DO NOT DO THIS.

From my art book Ace of Arts (link)

Reblogs appreciated!

@tippenfunkaport told me to make this, just for the record

I redrew the lily pad pond with some fish because I wasn’t happy with the other one.

Please tell me what you think? I quite like this one.

(No reposts! Reblogging is always appreciated though!)

I saw a Reddit post about how greysexuality isn’t real.

(this was a while ago and thankfully it’s been taken down now)

I want to try something: Reblog if you disagree with the statement above. I know I do.

I did a thing 👀 (LINK)

(19th self-published book, 10th poetry book)

Cover reveal and samples of ACE IN SPACE (my 2nd art book, coming out 5th April!)

Please share this!

(No reposting ! Reblogging is always appreciated though!)

I know those eyes // Following me // Dark and familiar // And deep as the sea // I know that face // Strange though it seems // Younger and kinder // It haunts all my dreams

They haven’t met before. But Smajor swears, there’s something so familiar yet wrong about the situation before him. He just can’t put his finger on what.

[rb > likes 💞]

Aletheia, a Scott centric Empires SMP x 3rd Life fanfic

No warnings, 4301 words. Past Scott/Jimmy. Angst and emotional hurt. 

Read on ao3 here! 

Summary:

Aletheia: unclosedness, unconcealedness, disclosure, truth; the state of not being hidden, the state of being evident. Opposite of Lethe, meaning oblivion, forgetfulness, concealment.

Scott remembers Third Life, as much as he would rather not. He’s an Emperor, now, with an Emperor’s business to attend to, and that includes meeting with the ancient deer deity of his kingdom, who is far more perceptive than he would like.

Or, Scott does not want to talk about Jimmy, but that matters little when your new god can read your thoughts.

Excerpt:

He meets the Guardian of Rivendell in a small clearing of stone and spruce in a jagged crack in the mountainside only accessible by air and by magic.

It’s snow-frosted, like everything else in Rivendell, crystals hanging from pine needles and glittering in the afternoon sun, grass crunching beneath his footfalls. The trees are tall and dark and reaching for the sky in their cloaks of wintergreen, berry bushes and brambles a circlet upon the earth’s burdened brow. The berries are holly, yew, toxic-bright, like splashes of blood, like eyes. The thought startles Scott, heart throbbing in his throat, and he tears his own eyes- blue eyes- away.

He is alone and then he is not.

Why did you call me, Guardian?

You are troubled. Now, come and talk with me a while.