#Covid creative

[fairmerthefarmer]

Hadestown poster concept!!

I comPLETELY forgot about this, I think I made it for fun maybe right around graduating college, or sometime teetering on my college/PMDD/endo/newfound chronic pain burnout. (I think I discovered hadestown sometime in my second or third year and I’ve adored it since, might be my top musical. Definitely top 5)

It’s kind of oldish now but I think it’s still pretty good! I’ve gotta do more stuff like this!

[stcrmade-illusions]

Nobody talks about how long covid affects your hobbies (or maybe people do talk about it and I just haven’t seen it lol) but I’m trying so hard…I feel like the things I love to do are just really fucking hard.

I also have depression and I’m freaking the fuck out about what the next few years are gonna look like with that felon in office, so I know that also has something to do with it…

Being a creative is hard in general because we have self doubt, we get nervous about others seeing our work. We get blocked or burned out or just don’t have the time or motivation.

But there are times when I am inspired, I want to write, I want to edit, I want to practice drawing. I want to create something and I just…fucking can’t.

It pisses me off.

Not to be overly dramatic but…it honestly feels like I’m losing a part of myself. Writing and being a creative in general has helped me in soooo many ways.

I don’t know where I’d be without it.

[scribblesandink]

Me: *Actively has COVID*

My brain: "Hey, bitch. Let's crank out 2k words in a day"

Me: "But.... But I'm sick"

Brain: "And that's my fault how? "

Me: *Sobs*

[sanshofox]

So after the inprnt incident we can officially say that online selling options for artists to make some money is for naught atm right (hyberbolically speaking)?

It’s not just inprnt, it’s many other platforms also, like for example redbubble, patreon and many more. They either changed their terms of use which actually takes away more money from the artist or royally fuck up payment and/or withholding money.

Is there at least one option that I can use safely and works like inprnt? I just want to sell good quality prints in a passive way income (not me doing or managing the printing and shipping).

I am just so worried because inprnt was so far the only platform with the best artist income share.

[raineandsky]

#102

tw: abuse, threats, knives

The superhero barely sleeps anymore, but he can’t afford to. His mind is always haunted by one question: where has the hero gone?

His assistant lingers on the threshold to his office while he stares blankly at the table. She clears her throat when he shows no sign of acknowledging her. She holds a little envelope out to him when he glances up, his name written on the front in glittering cursive.

He reads the contents. Rereads. Looks to his assistant for answers. Receives none. Stares back down at the words on the little note in front of him.

“Well,” he says flatly, “I suppose I best go if we want the city to stay intact.”

-

The supervillain answers the door with a winning smile and a shocking amount of hospitality. 

“I’m so glad you made it,” he says brightly. He ushers the superhero into what can only be described as a mansion. Crime clearly pays well—or he likes to pretend it does. Who knows how he came into a house like this.

The supervillain sets the superhero down in an extravagant dining hall. Servants line the room, practically invisible in the shadows, almost as much of the furniture as the table and chairs in the middle of the room. Most of them have their eyes pointed to the floor.

The supervillain settles in the chair opposite and motions for one of the servants to step forward with a wine decanter. They pour it out agonisingly slowly, their focus honed in on the glass, before skirting around the table to do the same for the superhero.

The superhero startles. “Oh, there’s no need—”

“Nonsense!” the supervillain gestures for the servant to continue. “You’re my guest. Have a drink, please.”

The wine is poured. The servant steps back, their gaze flitting to the supervillain, and with the slightest nod of his head they retreat back into the shadows.

The superhero watches them go, catching the eye of one of the other servants standing on the outskirts of the room. It catches him off guard slightly—he could’ve sworn they were all staring at the floor—but after a moment to study their face he has to hold down a choked gasp.

That’s the hero. The hero he’s spent endless days searching for. The hero that disappeared off the face of the earth, who seemed to just cease to exist. The hero’s staring back at him like they’re equally stunned to see him here, their eyes wide and their jaw slack.

The quiet goes on too long. The supervillain twists in his chair to glance at whatever’s caught the superhero’s interest.

“Ah,” he says shortly. The single word seems to snap the hero out of it, their gaze immediately snapping back down to the ground. “Is my servant here bothering you?”

“You—” You invited me here on purpose. The superhero can’t think of words outraged enough. They’ve been here the whole time. “How dare you—”

“[Hero],” the supervillain says lightly. “Come here.”

The hero shares a worried glance with the servants next to them before slowly stepping towards him. They pause just behind his chair, their head bowed—out of fear or respect, it’s not obvious. “Sir?”

The villain holds his hand up to them expectantly. “Give me your hand.”

The hero spares a glance at the superhero. “B-But sir, our guest—”

“Your hand, [Hero].”

They hesitate, their breath uneven. Then they slowly, slowly put their hand in the supervillain’s.

The supervillain moves faster than the superhero can react. He slams their palm down against the table, his grip deathly tight on their wrist. A steak knife sits in his other hand, the tip poised over the back of the hero’s hand.

The superhero’s on his feet in an instant. The hero desperately tries to pull away, but the supervillain’s grip on them is vice-like.

“Now,” he says smoothly, “what have I said about manners?”

“[Supervillain],” the superhero tries.

“Haven’t I taught you anything?”

“I– I’m sorry.” It comes out of the hero’s mouth like a knee-jerk reaction, like it’s been said a million times before. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again—”

The supervillain twists the knife testily against their skin. Something of a strangled sob tears from the hero’s throat. “Staring is rude, [Hero].”

“I– I know, I’m so sorry—”

“[Supervillain],” the superhero snaps with all the authority he can muster. “Stop.”

“I deal with my servants how I please, [Superhero].” The supervillain’s gaze pulls up to him lazily.  “This is my domain, not yours.”

But he thankfully lets go of the hero. They pull back nervously fast, their hands cupped over each other protectively. The supervillain glances back at them as they attempt to meld back into the shadows. “Go downstairs, [Hero],” he says flatly. “We will discuss this incident later.”

The hero’s gaze snaps back to him like he just asked them to walk into hell itself. “Down– Downstairs?”

“Don’t make me repeat my instructions twice, [Hero]. You know this.”

Their eyes flit between the supervillain and the superhero for a moment. Then they dip into a short bow, and with a slightly choked “sir,” they practically bolt from the room.

A couple of the servants behind the supervillain exchange whispers and sorrowful glances.

“I must apologise,” the supervillain says with an innocent sigh. “I thought I’d trained my servants better than that. I assure you such behaviour will be dealt with.”

The superhero’s still on his feet. “Release them immediately.”

The supervillain idly swills the wine for a second. “Or what?”

“The agency will not stand for this.” The superhero clenches his fists at his sides. “I will not stand for this.”

“Well,” the supervillain drawls, “you can have them back when I’m dead.” The supervillain sets his glass on the table a little too hard. “This has been a wonderful evening, [Superhero]. Now get out.”

-

It takes 20 minutes to get back to the agency, and by then the superhero has a half-formed plan in his head and a burning cry for vengeance.

When he’s dead. So be it.

[blobbi-the-fish]

The Volcano

You wake up one morning only to find that you, as well as every other person on earth, has been teleported to the rim of an erupting volcano.

It's an impossibly big volcano, sure, but its not big enough for everyone. As more and more people wake up on the rim, people who may have been too close fall in. They die, instantly. Lava is spewing everywhere. It hits people. They die, instantly.

—

As everyone is freaking the fuck out, rightfully, a geologist grabs a megaphone and speaks into it for everyone to remain calm, and tells you they might have a way to fix this.

"there's a rocky path down the mountain." The geologist says. "It's not well worn, and it might be a hard climb, but if we all file down orderly, we might all make it."

You look down at the path. It's full of jagged rocks, twists and turns, but ultimately, survivable. Most people file down the path… but a few don't.

—

There are some that can't- People with disabilities whose mobility aids won't be able to carry them that far. Children and the elderly who just don't have the strength or skill to manage it

and there are some that won't. "It looks a bit hard," they say

There are some in-between, too- They volunteer to be sherpas, to lead groups down the mountain and then voluntarily walk back up again.

—

so you make your way down the mountain and the strangest thing happens. you live a few days as normal in your home, and then suddenly get teleported back up

rightfully angry, you yell at the geologist "What the fuck was that? You said this would work? How did this all even happen???"

The geologist just sorta grits their teeth and goes "shit. yeah we were afraid of this happening. Not enough people went down the mountain, and people kept falling in, which fueled the eruption. We're just going to have to try really hard to get everyone down this time." —

Airlifts start to come in for the people who can't leave the volcano on their own, but they're slow

The geologists try to convince the people who refused the climb to come with this time, but it seems like even more people are starting to join them

"We don't want to do the climb again," they whine. "It was hard enough the first time"

The geologist rubs their forehead. —"We can make it easier." The geologist proposes "easier for everyone to make the climb, and easier for everyone stuck up top to protect themselves from the lava"

And they do- they pave the path down the mountain so it becomes easy to climb for everyone

And again people walk down, and again they all wake up back on the mountain

—

"this is pointless," says someone. "It's hard to walk, the smoke is hurting my lungs," says another

The geologist struggles to refrain from mentioning how the smoke is worst at the top of the mountain.

"We'll give everyone hiking boots." Says the geologist. "They're specialized for walking this mountain path, and should get you down easier than whatever shoes you were wearing before"

—

Again they walk. Again they wake.

"My FEET hurt," complains someone

"Did you.. grab the right size?" asks the geologist

"NO >:(" Is the response

"are you… going to grab the right size?" pleads the geologist, holding up a custom fitted pair

"I DONT WANNA" says the person with sore feet, sitting down criss cross applesauce on the rim and then promptly falling into the fire after the ground crumbles beneath them

The geologist sighs.

—

"I bet you geologists caused this whole ordeal in the first place" pipes up the voice of a man who has never once attempted to climb the path- "what even is geology anyways… it sounds like wizardry to me"

"YEAH, VOLCANO WIZARDS" comes the voice of an equally annoying woman who has somehow set up a lawn chair

"Actually we have been trying to warn you about this exact thing happening for years." says the geologist

—

"Why don't you have a big volcano-proof shield yet already then??????" you ask

"Actually we've been working on one all this time and we think it's ready!" The geologist says, excitedly, handing you a personal fireproof shield. "Some of the disabled and elderly folk up here got to try them first because they needed them the most… but they're too heavy for the kids just yet, so if you can, try to keep them behind your shield as well"

"Bullshit" says another man through coughs of smoke. "You came up with those shields too quickly. They've gotta be shoddy and won't hold at all. That or they're made of pure lead and are unsafe to hold"

"Jesus fucking christ" says the geologist

—

You take your shield and head down the nicely paved mountain path in your nicely fitted hiking boots bc what else are you gonna do

to no one's surprise, you wind up back on top the next morning

—

It's been 2 years since the entire world first started waking up on the edge of a volcano

The activity has died down a bit- the lava level in the crater has lowered, and the flying chunks of flaming rock are easy to deal with with your shield

You gave up on walking down the mountain a long time ago.

—

Weary, a geologist walks up to you, holding a new pair of hiking boots. Yours wore down months ago

"Please," they beg. "Won't you walk down the mountain with us?"

This time, you sigh

"When are you going to learn to give it up? The volcano isn't that bad anymore- it's actually nice and toasty up where I'm sitting!" You claim

—

"It's too crowded," says the geologist. "Even if you can keep your balance…. it's almost always the disabled or elderly who are pushed in. They still matter."

"Do I look like I care?" you retort. "I cared for two years! I walked down that mountain for two. whole. years. Its HARD. and I don't want to do it anymore"

"We're still walking," they say. "We have to keep walking."

You turn away.

—

"Could you at least take this new shield? The one you're holding is kinda… burned up from the rocks and time."

"Fine."

—

it's been 4 years since the volcano became your new reality

"The volcano isn't real anymore. It stopped erupting years ago- I like it here on my mountaintop resort!" you tell the geologist, who has once again come to pester you

the geologist glances into the crater, very much still bubbling with lava and spewing out meteors. One pings off of your broken shield.

—

"You need a new one of those." The geologist says, the emotion having faded out of their voice from years of exasperation

"Eh…. I think I'll skip it this time. It honestly makes my arm sooooo tired to hold up all this time." you say

"even if a flying rock doesn't kill you it could take out your leg." Says the geologist, gesturing behind them.

They continue: "The number of disabled people on the volcano is higher than ever. the longer we stay up here, the worse it gets- they can't keep their balance like they used to, and some can't make it down the mountain on their own anymore."

—

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST WOULD YOU LEAVE ME ALONE?" You yell, exasperated "YOUVE BEEN BUGGING ME NONSTOP FOR 4 YEARS NOW. I DID MY JOB. I WALKED DOWN THE MOUNTAIN FOR ALMOST 2 YEARS. I GOT MY SHIELD. NOT EVERYONE IS PRIVELEGED WITH ENOUGH ENERGY TO KEEP MAKING THAT TREK, YOU KNOW"

—

your exasperated hand gestures knock a man in a wheelchair into the crater. who cares

"You all look stupid for still climbing, you know." you tell the geologist, and the group of hikers behind them. "Your hiking boots make you look dumb. Why even bother"

—

"Even if we keep being brought up the mountain, just us being on the trail itself helps the overpopulation of the rim. It matters more than ever to keep the eruption down. Please, it's actually a lovely view now- we've been planting trees, and even installed an escalator. You don't even need to walk… just put on the boots. Please"

You roll your eyes at them, disgusted

The geologist furrows their brow and turns off to lead the hiking expedition

—

Unrelated, you've been noticing you've been getting a lot more 3rd degree burns lately. You attribute it to being bad at cooking

—

This is about COVID. The pandemic is not over. Wear a mask.

[torchickentacos]

I hate it when my chronic illnesses are chronic and my disabilities are disabling and my seasonal affective disorder is seasonally affecting me

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #100

Brain Curds are lightly edited flash fiction - practically first drafts - posted daily and sometimes written with the express intention of being terrible… but, you know, in an endearing way. Now there are a hundred of them! Kind of a lot of pressure to make #100 special, huh? Here's to a hundred more... and then some.

Nearly fifty things you can do in one-hundred days:

Write every morning

Laugh

Drive to your appointments

Get that ‘check engine’ light looked at

Help your friends

Fall in love again

Cook dinner

Make a nice birthday gift for your fiance

Kiss for the final time, not knowing

Live

Mop the floors

Go to therapy on occasion

Sign up for life insurance, get denied

Survive

Cook dinner

Volunteer for a good cause

Spend too much money

Battle dysphoria

Get jealous

Fool your friends

Watch an eclipse

Fool yourself

Forget to claim your free scoop of ice cream

Become single

Cry at your twenty-fifth birthday party

Go to therapy, but not enough

Write every morning

See a concert

Try not to think about it

Have a stomach ache

Cook dinner again

Throw up

Finish making a film, sort of

Show it to ten people

Go see Rocky Horror again

Help your friends, but too much

Catch COVID

Cry alone in the darkness

Stagnate

Decay

Try to breathe

Try to sleep

Try to hold down a bite

Think about it, dammit

Get high

Cry some more

Try going outside again

Make some phone calls

Say goodbye from afar

Move on?

Stay tuned today as I reblog my ten favorite one-offs from the first hundred Brain Curds.

[glareandgrowl]

I had a bit of an epiphany...

A LOT of my OC sets (boyfs) match quite well with uh... the Ishimondo set. Ive got at least three more pairings that look so similar to Ishimondo its really funny.

The two guys are two of my OCs from story that will probably never come to light. (left- Elijah Vogel, right- Adler Eadon Hawke)

Theres plenty more examples. If ya'll'd care ta see em

[clotpole-art]

Morgana base sketch (final)

[doctahchang]

i am so sad at times because of the fact that almost everything i do, i do extremely slowly. one of the reasons why i couldn't keep up with an art school. and, like, i would finish the task and do it well, but i need so much time to get there. which seems like a horrible trait to have in the modern world

[redux-iterum]

I spent most of today thinking it was Saturday and becoming increasingly concerned something was wrong when the new chapter wasn’t posted 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️ anyway hope you’re doing well and I’m looking forward to tomorrow!! Loving everything about this so far 🥰

Honestly, I thought today was Saturday when I woke up too. I had to get up ruthlessly early and drive an hour in the dark and my immediate thought was, "Fuck, when am I going to be able to upd- oh. It's Friday. Whew."

Not to say I don't wish it was Saturday. I'm very excited about tomorrow's chapter.

[courseyoulovemeyoudontknowme]

Encanto (2021, Byron Howard, Jared Bush and Charise Castro Smith)

31/05/2024

[gingerly-writing]

okay so that was my longest (only) break from prompts in seven years but I'm BACK BABY LET'S GO

[raineandsky]

#98

“And lo! Here approaches my best knight,” the king announces to the jester as the knight squeezes through the door. The poor jester looks thankful to see her as he hurries out of the king’s gaze. “Come, show me your skill.”

The knight throws a few carefully angled swings for the king. He watches with a delighted expression, but she can see the soullessness in his eyes. Her stomach flips uncertainly.

“You are an excellent swordsman, knight,” he says flatly. “Now, tell me, why should I allow you to stay within my walls?”

The jester averts his gaze awkwardly. Is she about to get fired? “… Because I’m an excellent swordsman and your best knight,” she tries, and the king huffs in his telltale way of saying WRONG.

“Perhaps that was on me for being unspecific.” He picks up a wine glass from the golden table next to his throne, swirling it idly. “I hear you liaise with dragons.”

The knight’s attempt to keep her expression neutral fails miserably. The king watches with keen interest as her eyes widen and her mouth moves in an abysmal attempt to form some sort of defence. She’s acutely aware of the jester watching curiously too—whatever she says next will be the castle’s gossip for the next month. Maybe two if nothing of interest happens before then.

Well shit. Might as well fall into treason headfirst.

She reaches a hand into the front of her breastplate, earning a soft squeak from something inside. The king leans forward on his throne. The jester peers as close as he dares.

Her hand comes back with a short purple string laced around her fingers. Or she does at first glance, and closer inspection reveals her ribbon to be a tiny dragon, yawning and digging tiny claws into her fingers.

The king roars so loud the dragon startles. The knight and the jester don’t fare much better. “Beast!” he howls.

“Beast! Beast! Beast! Beast!” the room echoes back to them.

“You bring this creature within my walls?” he demands. “You slander my name—my rule—with your disregard to my kindness for you?”

“She’s harmless!” the knight cries over him. The dragon isn’t a fan of the racket, and is making a great effort to slip up her sleeve. “She looks after my finances.”

“Disgusting beast,” the king spits.

“The dragon,” the jester says quietly, valiantly ignoring the way the king’s stare snaps to him, “is your accountant?”

The knight fishes a coin from her pouch, gently tapping the dragon with its edge. Its gaze snaps to her gold, its past endeavour with her sleeve forgotten as it grapples for her coin. It twists its body around it excitedly, gnawing at the edge like a toddler, a quiet hum emitting from it as it does.

“That noise it is making,” the king shrieks, “it is going to attack!”

“No!” the knight shouts over him. “It’s like a cat—she’s purring. It means she’s happy.”

“Dragons do not purr,” the king retorts, but the dragon is undeniably making a noise that sounds remarkably like purring. The jester takes a cautious step closer.

The knight tucks her finger under her chin, giving it a hearty scratch. The dragon’s humming gets louder, her eyes closing blissfully at the touch.

“How does it… work?” the jester asks. The knight offers him a smile that she hopes conveys how grateful she is for his interest in the face of the king’s disgust.

“She takes my coins—my salary, my earnings, anything.” The knight adjusts her hand so the dragon sits more comfortably in her palm. She doesn’t seem to mind, too busy clamping her jaw around the gold to notice. “She keeps a hoard no one but her can find. I earned her trust, and whenever I need money she gives it to me.”

“She is a thief,” the king spits, but the rage is losing momentum in the face of such a cute little thing. The knight doesn’t miss how she’s suddenly not an ‘it’.

“I give her all the money she has. She’s just better at keeping money than most humans,” the knight says with a grin, “because she doesn’t spend it all in a tavern.”

The jester snorts. The king raises his eyebrows. Silence falls for a moment as they all watch the dragon get comfortable in the knight’s hand, her tiny body choking her coin, a claw wrapped around her thumb as she nestles in and closes her eyes.

The jester lets out a short “aww,” that’s louder than he probably intended.

“Tsch,” the king says. He leans back in his throne like he’s lost interest. “A beast is a beast. I am most displeased you were disloyal to my word, knight.”

“I apologise, your majesty,” the knight says. It’s all she can say, really. “I will fix things.”

“You… may keep the thing,” the king continues after a moment of intense deliberation. The knight attempts to not to look too surprised. The jester doesn’t even try. “But it is your accountant and nothing more. If I discover it torching my palace I will execute both it and you.”

“Accounting is what she’s best at, your majesty,” the knight says brightly. “You’ll never have to see her again.”

The king nods shortly, though his gaze is traitorously locked onto the purple ball in her hand. “I would not be adverse, knight,” the king says slowly, like he doesn’t quite want to, “if you felt it right to study. We did not know dragons purr, or like coin.”

“Your majesty?”

“Gather your resources and come back to me with knowledge of the beasts.” He waves a hand dismissively. “I will reconsider your treasonous actions if you can prove that your creature poses no threat to my rule or my people.”

A lot of questions are rattling through her brain. “Your majesty, what do—”

“That is all. Jester!” The king turns his attention away from her and back to the jester as he takes centrestage, looking a lot less stressed than before. He gives her a subtle nod and the lightest smile—a small gesture between the servants of the castle, a simple well done.

The knight leaves the hall with the king’s uproaring laughter following her. The dragon stays curled in her hand, and she runs her thumb over it carefully, the dragon’s body warm and prickly to the touch.

A knight to a scholar in one conversation. She doesn’t even know how to write.

[anderstrevelyan]

🕯️🕯️🕯️It's a writing day🕯️🕯️🕯️

Now that my covid fatigue has finally lifted: time to finish a chapter of my main WIP (I did 1,500 words yesterday, I'm so close!!)

Then to flesh out a couple of things for Gortash week (I think I'll have two little pieces? Maybe a third, we'll see what happens in the coming days)