#stargays

part the watery depths of hell find a vessel a corpsed shell glide across infinity

dance on the head of a needle point silver tongue beckon the king anoint

there's no place i would rather be resurrect return

These next moments, they knew, would be indescribable. The Voidmage could feel its spirit yearning toward the crack in reality. Gravity was reversing. Their universe was calling.

         At long, long last.

𝕥𝕖𝕝𝕝 𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕥 𝕚𝕤 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣.

       Seized by fire, Ynygme let the spell that surrounded their body dissipate. Yllyth’r’s special gravity carved around it, swirling and changing in a whirlpool of metachromic molasses.

         THERE YOU ARE.

         As expected, the Council sensed the disturbance, aware of the swirling magic, howling and gnashing their wordless, manic ire. They had only a moment. All the time in the world, and no time at all.

         They dove across the path to their salvation one last time, pressing their spirit into the crack. It shimmered, flexing and warping in jerky and illogical directions, roaring to life. Its disarray drove through Ynygme’s metaphysical self, impaling it with a tendril of starlight.

         A FOOLISH NOTION TO THINK YOU WILL ESCAPE. WE VOWED YOU AN ENDLESS SUFFERING.

         Fear blossomed in the pits of Ynygme’s nonexistent stomach at the Subjugate’s taunting. Were they truly escaping? After all of this - biding its time, bonding with the voices, a hope rekindled after nothing existing - what if this wasn’t real? If they found themselves still at the mercy of the Messiahs after everything, they knew they would be broken.

         ...no. They were already broken beyond repair. They had come so very far. This was no life, only hell. What more harm was a leap of faith?

         𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕞𝕪 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕨𝕒𝕪 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕪𝕠𝕦, 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕤. 𝕃𝔼𝕋 𝕄𝔼 𝕆𝕌𝕋 𝕆𝔽 ℍ𝔼ℝ𝔼.

         ENOUGH. THE AUTHOFHUJKVGH̷̗͆͠U̸͍͇̾̅D̶̢̫̍͘J̶͚͎͒̎F̷̡͒Ȳ̷͗ͅH̶̨͐͜W̷͙̐U̵̯̎͜J̵̱̟͛Į̵͘H̴͍́̉J̴̟͇̐̋I̶̥͒̀K̵̤̾̄.̷̼͇̔.̶͙͖̀̀0̷͇̓K̸̡͍̓Õ̶̮P̴̞̌L̴͈̋̏W̸̢̬̒̕;̶̠͎̏W̴̛͙̟͒;̶̥̈́ͅ1̸̙̬͌7̶̳̋͘Ù̷͇2̵͚͍͋̓É̸̢̟̌Y̷̜̟̾̌7̷̰̅8̴̣́̓U̴̹͛2̵͈̀I̵̠̯̍O̷͕͓̊̉2̷̠̿2̶̖̮̒̊7̸̛̞͎̊Ủ̸̞̣̉Ȅ̶͉Ĩ̷̼2̵̤̣͛Ő̴̯ ̵̶̩͚́͑͑̓^̵̲͆͘T̷̨͈̈́&̸͙̺͒͆Y̴̝̰̑Y̸͚̭̅͘^̴̯̌͆#̶͔̀͂Y̴͔̕&̷̺̟̂U̶̸̳̪̥̐̾̕I̴̭̍̃J̵̟̈K̴̨͍̆͊H̶̞͓̊̊#̷̣͈̓̕G̴̛͙̺̉&̶̮̫́̍Y̶̫̕H̴͈͛͗Ū̶̧͚̑J̶̩̕I̴̲̰̔K̸̲͌O̷̮̍̋D̵̢̳͌P̵̦̫̄L̸̞̭̑P̸͇̝̕

         Reality suddenly collapsed. Its body was wrenched away. They felt heat, gasses cascading across never-ending plains of the inky ichor. The profound, unknowable sky was rushing past, consuming it in a boiling cauldron of formation. The strobing lights of known and unknown galaxies perpetually flickered in and out of Ynygme’s vision.

         It felt its phantasmal body squished into a pinprick the size of a tear drop, and then stretched and expanded until they were the universe itself.

         They saw the jailors’ faces grow great in horrific, amorphous ambiguations, then disintegrate into the dust that grew into stars.

         Ynygme tasted the concept of chalk, and the first flake of flesh, and radiation from a cold, abandoned sun. They were petrified with joy, and horror, and more than all sensation.

         Through it all, it heard a trillion, black, dripping voices, singing in chaotic harmony. All was alien and familiar, and forever and never, and it was beautiful, and it was inevitable. And one of them spoke to them, and said: ‘I miss you’.

         As the carousel of reality suddenly stiffened, and Ynygme lost sense of everything, in their last moment of understanding, they thought the voice sounded familiar.

. ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔

In the gut of the Kirada ruin, time seemed to stand still. Arceel Obelis blinked blankly to the etched tombstone that fiercely guarded Ynygme’s remains, not sure the signal he was meant to be waiting for. Despite his immortality and the apathy it usually brought, impatience and anxiety swirled in his chest.

         These past few days were cyclonic in their revelations. He’d been gifted with the memory of his lover, lost in the stars; and with aid from the Authors - his ever-bitter rivals - and the self-absorbed Watch’r, Ntrepi had a chance to escape. Was this hope? Arceel had left hope in the days of the Mage War.

         The imp’s chattering and cackling split through the air like razor wire, and Arceel grit his teeth in distress. He was near always unbearable, but it felt thousands times worse here. Part of him wished that the cretin had been struck by the Antimordial that encased the Mage’s tombs. Perhaps there was a spell that could’ve done the trick. Or simply a well-timed push?

         Then again, the imp had just saved his life from the Messiahs. Though it hardly made up for the ages spent together, something was changing in Watch’r. Since the first contact with Ynygme, he was acting suspiciously...helpful. Watch’r and ‘helpful’ was no combination in Arceel’s book. Could it be more of the Authors’ meddling?

         “Ahahahaha! Oh, the anticipation is tearing me apart, old man!” Think of the devil. The hat-adorned sprite patted Arceel’s shoulder, but he refused to acknowledge it. Now was not the time for the usual games.

         Even as Watch’r twirled his oily-black hair and continued some joshing remarks, Arceel looked to the Demoness, divorced from it all even as she mumbled the tethering spell. There was someone he owed an endless gratitude towards. Despite her initial resistance, this wouldn’t have been possible if not for the kindness of a stranger. Though, was it truly kindness? Boredom? Intrigue? In the interest of serving another? She seemed completely numb to everything. The Mage could relate.

         They met blank gazes for a second, cold and lonesome. Then the Kirada’s head shifted slightly, barely at all, and she lifted her scythe in the direction of the tombstone.

         “It’s begun,”

         So it had. Arceel spun back in alarm to find the runic text on Ynygme’s epitaph bursting with neon light, pulsating chartreuse. Time seemed to stand still. Watch’r had shrunk away to look on, in uncharacteristic silence. The magic that billowed amidst the tomb filled Arceel like a breath, making his body tingle and pulse and beat.

         The light grew and grew, turning opaque, turning shapely. Glittering like the milky depths of the sky, green became white, then white became grey. Arceel fell back as the magic’s intensity amped up, exploding through the room and blinding them all. Ages of dust and ancient soil swirled at the force.

         Until, as soon as the spell had come, it was also completed. The light faded as though it had never been there, and in its place lay the body of an unconscious troll. Arceel’s eyes landed on them, and they were not what he had expected to see.

         They were tall, nearly matching Arceel himself in height. White hair, short in the back with bangs in the front. Six closed eyes, two torn fins, four slender arms. Cracked brands on their forehead and chest. They were an oddity; a sight to behold.

         Arceel didn’t believe that Ynygme looked like this. Then again, it had been so long he didn’t remember what Ynygme looked like at all. It had been millions and millions of sweeps. Their memory: something else robbed from him by the Messiahs. Could it really have been them?

         “...Ynygme?”

. ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔

         Then what came after a spell was the sensation of a mild darkness. Dark blue and flickering, intense as the midnight. Ynygme could feel-

         They-

         They could feel themselves breathing. They could feel their heart beating.

         With the realization, came heat rushing down what they could only imagine to be their face - two searing streaks, cascading down the darkness. They were blind in the moment, and overcome with emotions they could not begin to put words to.

         Ynygme wished to keep their eyelids shut; to stay in the deep blue uncertainty for longer, for so much longer than the world would live for, to enjoy the immortal innocence of the moment before the truth was revealed. But at the sound of more breathing, they dared to let their unfamiliar eyelids open with a twitch.

         It indulged in the feeling of their body pulsating with blood and flesh and life.

They were alive, weren’t they? It had worked, hadn’t it? It wasn't in the Messiahs’ cage. They were alive. Freedom, at long last. The brands on their horns and chest no longer seared. They were alive.

Ynygme looked down at their body, six eyes wide and twitching in the fuzzy grey vision. It examined their arms - all four of them, and both its legs. This new body was certainly bizarre. Their gaze glazed upwards.

         The sight before them bloomed confusion inside them. There were three onlookers standing over it, expressions hard to describe. The think-pan in their head was confused, searching through its decaying memories for reason.

         Grey-skinned, the lot of them. Horned, clothed, yellow eyes. One of them floated in the air. Trolls? Was Ynygme back on Alternia? Then that would mean-

         Balerion?

         "Eeeyuuuhhhuuhhb--"

         They tried to speak, but so not used to the action yet, their throat croaked out an odd sound, curdled and pained. It rubbed its hands together, skin tingling with lightning at every touch. Teal tears fell down their face as their other hands reached up to clasp into their hair, pulling and tugging and weaving their digits into the silver-white streaks.

         "Bhhhhhh...eeeehhhgb..." It wasn't unlike the noise of a wriggler, struggling to concoct its first words, but they slowly pointed one shaking, twitching, exhilarated finger to point to the tall Purple that approached them. The other’s mouth cracked and twisted, and a whisper came out. They were not all there still, not used to reality. But in time, understanding bled into what the troll had said.

         “Ynygme!”

         Ynygme was alive. Balerion was here. There was a line, long snapped, that reformed once more between them. Ynygme's body was suddenly swarmed with the sensation of Arceel's embrace, staring past him into the world around them.

         It was so much to take in. So overwhelming. Their name felt unfamiliar on Arceel's lips, but their fins could not lie and rob the elation that erupted from them.

         An eternity of pain and sorrow gushed from Ynygme's shivering body. It was enough to make them nauseous, head hurting. They closed their eyes and buried their face into Arceel's shoulder, sobbing silently, shoulders racked with emotions that words simply couldn't encompass.

         “Aaaaaaaa..." he burbled, gradually letting his arms wrap around Arceel, holding him back, tentativeness becoming desperate as though his Mage King were to be ripped away from them again any moment.

it's over it's over it's over it's over it's over it's over. he's here he's here he's here he's here he's here he's here. oh, bless the authors.

         They made a diamond with two of their hands and pressed the symbol into the small of Arceel's back, lovingly branding the immortal with what strength they had. From a cloud of endless shadow emerged a message made of silhouettes. Doing so suckled some of the energy from Ynygme, like a siphon from a bottle. As minor a spell as it was, the body they inhabited was not used to void magicks yet, evidently. Their face went pale slightly, but it was worth hearing Arceel's confirmation, and his ecstatic relief.

         𝔹𝕒𝕝𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕠𝕟

         “Yes.”

. ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔

"Yes," Arceel's voice was barely above a shaky breath as he saw the letters form. The smile wouldn't leave his face, an almost alien sight for anyone who knew such a usually serious and stoic man. "Yes, yes, it's me. That is me. I'm here. You're here... Ynygme."

         He couldn't help but let out a chuckle of disbelief as he gathered up Ynygme's hair in his hands and pressed the other troll so tightly against him, squeezing, so afraid to let go in case this was all a dream.

         Eventually his hands slid to either of Ynygme's cheeks and he planted a long, firm kiss on the other's head. Ynygme's name fell out of Arceel's mouth in praises and chants, making up for lost time, making up for lost memory. The name was soon lost in his own sobs, though no tears could come. He felt the pained warmth in his chest, the tingle in his face; he almost felt alive again.

         Matild herself looked as if she was contemplating, considering a reunion of her own, perhaps. She glanced over at Watch'r, whose back was now turned to the reunited couple. The Imp covered his mouth, an aura of gloom hanging over him, an occasional quiet sniffle that could not be heard over the couple's joy. Without a word, she rested a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to look at her in awe while black, sludgy tears ran down his cheek. He shook her off, embarrassed, and turned back to the embraced lovers.

         Once again, more letters materialized from the void, swinging in the air.

         𝕀 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕔𝕖

         The sight of Watch'r though, dripping with black Primordial, seemed to cause Ynygme's body to harden and stiffen, fins flattening against their head. They buried themselves into Arceel more, confusion and fear adding to the cumulus over emotions. Arceel held onto them, hushing them gently and stroking their hair, their fins, the traces and edges and curves of their body.

         "Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiippp," they groaned fearfully, squeezing their eyes shut and curling into Arceel more. "Nnnnnn....iiimppp."

         "That's Mr. Imp to you, pfaahaha!” Watch'r's gaze snapped to Ynygme, a too-wide of a grin spreading across his face to hide the blurred emotions he felt.  “Aww, that's so sweet, the first word out of this idiot's mouth after reanimating is the thing it fears! My, aren't I flattered? Hahaha!"

         "Enough!" Arceel growled, then looked apologetically at Ynygme. "That is my watcher. Despite what you may think, Ynygme, as unlikely as the thought is, he... he did help me find you and bring you back."

         Arceel swallowed in thought, then looked over this shoulder at Watch'r once more, "....Thank you."

         Though Ynygme did not speak any further, they held up their hand and crossed their thumb over their pinky and shook it like a wriggler's rattle - a sign from their time to mean 'thank you', echoing Arceel’s own gratitude.

         Watch'r was at a loss for words. He sputtered and fidgeted, even flushed, as his gaze turned to the ground. "Uh, y-yeah. It's. It's whatever. I dunno."

          A moment later, Ynygme slumped more in Arceel's hug, breath slowing exhaustedly. One of their hands cupped Arceel's cheek as they put a needle of energy into summoning one more message to materialize into the air. It glimmered like starlight, half a plea and half a question.

         𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕪 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕞𝕖?

         "Of course," it was hardly a voice that came from Arceel's lips, but something breathless and desperate. He could stay like this forever if Ynygme asked him to. There would be no hesitation, no questions asked, no objection. Arceel pressed his lips to Ynygme's temple again. What mattered was that their souls were reunited, and Arceel couldn't be happier. He kissed Ynygme again and again, half in disbelief that they were here at all.

         "My love, nothing will separate me from you again. I will stay. I will always stay by your side."

         𝕄𝕪 ℝ𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕖

         They returned the volley, landing a kiss on Arceel's collarbone.

         "Sheesh, this is sappy," Watch'r rolled his eye. Matild ignored him and turned away, opting to give everyone privacy.

         Four red eyes in the shadows savoured the scene, silent and unknown to the rest.

         With a yawn, Ynygme's breathing began to slow and their eyes drooped shut, settling fully into the crook of Arceel's shoulder. They clearly didn't want to go, struggling to stay awake, gripping at Arceel's clothes. But eventually, they drifted off into slumber, fully pressed into him.

         “Ynygme...my starry sky,”

         He was too happy to question it, or to think of the consequences. The joy and pain, for once, made him feel so young and mortal again.

         “It is done,” Matild droned, having approached the entwined mages from the side, tilting Arceel’s head up with the tip of her scythe. “If you have no further business here, then we must return. There are beds upstairs to recover before you leave.”

         Kicking them out already? He didn’t want the moment to end, but her expression didn’t seem to offer much sympathy.

         “Thank you. If there’s anything—”

         “There is nothing you can offer me. I have defiled the last duty required of me. Even though it makes no difference to me, do not make me regret this.”

         “I understand.” Adjusting his grip on Ynygme’s body, Arceel lifted the troll under their back and legs before rising to his feet. “Let us go, imp.” But there was no answer. “...Watch’r?”

         Glancing side to side, Arceel surveyed the surroundings, but the imp was nowhere to be seen. Snorting, he shook his head. It shouldn’t have been a surprise; with Antimordial abounds, he must have been more eager than anyone to get a head start. Whatever he was up to, Arceel knew he would show up himself at whatever inopportune time awaited.

         “Nevermind. Let’s just go, then,” he sighed, glancing back down to his friend’s body.

         Matild nodded, turning with a ghostly grace. “I will guide you back. Don’t fall behind.”

         Arceel followed, hands gripping onto Ynygme’s body with a quiet desperation as they extracted themselves from the pit of her castle. The Voidmage had returned. He didn’t know what it would mean for any of them. The Messiahs were unlikely to do anything other than be furious about this. There would be consequences, he knew. His sentence was still far from complete. But with Ynygme here, it was hard to think it could not be faced.

         Stopping his tracks he looked to the ceiling, at wherever the Authors might be looking down at him, unsure of what to say. But then, with a trace of a chuckle, it was obvious.

         “Thank you. I don’t know who, or why. But thank you,”

. ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔

“Banana Man” with every second beat removed

12.13.17 ~ 12.13.21

all i want is to fly with you/ all i want is to fall with you

this piece is part of my anniversary gift to my incredible, showstopping, gorgeous, talented, creative, hilarious, brilliant, passionate partner, @drama-dick​

oh boy oh boy!! hewes youw tweats!!

hi there. i made a patreon when i was told to get a job or get out. i was making a comic and it had received enough attention for me to consider it, maybe, a little sprout budding out of the ground that could grow. i don’t like viewing my projects as business ventures, but this is to illustrate that maybe if i hadn’t had that already, i would have stuck with commission work at that point. otherwise it would be like trying to sew seeds when the drought has already started. for context, i took primarily nsfw commissions because sleazy is easier to sell, and i guess what tipped the scales for that versus something my heart was invested in is that i was uncomfortable with the commission work i was doing. the comics were a lot more labor, but felt more comfortable so it felt easier to commit to, as well.

patreon has the benefit of relatively stable pay for what it is (self-employment), but i have to put in stable labor. commissions are good for just wanting some fun money or periodic emergencies, etc. like, if i had a comic i’d been working on, and then started a patreon, and then gave up on the comic, it would not have become a source of income for me. a lot of people make very good incomes on solely freelancing commissions and stuff, though. so in the long term, it also really depends on the kind of engagement you want from an audience; patreon’s like a big hug that’s maybe a little uncomfortably long... and something like ko-fi, which i don’t have personal experience with but have seen many people start to really pay bills with, and commissions, it’s more like dozens of brief handshakes instead.