#I haven't finished an idea in months

[mechazushi]

Kafka Hibino

Kafka Hibino.... with visible salt and pepper side burns.

Kafka Hibino.... wearing glasses and has salt and pepper side burns.

Kafka HIbino.... in that black turtleneck and a dark brown leather jacket and also wearing glasses and has salt and pepper side burns.

Kafka Hibino.... wearing that outfit and is an Animal Biology Professor in an College Au.

Kafka Hibino..... asking out Hoshina who is an Advanced Mathematics Professor working at the same college, to have an after-work drink with him.

Slightly DRUNK Kafka Hibino... becoming very forward with an also slightly drunk Hoshina

Slightly Drunk Hoshina... immediately matching Kafka's freak tenfold and Kafka is very much fine with this.

[kirisclangen]

Zelda

She/her, 65 moons, cis molly

[icewindandboringhorror]

... why he sit like this

[toasteaa]

I don't know what's been going on with me recently but like...there's this tiny shred of guilt that I'm not doing anything really engaging on here anymore? Like, my creative block is fading out (finally), but I haven't drawn or written anything substantial recently and I feel really weird about that. Not just for you all looking at my blog, but also just in a creative bust kind of way.

There are ideas and themes and such that I would love to play with or dabble in, but I keep stopping them because they're either too self indulgent or there's no visual work to go with it. I don't really know how to describe it? Like I feel like I've been lazy creatively speaking recently when I COULD be getting more ideas out, but it's about the same ship all the time and idk, I also feel like I've gotten to the point where I'm talking too much again? Not that anyone here has made me feel like that and I have asks that I need to answer so I KNOW I'm not talking too much but I'm!!!! Being splashed with the self conscious and self critical and imposter syndrome buckets and I need them to stop!!!!

[letapollojusticesayfuck]

👀👀👀👀👀👀????

[yohankang]

hi besties, what dramas are you watching this season??

[stabbyfoxandrew]

also i have literally no clue where i left off in cosmic lost and found.

[skrunksthatwunk]

i think i mentioned this a while back but im working on an "every kuwameshi" video right (yes it's ridiculous i know somebody take them away from me) and i just need to say im so fucking sick of editing the saint beasts arc </3 pls i love that one normally but this section of the video is like. 70% silent group shots it's so bad and not fun to watch or edit and i hate it :[

[can-of-slorgs]

are you the one with the nt series where sloth is all buff and hanging out with the user's twinky oc? there was something also about sloth turning into a snowbunny? was that you or another guy?

do you know what i'm talking about if it isn't you... because if not this is embarrassing...

Anon I have no idea what you're talking about.

I haven't publish (nor read for that matter) anything NT related in maybe a decade.

Now, that said... The what comic about dr sloth's twink??

[dancedance-resolution]

i started a supercorp portrait of a lady on fire au like three years ago. i'm never going to finish it, but the writing style is pretty cool, so i want to share it. so um enjoy the prologue and a bit of chapter one?

---

Prologue. Bonnelles, France. 1786.

“First, my contours,” Kara said, her voice soft and level. She looked out upon the dozen or so young women, their eyes darting back and forth from their papers to Kara herself. “The outline,” she continued. The increasingly swift sound of scratching charcoal prompted Kara to further instruct, “Not too fast. Take time to look at me.” She paused. “See how my arms are placed.”

At that moment, Kara saw the painting.

She swallowed and took in a breath; she schooled her expression before letting out the air with a pathetically soft “My hands.” Her students’ gaze followed her verbal direction, now observing as Kara’s fingers curled with remembrance. Their own hands now began to sketch the slope of hers—the slope that had once coaxed breathy moans from a lover, the slope that had once created that very painting in all of its hollow longing.

Kara felt her heart rate accelerating, and her attempts at calming deep breaths only made her shoulders shake unsteadily. “Who brought that painting out?” Her eyes darted around, landing on each possible offender, as she tensed her core and adopted a stern countenance.

Every student dutifully turned to look at the work.

It was an especially young girl who finally lifted her hand. “I brought it. From the stock room. Should I have not?”

Kara’s “no” felt like a brick, its weight threatening to pry tears from her reddening eyes. So Kara took another swallow, a handful of blinks, a few more steadying breaths.

“Did you paint it?” the girl asked innocently. Nia, her name was? She stared at Kara, oblivious to the flood of sound overwhelming Kara’s mind and echoing in the cavern of her heart.

“Yes,” Kara uttered softly, the word barely audible as they fell from her lips. “A long time ago.”

Nia’s head snapped back to examine the painting once more. It stood on an old but sturdy easel, tattooed and scarred but still standing. The artwork itself was brooding, with a white sun bleeding into a dark vignette. Heavy clumps of clouds occupied the sky and caged some of the sun’s rays, so the fire burning behind the woman was bright enough in comparison to create a dragging shadow of her figure. The flames crawled up the back of her windswept dress, bringing sharp tension to an otherwise lulling, melancholy landscape.

“What’s the title?”

The sound of the sea began to swell in Kara’s head. Her lips trembled. Her body unwittingly swayed slightly. “Portrait of a Lady on Fire.”

---

Chapter I. The island of Brittany, France, and the surrounding sea. 1779.

Kara squinted into the distance, her face scrunching up a bit as she desperately tried to shield her eyes from the harsh glare of the sun on the water. For all its gorgeous teals and sparkling peaks, it certainly did make her wish for one of those brimmed hats the rowers were all wearing. With every one of their paced paddles, the cork-like little canoe bobbed haphazardly. Kara rather felt as if she were in the wine glass of a thoroughly drunken Marie Antoinette.

At least she wasn’t prone to seasickness.

She still felt quite unsteady, though, being thrown about and forced to pathetically grab onto the boat’s low walls. She leaned forward, trying to regain her balance and ground herself despite the absence of ground.

The wooden pallet holding her canvas was, apparently, as unstable as she was, and the next thing Kara knew, it had been lurched off of the boat like vomit from a drunkard. Kara watched helplessly as it thrashed among the choppy waves, the sea carrying it a few feet from the boat.

The chief rower met her desperate look with exhausted resignation; he ceased his paddling as Kara shed her overcoat and placed a precarious foot on the edge of the canoe.

With a strained creak from the boat’s wood, she jumped into the water, dress billowing behind her. Her first gasp for air upon emerging from the water was audible; she could feel the effort in her throat. Her arms moved in laborious little arcs as she slowly made her way towards the floating pallet and finally made a desperate reach for it. Kara’s fingers grasped onto a wooden board, and she pulled herself up onto it with a grunt.

---

The incessant wind upon the sea was certainly not helping Kara. Dripping wet, she wrapped herself up in her overcoat in a pitiful plea for warmth. She held the edges of the garment up to her lips, the sensation of the dry fabric bringing her some comfort as she closed her eyes and left herself to the mercy of the mighty sea.

But the interminable rocking of the feeble boat wouldn’t allow her any rest.

Kara wasn’t very religious, not anymore. Yet, the sight of the cliffs and coast of Brittany moved her to relieved prayer.

---

The sun had already begun to set as Kara trekked up the sandy coast. Her legs ached with every stumbling, unsure step—maybe she was a bit seasick after all—and her hands were tired of having to grip her full skirt to keep it out of her way.

She paused on the rocks, taking a moment to manually wring some of the water out of her skirt. She filled her lungs with an arduous breath before slinging the rope holding the pallet over her shoulder. Next came the fabric sling, which housed her trunk of personal items—she positioned it on her back with careful poise.

The journey up the cliffs and towards the trees was exhausting. Kara’s skirt required repositioning every few seconds, the rope was digging into her shoulder, and the pallet and trunk slammed into her back with each wobbling step. By the time she reached the straight path up to the residence, her breaths were heavy and pained, and the sun was nearly fully hidden beneath the horizon.

A soft light emanated from the windows above the mansion’s door, helping Kara feel a bit more secure as she knocked. A short blonde woman answered her summon and introduced herself with a flat “I’m Eve.” She opened the door a bit wider and gestured with her body for Kara to come in.

Eve held a small candle as she guided Kara up the stairs, the sounds of their shoes echoing through the grand yet starkly undecorated hallway. The walls of the stairwell were cement bricks, and the wrought iron bannister was rather plain and geometric.

They came to a stop in front of a similarly void room, bare save a few heavy curtains and a daybed. The raised panels along these walls matched the white-painted wood of the window frames, and they gave the chamber some elegant character.

While Eve entered the comparatively less intimidating room, Kara stayed back a moment, taking in the shafts of muted blue light from the windows and the contrasting warm glow of leaping flames from the central fireplace.

Eve crouched down to poke at the fire as Kara set down her belongings. “It was a reception room,” Eve explained. “Though I’ve never seen it used.”

The fire crackled pleasantly. “Have you been here long?” Kara inquired.

“Three years,” Eve answered, directing her attention back to the fire.

Kara peeled off her overcoat and draped it along the wainscoting. “Do you like it here?”

“Yes,” Eve said simply as she stood up. She turned to Kara, meeting her eyes now as her hands smoothed over her skirt. “I’ll let you get dry.” And with a nod, she was on her way.

Kara watched her every step.

Once the door closed, she hastily began removing her overskirt. It fell to the dark herringbone floor with an unglamorous thud.

---

There was no method or grace to the way Kara wrapped her hand around the rusting crowbar, but with a few jerks, she’d managed to successfully pry the top off of the pallet.

After setting down the wood cover, Kara extended her hand, letting it fall clumsily onto the slick canvas in front of her. It was still wet, and her hand’s small circular movement caused moisture to pool at her fingertips, as if her touch had beckoned the water. So her hand withdrew, and Kara slid the canvas out from its container. Her eyes danced over the surface as she considered how to dry it, holding it in front of herself like the Communion host of an evening Mass.

---

Kara decided to accompany her drying canvas, which was now positioned next to the fireplace. Stripped naked, she sat in front of the fire and pulled her legs towards herself—she was vulnerable, sitting there bare and in a new environment, and the action made her feel a bit more small, compact, and safe.

Kara set down her candle so she could light her tobacco pipe with the flames. Her large, smoky exhales grounded her, in a way, with the familiar sight and smell acting as a sort of sedative. And she stared forward, expression blank but unmistakably worn.

---

Kara walked barefoot along the cement floor, making her way through the hall and to the pantry room wrapped in nothing but her robe-like smock.

[blaiddraws]

Umm. Thoughts on the https://tumblr.com/tagged/train%20dragon tag and how it may or may not tie into Ghost Worm AU?

I recall it being a bit of a Thing over on Twitter (not like I check there often though, given what’s going on there, but yeah.)

in the most lighthearted way 1) i was here first >:D

but also 2) the train dragons trend is drawing dragons based on Real Life Trains. meanwhile wormgo is only inspired by trains in general and based on a Fictional Character instead

[vv-ispy]

(Old mond game talk) I think it would be really interesting if the game were to be designed in mind for the target audience knowing barely anything about old mondstadt beforehand. That being said, the idea of deca being a god shouldn’t immediately be introduced. The player starts off the game thinking the story is just about overthrowing a corrupt government leader, until some offhanded comment is made somewhere about his tyrannical rule lasting “thousands of years”, and the few physical descriptors/appearances of him prior to the final bossfight start off with him looking fairly human but as you get further along he looks less and less normal (glowing hair/eyes, appearance warping and shifting, etc etc)

Oooo that's an interesting idea. My initial concepting + rambling to my gf was rather joke-y actually — I described nb as someone who 'woke up and decided he was gonna kill a god' to avoid subjecting her to an hour of genshin lore before I can get on with describing the game idea :P

Which is to say, it didn't even occur to me the possibility of introducing Deca as anything other than a god? That's an interesting idea. On one hand, you play as nb and nb knows that Deca is a god. On the other hand, we don't necessarily need the audience to know everything nb knows. It may be fun to talk about Deca in such a way that any description of him could also apply to a corrupt government to further draw parallels between the two, and have the audience slowly come to the conclusion of 'oh this is a god'. On the third hand, I wonder if Deca being the God that oversees Mondstadt is such a big part of nb's life and motivation that it's one of the first things you learn about nb and his world, and having the audience figure it out ends up giving an impression of 'this god is no different from a corrupt government'. On the fourth hand, Deca is the government. And a corrupt one at that. And many imperial rules that lasted hundreds of years were legitimized with 'This Person Was Chosen By God'

I suppose it will also depend a bit on the themes the story ends up exploring, but tbh I haven't given that much thought yet, my current focus is the mechanics and the programming.

Saying that I do love the idea of a three phase Deca boss fight with him getting increasingly unhinged in appearence, as it hits you that while he may wear the skin of a human sometimes, he is a god. This is a god you're fighting. Good luck

[ao3screenshotss]

starting my english oral the day i'm presenting :'DD

[runningupthatvecna]

here to announce i'm writing a new piece about Eddieeeeee

[furious-blueberry0]

"Mmmhh maybe I should try to read some Legends Star Wars material, to have a better understanding of the franchise, and finding some new stories and characters to love!"

*Reads a 1,000,000 words Clone Wars fanfiction instead*

[burningcoreofa-rbmk-reactor]

Realizing you're gender fluid with Ranma 1/2 is fun :,) /gen