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‼️ Date at the Cemetery is OUT NOW <3 ‼️
♥️ Wanna play a new horror romance game just in time for Halloween? Well..
🩸🪦 Date at the Cemetery 🪦🩸 is finally out here: https://weluvxo.itch.io/date-at-the-cemetery
A date at the cemetery with a kind stranger… what could possibly go wrong?
♥️ A yandere VN with our darkest and spookiest boy..Avon Lockehart!
What could possibly go wrong?
Some collage pieces
The post of the day
Date at the Cemetery - Chapter 2 Sprites
As promised, I’m soft launching Date at the Cemetery’s second chapter. There are a total of 11 additional characters in this chapter, including a secret route so you’ll have to be patient for that haha. Here’s everyone you’ll be meeting in Chapter 2! ♥️
PT.2 Date at the Cemetery - Chapter 2 Sprites
Of course we can’t forget Avon and his closest friends 🩸
Date at the Cemetery - Chapter 2 Sprites
As promised, I’m soft launching Date at the Cemetery’s second chapter. There are a total of 11 additional characters in this chapter, including a secret route so you’ll have to be patient for that haha. Here’s everyone you’ll be meeting in Chapter 2! ♥️
No One Knows What We Practice
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summary: West can’t shake the feeling that something is going on between Avon and Zander,something closer, more intimate than it should be. Tursk brushes it off… until one night, beneath shared blankets and the illusion of privacy, West’s suspicions are quietly confirmed as Avon draws Zander further into their twisted “friendship”.
characters: Zander Valdez, Avon Lockehart, West García, Tursk Hensley
warnings: Gaslighting, grooming, coercion, dubious consensual intimacy
word count: ≈700
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As the two settled into the comfort of the blankets, it was time to sleep over at Tursk's house this weekend. It was a common habit in the group to sleep over at each other's houses every now and again—usually every other weekend.
As the months passed and they neared the final stretch of high school, Avon and Zander seemed closer than ever.
West noticed it.
Tursk usually brushed their behavior off, calling them just friends—a duo, even. But West knew that wasn’t the case. It wasn’t just a "vibe" or some unspoken feeling. He saw it with his own two eyes.
There were moments.
Like the way Avon would run his fingers through Zander’s hair. The way they always seemed a little too close. Breathless in the bathroom. Once, West even caught them in the broom closet.
But no matter how many times he rambled, pleaded, or tried to explain it to Turks, he was always dismissed. Brushed aside.
—
That afternoon, the four of them stood in the city park. The sun beamed down overhead, warm against the shifting leaves that scattered in the breeze.
“West, you’re imagining things,” Tursk huffed, arms crossed as he looked down at the tanned, blond boy.
“I am not! You—they—They were just kissing! At the bench!” West tripped over his words, flustered.
“They were not,” Tursk said flatly, pointing toward the pair. “They’re just sitting there. Look.”
Sure enough, Avon and Zander sat quietly on the bench, glancing toward them before looking away, calm and composed.
West’s voice grew more frantic. “No, I promise, I swear they’re into each other. Or gay. Or something. Something is going on between them, I—”
Tursk rolled his eyes and placed a hand on West’s shoulder. “West, you worry me sometimes. No one is gay. Hell, if anyone here is gay, it’s probably you.”
“WHAT?!” West exploded.
__
The constant denial had soured West’s mood—not toward Tursk necessarily, but toward Avon and Zander.
For some reason, whenever he tried to point it out, whenever Tursk looked, Avon and Zander would just stop. Like nothing had happened.
It was starting to make West feel crazy. Like maybe Tursk thought he was losing it. Like maybe it was schizophrenia or something.
That night, curled under the covers in Tursk’ living room, West closed his eyes, trying to push the thoughts aside. But minutes later, he heard two giggles from under a different set of blankets.
***
Avon flicked on the flashlight of his phone. Under the blanket, Zander watched him, eyes wide and curious.
“Do you wanna practice before we watch videos?” Avon asked, voice soft and casual.
Zander hesitated, laughing nervously as something twisted in his stomach. Not love—no, it wasn’t that. It was fluster, anxiety. That itchy kind of feeling that made his skin crawl and his throat tighten.
“Uh… practice what?” he asked.
Avon snickered, leaning in a little closer. “You know… the thing we do.”
“Kissing?” Zander asked, brows furrowed.
Avon groaned. “God, stop calling it that. It’s not like we’re doing it for real. It’s just practice. For when you get in a relationship or whatever. Same for me.”
Zander looked around the blankets nervously. “But… you’ve been in a relationship. And what if Tursk or West sees? Will they—”
Avon cut him off, gently placing a hand over his mouth.
“Shh. You’re loud,” he whispered. “Kissing’s like anything else—it takes practice. You don’t wanna get rusty. And you can only get better, right? It’s not a big deal. Relax.”
Zander fell silent. As Avon’s hand pulled away, so did some of the panic in his chest. “My... my bad,” he mumbled. “Then, sure.”
He gave a small laugh as Avon leaned in closer, their faces just inches apart. But as they began, Zander couldn’t stop the thought creeping into the back of his mind.
Was this really no big deal?
Kissing was supposed to be intimate. Loving. And no matter how often Avon brushed it off as something casual, just “practice”, it felt off. Logically, it made sense. Technically, sure. But emotionally… something about it clawed at Zander.
It stuck in his stomach like slime—suffocating and cold.
He hated feeling like that.
But he didn’t know why.
notes: I’m back from my nap and posting more of my old writings
Amputee.
──────• ♱ •──────
summary: You’re a captive, locked in the basement of America’s top actor, Devon Darling. But what happens when you step out of line… or try to escape?
characters: Devon Darling
warning: kidnapping, neglect, general violence, implied forced medical procedures
word count: ≈1K
──────• ♱ •──────
As a light in the corner buzzed with a continuous wave of sound within the darkness, you lifted yourself up on your elbows, your body sinking slightly into the dirty, grim mattress below you. The same mattress that had seen many people just like you.
As your eyes opened and vision focused on the dim room surrounded by concrete walls and grimy floors, a pain shot throughout your legs. It was a sharp reminder of the pain that was forced upon you by your captor, your ankles pulsing in mind-fogging pain. However, the pain didn’t take away your ability to be alert completely. As you shifted your body weight to the side and against the caged wall, you heard footsteps coming down the stone steps that always felt so far from your reach. You used to tense and shiver at the mere echoes of the expensive clacking boots of your captor, but now it was simply routine. A month of isolation with one person would do that to you…
The idea of escaping felt far, and even further with your injuries. It’s been two weeks since the man had broken your ankles, and yet there were no signs of you getting better. Though, you weren’t surprised. You’ve been forced to stand, to walk, and sometimes move your food in less than comfortable movements to properly heal.
You wondered how a man like Devon Darling—America’s darling, idol, sweetheart—could be so evil. So sadistic.
He’d try to help you walk, to help you move—but the way he grinned at you with smug satisfaction told you all you needed to know. He didn’t want you to get better; he simply enjoyed the sliver of torture he was able to pull from your weakened state. You stayed awake at nights believing it somehow fueled some sick, power-hungry part of him—or maybe it was deeper.
As the footsteps closed in, a shadowy figure loomed over your disabled state. Then finally, a click. There was that same charming face, and usually you were met with a state of distance or disgust—but instead you were flashed a warm and sympathetic smile.
“Hi there, cherry… holding up okay?” He tilted his head as his eyebrows raised and twisted together in false concern. Humming at your silence, he knelt down and held his hand on the exterior of the cold, soulless cage between you both. “Are you… behaving?”
His tone teased at you, a pout in his voice. He knew you had no other choice than to behave in a state like this. And still, too irritated, too pained, too exhausted—you stayed silent. He wasn’t angry, though, just content.
Devon stood up and walked toward a locked crate. “You know, you silly little thing, you aren’t speaking much.” He continued, retrieving a set of keys, “if you hadn’t pulled that awfully stupid — idiotic — stunt a few weeks ago, you’d still have two perfectly working ankles.”
You remembered two weeks ago. You had thought you had an opening—so desperate to leave. You don’t know what you were thinking. You’d snapped. Thrown a plate of untouched food at him. A pathetic attempt to buy yourself seconds. A distraction. But within minutes, you were on the floor, screaming, your ankles torn open by the barbed metal crown of a baseball bat.
He was right. You would have still had two well-working ankles, and yet here you were. He used to visit you every other day. Since then, it had been less. Less attention. Less food. Less pretending.
But now, here he was again. And smiling.
“That’s okay,” he cooed. “Today’s a special day. An occasion, if you will.”
Your head lifted.
He chuckled. “Wow. That got your attention, hm?”
With surprising ease, he unlocked your cage and lifted you into his arms. Your weight didn’t seem to bother him. He carried you like a doll to the medical table near the far side of the room — the one beside the tripod. The one with the blinking red light.
“I’ve got something that’ll help with your little ankle problem,” he whispered, setting you down like he cared. “I’m awfully sorry about leaving for so… long.”
He brushed a strand of hair from your face. His touch was soft. Reverent.
“You must be hungry, hm?” he said, voice hushed and affectionate. “Don’t worry. We’ll eat… after we’re done.”
His fingers curled under your chin.
And then he smiled again.
Turning away from your face, he focused his attention back on a metal cabinet bolted into the wall. He hummed softly to himself as he shifted through the supplies — some medical, others… not. You couldn’t see all of it from your angle, but the distinct sound of glass clinking and something metallic scraping together sent a fresh wave of unease through your chest.
None of it was standard. None of it was safe. And yet here he was, pulling them out like toys and party favors. You figured someone like him didn’t suffer from a lack of access to anything. Celebrity. Money. Status. Charm.
How deeply unfortunate for you.
Then came the soft hiss of a cap being pulled, the rubbery squeak of a syringe being primed. Devon turned, holding up a vial filled with a cloudy anesthetic fluid and a long syringe in one hand, followed by something heavier in the other. Your eyes barely had time to process the strange smile on his face before you saw it — the bone saw.
He waved both in your direction like he was some game show host. “Surprise~” he sang, the smile widening just enough to make your stomach twist.
Your breath stopped. No grin should look that proud with tools like those in hand. He stepped closer, the dim lights glinting off the metal of the bone saw.
“And before you ask,” he added with a laugh , tapping the syringe lightly against his palm, “Of course I’ll numb you first. I’m not a complete monster, cherry.”
Though he spoke quickly under his breath, “Most times anyways.”
He tilted his head and pouted, mock-offended by your trembling state and silence. Then he laughed—quietly, warmly before setting his things down and buckling you to the table. You struggled of course, scared, terrified of what was to come. You screamed at the idea, the possibilities all leading to one thing.
Amputation.
Note: I’ll probably fix formatting later, for now i’ll just concentrate on posting my short stories. <3
My hands slipped.
──────• ♱ •──────
summary: When Zander is brought to the abandoned house Avon and his friends call their own, he expects nothing more than another uneasy hangout. Instead, he’s confronted with something far more disturbing.
characters: Zander Valdez, Avon Lockehart and friends.
warnings: Graphic Violence, Animal Cruelty, Death of an Animal described
word count: ≈500
──────• ♱ •──────
The late afternoon sun shone through the windows of Avon’s hangout house, air dutsy with old cracked paint and long-neglected floorboards, casting golden streaks across the cluttered countertops. The air was thick with laughter—his friends’ laughter, not Zander’s. He shouldn’t have come. He knew it the second he walked in, but now it was too late.
"Avon, DON’T you dare fucking turn on that blender..!"
Zander lunged, but hands grabbed him, holding him back as Avon hovered his finger over the button, grinning like this was all some big joke. His red eyes, though blurry with threatening tears, focused on the small animal trapped, confused, and scared in the mechanical contraption; the sight itself was enough to make Zander's chest ache, a deep, familiar pang that he tried to swallow down. It was a small stray kitten, soft with matted and unkept fur; it was clear that this life had been unkind to it one too many times already, only to be met with that same evil again.
Zander’s breath was unsteady, but he forced himself to keep his voice level. "Avon. Please… step away from the blender."
He hated this. Hated the way the words felt in his mouth, hated that he was standing here in this house surrounded by them—people Avon called friends but who felt more like accomplices to something cruel. Part of him wished West was here. Wished Tursk was here. Someone who would actually step in before this spiraled further. ‘Could they, even?’ Zander clenched his jaw, fighting back the sting in his eyes. He wouldn’t cry. Wouldn’t give Avon the satisfaction of seeing a single tear roll down his cheek. But the knot in his throat was rising, and the sick feeling in his stomach wouldn’t go away. Avon still had that hold over him, and it made bile burn the back of his throat.
He watched Avon's eyes twist into a greedy glee he'd seen before, dark and delighted like a predator, and the smile that followed thinned to the edge of a knife, all wrong.Then Avon laughed, flipping his hand in the air like this was all just harmless fun. "Haha, fine, fine…. I was only kidding. Wasn’t like I was actually gonna do it."
Zander let out a shaky breath, his muscles loosening for only half a second—until a movement of encouragement was felt around him, the room filling with a sudden, gut-wrenching scream, mewls, and shrieks only an animal could make. The blender whirred to life. His head snapped up. His pulse hammered. Shoving past the hands restraining him, he rushed forward, heart pounding in terror as he slammed the blender off, though much too late. His hands trembled. His breath came in short, ragged bursts.
Behind him, Avon cackled. "Holy shit, sorry! My hands slipped."
Zander barely heard him. His ears were ringing, his vision blurred with tears he had fought so hard to keep in, spilling, flooding. His voice cracked when he finally spoke.
"No, no, no… what the fuck is wrong with you!?"
Tears poured, hot tracks cutting his face as his fingers curled into trembling fists by the blender. He had a hundred things to say, but the words knotted in his throat, raw and stuck; all he could think was, ‘How did it ever come to this?’
notes: I had a less refined version of this—less graphic, less obvious. It was short, and reading it back…it wasn’t as interesting either. So I added more details!
avon！I commissioned a manuscript, and he fits this style perfectly🫀
Posting this here too. The art style is so different from the Akoni I drew before haha🖤🍓
等我有时间会尝试给每个人画一张
So I was wondering what your thoughts would be if someone not of the same race/skin color cosplayed one of your characters. I’ve seen a lot of stuff in the cosplay fandom regarding it and wanted to see what your thoughts were before doing anything, me and a few friends really like DATC and Cybershade and wanted to cosplay but we are all rather pale 😅
I’m okay with anyone cosplaying my characters lol!
Morning routine ✨
You’re Beautiful…
Posting this sketch for now, I want to lean more into the negative aspects of my characters in my drawings as well, not just in my stories.
As some may realize, Avon has a paraphilic disorder, that he’s avoided getting help with because of his fears as a teenager. This is something that affects his daily life and how he even thinks about the world around him. As we know, he “wanted to be normal once” but gave up on that idea a long time ago.
I commission Xo!
my oc bun bun,real name iko!and nyra💗!!!!it sooo cute I love it Xo!@weluv-xo
Man if I had a Nickel for every time I make cute looking ocs and parring them up with fucked up partners I from a dark vn I was playing I'd probably have like 2 dollars-
band avon🖤
我好爱这个游戏，好期待下一章
