Why Are We Silent???

Finally now that the comic is fully public on comicfury, I get to share it with all of you here, too <3

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We should normalize drinking just straight up Balsamic Vinegar

Inspirational

grinding for gaza while trying to keep my sanity intact. i'm just here on tumblr writing post after post, asking, begging for donations, for help. i craft these words carefully hoping someone somewhere might care enough to hit that reblog button or send a few dollars. then i go hunting for the tagging list hoping someone with a bigger reach than me will help amplify my voice because seriously what else can i do? message after message, waiting for a reply, a reblog, anything. the silence is deafening. i wait for the donation notification to pop up like it’s some kind of life raft. maybe just maybe it’ll float my family out of this hell. but mostly i’m sitting here clicking, praying, hoping while my phone keeps buzzing with more bad news. sighs deeply. well back to the grind i guess. shuffle away quietly. maybe trip on a rock this time. who knows.

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Vetted and shared by @90-ghost: Link.

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Listed as number 282 in "The Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundraiser Spreadsheet" compiled by @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi : Link

Listed on the Butterfly Effect Project, number 957: Link

Additionally, Al Jazeera News has documented apart of my family's case: Link

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her: she must be thinking about other women

what i’m thinking about: louis! what? WHAT? it’s morning. i lost time. things got a little heated- with a boy! things got heated with a boy. i was at home picking lint off the sofa- i said to join us! the night’s gone, the room’s soiled, and once again i’m sat here with mop and mindlessness to clean it up. so the room got dirty, so what? i’ll clean it up. no, i clean it up! you make the mess, and i clean it up! mark it on the calendar, align it with ursa major, louis’ tri-annual FUCK OFF AND FIND ME with apologies to follow. i’m sorry. to seek comfort in the arms of lowlifes, and unfortunates, and broken children? fine. oh fine? fine. it doesn’t sound like fine. BUT REVEALING OUR NATURE TO A REPORTER YOU MET IN A BAR TEN HOURS AGO? what if it was published? I WAS HAVING SOME FUN! like we don’t have enough to fear after paris- i was in the middle of ending things when YOU- no, you nearly passed out on the floor next to him, louis! out on your feet from the drugs you stuffed him with- oh this is boring! you’re boring! YOU ARE SO BORING! and here come the drugs. COLORLESS. up the fangs. FLAVORLESS. down the throat. DULL. into the heart and off the fingers, feet, and wallowing brain. DULL NIGHTS, DULL WEEKS, DULL MONTHS, DULL AS FUCK! suffocation by the world’s softest, beige-est pillow. the ten hours i spent with that boy were more exciting, more fascinating than DECADES with you. oh there it is, the half-blank, half-apocalyptic look. but what does it mean tonight, huh? does he wanna lick my boots, or chop my hands off? is it the gremlin or the good nurse tonight, huh? okay, okay, perhaps. but am i as boring as the blather committed onto the ferric tapes of your FASCINATING boy? oh, oh it’s so hard to be me! picking lint off the sofa? it’s so hard to kill humans! i can feel their feelings as i drain them! louis de pointe du lac, it’s so hard to be me! everyone i know wronged me! okay, okay, let’s wake the boy up and let’s try you. i’m the vampire armand and my daddy vampire groomed me into a little BITCH! my brother, he tossed himself off a roof- but the vampires have heard of my daddy- my sister, she buried me alive! so he made me pretend i didn’t have a dick for 240 years. my daughter was my sister was my throw pillow. well he wouldn’t look at me kindly, lestat, lestat, lestat, lestat, lestat, lestat, lestat, lestat, lestat, lestat, lestat- I TALKED SHIT ABOUT HIM THE WHOLE TIME-THE NAME! THE NAME, UNUTTERED IN OUR HOME FOR 23 YEARS SAID OVER AND OVER AGAIN UNTIL IT WAS POUNDING IN MY BRAIN LIKE A HAMMER! our problems aren’t about HIM! and you threw HER name around just for cover, but it always circled back to him. i loved her. BUT SHE DIDN’T LOVE YOU! not like he did, not like i have. i know. I KNOW!

Omigod this is so good

Challengers + I'm Your Man by Mitski

Would you still love me if I were a worm but for a dog

Would you still love me if I were a worm,

Which is to say, would you still love me if I couldn’t take you on walks Which is to say, would you still love me if I couldn’t feed you Which is to say, would you still love me if I didn’t play with you Which is to say, would you still love me if I didn’t kiss your head and pet your fur Which is to say, would you still love me if I didn’t serve you?

If I could provide you nothing, would you still come to me tail wagging Place your head in my lap, lick at my lotioned legs, Whine when I ignore you, chase me when I run from you?

Or would you find someone new, someone who could give you all those things And more. Would it even hurt for you to leave me, or would I be an afterthought? I’d like to think you’d never leave my side, no matter what Man’s best friend and all.

We’ve been together for so long, not us two but humans and canines. When we leave for the stars will you come with us? I’d take you with, I’d take you anywhere I went.

You were made to serve us, but it is us that serve you To a dog, man is God And who would worship a God if they could give no boons, answer no prayers, quell no storms, bless no harvests Which is to say, I don’t deserve your worship 

Someone once said that humans are a dog’s whole life while they’re only a chapter to us. What a terribly sad thing to say. You deserve a whole novel

You give me so much and I give nothing in return I weep into your fur and you wait patiently, I injure myself and you try lick the wound to help I lag behind you as you run and you slow and look back waiting for me, I step on your tail and you cry but immediately forgive me, I hold you as you tremble from the thunder that I can do nothing about

I know this is a  Dog eat dog world, so I would not feel betrayed If you stopped loving me So I ask again, would you still love me if I were a worm?

the intimacy of being a weapon. your body is an extension of their power, your words an extension of their will. you are made significant in the way a gun is only dangerous with a finger on the trigger, and a blade only swipes through the actions of a swordsman. to have one end of yourself fit perfectly, comfortably in their hands while the other sheds blood. you are given purpose because of them, and they are given strength because of you.

Concept comic for a scene I'm writing for Trod

Takes place in the before-Shamura and mass dissention arc. I think the menticide mushrooms would react horrifically combined with godhood. Instead of seeing things that aren't real, they see real things they're not supposed to

Oh, to be Thanatos. You are tied to the House you were born in, title already in your hands, godhood all ready to shape you, with the starry sky of your mother's eyes holding you close. You don't really like the noise of the busy souls that crowd the hall, it's not that you didn't enjoy being a child, but the announcement of the Gentle Death was too big that your little bones had to learn how to carry it for your mother, and for the House.

And then, he is born. He is tiny, so so tiny. And he is bright and he is fire and he burns. He laughs and it echoes all throughout the house, running around with you hand in hand, a complicit smile on your face when he touched things he shouldn't, or toed the rules clumsily, falling headfirst into them. He always got on his feet, brushed the pain off his knees and smiled and giggled for you.

He used to pluck leaves off his laurels and give them to you, hide in obvious places in such a way it had to be on purpose. He always wanted to find you, and to be found. He would stand at every corner of the House of Hades, awaiting the toll of your bells. He liked your hair, and your eyes, and your smile. You don't understand how every strand of his being can radiate warmth.

You are being pulled, always. By him, and by what you must do. Cries and dying breaths, and blood of thousands of men, praying for someone to take them to a good place. Praying for one second more. And then, two seconds, for one hour. You never really understood, life can only last so much. They have to let it go, traverse the waters, so other people can see the sun, the night.

They won't stop existing. Because after the crossing of the river there are other places they can go to. Places where higher forces tell them they belong to. Just like you. Everything born in this house is tied to it. To its walls and ceilings. No one ever goes so far. No one ever leaves forever.

Except her, of course. But it's not for you to presume, whether she left because she belonged too much, or if she didn't. Neither or both, it doesn't really matter right now.

You grow up, and so does he. He is always fluttering around, the House bends at his feet. He stares bored at his papers. Spars and he looks like he is soaring with a sword in his hand. He loves. So much. So much it hurts you. It's written across his face, lettering all around his body.

You however, choke with your own thoughts, too many to ever stop and contemplate, because when you think about him there is always a glowing tangle of things you want to say, but you can never. He looks, like he knows what you want to say, but you feel like you're pushing yourself from him, when you swallow the sentences to the pit of your stomach.

They will always come back though. Acidic and a bad aftertaste of loneliness and regret, you mull their bitter ends and chew them as you wander the upper land, far away so he cannot read you. Because he is an all consuming presence, and even far away, he is around you. The bending flowers at the river. When the clouds embrace the sun, you couldn't help but think of holding him like that, too. Covering him for a moment, draping him with your figure, a breath near his own.

But that's too much. Too much. You can't, you are not there, and the war unfolding just makes you longer for him more. For the House and your mother, and the cold, gold pillars.

And then he leaves. He fucking leaves. You have to pull Hypnos's teeth and stare at your mother until she raises a brow, still shielding him. How can he go? Why would he leave? He was born here, he was here all the time. Your world, the world you love is down here, why would he discard it so easily as well?

The House is in shambles, and the steps close to the river are never fully clean. Blurred footprints that leave a messy trail.

You find him. Because how could you not? Why would you not? You have to shake him awake, remind him that his life is down here, very deeply burrowed in this realm. That upstairs and above there's nothing for them, nothing for you or him. That a search for the silhouette of a mother gone is absurd. That dying and waking, and dying and waking will drive him inside. Making you insane as well. The river Lethe is a few steps ahead, and you feel like drinking all of it so you can forget how it feels having him cut his way out of your chest. Out of your heart.

You just don't get it. Maybe you never did. Maybe you should've told him all those things that you left up there, maybe that's why he is leaving. Or maybe, he was never supposed to be known by you. Maybe he was being lended to you, and now the world wants him back.

Or maybe he just doesn't get it. Swan diving directly to the pits of seething heat, and cooling swords. To the gritty of the plagues, just to be stopped by a spear. A spear all of you know.

And he finds her. And you still don't get it. You say things that freeze his face; and he retorts back with a crackle of a flame. You used to blend so well together. Now you can't even remember how to talk to him.

It comes slowly, in long, suffering waves. He is not leaving. Just searching. Maybe because you never had to, you never understood. Maybe it's not that people are made for places; but they carve their own shapes into them. Maybe he just had to figure out the knife or his shape. But he's not leaving, he would never leave you, he says.

He would always come back and hold his breath for the toll of your bells, so you can both learn how you can blend once again, how it would feel to hold Zagreus with no choked words. Or no scathing heart breaks, left uncompleted all across the Underworld, for no one to find them, or run into them.

You never really liked the sun. But if it means that Zagreus brings back its light everytime it returns, as if he stole it or took a piece of it, to bring alight everything else; then, you wouldn't mind its warmth for a while. Life and Death, one and the same.

Thanatos and Zagreus, forevermore.