ichaisme

[ichaisme]

If you're feeling anxious or depressed about the climate and want to do something to help right now, from your bed, for free...

Start helping with citizen science projects

What's a citizen science project? Basically, it's crowdsourced science. In this case, crowdsourced climate science, that you can help with!

You don't need qualifications or any training besides the slideshow at the start of a project. There are a lot of things that humans can do way better than machines can, even with only minimal training, that are vital to science - especially digitizing records and building searchable databases

Like labeling trees in aerial photos so that scientists have better datasets to use for restoration.

Or counting cells in fossilized plants to track the impacts of climate change.

Or digitizing old atmospheric data to help scientists track the warming effects of El Niño.

Or counting penguins to help scientists better protect them.

Those are all on one of the most prominent citizen science platforms, called Zooniverse, but there are a ton of others, too.

Oh, and btw, you don't have to worry about messing up, because several people see each image. Studies show that if you pool the opinions of however many regular people (different by field), it matches the accuracy rate of a trained scientist in the field.

--

I spent a lot of time doing this when I was really badly injured and housebound, and it was so good for me to be able to HELP and DO SOMETHING, even when I was in too much pain to leave my bed. So if you are chronically ill/disabled/for whatever reason can't participate or volunteer for things in person, I highly highly recommend.

Next time you wish you could do something - anything - to help

Remember that actually, you can. And help with some science.

[ichaisme]

I'm certain this is on Tumblr somewhere, but I haven't seen it around, so I'm sharing it myself

[ichaisme]

Blank Slate

Ink Demonth - Nostalgia

Can you really feel nostalgia for something you've never experienced?

Rated: G Warnings: Mild death mention AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57845263 Length: 750

They say that smell is one of the most powerful forms of evoking a memory.

That, for some reason, a smell can evoke the soul of the past.

Judaically, the nose being the pathway for human life’s very existence is the key to this innate connection between memory and scent; between soul and aura.

Henry cannot smell, though. Henry can see and hear, but taste, touch, and scent- these senses have always been distant for him. Maybe that was why some people called him stiff or cold. Or maybe it was because he was not his own controller. That second thought was not one that passed his mind, but is a more likely reason that he is unaware of.

He steps into the studio. He can see the rotating, shifting film reel that was once a symbol of a glorious animation company, up and rising. Henry sees and, in his heart, feels quiet violin strings stroking a solemn melody. No spirit of prophecy here, though- only a sad, wistful memory.

Henry goes through the old studio, he hears the clicks and whirs of the machine. He starts it, he sees something that should not be, and he falls.

Henry’s path traverses through the whole studio. It goes through the music department, dips into storage rooms, flits along the stairs and up and down and down and down and down the elevator. Henry walks, sees, and listens, as he goes through the accounting department; finding more and more bits of people that he may or may not have known. Then, coming back, they are gone. He keeps going, and he sees, hears, memories that may not be his. He looks down an abyss, feels a soft tingle of not quite fear- maybe a thrill, knowing he will not fall, but tempting safety like this is a satisfying lean over the void.

Henry plays some carnival games. He listens to recordings, looks at scrawled notes, runs from the light- the light that he thought he killed earlier, but now- now the thing that should not be kills it again. Maybe for good. But some little part of Henry knows that they will come back. They always come back.

He takes a ride. He sees a man, in the ride, and he sees the dizzying spin of the ride’s car. His ax swings, swings, swings, and then he hears the clanking and crashing, and then he sees the burn and smoke.

He leaves the man who never left, and takes another ride.

He puts down a dog.

He watches a woman die.

He listens to a five minute monologue.

He has a tool now. It sits in his hand, hardly noticeable. He can see something else now.

Henry pulls a spoon, lifts a lid, and slips away.

The hum of the engine and the cloying creak of a jam, the splash and awe of a hand rising from the depths, the endless tides of black liquid, ink bodies, another person who must have once been a friend killed by another. A path, a fall, and a game of ring around the rosie.

Ashes

Ashes

The bright light hurts to see.

A home that is not his. Newspaper clippings he should know. Drawings and doodles. The sound of dishes being done, quiet and homely. A man that is unfamiliar- but whose voice he has heard before, in the recordings, in the depths.

Henry steps into the studio.

Now, the song is familiar, the sight is understandable, and now, with that pre-established recollection, now, it floods him. A small smile crosses Henry’s face. He is now back in that old studio. He steps through the hall, footsteps almost entirely silent. He looks at the little demon on the projector across the room, he turns his head side to side- he does not see the tallies behind him.

Because now, the nostalgia begins.

Henry, with that same quiet melody on his heart, goes to the machine. He sees a corpse. He finds a hole through reality. He falls through the floor. He hears whistling past the room with the madman, ignoring the beat of danger that tries to distract him, he sees beams of sunlight.

He gives a dog a bone.

He gives an angel her demands.

He cuts through the world, going through in a breeze.

He fights, and fights, and fights, and then the light does not hurt so much.

Henry smiles at the voice, eyes closed.

He can imagine the smell of soap.

[ichaisme]

altar

Joey comes to ask for forgiveness. He says he's sorry. Henry doesn't think that's enough.

RATED: T - suggestive comments/behavior, uncomfortable situations WARNINGS: Emotional hurt, tied hands Length: medium (1750 words) Ao3 link here. REMINDER: you must be signed into Ao3 to read my work on the platform due to AI scrapers targeting my work.

inspired by this drawing by @twinktor-frankenstein :) go check it out its great :D

Joey stared at the man around the corner, his heart rate accelerating as he observed him. Henry was resting in a hammock, one leg off the side so that he could rock himself as he relaxed. Joey stared, and bit his lip, slowly finding that he was losing his nerve. He was about to slip away when an eye opened, immediately fixing on him. 

A wave of panic crashed over Joey, and he made a move to disintegrate and disappear, but it was too late for him. Henry had made it to him in less than five bounds, his calloused, firm hand wrapping around Joey’s exposed forearm. 

“Joey,” he greeted, smiling, but there was something uncomfortably cold about the flash of his teeth. “What are you doing here?”

Joey stared at him once again, throat dry, hands trembling. Henry’s smile was still bland and neutral, but with a frigid emptiness laying beneath it. It made Joey quite uncomfortable, rather perturbed by the lack of emotion on his old friend’s face. He looked at him quietly, brows furrowed as they stared at one another in silence. 

Henry’s hand tightened sharply on Joey’s arm. 

“I asked you a question. I expect you to answer,” he spoke slowly, clearly, that low voice making Joey want to tremble. “What are you doing here, Joey?” 

“I… I wanted to…” Joey looked to the floor, finally breaking his gaze from the other man. He steeled himself with a breath, though still could not bring himself to look at Henry. “I wanted to ask you to forgive me, Henry.”

“Forgive you,” Henry repeated, staring at him. His smile made his soul ache painfully, yearn to escape. “You’re here to ask me to forgive you.”

“Yes.” Joey said, simple and soft. “I am.” 

He was not sure what he was expecting. A punch in the face, maybe. Being shoved away with the door closing in front of him. Maybe even a good kick between the legs. 

Joey was not expecting laughter. It was low and amused, tranquil but with some darkness lingering on the edges of the mirth. It made Joey’s lungs constrict. Henry released his arm at last, and folded his arms as he looked at Joey, raising an eyebrow. 

“Forgiveness,” he commented, “Is less-”

“For the person you’re apologizing to, and more for yourself, I know,” Joey restrained himself from snapping at him. “Stop messing with me, Stein, and take me seriously. I’m sorry for what I did, okay? For all of this. It never should have gone down like this, and I never should have dragged you down with me- what are you doing.” 

Henry sighed, raising an eyebrow as he lifted the tie he had pulled from beneath his collar. Joey, unsure of what the man was playing at, frowned. Henry put his hand out, gesturing with four fingers once for Joey to put his arms forward. 

Joey did so, and was baffled by the loop Henry tightened around his wrists. It was loose, though, but Henry’s firm hand came to Joey’s arm once again when he tried to pull away out of instinct. A vague sense of alarm rippled through him, but he was confident that Henry would not harm him, resulting in a conflicted meld of emotions. 

“Henry-”

“On your knees.” Henry calmly demanded. Joey stared at him, and watched Henry’s eyes harden. Swallowing harshly, he opened his mouth to protest, only for Henry to cut him off again. “Do you want to be forgiven or not? Show me you mean it.” 

Joey’s mouth closed slowly, and he hesitated, glancing to the floor again. It came closer as he knelt down slowly, discomfited but trying to put on a brave face (he was failing miserably at that, and they both knew it). As he moved down, the fabric of the tie tightened around his wrists, and honestly, he felt like crying, though he ignored that urge as hard as he could. 

“Okay, Joey,” Henry smiled at him again. “That was a good start. Try again.”

“Try- try what?” Joey asked, confused and upset. Henry’s smile relaxed him just a touch, encouraging. Joey wracked his empty head, shaking it in an attempt to figure out what Henry wanted from him. “You want me to apologize again?” 

Henry did not reply with words, only smiling once more. Joey took a deep breath. 

“I’d like to apologize,” he started, his voice tight. He paused, clearing his throat to loosen his words. “For everything I’ve done to harm you, and- and everyone else. But, you first. You didn’t deserv- hey!” 

Henry, his hand still on the end of the tie, had yanked on Joey’s arms with it, making him pitch forwards off balance. To add insult to injury, Henry’s jacket suddenly landed on his head, blocking his vision entirely as he landed harshly on his hands. He scrambled back onto his haunches as he yanked down the jacket over his face, opening his mouth to give Henry a piece of his mind- only for it to go dry immediately. 

Henry’s shirt had been partially opened, and Joey struggled to keep his eyes from dipping between the fabric and onto his chest. Henry’s hands were on the straps of his suspenders, pulling them off his shoulders deliberately, still smiling down at Joey. 

“Henry,” Joey mouthed, looking up at him with wide eyes. He fought the liquid that threatened to build up within them, blinking rapidly and it went away. Henry’s blank smile stung like wasp bites. “I’m sor-”

“Are you?” Henry asked calmly, with an icy edge as he removed his suspenders. He sighed as he snapped them between his hands, making Joey flinch at the twang. “Are you truly sorry, Joey?”

“I am,” Joey tried to keep a whine out of his tone, getting more stressed, watching the suspenders twirl around Henry’s hands. At least it was a distraction from his chest; as lined with muscle as it was. Feeling warmth trickle into his face, Joey looked away. “Really.”

“Are you, now?” Henry asked quietly, snapping the metal tipped straps once again. Joey could not meet his eye. “Joey. Look at me.”

He glanced up, and then broke his gaze again, face blazing with shame. 

“Joey.”

He repressed a shiver as the suspender strap came under his jaw, forcing him to look up at Henry once again. The metal clasps of the suspenders were strikingly cold, bringing forth the shudder Joey tried to hide. Mercifully, Henry tossed aside the suspenders upon noting the uncertain discomfort with which Joey was eyeing them, but he made no comment on it. Joey bit his lip as he watched the arch of the elastic. Slowly, he managed to look back at Henry. 

“I-” Joey swallowed down his nerves again. Joey’s eyes strained to remain on Henry’s form, focusing as hard as he could on his eyes. He mumbled his next words. “I said that I was sorry.”

“Said?” Henry laughed again. It was like ice on his arms, causing goosebumps to rise up. “You said. There’s just a small problem with that, Joey. You say a lot of things. Make a lot of promises. Talk up a pretty picture. It’s rare that you deliver on it- like you are right now.” 

Joey’s mouth was full of cotton; dry, stiff and unable to say a single word in his defense. Half lidded, Henry’s eyes came to his mouth, and then his hand did, a gentle caress on his jaw slipping up to a grip on his mouth. 

“Do you think that you’re able to get whatever you ask for?” Henry laughed, eyes crinkling with humor. Joey did not know what he found so funny. “You said you’re sorry. Do you really think you deserve forgiveness, Joey?” 

Joey kept quiet. He did not really think that way, but knew that saying anything was not going to be a good idea. There also was the fact that Henry’s strong hold on his face prevented him from saying anything coherent, anyways. Joey’s hands tightened on his own knees, digging crescents in the fabric with his nails. 

“Said,” Henry scoffed, though his voice was sunshine; and he leaned even closer, starry smile even brighter than before. “Maybe you should try begging instead.” 

Now the tears began to drip. Henry jerked his hand away from Joey as though his skin burned him. Staring down at him, his smile was gone. 

“I’m sorry,” Joey choked, sniffling as he tried to keep his roiling emotions under control. “Please, please, please forgive me. If you don’t, at least say so. I’m trying, I promise, I’m trying to make it count. Henry, please forgive me!”

“Joey-”

“I’m sorry that our studio wasn’t working out, and I’m sorry that I put more on you than you could take, and I’m sorry that I didn’t know where to stop,” Joey went on, sobbing harshly. The crushing weight of his failures felt like shackles on his wrists, tied to the heavy chains with naught but Henry’s tie. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me, please forgive me for everything I’ve done to wrong you. Please. I- I am begging you, Henry. I’ll keep begging you until you believe me. Please, please….”

“Joey….”

“I don’t know how to make it up to you,” Joey looked up at him miserably through his streaming tears. “I’m sorry that I don’t know… please, give me a chance. Please. I’ll- I’ll do anything, just say it, please-”

“Okay- okay- I-” Henry looked down at him with a torn look, smile completely gone, jarringly made uncomfortable by his own demands. After a moment of shifting where he stood, he knelt down and put his hands on Joey’s shoulders. “Maybe that was a little cruel of me. We’re both in this hell.”

Joey looked at him with the saddest, wettest eyes Henry had ever seen. Henry quickly spoke to try to get rid of them. 

“I can’t forgive you,” he said quietly. Joey’s gaze broke away again, and his tears restarted. Henry lifted his head despite the fact his tears burned his hands. “Not yet, okay? If I see you really mean it-”

It was Henry’s turn to be cut off, Joey’s bound arms coming down over his shoulders in an awkward, but tight, hug. 

Henry slowly hugged him back as he cried. 

“It’s okay, Joey,” Henry soothed, though they both knew it was not okay. “You’ll make it. I believe I can forgive you, one day.”

Joey almost believed him. 

[ichaisme]

i hope i can look back at this in four years and say good job control

audio: @paper-mario-wiki

[ichaisme]

Pen

ink demonth day 8

WARNINGS: one swear at the end

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49229461

length: short (1k)

gift for @ichaisme

Years ago, Joey gifted Henry a pen. It goes missing, but he gets it back. It comes back... different.

Henry clicked his pen repeatedly, not to annoy anyone- Joey’s specially made pen for him, along with custom engravings, has a special dual spring mechanism to make the nib’s protrusion and retraction more silent than a gust of wind. He was, quite frankly, just a bit more stressed than usual, but that minor stress found its way out through the rapid fire clicks of his pen. 

Yet training needed to be done, and so the pen had to be put away, and his stress would have to be exerted through physical exercise and ability. 

He did not notice that it was missing until his stress built back up three days later. 

Then the mild panic kicked in- he knew that there was no way it had gotten off the train, as the corridors in between each car had special anomalous properties keeping it all within the system. Though when he checked the bin any fallen object would have ended up in, he came up with absolutely nothing- which was not assuring in the slightest. He took to asking around, though he was largely disappointed by responses. The only one that remotely put him at ease was Johan, who had told him not to worry about it, that Johan would find it. 

With that guarantee in place, he was not happy, but he was certainly reassured. Whenever Johan made a promise, he fulfilled it, and that was that.

Henry sighed and leaned against Joey.

“Any luck?” his love asked, and he was forced to shake his head and mumble what Johan had told him. Joey nodded, brow furrowed slightly, and snaked his fingers between Henry’s and gave him a little squeeze. “Well, I’m sure Jo will find it then. He is really good at picking up… lost objects, so to speak. So… I guess you’re in the clear for now, then.”

“I don’t understand how I lost it in the first place,” Henry grumbled, rubbing his face. “But… it’s fine. You’re right. I should relax now, but… that pen means a lot to me.”

A beat of silence.

“You mean a lot to me.”

Joey turned to look at Henry, who was intently examining his features. He felt a blush trickling into his face, his face that Henry cupped and gently tugged towards himself. Joey melted before their kiss, and then melted again as they met in the middle, leaning against the larger of the two. Henry’s free hand gently made itself a grounding force on Joey’s side, and they simply breathed each other’s air for a long, tranquil moment. Henry could at last feel himself calming down. 

“It’s not about the pen itself, you know,” Henry murmured as they pulled apart. Joey, smiling softly, with a touch of bewilderment and self wonder in his eye, whispered back, “I know.” 

He kissed him once again. 

Finally at ease, Henry tried to put the pen out of his thoughts, but his mind kept being drawn to the day he had received it from Joey, how prideful yet nervous his partner had been, what it meant to them, to finally have a studio of their own- and then clinging desperately to that pen when it all turned to ash and dust. For that pen was a sign of his and Joey’s success, a binding catalytic element that had been solidly there for him, even when he had to replace mechanisms and ink, the casing remained the same, and it was… assuring. 

Henry opened the door to their bedroom, and saw a bright glint of gold on his bed. 

Of course, Johan would not be content to return the pen just as it was. Henry’s smile crawled onto his face as he beheld the gorgeous restoration that the craftsman had put it through. The wear and tear was not eliminated, no, but it was carefully worked so that points of comfort and use became even more beautiful, etched carefully and with swirls and dotted lines. Henry sighed with contentment, smiling at the pen happily. Yes, it was a fantastic pen. 

It took a few months, but Henry found he no longer had to replace the ink in the pen, nor did the nib ever wear. It was fascinating for him to realize that change, and he could not help but grin with wonder at the change, telling Joey about it to the man’s amazement. It was a fantastic shift. 

It did little to prepare him for the other anomalous property that had been added to his pen. 

Sitting and simmering with rage at a group of touchy individuals who refused to take their hands off of Joey, Henry only wanted to sit and draw to quell his angered thoughts. 

Instead, he was staring now with surprise at the stiletto that had come out of his pen’s head. Trying to process what this newfound tool was, he pressed it to the paper and found it cut through like a hot knife through warm butter- swift and with supernatural ease. He gawked at it, feeling a slight smile twitching onto his lips even through his shock. He clicked the pen again, and hey presto, it was back to being an ordinary writing utensil. 

Johan. Johan, Johan. What on earth did you do?

Henry quickly went to go find the circus manager, knowing that he had to have been behind the pen’s new attributes. After all, no one else had touched it aside from whoever had taken the pen, and he knew that no one in their vicinity besides Johan had such aptitude when it came to switching the ordinary into the extraordinary. 

He found the young man playing guitar again, and waited patiently for him to finish his song before confronting him on the change. 

Johan blushed and smiled nervously, tilting his head.

“Do you like it?” he asked. Henry stared at him before smiling slightly, and replied, “you know, I do.” 

Atabulus, looking at his nails in the corner, remarked; “Told you. Bitches love knives.” 

[ichaisme]

please watch my favorite game changer clip ever

[ichaisme]

🏓 ⬅️🅿️🅾️🆖

[ichaisme]

dont support industries that are driving animals to extinction thank you!

[ichaisme]

My turn to make a hyperspecific poll

[ichaisme]

circus gays :) made in collaboration with @ichaisme <3 lov uuu

[ichaisme]

hey y’all what’s the ink demon like in your place?

(Click to see the rest of the comic ! 6 pages in total)

Artist's note : It took so looong aaaah. I was so busy with my job and a lot of other things, but here we go. I don't know if I'll do more comic in the future XD but I got inspiration for this one

[ichaisme]

swamp show

Henry's not so sure about an upcoming act.

He's glad he sticks with it in the end.

a lil gift fic for @ichaisme's wonderful circus au that lives in my head :3 i love these silly gays

warnings: none

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44340085

Honestly, Henry’s first impression of the act was… unfavorable. Not that he had anything against Johan or his scripts, but….

“Do I really have to… do that with him- on stage?” he weakly protested. Johan looked at him over his clipboard, raising an eyebrow at the question. Wolf flushed rapidly at the almost amused look in the other’s eye. Johan replied; “It’s not like he’s n-not your partner.”

“I mean- yes, he is,” Wolf stammered, blushing harder. “It’s just… a different idea entirely. To have such an act in front of a crowd. There’s no problem with the script.” 

“Okay,” Johan slowly nodded. “The s-script is the act. So you’ll do the act.”

“Sometimes you’re just as much of a micromanager as your parents,” Wolf complained, not meaning it in the slightest. Johan rolled his eyes, kissing Wolf’s cheek gently. “Okay, maybe not as much. But still… I’m not sure about this.”

“Are you s-sure it’s not the story that bothers you?” Johan questioned, setting aside his clipboard. Henry hesitated at the gentle prod. “I won’t get o-offended if you say that it is.”

“No, it’s…” Henry closed his eyes for a moment, trying to go over the script in his head. Since they were going to be in upper Canada, Johan suggested a low Floridian tone for the show. Joey was to be a siren while Henry was to take his regular wolfish act; but it was to be a sort of swamp theme. Joey’s character’s goal would be to get Wolf into the mire, entrench him and then devour him, but Wolf would outwit him by using a heavy log to hide atop. Henry swallowed, looking at Johan. “Maybe it is the script a little bit….”

“What about it?” Johan tilted his head, sitting down and picking up his clipboard to jot down Henry’s concerns onto it. “Which part?”

“The second half,” Henry replied, flushing deeply. “You know.” 

Johan nodded- he, as the writer, did in fact know. Wolf was referring to the fact that Joey’s siren would approach the log and drag it under, not knowing that his true prey was atop it. Then Wolf was to pounce onto Joey and naturally overpower him with the element of surprise. 

The thought of Joey thrashing under him scared him, in so many ways, even if it was just an act.

Johan thought on it for a moment.

“Practice it three times,” he decided, “And if y-you still are uncomfortable, we’ll change the act so Joey gets you. Agreed?”

“Alright,” Henry reluctantly nodded. He rolled out his shoulders, exhaling. “Sounds like a plan.”

Henry’s discomfort with the act faded within the three practices. He had to admit, it was fun to catch Joey by surprise even when he was expecting it. Seeing the delight and playful ‘struggle’ made Wolf smile with his sharp teeth, adoring the way that Joey would blush at the sight. They did not practice the entire scene, just the hardest parts of balancing on the log and flipping through the water, and Johan would also do tech checks with the anomalous items that were to add flair to their act. 

The night of the act, Henry felt entirely relaxed and almost excited to perform it, a stark contrast to his initial feelings. Sure, there were the usual pre-act jitters, but aside from those, no other concerns. 

Getting on stage with Joey always was another world in and of itself. Even after days and weeks of frequent practice, Joey always managed to make their performances an entirely different realm. With Sammy’s music accompanying them, and Joey’s bright smile goading him, lumbering through the water after the siren calls felt almost too natural. The wolfbound part of him leaned heavily to soak in the water and let Joey take him, and it made the act feel all the more authentic. The applause at his balancing act almost brought him out of the moment, but then he caught scent of Joey again and honed in on that. 

The splashing felt good on his fur, the thrashing felt good to the rush of adrenaline skyrocketing through his system, Joey’s smile made his heart smile as well. Wolf ‘fought’ to rise out of the water, strong arms clamped around his catch, his Joey. Joey squirmed for a moment before Wolf pulled him in for the act’s close, a long moment of looking into each other’s eyes before a kiss; holding him above the surface of the dark waters that dripped off of them. Fog billowed around them as they sank below the ground, the thundering applause meaning nothing to Henry’s furry, wet ears. Joey hummed into their kiss, glad that they were able to continue out of sight from the rest of the show. 

Wolf smiled, pushing Joey gently against an anomalous tree prop, just as he had in the show during their fight, and kissed him deeper, slower, content. 

He was glad that Johan insisted that they do the show the way he had written it; as after all, he had fun and it was a better show for it. 

“Do you think anyone would notice if we skip out on the meet and greet?” Joey asked breathlessly, face red and with what he hoped was a flirtatious smile- though to Henry, it was silly and sweet. He kissed him again regardless, and replied; “You know the crowds would probably get a close idea to the right one if we do.” 

“And so what?” Joey prompted, and Henry had nothing to say to that, only ran his padded hand down Joey’s scaled side and pushed him back into the waters. 

==

“Good show last night, boys,” Acon commented over his coffee the next morning. Atabulus was curled up beside him, and gave a mild hum of agreement. There was a light, humorous glint in Acon’s eye. “However, there was one minor thing you, Wolf, might want a grip on.” 

“What?” Henry asked, eyes narrowed. “What thing?” 

“Your tail was wagging.” 

[ichaisme]

[ichaisme]

hehehehehe circus gays @ichaisme <3