#I’m not ignoring you I promise

[phantom-of-the-keurig]

Sorry for being AWOL and spotty with replies lol, I’ve been on bottle baby duty

I’m also trying to prep for finals but I will get back to y’all asap I promise 🫡

[must-be-mr-boggins]

Things I need to get:

1) sexier

2) better at answering my asks

[arcane-vagabond]

Y’all, I see your asks, I’ve just been busy today since I’m out all next week. I’ll answer them later tonight!!

[andvys]

i’ll reply to all the asks I got later today <3 a girl’s gotta work unfortunately

[xzho-writes]

gonna be afk for a while cause all the deadlines i thought were ages away are finally slapping me in the face UEUEUEUE

[ghastlydesds]

Me:

My lactation kink: so you’re just going to ignore me

[kaleigh-color]

I saw your ask anon on my weapons collection and I just want you to know I am moving right now so they’re in boxes so I’m waiting until I unpack before I show you all

[bloobydabloob]

When you answered the ask asking about your art style (which is a post I keep looking back on bc what you have to say is very interesting) in one of your screenshots of you talking you mention something about how most if not all of your symbolism is self referent and I was wondering what you meant by that!

Hellloooo. I’m glad you found my ranting interesting. Here is some Dirk art I’m probably never going to finish for your troubles.

What I meant by that when talking about any symbolism in my art is that it doesn’t reference outside sources - e.g. where some art might use something like religious concepts, animals, real life events to represent ideas, I tend to use things more like colors, contrasting objects, composition. That sort of thing. So things that are inherently a part of the work itself rather than connections to the real world. If I ever do use symbolism otherwise, it’s usually comic related even still. Although I have done pieces with religious symbolism before too, haha.

I don’t know how to describe it other than “self referential” because I’m not really sure what else to classify that sort of symbolism as. Just… artistic maybe? Non literal? I couldn’t say. I think it all basically just goes along with the majority of my art nowadays being more figurative than literal. Sorry if this doesn’t explain it very well. It’s also funny to think that anyone is “Looking back” on any of my texts posts though, haha. To me I feel like I am just dumping my words on my poor followers. Surprising. Thank you for reading.

[wine-wrtj]

The party at the Prom

But soberness turns out to be the friends we made along the way

I literally just got possessed and woke up with my this piece finished two weeks later

Mind you as much as deranged teenager I am, for everything to be ✨legal✨ you could tell this is my self-indulgent polish Byler au. Because I was inspired to draw this after my school’s prom and I know NOTHING about American proms lmao. Anyway here’s some more context:

And yeah Will is totally the person to run the fuck away randomly and Elmax would probably be on the side quest. Somewhere outside of the state. Most likely.

[lady-harrowhark]

hello, can you explain to me in more clarity your “waxen” theory regarding Ianthe? I’m not picking up on what this implies but it’s making my brain itch.

Sort of! Totally fair question, I just don't have a lot of clarity myself in that I don't have a fully formed theory lol. There's definitely some links and parallels in verbiage that are pinging on my radar, so I do think something's funky, but I wouldn't say I'm fully on board with this yet. I'm just playing in the sandbox Tamsyn has provided us, tossing out ideas and thinking out loud. But I can go into some more detail, and add some more thoughts that have occurred to me since I posted that last night.

(Here's a link to the post in question, for context)

Anyway! So let's first lay out all the times we get someone described as some type of wax. At various points in HtN, we get the descriptions "a shoddy wax cast of some more beautiful sculpture," a "wax figure in a pink dolly dress," a "wax figure in pale purple chiffon," and "waxen face" for Ianthe. We also see that descriptor used a few other times for other people throughout the series. In GtN, Harrow's parents' bodies are called "waxy" and the first introduction of Protesilaus (as the beguiling corpse) says he was "waxen looking in the sunlight." In NtN, Kiriona's skin is said to have a "weird, waxy quality," then Naberius's skin is called "waxen" when they first meet up with Ianthe, and again a few pages later it again references the "waxen, handsome face". What I'm getting at here is that every time this sort of description is deployed, it's in reference to a dead body that's been preserved, manipulated, and is essentially masquerading as a living person... except for Ianthe.

We also know there are a multitude of times that she's described as looking like a poor copy of Coronabeth. There's that "shoddy wax cast of some more beautiful sculpture" line, her first introduction calls her a "starved shadow" of her sister ("or the first an illuminated reflection [of Ianthe]," and actually, off the top of my head I don't know that we ever see their descriptions framed that way again... I'd have to investigate this more later, but this might be the only time that Corona is described as a "better" version of Ianthe, rather than Ianthe being a "worse" version of Corona, which is interesting), there's a point where it says "The second twin was as though the first had been taken to pieces and put back together without any genius. She wore a robe of the same cloth and colour, but on her it was a beautiful shroud on a mummy," etc etc etc. I know there's more, but I'm too lazy to go pull the rest of the quotes and you get the picture by this point I'm sure. So nearly all of these situate her, at least visually, as a copy or approximation of Coronabeth, and one that doesn't quite live up to original at that.

So now let's pick apart this snippet of conversation we overhear between Silas and Ianthe at Magnus and Abigail's dinner party a bit. Ianthe says she was born via "surgical means," which I'm assuming is referring to a C-section delivery (or whatever the necromantic equivalent is) and notes that Corona is a few minutes older. Silas seems surprised (or perhaps concerned?) that they "risked intervention" and Ianthe says Corona had "removed [her] source of oxygen". At this point Silas says, "A wasted opportunity, I'd think." I had always taken this for him just being a dick and implying he wished she'd died in the womb, but coming back to it with this new angle... well. She says "Corona's birth put my survivability somewhere around definite nil." And I'm wondering if that doesn't tie to Harrow's comment about infant deaths generating "enough thanergy to take out the entire planet." Basically, could Silas have been implying that the Tridentarii's parents wasted an opportunity to use the thanergy from baby Ianthe's death to power up Corona?

Harrow says that twins are an ill omen, but the text hasn't come back to that as of yet. Given the difficulty necromancers experience with pregnancy, I'd imagine twins would could be especially dangerous and that in and of itself could be considered an ill omen. Ianthe's comments certainly suggest that their mother carried the pregnancy, although I don't think we know for certain whether she was a necromancer. I am so intensely curious about the Tridentarii's childhood and their parents; we get so many gestures towards some really twisted family dynamics, but very little in the way of concrete explanations. Particularly relevant here, I'd love to know more about their father wanting a "matched set" and how that came about. Did they intentionally plan for twins from the start? Was it only once they knew they were having twins that that became a factor? What's the significance there?

Outside of those "waxy" descriptors, Ianthe tends to be described as much more sickly looking than even other necromancers. We know that necromancers on the whole tend towards a phenotype of physical weakness, but even still, there's an emphasis on this with Ianthe beyond that. This might be due in part to narrator bias (coughGideoncough) or the direct juxtaposition between her and Coronabeth's vivaciousness, but what really jumps out at me as contributing to this effect is how frequently she's described as being colorless, pale, washed out, bloodless, pallid, anemic, etc etc etc. It very much makes me think of the way the color drains away from Colum (and even the rest of the room and the others in it) when Silas is siphoning. Silas himself is also often described as colorless ("mayonnaise uncle," "milk man") but not so much in a way that implies frailty as much as I read it as implying a stark coldness, in line with the very black-and-white moral authority he presumes to wield, a purported "purity", much different than Ianthe's colorlessness. With Ianthe, you get a sense that her palette ought to have been or perhaps was closer to Corona's, but the color's been drained away; where Corona's hair is described as golden, Ianthe's is "canned butter", for example. Almost like the life's been siphoned out, one might say.

So to kind of circle back around, do I actually think Ianthe is dead or a corpse like the other "wax" figures we've seen? Nah. Between Harrow and Palamedes, and especially Palamedes's medical necromancy, I think we would have heard about it by now if that were the case. But I do think it's entirely plausible that she's had a bit of a brush with death and that perhaps she's never quite fully come back from, and I do think she's being intentionally positioned as somewhat adjacent to death. If their parents were wanting twins from the outset, perhaps they used necromantic means to encourage the conception. Or if the pregnancy was as high-risk as I suspect it was, perhaps she'd died or nearly died at birth and been resuscitated. Their parents may have gone to extremes to keep her alive, to maintain their matched set. Given the themes of this series, I do feel it's necessary to draw a distinction between "resuscitation" and "resurrection" although they are curiously adjacent to one another. For all the text has grappled with dying and staying dead, dying and coming back, dying and choosing whether or not to return... we haven't touched on what something like a "near death experience" would look like. I'd imagine having that sort of experience, even at an incredibly young age, might lead one to be fascinated with, to use Ianthe's own words, "the place between death and life... the place between release and disappearance."

[uhohdad]

my heart and mind want König and reader to end up together

my pussy kinda wanted to see Titan railing reader though (RIP bozo he deserved it )

You suck in a sharp inhale at the pressure on your wrists, your eyes shooting open to be met with Titan’s menacing smile, carnivorous canines displayed proudly as he leers over his prey.

He got you when you were vulnerable. When your most valuable asset in the arena, your wit, was disarmed.

You’re frozen, still trying to reorient yourself from the transition of sleep to wake. Slow, careful breaths as you fight through the drowsy fog clouding your brain.

He’s got you fully restrained, his knees resting on either side of your waist and his hefty weight planted firmly on your stomach. Massive biceps tense as he pins you to the dirt, gripping your wrists with such force you’re sure he’s threatening to crush your bones to dust.

Your jaw clenches and a swallow catches in your throat. You’re still, eyes wide, only hard blinks as your heart pounds against your ribcage.

“Were you having a bad dream, Nine?”

He tilts his head with a hum, his arrogant smirk thickening around a teasing purr.

“Was it about Lover Boy?”

Titan scoffs, his eyes narrowing for a moment.

“That was some quick thinking back there, Nine. Can’t wait to see how you think your way out of this one.”

He gives his signature, gut-twisting laugh, razor sharp canines on display as his core shakes. He ends on a condescending, drawn-out sigh.

“You don’t want to call Lover Boy’s name?”

A sickening grin unravels on his face.

“It’s okay, Funny Girl.”

Titan leans in until he’s inches from you. His eyes narrow, and when he speaks, he purrs every syllable, his warm breath tickling your cheek.

“I’ll just make you say my name instead.”

THE OTHER TITAN DRABBLES YOU KNOW YOU WANT, FUNNY GIRL

Konig x Reader Hunger Games AU

[topsonlyybar]

mouse/cocaine UK apartment storytime. or, “why Dan and Phil are weirdly blasé about the state of their new build: musings on UK people and their relationship to real estate”

(for context)

[valewritessss]

I don’t give a fuck about walking into the kids section of the bookstore. If I want to find my percy jackson books I’m going to do so with zero shame because these little gremlins don’t appreciate the place like I do

[poems-of-the-anentomologist]

not doing my best

I’ve got

Dozens and dozens

Of wonderful friends

And watching eyes whenever I type

Mouths that say

The same

Stupid stupid shit

Over

And

Over

And

Over

And it’s over, it’s fucking over

I told him it’s done,

I told him I didn’t love him anymore

Except I didn’t tell him

He doesn’t hear me

I’m beating my hand up against the glass

Sobbing over and screaming

Over

And

Over

And

Over

I wrote it down

I told myself it was over

That I’d written my last poem

And here I am

Writing another one

About him

They say such nice things

About my soul up on a silver platter

It has to be silver

So that people enjoy it

I need to polish it up,

Brighten my dull feelings

I need to find that spark

I’m not doing my best, and I just need to find that spark

It’s glimmering shining

Wonderful radiance

Like his smile

I just gotta find the spark

I’ve found it before

Over and over and over and over

I’ve set pages upon pages ablaze with its ink

And now it’s gone

I’m hollow

I’m done

I’m not doing my best

I feel like I’m falling back in love but I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore

I’m not doing my best,

I’ll just

I’ll just

Plaster on a smile

Brush my hair

Take my meds

Dip my fingers into the slits in my wrists

Paint my nails a lovely shade of red

Wipe my tears away

Who needs them anyway

I look wonderful

I look sexy

I’m not doing my best

But goddamn I sure do look my best

And as long as the facade isn’t knocked down

The corpse that shambles under my name won’t collapse

I Promise Y’all I’m Fine, Just My Dysphoria Talking In This One

[kevinsdsy]

ANON??? im pretty sure someone sent me an inbox today about jean x kevin x shawn but i can’t find it anymore and i think i might have accidentally deleted which KILLS ME bc i really wanted to take a look at it now omg this just ruined my day i hope anon knows i did not ignore them and will now forever think about your inbox :(((

[amethystpath-writes]

Entertainment

(NOT A PR0MPT)

******

“I don’t love you,” Hero said. “I won’t love you, even though they all suspect it.”

“Isn’t it disappointing?” Villain asked.

Hero only hummed in question. She felt serene despite the storm brewing in her mind. For now, she would listen.

“To make another human your source of entertainment? You are televised. You don’t see your shepherds now, but there is a show playing in their minds during this very moment. You. Naked in my bed- as if we could ever be lovers. A scandal- because no one can ever be good enough. Nobody is allowed to be The Hero. That person, should they ever arise, must always be eradicated.”

Villain stared at the night sky from the park bench, swollen and wet from the rain which had passed. The dark clouds above appeared so thick that they stretched across space, blocking even the moon from seeing her subjects below. Another storm was being pushed through. “They wait for the day you’re found out- living out any trope that serves them, even if it’s not true of your life at all. Enemies to lovers.” He scoffed. “The new fad. Unfortunate for them, I hate you,” he said, and his eyes never left the stormy clouds. “We are not their love story, and I’ll spite you at every turn for making them think this rivalry could turn to such. Tell me, why did you decide to become their next victim, hero?”

“You make it sound like I wanted them to call me a traitor under their breaths.” Her voice held no contempt. She was too tired for that- for anything besides a quietly piqued interest. “I don’t want to betray them. I fight you because they don’t have the ability to. It’s all for them. It has always been for them.”

“And yet”- Villain shrugged- “what have they done for you? Spread rumors? Spoken to teen entertainment vlogs about their accounts on witnessing our ‘dates’? None of it is real. I tell myself I’m fighting for something, but the truth is, none of us are. Not even you, though you think your purpose is to oppose me- to oppose evil and all that is ill. It’s not.”

Progressively, Hero felt the tips of her ears warming- a deep contrast compared to the cold air around her. “I don’t entertain them.”

“You serve them. Is that phrasing any more to your liking?”

She couldn’t argue that. Hero did serve her community- by fighting Villain, by bringing justice to him. Or…trying to at least. The rumors came with their own consequences. She was outcasted. No one trusted her even though she never gave them a reason to distrust her. Hero fought Villain. That was all she ever did, but one person got it into their head that maybe- just maybe- they weren’t fighting at all. Maybe Hero and Villain were living a fairytale. Maybe they were an item and the fights were all a facade so at least one of them would be praised.

Still, it had nothing to do with entertainment. Hero didn’t want to think of it that way. If she did, it meant she did all of this for nothing. She had no purpose. She wasted her time, energy, and effort.

“Why did we meet here?” It was going to start raining again, and Hero was already shivering. She only met him tonight because doing so meant he was with her, in sight, and unproductive in his schemes. He volunteered her as a distraction; she wasn’t smart enough to say no.

“We might only be a means of entertainment, but I’ve learned to appreciate the act. You and I are not friends, but they think so. There’s a camera- over there…” He pointed to a tree, and Hero cursed under her breath. “And it’s been filming us the entire time. Having casual conversation on a stormy night where no one else would dare relax. Nice and private- though cold, but we’re willing to sacrifice that warmth if it means being together, right?”

“You set me up.” Here she thought she was allowing herself to distract him, but it was his plan all along. Of course he wasn’t wanting to fix this problem. “You said you were tired of the rumors, Villain. That’s why we were here, to lay them to rest.”

Villain laughed and finally looked to Hero. His eyes trailed to her ears, all red from her frustration. It irritated her even more and she untucked her hair. “You aren’t just their entertainment, Hero. You’re mine, too.” He muttered, “So easy.”

She wanted to argue: I’m not your entertainment; I’m Im no one’s, but it would only prove him right. Looking at his smile now, Hero regretted even pulling her hair from behind her ears.

I can fight him now. The camera would see it and the people would know that the two were not lovers at all. But again, she’d be amusing him. Right now, he was expecting her to make a move, to- to retaliate, if only to entertain him more. Yet, if she didn’t do anything, the tape he had now would only confirm in the community’s mind that she was a scandal. Untrue and unfit for being their voice. Would they arrest her?

“I’m all you have now. Your only security.”

Hero shook her head. “No. That’s not true.”

“Then who else do you have?”

The sky was sprinkling now. Fat cold raindrops touched on Hero’s shoulders and she shivered. “They’ll believe me,” she said, though it came out as a whisper. Still, Villain heard.

“Do they believe you now?”

No.

“If you are not with me, you are nothing but a bad face to them. I can give you a new identity. I can give you a new start, one where you can be the one entertained- not them.”

His hand touched her face. She flinched. When had she closed her eyes and when had he stood from the park bench? When did the sprinkling of them sky become thin, pelting drops?

It stung: his hand, the rain, the biting cold, the realization that she was running out of options.

“I don’t need your help.”

“They’ll arrest you. Treason,” he said, and rubbed his thumb across Hero’s cheekbone. “Isn’t that the highest punishable crime?”

Was it? She wasn’t sure.

He was scaring her.

He was scaring her, and it was working so well that she felt herself sweating despite also quivering in the downpour.

His fingers wrapped under her chin while his other hand rested on her shoulder. “I can help.”

“You’re the reason I’m in this position!” Hero tried to rip away, but Villain stopped her with a heavy grip. “I don’t want your help. I don’t want your help.”

“You put yourself in this position by fighting something you had no right mind fighting. You were unprepared, Hero. Ill-advised.” His thumb strummed her cheek again, calming, manipulative. “I only helped you realize.”

The drop on her cheek was warm- a tear, not a raindrop. “You told me we’re not friends.”

“No. I pity you.” The hand on her shoulder fell and Villain wrapped his arm around her back, pulling her into a hug. Instinctively, she turned her head against his chest. His shirt was soaked and cold, but it was comfortable. She stayed, forgetting entirely who he was.

When had the heat left her ears? Was it when the rain started or when she laid her head on his chest? “We’re not friends,” she said, but as she stood in the pouring rain, cheek pressed against Villain’s wet shirt, she couldn’t imagine leaving. Let them have their entertainment, she almost said, but no. She wasn’t supposed to be here.

Almost seeming to read her thoughts, Villain asked, “Who else do you have, Hero? Stand with me in this rain; let it wash away the hero you tried to be, and start anew.”

Thunder crackled across the sky. Hero remained silent. Enemies…lovers…amusement…what did it matter? She was comfortable in the rain, comfortable in the cold. “Will you delete the footage if I agree?”

He hummed.

“Delete it,” she begged, though her head never left his chest. “I want to start over. I would do anything.”

“Will,” Villain corrected. “I have some ideas for you.”

For now, they would leave the open sky, full of lightning and threatened existences. They would leave, and Hero would cry, grieve over her attempted heroism, and look to Villain- of all people- for a shoulder to cry on.

And as all villains do, he would take advantage of her, warp her mind, make her believe that she was wrong to be a hero, that she was a source of entertainment, though we, dear audience, know she was an inspiration all along.