisses shake their world. (A chapter for Unraveling Realities)

19. Do you ever engage with fanworks for a fandom you’re not in? Which one(s) and how did you get into it?

I'm not really sure what counts as being "in" a fandom or not. If I enjoy something, I'll engage with it, but does the engagement mean I'm "in" the fandom now? Or do I have to create something and talk with others in the fandom to be considered "in?" How does this work?

20. Recommend a fan work from your fandom to your followers

I absolutely adore Make this your home by pcrtifacts so much I even made fanart for it. It's not finished, but it's regularly updated and so, so good.

Suggested tag list, but there are no rules here, follow your heart.

A mutual you have never actually spoken to but think seems cool -- All my mutuals are really cool! And I'd love to read more of their stuff. Thanks all of you for sharing your stuff!!

The most recent person whose content you engaged with (eg read a fic, reblogged art, whatever form you feel best fits) -- I'm not sure? Maybe the person I reblogged this from?

Someone whose content you saw via tags/reblogs and you followed them because of it @luthordamnvers (I honestly love the indepth knowledge of the show nic has, how willing to share that knowledge, nic's kindness, the fics they write. Honestly, all around wonderful person.)

Someone in your fandom that you think makes cool things @ekingston (Shape of Soup being my favorite plus the art is amazing.)

Someone in a different fandom that you think makes cool things (this is hard. I really only seem to follow or find Korrasami, Supercorp, and on rarer occasions Rojarias or Dansen. There's some Star Wars folks that do fun things, but I can't remember their usernames tho.)

Someone you always tag on things like this @nottawriter

Someone you have never tagged before (I can't remember who I tagged before, so I guess whoever wants to play this game?)

Someone you would like to get to know better @pcrtifacts (love, love their make this place your home fic. And chatting in comments with pcrtifacts has been lovely.)

Someone who makes art you like -- @snazzy-korra (honestly, she's an all around amazing person, and Iove all her art and chatting with her. So grateful for our chats too.)

Someone who writes fics you like: @fazedlight (I seriously love everything mel writes. It's all so damn good. I even wrote a fanfic continuation of a piece I really liked of mel's ficlets. First and only time I've ever done that.)

I suspect some of these people have been tagged multiple times. My apologies if so. But I did want y'all to know how you're appreciated and how much I enjoy your content too. :)

[a-dinosaur-a-day]

Round Three: Mbiresaurus vs Kholumalumo

Mbiresaurus raathi

Artwork by @i-draws-dinosaurs, written by @i-draws-dinosaurs

Name meaning: Raath’s reptile from Mbire (after the Mbire district of Zimbabwe, and in honour of palaeontologist and discoverer Michael Raath)

Time: ~ 230 million years ago (Carnian stage of the Late Triassic)

Location: Pebbly Arkose Formation, Zimbabwe

There was once a time… before titanosaurs… before diplodocids… before any sauropod… when sauropodomorphs were simply Just Some Little Guy. And that is where Mbiresaurus, oldest African dinosaur ever found, comes in!

Mbiresaurus was named in 2022 from Zimbabwe, and is the only dinosaur yet named from the Pebbly Arkose formation. It’s known from a beautifully complete skeleton that has all the features of a classic Early Dinosaur. It is small, has long gangly legs and arms, and a lil head with vaguely pointy kinda multipurpose teeth. The fact that all the wild diversity and enormous size of the sauropods came out of something like this is hard to imagine, but evolutionarily step by step these little scampery dudes would work their way up! 

Kholumolumo ellenbergerorum

Artwork by @alphynix, written by @i-draws-dinosaurs

Name meaning: Kholumolumo (giant reptilian dragon from Sotho folklore) named for Paul and François Ellenberger (the original excavators of the fossils)

Time: 210 million years ago (Norian stage of the Late Triassic)

Location: Lower Elliot Formation, Lesotho

Kholumolumo is an old friend with a new name. Its previous informal name, “Thotobolosaurus” meaning “trash heap reptile”, was truly magnificent and became one of the great memes of Ye Olde 2010s Palaeo Tumblr! Needless to say it was a bittersweet moment to see our old buddy finally published but lose its iconic name in the process. Rest in peace, Trash Heap Lizard.

The reason it wound up with that name is because the fossils were in fact found basically right next to the local rubbish dump of the village of Maphutseng in 1955. The trash pile turned out to be sitting on a bone bed of around five to ten animals, and over the course of several years they were excavated and moved to the University of Cape Town. Unfortunately, and perhaps appropriately to the name, the subsequent study of these fossils ended up being a complete trash fire. Specimens went missing that have never been found, professional relationships fell apart, and the animal itself wasn’t mentioned in the literature until 1970 when it was dropped into a discussion on the stratigraphy of the Elliot formation and named “Thotobolosaurus mabeatae” without any description of the fossils. This made the name “Thotobolosaurus” a nomen nudum (naked name) and thus invalid.

Finally in 2020 all the tribulation paid off and it received a proper initial description, although many fossils that weren’t lost in the chaos still remain under study and could be the subject of future papers. It’s nice to see our beloved trash heap of a dinosaur finally coming into its own!

[hostilecityshowdown]

⭐️ for any fic you’re dying to give commentary on :3

◕_◕

this was actually a hard one; i have WIPs and scraps i desperately want to talk about, such as the lowkey undertaker biopic, 'taker kidnapping goldust backfiring, an entire scrapped segment from a diesel/'taker fic, or a horror story starring hunter for mango, but. giving commentary on unpublished fics is a little difficult without publishing the fic. instead... we'll review one of my favourite character pieces: waiting for tonight every day of the week (titled "DIAMOND NIGHT" in my internal documents)

let's start with the titles.

DIAMOND NIGHT, the working title, is directly pulled from VOWWOW's song of the same name. VOWWOW/BOW WOW is diesel's second favourite band, depeche mode being the first, and i really wanted to use this title at publication. the song itself just didn't fit this portion of diesel's life, and there are lyrics from it i do want to draw inspiration from elsewhere, namely:

バックミラーに ghost of you

声すら嗄れはてて かき消される high way

(roughly translated to "ghost of you in the rearview mirror/even my voice becomes hoarse, drowned out on the high way." lyrocs source)

instead, i used lyrics from DONCHA WANNA CUM/Hangar 15, which is off their album "III" and written by the beloved genki hitomi - as evidenced by the song being entirely in english and having a more western pop rock sound than when kyoji yamamoto was the lead vocalist. (side note: rei atsumi is underrated and he's never done a single bad thing with a keyboard.)

stay close tonight (click link, go to 26:36) was also nearly chosen for title inspiration, given that i had this concert on repeat for half the writing process. i could actually write an entire post about VOWWOW and diesel's love for them but we're not here for that!!!!

while this fic is included in the Heartbreak Hotel AU universe, it is exclusively canon to my diesel muse and has no intended bearing over mango's telling of their own story, and takes place many years prior to the events of the HHAU. this made writing this piece fun; i had the opportunity to increase the depth of my muse without extensively plotting with mango.

i like the idea of going scene by scene with a few cuts. the fic opens here:

The boat rocked underfoot as Dallas throttled up to full speed the moment they cleared the marina's last NO WAKE sign. Up in the bow seating, the Diamond Dolls shouted at him for the sudden acceleration, two of them sliding right out of their plush seats and onto the pink mahogany hull. The Grand Craft had been modified heavily from its original design, practically rebuilt, and outfitted in chrome, white, and baby doll pink to match the Cadillac. It screamed Diamond Dallas Page, right down to the way the stern bench seating was upholstered with genuine leather - Something Dallas upkept meticulously.

dallas coming in hot as usual. i grew up on boats and love writing about them, the water, and everything in between, and i had a difficult time focusing on the actual story when all i wanted to do was ramble about the setting. my uncle moved down to clearwater many years ago and has traveled all over the world, and i actually did "consult" with him regarding swanky, popular boat manufacturers in the '80s-90s down in florida. "consulting" being saying "hey, chris, what were the most bougie boats you'd see down there back when you were in miami?" followed by an answer that was probably three hours long. i love my uncle and his undiagnosed ADHD very much. we meet our protagonists:

Tan body glistening in the beautiful Florida sunset, the Diamond Studd lounged against that leather, head tossed back and limbs spread wide. Across from him on the mid-deck couch, Vinnie Vegas squinted through his sunglasses and internally mourned his wind tossed hairdo. […] Vegas had only bounced for Dallas for about three months before he was brought into the Diamond Exchange's fold, and these excursions were one of the many benefits. He kept feeling self conscious about the injury scars marring his leg, hyper-aware of his body at all times, trying to mimic Dallas and Studd's body languages; he hadn't spent a hell of a lot of time on beaches in Michigan, admittedly. Too busy on the assembly line or the basketball court.

i wanted to paint a picture of the outsiders that no one is used to seeing. the diamond studd, comfortable in his own body, relaxed contrasted against vinnie vegas, tense, self conscious, frustrated with inconsequential impacts on his appearance - irritated by the lack of control, enough so that he can hardly enjoy something he loves in theory and would love in practice if he could fret less. he's trying to mimick ease instead of trying to be at ease; mine and mango's diesel muse is also autistic, and i try to be mindful when writing scenes like this. i do not think this is funny or cute, and i want to express to the reader that diesel is negatively impacted by his neurodivergencies and physical disabilities, including his leg injury. to cap out this section, vinnie invents his own excuse for rarely hitting the beach: work. he loves the water, doesn't mind the cold, and his knees greatly benefit from swimming... but, having not medically transitioned before this point and standing out for being an absurdly tall beanpole (and clocked as some flavour of Gay™ by peers), he was rarely comfortable enough to go. again: something that improves his quality of life, barred from him.

Behind Studd, the luxury vessel's wake frothed like two great, white wings folded behind him. He would've looked like he was diving down from the heavens if he wasn't so relaxed, chest bouncing each time Dallas rode someone else's wake to make the girls scream. The wind caught his laughter and threw it to Vegas as it whipped by, and he tried to prop his forearms across his thighs and sit forward comfortably while squaring his shoulders. It was hard to lean back when traveling backwards at nearly forty miles an hour.

this is so self indulgent, man. my dedushka used to throttle up to full speed whenever he could, and i always imagined the white water wake as a pack of wolves chasing the boat, trying to play with it. i'd lean over the stern, right next to the engine, and let the high-pressure water beat the shit out of my hand, imagining that i was playing with the wolves as they leapt up from the wake, trying to catch up to the rotors. i was going to write something like this into diesel's internal narration, but he's too tense in this fic to let his imagination wander.

vegas is also ogling the studd's body, especially his (perisex, cis) chest. to him, this is the pinnacle of manhood. everything he wants to be, everything he's trying to be, and it deifies studd. studd's also sitting at the stern near the transom, whereas vegas is seated across from him with his back to the cockpit. they're both going in the same direction at the same speed, but vinnie's doing it in reverse. his path forward has more unknowns and more unseen obstacles, and he feels uncertain, ill-prepared, and nervous, but he is genuinely content to allow dallas to guide him onwards. he doesn't have to look over his shoulder to know dallas is navigating them safely through open water.

Plus, soreness was starting to creep across his chest, the adhesive tacking the silicone sheeting over his scarring starting to itch from sweat. He rubbed his hands together and dug his left thumb into his right palm, smoothing in circles through his gloves. He was still getting the hang of cutting the medical grade squares into sheets and applying them with what was basically bandaid glue, but it did the job: Kept the scarring down, kept the sun off. He just hoped his chest would look like his partners' by the end of this, he was starting to get twitchy about the muscle mass he lost during the first few months of healing. Four more months, and he'd have spent a year in Florida. Four more weeks, and he'd be back under the knife. It was giving him anxiety. Panic attacks. Just thinking about it was making him sick and it definitely wasn't from Dallas's careless handling of the banjo-style wheel, and he still had to fly back home tomorrow and see his mom and-

surprise! dallas funded his top surgery recently! TRANS RIGHTS!! i think this element speaks for itself and helps contextualise his mood, here, and it's followed up by some more dysphoria, and a direct confirmation that vinnie trusts dallas. even when his thoughts are beginning to race and anxiety starts manifesting physiologically, his faith in dallas never waivers, and he affirms that to himself as a self-calming technique.

"Hey." Vegas jumped. His eyes came back into focus on Studd's package, no surprise, but when Vegas lifted his eyes to his face, the Studd wasn't looking at him. He cupped a hand around his mouth and raised his voice. "Hey! Yo! Dallas!"

Vegas turned around to look at their captain as well, slapping the utility box behind him a few times for good measure. Dallas throttled down gently, flashed the now murderous Dolls a winning smile, and turned round to drape an arm over the back of his seat. His hair had mostly escaped from its pilfered scrunchy, definitely Tori's, and started framing his face in dirty blond corkscrews. That smile was worth a million bucks. "What's up, baby? Want the radio turned up? Not likin' the view?"

"No way, man," Studd snorted, voice lowering back to its regular volume. His slow drawl was surprisingly soft spoken, and he waved a hand to shoo away Dallas's concerns. "Get your lead foot off the gas, Diamond. I wanna enjoy the salt water spray, not get power washed. And yeah, why don't you turn it up? Gimme something that bumps."

"Anything for you, guy," Dallas saluted and cranked one of many knobs on his instrument panel. At the twangy sting of Slinky's opening notes, Studd met Vinnie's gaze and rolled his eyes.

"That Dallas, right, brother? I like Link Wray too, but that ain't bumping. You mind?" His many rings glittered like the sun on the sea as he wiggled the fingers of one hand at Vegas then motioned for him to get up. Vegas raised an eyebrow but still stood, taking a moment to steady himself before rounding the mid-deck seating and marching right up to the cockpit. Dallas had already vacated after dropping anchor, sitting between Lee Ann and Kimberly and trying to placate them before they decided to throw him overboard. It didn't look like it was working. Leaving Dallas to his small army of mutineers, Vegas cranked the station dial right to WCMQ-FM and looked back towards the stern as the first chorus of Sandunguera threatened to blow out the speakers. Studd dropping his neck back onto the plush headrest was the best indication Vegas got that his job was done.

*clutching my arm rests* i fucking love studd and dallas's dynamic i'm going to gnaw on sheet metal. /j i'm not even editing this part down, mainly because i think we all deserve to watch dallas be eaten alive. back on track, we come into focus on one of the studd's many assets. some narrative foreshadowing for vinnie's upcoming surgeries, more dysphoria, and an example of the ease with which razor identifies, disrupts, and attempts to alter vinnie's disordered thinking. my uncle used to operate a bar on long island in new york and would ask me to burn CDs for specific crowds. slinky and sandunguera were both requested by him on different CDs, and sandunguera was a hit amongst cuban americans. WCMQ-FM/Z 92.3 is a fort lauderdale/miami station run by the spanish broadcasting system. this is one of the ways i express the setting without bluntly writing it down. onwards:

"Vin! Baby! The bar's right behind you." His boss waved at him nonchalantly from the den of vipers. Yeah, good luck with that, pal.

"Not enough limes in the world to save you, boss," he mimed throwing a hand of cards at Dallas. To his credit, the blond threw his head back and laughed, his wife elbowing him in the ribs. All passengers aboard knew the Studd would start bartending when the time was right. Head shaking, Vegas sauntered back to his seat and ignored the sun glinting off Studd's teeth.

i love u vinnie vegas and diamond dallas. i love u kimberly. not much to say about this beyond the way dallas has created an environment where the studd is in a position of control regarding alcohol, where he'll never be offered a drink or obligated to witness other people drinking unless he initiates it. he's the house dealer here, not dallas, not kimmy, not the dolls, not vinnie. it helps him be responsible and self-moderate, and razor responds positively to situations where he has the opportunity to look out for other people. keeping alcohol consumption reasonable is a group effort, here, not something razor has to undertake alone.

"No seats left with the Dolls, Vegas?" He teased, oozing over the bench seats more, seemingly never running out of ways to increase his size. Vegas winced, crossed his legs, crossed them the other way, tried to fix his hair, put his feet flat back on the deck. Surgery was still on his mind and he shook his head, sitting back with a deep exhale. He had to reposition his arms when he ran his hands through his hair, the pull deep in his still-numb pecs uncomfortable more than painful. At least he was starting to regain sensation here and there, but it was the scars on his pelvis that seemed to have had their nerves permanently severed. The waistband of his garish board shorts chafed them but he hardly noticed.

"Fit my fat ass up there? No way. Poke somebody's eye out with my knees. Nah." The response was deflecting and, as the jazzy sounds of Las Van Van faded into the Cubano radio host's voice, Studd lifted his head and pierced Vegas with a stern stare. He felt like one of those preserved butterflies on display - Or maybe something a little less pretty, like a beetle, or without so much armour, like-

SURPRISE AGAIN! vinnie had top surgery AND a hysterectomy (as well as vaginectomy)! TRANS RIGHTS. vinnie has more than just gender dysphoria and also struggles with body dysmorphia, something that's excessively common amongst athletes. this applies not only to his injuries, but to his own perceived size, and the studd being so much broader than him is difficult for him to deal with occasionally, despite the height difference. he's dysmorphic about the fat content on his body, especially as it begins to redistribute now that he has access to HRT intended testosterone. even thinking of himself as a bug under scrutiny falls victim to compulsive heteronormativity and dysmorphia simultaneously, where a butterfly is too effeminate for comfort, yet a beetle is much too masculine to be achievable.

"White Diamond for your thoughts, chico?" That deep, smooth voice was suddenly beside Vegas, the storage unit behind him popped open. He was so caught up in his own thoughts he only belatedly processed his stablemate stand and cross the distance between them in one massive stride. His meaty, powerful thighs were right next to the Las Vegas transplant's face, and he wanted to take a bite of that sun kissed skin. […] most other boaters passing them with a wide berth. Probably didn't want to have to offer such a big group their blow, some real Southern hospitality.

Swaying with the waves like the ocean was his second home, Studd whipped up the cocktail in under a minute, straining it into one of the crystalline glasses Dallas stocked his mini bar with. Everything was dropped back into the cooler seemingly unceremoniously, the table folded back into the box, and the lid slammed shut. He was expertly juggling two cocktails in one hand and a cigar box of honeyed cherries in the other, dropping down beside Vinnie heavily.

studd initiating the alcohol consumption on his own terms, from the timing to the drinks mixed, and he mixes them himself, decides who gets what when, and when everything gets packed back up. as mentioned in another post, i don't project scott hall's real world alcoholism onto his fictional characters, but do embrace a narrative depicting substance dependency and the struggle against becoming addicted.

vinnie's dysmorphia continues at full speed, accompanied by the "i want to be him" thoughts' best friend: "i want him." i'm cutting out most of the intimate portions because they're self explanatory and the fic can speak for itself. this entire section depicts the amount of trust vinnie has in razor as well as the power dynamic between the two of them this early in their relationship, and i recommend reading the fic if you've come this far into the director's cut but have yet to do so.

also: wealthy boaters in florida avoiding the garish, bougie boat full of gruff men and attractive women because they don't want to share That much cocaine was, allegedly, an actual phenomena. fascinating.

[…] [The Diamond Studd] tasted like salt, expensive cigars, and hot vinyl[…]

hi slater i painstakingly created this flavour profile to appeal to you, specifically. if i could send you a tea that tastes like this i would [+a little gunpowder tea in the mix. BANG!]

He wanted to shove the Studd down and ride him to death, but that was usually what people thought of him. Sunglasses starting to slide down his nose, Vegas licked his lips, barely able to meet the brunette's eyes. His brown hair looked like a dark halo, and Vegas was acutely aware of how much of a mess his own hair had to look. It'd been a long time since he let his hair grow out this much and he was having trouble taming it, but, hey, he wouldn't mind if the Studd was fucking with it, although Vegas would prefer to be twisting his hair around his fist while he screwed him into the sand-

we return to desireville for a brief moment to bring you: vinnie's thoughts course correcting from the indoctrinated, heteronormative "you are girl and PiV/submissive intercourse is what you want" to "i'm Me and i want to dominate this man within an inch of his life."

as a disclaimer: people, whether they be intersex, cis, trans, what have you, are welcome and encouraged to want and pursue whatever kind of sex they want, including not having sex at all. my narrative does not imply that trans men who bottom are inherently subverting or invalidating their gender, nor being heteronormative. for vinnie, being dominant and topping a man, explicitly, are things that have been gatekept from him due to his AGAB, genitalia, and own body image and confidence issues.

Embarrassment suddenly caught up with Vinnie. He felt like he had heat stroke. The song on the radio was loud and quiet at the same time, the surf mocking him, just like the ladies and Dallas all laughing-

"Hey," the hand left his chin and slapped his cheek gently. […]

this, and the rest of this paragraph, depict the studd identifying and disrupting vinnie's anxiety. it was really important to me to depict a young diesel struggling with his OCD and dysmorphia, and the invasive, disordered thinking, and anxiety that come with it. the next section contains a depiction of internalised transphobia, which i will be discussing, as a warning.

"Uh," he stuttered, cleared his throat, tried to get the octave of his voice back down to where it should be. "Uhuh. Yeah. Look- […] -I'm nervous, okay? Mom and I are good, but people back home are going to recognise me, and they're going to remember me as the wannabe-transsexual beanpole who used her Rez card to strong arm the school district."

He hadn't even realised the pronoun slip until it was too late and he cringed, hoping none of the girls heard. The last thing he needed right now was another one of Dallas's Queens trying to be his life coach, and any of the Dolls present were liable to snitch. […] "I just- I don't feel like I'm playing with a full deck here, you know? The odds are stacked against me. And, whatever happens, I still gotta psych myself back up for the cut again. You know how scary that is, Ramon? Five surgeries in two years, if you include rebuilding my leg, and now they're going in and fucking it up even more-"

vinnie and his mother maintain a very close, positive relationship all throughout her life, and none of his career choices, identity, or presentation ever threaten that. he always sends money home, always takes care of her, and invites her to participate in his life whenever possible. the rest of his community in michigan, though... he isn't as comfortable with. he was always awkward and disconnected from other natives having not grown up in the culture, his ojibwe father having passed away young. he went to tennessee, kentucky, and germany for basketball and college, went into long haul trucking, and always explored the leather and gay communities outside of detroit, not wanting to risk making his mother's life harder. he was still entitled to certain rights and accommodations as someone holding tribal registry, including telling white lies to play on the boys' baskbetball teams due to the lack of girls' ones.

he's more concerned with one of the dolls overhearing than he is concerned about engaging in self deprication, however; dallas employs drag queens as cosmotologists, stylists, consultants, whatever need be, and they generally treat vinnie like he's their little pup in need of some training and guidance. he also hires trans and intersex people for various positions, and i have notes for writing in his club's intersex transfem bartender in the future >;3c

on a more serious note: vinnie has a healthy degree of respect and fear for major surgery, and is already planning to undergo yet another massive procedure while still recovering from his most recent ones. he's has extensive repairs on his injured leg with mixed outcomes, in part due to the initial emergency surgery being less than ideal. i've had numerous major surgeries myself, and have more in my future. each one is harder than the last, and most of them occuring within a span of only nine years. recovery feels like you've been shoved back to square one every. single. time, and you fight and claw and work your way back to something better... knowing, as soon as you do, your surgeon's going to ask you to schedule the next surgery.

vinnie is disabled. his leg injuries disable him, insufficient medical intervention disables him, ongoing treatment disable him. both of his legs experience chronic pain, inflammation, and recurrant injuries, and he's a massive, heavy, athletic man - it takes a toll. now, he's preparing to undergo mixed method phalloplasty, which will demand that grafts be taken from his thighs and mons pubis region. he isn't eligible for full MLD but doesn't want to undergo RFF nor methods grafting from the torso due to visible scarring and potential loss of hand dexterity. as a disabled person: it is scary, putting your body through major surgery that will further complicate your quality of life, potentially forever in the rare event a severe complication arises.

"Whoa, whoa, okay," the Studd cut him off […] Hand carefully avoiding the scars, he cupped his still impressive pec and massaged it tenderly. […] "You're a powerful, sexy, perfect man, you hear me? Anybody got a problem with you, you call me, Vegas. Tch. […] I'll Diamond Drop 'em. Drop 'em like the ugly, desperate, jealous little flies they are."

Unable to fight the laugh that seized him, Vegas squeezed the Studd's thigh and shook his head. "Who booked you a flight, handsome?"

welcome to gender affirmation city, baby!! he loves vinnie. so much he's going to detroit with him whether he knows it or not. horniness incoming:

Eyebrows shooting up, Studd stole Vinnie's drink in a clatter of gold and diamonds, polishing it off and swiping an ice cube to crunch into bits. His mouth was so hot it melted almost instantly. Vegas wanted his tongue to melt in the Studd's mouth like that and, post-op, his cock-

when the . when tbe gender affirming surgery... affirm ur gender. i'm again cutting some softcore porn below because it is self explanatory, and if you want to read vinnie's bisexual thoughts and dallas being jumped by women you'll have to click the link up top

"Daddy-o, baby, who else? You think he'd risk losin' you to the 313?" This was news to Vinnie. […] Studd didn't seem as interested, both his hands falling to Vinnie's tight waist, thumbs tracing the lines of the four pack he was slowly working on. "Besides, I never gamble with sentiment. You're all mine, Vegas."

nicknames for dallas include "dally" and "daddy-o/daddio" and i love that for him. "the 313" refers to detroit's area code when dialing a detroit phone number, and this turn of phrase is commonly used to refer to specific regions. this area code is actually a sister code to NYC's 212, LA's 213, and chicago's 312. at the time, almost all phones used rotary dialing, and the easiest codes to dial were reserved for regions with the highest telephone density in the US.

and possessiveness and intimacy, because they help vinnie feel less dysphoric and dysmorphic, razor flat out thinks he's hot, and he's extremely attached to his best friend and loathes the idea of him going at something so serious and intimidating alone. after some fumbling:

[The Studd] was sliding into him, pulling him, fitting their bodies together seamlessly. If anything, they fit even better now than before, and Vegas had no where to put his hands but in Studd's hair, the stubble on his jaw, the twin earring to Dallas's dangling from his ear. […] His breath was heavy in [Vinnie's] ear, voice a deafeningly quiet earthquake. "I gotta give you a sexier name before I show you off on hometown turf, boy."

vin's finally able to enjoy his body a little bit, to like the way it feels when another person touches him. post-op, he doesn't have to feel uncomfortable about his chest touching someone else's. post-op, he doesn't have to feel as uncomfortable and scared when his groin and genitals are interacted with, even if there's more work to be done. razor's someone he's been deeply intimate with pre-op, and is the only person thus far that he can compare pre- and post-op physicality with. this is hugely affirming for vinnie.

and my favourite thing about my razor muse overall: he named him diesel, and that's the name the gambler formerly known as vinnie vegas took for the rest of his life.

IT IS DONE. thank you my beloved friend for allowing me to take you on this wild ride into the inner workings of my mind

[grimae]

A few weeks ago I had a pretty big commission for a client who wanted me to draw 11 Book of the Sun inspired artworks for their own world building project. Payment was awesome. That was cool. Gladly accepted it, and over the course of working on it, I realized how that entire BotS project has stopped having meaning for my headworld, world building, OCs, Skindarim, you name it, and instead started having meaning for me personally in different times of my life. I look at page 8 and I know I drew it for Eleonora's sons - Vasil, Rafael, Jarek - but I think about the time the weather was beautiful and the sun was shining, I was enjoying my life in the June of 2020. I look at page 6 and know I drew it because I wanted to explore the backstory of the Istrati, but now what I see is the very first picture of a character that has become more than just dear to me, Alexandru. Someone I literally never expected to draw more than once but has now taken permanent residence in my brain. I've been working on these gold-and-black pages for a literal three years now, and I never even intended it to happen actually. I made a few because I found it fun to develop the Istrati aesthetic a bit, my weird sun vampire clan, but then people wanted to see more and more, and started asking me more often whether I will publish them, something I literally never thought about. It became overbearing. People told me that everyone is just waiting for it (oh damn, expectations), I would make bank (nah, I wouldn't), etc etc. In a way I felt thrown into some kind of hustle culture. On top came the sheer amount of times people stole them, ripped out of context, for their shitty mood boards or Dark Art Aesthetic Facebook Pages, or claimed I wasn't the actual artist because the vague mythology they built up over these photoshop made pictures was more fascinating than the reality of the person behind them.  Anyway. A few months ago I radically changed the world building of Skindarim which also included my vampires logically. I love it. It feels like me. I still haven't gotten around writing a proper new readable description beyond a giant collection of notes and cornerstones written as if in mania, but it feels like everything I wanted of my brain ghosts and world to finally become what I really love. Wilderness, nature, hope, light, darkness, gore. All topics I love to explore. I look at the BotS pages now and see everything that has changed in lore and world building, that isn't accurate anymore at all.

I drew page 38 yesterday. I barely know what it means in the setting of my characters anymore. I know it what it means to me, as a person, as the artist behind it. I'm glad I made it, and I'm glad I made the 37 before it. In a way they became obsolete, in a way they've become just as, or even more important to me than before.

[blujaishah]

hi! How’s it going?

This is a good opportunity to explain why I haven't been posting art dont read any of it if u dont want to it's more for me

Aside from normal academic stuff it's mostly because my school's literary magazine is allowing submissions and I really want to get my art in it (you're a published artist/author if you get in it)

Thing is last year I didn't get my art in it (I made a self portrait titled 'hearts' that I stupidly never took a picture of because I never got it back) but they had too many art submissions and not enough literary submissions so most of the art got cut from the magazine

So I think you can tell that I was pissy bc I really need to get my art in this thing

So now I have been focusing a lot on my submission because I'm writing something with it, it's gonna look like a children's picture book with multiple drawings and a story

I might post it here if it doesn't end up being too personal but prob not

It's taking me a while because one i want it to look good and two i want it to look painted and that isn't my normal style and three because I am not a writer

Another reason as to why I'm not posting is because I'm looking for jobs because ur girl does not have money and that's something I wanna prioritize

And the last reason is less fun and something that I genuinely need to type out and admit in writing is that my parents are absolute batshit crazy and I want nothing more than to complete my high school credits and leave my home town

My sister didn't mind leaving like I want to in fact she wanted to get as far away from us (specifically my dad) as possible but she has no problem having me with her and husband because they've somewhat settled down

She's traveled the world and she's pretty cool, she's at a very prestigious university, she went to Thailand in high school, she's been to Jordan, Lebanon, and a couple years ago she went to Palestine for a year and became a high school teacher there she's awesome

It would be amazing to go to college where she is (i'm in a position financially and academically where going out of state for college is very possible ESPECIALLY where she is) and also to get to know her husband more would be great cause we barely got to know each other when he was here

My brother on the other hand didn't want to leave our mom but really needed to get out of the house because of our dad so now he's in this really awkward position where he lives in an apartment literally a 15 minutes walk from our house and by extension his very comfortable bedroom, and also he comes home every night to see our mom

It absolutely sucks and I very much want to leave my home even though I say what my parents want me to say I'll do after high school when I'm around them

My dad is demented and I have no problem admitting that he's never abused me physically but he has verbally quite a few times and hinted at physical abuse and it gets to me a lot

mostly it's about academics which he is quite literally insane for thinking I don't do well academically

There's a lot of stuff with him that's god awful and i wont get into it because that's what I do in a therapeutic environment which I cant get without being gaslit by my family so yeah

I can't draw anything except what I have to with all this it's a lot to be thinking about because I'm still just a kid and idk i can't handle it maturely so I have to write about it on tumblr lmao

[ughscara]

end of the year post.

heads up. if i sound sappy in some parts, i'm not sorry 🤍

as of me writing this, it's but a mere 20 minutes before it is officially the start of a new year.

it's a little surreal to believe that 2023 is coming to an end. a year that admittedly, was more emotionally and physically hectic for me. but i pushed through, and here i am going into 2024 as hopefully a better me.

to be honest, this year has been nothing but self reflection, realization and a lot of acceptance as well as embracing parts of myself that i thought i'd never return to. hobbies of mine like writing and drawing were ones i strayed away from for so, so long in 2023. but it more or so lead back into the tribulations i was facing then and still recovering from now.

it's a little surreal to me that months after months of doing nothing but reflection and getting back into what i love doing most just months before the year ended resulted into the me who decided to step into tumblr again and share my kuni ideas for the fun of it. that halloween fic i posted? just for shits and giggles at the time. but the fun i had writing it was a fun i wasn't able to feel throughout the entirety of 2023, and i admit the motivation boost i got from posting the fic afterwards, alongside checking in on the authors i used to follow just made something inside me click. and i went for it.

a bit more off topic but i still remember how i came back to genshin after a good five months or so in version 3.6 and doing the main event without knowledge of the sumeru quest line because i was avoiding spoilers. that day, i just finished taking an entrance exam for college and was exhausted from both the exam and from wearing myself out. midway into the introduction of the contestants; i was greeted with wanderer, or kuni in my vocabulary, being in the event and i was just smiling from ear to ear at the mere sight of him. feeling that same overflow of good emotions just take me whole to be honest, i was simply beyond happy. the way he spoke about writing about inazuma's societal issues because he was bored genuinely had me laughing for the first time that day.

i guess it's that simple little moment that hit me hard. it's silly, i'm aware, but it meant everything to me in a way. since that day in june; i was determined and full of creative drive to hopefully share at least one thing before the end of this year. look at me now, i have a series published that's yet to be finished so i can start on the next one in spring ( hopefully ), a one-shot to share for a moot and lastly... just a lot. i have a lot in store.

i have no right to say such things regarding my immense gratitude for the support i received from the few things i published, but the support i ended up getting on said few things — big and small — has made me realize that maybe i still feel very passionate about writing. that maybe i want to pursue the desire to publish all i have for that one fictional character that had my heart swoon the moment i saw him in a promotional trailer three years ago.

the ending note to 2023, starting october 31st when i published my first fic was a day that i'll always hold dear to me, my mutuals as well as the wonderful authors i follow made these past three months an absolute joy, and i cannot wait to make the most of my journey supporting each one of them ~

honestly i'm just rambling. but i am a professional yapper and to be honest i am writing all this on one cup of tea and like, six something hours of sleep i am absolutely not in the right headspace lmao. regardless! i am so so very glad to be here, to have survived an emotionally draining bitch of a year that was still an eventful year regardless to me, and starting the second of january... i shall be the bane of the scaranation's existence <3

we don't talk about how being that is actually a goal of mine because i think it'd be funny but i digress... 2024 will hopefully be just as much of an eventful year for me, for you, and everyone too. i believe that this year will be at least a little kinder to those who got absolutely shat on by 2023 ( pleek no more physical torment for me ) and if you're reading this, remember that this random stranger on the internet who's attempting to spread the kuni agenda is cheering you on for the year <3

i have a lot of stuff to share going forward. december was initially gonna be the month for all that but i had stuff going on that i ended prioritizing ( mainly my health ) so those initial plans will now move to the first month of a new year. mundanities with kabukimono will be finished in january, january 2nd will be interlocked eternities and lastly a late winter special that's actually a birthday gift for a mutual of mine ( mochi i am coming for you /menacingly )

oh it's 12 a.m. now, happy january first and happy 2024 everyone 🤍 may you be blessed with many wonderful days ahead. i shall see you on the second and third of january ~

[firstsprinces]

Thank you @anincompletelist for not only tagging me but for also creating this tag game! It's a brilliant and fun way to share an introduction to ourselves and our works that mean so much to us. I can't wait to fully dive and immerse myself into the worlds you've created and shared, and what others will be sharing because of this as well!

I also can’t wait to do this properly in 2024 when I’ll finally have some of these fics published!

I’ve chosen to share three of my WIPs that I’ve briefly shared since creating this account at the end of September this year. All three snippets of these haven’t been shared in either a WIP Wednesday or a Six/Seven Sentence Sunday yet, so they’re all a little treat for you all as you have very, very, very, patiently been waiting for me to light a fire under myself to get these published!

Unfortunately, this means I don't have links to these to share yet, but once I do this post will be updated!

At Another Place in Time (You Were Infinitely Mine) [WIP]

His eyes glance up to the ceiling above the bed first, and a sharp pang begins to flicker in his chest at the sight as the memories of staring upwards for hours rush back to him. He can see himself as a child pointing and drawing invisible lines to make connections between a galaxy he had created himself. This had been the one part of the cabin that Alex had thought had been his safe space. He can see the younger version of himself gradually becoming a teenager who still believed there had been magic just above his head. Now, if the sun creeps through the window at just the right angle, all Alex can see are the remnants of those damn glow-in-the-dark stars that had betrayed him all those years ago. This had been the one part of the cabin that Alex had thought had been his safe space, but then the two most important wishes he’s ever made in his life hadn’t been fulfilled and had seemingly been thrown back in his face in the ugliest ways. The stars may have fallen or had been torn off the ceiling in an angered teen-aged rage because of their deceit, but the glue remains and gives those once plastic shapes of promise a permanent haunting of everything Alex has ever yearned for. As the piercing pain continues to take over the rhythmic beats of his heart, Alex’s jaw clenches because even after all the time and devastation these stars have caused for him, he can’t help but want to stand underneath all of those and trace his fingers over the sticky smudge from the star he had claimed to be his favorite. That star had also been the one he lost first and the moment he had realized it had been missing from his self-made constellation, he had placed all the blame of the pieces of his life that have fallen apart onto it. Its neon glow had been a disguise in the form of an entrancing invitation to the blackhole of despair it truly is.

The WIP I'm Promising to Start Posting in January (It has a title, but I'm keeping it a secret)

Months after his father’s funeral, his mother had told him the opposite. It had actually been Henry who’d given his father the enlightenment to embrace all new discoveries and to always keep chasing them because they’re remarkably never-ending. Always live as though the world keeps creating things to stumble upon on purpose. Accidents may happen along the way, but those are also little surprises that will lead to something far grander. As a child Henry had been more animated and curious than his two siblings, but he’d also been overly cautious and kept to himself when necessary. It had been his father who would tell Henry that he shouldn’t be afraid of unknown things, so why would his mother tell him otherwise? What would Henry have given someone with more life experiences than he had? Their relationship had always been different than his ones with Phillip and Beatrice. Though Arthur always made sure to give each of his children their own moments just between the two of them, Catherine had let the secret out to Henry that his favorite discovery had been witnessing Henry experience the world around him. After the confession, Henry made the promise to his father after his passing that he’d take his father on every new adventure with him to make sure he’d never miss out, and in those adventures, he’d find out who he truly is and embrace himself as the wonderment his father believes he is. He places the last and only photograph he has of him and his father back down on his desk, his pointer finger skimming his greyed blurry face that doesn’t resemble the fact his father’s memory will never become dull or unclear.

Start Again with Steady Hands [the Stable Boy! Alex AU WIP]

This time Alex doesn’t turn on the lamp in front of the window because he’s sure Henry won’t be sneaking out from the palace tonight to come and see him. He won’t be opening the cottage door and see either bravery or vulnerability in his eyes. Neither of them will be reaching with hands that don’t have to recoil and reject the one thing that’s the most certain to them. A touch from Henry may burn him, but the invisible branding on his skin from his fingertips is electric – an igniter that reminds Alex that he’s alive. It’s the first night alone where Alex notices how cold the bedroom is and knows for certain that being surrounded by warmth is just an extension of being in Henry’s presence. The light may not be calling out to Henry tonight, but Alex is still looking out the window into the dark and wondering if Henry’s staring out one of the palace’s windows back at him. He wants to know if the tension he’s feeling is because Henry’s back to forcing himself to push away the pull Alex has on him. He’s calling with his heart in hopes Henry’s can hear it and that there will be a response that’s not going to say that this is the end.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little insight into the works that I'm in the process of that I'm also really proud of!

I can't wait to go through this tag and read everyone else's!

Tagging: @priincebutt

[van-skmugen]

Adventures ~ Fairytale

(Children's stories style)

[gordspost]

Why is your art so bad? Every character you draw has the same face and they are all ugly, even the kids that's suppose to be cute end up looking like monsters, it's honestly amazing

Hi, I expected someone to ask me this question sooner or later😅. I started publishing three years ago, I've never really had a style. I'm honest, I'm sorry you find my art ugly😔. Unfortunately I want to reiterate that I am not an artist, nor do I attend art school or anything else. I simply draw out of passion, and I draw what I especially like. and I know that at least someone likes it, and if someone likes it I'll keep doing it. I know it can't please everyone, but I'll deal with it. after all, what fun would there be if everyone liked it? In any case, I thank you for the comment because you made me understand that I can give a little more (I try to do my best now that school starts, I have to try to organize my life, understand me). you improve with time and experience, and I hope that one day I will be better than now, but this will happen and I'm sure of it. time to time.

I hope I have answered your question because there really isn't a precise answer😅

[thiswasinevitableid]

Your Monster (Indruck)

The second place winner of the monster-I’ve-done before was “House Monster.” This fill is NSFW and does reference suicide.

The house on the hill has a thousand eyes

The sentence echoes through Indrid’s mind as he steps from his Super Bee. Those nine words changed his life, gave him freedom, made him a name and a fortune that mercifully eclipsed the memories of the place that had inspired the phrase. 

Holding the keys the family lawyer handed him an hour ago–both of them pretending to be sadder than they were–he tips his head up, up, up at the grey and white Victorian. The woodwork along the front looking less like a dainty ladies lace and more like jagged, yellowed teeth. As he steps inside, his impression is exactly the same as it was twenty-two years ago. 

When his father moved Indrid and his twin brother into this house, the pair only two months past their eleventh birthday, Indrid felt as if the entire place was watching him. The windows glared down with harsh lights, the movers had already put all the family photos of grim-faced Colds on the walls, and even the wallpaper seems to form irises and ever-watchful pupils. 

Yes, eyes had followed him as he dragged his luggage into the bedroom–the one benefit of the move was Apollo and himself no longer having to share–and as he stared up at the light on the ceiling, that of course had two bulbs to look down at him.

He’d turned it off and rolled onto his side, hoping for sleep. 

That’s when he discovered there were eyes in the closet, too.

—---------------------------------------------------------

Motuscomes never forget a feeding ground. And if they used one often, they can feel when there’s a sudden shift in its primary emotions, even years after their last visit. ‘Which is why Duck knows it’s time to go back to the house on the hill. 

When he was a much younger monster, he’d sniffed out a house with three brand new occupants. His portal opened into the room of one half of a pair of twins, revealing glasses on a bed stand and an odd lack of art on the walls. Humans love to put things on their walls (monsters prefer their art on the ceilings).

Fear was heavy in the house; not an acute kind either. A lingering kind, one that seeped into the floorboards and coated the walls in a matter of months. Duck fed there every day. 

But it wasn’t solely about filling his belly. From the closet, he’d watch Indrid Cold draw, or read, or curl up under his covers and shake. And one day, the boy peered out from under the blanket and spoke to him. 

—---------------------------------------------

“Go away.” Elliot whispers.

The glowing, green eyes watch him, and Elliot is certain if he blinks they’ll move closer and closer and then he’ll be swallowed up, dissolved in a slimy belly and never heard from again. 

“I said go. Away.”

“Go away where? I, uh, I mean, uh, there, there ain’t a monster in here.”

Elliot fumbles for his flashlight, pointing the beam into the crack in the closet. If he didn’t know better, he’d say his old teddy bear had fallen from the shelf. Then the monster speaks, tusks gleaming from the shadows. 

“Any chance you’d believe I’m a possum?”

Indrid closes the book, setting it on the shelf with the other first editions of his novels. The House of a Thousand Eyes will always hold a special place in his heart; it was his first, complete with illustrations that his publisher called “the perfect mix of eerie and endearing.”

Wind shakes the shutters and he sighs; he forgot how stormy it was here. How throughout his childhood it was if every night was marked by trees scratching the windows and claws scraping the floor. 

There’s so much he tried to forget, it makes him question what he does remember. The incidents when he was in middle school he could pass off as dreams, as they always happened in bed. But there was one night when he was fifteen…

He’s the lucky one and not been dragged off to a work function with father (he and Apollo have both learned to feign disappointment if they’re not chosen, so their father will continue to see it as a means of pitting them against each other to choose them at random). He’s spent it watching as many horror movies as he could, drinking from his hidden stash of Capri Suns as rain pelted the windows and wind battered the trees. 

His father called around eight to say the road back to the house had washed out and he and Apollo would be staying at a friends house in town. Indrid couldn’t believe his luck. He stays on the couch through the midnight movie double feature, puzzled as to how his popcorn keeps running out when he’s not eating that much. 

When he turns off the T.V, the dark screen reveals the answer. A dark, ursine snout and glowing, green eyes peer over the couch behind him, then disappear. As he hurriedly turns and pokes his head over the couch. There’s nothing there. 

But from the shadows beneath it he hears, “Didn’t think that one with the bunnies was all that scary.”

Indrid smiles, glad he’ll have someone to talk to about it with “Me neither.”

His therapist had said Duck, as the monster was called, made sense as a coping mechanism. A confidant when he had none, a defender he could call upon should he need it. And in the A Boy and His Monster series, his hero does just that. He’s learned it’s best to agree with this idea, and not think about the few times he’d been huddled under the covers and paw had pet his side, Duck telling him he was sorry. Agreeing with him that it wasn’t fair. Or how, when he passes an abandoned house or a particularly unsettling closet, he still expects to hear his monster's voice. 

—--------------------------------------------------

“How do I know you won’t eat me?” Elliot crosses his arms and keeps his feet firmly tucked beneath him on the bed.

Goose shrugs, his bearish face and komodo dragon body less threatening by the moment, “Monsters don’t eat people. We eat feelings.”

“That’s what my mom calls it when she eats cake when she’s had a bad day.”

“That’s eating her feelings. I only eat feelings that come from someone else.”

Duck snorts and uses the tip of his claw to turn the page; Indrid’s been out of the house most of the day for the last four days dealing with his father’s estate, returning in the evenings to eat, haul unwanted furniture out the door, and bicker with his twin over the phone. They seem to get on better these days, and Indrid radiates exasperation rather than anger or fear while talking with him. 

Indrid being gone allows Duck time to pad about the house and see how he’s making the space his own. It also lets him read the books that made Indrid Cold a big name in horror. Duck had overheard people reading the Boy and Monster books aloud, usually to scare their little siblings, and always suspected it was based on him and Indrid. He can’t blame him for giving Duck the wrong appearance; it’s not like he ever saw Duck’s whole body. But “eating emotions” makes it sound like he subsists on happiness and rainbows.

As he closes the book, trading it on the shelf for The Woodsman, one of Indrid’s adult novels, he decides it’s high time for the monster to pay his boy a visit. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Any tedious article about Indrid includes a description of his vivid imagination and awe at his ability to come up with creative horrors that rival the likes of Clive Barker. These same articles seldom mention that a mind like his comes with downsides. Especially when it’s a dark and stormy night and his power has just gone out. 

Lightning cuts the windows as he moves from the living room to the hallway as easily as a ghost. The power has always been unreliable here, and he suspects the stash of candles will still be in the kitchen. If not, he can always fetch his flashlight from upstairs.

The candles are right where he expected them, wicks dusty but usable. It’s as he’s lighting the first one that there’s the unmistakable creak of footsteps on the top stair. He cocks his head, wishing the wind would die down enough for him to hear it more clearly. 

Another step, then a third, the wood groaning as it supports the encroaching terror. He races through the possibilities: A crazed fan? No, contrary to Misery he finds his fans to be rather respectful and calm. A robber? Possibly, as he does get recognized and someone might assume a wealthy author has possessions worth stealing. 

A howl of wind, rattling the house from weathervane to foundation. This house borders deep, thick woods, with hills beyond with plenty of space for creatures to hide. Creatures that can make a meal out a lonely human in an even lonelier house. 

Bright, white light cracks the darkness outside, and from his position in the kitchen he watches it throw a monstrous shadow onto the wall by the stairs. 

He jams the candle into its holder, takes a deep breath, and steps into the hall, holding the little flame aloft. 

The monster takes up the entire width of the stairs, and it’s gleaming black claws are already on the second to last step. It’s razor-backed; short, coppery spines sticking out of its black fur.  Tusks the size of his thumb poke out from its mouth as it grins at him. Scales on his arms reflect the light back at Indrid, In the darkness at the top of the stairs, a mussed tail with green feathers on the end flicks menacingly. Its face has a mask of paler color around the eyes. Green, glowing eyes. 

One paw rises, holding up House of A Thousand Eyes

“You know, slim, I really oughta get a cut.”

“Duck?”

“Yep” The monster finishes descending the stairs, sniffing the air, “huh, that scared you.”

“Yes, because I didn’t think you’d still be living here.” He blows out the candle as the lights come back on, “At least you got a snack out my brush with cardiac arrest.”

“Aww, c’mon, you weren’t scared of me as a kid. Can’t be any scarier now than I was then.” Duck follows him into the kitchen, barely squeezing through the door. 

“You are considerably larger now. And we both know you weren’t the scariest thing in this house back then.” He turns and fights down a smile; formidable as he is, Duck looks rather awkward standing in the muted yellow kitchen with its ugly, spartan white furniture Indrid has yet to re-paint.

“Why’d you come back, ‘Drid?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Felt the energy change and decided to stop by. See how you were doing.” Duck sits on the floor, rests his paws on the kitchen table, “seems to me you coulda handled sellin’ the house without coming back.”

Indrid sits in the chair across from him, “I could have. But I’ve been wanting to move out of the city for awhile, and many of my friends are still in this area. And I…I suppose I wanted to take it back from him. The house, I mean. There were so many things I loved about it and I’m not ready to lose them to him a second time.”

“Does explain why you moved into the turret bedroom.”

“Exactly! He put a study in there and never used it and made Apollo and I cram into glorified broom closets!  What?” He frowns as Duck smiles at him. 

“Just glad to see you still got some fire in you. I’ll, uh, I’ll let you get back to makin’ dinner.”

As he stands Indrid blurts out, “Will I see you again? Or were you just stopping by to say hello?”

“I, uh, I hadn’t not, uh, decided, fuck. Uh.” Duck clears his throat, “If you don’t mind me stoppin’ by more, I will.”

“I’d like that very much.”

Duck grins with his sharp rows of teeth, “See you around, ‘Drid.”

As slow, padding footsteps retreat, Indrid finds himself smiling back. 

—----------------------------------------------------------

Wind shakes the chandelier in the living room. The crystal rattles a second time as Duck sneezes, his short ears wiggling as he finishes with an, “excuse me.”

In spite of the breeze carrying pollen and dust from the valley below, closing the windows is the only way to keep them from choking on the smell of fresh paint. Indrid was determined to get the last of his fathers gloomy touches from his house, which resulted in two full days of painting the rooms emerald greens and desert-rock reds, of splashing blue accents or white patterns across walls and doors. 

Duck’s help has been invaluable; he can reach ceilings and high corners, and he’s decent enough at household repairs that the railing on the back porch is stable once again and the doors all sit right on their hinges. 

But really, Duck’s been invaluable ever since they reunited. His “now and then” visits went from every few days to daily in a matter of weeks, and at this point he doesn’t knock on the closet door to announce himself; Indrid will just step onto the porch to find a dark-furred boulder sunning itself, or scoot over on the couch as claws click on the hardwood when he turns on the T.V. 

He’d daydreamed about Duck following him around when he was young, and it turns out his teenage self was right about how nice it is. 

Duck uses his claw to uncap a hard cider, his bulk functionally making a cushion out of the old easy chair in the living room, “Why’d you change how I feed in the books?”

“Because my editor said the monster feeding on fear was too intense.” He raises a teasing eyebrow, “are you going to start going through my books and circling everything I got wrong?”

“Nah. Was just curious. Besides, it ain’t like I told you much about my world.”

“I never thought to ask. At the time it seemed far more important to learn about you.”

The scales on Duck’s arm shift from copper to deep green, “Feels like I oughta admit I ain’t that interesting by monster standards. All I do is work as an arborist and build model ships. And, uh, see you, of course.”

“You’re as fascinating now as you were then, and I won’t hear a word otherwise.” Indrid smirks as Duck gives a bashful huff, “Now, please find us something to watch while I go order pizza. And yes, I will get one with anchovies.” He sticks his tongue out in disgust. 

“This from the fella who likes pineapple on his.”

“Hush, monstrous one, and tell me what we should get for dessert.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------

Indrid lays in corpse pose, breathing deeply. A scent drifts past him, conjuring images of a hollowed out, fallen log in a wet forest, earthy and dark.

“Did you enjoy the show?” He murmurs.

“N-yeah, uh, I wasn’t watchin’, I don’t even have, uh, eyes?” A sigh, “it’s just wild to me that twisting yourself up like that calms you down. Makes me stressed just watching it.”

“I find it helps me remember I’m in my body when I start to drift off for too long. I do love my work, but sometimes…” He sits up, finds Duck sitting in a close approximation of cross-legged at the foot of his mat, “sometimes I wander too far and end up in the past.”

“This got anything to do with the funeral bein’ yesterday?”

“Some. Apollo and I seldom agree, but we seemed to both arrive at the conclusion that it wasn’t worth correcting anyone when they said nonsense like ‘he took such good care of you boys.”

Duck snorts and leans forward, creeping his body across the mat to rest his head in Indrid’s lap. 

“Agreed. That man only ever did one good thing for me in his entire life and that was move here. Without that, I’d never have met you.”

“I did turn out to be a hell of a meal ticket.” Duck says without a trace of malice. 

“That’s true, but not what I meant. I’m glad we became friends. And I’m glad I came back, if only so you could find me again.”

Duck turns his head to the side, looking up at Indrid tenderly, “Me too, slim. Me too.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Indrid spends his entire Monday in bed, Duck doesn’t worry. The human works hard, and he mentioned he might be coming down with a cold, so burrowing under his blankets makes sense. Duck tells him to take it easy, and says he’ll be back once he’s done seeing his sister and his nephews. 

It’s when he comes back two days later and finds Indrid—still in bed–wearing the exact same clothes with dirty plates and wrappers on the floor that his own fear creeps up his throat. 

“You doin’ okay, slim?”

Indrid shrugs.

Duck tamps down the hurt that Indrid doesn’t seem to care that he’s back and continues, “When was the last time you got clean?”

“Few days ago.”

“Seems to me you’re overdue then. Howsabout I run you a bath?”

Indrid manages a nod and Duck plods over to the bathroom and turns the taps on the crow-footed tub. He adds in some citrusy soak and returns to find Indrid in the exact same position he left him. 

“You, uh, you need help getting there?”

“No…” Indrid sits up as if he’s moving through syrup and makes his way towards the bathroom. The door closes, and when Duck hears the taps shut off and the splash of Indrid sinking in, he shoves all the trash into an overflowing bin and carts the dirty dishes downstairs. Going by the trash, Indrid’s been eating a lot of boxed mac and cheese, so that seems the safest bet for dinner. 

Thanks to accidentally piercing not one, but two boxes with his claws and getting cheese powder all over his fur, it takes him longer than planned to make dinner. He lumps the neon orange pasta into a bowl and carries it back to the bedroom, setting it on the bed before knocking on the bathroom door. 

“‘Drid? I made us some grub.” He waits a moment, and when no reply comes he eases open the door. 

Indrid sits in the tub, staring in the direction of the window but not looking out it. Duck recalls the flat expression from when they were younger, but it seems so much worse now.

“Want me to get you a towel?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yes. Please.” Indrid’s detached tone carries into his movements, and climbs from the tub, seemingly uncaring of the fact he’s giving Duck an eyeful. Duck wishes he could appreciate it, but any desire he feels for those long legs and angular face is crushed under his worry. 

Indrid eats mechanically. The only thing that keeps Duck from panicking is that, as he’s clearing the dishes, Indrid touches his wrist. 

“This happens sometimes. I ride it out. You don’t need to worry about it.”

The statement calms his fears for a day. But then another day passes, and another, and another, and then it’s been a full week and Indrid has barely left bed, will read or watch videos without his expression shifting in the slightest, seeming so far removed from his usual self that Duck worries he’ll never come back. 

Duck should have snuck off to feed three days ago. But he can’t bring himself to leave Indrid, even for an hour. When you feast on fear, now and then you come across someone whose fear that things will never be better, that they will never be better, have become too much. 

(Sometimes you stand in an apartment, a human passed out at your feet, raising Cain until the neighbors barge in and find her and you see her a week later alive).

If the choice is starve or lose Indrid, his stomach can fuss all it likes. 

Tonight, it rumbles so loud Indrid actually rolls over and looks at him.

“Have you eaten?”

Duck shakes his head and explains why. 

“Can you feed from what fear is left in the house?”

“Nope. Because there ain’t any left. The downstairs tastes like hope and the landing tastes like happiness and I can’t eat those. In here is all steeped in sadness and I can’t eat that either.”

“I’m sorry.” Indrid whispers. Then an idea flickers across his face, “what if I watched some horror movies? I, I don’t have a lot of feeling in my right now, of any kind, but if nothing else a scary movie will distract me from how flat I feel and generate enough fear for you to eat.”

“Worth a shot. C’mon, let’s go be couch potatoes instead of, uh, bed potatoes?” 

Duck builds a nest of blankets while Indrid queues up several of the “scariest movies ever made.”

Halfway through Martyrs, Indrid is showing little reaction, screams blare from the sound system, and Duck is regretting this plan. A third of the way through Terrifier, Duck’s whole face is hidden behind a pillow and he’s feeling kind of ill.

The screen mercifully goes black and Indrid sighs, “I don’t think it’s working. Are you getting any fear from me?”

“Couple of jumpscares gave me a little, but that’s about it.”

“I hate this.” Indrid tucks his knees to his chest, “I hate this, Duck. And I hate myself for the fact I could just promise you I’d be alright for an hour so you could eat, but I don’t want to, I don’t want to be alone, I can’t be alone. I want to cry or scream or laugh or do something and it’s like it’s all just out of reach. I don’t want to be unfeeling. Not like him. Never like him.” Indrid presses his forehead to his knees and Duck racks his brain for some way to fix this, to make up for all the times he wished he could help Indrid but didn’t know how. 

He catches sight of himself in the window, his claws worrying his scales. He’s at a loss for how to help Indrid as a friend. But he might know how to help him as a monster. 

“‘Drid? I got an idea. But” he gingerly reaches out, cupping his human’s face so their eyes meet, “before we do it, I need you to hear me when I say I will never, ever, ever actually hurt you. No matter what happens, can you remember that?”

Indrid rests his hands atop Duck’s, “I’ve never forgotten it.”

—------------------------------------------------------

A storm rolls from the ocean up into the hills at nightfall, wrapping around the house as Indrid lays in bed and wonders what Duck is planning. This is an improvement from hating himself or feeling so blank he’s certain he’s not really a person. 

His monster had told him it would take him a few hours to figure out just how to execute his plan, but that he’d never leave the house and Indrid should holler if he needed him. And that if he had to, yelling the word “red” would stop the plan. 

The lamp in the corner snaps to black and he groans.

“Duck? Could you see if that’s the breaker box or if we’re completely without power?”

There’s no reply. He mutters to himself and stands, searching for flashlights that don’t appear. And where the hell are his glasses?

Never mind. The sooner he does this, the sooner he can get back in bed. 

The house is a blurry box of darkness as he steps into the hallway. Then the hall closet flies open and claw grabs his shoulder, trying to tug him into the space. It must be Duck, it has to be Duck. 

“I, I spent plenty of time in the closet, I don’t need any more.” He tries to shrug off the hand and finds he can’t.

“Don’t care.” The growl is rougher than he’s ever heard it, “I’m hungry, slim.” Rows of teeth show in the darkness, the grip on his arm loosening so he can pull free right before they snap at him. He wants to pause and figure out the game, but the animal part of his brain has awoken violently and has no desire to stay near a lumber beast with hundreds of sharp teeth. 

He bolts for the stairs, running down them as Duck’s laugh rumbles behind him. 

“Cute how you think you can run. House is mine as much as it is yours.”

Indrid’s hand finds the handle of the front door. It’s unlocked. But it won’t open. 

“You never did ask what powers I got.” Duck is on the landing, scales glowing a slimy green and smile wide, “bet you’re wishin’ you’d been a bit more thoughtful.”

“I, I am thoughtful!” He runs for the back door and discovers the same situation, “we’re friends.”

“Nah” growls a voice from the pantry, “we may be friends, but one of us is a skinny little human–don’t bother tryin’ the windows, they’re all locked–and the other…”

Duck bursts from the pantry, backing Indrid against the wall, “is a goddamn apex predator who’s gone too fuckin long without dinner.”

Indrid dives under Duck’s arm, heart booming in his chest, yelling as he runs, “I said I was sorry!”

“Sorry ain’t gonna cut it.” Duck snaps, charging after him. Indrid braces to be hit, but the monster is gone, leaving only a laugh in his place. 

“Oh you’re cute when you’re scared.”

There’s no point in denying it, Duck can taste the truth.

“Yesyes, I’m very scared, which means you shouldn’t be hungry now.” 

“Ain’t as hungry now, no. But this whole mess has got me thinkin’” the voice sneaks from under the floorboards, “I ain’t been taking advantage of the situation.”

“What situation?” If he stays right here, in the first floor hallway by the stairs. Duck won’t be able to get to him without Indrid seeing him coming. There’s no furniture, no beds, no closets.

Wait. 

There’s a closet under the stairs. 

One moment his feet are on the floor, the next they’re kicking helplessly in the air as Duck, on two legs, lifts him up. Pleasure sneaks beneath the adrenaline at how easy Duck handles him, how Indrid can see the muscles flexed beneath the fur. 

“See, I’m thinkin we oughta have a new arrangement; I keep living here and keepin’ an eye on you. And you”  the clawed hand circles his throat, “are my dinner, every. Goddamn. Day.”

“I have to be, be scared for that” he gasps, scratching at a scaled arm. 

A blood-chilling grin, “You think I can’t find new ways to scare you? Lookit me, slim. I can do things to you that horror writer mind ain’t ever imagined.” Indrid jerks forward, Duck bringing them nose to nose, “you are mine, Indrid. I’m gonna do whatever I want to you, good use you whenever I need you, and you are gonna spend your life locked in this house because I ain’t ever lettin’ you free.”

Any fear, any pleasure he felt dies at those words. Panic slithers up his chest and he sobs, the horrible, ragged kind that feels like it will never stop. 

“Indrid? Oh, oh fuck, or ‘Drid I’m so fuckin’ sorry.” Duck’s hold changes instantly, and cradles Indrid against his warm, fuzzy chest, his scales the pale, comforting color of glow-in-the dark stars “fuck, I shoulda thought about that, how he always talked about how he’d never let you leave” 

Indrid wants to say it’s okay, that he doesn’t blame Duck for not remembering. All that comes out is another, harder sob. 

“Shhh, hey, I got you. I got you.” The soft pad of his palm rubs along Indrid’s back, “Lemme, lemme get you-” there’s a whiff and then a tissue presses into his hand, “let’s get you some water, everything’ I read said snacks help.”

“You read?” Indrid manages between hiccups.

“I, uh, I was readin’ up on BDSM. It ain’t like there’s a guide to how to scare humans in a fun way so it seemed like the closest thing.” Duck opens the fridge, reaching for a Capri Sun. Indrid spots their reflections in the kitchen window, Duck carrying him like a thrift store teddy bear he has no intention of letting be discarded again. 

He laughs, quietly at first, then bubbling up so forcefully he’s shaking them both. Duck carefully lowers him to the ground, clutching the juice to his chest as he murmurs, “You okay there?”

“Yes, yes I think I am. I certainly feel much more human than I did a half hour ago. And I…I realized something important.” He looks up into green eyes, “I love you, Duck. I think I may have loved you for a long time.”

Duck tilts his snout forward, allowing Indrid to raise onto his toes and kiss it, “I love you too, ‘Drid.”

“Shall we turn the lights back on?”

“Uh, that wasn’t part of my plan. Powers out to the whole area.”

“In that case, I request you bear me to the living room and make me a fire.”

Duck lifts him into a bridal carry with a pleased snort, “You got it.”

Once the fire is going, Duck pulls into Indrid his lap, insisting on feeding him bits of strawberry PopTarts as Indrid gradually feels more and more like his normal self. The depressive episode is still lingering, and he knows it won’t go away that easily, but it’s as if he’s purged a great deal of it from his system. 

Duck is so attentive that Indrid’s cock begins to take notice, something he wishes it would do when the monster wasn’t close enough to see him tenting his yoga pants. 

“Well now, what have we here?” Duck wipes the crumbs on the rug, then trails a claw up Indrid’s leg. 

“We have a situation in which I am both very turned on by the fact that you could so easily pursue and subdue me and also by having such a magnificent creature doting on me like this.” Indrid looks up through his lashes, “I don’t suppose my monster has had such thoughts about me?”

“Hell yeah.” Duck rests his chin on Indrid’s shoulder, “figured you’d rather have a human fella so I never said anything. But, uh, seems I was wrong.” A large paw cups Indrid through his pants, “y’know, back when we were teens, used to get so fuckin turned on by those, uh, those mothman pajama pants you had.”

Indrid laughs, petting his hand along Duck’s back. The spines on them aren’t sharp, and feel more like polished wood beneath the soft dusting of fur. As he rubs them Duck makes a pleased click-growl. 

“I’m serious, I had this whole damn fantasy about just, just holdin you down and humpin you through ‘em, so they’d feel soft on my dick and you’d cum on the bed and go all melty.”

Indrid kisses his cheek, “these pants are even softer than those were.”

“Seems they are.” Duck carefully turns Indrid to be facing away from him, then slowly grinds against his ass, the click-purrs growing louder with each roll of his hips. He nuzzles and nips Indrid’s neck and Indrid sighs, relaxing against him as one claw runs up and down his cock. 

“Spread your legs for me a sec, darlin. There we go. Close ‘em for me?” 

Indrid obeys and looks down. The cock between his thighs his a thick head tapering to a thinner base, with ridges swirling up the sides. The head is dotted with small, short nodes that wriggle as a pearly fluid drips from the center. 

“Ooooh! Oh I’d very much like to suck that later.”

“You got it darlin. But right now.” Duck cups his cock in his palm, the movement of his hips causing Indrid to grind against it, “let’s see just how cute you look when you cum.”

“I’m not that close ye-AH, ohgod” Indrid gasps as Duck scrapes his tusks down his shoulder. 

“Y’know, my kind mark their mates with these. You someone all scratched up here, you know they’re spoken for.”

“Yes, yesyes.”

“You’re mine, ‘Drid. But not because you’re stuck; because I love you so goddamn much and I, I wanna make, wanna make-” he cuts off with a growl as his hips pump harder and the nodes begin turning to tentacles, “make you feel so fucking good, oh fuck, fuck darlin if your thighs are this good your ass is gonna be even better.”

Indrid moans and wiggles in his arms, cumming with a little squeak; he’s too tired for it to be intense, but it’s bliss all the same, and as he melts against his monster there’s a loud grunt and then cum is spreading down his thighs.

“Guess I’ll need another bath.” He murmurs. 

“Uh huh.”

“But this time I’d better have company.” Indrid kisses a scaly arm.

Duck kisses him gently, “You got  it. You know I never mind staying by your side.”

[pjwarriorcats]

The Evolution of Warriors Fan Projects

Warriors fans have created all kinds of projects as tribute to the series, but the most well-known and perhaps the most impressive of projects are the animations. Warriors has always had a very prolific community on YouTube, creating shorts, animation, music videos, edits, and more. Unlike many other large fandoms on the internet, Warriors has no film component; there were never any movies made about the books, so all video content on the series was completely handmade, using either original artwork or other fan arts edited together.

The trends of animation and fanmade video content created by the Warriors fandom have changed drastically over time, and I wanted to go digging for some of these old videos and compare them to the content that is being made now. The evolution of animations from the community is incredible, and with so many of the original videos still available to be viewed on YouTube, a timeline can be tracked of the trends of Warriors fan animations. The best way to see the growth of the fandom is to experience it firsthand, through the projects produced over the 20s since it began.

The first Warriors book was published in 2003, and Warriors fan videos began to appear in the early 2000s. Videos began to pop up under all different channels. Creators such as Alli Kat, Wyeth Cat, DuckFeatherz, Flightfootwarrior, DarkKokiri, tribbleofdoom, bluekyokitty, moonlightnebula, and more quickly began to make a name for themselves creating AMVs (or Animated Music Videos). The early days of Warriors fan animations were also full of meme videos, such as the ever-famous (or infamous) Firestar Doesn't Like Waffles.

[Alt Text: A frame from "Firestar Doesn't Like Waffles," showing Graystripe holding a waffle out to an annoyed Firestar: Video Link]

Meme creators made names for themselves in the community at the time, too. Creators like Mama Tad made a place for themselves in the animation community creating almost exclusively meme and comedy animations, creating gems such as Cloudpaw Joins ThunderClan.

Early Warriors had a certain charm that can be attributed to three main factors: they were created by amateur artists and animators, many of whom were still children (as the source material of Warriors intended for its audience), they were created in the internet culture of the 2000s, and they were created by fans who all shared enough love for this series to dedicate so much of their time to a fan project. The quality of these videos (the video quality itself) is a product of a young fan using any resources they can find to create something. Even in the early days of the Fandom, the animations stood out as one of the most loved aspects.

Another prominent period in the timeline of Warriors animations was trying to create exactly what we did not have: a Warriors movie. These days, this trend has died off significantly (though there is still one major project in the works currently: WCAnimated. More on this later.), but several years ago, numerous animators attempted it. The most famous is the SSS Warrior Cats Fan Animation series, utilizing an iconic anime-adjacent style and lasting an impressive eight videos and over an hour of animation, but it was far from the only one. Tribbleofdoom had an Into the Wild series that lasted at least 48 episodes, though many of these have been taken down and are no longer available to view. Aluriya, one of the animators who worked on SSS Warrior Cats, made about an episode and a half of Bluestar's Prophecy. Nifty-Senpai animated a few episodes of OotS: The Fourth Apprentice, giving the project numerous attempts throughout the years. Fluffy Lovey animated several episodes of Fire and Ice. There was a period of time where it seemed almost all of the prominent animators were trying to create the Warriors “film” that we still don’t have.

[Alt text: A drawing of the main cast from the SSS Warrior Cats fan series, with the logo in the top left: Channel link]

Some animators also created their own animated Warriors universes, following the worldbuilding of the books and animating their own original characters. Urnam7’s series Dimstar's Past was one such project. Icerift Fyera created another, called AuroraClan.

These projects all have a similar feel to them. They are passion projects of an individual person, often a younger person, or a very small team, following a few different artistic trends (heavily cartoon and simplistic, a more anime-like style, the style of 2000/2010s sparkle cats, and adjacent similar styles). They were loved at the time, they are nostalgic for many now, and most of them fit fairly neatly into the box of “old warriors videos aesthetic.”

The Warriors fandom these days has moved away from projects like these a little bit. AMVs, while still a common occurrence, are not so much the go-to form of content creation any longer. Individual projects, in fact, are less commonly seen. Instead, the fandom has turned more towards collaborative projects, containing a large number of animators rather than small, contained teams or individual animators working on their own. MAPs (Multi-Animator Projects) have been a form of animation projects produced here for years, but the community has continued since then to hone the craft of a collaborative project like these; MAPs are now one of the most beloved and most utilized formats currently in use. Early MAPs (such as This Love, This Hate, Alone Without You, Little Talks, and more) often had no script, no set designs, and no real direction. Each part became its own mini animation, standalone except for their arrangement to the same song.

This, largely, has also changed in recent years. Many MAPs now attempt to tell a coherent story throughout. It is generally less common to find an unscripted MAP, or a MAP that does not have set designs to use for its main characters.

The result of this? The most professional-looking and cohesive projects the Warriors fandom has seen to date. Many of these newer MAPs are genuine cinematic marvels, especially knowing the context of their creation: they were all made on volunteered time, with volunteered effort, by a community of largely amateur and hobbyist artists and animators.

There are far too many of these MAPs to talk about them all, but here are a few that I found most impressive, and that made some of the biggest waves in the community:

StarClan's Chosen hosted by Nifty-Senpai,

Amen - Crookedstar's Promise MAP hosted by Alex Harrier,

Ready As I'll Ever Be - Breezepelt MAP hosted by eighthsun,

Everything Moves - Sol MAP hosted by Nifty-Senpai,

UNRAVEL - 2-Week Needletail MAP and Lullaby for a Princess hosted by colacatinthehat,

The Five Giants hosted by Whiskermoon,

Better Days hosted by Tennelle Flowers,

and many, many more.

[Alt Text: The thumbnail from the StarClan's Chosen MAP, featuring a semi-transparent StarClan cat greeting a silhouetted cat: Artist credit; MAP link]

[Alt Text: The thumbnail from the Ready As I'll Ever Be MAP, featuring bust shots of Breezepelt and Ivypool with the MAP name overlayed on top: MAP link]

[Alt Text: The thumbnail from the Everything Moves Sol MAP, featuring Sol in front of an eclipse drawn in a painterly style: Artist credit; MAP link]

As a community, the Warriors fandom has grown and learned an enormous amount. It is not uncommon to see animations that are a similar caliber of quality to a professional. Ideas and advice are shared between users, and many creators such as Nifty-Senpai and Gekkozilla have allowed others to use their designs for free as inspiration or directly in fan projects. The collaborative nature of the Warriors Fandom now is a remarkable achievement, and has yielded so many incredible projects, animations, and stories that to tally them all up would be an impossible task.

[hangingoffence]

so many questions i have, but i wanna ask about the oc in that unknown soldier piece ur published! who is he? any strong ideas of his character/plot or is he more of a vague oc for drawing purposes? also, any oc uve made for entirely self-indulgent reasons? not for a story or specific idea just 'it would be so cool'/'theyre just like me' kind of motivations

<333 MWUAH MWUAH

His name is Patrick and he exists in the same bubble as Michael and Ronnie.

They all do have backstories but they don't really have like a coherent plotline or a story with a message. They all represent different things. They all have a long long history of being different characters and changing and growing as i grew. There are different iterations of them and these "newest" ones mostly represent my own struggles with adulthood and also they represent my want for male friendships bc ive never really had that.

Patrick form all the three might be the one that I myself relate to the most and the one i project myself most to. He's my fav even if I like almost never draw him <333

Patrick is very quiet and non confrontational. He goes with the flow and doesn't really stick out. He doesn't voice out his thoughts that much and usually gets along with anyone. He's like that one kid in school that you see all the time but don't really know anything about.

He lives with his mother and his step-father. When he was about 12 years old his father died in a car accident, which left his mother depressed and vulnerable. (there's this scene that im debating over where a few weeks after his father's death, Patrick's walking home and see what he thinks is his father at their house's window. He runs in and sees a figure for a second before it disappears. this is just me consuming paranormal content thought lol) His baseball cap was originally his fathers.

When his step-father came into their lives, it was more of Patrick's mother needing a person her age to lean onto and that man taking an advantage of that situation. From the start Patrick and his step-father did not get along. Or more like his step-father did not like him. He became very verbally and physically abusive towards Patrick.

During his teenage years he started drinking which slowly it developed into alcoholism. He also got addicted to painkillers because of his constant headaches. After he turned 18 he immediately left his childhood home and moved to his own apartment in another city. His addictions got even worse when he lived on his own. Though he was able to hold a job, he still found himself being drunk rather than sober.

The main shtick is his struggle with addiction and more directly alcoholism(theres a direct link to finnish alcohol culture in him bc of my background but i wont get into it now). And i like to explore it from Ronnie's perspective. In their 20s they reconnected after having a falling out in high school and Ronnie witnessed first hand the brutal grip that the addiction had on his friend. And knowing that he truly can't do anything unless Patrick himself wants to get better (bc thats the way with addicts they will never recover if they don't want it themselves. you cant force them to quit bc they will go back). Eventually he lost his job and needed to get help from the goverment to survive and to pay his bills and have food. Ronnie at first helped him out finacially but then he realized it's just enabling Patrick's addiction bc all that money he got was spent on alcohol, so he stopped that. But still gave him emotional support but refused to help him out financially.

Through years and years of struggle and after many stern talks with Ronnie, Patrick started to realise his own illness. He saw how bad his health was and how alcohol had fucked him up in every level, he started a recovery journey.

After he got out of the chains he returned back to his hometown and to see his mom. But he was greeted by his childhood home turned into a dumpster. His step-father had left his mother years ago and she was left to take care of herself alone. She had started hoarding due to the stress and depression and had developed early signs of alzheimers. Patrick took her to a hospital and got her some treatment. He struggled with his own guilt of leaving her and letting her get to that stage.

Also he's like the one oc that fears every time i look at them bc they know they will go through some shit

[theflagscene]

AO3 Wrapped

I wasn’t tagged in shit, I rarely am, I make my own fun lol 😝

Works Published: 21

Total Word Count: 139,614

Hits: 37,765

Bookmarks: 1,133

Most Popular by Kudos: Do I Ever Cross Your Mind? (The Eclipse/Not Me)

Most Hits: Do I Ever Cross Your Mind? (The Eclipse/Not Me)

Longest: Inevitable (Supernatural)

Shortest: Don’t Disappear (The Eclipse)

Most Comments: Do I Ever Cross Your Mind? (The Eclipse/Not Me)

Fic that made me cry: I don’t really cry at fanfic, I’m not much of a crier usually, I’m trying to think of one that made me cry but I’m drawing a complete blank, soz.

Fic that made me smile: Legit all of them! I grin like a fool when I read fics, I enjoy them all so much, everyone is so damned talented!

Gifts: One written for me during the Profound Bond fic exchange, none written by me, I had to pull out of the exchange last minute so my giftee was given to someone else.

Collaborations: None

Events participated in: SPN Summary Challenge Big Bang, Bottom Cas Big Bang & One Year of Not Me Prompt Week.

Most Underrated Fic: Not So Stupid Cupid (Supernatural)

Note: I’m not counting the low hit counts on from the Not Me prompt week because it literally just ended two days ago.

Coming in 2023:

At least three more chapters of Do I Ever Cross Your Mind?

A ToddBlack continuation from their week long weaved romance during prompt week.

KhanThua PWP (started and never finished)

PuenTalay PWP (started and never finished)

And whatever else I feel like 😉