#I can’t find a job… and the only way I’d be able to do art commissions is actual physical works because I suck at digital art

[gemglyph]

Hello everyone! Sorry for sort of disappearing. I’ve burned myself out and have received sort of upsetting medical news. Anyway, steadily working on Martyr. It’ll be out when I accomplish it.

I love and appreciate all of you

Thank you

[engeorged]

Aster's Maze

Follow up to Obi's Place, Santa’s Otto and The Sugarman’s House

Art by @badoobers

Words by @engeorged

I know it’s been over a year since I posted, but it’s been quite a journey for me. One I’m not even sure if I’m ready to talk about. The encounter with Obi changed me somehow and I’m not the same person I was. I can’t quite seem to settle anywhere for very long any more. I feel restless, and to be blunt, like I’m not quite fully present wherever I am.  My mind is always in a different place?

Let me go right back. By now, you’ve probably read about my encounter at Obi’s place. I’m not gonna lie, I was a wreck for a few days. It was like a hangover meets a sausage casing? The amount of food he’d packed in me took days to digest. I was swollen for 72 hours, not really able to do anything but sleep and go to the toilet. (I’ll spare you the details although I’m aware a few of you out there will want them you dirty bastards!!) I didn’t check my messages the whole time but after my last post, a lot of you had reached out to me. Turns out there’s quite a few of these guys around and they don’t fuck about! The pictures you all sent me were quite eye opening! (That's maybe for another post!)

The whole thing felt like a dream, but on reflection I realised it was a pretty good dream. I hate to admit it, but being able to eat that much food was quite a turn on. I tried for months to find him again and ask what he did to me. I’ve not been able to repeat it by myself, and trust me, I’ve tried. I can’t really even eat half of what he put into me. Every few weeks I would sit down in a restaurant or a buffet place and just block the afternoon out and eat as much as I could to see what would happen. Now I’m a big guy (and getting bigger!) and I could probably out eat most people if it came down to it but there’s just no way I can get as full as I did that morning. My belly is definitely increasing in size and capacity but still, without whatever magic he was using I can’t do it again. 

To cut a long story short, I ended up travelling. The few stories you sent me (that weren’t totally nuts) were fascinating, but from all over the world. I’ve been searching for trolls in Norway, piscies in the UK, dragons in china, tikoloshes in Africa. Nothing! Not a single bite. I was starting to believe that maybe it was a hallucination from being so over tired. Maybe the stripes on the road had hypnotised me as I drove or something. 

I’m currently living in Greece for a bit. I’ve pretty much run out and so I found a casual labour job on a building site in Greece. It’s a bit of a shit show to be honest,  but all I have to do is turn up and lay bricks for a few hours in the afternoon and I get paid! The extra bit of timber I’d put on means I break a sweat the second I get up, as even though it’s early autumn, here it’s still 24 degrees by midday! 

It was coming up to lunch time on the site when I started feeling a bit faint. I realised I’d not had anything to drink for a few hours and I was super dehydrated. I grabbed my water bottle and when lifted to my lips, only a few drips came out, so I had a scan of the area and saw a guy with a cart selling gyros and beers. Usually the street food was pretty good around here so I headed over, still wearing my tight high viz vest. As I got close to the stand I started to realise how hot the guy was selling them, now I’m newly ‘out’ and so I don’t still fully know what my type is but I can tell you reader, this guy was everyone’s type. He was stacked, his arms were like ripe watermelons and as I got close I realised how huge he was. I’ve told you I’m 6’5, but this guy towered over me. He must have been 7 feet easily. His hair was everywhere and he had this crazy medallion around his neck with a symbol on it I recognised from somewhere. 

Now, I know my story has ended up on some niche websites and blogs, so I know what you pervs are all waiting for. So here it is. His gut was potentially the hottest thing I have ever seen. It was huge. He was so tall it was practically oval. Firm and round and pushing against the buttons in his shirt. It was like he wasn’t even tempted to hide it. In fact, as I approached, he lifted his arms above his head to stretch which meant that there was a good three or four inches of furry dome poking out from underneath. He looked as stuffed as I was at Obi’s. As I got nearer I started to regret my decision to go over. I must have looked like an absolute state. I was wearing my battered work jeans and fluorescent jacket, covered in brick dust and sweat and I absolutely stank. A 280 lbs slab of man like me working in 30 degree heat is a recipe for funk, and I was dripping with it. He looked up and saw me so there was no going back, I committed and walked up trying to look cool. Something about him made me want to melt into a puddle. I said ‘Yasass’ in my best Greek accent and he replied with a bass filled ‘Hello, how can I help you’ in perfect English. His accent was vaguely British with a hint of Greek overlayed. The rumble of his voice made something shift inside me. I think I was in love. 

I ordered two beers and paid him. Lifting it to my lips, thirst took over and downed one on the spot. I didn’t really want to leave, I wanted to try and get his number or something. I downed the second beer and I could see it must have impressed him as he leant forward in his cart and offered me another. I ordered two and offered him one which he took. We stood chatting about the weather and what I was up to and as we chatted he started putting together a huge gyro full of amazing smelling meat. There was a hint of salad at the bottom but the thing was packed as tight as his shirt. He wrapped it up with his strong hands and offered it to me. I took it immediately and took a big bite, within minutes the thing had gone. It was the best tasting thing I’d ever had. When I finished I realised he’d just been watching me eat it, not saying anything. His dark eyes focussed on me making me feel very seen. He had very keen eyes that looked deep into my soul. (I know how pretentious that sounds, don't worry, but you’ll see I’m right in a minute!)

I jokingly said I could eat another one and before I’d finished my sentence he had one there in his large paw! I won’t bore you with the details because there will be a lot more later but suffice to say I ate 3 of his huge gyros. I was substantially full, my own belly was beginning to push out against my work clothes and I’m pretty sure I lost a button  I offered to pay but he wouldn’t take it. He just said he’d see me again. I went back to work on the site very full and very horny!

I stopped by for lunch every day for the next week and a half. In the evenings I discovered he owned a small but very cool restaurant bar selling the same food but with the addition of a whole selection of spirits and cocktails. It was a full two weeks before I plucked up the courage to ask him out. There was just something about him that drew me in. Reflecting back I don’t know if we actually spoke about much. Even now I know very little about him. All I remember is his huge belly, round and tight, every day staring at me. Perfection in a fursuit. I remember that he had a few piercings. The medallion round his neck had chains coming off it connecting to nipple piercings. He also had a heavy gold nose ring, which, if I wasn’t thinking with my dick, might have been a bit of a clue. I was looking out for whatever Obi was, not whatever he was. And is, I guess? 

On reflection, and with what I know now, he was strategically increasing my already substantial belly capacity for the game. (More on that later) Every meal, he would give me a little bit more food. A bag of stuffed vine leaves here, some baklava there, extra meat in the wrap, a special sauce, larger wraps. Before I knew it I was eating 6 of his gyros twice a day with whatever accompaniments he palmed off on me that day. Every evening I would spend bloated and swollen, nursing my aching stomach whilst thinking of Aster. (Oh I forgot, one thing I did get out of him was his name) I guess I should add that I didn’t twig what was happening in case that’s not obvious. I was bewitched by everything about him to the point where I didn’t realise he was testing me out for something much bigger. 

A few weeks in I had a penny drop moment, I’d just finished my 6th evening gyro and he was making me one more to finish me off. My belly was huge, packed with the supply of food he’d been encouraging me to eat. I was wearing a now painted-on shirt and I was standing in the street at 5pm obediently stuffing myself silly with his street food. I’d gone past full a few gyros ago and it was now simply pushing and stretching my stomach more and more. The feeling of the stretch (as some of you probably know) is exquisite. I’d experienced it fully with Obi and I’d been chasing that feeling all over the world to get to that place of total engorged capacity and it dawned on me suddenly I was there again. Something about that day made me realise I'd met another one of these creatures. Aster wasn’t human. 

I swallowed down my last bite and took the next one from his massive hairy hand. I looked at him properly for maybe the first time. Looking past my own lust and attraction and I saw that he wasn’t quite ‘right’. His hair was shaped in such a way that hair didn’t really grow. His side burns were much more than a side beard and that ring in his nose was huge because his nose was so large and flat. And his belly! No human belly would ever be that size and rounded shape when it was that big. It would be sagging down over his belt, not sitting proudly on top of it defying gravity. I started eating the food he’d made me and asked him outright. ‘Who are you?’ He looked me in the eye and said with a slightly crooked grin ‘Obi said you could eat.’ 

I stood back aghast. He was one of them. I had so many questions. But before I could ask any of them he started packing up his cart. I found myself rooted to the spot while he packed away. I literally couldn’t move. As he grabbed the handles he turned to me and put his large hand on top of my distended stomach and winked. And that’s when I saw it. The little purple twinkle in his eye. With that, he was gone and I was finally able to move. The fullness I was not noticing yet hit me and I nearly sat down on the pavement where I stood but I managed to pull myself together and make it back to the site where I did very little work. He’d fed me as much as Obi had done but without me noticing. And I let him! 

I could hardly wait for opening time at the restaurant that evening.  Still full from lunch,  I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to ask him out or just demand some answers. When I saw him behind the bar, cleaning a glass with a tea towel I knew what I wanted. I marched right up to the counter but before I had a chance to speak he pulled out a single purple rose which he handed me. As I looked at him in the low light, I realised all his confidence had fallen away and he was genuinely a little nervous. Turns out he’d fallen for me too. He ended up asking me on a date. Who knew a 7 foot tall Minotaur would be such a hopeless romantic. (Yeah I just dropped that in. I didn’t know how else to say it really! It is what it is?) He told me that he finished around midnight but that he had somewhere he wanted to take me and would that be alright. I agreed, obviously! And parked myself on a table by the window to wait for him. 

Even though the restaurant was pretty busy, he found time to be quite attentive. Every hour he brought me another rose and a plate of something to eat. By the time it was midnight I had a vase full of flowers and a belly full of Greek food! Bear in mind I was stuffed from lunch and I arrived at the restaurant at 6. So do the math to work out how full I currently am. That’s important for the rest of the story! As the final customers left I watched as he whipped round the place lifting the chairs and sweeping up as fast as he could. It was kind of cute to see how keen he was. When it was all done he explained to me that he wanted to take me somewhere that was special to him, somewhere he thought I would enjoy. He looked a little sheepish but I agreed. We walked through town (slowly I might add, I was basically round at this point) as he held my hand. Not many people can make me feel small but walking around holding this giant's hand was quite humbling. At this point I think my belly was bigger than his but he was still over half a foot taller than me. Being near him calmed my stomach too. It was like I was just pleasantly full when I was near him, not dangerously packed to bursting. We chatted a little bit but we mainly walked in silence, happy in each other's company.

We arrived at a sort of park on the edge of town. There were a few ruins we walked past but we ended up at the edge of what looked like a small cave. In any other setting I would have run a mile but he has been so tender with me I just felt super safe. In the moonlight, at the edge of the cave we stood looking into each other's eyes. He slowly leant in to kiss me and I let him. As he leant back I felt myself rooted to the spot again unable to move. He started walking backwards into the cave and as the dark consumed him he winked again and beckoned me to follow him. After a minute the effects of whatever it was wore off and I was able to slowly walk into the cave. After a few steps I discovered that  it was lit all along by torches and it started to become more of a corridor. There was no sign of Aster but I carried on into the maze. As I walked I felt a little rumble in my stomach. I brushed it off as just digestion starting and kept going. After a few turns it saw a few petals in the ground. The massive softie had left me a trail to follow. 

Eventually, I came across a small recess in the wall with a little table set into it and a candle. I sat down on one of the chairs and Aster emerged from out of the darkness with two heavy cloched plates. He sat down and put the plates in front of us. He pulled the cloches off to reveal a sizeable plate of oysters. I smiled and he smiled back. I found myself inexplicably hungry and went to take my first one, but he leant over and stopped me. He picked up a large oyster and lifted it to my lips. I smiled and opened my mouth and titled my head back. If I’m totally honest I’ve never eaten oysters before but I’d seen it in films. I knew I was supposed to swallow them whole so fortunately I didn’t make a tit of myself. I don’t know if you’ve had them before but I’m not gonna lie, they taste good but they are like swallowing snot! Being fed them was hot though! Knowing I had the full attention of this slab of man was really doing it for me! He fed me a few and then sat back and I did the same for him! Watching his heavy Adam's Apple bob up and down as he swallowed was a surprising new kink I discovered in that cave! 

Suffice to say, it was like time worked differently in that cave. We’d only been there a few minutes and there were a fair few oysters on each of our plates. Maybe 3 dozen each? They didn’t really take long to eat but it felt like we were there for hours. I wasn’t counting the oysters but by the time we’d cleared the plates, my belly had advanced quite a way. Like way more than a few dozen oysters would have done. It was still tight and round but it was a lot bigger and heavier. It appeared that my tank top had ripped at the edges and so I just took it off. Even though we were underground it wasn’t cold so I was happy in just my jeans. 

I looked at Aster and he had the biggest grin on his face. His own belly was beginning to blow out from our oyster binge. I could see even more of his substantial furry belly pushing out from his shirt. I wasn’t sure if he looked taller at that point? Everything about him was larger in some way and he was meatier and hairier too. (Yes every part of him was bigger. I won’t say more than that!) He was absentmindedly rubbing the underneath of his belly curve as he watched me readjust to my new bloated mass. His eyes were both kind and predatory at the same time. We stood there for a little while admiring one another until he winked and shimmered like Obi used to. With that he was gone and the chase was back on. I lumbered on further into the maze of tunnels, my swollen midsection slowing me down considerably. The path twisted and turned as I was led deeper in. 

I couldn’t tell you how long it was until I found him. At first, I began to hear running water and so, for want of any other clues, I followed the noise. The walls of the maze were beginning to look less constructed by human hands and more cave-like, I guess? Stone bricks giving way to actual stone. I even thought I saw a few flashes of gemstones here and there but I was more interested in my next meal. Even though I must have eaten a week's worth of food so far, I was still inexplicably hungry. I don’t know if I can describe how it felt. My insides felt packed full. Like totally solid. There was very little give to my belly. And yet I knew I wanted more. Actually I needed more. The stretched feeling I have when I’m around these guys is something I’ve never experienced before. 

Eventually, the water got louder and louder until I walked through a stone archway and found myself in a cavernous expanse. The sound of water turned out to be an underground waterfall, the water cascading down into a piercing blue lagoon. The ceiling was lit with some sort of glowing insects which were making a melodic rhythmic chirping sound. I searched around the expanse until I found him. He was sitting with his legs in the water next to a fire where he seemed to be grilling fish. It was the first time I’d seen his legs and they were indeed as you would imagine them to be. Covered in thick black hair. I couldn’t see his feet as they were in the water but I am guessing he didn’t have five toes at this point. It seemed that he was becoming more of his true self the closer we got to the centre. I made my way round and joined him sitting by the water. It was one of the most beautiful places I’d ever been. We sat there for a few moments in silence. Enjoying the beauty. I realised after a while that he was holding my hand.  He turned his attention to the fire and pulled out a perfectly grilled fish which he placed next to himself and he began to break off pieces of the succulent meat and began feeding it to me. The fish melted in my mouth. It was so succulent and tender. I ate the whole thing quickly and he brought a second fish over and put his hands back on the floor as a signal for me to feed him. I obliged, tenderly placing it into his mouth. We did this for a while until all the fish he was cooking had gone. He leant forward and I thought he was going to kiss me again but instead he plunged his hand into the water and pulled out more fish. I’m no expert but I know one of them was a Salmon, and a pretty big one at that. And I think there was a rainbow trout and something else sort of blue? We carried on eating and cooking and eating and cooking for hours. The time weirdness means I have no idea how long we were there or how many I ate at this point, but looking at the both of us we were both much bigger. I don’t know if it’s part of the atmosphere or I genuinely ate that much but there it was.  My own belly was enormous. Way bigger than I had been in the diner. His gut was spectacular. Round and hairy and now totally free from his shirt. Bear in mind he was nearly 8 feet at this point.

He reached over and tenderly began to massage my own swollen stomach. His hands, surprisingly gentle, but firm. I closed my eyes and relaxed and basically let him do what he wanted to me. All of my senses seemed to be heightened, every little touch was like a wave of ecstasy flowing across my skin. His smell was heady, strong and potent and filling my nostrils. Eventually, I realised he’d gone but I stayed there for a little while longer. Partly because it was so beautiful but also partly because I could hardly move. 

I pulled myself to my feet, hauling my cantilevered belly up. It was still self supporting and jutting straight out from me into the air. I wished there was a mirror somewhere so I could have seen it properly. I saw an opening in the wall near the waterfall so I followed it through into a darker and more narrow part of the maze. The walls were closer than before and there were a few parts where I was worried I might not get through with my newly ballooned gut. After a while I started to smell the aromatic smell of cooking pork which made me instantly hungry again. I followed the smell and found three doors with a riddle written above it. I can’t remember the riddle but it was something about liars and guessing the way. You can probably guess that I’m not the smartest guy, I’m not dumb, but when it comes to stuff like riddles I’m out. My belly was rumbling loud at this point too so I was distracted. I decided to just listen at each of the doors. Door one I could hear a whistling noise which I reckoned was some sort of drop. Door two was a distinct growling snore. Although Aster was super stuffed I was pretty sure it wasn’t him asleep, and having met some of these guys I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a cute teddy bear behind there! I approached door three and had a listen. I could just about hear a sizzling sound and with the smell of pork I couldn’t handle it so I threw the door open. I wasn’t disappointed! 

The room was a small stone cell with a fire pit sunk in the bottom. On top of it was a decently sized pig on a spit. I couldn’t see Aster so I stepped in gingerly. The door closed behind me and as I turned it dissolved into the wall. There was no way out. I stepped into the room and looked into the shadows at the edges.  And there he was, taller than ever. As he stepped out into the light of the fire I could see he’d changed more. The first thing I noticed were the horns that had now sprouted from the top of his head. They weren’t massive but they were slightly curved and protruding from his thicker hair. The hair wasn’t just thicker on his head either. He’d now taken off his shirt and I could see the extent of it. He was pretty much covered in thick black hair all over his arms and sides. Virtually the only skin visible was across his bloated sphere of a belly. And that had a decent covering all along the bottom of the curve stretching up to a thick happy trail that snaked up to his hairy pierced pecs. The thick gold chain connects to his medallion. 

He spoke with a deep gravelly voice that I could literally feel in my feet. He told me under no circumstances was there to be any pork left before we left this place. Under any other situation I would have laughed. The pig had to be 200 lbs of meat. That would literally have taken any normal person a few weeks to eat. But here, with him, I knew right there that we would do it. I was apprehensive to think about how much my stomach would distend after that but I knew that whatever this place was it would be ok. I walked up to him and put my hands firmly on the sides of his thick belly and looked up. He looked down at me and bent his head to kiss me on the lips again. I smiled and sighed with contentment. Something special was about to happen. 

He pulled back and handed me a sharp knife, and took out one of his own and cut a slab of meat. The juices were rubbing down his arm. He pulled off the crackling and greedily began to eat it, crunching and swallowing it down. He offered me the meat and I eagerly opened my mouth to receive it. It tasted even better than it smelt and within minutes the whole slab had disappeared into me. We continued to feed one another the pork for a while, taking it in turns to slice off large chunks of flesh and sharing the delicious meat. We were soon covered in the stuff, our bellies continuing their rapid expansions. As we progressed, instead of slowing down we began to speed up. We even abandoned the knives and took to simply ripping off our next portions and guzzling down our haul. He fed me and I fed him and we ate ourselves. The boundaries of reality slipped away as we gorged on the meal together. (Yes I know that sounded a bit twatty but that’s how it felt. How many pigs have you shared with a fucking Minotaur?)

We didn’t take any breaks in our gluttony, the pig simply ended up inside both of us. I’d guess Aster ate more, simply because he is a good few feet taller than me but I didn’t notice him actually eating more. By the time the pig was reduced to bones we were both insanely swollen. My own gut was packed so big I couldn’t see anything else when I looked down. The skin tightly stretched over the vast quality of food it held inside itself. If I thought for a second about how much food I contained I’m not sure my brain could handle it. I looked like someone had slipped an air compressor up my arse and turned it on for a good half an hour. Physics had to be different in there because there was no way I’d have been able to stand up without some supernatural help. Looking at Aster, he was the same. Comically swollen, his huge abdomen surrounded by a sea of hair. The only difference between us is that you could still see some of his muscle definition.  The power and strength he contained was tangible when you looked at his animal-like frame. 

Covered in grease and bits of food we sat back admiring each other's new size. I wanna keep the story a touch modest, but he was clearly aroused by our efforts. I won’t go into details because I never kiss and tell, but fuck me he was a big boy! I’m glad there was magic in the site because after what we did next I could have ended up in hospital! 

After we had, erm, cuddled, we lay back with our heads next to one another. Our engorged stomachs stuck high into the air, solid and packed with food, unyielding in their size and volume. We stayed for a period of time and chatted about our lives. Aster clearly wasn’t wanting this to be a one off encounter. He was surprisingly affectionate and romantic for a half man half bull. He wanted to know all about me and my life and what my plans for the future were. It was such a tender moment I could have stayed there forever but Aster had one more plan up his sleeve. He pulled himself up easily and offered me a hand to help me up. I just about managed to get to my feet, helped by his superhuman strength I assume! Kissing me again he led me by the hand into the shadows where we found a new door. Fortunately, it was a double door as neither of us would have fit through anything smaller at this stage. We walked into a vast cavernous space. I didn’t think it was possible but it was even more beautiful than the underwater lagoon where we ate the fish. The glowing insects were back and this time other glowing creatures joined them. Small colourful lizards darted from rock to rock making patterns in the water that filled half the floor. Several smaller waterfalls fed this one, each framed by cascades of glowing plants with brightly shining flowers falling down.  Alongside the water was a long banqueting table covered with food. There were golden bowls and plates full of oversized fruits and bread. Huge slabs of roasted meats and wheels of cheese. At the end there appeared a large ornately decorated cornucopia which seemed to be the source of the food. Aster led me to the table and sat us both down in large oversized thrones. We’d made it to the centre of the labyrinth!

As we sat down, our swollen bellies resting on our legs I realised he had plans to carry on eating. Whatever magic was present meant I definitely felt hungry but there was no way I could physically move to get the food. I was practically pinned down underneath the sheer ridiculous size of my own belly. I was about to say this to Aster when I heard something move in the water. I looked across to see six men emerge from the water. I say men, we both know they weren’t that. If I had to guess I would say they were some sort of water nymphs? They had a pale bluey green tinge to their skin which had a faint shimmer to it as well. They were lithe and incredibly beautiful, their muscles and sinews visible underneath their skin. Their tight shorts left very little to the imagination and their eyes looked as hungry as I felt. They were here to feed us. 

I don’t know whether we were there for a few days or weeks or months. The food from the cornucopia kept coming and we kept eating. Non stop gorging, all enabled by the blue dudes. Their dexterous long fingers feeding us food and massaging our swelling bellies. We both ended up the size of trucks, our inhumanly swollen bellies stretching way past what was physically or morally possible. 

At some point we were done and we were pushed or rolled to the edge of the water. I slipped in and sank heavily to the bottom. Whether I was magically able to breathe underwater or whether I somehow didn’t need to breathe, I’m not sure, but Aster and I were able to move freely under the water. We swam for a while through caverns and caves, snaking away from the maze. When we surfaced we found ourselves on a small island just off the coast of the town. Away from the magical influence of the labyrinth, Aster was back to his more human form and his belly was vastly reduced but still clearly swollen. I was the same, my belly was huge, but it at least was obeying the laws of physics. Again, I don’t want to make the story any more r-rated than it needs to be so let’s say we spent some time with each other there. We needed some time to digest and recover as well. 

Friends, I don’t know whether what happened was a dream or some sort of vision, but I do know I’ve gained 50lbs in a few days. I have a very definite and prominent ball belly now, which I’m not unhappy about. I also have a new boyfriend. Unlike Obi, Aster was happy to stick around, so I do know that something happened. I don’t really want to ask too many questions from Aster because I don’t really mind if it was real or not. I know he’s here and I know we ate a shit ton of food and I know he’s not going anywhere

For the rest of my stories click here

[theendorisit]

I want to talk about some fun stuff I have had knocking around my head regarding the Magnus archives 

Note: is it Canon? I don’t know and I don’t care. @jonnywaistcoat gave us a bunch of fun toys to play with. I wanna play with them. I am not gonna tell anyone if their opinions on Magnus are right or wrong because it doesn’t matter! it’s a story. It’s fiction. It doesn’t matter if you picture white Archivist, black Archivist, asian Archivist - that’s how we end up with fun stuff like mermaid Tim! Imagine everything, and anything - it doesn’t matter, and that’s the fun of it! Also, I am keenly aware I am (checks watch) 8 years late to this fandom and I may be spouting stuff long since discussed, so forgive me if I am getting excited discovering long trodden ground.

I digress. So. One of the many things I love about Magnus is the fun and very clear metaphors that are used to describe the entities/ fears and what’s going on in the story. One of my favourites is the colour wheel theory. During the show I would get confused between the different entities particularly the stranger and the spiral but if the entities are like colours then this makes perfect sense: they do bleed into each other. So I wanted to try and transcribe these entities onto colours not thinking so much about which particular colour I think they ought to be, but how they complement or clash with each other. Disclaimer, not an artist. At all. I don’t know if I’ll do a good job - but that’s not really what I wanna talk about. 

Death/Terminus/The End isn’t a colour. Death is black-and-white. And death isn’t like any of the others.

This is just to say, that the way I read it - death, as an entity, is treated differently.

Jonny himself said in calls and livestreams that death was actually his main fear, maybe still is? So that might lend itself to different considerations.

In TMA, death is described as the fear of death, dying and nonexistence and all of that cosmological shit that most of us feel. However, TMA stories of death also include the opposite fear which is the fear of not being able to die. This is equivalent to the Eye finding someone who is afraid of being watched and putting them in a box, where no one can ever see them again.  The fact that this person in the pyramid can’t die and wants to, the fact the reapers, in escaping death achieve basic immortality - and often are not so sure they like it - this would be a very weird way to create a fear of death, by creating an apparent desire for it! 

So I think within the universe, this fear is special because it encapsulates itself and its opposite - whereas the other fears have distinct opposites which are separate entities (buried and vast, eye and dark). Not only that, but as season 5 showed us, there are fears that can combine and match with each other, and there’s no fear that death DOESN’T complement!  Like yes, actual death will stop fear, but a healthy dose of the fear of dying will go with everything. So in the colour wheel theory, I say fear of death is black and creates shades with other colours, and fear of not-death is white and creates tints (I just really like this metaphor!).

I’d love to make anthropomorphic art of the entities as individuals, and groups of individuals, based on matching colours. Example - Death, The Buried, The Corruption all work together as a buried alive fear. Unfortunately my fine art skills are dismal, so I’ll let more talented people have a go if they like this idea. I get why I haven’t seen so much of this, as the avatars kind of do this anthropomorphism, but death itself as a concept has been characterised for thousands of years (I am a big fan of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman’s versions!), and we have 4 (+1?) horsemen of the apocalypse bringing war and pestilence into humanoid form so I reckon it could be pretty interesting how people envision the entities. Personally I imagine the vast like Junji Ito’s Spiral-faced girl (she’ll pull you in!).

Anyway, that’s my perspective on blending fears like colours, and why Death really isn’t like any of the others.

[jaztice]

Avoiding the Locked Door Dilemma, a.k.a. TTRPG Advice That Nobody Really Asked For

So, if you’ve played a TTRPG before, you’ve probably come across the following problem. Someone is attempting a task (say, opening a locked door) that, if not completed, will bring the story to a screeching halt. The momentum of the game hinges on a single die roll. Success? Your story continues without issue. Failure? The path ahead is closed to you, and to continue, you must pick your way backwards and find another way forward.

It’s pretty unsatisfying for players when they try to do something, fail, and then… nothing else really happens. As GMs, how can we avoid this situation arising?

I’ll tell you how: STOP ROLLING FOR EVERY SINGLE ACTION!

Or more politely put: I’d suggest you consider all the elements of a situation before calling for a roll to be made.

What I tend to do (and this may work for you too, or it may not, this is an opinion piece so whatever, grain of salt etc etc) is consider the following three things: how much TIME they have, the TOOLS at their disposal, and their TRAINING (or talent, or whatever) with what they want to do. Here’s how it works.

Let’s say your player is trying to get through a locked door and has decided to pick the lock. If they have 1) the training and/or talent to pick locks, 2) the right tools at their disposal, and 3) plenty of time, DON’T MAKE THEM ROLL. Just let them do their thing and continue on with the story.

Likewise, if the player has decided to pick the lock and has NO training or talent with that ability, NO tools to do it, and NO time to figure out how to do it, DON’T MAKE THEM ROLL. Just automatically fail them or say they straight up can’t do it. Yes, you can do that. Saying no is an important skill, GMs. Learn it.

But when, might you be asking, DO you ask the players to roll? Well, when they only have SOME of those three things! The more of the things they have, the easier their roll should be.

Let’s say your player trying to get through a locked door has the training/talent AND the tools to do so, but not the time. A guard is rounding the corner and will see them if they can’t pick the lock fast enough. NOW you make them roll, because there are stakes! There’s not only a condition for success, but also for failure. If this player fails, they get spotted by the guard. Having conditions for BOTH success and failure moves the story forward and keeps things engaging.

Similarity, if a player doesn’t have the training/talent to pick locks but DOES have the tools and plenty of time, have them make a roll as well! The failure condition, however, should be appropriate to the situation. If they fail, maybe the lock picks break inside the door with their attempt, or they waste valuable time and now they can hear someone in the hallway heading towards the room they’re in. If possible, make the failure conditions clear BEFORE rolling, or at least allude to them. If someone doesn’t want to risk it, they should be able to back out beforehand.

The same thing applies if your player only has one of the three, though the stakes and difficulty of the roll will likely be much higher. If a player skilled with lock picking has no tools and very little time, they probably won’t be able to pick the lock. BUT… they might be able to hide in the room so they aren’t seen. Be sure to make it clear to the player that their suggested approach to the situation likely won’t fail or is outright impossible. That way, they can understand the appropriate risks involved and make an informed decision.

And this doesn’t just apply to locked doors! If your players are at a fancy gala and want to seduce one of the nobles, think of time, training, and tools! Is this noble popular or busy? Their time is probably limited, and so is the seduction window of opportunity. Is your player wearing fine and well-fitted clothes? Then they have the right tools for the job! Is your player well trained in the art of seduction and manipulation? Maybe, maybe not. Whether or not you call for a roll should always be relative to the situation at hand, but make sure there are always stakes for success AND failure.

In summary, stop making your players roll for every little thing. Consider time, tools, and training. Make rolls MATTER.

Happy gaming!

[rewordthis]

The struggles of art, are not for everyone.

It’s really not, indeed.

You have to like the process first and foremost.

If when putting the tip of the pencil down onto paper your main thoughts are how you’re bad, how you won’t have any progress, or hope you’ll be as good as those famous artists you follow on here or Twitter, then you’re really doing it wrong.

I’ve been drawing for forever and I still don’t seem to make anything better than before but having an old drawing around always puts things into perspective. I draw because it gives me peace of mind. If it just gives you anxiety then sure, it’s not for you.

And in the end, what I love the most about it is the sensation of my pencil-tip scratching that blank void that a sheet of paper is. Not the prospect of earning likes, a following, or money from it. I have tons of art that’ll never see the light of day for many reasons, that I’m so hang up on the fact that I made it. I was in my best condition when I made those pieces, in the right headspace, I was whole. The muses guided my hands these times, God smiled down on me.

What can I say? I’m a girl of simple things.

But the whole debate about whether AI is a medium for creation or easy theft, has soured my mood.

I do NOT consider AI art when its main ‘reference’ is straight up stealing and plagiarising someone’s sweat and tears. Before feeding it your favourite artist’s (or writer’s) work to mince and chew it up like it’s nothing in order to vomit a halfassed attempt at creation on your part remember this, the artists and writers the works of you used, are real people. They breathe, they eat, they cry. They pour TIME into their works. Time that you do NOT respect. They put feelings into their works. Feelings that you do NOT respect. For some of them, it’s also their main income. Income that you DEVALUE by stealing what is considered a unique trait of their trade!

You will NEVER learn anything nor get better at anything other than stealing that way. Because you haven’t known the value of hard work. The value of putting a chip of your soul into what you make. The value of living inside every work you’ve ever CREATED. You never lost sleep, food, or a piece of your sanity trying to make something from scratch. Trying to make it work. Trying to give birth to something unique.

What pitiful existences really, are those who can’t value someone else’s soul enough to respect it…

Anyway… this is getting heavy for me so I’m not going to rant over this anymore. I just want to say that I’m going to release some basic everyday steps for those who really want to learn drawing to follow on their own. Art takes time. Great writing takes time. It also takes for someone to be happy each time for what they were capable of creating.

That said, let me be clear that these mini exercises aren’t gonna clinch you a job at mappa, nor are they going to teach you proportions or whatever else those tutorials promise you, they’re specific to making you understand how 3D and observation works in order for you to be able to pick the elements you need every time you make a new piece. That’s all!

Progress isn’t jumping from 3yo art to fucking Rembrandt. It’ll suck ass before it even looks remotely decent!

Make sure to have that☝️printed and posted on your wall. That’s an order! *flexes whip*

Ok, I’m kidding, but seriously that’s your only motto from now on if you want to get better.

And now let’s prepare the ground for your exercises.

What you’ll need first is either a normal pencil or a 2mm one. No 0,5’s or whatever… in general NO mechanical pencils. Personally I’d recommend starting with a wooden pencil, though.

A good eraser that doesn’t smudge. It doesn’t matter what colour or brand as long as it erases the graphite well and without too much mess. Remember, NO SMUGES! *Forgot to say, a charcoal eraser will be a good friend, if it’s affordable. (Sorry for forgetting that.)

Now, hardness:

Find your typical hand writing pressure in the table below.

Generally the harder you press, the more difficult to erase. So bigger pressure (aka black marks, scratches etc) is 5.

5 4 3 2 1

2H H HB B 2B

How it works:

If you’re 3 you’ll need:

H: tracing

HB: outline

2B: shading

If you’re a 5 you’ll need:

2H: tracing

H or HB: outline

B: shading

If you’re 1 you’ll need:

HB: tracing

HB or B: outline

2B: shading

If you are 2 or 4 you’ll have to go through trial and error. Sorry. Just keep in mind that depending on where you lean; extremes or average (3), you follow the guidelines above.

For example, I am a hard 5 (if not 5,5 lol) so at some point I resorted working with just 2H and HB. I only ever use B when I need something to be black— which admittedly happens rarely. It’s only a few times you’ll need to depict actual black.

> You generally need a tracing pencil that won’t leave too dark visible marks behind when erased. People 5 and 4 will have to be a little careful though and not scratch the paper but that will come with practice.

> Your outline has to be enough to ‘stain’ the paper so you won’t lose your main sketch. It’s also correction time. Yey!

> Your shading shouldn’t smudge because you’re going to use layers. Yes. Even in traditional art you darken in layers, typically in as light moves as possible and in varying angles until you get the shade you want but that’s for later.

I personally don’t have any specific papers to propose to you (bitch you’re using basic photo-printing A4 papers wth lol). You’ll just need a hard surface, especially my 5 and 4 palls.

Ok, that’s it for today, folks.

Let me also slap a disclaimer here: I am NOT a professional art tutor. I just love art. 🤗

[writeouswriter]

Winter Reading/Arting/Writing Tag

Thanks so much for the tag, @ink-bunny-blue! (X)

Describe one creative WIP project you plan on working on over winter

I always “plan on” working on a thousand things and then do none of them 😭 because I haven’t been in so much a “creative slump” as I’ve been in an iron gripped chokehold by hyperfixation for the last year, so on one hand I’ve been unable to focus on any of my original writing because it’s not about The Interest™️, and then on the other hand I haven’t even been able to write anything about The Interest™️ because the fixation on it is so strong, everything I write for it has to be Perfect™️ (and nothing’s ever perfect, you know). On that note, if my ability to write returns from the war and I ever get a day off from this purgatory of a job, I really really really want to work on this comparative essay about The Interest™️ involving analyzing parallels to a certain classic play, and looking into various aspects of the tragicomic structure and themes of identity and change. Also, God willing, I’d love to get one fic done, just one, please please please, I have a few winter-y or Christmas-y ones I’m dying to get my brain to sign off on despite my lack of free time, come on, brain, yip yip.

Art, same thing, something Christmas-y for The Interest™️, also I gotta finish some zine pieces.

As for original writing, would love to work on my untitled WIP about an astrobiologist and team of other assorted scientists brought in by a somewhat questionable facility to study an extraterrestrial artefact and being affected strangely by it, but it’s a bit up in the air plot wise. Would love to answer asks about it though if anyone is interested 😭

Recommend a book

Definitely mentioned it before but:

Legion: The Many Lives of Stephen Leeds by Brandon Sanderson

“Stephen Leeds is perfectly sane. It's his hallucinations who are mad.”

This is like speculative fiction/thriller/mystery that’s hard to explain, but perfect balance of humour and sincerity, sci-fi and reality, and character and plot, probably my favourite standalone novel ever (well it’s really 3 novellas that somewhat connect and come together to form a novel, but either way).

Survive the Night by Riley Sager

Charlie Jordan is being driven across the country by a serial killer. Maybe.

This is a thriller book set in the 90s that as its title suggests, takes place over the course of one night, where a troubled, film-obsessed college girl (and unreliable narrator) who recently witnessed her friend’s murder (but can’t recall the killer’s face) decides to travel back home via a ride share where her driver may or may not be said killer, and has to, you guessed it, survive the night.

Now, this is actually one of Sager’s lowest ranked and seemingly most universally hated novels, whereas it’s the only one of his I actually thoroughly enjoyed/didn’t find mediocre and thought had a sense of style as I like the almost cinematic way it was written?? It was fast paced, it was fun, it had unique prose, and I think it perfectly captured the vibes of a cheesy 90s B-movie (said as a compliment).

Recommend a fic

I still cannot recommend From Out the Ocean Risen by Bluestar enough, it acts as a sequel fic to the movie Pacific Rim, and has some of the most gorgeously well executed cinematic prose and imagery I’ve ever read, not to mention impeccable character dialogue, and an incredible grasp on the balance between drama/angst/action/heart/humour.

What’s a Little B&E Between Friends by VoiceOfNurse is also a fantastic Pacific Rim series with a solid grasp on both character dynamics/POV and style. A fascinating, very humanizing character study, both angsty and fun.

Recommend Music

I’ve suddenly never heard a song in my life.

The Killing Moon by Echo & The Bunnymen is stuck in my head again, so, *tosses that at you*

She Sells Sanctuary by The Cult also in my head so *throws that also*

Also, even though I haven’t actively listened to them in a while, I’m still still actually super excited for Green Day’s new album, so *one more toss*

Dilemma

The American Dream is Killing Me

Tagging if you want to do it no pressure!: @the-angriest-bunny-of-the-fandom, @writing2sirvive, @druidx, @universalfanfic, @karolinarodrigueswrites, @multi-lefaiye, @transmasc-wizard, @drabbleitout, @merelyafigment, @aritany, @rockium-z, @caffernnn and anyone who wants to do this, feel free to say I tagged you, you’re tagged.

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Eighteen

Back in Clontarf, I perch at the gleaming, marble island while Jude prepares dinner. I watch him doing it with undisguised interest, because he cooks the way that I imagine he makes art, fully absorbed, with precision and confidence, and completely and utterly in the flow of his own enjoyment. He connects his iPhone to a Bluetooth speaker and plays music for a while, until Ivy bursts in and complains that she can’t focus on her homework with all of the noise.

He switches it off for her, but even in the silence he moves around to the beat of the music in his head, with a smile on his face that only endures the more stupid questions I ask him about what he’s doing. He’s making a spice mix in a pestle and mortar, he’s coating the fillets in flour, that’s actually rose water, not vanilla, yes, he taught himself how to do this, those flowers are actually totally edible, they’re not just there to look good, so a shallot is actually stronger than an onion, that’s why he’s using it. He prepared a lot of it earlier, marinating fresh fish in harissa for hours, and par boiling the potatoes so that they’d be oven ready by the time we got home from visiting Jen, and when I ask him where he found the time to do all of this he explains that he was simply procrastinating, because he doesn’t want to write his thesis. 

We eat at the dining table with Ivy, who shovels the food into her mouth in the span of about five minutes despite her complaints about it tasting bad, and gives a series of very bored, one word answers to his questions about school in between mouthfuls. He reminds her that she should practise for her piano lesson tomorrow and tells her that he can’t collect her from afterschool hockey so she’ll have to get the bus. It occurs to me that this is perhaps the most un-sibling like relationship I’ve ever witnessed. Perhaps it’s a symptom of their age gap. 

“Where’re your parents tonight?” I query once Ivy rushes off to her bedroom to reconvene whatever teen girl things were interrupted by dinner, and he looks down at his plate. “Working late again.”

“Seems like they really like to work.”

“They sure do. Or they really like not having to be in this house.”

He’s said things like this to me before, these kind of vaguely troubling statements about his parents in very casual, matter of fact ways, as though they’re entirely absent and have no love for each other whatsoever, and this is something he finds normal. I’ve never asked him about it before, and something I’ve never quite been able to handle the idea of broaching, but now, since we’re… kind of, sort of going out with each other it suddenly feels important to know whether his expectations for his own relationships are different to his parents’ strange marriage.  

“What is it about them?”

“We don’t have to discuss these grim things about my family, it’s alright.”

“We don’t have to, but I think I’d like to know about it.”

He pushes his food thoughtfully around his plate. “They just shouldn’t have gotten married, I suppose. I think they meant well initially but it’s ultimately done more damage than good.” He glances towards the closed door and up towards the ceiling, where his sister is, and lowers his voice a little bit. “I think they’ll probably get a divorce as soon as Ivy finishes school.”

“Oh.”

“I’m the reason they’re married, and she’s the reason they’re still together. They had this amazing idea at one point that having another child would solve all of their issues, but now they’ve just trapped themselves in a bind for an extra nine years. They could be blissfully divorced by now, but they won’t do it until she’s moved out, because they don’t want to disrupt her schooling.” 

“How old were they when you were born?”

“Nineteen and twenty one.” 

“Oh, God.”

“Yep, big mistake. Whoops.” he tosses a chunk of potato into his mouth and leans back in his chair. “Mom finished school and went to stay with her aunt in America, took up a job at a department store in Albuquerque, hooked up with a med student at a bar on her first month there, and well…” He throws up his hands in mock celebration. “Here I am!”

“I suppose that being unmarried with a child wasn’t really an option for your mother at the time.” 

“No, not at all, I mean, she had come from catholic Ireland. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to live at home again unless she married the man from that bar.” The way he speaks about his father is strange, as though despite his presence in their lives, he’s still some random, nameless med student from San Bernardino. 

“And then what?” 

“Well, then my dad continued school, and my mom began her studies and my great aunt took care of me on and off until my dad got his doctorate degree. Then they had Ivy, on purpose, by the way, and when she was a baby we moved back here.” He shrugs. “That’s all.”

I breathe out a laugh. “You’re so cagey.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah it’s like you don’t want to talk about them, or your home life, like, ever.”

He doesn’t look like he’s all that bothered by my interrogation, he just gives me this self-effacing little smile. “Come on, Evie. It’s because this stuff is boring.” 

“I don’t think it’s boring at all.” 

“Well, okay. They didn’t want to be together, they shouldn’t have had kids, and they act like they never did because they barely parented either one of us. Has anyone ever told you that you’re bad at letting things drop?”

“Yeah, loads. Has anyone ever told you that you’re bad at talking about serious things?”

“Of course.” The corner of his mouth quirks up and he lifts my arm from the table to kiss the inner part of my wrist. “Has anyone ever told you how pretty you are?”

“Yes, you. Tell me what it was like for you when you were growing up.” 

“I’ve told you loads about my childhood already though.” 

“Yeah, you have, and I loved hearing about how badly behaved you were and what it felt like to live in America, but I wish you’d get into the guts of it, the real stuff.”

“The real stuff?”

“The stuff that makes you so clearly sad. You get that look on your face whenever it comes up.”

He hasn’t let go of my wrist, and now his thumb is gently stroking the skin that he kissed a moment before while he stares out into the garden through streak-free glass patio doors, and he chews on his lip before deciding to speak. “Well, when Ivy was born I stopped being a kid, I suppose. My parents didn’t have a lot of interest in caring for either of us, and I was lucky, because my great aunt in Albuquerque did all of that for them when I was little, but when we moved here the support system really fell away. Nobody had considered that. We have my mom’s parents, but they’re about as warm as she is, and even though we’d be dumped over to theirs at the weekends, it wasn’t like we had especially fun or memorable times. Usually we’d get some bucket of crap toys from the seventies and whatever was on the three TV channels that they had. They were okay, but Ivy was a really nervous toddler. She didn’t like being around unfamiliar people, to the point that our grandmother would have to roll her bottles down the hallway to where she was hiding at the bottom of the stairs so that she’d drink anything at all. She just screamed whenever either of our grandparents came near her. It just wasn’t working out, so we eventually stopped having to go, and by then, when I was like eleven, it just made sense that I’d look after her instead.”

“What did that involve?”

“Everything. Feeding her, dressing her, putting her to bed, shopping for food, toys, eventually bringing her to the creche. She used to go to the childminders while I was at school, but only until I finished at three or four o’clock, and then I’d swing by and get her. A child collecting another child, like, I don’t know if they’d let that kind of thing happen anymore, but it was a small family run childminders, the kind of lawless place where they have this one old granny looking after about twelve children in her house and everything and anything goes. My mom used to come home and cook dinner for a while, but she was delighted when I got old enough to do that for her too. It meant she could stay out of the house for longer and do whatever she used to do. Have affairs or whatever.” He huffs out a laugh. “I mean, I really don’t know if that was ever the case but I wouldn’t be that surprised. Everything got really confined because of Ivy, you know? I always had to be home, and helping, and collecting and living my life on this schedule while all the other teenagers were just being blissfully selfish and… just teenagers.”

“But you had time to yourself, surely?”

“Yeah, at night when my parents were finally home from work, but I mean, yeah, it wasn’t about not having time to do hobbies or hang out with my friends, it was about having to do it at all. It was about having to consider those things. Nobody should have to parent their siblings, it was really stifling and really unfair. If my parents wanted another child then they should have been prepared to take care of her. You can’t just offload that responsibility onto the older child. I resented it, and I still do.”

I spear my fingers into the side of his hair and run my hand down the back of his head. “That’s why you went to Berlin.” 

“I just didn’t want to do it anymore.”

“You shouldn’t have ever had to.”

“Right.” He hesitates and his teeth rake over his lower lip, pulling the skin until it’s taut and white. “I just feel like going to Berlin was the most selfish thing I could have possibly done though.”

“No way.” I say. “It forced your parents to do what they should have been doing all along, and look after your sister.” 

“Yeah but it didn’t really do that. I look at Ivy now, and she’s doing a lot of those things I used to do for her all on her own. My parents never stepped up like I hoped they would, so she’s just becoming another teenager with too many responsibilities, and parents that will divorce as soon as they can and leave her without a solid base to come home to when she’s in college. And then, you know, on the other hand I think about Jen, and how bad everything has become for her and I know that if I’d stayed, and if I’d been here for her then maybe I could have-”

“It’s no use thinking that, Jude. You had to be on your own for once. You can’t hold up the whole world on your shoulders.”

“I’m selfish.” His voice is acidic, and the moment I feel his fingers loosen on me I grab a hold of his sleeve, because all of a sudden it feels vitally important to keep a connection between us.

“You didn’t get a proper childhood. I’d be even more selfish if I were you. You need to be doing the things that you want to do, seeing the world, partying with your friends, all of that stuff that you’ve been doing for the last four years. It’s all food for your soul.” 

“You’re too forgiving of me. It’s okay to say that I’ve been generally inconsiderate.”

“You’re way too hard on yourself.” I say quietly. “And you know that’s not true. You’re a good person, and you were always so nice to me, even when I was quiet and shy. You made an effort to talk to me at that time that Jen invited me to that modern art exhibition in Dublin, and you made me feel so included and asked so many questions about me even though I felt so nervous around you both.”

“I feel like that’s the least anyone could have done.” He says sulkily, as though he doesn’t really feel like being talked out of his mood. “The more I dwell on it the more I think there is something seriously wrong with me. Something that should have been figured out a lot earlier, but like, here I am, a twenty two year old, in the final months of my final year at college and I feel a bit… I dunno, lost, or something. I’m floundering, and I don’t really know who I am anymore. I swore I had it figured out at eighteen but now that seems laughable to me.”

“Nobody tells you how weird it is to be in your twenties.” I declare. “They insist that it’s amazing and fun and you’ll have all of this independence, but actually it feels strange and vulnerable, and there’s no rule book about how to navigate your way through it. One day you’re a stupid teenager and the next you live on your own and you have to know how to use the city bus and remember the pin of a debit card.”

“Yeah.” 

“It’s alright that you find it hard, is all I’m saying, and I for one, feel like I truly knew nothing about being an adult. To be honest sometimes I get a bit freaked out by how lost I feel. But then I try not to think about it, and I just go on with my day.”

“That’s your advice?” He says, with the hint of a smile threatening to crack through the gloom. “Just don’t think about it?”

“Probably shouldn’t be, should it?”

“I think that’s terrible advice, Evie.”

“Well that’s all I have for you.”

He leans into me and lightly kisses my jaw before going back to his food, and the featherlight touch of his lips sends shivers right down to my toes. “Well I think we should think about hard things.” He says. “I think that ignoring them only gives them more power, actually.”

“Maybe some things aren’t meant to be processed now. They’re meant for later.”

“How much later?”

“I don’t know. Just later.” I push the last of my dinner onto my fork and into my mouth and try not to feel self-conscious about the fact that he’s watching me like I’m under a spotlight. 

“I just want you to know that if you ever wanted to talk to me about any of the things that happened you in first year then-”

My chair makes a hideous scraping noise against the parquet floor. “Do you have any pictures of you when you were small?” I say, wiping my hands on the thighs of my jeans, and he blinks. “Um. Why?”

“Just when we were talking about your childhood, like,” I stack his empty plate on top of mine. “I was wondering to myself what you might have looked like as a little boy. That’s all.”

“There are some, somewhere yeah. I can root them out if you want.”

“I’d love that, would you mind?” I hastily pack things away in the dishwasher, and I put the plates in crookedly, and I can’t find where the cutlery goes, and Jude is there, and he takes the forks out of my hands and gingerly places them into the sink. 

“It’s fine. Leave it.” He says. “Come into the living room, I’ll get the baby photos out.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[awaitingfall]

07.29.24

134.6

My goal for this week is to be 131 by Friday/Saturday morning.

Yesterday ended up being such a low energy day and I didn’t want to cook anything so I ate mostly crackers and trail mix throughout the day for food, so I ended up gaining 😭

Literally did nothing but sit around and scroll on my phone yesterday. I think because we had such an exciting day on Saturday, my mind & body didn’t want to do anything for the rest of the weekend.

- - -

I started today off on a better note - I woke up only 15 mins after my alarm and went straight to exercise. I wanted to do the first day of Chloe Ting’s new schedule, but I was only able to get through one of the 10 min videos. I stretched before hand, but I haven’t worked out in a week so my body didn’t want to move right. So I struggled through the 10 min HIIT and called it there for the day.

- - -

Part of me is really hoping I either get a text from the boss this morning saying to stay home for the day cuz we won’t have much work to do, OR I’ll get to go home early. Sometimes I feel bad for thinking like that because I pretty much begged for this job back because of how much I missed it, but now that all this other shit at work is going on I just don’t want to be there anymore 😩 Like if my boss stayed in Texas and the shop manager wasn’t leaving and all was fine and dandy I’d have no problem wanting to go into work. But this is the shop manager’s last week here and my boss is in until the end of August which is stressful because he’s all over the place and he’s trying to hire a new production staff member - but who’s gonna replace the shop manager’s duties when she leaves and when my boss leaves back from Texas? Oh, right, me of course. The person who has to be on press constantly in order for any work to get done is now going to have to take on the managerial role as well. It’s not gonna work out at all. There’s no way for me to be printing orders while also being available to talk on the phone and get everything planned with the rest of the team and be in charge of literally everything and everyone else in the shop. It just doesn’t work. He even tried this once before and I ended up stepping away from the press so frequently that I had to train one of the other shop assistants. Only difference is that girl was a fast learner and worked really well. The person we have as shop assistant now isn’t capable of running the press (I don’t even want to go into specifics or else I’ll feel like I’m bullying 😭) plus she’s getting her hours cut anyways and wont be there full-time, and we haven’t even heard any news on whether this kid that came by for a day is even interested in this job. Plus he knows nothing about it so we’d have to train him on all the basics first. Which means I’m stuck on press. I can’t take over managerial work like that.

Sorry for venting, but I know it’s just going to be really stressful this next year. It’s making me want to quit now, but I think I’m just going to have to do my best to train one of the other shop assistants on the press so there will be someone there who knows how to print an order so I can quit in a more professional way this time around, and maybe just find a calm part-time job and work on my art when I’m home. It sucks that my boss doesn’t really know how to run a business well, cuz I really like the work I do. I just can’t keep flipping between job positions/take on multiple job positions, especially when it’s going to be for a year or longer. It’s too much for one person.

- - -

So yeah…still hoping for a day off or a half day today. But if not, I hope I’ll at least have a chill work day today 🥲

[mangoposts]

ok sooo basically i’m a bit stressed about LIFE and i just wanna rant

i’m currently in college doing a psych/arts degree but the only reason i’m doing it is because i don’t know what i want to do in life (career wise) and i didn’t want to NOT go to college because then i’d feel behind? like i’d just be working which is fine but like idk if just doing that would help me figure out what i wanted to do in the future HOWEVER i’m IN college rn and still i don’t know what i want to do

like i chose this degree because it has a lot of career options, like more variety, but like i’m not really enjoying it much either (i just feel like i’m in school again but with less friends)

i’m just so conflicted because it’s like sooo boring but then it’s like-well at least i’m actually doing something yk?

but THEN i’m like well what’s the point??!!! if i don’t actually know what career i’m working towards?

and like if I was just working (i’m a waitress) then i would have more free time and be getting more money so likee😭

but THEN im like well can’t just work a regular job forever can i ??

basically i’m asking ur thoughts because i’m lowkey jealous of u girl like ur living such a slay life just working and then having free time whereas like i have to write stupid papers on stuff i don’t care about and i feel like i’m wasting my time AND money

i know i’m just stressing about the future too much but i’ve already done a whole year and i don’t feel any different about like careers etc

like do you have a plan for the future?? (i’m guessing no cus u give me more spontaneous vibes)

anywayyysss this was so long sawrryyyy love u ❤️

I know exactly how you feel, when I was younger I was an advocate for college a lot because I did have a lot of passion for becoming a psychologist, I finished majority of my time in college and then that’s when I found my current job and to be honest i just began falling in love with it, I was kind of in the same boat where it started to feel more like stress and less like passion, and it started to overwhelm me and since I knew that I had a source of income without fully graduating i lost sight of what i was really doing it for. I can’t encourage you to work full-time and forget about your studies because there are times when I do regret not going all the way with college. But if you’re going through a period of stagnancy with college and you’re struggling to see your future then I think you need to have this conversation with yourself and find something that really motivates you. Life is extremely short and you shouldn’t waste it on doing something that you’re not 100% happy with. If you’re only doing it because it makes you feel productive then this could lead you somewhere you don’t want to be later on in life

for me personally, I felt most happy with just working and being able to live my life the way I want it without the access stress. It took awhile for me to actually finalize my decision but in the end im very happy with how my life turned out so it played a good part. I don’t have a plan for the future because every time I plan for something it ends up going wrong LMFAO I kind of just go with the flow and I do what feels right in the moment, my current job is what’s getting me by and making me happy and I can see myself working here for another 50 years even when I’m 80 years old. even if it’s not typically considered a passion to most people it’s something that I am passionate and I’m very happy with, so when I think about the future, I think about where I am now 

it starts and ends with you, everybody is different, and everybody has their own passions. You need to really sit down and have a conversation with yourself about where you see yourself in the future. And if you don’t see yourself investing into what you’re studying for then I think you need to consider a different route and focus on what makes you the happiest. Even if it seems a bit unrealistic, I always encourage people to do whatever their heart wants😭 . You just need to find it. i’m sorry I’m not the best at giving advice on this. I just relate to it so much and I also had no idea what to do at the time. I just ended up finding some thing I really loved in the midst of college and I chose that over it

[ichiwashername-o]

Family drama vent under the cut.

This weekend is Father’s Day.

And just the thought of going up to visit my dad is filling me with such intense anxiety.

My dad and I have a strained relationship to say the least. There’s moments where he shows me genuine love and affection, and there are times where I am legitimately scared for my life because of the things he says and does. I don’t think it’s a small exaggeration to say there’s some signs of emotional/verbal abuse. And even after all that, just . . . cutting him out of my life completely seems like something I’ll never be able to do.

My father is a hard-right conservative. He’s always been racist, dropping the n-word with hard “r”s among family and friends, always insinuating I live in a bad neighborhood/work in a dangerous city because of “all the blacks and Mexicans.” It’s only recently I’ve begun to wonder if he’s always been so angry and vicious and just so . . . cruel, or if the events over the last few years (glares hard at the clusterfuck that was the Tr*mp presidency) exacerbated the issue.

He has always told me to keep my mouth shut, always told me my thoughts and opinions are wrong, just because I disagree with him on several hot-button issues. Whenever I try to disagree with him, he’s always quick to raise his voice and shout at me about how wrong I am, how I don’t know how the real world works, how I need to keep my opinions to myself so I don’t “embarrass” him. I’m always the one who has to sit there and suffer in silence as my dad spouts heinous things about how much he hates everyone he disagrees with, be it blacks, Muslims, liberals, or whatever. This has been going on for as long as I can remember, where I am a 32 year old successful woman. I own a house, I own a car, I have a fantastic job with glowing reviews, I am independent and thriving, yet he still doesn’t treat me or respect me like my own person or values what I have to say about anything. He’ll rant and rave about how the liberals are fucking everything up, how much Biden sucks, and any disagreement is harshly shouted down and cowed into silence.

Just writing this down makes me realize that my dad doesn’t even know me. Or, at least, not really. He knows I’m a liberal, just because I disagree with him. But beyond that? I don’t think he has even a single comprehensive thought in what I believe! He’s never engaged me in any meaningful discussion. He doesn’t care what I think, he doesn’t value the opinions I have, or even respect me enough to listen to what I have to say about anything. He loves me because I am his daughter. But if I were a stranger, he would hate me. He would revile me and insult me and tell everyone who would listen how much of a terrible person I am, just because I’m a liberal.

And despite all that! Despite everything I have just written about how terrible my father is and how he treats me . . .

It’s an insurmountable, impossible feat to cut him out of my life.

Every time I think he crosses the line and that I can’t accept his actions, I find myself coming back to him, visiting him on holidays and weekends and hugging him and missing him. I love talking to him, when we talk about literally anything other than politics. He loves it when I take art classes with my mom, he loves hunting with me, he loves spending time with me. And even after everything he’s put me through, I still can’t bear the thought of going through my life without him.

Because cutting him out would mean losing my entire family. Not just him, but my aunts and uncles and cousins and all the relatives I cherish, on both sides of the family. I’d lose all the people I care about. I’d lose my siblings. I’d lose my mom, especially since we’ve grown so close after I moved out.

It really is an abusive relationship, isn’t it? He’s an awful, racist person. His way is the only right way and anyone who disagrees with him is wrong, end of discussion. Yet I can’t find the nerve to walk away.

I don’t know. I think a deep part of me knows what I have to do, but just thinking about it fills me with such dread and fear. I know what I should do, but I can’t. It seems so impossible. I’m just rambling at this point. Scared of what’s going to happen if I ever do find the spine to put my foot down.

Happy Father’s Day to all the other miserable fucks that are in my shoes. I hope you find peace.

[the-old-man-has-the-phonebox]

Random shit

My mom keeps pushing me to get a cat. She is the main reason I cannot have a cat because she would never allow one in her house. At this point it just upsets me because I’m so fucking lonely and a pet would really help but it’s not like anyone takes what I need into consideration in this fucking house.

I have no money. Like I want to do so many things— I want to cosplay (or at least have one of the preexisting ones ready for Animarathon). I want to buy shit that makes me happy (in healthy amounts, ofc). But then I’d like to be able to afford, like, Dairy Queen or something? (Long story short I can’t trust the meat on campus so I’ve been craving protein like a motherfucker). I need to apply to jobs but I stall as soon as I get to the resume section because there’s absolutely nothing I’m fucking good at. I have no skills. Even if I get this degree I’m virtually unhirable.

I’m still so hurt by my mom. She texts me like everything is okay, but I know it’s not. I wish I had money to get a place. I don’t feel welcome in my own home anymore. If she’s never going to change, then she can rot. She doesn’t deserve me. She never did.

Speaking of finding a place: almost everywhere in town has no openings. They should because despite the semester just starting, signings for next year are in about a month or so. I found somewhere that may work, but I’d likely need some form of transportation. That leaves me with multiple options: 1.) bite the bullet and force myself to learn how to drive despite how harmful that level of constant anxiety will be on my mental health; 2.) get a gay little trike bike because I can’t ride a bike (long story short I have very vivid childhood trauma tied to trying to learn how and I also can’t balance for shit in general); 3.) grow some balls and just start walking more so I can gain endurance for walking a mile or two to campus in any weather (despite what I have reason to believe is a musculoskeletal condition I may have)

I’m just so fucking lonely, man. No one will ever like me, be it a friend or something more. I’m barely palatable online, and just borderline tolerable irl. I’m such a fucking waste of space. I do nothing of worth for anyone— my own parents see me as a waste of time and energy. It’s never be loved, let alone liked. I’m such a fucking weird ass loser that I’m seen as an outsider to people that are generally weird as well. Even if I wasn’t weird, I’m fat and unattractive (like, in the objective sense. Not in a “oh I’m a size 12 I’m so fat uwu” way). I’m actively ostracized for how I look. My existence is nothing but loneliness and suffering. I will die alone, be it a case of an elderly person not being found for a while because they had no one or a young adult found dead of their own doing. No matter how this ends, it will always end like this. There is no realistic situation where things turn out okay. The only reason I’m still fucking here is because I always pussy out because I’m afraid of not doing whatever method to the extent of guaranteed fatality and just end up suffering more (ex: I jump and miraculously survive, but now I’m alive and even more disabled than before).

I don’t even have the motivation to make art anymore, man. There’s literally nothing here left for me.

[sparklingtapwater]

Hi! You're one of the only active tattoo artists I follow on here and I wanted your opinion on a couple of things,

What's your opinion on tattooing pieces on first timers, is it annoying if they choose intricate or larger piece you know would be difficult to sit thru for a first tattoo?

How do you feel about tattoo tickets, paying a nontattoo artist for a design and taking it in to a tattoo artist do tattoo

Are previous flashes (think halloween or Friday the 13th) off the table once that event is done?

Thanks in advance.

howdy !! i appreciate you asking because i know sometimes when you ask artists questions like this they get pissy and are kinda egotistical ! but i am very happy to answer your questions !!

when it comes to giving people their first tattoo, i think it can be a very fun experience. i will almost always advise a first timer to avoid extremely painful spots, like ribs, calves, and bony places like the ankles. i always recommend getting something small to see how your body handles pain ! that’s the best way to advocate for your pain tolerance and have an idea of how you’ll do with bigger pieces ! as for “difficult to sit through” pieces, i think that topic comes with an edge of ableism. this is no fault on your part obviously! but i’ll explain why i think so.

being able to “sit well” has always been a pet peeve of artists throughout the community, it’s something we encounter in our careers daily. however, penalizing a client because they can’t sit well is ableist. you as an artist simply have to adapt. i’ve tattooed disabled clients, people with chronic illnesses, people who need to take multiple breaks and who need to be provided snacks and water and lots of time to rest in between parts of the tattoo, and none of that bothers me. because implying that you will blacklist someone or simply not tattoo them because they “can’t sit well” is just ableist. there are artists out there who can tattoo everyone from people who have parkinson’s to people with things as minor as anxiety fidgeting. the tattoo game is changing and more trans, queer, poc and disabled people are pioneering a new and more inclusive era of tattooing.

but yes to wrap up that very long tangent, it’s not that i find it annoying ! it’s that i will always recommend taking a small bite before making yourself a huge plate. just to make sure you like it 🖤

as for tattoo tickets, i love them ! i think they are a very cool concept. i sold them all throughout my apprenticeship. now that i can tattoo them myself if it’s a design i haven’t had the chance to do yet then i won’t sell tattoo tickets for it ! however, the flip side is that you will have artists who know nothing about the intricacies of tattooing, or how to draw something in a way that is tattooable, making art and selling it as though it is. this does make our job harder because we more often than not will have to redraw and redesign an entire piece and that could piss off the original artist and the client. they can but fun, but i’d steer clear of purchasing tattoo tickets from anyone who isn’t a tattoo apprentice ✨

now for the flash event pieces, i’d say it’s usually up to the artist ! i know for myself personally they are available to be tattooed year round, however they will not be offered for the special event day price. the whole point of an event day is the reduced price ! so usually artists will still tattoo them but they will adjust the price to either their shop minimum or their personal hourly minimum !! this is something that it doesn’t hurt to actually ask the artist a few days before the event just to make sure you don’t miss out !!

i hope this was helpful ! i’m here to gladly spread information and knowledge on a better and more inclusive world of tattooing, so let me know if you have any more questions !

[kintsugi-sheep]

GPT’s King Crimson

SPOILERS: JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure: Vento Aureo

There’s a stand—a sort of psychic supernatural ability—in JJBA: Vento Aureo called King Crimson. It’s primary and most distinctive ability is to remove fragments of time, to skip ahead to the end of a process. If you have to climb a staircase, you can activate King Crimson from the bottom and you’ll be at the top a second later. It’s a power that’s all about the results.

This isn’t the first time I’ve written an article in my miniscule corner of a site that’s not my own. It’s one of the most uncomfortable parts about what I hope to make my career. But, it’s necessary. I’ve always known it was necessary, but I could never bring myself to stick with it. I’d bail. The results never came fast enough.

I’ve spent years studying and learning how to be a better writer. How to build better stories and tell them in more entertaining ways. I’ve looked into how to build a platform. I tried being a critic and abandoned it because the ability to observe something doesn’t translate into writing skill. I’ve joined and abandoned writing groups because of the writers’ overwhelming selfishness, a predisposition to sell to readers before entertaining them, a devotion to one’s own education and opinion as doctrine, and other reasons. I’d try to go where the readers actually are, posting writing prompts on Reddit for instance, and get drowned out immediately.

And with every setback I’d drop it all. I’d focus on my day job, doing a bit of studying over here and a bit of worldbuilding over there. I’d cringe at my work and close my accounts. Or I’d disappear for months on end only to come back and give it another shot.

And now A.I. is ramping up.

As it stands, they don’t have the level of craft necessary to supplant artists. The greatest danger comes from how they’ll swell the midlist. Anyone who reads regularly knows how it feels to be disappointed by what you’d hoped would be a good book. The onset of A.I. will only ramp up that frequency. It’ll be harder than it’s ever been to get one’s foot in the door of the creative world as an indie author.

I only have myself to thank for my complacency.

So much wasted time. Ego, perfectionism, resistance, whatever you want to call it, I just couldn’t summon what was necessary to do what it takes. I couldn’t find the strength to believe in myself or my skills. My track record showed me that I didn’t have it. That I’d never be perfect.

But, telling stories is the only thing I truly want as a career. There’s the Dionysian satisfaction of writing a journal entry, getting your thoughts and feelings pouring our freely from the tap onto the page. There’s the Apollonian satisfaction that comes with constructing an outline, strengthening the consistency in a world, or focusing for hours on end while you study the hard skills of writing. Then there’s storytelling, where it all comes together in an ouroboros of pleasure.

The world doesn’t need my stories. I just need to tell them.

Hayao Miyazaki was watching footage of an A.I. in early development. The presenting team said they would hope it develops the skill of a human artist. Miyazaki would later say, “I feel like we’re living in the end times. People are losing the ability to believe in themselves.” Everything you interact with is there because someone was able to make it exist. And that someone could’ve been anybody, could’ve been you.

The bestselling author, the renowned artist, the beloved chef.

But people don’t believe in themselves. They can’t turn their envy into a compass that points them to their desires, only seethe from the shore at those who had the will to push out to sea, and thus receive the praise they long for. Outside of a classroom, they can’t practice the patience to develop skills. And when we feel weak, the perpetually left-brained see opportunity.

Art as a commodity. No more of the blissful release of the Dionysian or the logistical intricacies and satisfaction of the Apollonian, but a result. Fifteen minutes between conception and end product, ready for sale the same day, so the “creator” behind it can scrape up their earnings. Integrity, ethics, reception, or reputation be damned. They got theirs and they’re done. The dopamine kicks in when the check clears.

Circling back to JoJo, in the same plotline a character has a conversation with a cop who’s investigating a robbery, checking a recycling bin on the opposite side of the street where the crime was committed on the off chance that he’ll find the perpetrator’s fingerprints.

“It’s my job,” the officer says.

He’s pressed further, presented with situations in which, regardless of his search, the perp still goes free, and is asked what makes him keep working so hard despite those problems.

The cop says, “I’m not just after the result. When all you want is the result, you start to look for shortcuts. And if you take the shortcut, you might lose sight of the truth. You’ll become less motivated. I think the most important thing is the will to find the truth. As long as you have that, even if the suspect gets away this time, you’ll get them eventually, right? Because that’s what you’re after.”

This isn’t the poignant article I hoped it’d be. It doesn’t resonant like I’d have liked it to. My study was for speculative fiction, not essays, so I can feel in my bones how this is lacking, though I’m ill-equipped to repair it. But I’ve often heard it’s better to start before you’re ready. And life has taught me that, in truth, you never will be.

I’ll seek the truth. And I’ll seek those who appreciate it. Even from my insignificant, quiet corner.

[libelula202]

(Not sure if this is what you’re looking for, but it’s my best answer.)

I watch the show Call the Midwife, about midwives in 1950s-1960s era East Side (ie poor working class) London.

In an episode, a woman has cervical cancer and has been told she needs radiation as well as a full hysterectomy. Which means she can never have kids.

This character then has a bit of a breakdown, because being a mum and having a family are all her and her husband wanted.

And she says “the only women I know who don’t have kids are nuns and feminists. I don’t want to change the world. I was happy with a small life.”

And that stuck with me. It put a different spin on how I thought about my life. I don’t need to find greater meaning or any sort of larger purpose.

I have dogs. And my purpose is to feed them. And cuddle them.

I have friends. I am happy when I talk to and spend time with them.

I enjoy cooking and eating. So every day I get up, is another day I can eat and another day I can cook.

I enjoying crafts/fiber arts. Nothing I’d ever sell or monetize, but stuff I make to keep busy. When I wake up I know I get to work on my latest cross stitch. Not a whole lot, but usually one small section a day.

My work isn’t anything super important. Nothing I’m especially passionate about, and it’s not gonna change the world. I work at a grocery store. But I make sure shelves are stocked so people can buy what they need.

I keep living because I can see my friends. Because I want to start growing plants, so I need to find some pots. I have some fanfics I’m reading, and I really want to know how they end.

I keep living because even a small thing to look forward too, is still something to look forward too.

——

I am disabled, with chronic pain and major depression. Honestly, looking at it that way, my life sucks.

But I can’t just look at that. My life is more than that.

My purpose is to live a small life. To do the small things that make me happy. To go to my job, stock store shelves, talk with coworkers, come home to my dogs, call my friends, and do some crafts. I have no greater purpose to my life than that.

And I think that’s great!

I hope things get better for you fish. And if you’re able to find a professional to talk to I hope you do.

(Because I used to have a lot of bad days. Never attempts, but ideation for sure. Being in talk therapy has helped me personally.

Even telling someone irl might help. When I finally told my friend how I was feeling, it felt better to share the load. And finally gave me the push to do something to actively help myself.)

I'm very sorry to ask something like this, I've really been struggling with this question, and I wanted to ask the combined wisdom of the people on this site

I would like to know why you keep going, and what drives you to keep living. I know there are a lot of reasons to stay alive and enjoy life, I can think of a few that personally resonate with me, but I really want to know what your reasons are

You do not have to comment on this if that's too big of an ask, and I'm very sorry for asking something like this, I really need someone's help, I feel like I don't have much purpose

Also if I may ask, please don't post any suicidal ideation in the comments of this post, I really can't handle something like that right now

[sunnunderthesun]

Fiction: Another Job Interview

In an overcrowded bus, Robi’s demeanour stands out. Anxiety appears to swallow him up. The fine arts graduate is on his way to take his eighth job interview that year after being rejected by uncountable employers in the last thirteen years. He gets off the bus when it stops in front of a private office building, and heads towards its open gate. As he’s about to enter the premises, he feels lightheaded because his blood sugar level starts going down.

Three well-dressed men, standing at the gate, approach him. One of them asks Robi, “Here for an interview?” A shaky Robi nods. “Well, you must pay us a thousand rupees to be able to get in,” says another. Robi rummages through his backpack, takes out a small bottle of sugar cubes and chugs the sugar down with water. “Young man, are you listening to us? Pay us the thousand rupees and we’ll be out of your way,” says the third stranger. Regaining his vigour, Robi begins to explain to the men, “You have no idea how desperately I need this job. I am stone broke and in debt to a couple of relatives who funded my medical expenses five years ago. I don’t have any siblings to help me with anything. I beg you, let me go...” But the men remain unmoved by his story. They tell him to give them the money or forget about the interview. Robi phones his friend who reluctantly sends the men money through an internet banking website. Robi is then let in for the interview. The receptionist at the office directs him upstairs to the boss’ chamber where the interview has been scheduled to take place. The boss, a lady in her early fifties who reeks of unimaginable wealth, welcomes him and asks him to close the door behind him. There is no one else present in that spacious room besides her and Robi.

“You don’t seem nervous,” says the lady with a grin.

“No. I have been through this many times before. May I sit?”

“Yes, you may.”

She then takes two minutes to examine Robi’s physical appearance as he sits there in front of her, observing an awkward silence. “I have brought some of my best works with me today. Do you want to see them?”

She only smiles which Robi takes as a yes. He places before her his weighty file of traditional paintings done by him over the years and some photographs of his sculptures.

She clumsily runs through those pictures and asks Robi, “What makes you think that I will be impressed by your drawings when I have talented digital artists producing attractive illustrations anytime I need?”

“Well… I believe digital art cannot ever replace traditional art’s aesthetic value. I think you agree with me on this because in your job advertisement you had specifically asked for traditional artists to apply. You definitely can’t find my kind of efficiency in a purely digital artist.”

“Your answer’s not too bad. For your information, I am an award-winning digital artist who just hasn’t found the inspiration to create new artwork in a while… Anyway, I was wondering how much you know about my magazine to be willing to work for it.”

“I read that this magazine was started over twenty years ago, and ... it has been quite successful so far in producing meaningful articles and pictures that a lot of people care about.”

“Three years ago, one of our former female employees posted on her social media accounts that she had faced sexism here. Were you aware of that?”

“No. I wasn’t.”

“You should have been. It is important to research into the place and people you are willing to associate yourself with. But, now that you know, what do you think of it?”

“I… I think… I don’t know about her experiences here. But, if hired, I will do my best to… to make sure that my behaviour or conduct never becomes the reason for anyone’s unhappiness in the workplace.”

“I like you. I do.”

“Thank you, ma’am! All I need is an opportunity to prove how valuable I can be to your company.”

“Mr. Robi De, why don’t we go through the details of the responsibilities I’d like you to have here?”

“Oh… you have no idea how much I have been looking forward to this!” Robi's eyes glisten with surprise and delight.

For the next two hours, the boss slowly explains to him the duties of an illustrator in her company and enlightens him on its history.

Half an hour before lunch break, she tells a hopeful Robi, “I doubt you will be able to perform all these tasks and become an indispensable employee. You need to come to me after you have gained more work experiences elsewhere.”

“No, ma’am, you have to believe in me... Just give me a chance to show you how much…”

“Look, young man, you have only worked as a freelance artist so far. You have no idea how things are done in a big workplace like ours. I cannot let anything … anything go wrong here. How much do you know about the corporate culture anyway?”

“This position I have applied for is supposed to be an entry-level one requiring minimum work experience… Did you… did you expect a newbie to know it all?”

“This room has only one door through which we enter and exit, and it’s right behind you. Thank you for being here. I hope you succeed someday.”

"Why did you waste so much of my time just to tell me all about this damned place? Why didn’t you reject me earlier? I could have gone home to my sick old parents who need me often! I have left them alone with a new caregiver to come here for this interview, and now after tricking me into keeping you company for three hours, you’re telling me I am not needed here!”

The lady exhibits a calm indifference during Robi’s rampage before heading out for lunch. Robi remains in her room for over an hour until she returns.

“I don’t pay people for keeping me company,” she says upon seeing the resolute man standing at her desk fifteen minutes past the lunch break.

“How much more do you need? Do I have to bribe you for this job?” asks a desperate Robi, fighting his frustrations.

The lady sits down in her chair quietly, sips water from her bottle, and gently wipes her lips with a handkerchief. “What do you mean?” she asks carelessly.

“Weren’t the men who made me shell out a thousand bucks earlier yours?”

“I have no idea about what you’re saying, young man. Listen, you need to leave before you get yourself into trouble.”

“Oh yeah? What are you going to do?” Robi, furious, inches closer to her.

“The chief minister’s nephew is a dear friend of mine. All I need to tell him is that you tried to rape me in my own office because I refused to hire you.”

Upon hearing those words, Robi instantly breaks into a cold sweat and his heart rate rises. He can’t utter another word. Struggling to breathe, Robi grabs his phone from his pocket to dial some number in vain. The boss, still comfortable in her cushioned chair, watches him drop unconscious on the carpet in front of her.

Then she thoughtfully opens Microsoft Paint on her iPad. Using only her fingers, she attempts to draw the still man to perfection.

Copyright ©️ Briksha 2021

[alinacapellabooks]

Thanks for the tag! It took a lot to get through this, but I think I covered everything well enough ^_^

When did you first start writing?

I was born in front of a laptop with a plot outline in my hand. I’m kidding, but point is, I’ve been doing it since I was a very small child.

Are the genres/themes you enjoy reading different from the ones you write?

Not at all. It wouldn’t make sense to write romance and fantasy if I didn’t enjoy both of those genres.

Is there an author (or just a fellow writer!) you want to emulate, or one to whom you’re often compared?

I don’t particularly want to emulate anyone except for Ai Yazawa, but only because her ability to create human characters is unmatched. She is the only writer I have ever read who is able to perfectly translate the thoughts and feelings of real people into fiction. I want to be able to do that too.

As for who I’m compared to…When I found The Tengu And The Angel on romance.io (I don’t know why it’s there, I didn’t put it on there), the site recommended that people read Alice Oseman because her books are similar to mine. Which, I’m not gonna lie, I find that to be quite the compliment.

Can you tell me a little about your writing space(s)? (Room, coffee shop, desk, etc.)

Living room, on the couch. I’m always most productive after I’ve cooked and eaten a proper meal. I love to cook, even though I don’t always have the spoons for it, but something about the cooking process helps the writing process.

What’s your most effective way to muster up some muse?

Read some of whichever book I’m currently reading. I live by Stephen King’s principle of, ‘If you don’t have time to read, you don’t have time to write.’

Did the place you grew up in influence the people/places you write about?

No. I take most of my inspiration from the people I’ve met, or from places I either have visited, or want to visit. My hometown has never factored into my writing.

Which of your characters would you want to be friends with in real life?

Nathaniel and Solana. I’d definitely vibe the most with them.

Which of your characters would you dislike the most if you met them in real life?

Brooklyn Steadman, and I didn’t even have to think about an answer to this one. The fact that men like him exist in real life sickens me, and I enjoyed writing him so that I could give someone like him the punishment he deserves.

Tell me the process of coming up with your characters

My recipe for an OC goes as follows:

1 cup of personality traits

1 cup of backstory (I prefer tragic, but any kind works)

A pinch of things I personally think are cool

Do you notice any recurring themes among your characters?

I’ve spotted two so far. 1.) Being either on the aromantic or asexual spectrum (I’m a big believer in doing a job myself if I want it done right, I’m aro ace and I write characters who are on both spectrums because there needs to be more aro ace representation), and 2.) Traumatised people with mommy issues who are angry with the world and use unhealthy coping mechanisms. I’m looking at you, Kunio and Solana…

How do you picture them?

Short answer: I can’t. I have a mild form of aphantasia and I cannot picture things in my head in detail, which sucks. I often look for real-life reference images for my characters, and then use those to give to artists to create concept art of them. I found the perfect reference image for Nathaniel when I was making an aesthetic board for him, like, it was as if he’d somehow jumped off of the page and found his way into real life, and I wish I could find reference images that perfect for all of my OCs. Kunio was way harder to come up with a reference image for, and really the closest I could get was an old photo of Haruma Miura. He was the only person I could find who looked anything like what I envisioned for Kunio.

What’s your reason for writing?

I write because I want to save people from reality. Reality sucks, and fiction provides an escape from reality. Fiction is a place where people can be happy, and free from their problems. When reality has you broken, bleeding, and backed against the wall, let my works be your refuge.

Is there a specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating coming from your readers?

I live for detailed, in-depth reviews. If someone tells me specifically which parts of the book they liked best, I’ll know that I’ve made an impact on them. If someone tells me that a certain character or event resonated with them, or brought them comfort and hope, I’ll know that I’ll have successfully saved someone from reality.

How do you want to be thought of by those who read your work? (For example: as a literary genius, or as a writer who “gets” the human condition; as a talented worldbuilder, as a role model, etc.)

I want to be someone who is able to save people from reality. I want people to read my books knowing that they will give them the things that reality cannot offer them.

What do you think is your greatest strength as a writer?

Characterisation. I pour as much humanity into my characters as possible, and a lot of the behavioral patterns of my characters are ones that I’ve witnessed firsthand in real life. Real people aren’t perfect—They make excuses for people who don’t deserve their forgiveness, they hurt without meaning to, and they bottle their emotions up until they explode and make a mess of everything around them, and I make sure to reflect that in my characters.

What have you been frequently told your greatest writing strength is by others?

Again, characterisation. Kunio is by far my most popular character, and for good reason. (He’s also one of my personal favorites because he’s really fun to write ^_^)

How do you feel about your own writing?

As it stands, I’m proud of my abilities as a writer, but I know that I can always do better, and I’m always looking for ways to improve my craft. If you’re satisfied with staying where you are, you’ll never go any further.

If you were the last person on earth and knew your writing would never be read by another human, would you still write?

If that were the case, I would paint my stories on a wall or carve them into stone in the hopes that some alien civilisation will discover them after I’m gone. Even with the absence of humanity, I don’t want to be forgotten, and if only one record of my existence survives, I want it to be my writing.

Are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading?

I have to admit, it’s a bit of both. I’ll only write a book if I have a story I want to tell, but at the same time, I want my books to sell well, and I will look for specific gaps in the market that I want to fill. I have never seen any mainstream publisher put out a book with a demiromantic main character—I’ve seen a few aromantic characters, but the rest of the aromantic spectrum seems to be largely ignored by mainstream publishers, which is part of what lead to my decision to make Nathaniel demiromantic.

Leaving this tag open!

Writerly Questionnaire

The very lovely @sableglass tagged me in this one. (I absolutely relate to your love of escapist romances to read alongside the beach 💖✨)

I’ll answer the best I can. Bear in mind I’m a little bit of a chaos gremlin :)

About Me

When did you first start writing?

About 12 years old. I always took a liking to Disney animated classics, which have inspired me to write and draw similar to the style.

Are the genres/themes you enjoy reading different from the ones you write?

Actually, the two are very similar. What I love to write is what I love to read. I’ve taken more of a fancy to writing romances now as opposed to a decade ago, though :)

Is there an author (or just a fellow writer!) you want to emulate, or one to whom you’re often compared?

Not that I’m aware of. Everyone has taken a little bit of inspiration from different sources, whether knowingly or unknowingly, so there are probably some authors or writers that I share similarities with. I know for a FACT that a lot of my stories draw heavy inspiration from Disney, which has influenced my art and storytelling styles ✨

Can you tell me a little about your writing space(s)? (Room, coffee shop, desk, etc.)

Ahhh, yes. Couch, coffee table, writing laptop, coffee. Soft throw draped across my lap as I get perpetually cold. Thankfully, it’s nice and quiet in this writing space and it allows me to let me do string-of-thought writing for hours. The only thing is sometimes I lose track of time this way, so I have to set an alarm for breaks and meals.

What’s your most effective way to muster up some muse?

Watching movies, listening in on my friends’ DnD campaigns, or reading stories from friends and mutuals :)

Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and places you write about?

Not really. I keep my personal life and writing life pretty separate. After all, a great thing about writing fantasy is that it doesn’t HAVE to tie in to the real world, or personal life. It can be whatever I want it to be ✨

Are there any recurring themes in your writing, and if so, do they surprise you at all?

Recurring themes? You bet. I either write a high fantasy BL Romance, or low fantasy slice-of life RomCom. My favorite writing tropes are Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Found Families, Romantic Comedy, Magic in the Mundane, Slice of Life, Call to Action/Prophecy, and Absurdism.

Do they surprise me? Absolutely. I can have a beautiful plot all planned out, and then my characters say, “okay I see the route, but what if we take a sliiiiight detour? :)” and then soon enough I’m on a totally unique and unexplored path in my writing….and that’s exciting. An adventure all on its own ✨

My Characters

Would you please tell me about your current favorite character? (Current WIP, past WIP, never used, etc.)

I fear if I don’t say Peter here, he’s gonna kill me. In my current WIP, my favorite character is Ali because he’s a lovable goofball genie that wants the best for Noah. Overall currently (side eying) Peter because he’s a chaotic-neutral, anti-establishment, insane pirate captain that makes my life entertaining 😂

Which of your characters do you think you’d be friends with in real life?

Ali. Hands down. Dude gets along with just about everyone.

Which of your characters would you dislike the most if you met them?

Any of the villains I wrote, but going off of main OCs? Gosh that’s tough….probably Tyr because he’s really angry all the time (for good reason, but too much of that is toxic)

Tell me about the process of coming up with of one, all, or any of your characters.

Oh boy. That’s a big one. Let’s see….

Character building kinda happens simultaneously to Plot Planning; it’s a bit hard to describe, as there’s no “right order” to my world building. But usually it’s: “Okay, who is my protagonist? Who is the antagonist? What do they look like? Is the protag a hero, or villain? Is the antag a hero, or villain? What is their ‘general moral alignment?’ What are their characteristics? What are their strengths? What are their flaws? What are their goals and aspirations? Etc.” I do this for each major character. Then, secondary and supporting characters, who get a little less polish but still enough to be human (or relatable) in nature, start getting fleshed out.

Once I get the Core Plots and characters made and planned out, I start piecing the events in chronological order in the story. This becomes my “roadmap” that helps drive the narrative. Then….well, the rest just kinda falls into place. Once I have a “Plan of Events,” all that’s left is writing the story around the plan. And, as I’m writing, new ideas may come, and I get to explore that a little further during the writing phase.

tl;dr: I do the “Tree Approach.” Characters are the foundational trunk. Branches are the Core Plots. Twigs are the Conflicts. Leaves are the little details of each conflict (i.e. how characters react, where the conflict is set, what this means for each character’s aspirations, etc.)

Do you notice any recurring themes/traits among your characters?

Yep :)

How do you picture them? (As real people you imagined, as models/actors who exist in real life, as imaginary artwork, as artwork you made or commissioned, anime style, etc.)

Like this:

My Writing

What’s your reason for writing?

Personal enjoyment, mainly. And how far I can stretch and challenge my creative mind ✨

Is there a specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating coming from your readers?

Any story reactions and positive engagement is always appreciated. Just don’t be a dick and you’re good 👍

How do you want to be thought of by those who read your work? (For example: as a literary genius, or as a writer who “gets” the human condition; as a talented worldbuilder, as a role model, etc.)

I loathe this question. As long as people enjoy my stories, that’s what matters. I’m just one silly little guy writing stories for my own enjoyment. The fact that other people can enjoy my wild ideas as well is a blessing in of itself.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Comedy and Dialogue. And comedic timing.

What have you been frequently told your greatest writing strength is by others?

Same as above. Also have been told that I have wildly entertaining and outlandishly creative ideas portrayed in “insane, chaotic, and ballsy ways.” Coolio 🤙

How do you feel about your own writing? (Answer in whatever way you interpret this question.)

I’m proud of it. I’ve successfully written stories that I wanted to read, and reading back through my stories is really entertaining and motivating :)

If you were the last person on earth and knew your writing would never be read by another human, would you still write?

I’ve already been writing stories on my own for well over a decade, nearly two. It was my husband and friends who finally pushed me to go public, and I’m very glad I did :)

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely what you enjoy? If it’s a mix of the two, which holds the most influence?

I write solely for my entertainment, and my personal opinion is that’s the best way to do it, honestly. If I write stories that I want to read, I enjoy them, I spend more effort on them because I WANT to, not to please anyone other than myself. I don’t inhibit myself or censor myself, allowing me creative freedom to write wherever my heart takes me….which has led to some WILDLY entertaining plots. Even if writing is a career to some, if you find yourself enjoying what you write, you’re gonna motivate yourself beyond your wildest imaginations ✨

Man, that was a lot! Thank you @davycoquette for starting the chain, and thank you again Sable for tagging me!

I will gently and no pressure tag the following people as well as my tag list: @nczaversnick , @lavender-gloom , @cowboybrunch , @noblebs , @words-after-midnight , @saturnine-saturneight , @marlowethelibrarian , @coffeexafterxmidnight , @astramachina , @justabigoldnerd , @pippinoftheshire , +open tag! 💛✨

✨👇Tag list for writing tidbits below. DM me if you’d like to be added 👇✨

Tag List for writing tidbits (lmk if you want + or -)

@autism-purgatory , @talesofsorrowandofruin , @sunglasses-in-the-bentley , @glasshouses-and-stones , @alinacapellabooks , @gioiaalbanoart , @fortunatetragedy , @deanwax , @dyrewrites , @honeybewrites , @drchenquill , @paeliae-occasionally , @thatuselesshuman , @kaylinalexanderbooks , @katenewmanwrites , @fantasy-things-and-such , @billybatsonmylove , @madi-konrad , @houseplantblank , @far-cry-from-finality , @froggy-pposto , @fractured-shield , @avaseofpeonies , @topazadine , @thecoolerlucky , @theaistired , @willtheweaver , @rivenantiqnerd @somethingclevermahogony , @noxxytocin , @leahnardo-da-veggie , @addicted2coke-theothercoke , @illarian-rambling , @mysticstarlightduck , @the-letterbox-archives , @theink-stainedfolk , @ominous-feychild