The Edge Of Sleep

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🔺️🐋🔺️🐋 Beware the Elephant 🔺️🐋🔺️🐋

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perhaps cuddling in bed peacefully with dave having no nightmares because matteo calms him ........

Tumblr is refusing to let me answer this ask

Sleedge, I want you to know that I woke up, saw this ask, and made this sketch in 40 minutes.

not a photogenic guy. I spent way too long on this. But I like the idea of him having whale things around

this is how it happened, right?

Listen. Guys. I love the incorrect quotes, but I did the quotes for almost a year. I’m afraid the well has run dry on that front; there’s only so many quotes you can make.

So, I was wondering.

Well, first of all. I write and draw on occasion. I do art (sometimes they’re good, sometimes they’re stick figures, sometimes they’re fleshed out pieces) and I write drabbles.

Now, my humble request is for some requests from YOU 🫵 you reading this, yes you.

A doodle request! A prompt! Anything! For one character, for a pairing, for a polycule! Anything for TEOS!

Please. The creative well is dry and I want to fill it up

They’re both troubled(?) in their own ways and they’ve migrated towards each other.

They love each other so so much, and even when they hit rough patches, the love is there. Katie loves Dave so much, but she has to love herself to love him, too. She can’t love herself when Dave is hurting himself, when Dave is keeping secrets, when Dave is lying.

In the book, it takes Katie basically ‘threatening’ to fall off the hospital roof if Dave doesn’t listen to her for him to listen to what she has to say.

It’s fucked up. It’s messy. It’s disordered, in a way, and toxic to a certain degree. But is there love?

100%. And there always will be, even when Katie’s died

He sort of wakes up, that weird mostly-asleep kind of awake, disorientated and terrified, yelling or outright falling out of bed while he sleeps

He doesn’t remember that when he really, finally wakes up. it scares katie half to death and I can understand why she may have felt unsafe when he was like that

Katie would love seeing the freshly fallen snow before its trodden through and left with footprints. you know that early morning mist when the sun is rising and the snow is sparkling. the stillness and quiet. she’d love that

Dave would hate it and complain about his shoes being wet. he wouldn’t own a pair of boots, the stubborn man that he is. he’d be hands in his pockets, hunched and grumbling to himself about cold and snow and wet socks