#Gosh this is a lot of words

[dykecory]

For requests,could you make jax bypass caine's swear filter?.

that's an actual swear word ig

[sharptoothed-gaze]

After a whole night thinking about the end of Chayanne and Lullah’s canon stories, and also watching a ton of animatics for Philza’s s4 hardcore world, I’ve come to a conclusion.

If hardcore has taught me anything, it’s that all stories must come to an end eventually.

However, it will always be more worth it to engage with these grand stories than to never at all. They can’t last forever, but the memories and joy earned along the way are entirely worth it. They create something unforgettable to smile back on.

It’s something I’ve learned from watching Philza’s hc adventure and continuing to love Technoblade’s videos and character. I can’t help but smile and be filled with wonder every time I see a drawing or animation that ties all the small moments of past narratives together.

Especially with Philza’s journey through hardcore. Losing a world is fucking devastating, but it makes so many opportunities. Even though there is a genuine risk of losing his world every time he logs in, the cc still continues to create incredible structures and his character continues to explore.

Honestly, Lullah and Chay’s admins must understand this so much more than me for being able to let an adventure rest. The circumstances might not be the best, but I’m glad they were able to say goodbye. I’m so fucking glad that there were laughs and smiles and tears. The future is bright and there is so much room to build up from here because of the work they’ve done.

Yes, I might be a bit sad, but now I’m also filled with wonder about the future to come. The Death Family will always have a place in my heart, and I know that the fan content is only gonna pop off from here! A chapter closed but another opened.

So yeah, a thank you to two of the ultimate crows! Thanks for allowing the rest of us to tag along and enjoy something so wonderful <3

[notasouleater]

Look At Me, Galatea

The client was an older woman. Old enough to be my mother, if I remembered her, only proven by the picture she gave me of her son, close to my age. I was the only one she'd want making the statue, she said, understandable, given the quality of my work. I talked her down on the price though, as much as she would let me. I'm a true bleeding heart I suppose. Though it was hardly my first obituary. Maybe the way she asked.

After she left, I got to work immediately. I tried sketching from the photo, but my hands itched. I was ready from the start, ready to sketch in the air, and almost without thinking I was taking clay and molding it into the man's likeness. Already perfect. A model of exactly the bust the woman wanted, ready to be pulled from stone. 

It wasn't him. 

I tried to model it again. Then again. Again and again until the sunrise found me surrounded by perfect imitations of his face.

They were all bullshit. I'm an artist, I know what a work wants, what a work needs. That wasn't it.

I called the client and told her I couldn't do it. She tried to talk, almost apologetic, but that wasn't what I was there for. I couldn't do what she asked for, but that was because what she asked for wasn't going to be right. I needed to know how much space she had so I knew what size to make the full-body.

She couldn't pay for that, but I knew as much already. That's why she came to me in the first place. I didn't care if the price didn't change, I cared about making the statue right.

We made another meeting, sat down together, and I sketched for her. She was hesitant, at first, but her confidence grew as she watched me, no doubt assured by my craft. It needed to look like when he was alive, not something posed, sculptural, holy. We circled on his quiet moments as she told them to me- dryly joking, sitting and not-so-quietly reading. A form took shape in graphite, details almost filling themselves in. A book held open face-down on his lap, his head tilted back on the seat in afternoon slumber. Peaceful.

She told me she hoped it helped me. I started work as soon as she was out the door.

I needed the right piece of marble, to begin with. Not something pearly and pure, that wasn't right. Not something with a bold vein in it either, not a statement that would pull view. That wasn't what he was like. Just... flown through with color. Soft but not quite smooth.

The seller seemed surprised at my choice of stone to take with me. They thought I was too vain to ever work with something even a little off color. Shows what they know about art.

It wasn't difficult after that, the process flowing easily under my hands. A day just for the broad shape, more to make a silhouette. I started on the parts of his body, mits turning to hands, head turning to the idea of a face.

This part was always strange, empty space in my home starting to be filled with the shape of another person. I would be startled as I turned around corners to find it, then remember he wasn't actually there. In a day or so I would be acclimated, easier to anticipate it when the statue was no longer new. Not able to surprise me anymore.

I started roughing in the details- eyes gently closed, lips just parted in sleep, fingers curling around the cover of a book. Like he was beginning to come back to life under my fingers. I could almost feel warmth against their tips.

I worked late into the night- unfortunate, but I've never been able to deny my brain when it decided it wants to work. It made me tired, shadows shifting in the corners of my vision. I felt almost watched in the small space, and even against my own wish to work the feeling grew until I forced myself to leave.

I'd been staring at the picture, at the statue, too long- the man's face staying in my eyes as an afterimage. I walked past photos on my walls, and had to stop and look again, sure I'd seen him standing in some near me. He wasn't in them, of course, it's not like I'd ever met the man. The pictures almost seemed empty now. I shook my head, dislodging his image firmly from my mind. The curse of passion for your work.

Soon his mother came to check in on the progress, but it felt like she fussed over me more than the statue. She asked if I was sleeping, eating enough. I always eat enough, I set it to alarms. Clocks don't forget.

"Are you sure? It's just- I thought they usually took longer than this to make."

"It just seems fast, the broad shape is the easiest part. Makes it seem like I've done more than I have. And I want to get it done."

I tried to get back to work after that. It felt different though, maybe her visit had thrown me. Something in the room was wrong, a problem with the thermostat probably, and it was too easy for my mind to stutter when my skin brushed against the statue and found it warm. Whatever was wrong with the thermostat was creating a pressure in the air too, like the feeling of a presence from the nights before.

It didn't feel entirely bad, though, not after I got over it. It unnerved me, initially, but I was still working easily. As the time stretched I could settle from the worry of my mind tricking me into ignoring the daydream. It was only natural I should feel less alone as the man emerged from the stone.

I got up, eventually, to get myself water from another room. As I did so, I passed my photos hung on the walls. They were different, but I had to stare at them. What was wrong? Surely they were the same?

Then a cold trickle ran down my spine. The same as before- the man I was carving, posed into them like he'd always been there, so naturally I hadn't even noticed, and I realized the atmosphere I'd been sitting in all night was not to be as easily dismissed as I had. Lured into complacency by my desire to carve, I missed the weight slowly crushing around my lungs. 

I retreated to cooler parts of the house, my mind settling as I did. There was no greater trick at play, of course not- my client must have been right, as loath as I was to admit it. I wasn't sleeping enough, clearly, spending so much time on the statue it was stuck in my brain. My desire for it to not take too much longer than the bust initially ordered pulled, but it wasn't worth this.

I didn't set an alarm for the morning, and pushed myself to bed. I could check the thermostat the next day, let sleep banish all hurt from my body. Some part of me worried, drifting off, of the emptiness my daydreams might leave behind. But I would not be mistreated in this manner. Even by my own tired brain.

The next day I let myself sleep in until the alarm for breakfast went off. I ate, I walked towards my studio, then remembered I was supposed to be resting. Boo. Lazing around is my favorite hobby, but I still like my job more. I would enjoy this though.

For the morning, at least. It was lovely taking the time to do nothing but lie on the couch, reading a play. Then lunch, and a nap, then when I woke I needed to do something. My space felt empty, a hole needing to be filled. I wandered around, trying to find anything to do that worked. Reading was too still, cooking too pointless for the time, cleaning too dull.

I almost gave up on staying in and left to let myself be drowned out by a crowd. But if I must fail I would not do so in such a way.

I drifted back to work. Perhaps it was inevitable, as only when I entered that room and had my tools back in my hand did the hole start to fade with the feeling of doing what I must. I carved.

The afternoon was thankfully cool, but as I went on I realized as the atmosphere slowly changed I'd forgotten to check the thermostat during the day. Heat radiated off the statue, and as it once again played tricks on my mind I figured I hadn't slept nearly as well as I had imagined.

I avoided working the skin, the heat easy to understand for its true cause when I was touching false folds instead of an imitation of a man. I spent a long while working his seat until I moved back to the clothes. As I worked them further from stone the form went from a rough trick to undeniable. He was almost next to me. He'd just been trapped in earth and I merely needed to finish setting him free.

The thought wouldn’t leave my mind as I tried to avoid the living parts and focus on the clothes, but there was only so much I could avoid brushing against his skin as I pulled forth the ends of his sleeves, his collar from stone.

It felt like the air was leaving the room entirely, and my blade kept faltering in my grasp. I tried to focus, but when I ran my hand over the skin I tried to sculpt it was not as smooth as it should've been. Even then, as much as I tried, I could not push myself to leave. I might emerge to rooms that felt horribly empty. I might see pictures that would push me spiraling further. I might return to find nothing but cold stone. I didn't want to be alone again.

My thoughts were too far gone from my body, and my hand slipped, blade striking the man I was holding. The sound echoed in my head as it splintered under my fingers, horrible bleached shards falling to the ground below. I stood, pushing back away from the broken bone on the floor, how could I have done that? He was barely back and I, I almost fell as I stumbled into my chair, landing against him as I did, and how could he catch me after I struck him? My chest was burning, is this how he felt when-

Moonlight shone on marble on the floor, leaching what little color it had. I hadn't noticed when it got so late.

I turned to the thing- it was, as always, lifeless. Of course it was, it had to be, to be a likeness of the man, but I had to lift my hand to his face, test the proof of his absence. I pressed it against the statue's cheek, and his eyes stared into mine, painfully blank. I wished he would blink. A terrible answer, sure, but at least a definite one. A better one. I wished I could be sure what direction the breeze over my fingers came from. I wished my hand felt cold.

I made a friend come visit me the next day.

"This seems faster than you usually finish."

"She came in expecting something that would've been done a lot faster. I want to make up time."

"Of course."

It was a lot easier working with her in the room with me. Especially with the stupid thermostat same as it was. I was using the time to get to detailing all the visible parts of the body I'd been avoiding before.

"It looks good," she said, walking around the statue. "Like- like he's here with us."

Laughable, when her presence was currently the thing distracting my mind from trying its best to think that was true.

"I had good reference," I said, gesturing towards the photo his mother had given me.

She picked it up, looking over the picture of his smiling face. Then her eyes turned back towards me, roving over the back of the statue between us.

"Is that all?" she asked.

"It shows him, doesn't it?"

Her voice took a teasing lilt, "you sure you needed even this?"

"Not any other way for me to know what his face looked like," I snorted. "I was a bit late to meet him."

She looked around my scattered sketches, all of him from different angles as I tried to get the pose down in that first meeting.

"Right," she said, voice faltering.

She walked back over to sit by me again, quieter.

"Does- does it feel different than other pieces you've worked on?"

"Why?"

"It's always hard to lose someone."

"It's not the first time I've carved a dead person. Unusual maybe."

She sighed, but I considered the sleeping face in front of me.

"Heavier though, than the other ones."

My friend followed my gaze, lingering on the resting eyes.

"He was young, wasn’t he?" she said. "Even for that line of work."

I moved down to working the hands. Cold.

"It was violent."

"Quick."

"It was violent."

She sighed. "Yeah.” Then again. “No one deserves that."

"Yes, well, that's what happens in a job like that."

I could hear my voice coming out clipped. The room felt weird without the presence of the preceding days. I didn't like how cold my work felt anymore.

"You don't-"

"What did he expect? I'm sure he did."

"You don't mean that."

"Why wouldn't I? He was supposed to be smart! He knew what he was getting into and this still happened."

The room went quiet. It felt empty.

"Will this... help?"

I was tired. 

"We'll find out when she comes for it."

I didn't sleep that night. My home was only ever big enough for one, but it felt empty now, without whatever presence faulty heating gave my mind. I didn't bother pretending to try and close my eyes. I was tired of feeling like I was missing something.

I just needed to see it through. All of this had to build to something, or what? I made it to my studio and even just walking in, even after the repairs I could feel the void practically pulling someone else in.

I didn't have to look down as my hands found my tools. He was almost there. Just a small chip, the barest scrape. It felt warm against my skin. It felt soft.

I took his hand. Tried to pull him with me, but his eyes didn't open. That wasn't fair. I was done. I poured over every detail, every inch, but there was nothing I could find that needed more. He'd been here, I knew it, I felt it, and even if I didn't recognize what he wanted I had to know.

I pulled again, tapped his face, pushed his shoulders. I couldn't- all those nights I'd been chased off by whatever presence was there and I just wanted it back. What did it want from me? I did all the work, it couldn't leave me alone now. I'd felt it.

I couldn't go back to an empty house. I couldn't go look at old photos terrified of what I might find. I needed to be vindicated. I needed to be right. I'd felt someone there.

The moonlight still shone only on bones.

Of course. He was gone and this stupid thing was only driving me insane.

I didn't think, hands moving under a power barely my own. I took my chisel, took hammer- drove it into his chest and my throat tore itself up as bone splintered around my fingers. It ran red. My hands were red.

Oh. That was how you looked when you died, wasn't it? Of course it was your heart that burst, put in front of everything else, even before your stupid head. You should've known better than to die.

My hands ached. They shook, red, dripping red. My lungs hurt. My face was wet. You should've known better than to die.

The client came to pick up the finished statue the next day. She stood for a long while just looking at it, eyes scanning up and down the smooth surfaces. Eyes damp at the corners. Finally she turned to me.

"I really can't- ...thank you. It looks just like him. Thank you. I hope this wasn't too difficult for you."

"Of course not. I was the one who suggested making it bigger anyways, and I'm used to working at this size."

She sighed, eyes turning to the statue again for a moment before coming back to me.

"And your hands? Are you sure that-"

"They’re just for blisters.” I waved her concern away. “A normal hazard of the job if you overwork yourself. Fine in a week."

Her eyes narrowed, gaze following layers of cloth around my fingers and palm and padding and up around my wrist. She opened her mouth, then paused, sighing again.

"Tell me if you have trouble keeping them steady. I'll find something to help. It's the least I can do."

I agreed. I didn't foresee ever having to do so.

I stayed to make sure the statue was transported properly into her house. It felt strange to see him seated somewhere else after how long he spent with me. My house was going to feel far too empty after this. Lonely. He looked right being there though. It was where he belonged.

The client told me to visit if I wanted, likely still worried about my hands. Then I left. I thought it might hurt to walk away. It didn't really matter though. He was always already gone.

[ennobaka]

Baby Alva and Astrid with their momma

[that-was-anticlimactic]

one of the worst feelings ever is wanting to write but your hands hurt too much or the words just don’t want to work so you just sit there staring at a half finished doc with tears in your eyes bc you want to write and you need to write but everything is telling you that you can’t

[iiryoku]

we will speak back on this as the "booping war of 2024" and then feel old years later.

[thatoneparrot]

OKAY HERES ALL THE [ALADDIN] CARDS I PULLED TODAY!!!

AS YOU PROBABLY KNOW, I’M MOST EXCITED ABOUT THE JAFAR CARDS,,,…I’VE BEEN TRYING TO PULL HIM FOR A WHILE NOW AND TODAY I WAS LUCKY!!!

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

I do genuinely like my neuroanatomy professor but I am gently shaking him by the shoulders in my mind. Sir you don’t have to vaguepost about me every time I startle. We both know. The whole class knows. “Well usually I like to startle you guys a bit- make sure you remember stuff- but some students get easily frightened…” YOU ONLY SAY THAT AFTER I DO IT. PLEASE STOP.

[itspileofgoodthings]

.

[sysig]

Just thinking about @10yrsy’s Things, y’know, casually (Patreon)

[stergeon]

Hey just wanted to say that your writing is soo good! Like, on many levels: conflicts, great characterizations and thought patterns, the whole show-don't-tell debacle, pacing, tension, and generally awesome wordsmithing! :) So huge thanks for sticking with it it!!

oh my gosh, thank you so much for the lovely compliments!!! really appreciate you reaching out, it means the world <3

[singsweetmelodies]

mini celebration time!! the 2023 kisses fic is now officially my longest (published) work for this fandom, coming in at a very tidy 42k words ❤️💙

[snowshinobi]

"there's no blame for how our love did slowly fade/and now that it's gone, it's like it wasn't there at all" says DCFC, like that's a bad thing. as if forgetting isn't a soothing balm to a battered mind. what exactly were you hoping for? the door to slam behind you? passionate proclamations? you want stress, my guy? you want broken hearts? a love that slowly fades is a love that glides past you, like the tail of a cat that has finished nudging you. it lets you process its passing gradually rather than dumping the feelings on you all at once. like, god. that sounds like a relief. it is a kindness to be left wanting. no open wounds to lick. just a heavy heart to cradle in your hands. and it wakes up feeling new. like there was no pain at all. how is this a bad thing, Deathcab. how is this not the best case scenario.

[mythvoiced]

-. and some more about jiang cheng, he really just does... not win. like, i mean, sure it doesn't get worse i guess, because at the very least the story gets some kind of resolution, but the story is a resolution for wei wuxian, jiang cheng is and remains a secondary character.

he doesn't have villain to unmask and a mystery to solve and a love interest to finally get together with.

i'm not insinuating he needs any of those things, but he also doesn't really get a lot, unless my memory betrays me, other than being 'forced' to realize that his vengeance towards wei wuxian is misguided and misplaced - even though it's completely understandable that he'd feel this way towards him at all, considering, WELL, IYKYK.

he has a future to build, that is true, a nephew to perhaps raise a little gentler as the story goes on, but his prospects aren't as dreamy as, again, wei wuxian's. and maybe jiang cheng doesn't need all of that to be happy, or at least content, or start on a proper path of healing, but isn't it still relatively maddening for him that wei wuxian yet again seems to be simply... more deserving than he is?

sure, that'd be an odd thing to hold onto all the way from his teen years, especially considering what wei wuxian is put through, but things do stick with you, you know?

jiang cheng is by no means fragile, okay, but... he's a good man too, at the end of the day, at the bottom of his heart. doesn't he deserve a lil tenderness 🥺 a little winding down 🥺 a little no more having to fulfill expectations or live according to what is needed in an heir, in a brother, in a figure of authority 🥺

[itlswhatltls]

OHHHHH ARMS

[age-of-moonknight]

Helloooo, now that vengeance of the moon knight has been announced for next week, who do you theorize might be the myterious moon knight?

Oooooh yes, a very exciting question and thanks for sending it my way! Unfortunately, however, I’m pretty awful at theorizing since I tend to just,,,,cruise along and let myself be surprised by whatever the creators have in store. As such, everything following this is the most non-credible material around and should in no way be considered seriously (sorry I can’t offer you anything more solid 😅). In no particular order:

All I’m saying is, the issue summaries we have so far have mentioned Hunter’s Moon, Tigra, and Soldier, but not Reese hmmmm. This was actually my leading theory the past couple months up until issue #30 but considering Reese’s work with the Midnight Mission, idk I kind of also want to see how she’d clash with a potentially more violent interloper mucking up Marc’s legacy. Also from what we’ve seen, this new character does NOT march Reese’s build and the “haven’t been mentioned yet” theory also applies to 8-Ball so yeah, unlikely hahaha

…Remember when Marc pretended to be Midnight Man in Moon Knight vol. 9/2021), #22? It would be SO hilarious and unserious if they made a big to-do of killing him off only to bring him back and say he faked his death, like, 6 months later….and you better believe I’m delusional enough to accept even that.

Another absolute crack theory, but wouldn’t it be funny if, after whatever the heck was going on with The Hand, Frank Castle tried Khonshu’s mantle on for size (sorry, I think this is my subconscious telling me I need to finally sit down and read in its entirety that run where Frank took the War Machine armor for a joy ride…also there was that one Secret Wars thing).

Honestly though? (This is something you can take a bit more seriously) I think I hope most that whoever this figure is will be a completely new character. Maybe it’s the dual edged weapons at the end of chains reminding me of how much I enjoyed All-New Ghost Rider and the new vigor that comic represented (to me at least), but yeah, I’m down for some surprises!