a song I’ve been working on.

“Regulus would be proud of us,” James whispered quietly to no one in particular, still gripping onto the painting like a life raft. 

— Tender Curiosities, Baby!  @otrtbs

The Lovers

(but make it a gif).

Commission I got at tfcon Orlando from Sara Pitre-Durocher of another IDW styled Heatwave ❤️

they were yuri. to me.

try a little tenderness 🎵 [id in alt]

A compilation of art for my Dadbastian fanfic Coattails that I commissioned from the incredibly talented @tomoyoo! They went above and beyond with the details... Each picture feels as cozy and warm as a storybook, right? I'm so delighted with how they turned out!! Thank you for making each one so beautiful! 🥹🥹🥹

how it started how it´s going

Surprisingly, hearing Vox and Val technically (I love how technically needed to be added) aren't dating didn't upset me as much as I thought it would. It did... for like a minute until I thought about how painfully much it fits them.

Val throws tantrums and is ready go out and kill people to let off steam, but decides to stay put in his room and sulk instead while he waits for his flat-faced prince to come and comfort him before he does anything drastic. He's killed and abused people for the slightest hint of non-compliance, which he sees as giving him an attitude or questioning his authority, but he doesn't so much as flinch when Vox raises his voice and starts shaking him in frustration more than once. He doesn't lash out or get angry when Vox tries to talk him out of marching towards the hotel, but instead listens to his points and takes his words to heart even when they weren't what he wanted to hear. He's not interested in Alastor, but is willing to sit through watching the extermination broadcast because Vox is a passionate football dad about his one-sided rival getting dunked on. He doesn't even act jealous towards Vox's obsession, just weirdly amused and supportive even tho he hates not being the center of attention any other times. And then there's Vox, who acts like he's annoyed to have to put up with Valentino but still does it anyway. He acts disinterested about Val's ranting over Angel until he hears that Angel might've quit because he's an jealous, insecure loser that wants that mf's attention to himself. He lights his cigarette and decides to call up their lowest earners for him to terrorize without being asked just to lighten his mood a little (unrelated but i feel for their employees). He keeps his eyes on him both in his room and when he's at the pub through the cameras he's got everywhere. He takes his hand like one would with a princess and smiles fondly at him before disappearing when noticing they're being watched. He's the only person that Val trusts enough to calm him down when his temper gets the better of him. And Val-- despite his volatile temper and obnoxious quirks-- is someone he respects and cares about, both as his business associate and romantic partner.

And they aren't dating. Val and Vox clearly have a connection and understanding and attraction yet are unable to confront those feelings in fear of being vulnerable. So they aren't dating. Val obsesses over Angel and Vox obsesses over Alastor to distract themselves of the other only to fall back into each other's arms at the end of the day. Even tho they aren't dating. They celebrate, dance, sing, support and shamelessly make out with each other. They're the only ones that would put up with each other's bullshit no matter what-- but for some reason, they're still not dating. They are two of the worst Overlords in Hell, capable of committing so many despicable acts and jumping to immoral tactics for their own gain without any regrets, but opening that door into genuine emotional vulnerability? Acknowledging their softness for each other? That's where they draw the line. They're clearly made for each other, but neither of them dare to step over that line to commit to something more.

Which means that we could get to actually see these changes take place. We could get to see more sides to these two we still haven't seen before. We could get to see them actually start dating and the complicated journey it took to get there. We could get to scream and kick and seeth as these two morons continue to dance around admitting their very much requited romantic feelings for every stupid reason under the sun episode after episode. We could get to see these two fix each other and make each other worse simultaneously. Mostly make each other worse. We could get to see them have a romantic duet. We could get to see them be happy together-- officially together-- while they make life worse for everyone around them.

All this mumbo-jumbo, sleep-deprived ranting will likely not happen, but the potential character growth, the dynamic development, the resolved romantic tension, the SONGS we could get??? I'm clinging onto this hope for dear life until it's ripped from my cold, dead hands.

sometimes he gets a bit homesick

Thinking about how (if the ducts are still intact) people without eyes can still cry. Thinking about Kenshi trying to get used to his new life, and being so overwhelmed that he starts crying. Thinking about Johnny finding him and seeing the tears stain his blindfold, thinking it's discharge from the wound or something. Thinking about Johnny trying to fix the blindfold, only for Kenshi to break down completely and try, in vain, to push Johnny away until he's so overcome with despair that he melts in Johnny's arms. Thinking about Johnny realizing this is Fucking Serious and not making any jokes, but just holding Kenshi and comforting him.

To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come

I think about them meeting at night all the time - maybe that's what's easiest for them? to meet in dreams.

Me looking for new Ghost Content/Lore/Chapter all day, everyday!

Me once there ACTUALLY IS SOMETHING NEW!!

Thinking so hard rn…

The Gentleness of Gentlebeard

al haitham would be such a sore loser.

he picks and chooses so carefully what battles he takes on to assure his victory.

until little unassuming you waltzes up to him one night in the bar, challenging him to a drinking game. the prize? whatever the victor wants to be fulfilled by the loser.

what’s the risk? he’s larger than you so al haitham knows he can process the liquor more efficiently than you can. he drinks wine often enough so he knows that he has some tolerance at least. it’s logical, is it not?

cut to him, face flushed, head slumped against the table top, head swimming from the alcohol rushing straight to his head and other parts of his body he’d rather not admit. he inhales deeply, picking the scent of your cologne out from the deep odor of alcohol pervading his senses. he leans closer, sensing the warmth of you so near to him.

"mr. scribe, you never answered my question."

oh archons. you were prattling on about art or composition or some inane thing you always talk too long about. how could he focus on your words when the lips they come from could be put to a better use?

you sensed his drunken mind had wandered from the conversation, so you decided to steer it back to your little competition.

“another round?” you asked clutching another shot glass, rosy-cheeked and smiling wide. you suspected this self-proclaimed “feeble scholar” couldn’t take another drop.

he groans. it’s not a yes or a no, but it’s definitely a sound of resignation.

“good effort.” you coo, pressing the bottle to your lips, emptying the last of its contents in one swift motion. “but i believe i win, mr. scribe.”

“fine.” he hiccups, barely able to piece together the words. “i-i secede.” he lifts his head, green eyes finally focusing on your face across the intimate table you had found yourselves at.

his gaze met with a look on your face he couldn’t quite place. Determined with dark eyes.

“i demand my winnings then.”

“archons. . .” he groans. what will it be? a ticket into the akademy’s private library? buying you drinks for the month? him to be your personal butler for the day?

“come with me.” you whisper, grasping him by the hand.

he follows with surprisingly little fuss until he ends up in a dim, secluded corner of the bar, somehow seated in a chair and looking up at you.

he had half a mind to question what inane scheme you were plotting until he suddenly felt you mount his lap, catching his lips in a deep kiss before he could make a noise of surprise.

archons. he swears that even the liquor on your tongue, can’t overpower the overwhelming taste of you.

it’s quick, it’s needy, it’s lewd the way your tongue swipes along his lips, soft thighs straddling his while your body moves so provocatively against him. he breaks the kiss moments later, puffing for air as he feels your hips shifting so purposefully against his.

fuck. he’s dreamed about something exactly like this before. finally having you sat on his lap, all to himself, grinding so sweetly against his now aching erection. you’d look so pretty out of those clothes, bouncing on his lap, cumming on his cock.

the parting of your lips didn’t last long before you found another expanse of skin to entertain yourself with. you dipped your head, laying a few kisses along the column of his throat as your fingers deftly peeled his collar from his neck. his adam’s apple bobbed in anticipation, breath ragged before catching all together. a surprised moan escaped him as you finally latched on to his neck, sucking a pretty little hickey onto the canvas of his pale skin.

his mind moved too quick, and the reactions from his body weren’t too far behind. he was trembling beneath you, pitifully bucking his hips up to meet yours. his hands which previously remained white knuckled to the side of seat finally moved, reaching up to cup your plush ass and give it a healthy squeeze.

“m-more. . .” is the only word he could form, a small trail of drool sliding from his panting mouth down his chin.

“oh, haitham, poor thing.”

you suddenly remove yourself, al haitham groaning as you stand, sent absolutely reeling from the loss of you.

“we can finish this little encounter somewhere a little more secluded tomorrow evening. I’ll cash out my prize in full.”

he sits disheveled in that chair, cock pressing hard against his pants, dumbly watching as you turn heel, pay your tab, and walk right out into the cool night.

. . .

after regaining enough composure to stand, al haitham returns home in a huff, not even acknowledging his roommate’s greeting before he locks himself in his room. he roughly shucks off his shirt and shoes before falling onto his bed, palming at the tent in his boxers that has been plaguing him since he got the hell out of that bar.

al haitham lets out a heaving sigh, dragging his pants and sash from his waist, indulging himself in desires a more sober version of himself would be too proud and oblivious to yield to in a bout of burning desire.