#(So while I haven't been doing writing or posting)

[w4ikr]

Anton isn't using me as an immunity or pass to be misogynist. Leech is my own character. Anton and I collaborate together when writing their dynamic. So, any and all ideas/decisions that's been made, I either had come up with personally or approved enthusiastically.

While I understand I haven't been a present figure online as of late (I plan to change that, but I've been busy with life), I take a lot of offense that people continue to bash Anton and put these labels when I have not once received any questions or had anyone come up to me and asked for clarification.

Im practically tagged and credited in every post that showcases her. It takes one click to see my account and comment, message, or send an ask.

Though, I do plan to be more active online and post my own writing and snip bits of who Leech is as a character. Anton, so far, has just been doing me a favor and posting their dynamics and sharing information for me.

Why I No Longer Support Anton Morrow Or Blessed Be The Wicked

Okay, we're finally doing this. As always: Do NOT harass anyone involved. This is not what this post is for.

So, this has been a long time coming. I know I keep repeatedly saying that I don’t wanna cause drama but at this point? It’s not even a drama anymore. There’s a glaring issue that’s been circulating the fandom for a while, and up until now, people have either been ignoring it completely or are too scared to say anything at all — which is understandable. I’m frankly scared to be finally making this post. But with most of the fandom beginning to speak up on this, now is a better time than ever. 

You’ve all most likely seen my latest, very angry, Jeff rant post, and some of you might have already put together as to who it was about: Anton Morrow, the creator of Blessed be the Wicked.

If any of you remember the whole “mistype” situation that happened in 2024 revolving around BBTW, you already know I have gotten into a bit of a spat with him before. Then it was all cleared up, and we were chill. But now, with all that’s been happening, I’m starting to question that situation as well.

When it comes to creepypasta, you gotta acknowledge and respect both sides of the fandom, because more often than not, they tie together. Anton, however, doesn’t do this at all, creating a space where people feel unsafe and uncomfortable like they have to walk on eggshells. 

We are not mad at the fact that you are trying to make BBTW horrifying, grotesque, and realistic. In fact, a LOT of people were hyped for your project. No, we’re mad that you have to be an asshole about it. Shaming anything that doesn’t fit into your view of what a character SHOULD be, hating on the fandom way more than you claim to love it, villainizing characters that should not be villainized, like Jane, who’s a VICTIM of Jeff, not doing proper research (apparently not knowing that Clockwork was an SA victim despite her being your “favorite character”), being a fucking hypocrite (hating shock value yet using it in your work as well), and most of all, claiming to be bringing back the old roots of Creepypasta when you don’t even understand or know what those roots are. 

This fandom has ALWAYS been cringy, weird, and unrealistic. I mean, we have a tall faceless man in the woods, a magical black and white clown, and a guy whose skin turned completely white because of BLEACH. This fandom was never realistic! 

You can only use the “I mistyped” or “you all misunderstood me” excuse so many times.

Are you telling me you didn’t mean ANY of this?

Like, if I recall, David Near’s, MBK’s, Pastra’s, AND Ekatlani’s Jeff’s are NOT soft boys at all. But you refuse to acknowledge that, don’t you? Because even if they are closer to what you claim to be looking for within a Jeff rewrite, you still hate them because they weren’t what YOU THINK the character could be. 

But somehow, that’s not even the worst part. No, the worst thing has to be what you’ve done to Leech. Characters change, I understand that. My personal gripe with her not being the character I initially was excited for anymore is just my personal bias. What’s NOT, however, is the relationship you’ve put her in with Tyrant. 

Now, I’m all for toxic relationships. I’ve written them myself, but this? This is straight-up fucking grooming. It’s non-consensual, and you straight-up called Tyrant PREDATORY. 

And the fact that you tried to edit your post to hide what you said first tells me all I need to know.

Not to mention, you continuously like to bring up how much YOUNGER she is than the other two (Context: She's in a poly relationship with Tyrant and a character named Marc)

This goes past a toxic relationship, this is straight up fucking CREEPY. You admit that Tyrant is using his VICTIM, cause that’s what she fucking is, as a way to feel like he’s not all the negative, that “he deserves love.” No. Just no. 

I’m disappointed. Tired, angry, and disappointed. I thought you were a cool guy, Anton. I thought all of you were cool. I was genuinely excited for Blessed Be The Wicked, as I’m sure a lot of the fandom was. But you showed your true colors the moment your project began to get popular. 

Not so politely, fuck you. And if all you can do is complain about is the fandom having fun, fuck off. 

[carlos-in-glasses]

Happy Sunday! The final chapter of Butterflies* will be up tomorrow, so please have exactly seven sentences of Carlos of Carlos missing Gabriel and loving his family:

Gabriel Reyes isn’t here. Carlos can’t talk to him. He can’t ask him for explanations or for advice. He can’t confront him, he can’t forgive him, he can’t tease him or drink margaritas with him or watch him be sweet and mellow with Jonah. He can’t hear him have funny conversations with the little boy, or banter with TK while they turn steaks over barbecue flames. Carlos is the father in the room now, alongside TK, and Jonah is the child who they are showing the beauty of the world to. The world that is his to love, which is what makes a man.

----

*I just want to say another huge thank you to everyone who has read. I adore Tarlos in their dad era, and will always love and do my best with these characters, whether writing post-canon family life or a meet-cute AU. With season 5's ending, I think a fun, emotional and interesting portal into a new dimension to explore has been opened up. So, with my flashlight between my teeth and a song in my heart, I'm going in! Who's with me, lads?!

Butterflies on Ao3

Open tag and tabs below!

@paperstorm @thisbuildinghasfeelings @goodways

@lightningboltreader @bonheur-cafe @strandnreyes @reyesstrand

@heartstringsduet @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @alrightbuckaroo

@orchidscript @freneticfloetry @welcometololaland @rmd-writes

@ladytessa74 @lemonlyman-dotcom @liminalmemories21 @chicgeekgirl89

@theghostofashton @no-goodbyes-no-regrets @mikibwrites

@herefortarlos @tellmegoodbye @pimento-playing-hopscotch

@eclectic-sassycoweyes @kiwichaeng @literateowl @butchreyes

@laelipoo @lavenderrdaughter @captain-gillian @hereghostslive

@ironheartwriter @emsprovisions @sapphic--kiwi @nisbanisba

@the-126-family @carlossreaders @henrygrass @everlastingday

@rangersoup @annoyingcloudearthquake @neversleepuntilfive

@my-beloved-lakes @anactualcaseofthetruth - If you want to share/haven't already! No pressure ever!❤️🩷🧡💛💚💙🩵💜

[librarycards]

I like your point about something being "pretentious," because I also think the term is used only to silence people who are bringing around important ideas.

I've seen you defend the complexity of academic writing in disability studies, which I also love and advocate for. I'm curious, however, about how you make space for people with intellectual disabilities, reading disorders, and other disabilities that make it a lot more difficult to parse overly academic writing. I remember this came up for me specifically when I was reading Jaspir Puar's "The Right to Maim." It's complex, necessarily so, but I found it deeply inaccessible.

I wonder, can disability studies truly be inclusive if it conforms to norms of academic complexity while sacrificing readability and engagement directed towards individuals with intellectual disabilities? I don't know if there's an answer, and I'd love to hear of any recommended reading you have on making space for people who exist outside of traditional modes of academic knowledge and research in a field as diverse as disability justice and Mad studies.

this is a common question, and i'll try my best to do it justice here -

first and foremost, it's important to remember that disability studies is not an activist project, nor is it one primarily concerned with providing social/academic support to individual disabled people per se. it's an academic discipline with roots in critical theory, queer theory, and literary/cultural studies, with its own intellectual genealogy, roster of normative terms, and citational background. when people -- puar, for instance -- write books like 'right to maim,' they're not writing for a general audience, disabled or non-. they're writing for colleagues and students interested in a particular set of arguments, drawing on a particular set of sources, and operating under the assumption that one has already done the (disability studies, ethnic studies, (post)colonial studies) readings - and, if you haven't, that you'll avail yourself of the lit review portion before engaging deeply with the book.

in short, part of the issue many people have when it comes to disability studies and their frustrations with it is that they do not take it seriously as an academic discipline among other academic disciplines. being disabled doesn't make me a disability studies expert any more than being a human makes me an anthropologist. the inaccessibility, as it were, of disability studies is a result of its specialization. this specialization isn't a bad thing - it's what happens when a field has been built over generations, on the shoulders of earlier fields, and requires extensive background knowledge to engage with. there's really no way around that when it comes to niche scholarly disciplines about things deliberately obfuscated in "normal life." this doesn't mean that nothing can be done to support wider uptake of CDS ideas among activists beyond the academy, but it does mean that our collective liberation as disabled people cannot and should not rest on universal understanding of or agreement x y or z element of a specific scholarly text.

that brings me to the next question, which is mostly about bringing disability studies scholarship to disabled people outside the academy, especially those whose disabilities make it difficult to access higher education. i don't think there's a way around reading the difficult texts if you want to be well-read and familiar with disability studies - or any other field - simply because people don't use complex language and syntax for no reason. we need to make up words for things that never had words before. fortunately, however, there are ways to introduce difficult concepts stepwise and in community, namely, through coursework - because as much as these texts weren't meant to be read by non-experts, they were also not meant to be read alone.

in my own experience teaching disability studies to classes wherein many, if not most students, are disabled, the best way of introducing these concepts is with regular old pedagogical tools like scaffolding, introducing background reading, approaching topics socratically, and encouraging group discussion informed by outside reading and personal experience. it is often helpful to go sentence-by-sentence and break down a particularly salient paragraph, or return to a particular citation to understand where one author's points link up with another's. one might go from puar back to saïd, for example, and also forward/sideways to mel chen or nirmala erevelles. put simply, i think reading these works together - in classrooms, in groups, in pairs, or even alongside others who have analyzed them before you (there are tons of analytical essays about most of these books on academia.edu/google scholar for example!) is one of the most reliable ways to improve your comprehension, and is certainly the method i use to help students better understand what they're working with.

lastly, and i think most importantly, i want to stress that the way many undergrads are taught to engage with any theoretical discourse is really, really damaging. it's damaging to expect an eighteen-year-old to consume and instantly "get" ideas that take multiple lifetimes' of debate to get worked out, if ever. being confused, not-knowing, asking questions, getting frustrated, taking a break and coming back -- these are approaches which many disabled students in particular have been pathologized for, but are actually the best (and certainly most predictable) responses one can have to a challenging text. i did not understand a lot of puar the first time i read her. i have read right to maim several times now, and am still puzzling over new things. a great deal could be done to support inclusion in all of our fields if abled/sane/NT people would stop bluffing and admit that they get confused, too; what an opportunity for scholarly interdependence that would be.

anyways....that's a long answer about something i'm very passionate about, so thanks for reading if you did! my main advice is to keep chipping away at challenging texts, because the process of reading and comprehending, especially done in community, is worth it, and helps lay the groundwork / build the muscle for engaging more difficult texts in the future.

as far as more disabled/Mad scholars thinking about academic literacies/classroom accessibility, there's Mel Chen, whose recent monograph, Intoxicated, deals with research, brain fog, and cognitive disability; Margaret Price, OG Mad Studies powerhouse, has also written at length about both pedagogical and personal approaches to mental disability in the classroom, and recently published a book called "Crip Spacetime" that is functionally an exposé on academic inaccessibility of all sorts.

I would also like to strongly recommend my beloved friend and colleague Helen Rottier, who does disability studies scholarship and works at a university disability cultural center, typically with IDD students. We co-authored a paper on Mad pedagogy that should be coming out...someday? Publishing is slow. But definitely check her work and I'm sure she'd welcome questions from you if you wanted to reach out!

[starkid-smosh]

Heyyyy out of curiosity do you have any damien/angela fics/art/moments/etc you'd recommend? I've been exploring Amanda/Angela stuff for a bit & occasionally would see damien/angela mentioned when i explored the smosh tag, but I haven't actually seen anythin for it yet. Would love to see more tho :0

I feel like I haven't really seen any damangela art (but if anyone wants to self promote I want to see lol), but I can give you some of my fav fics and compilations!

For compilations, @guessitrunsinthegenes is the GOAT for damangela compilations. Seriously go check out eir youtube channel! His stuff is so great! Also as an og damangela fan, I feel like I need to link this don't win Mario party livestream compilation. I remember when this was just an unlisted video like this is such an important part of our history I feel like lmao. The Angela rubbing Damien's ear moment was the ONE thing that kept me delusional and kinda shipping them for the longest time (not in a "they're actually secretly dating" kind of way but like it was the one thing that was a kinda shippy moment for a while iykwim).

There are probably so many smosh videos with Damien and Angela moments and if I actually put more than 5 seconds of thought into it, I could probably list like 15 videos here, but two of my favorite videos that I thought of off the top of my head are the You Posted That and that one off Betrayal video!

I can probably think of more and maybe I'll edit this to add more of my favs later but these are two good damangela videos!

For fanfics, an oldie but a goodie, but I love The Hoodie Stream! Just Angela stealing Damien's hoodie and accidentally wearing it on stream and it become A Thing™️. It's just cute. I love it

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52691245

And I've spent too long writing this post and I don't feel like finding more fics to add lol, so I'll end it here and again maybe edit to add more fics later!

Also guys, if you want, please take this opportunity to drop your favorite damangela videos, compilations, edits, fanfics, etc. Maybe we can turn this into a giant favorite damangela content thread!

Edited to add more videos:

HOLY SHIT HOW COULD I FORGET THE EPIC THREE VIDEO RUN OF "This Game Broke Kickstarter (ft. CircleToonsHD),"Cards Against Humanity Family Edition Is UNHINGED," AND "Who Is The Killer? ft. Thomas Sanders"??? THATS THE TRIO OF VIDEOS THAT MADE ME START PAYING ATTENTION TO THEM AS A DUO! I remember ANXIOUSLY waiting for October 27th when the Getting WAY Too Personal video came out to get context for "yesterday you told everyone I know EXACTLY what I sound like during sex how does THAT feel ANGELA" 😭😭

Of course THE video that made the general public start paying attention to them "I know Damien's" itself

[etiragram]

// Note: I just gave up halfway through writing this post. Now, I'd usually just delete it or put it in drafts. However, I haven't been posting on tumblr as much in the past month since having a baby, and something tells me it'd be salutary to fling something out here. Hello, I'm alive, having thoughts, squirming around making tiny marks on the wet sand of the universe

contemplating a 20h art teaching gig that I super do not feel qualified for but also feel excited to teach. (it'll probably fall through for reasons unrelated to me.) the specific thing I want to teach is "how to make something that looks good when you are bad"

I think this is a reasonable focus because the audience is largely programmers who at are a conference for something else, and I am someone who stopped actively developing technical skills in painting a while ago (I'm not good enough to have stopped, but I was no longer interested in the kind of project that demanded I be technically excellent) in favor of "just making things that looked beautiful to me"

in the week where I've been thinking about this class, I've been collecting the kind of painting (made by people who are good) that could have been made by people who are bad. not quite "my five year old could have made this" territory, but in "a person who has 10 hours of painting experience could paint this, if they could only think of it". There are many! (uh oh, as this post became more fleshed out and real-feeling, I slipped out of the lowercase register...) So, the course would be about how to think of it.

I'm not good at that, but I've thought a lot about it

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

OMG Have you been on MHA twitter? People have started dragging (ie telling the truth about) Bakugou. Someone posted the infamous "he won't die if he dodges" and it's like the flood gates opened, with people criticizing him left and right. People are even calling his fights with Ochako and Shouto bs, saying he's an author's pet, an asshole, a gary stu etc.

I've never seen so much backlash directed at him since his fake out death. It's also likely because most of his stans were children and teens during the run of MHA and they've become adults who are starting to look back at the series with a critical eye.

Better late than never, I guess.

Fuck Twitter. I refuse to use it, so sadly I haven't seen it.

And I'm not surprised. The manga's run is over, and people are beginning to either reread it or watch it for the first time. This means a lot of people are looking it over with fresh eyes.

Due to this, they're actually WATCHING how Bakugou reacts, rather then think about it with rose glasses, or being influenced by fanfic of him.

When they take the time, they see how shoddy the writing is rather than having their minds fill in the gaps. Fanfics of fairly decentish redemptions of Bakugou are around. It's not impossible to think they read that, then read the manga, so they are influenced by what they just read.

There are also the people who waited this long for people to change interests. While plenty of people stick with a fandom, there are just as many who pick up and then ditch a fandom when canon is done. No shame to them; some people just prefer new stories to what they know.

But because a lot of them probably loved Bakugou since he was the flashy one, and they weren't the ones to do indepth media analysis because they like the surface level, without them the other voices speak up.

Though as well you're right. People are growing up and looking back with new eyes.

So I'm not surprised.

[peridots-pixiwolf]

[Start ID. A redraw of the official icons of the ten named slugcats from Rain World, arranged in two rows: Survivor, Monk, Hunter, Nightcat, and Gourmand in the first, Artificer, Rivulet, Spearmaster, Saint and Enot/Inv in the second. Each is drawn in roughly the same pose as in the original art and fitted with speculative interpretations of their biology, and the second image is a “dead” version of this. For example, all ten have slug-like rhinophores in place of ears, cuttlefish-like colorful eyes with strangely-shaped pupils, cephalopod-like beak "teeth", expressive barbels or oral tentacles at the corners of mouths, spiny radulas, and the frilly mantle fringes of sea slugs, though otherwise their faces are squishy, simple and mammalian-shaped.

Cream-colored Survivor and yellow Monk both share triangular, bicolored spots matching their eyes (which are tan and brown, and two shades of blue, respectively), small, bumpy fringes, and relatively neutral looks on their faces. Defensive-looking Hunter is mostly a dull orange-pink, though their blobby fringe is a more violent red and their back is purple and marred with lumps. Nightcat is navy blue and flecked with dots of yellow and teal, their rolled rhinophores are a lighter blue, and their shading fractures into stars in some places. Gourmand is almost uniformly tan, their wide, very ruffly white mantle fringe bordered by a spray of white spots, and their beak sticks out from either corner of their smile. Primarily red Artificer, snarling, has yellow markings of multiple sorts, a prominent yellow dewlap and their characteristic dark scar taking out a chunk of its face. Rivulet is a darker blue than usual, with long barbels, red gills and rings, countershading, and a cheerful expression, sticking out their radula. Spearmaster is purple with orange accents, eyes and spots, a large fringe and spines down their back. Saint’s green caryophyllidia are marked by small, yellow diamonds, and their long, thin radula extends far below them. Enot is decorated with mottled red stripes, blue patches, yellow stars, and an uneven and almost cartoonish imitation of blush, though generally the same deep blue as Nightcat, a passive or almost slightly smug look on their face and their rolled rhinophores out to either side.

In the second image, nine of the slugcats’ eyes are crossed out, indicating that these are death icons. They look fairly the same, with mostly expression differences. Survivor is caught in the beginning of a threat display, a karma flower sprouts from Monk’s side, Hunter is burdened with overgrowing, purple and blue rot, Nightcat’s rhinophores are pinned back, and Gourmand looks mildly disheartened. For the final row, Artificer bites its radula between small plumes of smoke, Rivulet drops their expression, Spearmaster looks very startled, Saint looks almost entirely the same besides half-open eyes and their markings greater in number, and Enot grins confusedly. End ID]

If you'll excuse the unusually lengthy ID: the arena meme introduced by @pansear-doodles at long last after a nearly year-long wip status (or, rather, finished a month ago today to honor my own first time playing it!)

Design notes and shout-outs under cut! :]

The following people are some of those who’ve inspired my designs most since I started this eight months ago (or just inspired me to get a little weirder with slugcat biology), among many others for sure, and I thank them for it–but this is simply to bring attention to artists I find cool, and in no way an obligation to interact or anything :]

> @saturncoyote , @carpsoup , @charseraph , @gallusgalluss , @bitsbug , @dopscratch , and @0hmanit (and a special mention to dddeerbo and hunterlonglegs, who’ve since deactivated)!

Survivor: Surprisingly the hardest to pin down the colors for, since nothing with its sibling's palette seemed to match up right (I did have to add in a little blue somewhere for Monk, the beginning of making it clear how much I’m simply going based off of vibes for the colors of scug innards). I consider them, Monk and Gourmand to be part of the same gene pool of slugcats, and even possibly the same colony even if the latter isn't really related, so took a bit of Gourmand's coloring and fit them in with their inspiration: Goniobranchus verrieri. They serve as a bit of an introduction to my ideas of scug traits (i find it really fun how many people have thought to add so many silly sluglike fixtures of biology completely independent of me, buuut here I’m mostly talking about species variation), and like in-game they’re pretty average! They, Monk and Hunter have a couple scars sourced from a piece of Joar's concept art that I'm failing to find, those across the bridge of the nose, under the eyes, and across the rhinophores, respectively, and my Survivor interpretation features many on the back of the neck, as a result of survived lizard bites.

Monk: Their coloring is primarily based off the fact that I associate them with blue fruits, honestly, a bit because I was compelled to establish a familiarity with Rivulet, and lastly inspired by the spots of Goniobranchus kuniei (and geminus, less important to me as one of my characters is a kuniei instead, but more fitting). Between the yellow + blue and the circular marking in the center of their face, they’re meant to bear a little resemblance to an iterator that shares similarities with the characterization I’ve given them, and similar coding of her sibling can be seen on Survivor’s markings around the eyes. As both a “default” slugcat and one whose campaign I haven’t played, though, I can’t say I have much more to point out about em.

Hunter: The whole rot thing made for a really fun time drawing them, and while the color change on their back is a result of this, it’s also an excuse to relate them to Babakina festiva, arguably my favorite sea slug (mostly for sentimental purposes). And to Spearmaster, a fellow messenger slugcat, and it serves as a gradient between Hunter’s pink and the “traditional” color of Rot seen in the DLLs. Aside from their affliction, they’d actually be the plainest in terms of design, as they don’t have any patterns or quirks of body type, just the red + purple and strange lumps + possible malnutrition. I can’t remember if NSH had created them in particular or just...caught + released or something, but it probably wouldn’t be strange for a lab-grown slugcat to be simple like that.

Gourmand: Like the two above, they’re rather plain in terms of coloring and adaptation, and like the two above, I find that fun. I decided it would be nice to avert the “all slugcats being of the same body type, and Gourmand’s out of place as the exception” thing by just...adding more fat to all of them, really. I did want to emphasize their sheer bulk even so, both fat and muscular (not like I couldn’t have still gone further with it, of course, but slugcat anatomy can be a little obfuscating sometimes, and they were intended to look rather plush considering personal size headcanons and therefore the lack of proper gravity), and the thick and flounced mantle looked like a good addition, as per their sea slug Glossodoris hikuerensis. Unlike Survivor and Monk, I didn’t attempt to hold their resemblance to any particular other character (which means a little less to balance out the “default gene pool” thing), so those are all the design notes I have for em.

Artificer: The second slugcat I’ve ever played, or finished the campaign of, my favorite for at least a long time, and the first thing I did was give them yellow accents, the shape of which have troubled me slightly (not quite like the spots or stripes of the others). They’re both a little more appealing and more explosive-looking to me, and considering how early on I played Arti, actually present in some of my older art. It does give them a little resemblance to Saint (completely intentional, two slugcats with strange relations to karma), as well as the fact that its radula is green for familiarity with one of its children (at some point it was going to have all-green markings, even!). I’m generous with their scars, partly because it was fun to overemphasize the one on their face and partly because it does seem like a reckless slugcat, on top of the dangers of its explosive abilities–I’ll probably just keep adding more forever. Mostly-red sea slugs aren’t too common, but Hexabranchus sanguineus works for sure. The ridged, yellow dewlap can expand for combustion purposes, or something along those lines. Arti’s where I began experimenting with a lot of the mildly-offkilter features seen in my interpretation of slugcats, as they’ve once again been a favorite from the start.

Rivulet: I've obviously given other slugcats spots, deeply enjoy the bubbly-soda markings of other peoples' slugcats, and thought seal riv would be cute. Despite not too closely resembling it, they've been government-assigned Hypselodoris bennetti, for color reasons and for a couple sentimental ones. Originally, the colors of every scug were meant to match up with the custom colors I gave them at the beginning of their campaigns, (though Arti, Gourm and Spearmy are the only three who actually apply here, since I've only played through half the slugcats: I gave arti the yellow as mentioned above, gourm brown eyes and spearmy light pink spears, furthered by the outskirts pearl accompanying me and that palette all the way to moon. Tolerance training for eternity in hell cause I already knew about the maroon pearl quest). I initially gave them the colors of the bi flag for fun... but with the limited palette of this image, I was left without pink for a while and decided to see how they'd look in red. I then realized how they now wonderfully matched Moon, and besides, red's a sort of camouflage in deep water! As a side-note, the difference between their eyes and those of others always bothered me a little for anatomical purposes, and the cephalopod eyes were probably influenced by this!

Spearmaster: Inspired as much as possible by @notyourfunnyman ’s wonderful spearmy: designed in a way that helps it fit in with scavengers, at least between the long sensory tentacles, big ruff, back spines and slightly thin/distended anatomy, a form of defensive mimicry. I always had annulate rhinophores in mind, for a little diversity sure, but mostly because the shape reminds me of radio antennae and communication towers (seems fitting for the comms array and being a messenger slugcat)! I started searching for a real-life slug to give them just by looking up their rhinophore shape...and was met immediately and coincidentally with annulate-topped nudibranchs that fit them more perfectly than I could've imagined: Flabellina and surrounding clades, I think Paraflabellina ischitana works very nicely. The orange was completely unplanned, but there wasn’t a place for light pink among the other slugcats’ palettes, and importantly it likens them to both Hunter and Seven Red Suns a little more.

Saint: I am very much a non-furred slugcat enjoyer, with respect to those who aren’t, so figuring out the only visibly furred slugcat was an interesting challenge. I’ve decided that they likely have other, milder adaptations for help in the cold, mainly just more efficient fat storage, and what looks vaguely like fur is instead a bunch of tubercles (called caryophillia, for the second reminder out of three). Their inspiration doesn’t have these, however, Miamira sinuata’s numerous yellow and blue spots (not to mention...whatever’s going on with that shape) and general effect of being the only really green nudibranch I could find were probably perfect for a strange green echo. Not pictured, but their beak-teeth are tiny and flat to make a surface for grinding soft food against with the lack of a functioning radula, which is tipped with a specialized spiny “grapple-hook” for better traction/grip (not to mention the numerous little teeth running down the whole thing).

(Best part of hiding this under a readmore means edits will be seen by all reblogs, I'm mostly sure, because I completely forgot to mention! The spots on their forehead are simple eyes. Their camera eyes appear closed in-game, I like to believe their complex eyesight is rather poor anyways or otherwise reason that they aren't seeing out of those, and while this was far from her REASON for attunement with the world, it does help compensate for mainly viewing it through a canvas of simple light and dark. This, and the fact that their swapped-out "fur" is not only to commit to a lack of hairs but contributes to sensory input!)

Nightcat/Enot: I guess you could say I found the “these two are technically the same person” compelling. (E.g. similar colors, both very strange and enigmatic, and Enot/Inv/Sofanthiel’s remark during the dating sim about getting removed from Arena Mode.) I doubt they’re the only two slugcats in their body, considering humans with DID tend to have more than a few (and I find it very funny that a slugcat bearing resemblance to Nightcat appears in Gourmand’s ending. They’re allowed in the colony and Enot isn’t </3), and I have to credit @faelingdraws ’s art for being what convinced me on it! Their design inspirations come down to trying to balance a few different ideas: making the patterns and palettes of both look oddly similar (special mention to the stars, since those are fun to draw), basing them off of Felimare sechurana and juliae respectively, using blocks of color with the same placement as in Enot’s official art, and specifically making Enot look...biologically reasonable and imperfect, whilst also clearly trying to imitate human displays of emotion (what with...the eyes and blush on that one piece of official art).

Lastly, here’s just a lineup with notes on body shape and size. Most of the nicknames (existing to give a little more space, that’s all) are obvious, and while I can’t remember why I shortened Nightcat to Nox, it is in honor of my friend by the same nickname :]

[happyk44]

The thing was Percy didn't like being a bad kid. Every time he got kicked out of a school or wound up in the counselor's office over some incident he wasn't completely blameless for, his mom's brows would pinch. The line on her lip dipped. He knew what she was thinking each time: lost wages, job risk, who was going to watch him if he got suspended, where would she send him if he got kicked out, and so on.

He hated that he did that to her. Being a bad kid meant being a bad son. He refused to be a bad son - not on purpose anyway.

Well, he used to. She wasn't here anymore. Her brows weren't going to furrow. Her lips wouldn't thin. Her shoulders wouldn't draw up and tense before the principal even opened their mouth. It was over.

He didn't have anyone anymore. Nobody at cabin eleven would look at him. Other cabins steered around him like he was carrying the plague. Grover was off doing whatever satyrs did - probably getting ready to infiltrate some new school, befriend some new kid, save their lives. He didn't need Percy. It’d only been a few days but they'd barely interacted. Older satyrs would yank him along into the wood before Percy could get close or even open his mouth. Even Annabeth just eyed Percy with scrutinizing eyes - like she was assessing him for something. But every time he tried to approach her outside of their lessons, she brushed him off.

No one wanted Percy around.

What was the point of being a good kid anymore? There wasn't anything or anyone forcing him to keep his head above water. He was tired of the murmurs. He was tired of the avoidance. Tired of the glares from the Ares cabin. Tired of trying to keep the quake in his stomach tamped down.

He was just tired.

He thumbed along the flat edge of his sword. His new best friend was the pervasive feeling of loneliness. With a miserable sigh, he tucked the sword into the holster on his hip. People barely wanted to spar with him now so he was stuck to sweating it out on the dummies by himself. At least only when Luke wasn't pushing him as hard as possible.

But even with Luke there seemed to be pause. The first time Percy felt his gut yank after being claimed had been in training with Luke, and as soon as the feeling caught him, Luke begged off. Like he'd seen something in Percy that unnerved him. Sometimes when Percy looked in the mirror, he saw something in his eyes that unnerved him. A foreign thing - like a contact lens put in the wrong way.

No amount of poking or prodding at his eyes was going to get it out though. It was inside him - in his blood. He was sure of it.

He was starting to worry that it was the very thing he'd been keeping back, the very thing his mom was trying to keep him safe from.

The clang of metal against metal was loud as he walked past other trainees. There were a couple people leaning against the wall near the water fountain. As expected, they shifted away as he neared. Mistrust was bright in their eyes.

He did his best to ignore it. Not the first time people had stared at him like they thought he was dangerous. Or beneath them.

The water sprayed for a moment before he lowered his head. It was clarifying. He'd noticed it before, a burst of energy with every sip whenever he was tired, but ever since being claimed, he'd noticed the alertness more and more.

As he let go of the button, he caught the tail end of the muttering nearby. His stomach dropped.

“... should've ditched him sooner,” one boy grumbled. His friend snorted. “Maybe then she wouldn't have died.”

“What did you say?” The two startled. Percy understood why. He barely recognized his own voice, the eerie coldness to it frosty on his own tongue. Still, he repeated as he twisted on his heels to face them. “What. Did you just say?”

Panic besot them. For a second, the barest of a second, he could feel it kick in - be a good boy for me, Percy, be a good kid for Mom.

But she wasn't here.

She wasn't here.

So what was the point?

He took a step forward. “What,” he snarled, saliva coating his tongue like froth, “did you say?”

The others shifted away but he just crept forward. “Nothing, man,” one of them finally bit out, but they were lying. He could see it in their eyes, hear in their voice, feel it in their veins.

“You're lying,” he said. A bitten off laugh echoed from his lips. “You were talking about my mom.” Another choked laugh. “You think it's my fault?”

One of them raised his hands - a mock surrender. “Hey, dude-”

“You think I wanted her to die?” A sharp sensation coiled through Percy's chest. It thrummed hot and heavy, piling, piling, piling on his lungs. “You think I asked for ANY OF THIS?”

Someone's hand came to rest on his shoulder and it was like the crashing of the waves against his bare feet. Cold, clarifying, clear.

Freeing.

His fist drove straight into the jaw of whoever was behind him. He could barely tell who he was seeing - it might've been Luke, or any other tall blonde guy. But as soon as whoever it was stumbled back, he whirled around and punched whichever kid was closest in the stomach. They went down and he clambered on top to wail. Fist and fist upon whatever body part he could reach. He wasn't the most elegant hand-to-hand fighter but there was something to be said for the voracious and vicious energy boiling through him.

Distantly he was aware of yelling around him, aware of people pulling at him, aware of the person beneath him crying, arms over their face, arms Percy was tired of hitting. He needed to get their face, get their tongue, rip his mom from their mouth. How dare they speak about her.

How dare anyone talk about her.

A dozen hands finally yanked him back. He screamed. Bodies toppled. He grabbed the closest one by their hair, driving his knee upwards over and over again until hands ripped him away again. Swung blindly and caught someone. The two of them fell. His stomach pulled back. They choked. They weakened. He swung himself over until he was on top.

I want you all to drown, he thought, grabbing at their jaw. Don't ever speak of her again.

Saliva smeared across his fingers. His stomach pulled back even more. What was that - blood, water? On his hands, on his knees, on their skin, on their faces, in their veins.

His free hand drew out. He wanted it. It was his. Didn't they get that? She was his, and she was gone, so he would take and take all else that belonged to him until the hole in his chest was gone. Until the water they had coursing inside them filled him up.

“Percy,” someone whispered.

Their voice was familiar, breath hot against Percy's ear. He twitched. The feeling of nearby water, nearby fluid, was clenched tight in his fist. He just had to pull back. Yank it. Make it his.

The voice turned pleading. “Percy.”

He froze as two hot hands came to clasp his cheeks, dark brown eyes and curly hair blurring into view. Grover's face.

“Grover,” he breathed. For the first time since he'd ended up at camp, he relaxed.

Grover's thumbs stroked his skin. “Yeah, it's me.” He leaned in closer. “Percy, you need to stop.”

“Stop?”

“You're hurting people," he said. “You have to stop.”

Why? Percy thought. He didn't care. He didn't care if they hurt, didn't care if they drowned where they laid choking, didn't care if they suffered. It didn't mean anything to him. They didn't mean anything to him.

But this was Grover.

And with his mom gone, Grover meant the world.

“You want me to stop?”

“Yes,” Grover said. His breath was warm, his skin hot, his body close. Distantly Percy remembered nights at school like this - Grover tucked up next to him, trying his best to help Percy study when most people would've bailed. “I want you to stop.”

His lips were wobbling. His eyes were thick with wetness. His voice was unsteady - trying to be calm and rapidly failing. Even his hands shook.

Percy grabbed at his wrists. “Okay,” he whispered as he clung. His stomach relaxed slowly, the crash turning into a tickle. “I'm good, I'm good.”

Shakily, Grover exhaled, pressed his forehead to Percy's, and murmured, “I know, I know.”

His hands pulled away from Percy's face, but not away from him, arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him in for a tight hug. Percy's breathing wobbled as he tucked his face into the crook of Grover's neck. He clung tight and desperate. Pleading.

No, he couldn't be a good son anymore. He didn't have to bother keeping in check to avoid the thin line of his mom's lips. But he could be a good friend. To keep the tears out of Grover's eyes, the tremble from his skin.

“I can be good,” he promised quietly, for Grover's ears only. “I promise I can be good.”

“I know,” Grover said. His cheek pressed against Percy's. “I believe you.”

-

The fountain nearby trickled quietly. The steady flow soothed the unease between Percy's shoulders. Still, he squeezed the pillow in his grip tighter to his chest as he watched Grover flit around the bunk closest to him. He snapped the final end of the sheet around the mattress. Hooves clopped quietly against the tile as he stepped back. His gaze flickered between Percy's bed and his own.

Then he grunted and began pushing it closer.

Percy hopped up. The discarded pillow slipped from his fingers and onto the floor. He nearly tripped over it trying to get to Grover's side. They pushed the other bunk over until it was pressed into Percy's.

While Grover unfurled his blanket, Percy stepped back. Awkwardness choked him. He didn't know what to do, what to say. So he picked the pillow off from the floor and pressed it into his chest. Grover didn't spare him many glances as he worked to make up the bed. Leaning across his bunk, he yanked Percy's blanket from between the seam where the two bed frames connected and began tying the edges of both blankets together. It was shoddy work, no way it wasn't coming apart just from them lying on the sheets, much less sleeping.

But Grover did it anyway.

As he shifted back, hooves scraping the floor, Percy held out the pillow. Grover dusted off the top then laid it against the headboard. With both hands on his hips, he admired his work. Percy stared at it too. It was nice. Joined bed. Grover within direct reach.

His palms itched.

“Are you scared of me?”

Grover twisted around. His brows furrowed, but the edges of his lips were quirked upwards. It was reminiscent of school - Percy stumbling over something he read and Grover, lost but amused, over why Percy thought it was a man-of-war that Theseus fought.

He was partially grateful Grover cut him off before he could finish what he actually thought the sentence was trying to say. It certainly wasn't fight.

“I mean,” Grover started and Percy's stomach drew back. Behind him the trickle of the fountain silenced. Like the water was holding its breath too. “I'm scared for other people, but I'm not scared of you.” He punched Percy's arm with a quiet smile. “I know you're not going to hurt me, Percy. That's why I stopped you.”

The fountain began to trickle again. “And that-” He faltered. The ghost Grover's touched goosed up his bicep and across his shoulder. “-that doesn't worry you?”

That you might have to stop me again went unspoken but Grover was always good at understanding Percy's unspoken words, at knowing his unspoken feelings - even the ones Percy wasn't even aware he felt.

He sighed. “It worries me. But not because it's you.” He shook his head. “And definitely not because I'm scared of you hurting me.”

His eyes scanted away, brows furrowing deeper. Then he relaxed into the bed. After teetering on his heels for a couple seconds, Percy joined him. He gripped the edge of his shorts so tight his palms burned. Grover reached over to stroke along the back of his hand.

He exhaled slowly and let go.

“You remember Pan?” Grover asked.

Percy paused. “The satyr god, right?”

“Yeah.” Grover pulled away to tug at his fingers. “He's been missing for a while. Ever since the industrial age took off. And no one knows where he is. It's the dream of every satyr to find him, so that nature can return to the way it was.”

“That your dream?”

He nodded solemnly. “You have to be a Protector first, before you can get your Searcher’s license. But I'm not like the others.” His gaze fell down. His hands sat in his lap, cupped around nothing but air. “I don't want him just so we can bring nature back to its peak.” He sighed. “We were a lot different when Pan was still around. More free. More wild. I want satyrs and nymphs - all of us to be us again!”

Percy leaned into him. “What's stopping you?”

Grover snorted. “People forgot. We were more than just Pan's disciples. We fought to protect the wild from mankind. We didn't just sit around waiting for him to tell us what to do. But nobody wants to do anything.” He scowled. “They think when Pan returns he'll fix it all and I-” He bit his lip, then shook his head. “The world has changed. And gods don't get involved like that. Not to the extent they want him to. It's not in their nature. But if he comes back then maybe…”

He faced Percy. His eyes were watery, darkening the already dark brown of his eyes into shots of black. The welled tears glistened ever so slightly. Like the night sky, free of pollution.

His lips wobbled into a gentle smile. “But that's why I'm not afraid. You’re like nature at its purest form - chaotic, wild, unburdened.”

Normally those words wouldn't hit Percy as compliments. Insults, degradation - things that would deflate him and make his mom frown. But Grover sounded so earnest, his heart swelled.

“You can't tell, but I can feel it.” He swung his arm over Percy's shoulders and tugged him in close. “Your demigod essence, this sense of the wild that I've been searching for my whole life.” He gestured loosely. “Even the Demeter kids don't have that. Their mom is all agriculture and farming and that's great and all, but it's not pure nature, it's not the wild.” He squeezed Percy's shoulder as best he could with one hand. “You remind me of home, Percy.”

The frog Percy hadn't noticed in his throat jumped out with a burst sob-laugh. He tried to tile away, but Grover just tugged him close, bringing around his other arm to keep Percy pinned. Nonetheless his hold was fairly loose, like Percy was a stray cat he didn't want scratching him if he felt like running.

Or like he knew that Percy was the ocean through and through, unwilling to be contained, wanting to flow wherever he saw fit.

Percy practically crawled into his lap, sniffling into Grover's shoulder. Warm hands stroked up and down his back. He laughed quietly - a half-distressed noise marrying the sound, but managed a breathy wheeze of, “You remind me of home too.”

Grover kissed the top of his head. For the first time since arriving, he shattered. All his twisted up emotions committed out in a tidal wave of tears and broken gasps. All the while Grover held him. As tight as Percy clung to him, he didn't complain. Just held on even tighter. Wetness from Grover's own tears smeared across Percy's skin.

Ever the empathetic. Like his mom.

Percy squeezed his eyes shut. “Please don't leave without saying goodbye,” he begged in a hollow, hoarse whisper.

“I won't,” Grover promised.

They held onto each other even as tears and cries faded away. Grover kept stroking his back with both hands. Percy continued to cling.

Shoulders shaking, Percy wound the fabric of Grover's shirt over his fingers. After a few minutes of toiling silence, he whispered. “I think I'm changing.” He pressed his forehead to Grover's collarbone. “I'm scared.” He pulled back and stared into Grover's eyes. “What do I do?”

“Be my best friend,” Grover said, like it was the simplest answer in the world. And as soon as the words fell off his tongue, it did. How silly was Percy not to think of it before? “My best friend is a good person, the best kind of wild.”

“I can do that,” Percy promised. “I swear, I can do that.”

“I know,” Grover said, squeezing Percy's cheek. His thumb swiped away at a still wet tear under Percy's eye. The stroke was soft, gentle. Kind. “I believe you.”

[narastories]

.

[qcomicsy]

Lately I've only been wishing to grab a comic about my favorite character and just have a genuinely good time reading it.

[thevioletcaptain]

activating focus beams via this tumblr post in an attempt to motivate myself to get through a decent portion of this week's to-do list before my vaccine booster makes me a zombie for 24 hours

just gonna throw my to-do list on here to get it out of my brain

incorporate the most recent round of feedback/notes from my classmates/instructor into the final draft of my star trek: strange new worlds spec script, which is due midnight on thursday ‎

finish the short horror script i've been tinkering with to hopefully submit to a screenwriting contest by tomorrow (technically the contest is still accepting submissions for another two weeks, but the early deadline is tomorrow night so i'd like to get it in by then!) ‎

brainstorm a couple of potential rough pilot ideas for a really fun series concept my friend-slash-old-writing-partner has asked me to work on with him and send them over by the weekend ‎

read and give notes on another friend's half hour pilot and another classmate's one hour spec

also once all of this is done i'll have about two weeks of nothing due, which means time to work on some fic and fan art! several things are like 🤏 this close to publishable so i've been dying to get to them.

[smile-files]

i continue to find ii3 baffling. why did they make it (this isn't to hate on the season, i'm genuinely curious)

[disarmd]

i love your in anticipation verse so much i’m so happy you added the oscar’s snippets i know you could give that story an all new dimension and i would love if you ever decided to write more of it 🩷

ahhh, thanks so much, nonnie. you guys are so kind to me about this verse, which is both appreciated and needed, tbh. i've got such a bad cold right now and i spent 12 hours in bed (minus the 40 minutes i was pacing my condo waiting for the new painkillers to kick in and save me from the fiery agony of my throat and sinuses), and the whole time i wasn't sleeping i was turning this story around in my head. honestly it's lucky i'm too sick to actually write or our guy Oscar would be going fucking through it. i probably shouldn't be making this post because one of the things i was thinking is that he could get sick 😂 i never want you to be thinking about me while you're reading something i've written, so just erase that from your memory.

the point is whine whine whine i feel wretched but i have mentally made great progress on writing that story in my head - if you consider making oscar sadder than anyone has ever been to be great progress.

[milkyberryjsk]

i graduated ^__^

[verdantglow]

Me two hours ago: I should go take a shower.

Also me: [rediscovers my smalletho playlist on Spotify & listens to it in its 1hr52min entirety while backreading the smalletho tag on tumblr for the first time in months & having So Many Feelings about these idiots instead]

Anyway. Time to go actually shower.

While listening to my smalletho mall au fic playlist, of course.

[psychicthepsychic-daily]

confirmation bias, and other fallacies

(Friday Night Funkin')

Words: 759

Summary:

Girlfriend's sick in bed after some (heavily implied) poor decisions she and Boyfriend made on a date. Psychic is left to tend to her and try to understand where she's coming from, when she says this is the boy in whose hands she'd put her life.

i did not mean for this to get so long oops- also i am indeed in the process of finishing the Aldryx birthday fic! i've just been super busy and hit with a bad case of writer's block! apologies for the delay and i'll be sure to get it out as soon as i can!

Psyfic taglist: @y010isaghost, @s0methingmoonlit, @flurriethefox, @hoodiehydra

Let me know if you'd like to be added to/removed from the taglist!

----------

"Sit up straight," Psychic cautions as he sets a tray of bread and tomato soup on the blanket between them, taking a seat on the edge of Girlfriend's bed and letting her disentangle herself from the sheets.

She sneezes. Sneezes again. "Thanks, Psyche," she smiles before sneezing a third time, and that somehow makes the last few hours looking after her worth it. Girlfriend reaches for the spoon and takes a slurp of the soup. "This is nice."

"That's good to hear," he says, tracing the stitching in her maroon comforter. "Next time, don't run the entire perimeter of Newgrounds immediately after swimming in a frozen lake." He can't stop a little bit of snark from entering his tone, even with her.

"It was an accident," Girlfriend mutters defensively. "I already told you that. And I made it out fine. Boyfriend was there to help me."

Boyfriend. Always Boyfriend was there and Boyfriend saved me and Boyfriend was so brave for my sake. Has she forgotten the eighteen years her parents, Psychic spent protecting her, teaching her to protect herself? Scorned, worthless, gone? She's lucky her parents aren't home to hear her.

"It still shouldn't have happened to begin with," Psychic narrows his eyes at her but keeps his tone calm. "And he may have been there this time, but what if someday something does happen and he's not? What if there's nothing he can do? You have to be more careful, Girlfriend. You have to be able to look out for yourself."

She scoffs, blowing a lock of hair out of her eyes and sniffing a little. Psychic gives her the tissue box. "I can," she grumbles, blowing her nose and dropping a wad of Kleenex into the bin by her bed. "I'm not helpless just because he's around to help me, Psychic. I'm just safer because of him. I can rely on him, that doesn't make me weak. I thought you would understand that..." She takes another, smaller sip of soup and stuffs a slice of bread in her mouth, avoiding his gaze. A small, hurt frown creases her face.

Guilt creeps up on Psychic again, frustratingly enough, where it never used to. It's not his place to lecture her.

I wasn't lecturing her, I was only expressing my concerns over her safety and his recklessness—

It's not his place.

That should be enough for him. Boyfriend was there and he wasn't, big deal. Girlfriend is safe, albeit with a fever and cold that she'll recover from overnight. She's a good kid. A strong kid.

She has someone to look out for her now, without the inherent judgement her family has, including him. Psychic's aware of that. Having been around since before her birth, there's no way his devotion hasn't distorted his own view of her. How to protect her. And everyone deserves someone to trust, outside of that echo chamber of assumptions and expectations.

Just because it's Boyfriend doesn't make that any less true. She's right, Psychic of all people should understand.

"I'm sorry." Girlfriend's always preferred for him to say it outright, not hide his feelings behind formalities and language her father would use. "I shouldn't doubt you. I do understand, Girlfriend. But please... remember to stay safe. Both of you. I'm glad things are getting better for you, but it's up to you to keep it that way."

She gives him a tentative grin. "It's okay, Psyche. Does that—" She sneezes. "Does that mean you called Boyfriend?"

Psychic rolls his eyes. "Of course I did." Boyfriend was out of his apartment and dashing across the city before Psychic had a chance to hang up. Possibly the only respectable thing that shrimp's ever done. "He's on his way. Finish your food, Girlfriend. I'll make you some tea."

When she's done, Psychic reaches out with his telekinesis and lifts her tray. "Get some rest," he encourages softly, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. Her forehead is still warm. Psychic lets his magic soothe some of her discomfort. "Your boyfriend will be here soon. I'll come back with your tea in a minute."

He switches off the ceiling light as he leaves but her bedside lamp continues to glow as she snuggles deeper within the covers. She's already asleep by the time he comes back.

Psychic doesn't wake her; the girl needs her rest. He leaves her tea on the nightstand to warm again later, and remains outside her room, resolute to keep her safe and comforted, no matter who he shares that role with now.