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#wip presentation
writingsfromspace · 3 months
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Steampunk! Magic! Dinosaurs!
Comic sans presentation time! Been a while since I finished one of these :D
CW: war themes, character death. Oh and castration (past, mentioned).
Send me any asks whatsoever.
Also appreciating feedback on the alt text, I'm not very practiced and I feel it's a little all over the place hhhhhhh.
@thelaughingstag hi!
Edit to add: the transforming-into-trees idea was sparked by (spoilers for the guessing game lol) this post!
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multi-lefaiye · 2 years
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Bleeding Over Eden WIP Presentation
WAHOO IT’S FINALLY HERE........ MY SAD GAY WIP........ JUST IN TIME FOR CAMP NANO
Okay so here’s the project I’m going to try and work on for camp nano this year!!! I’m not quite at the stage to begin drafting it, but I can at least work on it in some capacity, even if I just end up writing up the backstory portion with Ink and Arthur.
Tagging: @albatris​ @chaotic-queer-disaster​ @wherearetheplants​ @emotionalsupportpuma​ @dr-runs-with-scissors​ @skitzo-kero​​ 
Fair warning, though I’m not going to go into it that much in the presentation, Bleeding Over Eden is gonna be uh. A pretty sad and heavy story. Content warnings for the story as a whole are included in this presentation. Also, I’m gonna try to transcribe the info on each slide for this one!!
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[Transcript: Bleeding Over Eden
Or: how sad can these gay people get]
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[Transcript: Content warnings, wahoo!
So this presentation isn’t going to cover some of the more triggering stuff from Bleeding Over Eden, but I want to establish going into this that this story gets SAD and DARK.
A short list of potentially triggering content this story will contain or reference:
Toxic, codependent relationships, romantic and otherwise
In that same vein, there are going to be references to abusive relationships
Grief and loss
Suicide and self-harm
Drug addiction and alcoholism
Unreality in a very literal way (as in, multiple realities and timelines will be relevant)
Homophobia and transphobia
Murder
There is a happy ending planned, but in general be prepared for tragedy.]
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[Transcript: Premise??? Yeah <3
Four years ago, a small town in rural Montana was destroyed in a mysterious disaster, claiming the lives of hundreds of people. Little information about the incident exists, and the few survivors have scattered around the country.
One such survivor is a man named Ink Nikodemos, who lost his husband Arthur in the disaster, as well as being left with terrible scars on his body and mind.
In the years that have passed, Ink has struggled to rebuild his life and overcome his grief and survivor’s guilt, but he’s slowly been making progress.
Then, one day, his dead husband walks through the door of his workplace and asks to speak to him.
This sets in motion a huge chain of events and supernatural nonsense]
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[Transcript: Premise continued
This isn’t really a spoiler because it’s established rather quickly, but what’s happening is that different realities and timelines are starting to merge, causing a WHOLE lot of bullshit and for people to encounter other versions of themselves, which causes a lot more bullshit
Ink’s old town in Montana was actually destroyed as a consequence of different realities merging, but very few people know that’s actually what happened.
Bleeding Over Eden focuses on the fallout of something like that and like. Moving on from grief while also dealing with the fact that, oh, hey, the world is kinda falling apart now.
Ink can see the futures of those around him as a direct result of his experience/encounter with the other reality]
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[Transcript: Setting!!
This is another one of those “our reality but slightly to the left” stories, though it’s not as sharp of a left turn as some of my other WIPs. The main difference is that the cities are all made up.
Also, because American politics distresses me, things are a little less shitty in this world. A little bit.
The story primarily takes place in the fictional town of Phastian, Arizona, and everything kicks off at the Morning Glory Bar & Grill, a gay bar located downtown.
I’ll be honest a lot of details of the setting are intentionally left vague
One thing that’s important, though, is the idea of different realities. Things are going to get fucky and confusing and hard to follow, and that’s part of the point.]
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[Transcript: INK NIKODEMOS - he/him - 34 - 6’1”
Bartender at the Morning Glory Bar & Grill located in Phastian, Arizona
Puts on a persona of a cute, flirty, confident bartender, but really is deeply anxious and sad
Has the ability to see the futures of those around him, but none of his visions are guarantees--he can only see possibilities
Ink is the name he adopted after his husband’s death, to distance himself from the trauma
Arospec and polyamorous <3 Projection <3]
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[Transcript: ASA ROTH - he/him - 40 - 5’10”
Ink’s on-again, off-again boyfriend
Probably the sweetest man in the world
History teacher at the local high school, generally really good-natured and sweet
Passionate about his job and history in general, a nerd in the absolute best way
Honestly probably autistic
Very sweet but far from a pushover
Not one for arguing but also won’t back down from conflict if needed
Determined to make things work with Ink, to be there for him, whatever he needs]
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[Transcript: LORELEI ASH - she/her - 37 - 6’0”
Owner of the Morning Glory Bar & Grill
Met Ink on Internet forums in 2012 and he became one of her closest friends Credits Ink, quite literally, with her becoming the woman she is today--he helped her realize that she’s trans, and he helped her through her transition
Practically Ink’s older sister
Incredibly sweet and supportive, though she struggles with a lack of self-worth and terrible self-image
Vegetarian
Has a pet cat named Sprinkles]
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[Transcript: SCARLET ASH - they/she - 19 - 5′2″
Gender is for posers and losers and Scarlet is neither of those
Goth legend
Flustered easily by pretty women
Lorelei’s younger half-sibling who only recently came into her life after the passing of their father
Lots of angst and unresolved grief for their dad, kinda resentful towards Lorelei
Working as essentially a waiter at Morning Glory
Secretly really looks up to Ink]
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[Transcript: ANDY RAMÍREZ - he/they - 38 - 6’2”
Security guard at the Morning Glory Bar & Grill
His approach to gender is very much a matter of “ehhhh [vague hand gesture]”
Has a bit of a crush on Ink and is very protective of him
Even his crush aside, Ink is one of his best friends
Thinks Arthur is a fucking prick who needs to take a hint
Trying to do right by his ex-wife and son, who he’s caught in a custody battle over]
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[Transcript: ARTHUR HUFFMAN - he/him - 36 - 5’11”
Ink’s ex-husband
Supposed to be dead but came back into his life unexpectedly
Good intentions but kind of an asshole when it comes down to it, even if he doesn’t mean to be
Wants to get back together with Ink, but deep down he knows that’s not happening
Perfectionist, struggles with a desire for approval from others
Abandonment issues, deeply terrified that those around him are going to leave him]
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[Transcript: ANGELA PHAN - she/her - 31 - 5’9”
Ink’s baby sister
Married to her wonderful wife Marina, with whom she has an open relationship
Children’s book author
Hasn’t seen Ink in person in years, not since Arthur’s funeral, and is very worried about him
Ink has always been the strong one she looked up to, and she wants to be there for him like he was there for her
Analytical and logical, much less emotional than her brother (at least on the surface)]
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[Transcript: MADISON KEENE - she/her - 37 - 5’8”
One of Arthur’s friends from college
Married her best friend Gerard and has a daughter named Alice with him
Believes Ink is hiding something about Arthur’s death and wants to get to the bottom of it
Passionate and loyal to those she loves, though she tends to assume the worst in others sometimes
Has nothing against Ink personally, but she misses her friend
She just wants to know what happened]
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[Transcript: NINA JACKSON - she/her - 34 - 5′9″
Ink’s roommate and best friend from his college years
Lost contact with him for many years but recently got back in contact with him after she heard what happened to Arthur
Does not get along well with Madison
Generally easygoing and sweet, but she doesn’t take shit and isn’t one to back down from conflict
Was in a punk band for a few years after college
Idk if she’s actually going to appear but <3]
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[Transcript: Story Projection
Okay so I have no idea where the actual Bleeding Over Eden story is going or how long it’s gonna be, but I do have planned a backstory piece for Ink and Arthur’s relationship that sets everything up
So I guess it might be. Two books, I suppose, if things go according to plan. Idk we’ll see <3
I’m bouncing some titles around for the backstory piece but the one I really like is We Are Both Fragile Things
It’s probably gonna be like… Around 20 chapters or so if I did my math right?? Idk I gotta beef up the outline a little
As for the actual Bleeding Over Eden. Who knows <3
These sad gays will get their time in the sun sometime soon]
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[Transcript: Vibes~
This story is still rotating in my head but at its heart it’s a story about grief and the far-reaching effects of it.
The supernatural elements are the backdrop to the actual story, which is about grief and moving on.
Not to say they don’t happen or anything, but this story is much much more about grief and relationships and making mistakes and Being Human
Anyway vague list of statements time!!!
Love is important in any romantic relationship, but it takes work from the people involved
The best way to honor someone’s memory isn’t to cling to grief over their death, but to celebrate the life they lived
Memory is subjective, and ultimately we cling to the good more than the bad
The future is scary and uncertain, but that’s part of the beauty of it all
There’s a million ways the past could’ve gone different, but ultimately there’s no way to change it]
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daydreamerwonderkid · 1 month
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Somebody rescue Tim. He's seen too much.
You do NOT have permission to repost my art.
Meme reference under cut:
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wolfholz · 5 months
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i am not ready yet, there is still so much to be done. i did not want to die this way
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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 1 year
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Heard you were talking shit about Shijie
[First] Prev <–-> Next
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cuubism · 1 year
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"What if modern Hob was actually worse?" drabble to go along with the silly little post from earlier
--
“This,” says Dream, looking around the darkened alley with one eyebrow arched, “is a far cry from teacups.”
Hob peers up at him from where he’s systematically checking the life status of the many dead and close-to-dead individuals on the ground. “Did you think that was the only tool in my box? It’s not exactly my weapon of choice.”
“No.” Dream watches placidly as Hob finds one man still living, albeit barely, and deftly snaps his neck. “It seems that would be your hands.”
Hob winks at him. “Maybe so.”
“Is it strictly necessary to kill them all now? You are making quite a lot of work for my sister.”
“They’ve seen you,” Hob says, terse and serious again. He checks another man’s pulse, finds nothing, moves on. “They know who you are, what you are. Are clearly willing to do what they want with that. I’m not going to let someone take you again, Dream.”
Dream leans against the wall. He is still playing the moment over in his mind. The sudden attack on the street, the magical bonds they had tried to wrap around Dream, Hob jumping to his defense before Dream himself could, his quick and vicious counterattack that had reminded Dream vividly of the savagery of some of Hob’s past lives.
The assailants were armed with knives and various magical implements Dream would have to examine later, and Hob had taken all of them out with his bare hands.
“I had not realized your current lifetime was so… physical,” Dream says.
“Right, right. Quiet uni professor, never hurt a fly.” Hob finishes his business with the bodies and crosses back over to him. “You think staying under the radar is so easy nowadays?”
Dream gives him a wry half-smile as Hob stops before him where he’s still leaned against the wall. “I think that there several secret immortals in this world, and not all of them are killing ten people on the street without breaking a sweat.”
He doesn’t quite know what to feel about it. There is something… primal and satisfying about watching Hob draw blood for him. Dream’s own creations hadn’t even waited for him in the Dreaming, but Hob Gadling will kill for him.
“Maybe they’re missing out,” Hob says, a twinkle in his eye. There is a smear of blood on his temple where one of the attackers had caught the surface level of his skin with a blade, but he reaches for Dream’s hand. “Can I see your wrist?”
Dream places his arm in Hob’s hands. His skin, likewise, is marred with a burn where one of the bonds had snared him. It is already fading, and will likely vanish entirely once he returns to the Dreaming.
“Does that hurt?” Hob asks, something tremulous in his voice.
“No.”
“Good.” Hob casts a dark look back over his shoulder at the prone bodies. “I’d kill them all over again.”
“Hob Gadling,” Dream chides, though with no real censure. “Have you learned nothing in your six centuries on this planet?”
Hob steps closer so he’s in Dream’s space properly, almost touching. He meets Dream’s eyes, runs his tongue over his lower lip. “Only a few things.”
“And what things are those?” Dream asks.
“I thought we did the whole, and how are you using your life this time around, Hob? thing already,” Hob says.
“Perhaps I am interested in learning more,” says Dream. He takes his hand back and wipes away a drop of blood trailing down Hob’s temple with his thumb. “Considering it’s being used in service of me.”
“Oh, is it now?”
“Is it not?”
Hob takes Dream’s face between his hands. Dangerous hands, these, and yet Dream wants Hob’s touch all the more. Whatever slow simmering thing has been warming between them since his return has quickened into a proper blaze at the sight of Hob defending him.
Dream thinks perhaps he should be disappointed in Hob. But that is not what he feels.
He sees what will happen next, anticipates their collision the way he imagines Destiny might foresee such things. He sees Hob’s gentle touch, and the wet heat of his mouth. The ferocious love of this dangerous thing he’s had a part in creating.
“Does it bother you?” Hob might ask later. “The violence.”
And Dream might say, “You are speaking to the King of Nightmares, Hob Gadling.”
“It is when you need it to be,” Hob says, and kisses him.
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gophergal · 3 months
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You've always been a delicate disaster
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rancidsugar · 3 months
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softest-punk · 1 year
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You’re my absolute fav. Your Hob/Endless stories are fantastic. I’ve had a plot bunny for ages I’d like to share because I can’t execute it the way I’d like: human AU. Morpheus survives a kidnapping/ransom situation and decides it’s time to Live His Best Life upon getting out. This means tracking down the college sweetheart he rejected years ago due to class/socioeconomic differences (“You think I’d be your boyfriend? Then let me take my leave of you!”) at his pub, The New Inn. Hob, a widower and adjunct college lecturer, is intrigued but scared when The One Who Got Away shows up looking to reconnect.
Hello anon this premise has swallowed my brain whole. No idea if I'm doing it any justice but uh. Turns out it will be long. It is officially on the Big Pile o' WIPs. Here is the first part, I will be back, probably, at some point with the rest.
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The cheerfully blooming window boxes of the New Inn sway in the gentle breeze taking the sting out of the early afternoon sun, poppies of every colour nodding as though in conference with one another.
Through the windows, Dream can see that the pub itself is mercifully quiet. Desultory groups of twos and threes scattered about in deference to the heat, no more than a dozen people, all told.
It has been ten years since he last saw the man he means to visit today. No. Eleven.
The blur of the past year was still a year. It has been eleven years. Nearly to the day.
I’m sorry, I thought… I thought you liked me
Dream hangs his head. Perhaps he has no right to see out Hob Gadling after all this time. After their last encounter.
I have no need of affection. Certainly not yours.
He would have to swallow his words now. He ought to have done so immediately.
Eleven years. Would Hob even—
“Hello, stranger.”
Dream looks up at the familiar voice, and his stomach flips at the warmth in it. The welcome.
Hob offers him a smile as easily as ever, as easily as that first day, as though no ill has ever passed between them. His eyes are still dark and warm, crinkling at the corners.
For a moment Dream is twenty-two again, sitting in the university library, untouched by life and watching Hob take sprawling, untidy notes on paper rescued from the recycling bin with a pencil just two inches long.
There is grey at his temples now, and his once-lanky frame has blossomed into the fullness of manhood, but the smile is the same. The warmth.
“Hob,” Dream says, the single syllable still enough to choke him.
“Coming in?”
Dream watches Hob upend a pint glass filled with water into what he must assume is the tank of a manual irrigation system.
To save water, no doubt.
“I… would like to, if I may.”
“It’s a public house,” Hob says. “And you’re an old mate of the owner. Think the best spot by the bar’s free, but if it’s not I’ll kick whoever’s taken it out.”
Dream blinks at him.
“Hob—”
“Come inside,” Hob says, gaze soft. Understanding. “It’s quiet.”
It would have been too much to hope he might not know. About the… events of the past year.
But all the same, it is not pity in his eyes.
It never was. He knows that now. He’d known that from the look on Hob’s face the moment he’d torn their friendship to shreds and thrown it back at him.
And so when Hob holds the door for him, he slips into the cool, dark comfort of the pub, and breathes for what feels like the first time in eleven months.
“Not quite the old haunt,” Hob says. “Did manage to rescue some of the furniture from the dumpster when they started knocking it down, though.”
Dream casts his gaze over mismatched chairs and tables of assorted heights and sizes, and recognises one or two of them.
“Got the table with your initials scratched into it,” he adds, beckoning Dream over to a table tucked away at the back, hidden by the curve of the bar from the door.
As promised, it is the table from the now-demolished White Horse. The one Dream had once scratched his initials into.
He sits more heavily than he means to in the chair Hob pulls out for him.
“Wine, coffee, or lemonade?” Hob asks.
“I…” owe you an apology, did not expect your forgiveness let alone your hospitality, came here because you are the only true friend I have ever known. “Coffee. Please.”
“Still take it black as your soul?” Hob teases.
Dream smiles. It’s barely more than a twitch of his lips, but it’s also the first he remembers doing it in…
Some time. Quite a lot of time.
“Yes,” he agrees.
“I’ll be right back.”
Hob is, as promised, right back, setting coffee in front of Dream and a mug of tea down for himself, each accompanied by a lavender-flecked, sugar-crusted shortbread biscuit.
“You’ll have to tell me what you think of it,” Hob says. “Get it from a little independent roaster in Camden, but you know me and coffee.”
Another smile, this one at the thought of Hob once accepting, grudgingly, a sip of Dream’s coffee during a late night study session. He had complained about the taste for several hours.
“Make the biscuits myself though, so if you don’t like it you can keep that to yourself.”
Dream, who has not been able to eat in eleven months without feeling ill, takes a bite of his biscuit out of gratitude that Hob is even speaking to him, let alone being so kind.
The lavender of it is perfectly offset by a hint of lemon and the scent of rosemary, which Dream determines is somehow infused into the sugar. The biscuit itself is richly buttery and melts on his tongue the moment it lands there.
He eats the rest of it before he can stop himself, feeling like nothing more than a squirrel shoving acorns into his mouth and making embarrassingly pleased sounds.
His surprise at his own actions does not register as he licks sugar off his fingers, but only when Hob laughs, and passes him the other biscuit.
“Plenty more where that came from. But there’s also lunch on offer, if you’re that hungry.”
Dream stares down at the second biscuit—Hob’s biscuit, offered as easily as his smile and his hospitality and the heartbreaking knowledge that he had rescued and kept their table—eyes stinging.
“Hey,” Hob says, reaching out to him but stopping short of touching. “You’re all right.”
“I owe you an apology,” Dream says. He must start here. There is nothing else for it.
“Accepted. Forgiven. Water under the bridge,” Hob says. From someone else it might be suspiciously easy, but this is Hob. He is simply this easy.
If he were not, Dream thinks, it is unlikely he would ever have been able to tolerate his younger self. Let alone think him a friend. Let alone want…
“I was wrong,” Dream continues. “About… to… I should never have…”
“We were both young and daft,” Hob says, rubbing the rim of his mug with his thumb, a nervous gesture Dream remembers from long ago. “Bit older now. Personally, no less daft.”
“I doubt that very much,” Dream says, sitting back. At this table, in this seat, he is hidden from all but Hob, and yet he can feel the life of the pub ebbing and flowing around him.
He nibbles on the second biscuit.
“Meet your approval, then?” Hob asks.
“Very much,” Dream says. “A new talent?”
“My wife taught me,” Hob says, thumb still polishing the rim of his mug, knuckles suddenly white.
There is no wedding ring on Hob’s finger.
“Wife?” Dream asks cautiously.
“My Eleanor.” Hob sighs. “She’s umm. She’s gone now. Sorry. Shouldn’t have said anything.”
“I am sorry for your loss,” Dream says.
They are still not addressing, it seems, the proverbial elephant in the room. Hob will not, he thinks. It will be up to Dream to broach the subject.
“What was she like?”
Hob smiles again, with only the faintest hints of sadness around the edges of it. “Clever,” he says. “Funny. Gorgeous. Kind. Can’t speak too highly of her taste in men, but I was damned lucky to have her. Even for the little while we had. I always… I always knew it was too good for me, you know?”
“It was not,” Dream says. Hob, of all people, who is good and kind and funny and clever and hardly unpleasant to look upon, deserved to have all those things and more returned to him more than most. “I regret not having known her, but I believe I can speak highly for her taste in a husband.”
“You would’ve liked her. She had a poet’s soul, like you.”
Dream huffs, and sips his coffee—which is, as it turns out, very acceptable.
“Less black, I expect.”
“White as the driven snow,” Hob says, sipping his tea in turn. “Sorry. Not your problem.”
“I do not consider it a problem,” Dream says.
Hob raises an eyebrow.
“I too am older,” Dream responds. “And, I hope, wiser. More cognisant of the value of a friend, in any case.”
Hob nods. “You know we’re still friends, right? You can’t actually get rid of me with one little outburst.”
Yes. Yes, Hob had promised they were still friends. Eleven years ago.
Hob had rescued their table.
Dream looks down, tracing his finger over his own initials.
“You have read the papers,” Dream says. “I presume.”
“No, actually,” Hob says.
Dream looks up at him.
“I saw a big photo of your face on the front of the Sun though. And the headline. Didn’t feel like finding out any more from a rag like that. Thought about looking it up. Decided… decided you’d tell me, if you wanted me to know.”
Dream nibbles on his biscuit, which Eleanor taught Hob to make, out of love, which Hob now offers freely to all his patrons.
Love, love, love. His favourite endearment, his favourite feeling to express.
And Dream, selfishly returning after all this time with hope in his heart that…
No. Surely not.
And yet.
And yet he had not invaded Dream’s privacy even when it had been public. When it would have taken more effort to avoid the knowledge of what had happened than acquire it.
Not out of a lack of care, but because…
“I’d like to,” Dream admits. “But perhaps not immediately.”
“Door’s always open,” Hob promises. “And I mean that. I live upstairs, so you can just… yell until I open up. Even if it’s three in the morning.”
Dream eats the rest of his biscuit, and does not feel at all ill afterwards.
“I don’t want to push,” Hob says. “But do you want my number?”
“Yes,” Dream says, greedy. He had come here for succor and Hob has not hesitated to provide it.
His presence is like sinking into a warm bath on a cold day, and Dream is tired of self-denial. Exhausted with it. He knows suffering now, and does not wish to court it any longer. Not when an alternative is on offer.
He hands his phone over, unlocked, with perfect confidence Hob can be trusted with such a thing.
“The coffee is excellent, by the way,” Dream says as he slips his phone back into his pocket.
“More where that came from, too,” Hob says. “Ought to be enjoyed by someone who can really appreciate it.”
Dream drains the cup, and then stares down into it.
“I have occupied enough of your time,” he says. “I ought to take my leave.”
“If that’s what you want,” Hob says. “But I’ve got all the time in the world for you. We can go upstairs, if you like. Surprisingly quiet up there. I’m not trying to twist your arm into staying, if you really do want to leave. I’m just saying. You don’t have to.”
“I…”
Should go, do not wish to overstay my welcome, cannot prevail on your hospitality any longer.
Do not wish to leave, cannot bear the thought of returning to a cold, empty flat alone, want only softness and pleasure and warm things and you are all of them.
“Would be honoured to see your home.”
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nerdflowo · 2 months
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i need someone to take my drawing tablet away from me
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gavinosbornedrors · 9 days
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Monday Update!
My Monster Hunter Iron Hammer project is finally, finally done!
In all its low-poly, hand-painted drab-background glory! I am actually pretty happy with this. I would've liked this done a long time ago, and even this post to be out like a week ago, but the results are pretty solid.
I learned a lot about texturing details, the scale they should be that's readable from a far (I'm looking at you guild crest) and their distribution and density around the prop itself. Also had a moment where some other stuff regarding just illustration in general clicked that caused me to redo a bunch of detaling on this - but this came out better for it. This looked pretty solid near the end, but my decision to do a final, extra bit of metal shine, plus a bit of color overlay and shading really brought it home.
Against my better judgement I'm going to do another one - the Giant Jawblade - but the lesson this time will be speed.
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saetoru · 4 months
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haven’t written in weeks and idk how to formulate words anymore but anyway before i log out again for the month here’s the in progress stuff coming for january
nerd! gojo fic
ex-convict! geto fic
gojo fix-it fic (i’m rewriting canon thank you 👍🏽)
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inklessletter · 8 months
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the way you sold me for parts as you sunk your teeth into me bloodsucker famefucker bleeding me dry like a goddamn vampire
🌌🌌🌌
You're not a star, boy, you're an entire galaxy.
Stay with me, trust the process, darling
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watchyourbuck · 5 months
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★ Wip Wednesday ★
tagged by the marvelous @theotherbuckley @daffi-990 @wikiangela @thewolvesof1998 @disasterbuckdiaz @forthewolves @fionaswhvre @try-set-me-on-fire @eddiediaztho @eddiebabygirldiaz & @jamespearce9-1-1 I appreciate you all so much💗✨
Buck’s uncomfortable. He’s smiling out of courtesy, and following the conversation, but he’s uneasy. Eddie knows him well enough to notice. He’s doing that thing he does where he desperately tries to sway the conversation a different way. As always, he accompanies it with timid eye contact and a lot of hand gestures. Buck’s looking around for Eddie, so Eddie walks towards him. A long time ago, surrounded by a fence, he promised to Buck he’d never be confrontational again. He’s kept his word. It doesn’t mean he won’t step in if he has to. The man has him cornered. He has one hand on Buck’s upper arm and the other wrapped around a tall glass of champagne. He’s leaning way too close, his breath probably lingering on the tip of Buck’s nose. “Is there a problem here?” Buck’s eyes widen when he sees him. He’s surprised, but Eddie swears he sees them whisper ‘thank god.’ The stranger half-glances at him from over his shoulder, flicking the wrist he’s using to hold the glass dismissively. “Back off,” he says, with a hint of ownership that doesn’t sit quite right with Eddie. He clenches his jaw before speaking. “I’d love to, but that’s my husband you’re harassing.”
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Tags!! @eowon @hippolotamus @lover-of-mine @wildlife4life @buckleyobsessed @evanbegins @mattsire @eddie---diaz @giddyupbuck @cowboydiazes @princessfbi @911-on-abc @butraura @buttercupbuck @housewifebuck @honestlydarkprincess @bucksbirthmark @firemedicdiaz and anyone else who’s interested!
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orykorioart · 1 month
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Rule of Ethersea: Everyone’s got a…n Italian Cold Steel Cinquedea…?
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Wanted to play around with brushes and sketching style, and I was missing Ms. Amber Gris, so… two birds one stone ;-)
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nekoo3001 · 6 months
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WIP,I don't think I will have time to finish this oneee
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