#all of this painted on a single layer I am in pain

[crow-with-a-pencil]

Value study / painting practice with various blorbos to kick off spooky season

Closeup versions:

[wandasmistress]

Revelations and Reprimands

Synopsis- Wanda overhears the conversation you have with Tommy and Billy when you think she isn't around, she is not pleased one bit when hears what you utter.

Pairings- Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Warnings- Bad parenting (?)

Word Count- 3k

A/N- Gonna post this then dip for a few months. To my followers tho, stay super freaky, have great vagina, I love yaa!!

➵➶➴➵➶➴➵

The rays of sun up above were beating down on your exposed neck like an insistent hot skillet clad onto your back, the sweat glistened on your body making you look like a sizzling hot dog amongst the raging flames on a grill. The heat is the reason why you were only in a white tank top paired with old basketball shorts that have garnered numerous paint stains from moving into your current home a few years ago.

The blaring heat also being the cause for Tommy and Billy to be doused in layers of sunscreen as they protested against Wanda who was stern with them that she didn't want them to get sunburnt, making it her mission to lather every inch of their exposed skin.

As Wanda looked out the window she couldn't help but smile at the sight she had trouble keeping her eyes off of as she prepared a grand lunch for you and the boys. 

She was positioned in front of the sink washing the freshly picked strawberries from her very own garden that she took much pride in bragging about at PTA meetings and in her gardening Facebook group. Constantly glancing out the window to see your crouched form near the sliding back door, spray bottle in hand as you portrayed a concentrated demeanor coupled with Billy and Tommy’s kidlike shouts as they played on the swings with huge toothless smiles that made her heart spin thousands of times over. 

The cold water running down her fingers as she rubbed the ripe berries was a stark contrast to the heat berating you, but not more annoying than the bugs that sought to unionize in various places in your home. Pain from a stiff back and exhausting heat outweighed waking up at three am with a certain someone ripping all the sheets from the bed swearing to have seen a colony of ants congregating by her pillowside. Coupled with the constant excuses Tommy and Billy gave during dinner time, claiming there were tiny critters crawling around in their greens which was a clear lie, although the slight tensing of Wanda’s jaw showed her irritation.

Deciding to multitask with your outside chores, a large white garbage bag is stationed next to your figure, stuffed with various weeds that you had previously pulled from the ground. Now was the perfect opportunity to get this done so Wanda was no longer on your ass, complaining about how the weeds made her garden look messy. You, never being able to say no to her, made the decision for the chores to be completed sooner than later a reality.

Just as you set down the bug repellent to yank a dwindling mini weed, out of the corner of your eye you catch a literal settlement of small and big ants scurrying in a single file line. Your hand already grabbing the spray bottle as you didn’t hesitate to hose down the small colony. Eyes scrunched as you watched the ants scatter and disassemble.

What you failed to notice was Billy’s approaching figure with a quizzical look etched onto his juvenile face. As he came up from behind you with a question on the tip of his tongue Tommy rushed from behind, trying to get him to come back to the swings.

“C'mon Billy, one more round on the swings then we can have a slide race!” Tommy gasped out, his features exuding pure happiness as he attempted to tug his brother along. How he wasn’t breathless from running that long distance to where Billy was standing was something that stuck to the back of your mind.

But Billy was too focused on what you were doing, Tommy’s uproar of a claim already catching your attention and making you aware of their presence, your head twisting in their direction with a smirk represented on your face.

Just then Tommy let out a small squeal at the putrid smell that had just entered his nostril, his small hands coming to cover his nose swiftly.

“Don’t be such a baby, Tommy, it’s just bug repellent. Look mama’s using it to kill the bugs.” Billy stated with a smug smile on his face, knowing that statement would trigger him in some way because Tommy loved to claim he knew everything using the fact that he was older to support that idea. 

The smile on your lips broadens at the banter going on between the prepubescent boys that had started to occur after Billy’s words. “Hey, maybe you guys should take your talk over there. Your mom would kill me if she knew I had you guys over her next to these heavy chemicals.” You remarked as you pointed your gloved finger towards the play set with raised eyebrows.

But that idea was quickly cut off when Billy pointed his stubby pointer finger in the direction of the ground, your gaze turning to yet another wave of ants. You motioned for the boys to move back as you release another wave of chemical death toward the pests. A fresh wave of wind shifted some of the rancid mist in the direction of the boys. Billy’s face scrunched up in disgust while Tommy had let out a mantra of words that you’d never thought you hear come from his mouth in all his youthful glory.

“Holy shit! That stinks.”

An automatic laugh escaped from your mouth before you could really process the situation, Billy’s laughter not helping you reel in your initial shock to chastise Tommy. You blow out some air from your mouth before you try to act like an adult and reprimand him for his language. But the sight of Billy with his hands on his head and huge toothless beam made the thought of telling the kid who stood in anxiousness off. 

“Mama, why are you killing the bugs if they are outside?” Tommy asks in a haze of innocence.

You bite down on your bottom lip trying to find a reasonable answer to tell the young children, “These bugs tend to get inside no matter how hard I try to block them from the inside, you guys aren’t leaving the windows open when you’re not supposed to right?” You add at the end that gets some playful laughter out of the boys. Billy and Tommy chuckle as they grab their bellies, shaking their heads in the negative.

Their cheery laughter makes you look back towards them and question their honesty as you raise your eyebrows with a knowingly look in their direction, the only expression each of them gives is an expression with wide eyes and pressed lips, a look that you have known well when confronting them about their naughtiness. 

You exert a low chuckle at their mischievous behavior, “Don’t tell your mommy I said this but I think it’s her, she’s always leaving them open in our room and in the kitchen.” Silly beams were planted on their faces as they listened closely to your words.

You motioned them closer with your fingers, trying to create more distance from where you guys were huddled and the window you could see Wanda from, who was occupied with her back turned in the kitchen, “Hey listen, when I was in the backyard one day I could hear her singing in our room from all the way down here. Definitely better than Auntie Agatha’s.” 

Loud chuckles are released from their small lungs, the boys go into an uncontrollable fit of laughter when you mentioned Agatha’s not-so-enjoyable singing that she had no problem sharing when she came over every other weekend.

While the boys are coming down from their laughing fit you are quick to spray a spider web that has made its way awfully close to a window that was unsurprisingly cracked open. 

“These damn spiders keep coming back, so I thought if I kill their family they won’t feel at home here anymore. No more children to practice teaching how to spin a web with, and no more momma for them to find pleasure with.” You unconsciously spit out, whispering the last part under your breath. Forgetting the presence of your kids and their innocent minds for a split second, when you do there is a slight freeze in your motions afterward, but what’s the harm if Wanda isn’t around to hear it?

Unfortunately, Wanda had heard every word of that sentence. What you failed to realize was her presence leaning on the threshold of the backyard door. During the time you had been talking to Tommy and Billy, she had fully set up the outside table for the lunch she had completed, only staying to watch you three with a bright smile on her face when she heard the gracious laughter of her godsent boys.

A warm style remained on her face as she watched the sight of you three naturally conversing, but that snug smile quickly vanished from her face the second she heard that far-fetched sentence spoken into existence by you. A cloud of hurt waved over her just elated demeanor, as you told the story about killing the spiders family so it would no longer find your house a home and stay, it hit her close to home in the chest making her hug her stomach as a slight storm brewed within her.

A second before she was about to interrupt the laughter coming from the boys she witnessed something she wouldn’t have thought to occur for years, that specific something coming from her ten-year-old boys. She witnessed Billy and Tommy turning towards each other to exchange whispers with one another, fear and apprehension laced Billy’s face as Tommy had a poised expression. After their whispers, they nodded their heads toward one another and looked your way with that mischievous look they tended to hold when they were about to commit an indecent act.

“Fuck that spider's family.” Tommy voiced brazenly, his and Billy’s eyes gauging your reaction. Waiting to see if you would berate them like Wanda would have if she heard those words come from their mouths. After all, between their two parents, you were definitely the more laid-back one who let more things slide when you shouldn’t.

Wanda’s blood began to simmer at the lack of your reaction, her head tilting to the right as her jaw slightly clenched. Her infuriation rose to an all-time high when you turned around with a smirk on your face and uttered a string of words that managed to turn her evening completely upside down.

“That’s right, fuck their families.” The two giddy children broke into another fit of laughter at your lack of care for what the older twin had spewed moments ago and your response. All the laughter in the next moment immediately stopped with brief words coupled with a tone so daunting all the color drained from you and the two youngsters' faces.

“Thomas. William. Wash your hands.” Her tone was eerily calm as her eyes remained on your frozen figure and nowhere else. The boys quickly looked in her direction while avoiding eye contact, scurrying past her so she couldn’t scold them even for a second. When the boys were out of eyesight her gaze rested on you coldly, your eyes aimed towards the patio as your teeth kept your lower lip interlocked and your thoughts running rampant on all the possibilities of Wanda giving you a much-needed earful. 

Now Wanda knew where the trait of avoiding eye contact when in deep trouble came from which was deeply rooted in the boys. Being shaken out of her thoughts as your figure ascended into a standing position, your eyes finally met her. Wanda still held an appalled look, her eyes staring deadly into yours. A small whimper was released from your parted lips at her chilling glare. You don’t know how much she heard and you didn’t want to know, the thought of the unknown not bothering you in the slightest.

Putting down the bug killer and plopping your dirty garden gloves next to the canister, you make your way over to Wanda’s intimidating figure. A big lump in your throat prevents you from emitting coherent words from your mouth, you stand in front of Wanda, your ability to talk has suddenly disappeared and now you are looking foolish.

Although it doesn't show on your face your heart is thumping so hard like a sledgehammer is consistently pounding on your heart due to the panic coursing through your bones. Wanda’s silence coupled with her intense stare starts to move some gears inside of you that aren’t so appropriate for this situation. With your thoughts being loud, also before you can knock those thoughts out of your head she helps you, “Y/n.”

You stutter with a mixture of fear and nervousness from her intense gaze, “Ok, my bad. You know when you look at me like that it ju-” 

But she is quick to cut you off, not wanting you to deter the conversation from its true purpose, “Don’t.”

That instant you shut up and keep your lips sealed, shaking your head as a fidgety gesture. Her tone assures you of the wrath that is about to come, and rightfully so. Her hands are still crossed as she starts raining down her thoughts of pure discontent with your actions toward allowing the boys to behave that way without a scolding.

Billy and Tommy have neglected to actually go and wash their hands for lunch, instead peaking around the kitchen counter to witness Wanda uncrossing her arms, gesturing frantically with her arms. Your face is filled with regret as you shake your head after every word she says, not daring to utter a single word.

The children watch from beyond with wide eyes and stunned faces, Wanda’s voice starting to rise slightly as you fail to respond to any of the questions she asked. Tommy turns around to Billy with a worried expression, “Does this mean they are gonna divorce?” He whispered, his small body filled with too much unease. 

Billy looks over with a frightened look. “No Tommy, they can’t. When people love each other they can never stop, mommy and mama included.”

Tommy wasn’t at all relieved at Billy’s statement, his worry growing tenfolds at possibly being the cause of his parents leaving each other because of his actions. The boys turned back towards their bickering parents the second they heard your voice that had been radio silent for the past minutes.

“I know baby, I was joking. I promise you I didn’t mean any of it.” You tried to convey to her, knowing her history, internally punching yourself over and over again for even mentioning that earlier sentence. Your hands slowly approach her wrists to provide her some comfort.

She is quick to swat your approaching hands away as her blood is still boiling, her eyebrows scrunching in exasperation, “Don’t baby me right now. You shouldn’t be telling our children stories about killing a bug's family and then proceeding to laugh about it.” She states in such vigor you internally agree to shut the fuck up for the time being, “I don’t give a fuck if you were joking, Y/n, never do that shit again.” She delivers in a tone of finality, her head tilt returning again.

You shake your head in silent agreement, accepting the fact that you fucked up and need to do better. As you look away from Wanda’s piercing evergreen eyes you catch sight of Tommy and Billy peaking at you two from the kitchen, your eyebrows rising in surprise which causes Wanda to turn around and catch sight of them too.

Wanda lets out a strained sigh, pressing her palm against her forehead, not wanting Billy and Tommy to see their parents arguing has gone completely out of the window. Rubbing the creases on her forehead away before she makes eye contact with both of the boys.

Increasing the pitch of her voice she says, “I didn’t know you guys were there sorry, don’t be like your mommy, both of us.” Turning to give you a disturbing glare.

“How comes we can’t say it but you can? “Tommy suddenly implored with bunched eyebrows.

Wanda releases a quick breath in disbelief, shaking her head at the sudden gall he had to ask her such a question, “Because first of all I am an adult, but most importantly your mother.” Her previous high pitch voice was gone.

She thought she had finally cracked the audacity that spawned in the twins today but was taken aback when the next moment they turned their heads whispering to one another then snickering, Billy shoving Tommy’s shoulder with wide eyes, albeit still giggling. You stood where you were, with no intention of getting scolded again or going in between the wrath of Wanda and her parenting. 

Wanda tells them to share what they want to hide so badly, causing Billy to immediately stop his laughter and look like a dear caught in headlights, his eyes looking over to you for a semblance of help that you were afraid to even think about giving, fearful of Wanda’s deathly gaze adorning you again.

Tommy like the brave soul he has consistently appeared to be this evening had no problem telling Wanda what he was just whispering in his twin's ear, “Since that spider's family is dead now they don’t have a momma to pleasure…that it should come find you like Mama said earlier.” He ends with a finger pointing in your direction, practically slapping you while he is at it.

Fuck. Your facial features, body, breathing, and hell even heart stopped for those unsettling few seconds of silence, no one dared move as the tension was almost visible. Your eyes glued onto Wanda’s figure, her body unmoving, but damn was her mind was whirling with a million thoughts swimming words she rather the boys not hear at their young age. 

Your blood runs ice cold as you see Wanda slowly turn her head back in your direction. Her facial features are void of emotion as she deeply stares into your soul. You kept eye contact with her, afraid to even move a single muscle after she waved the twins away to their rooms. And once you saw her head tilt to the right you swear you saw a flash of heavens gates, at least this wouldn’t be the worst way to go out, staring into the eyes of your beloved wife who would be putting you there.

“Y/n!”

Oh shit. Yes oh shit indeed.

»

[dellalyra]

𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 - 𝘕𝘦𝘶𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

pixie says: this is my first foray into writing for genshin but neuvilette is too pretty to ignore and if you notice i am writing for another tall man with white hair no you didn’t.

The Chief Justice of Fontaine was an elusive man. Aloof, serious, logical. The air of grace and elegance that flowed from his body and being put the most beautiful of swans to shame. The way he carried himself with such poise and dignity, made it clear why he was so very respected throughout Fontaine. His air of unattainability was echoed by the ever polite, kind-yet-distant way he interacted with others. That, and the obvious - that level of otherworldly beauty. It was what first struck the traveller upon meeting Neuvilette - such beautiful features, graceful and sharp like the man himself. Hair as white as freshly fallen snow with those odd blue horns (it became quite clear to the traveller that they were horns - since there was no way in Celestia that the Iudex was not the Hydro Dragon).

Yet - that day, at the grave of Navia’s father - it was clear as day that there was a deep, painful, lingering sadness in those beautiful eyes.

Lumine hoped he wasn’t alone.

The life of a dragon can be a lonely one.

An invite to dinner had arrived for Paimon and Lumine, from Navia - a thank you for their help during the trial. Following the etiquette she had been picking up on in each nation, it was customary to bring a gift to the host in Fontaine which lead her to wandering the streets in search of a florist. Lumine may have been very adept at gathering flowers and plants - however floristry arrangements were never a skill an intergalactic traveler and the sword of Teyvat had ever picked up on.

The pale blue front of the flower shop was immaculately painted and decorated with gilded lettering ‘la gueule de loup’ - which according to Paimon meant Snapdragon.

What an odd name, she hadn’t seen a single snapdragon in Fontaine.

“Bonsoir! If you need any assistance, please let me know!” A cheerful voice echoed from the door behind the cream counter.

“Hello! We would like to buy a bouquet please!” Paimon responded - ever the duo’s spokesperson.

At that, a woman in a pale pink apron came around the corner. Hair haphazardly pulled up atop her head secured with a pencil and a dark blue ribbon - a cream, soft blouse tucked into a dark blue layered skirt atop white stockings and navy and gold boots, a n embroidered blazer sat atop a chair which matched the woman’s skirt. She smiled brightly at the pair in front of her - and Lumine’s breath hitched when the shining tone of her eyes caught the evening sunlight, an otherworldly quality to her aura.

“A bouquet? Well, good thing you’re in a flower shop! I might have some flowers we could piece together!” She said, giggling as she gestured to the sea of flowers engulfing the store.

Paimon smiled and laughed and Lumine followed suit.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lumine and Paimon - I was hoping I would get to run into you soon.” She said as she collected a basket to gather her supplies.

“You know us?” Paimon asks.

“Sweetheart, I think everyone in Teyvat knows you. The brave and beautiful outlander and her clever guide. However, my husband was in attendance at the most recent magic show and trial - so I became privy to all of the inside scoop.” She smiled.

“You did not attend? I thought all of Fontaine was there.” Lumine spoke up.

“Ah, I tend to not get involved with the trials, I am delivered a rundown of the days events in the evenings. Yet I have been to several of the twins magic shows, such fantastic entertainment! I do love them so. Such gentle children, too, Lyney and Lynette.” The woman’s eyes lit up and an air of an excited child permeated her face. Lumine quirked a brow at the woman calling the twins ‘children’ for she looked no older than 25.

“Now! What’s the occasion?” Hands placed on her hips, the woman smiled at the travellers.

“Miss Navia asked us to dinner this evening, and we’ve been told a gift is a Fontainian custom.” Paimon speaks.

“Ah! Well, for Miss Navia you will need some clematis - her favourites. Edelweiss for courage, which you have both shown in the past few weeks. Hydrangeas for understanding - blue, I think. Iris for trust. Nasturtiums for victory. Rosemary for scent and also for remembrance of her dearest father, with some added sweet pea as a thank for you a lovely time.” The woman says, mostly to herself as she wanders the store - quickly picking up bunches of flowers from the jars in which they lay. Paimon and Lumine’s eyes were wide as if the woman spoke in tongues.

“Wow! I didn’t even know flowers could mean all that! Lyney only told us a few! You sure know your stuff, Mrs. Florist!” Paimon squealed, amazed.

The woman threw her head back in laughter.

“Y/N is fine, sweethearts. A book could be told in flowers alone. Flowers are nothing but truth, they exist for beauty and healing - and I admire them greatly.”

“You knew Miss Navia’s father?” Lumine asks, gentle voice contrasting Paimon’s outburst.

“I knew him well. A very good man, loyal endlessly and thought of Navia as his entire world. A life taken too soon in protection of his child - I lay flowers on his grave every month, mortal lives are so fragile - they must be treated with respect, no matter the circumstances.” She says, hands deftly manoeuvring the flowers into a piece of sponge.

Lumine quirked a brow.

“Mortal?”

“A state in which neither of us reside, Miss Lumine.” The woman responds with a wink and a smile.

It was logical that Lumine was not mortal, yet the explanation of this woman before her also not being so seemed to make many things far more understandable.

Just then, a patter of footsteps outside the store came trotting in through the front door.

“Mama!” A small voice called.

“Liath! Hello, sweetling!” The woman pauses her arranging and comes around the counter and leans down. Lumine spins and expects to see a child - perhaps with the florists hair.

What she didn’t expect was a Melusine.

“Papa wishes to know if you’d like to have a picnic together this evening, when he is finished at the Palais.” She asks, picking a small rose and placing it in her mother’s hair.

“Tell him that sounds wonderful, I am closing the shop soon and I meet him at the office. Thank you, Liath. Come here, let me fix your ribbon.” Y/N smiles and adjust the ribbon on the lapel of the melusine’s lapel.

“Thank you, mama. Bye bye!” She says, kissing her on the cheek and skipping out the door.

“Mama?” Lumine asks.

“Ah - not biologically. Yet, my and my husband’s nature has led us to a parental standing with the melusine’s. They are all our children, regardless of what soil they grew from.” She says, wrapping up the bouquet in a swathe of blue ribbons. Lumine wonders if by nature, did she mean they were both parental figures by nature or something to do with her not-mortal being. Perhaps her husband also was not human.

Lumine decided to press on the matter no more. Everyone deserved their privacy, after all.

“Et, voila! One bouquet for Miss Navia.” Y/N says, handing the bouquet to the traveler.

“How much do we owe you?” Lumine smiles, the bouquet truly was something exquisite, a talented woman indeed.

“Nonsense, lovely. You have done Fontaine a great service, consider this a small thank you. Miss Lumine, please take these peony roses also - they are a symbol of happiness, which you make me as I have heard you show great kindness to all of my children, for which I am so very grateful. For you, Madame Paimon, some purple Iris - meaning respect and intelligence for the Outlander’s clever guide.” She hands them all of the flowers, and winks at Lumine when she addresses Paimon, knowing that such words would fill the floating pixie with glee. True enough, Paimon squeals and dives to hug the woman who chuckles and kisses her cheek.

“Thank you so so much, Miss Y/N! We love them so much - Lumine, you could put it in your hair with your Inteyvat! I’ll put mine under my tiara, then we can match!” Lumine smiles and does as suggested.

“May I ask where you are meeting Miss Navia?” Y/N asks.

“Café Lucerne, however I’m not quite sure where that is.” Lumine responds.

“Ah! Well then I can walk you, if you wish?”

Just as she speaks, the door opens with a jungle of the bell as Lumine secured the flower in her hair she sees Y/N smile and walk around the counter.

“Hello, mon ange. I thought I was meeting you at the Palais.” Ah, must be her husband, Lumine thinks and she sees Paimon turn and freeze.

“Mon trésor, I am taking you on a picnic so it is only right that I collect you myself.” The deep rumble of a voice makes Lumine freeze too.

“YOUR HUSBAND IS MONSIEUR NEUVILETTE?!” Comes a squeal from Paimon.

Lumine spins on her heel and sees the owner of the familiar voice. Y/N’s hand is pressed to the far taller man’s cheek in a tender display of affection she would not have associated with the Chief Justice.

The gentle smile on the man’s face as he looks at his wife with such love is one she figures the melusine’s learned from him.

“Miss Lumine, Miss Paimon. A pleasure to see you. I see you have met the Madame Neuvilette.” He nods his head toward them.

“MADAME NEUVILETTE?!” Paimon seems on the verge of a meltdown at this information.

“Indeed. Apologies, I got so caught up in making such a wonderful bouquet I didn’t even introduce myself properly. Do forgive my lack of manners.” She says, turning and removing her apron as she begins to shut down the store for the evening.

Everything clicked into place just then.

The wife of the hydro dragon would hardly be a mortal woman. She mentioned the Palais, his attendance at both the magic show and the trial and of course the melusine’s would view the hydro dragon as their father.

The logical side of it all did little to curb the shock of seeing the intimidating Ludex and Hydro Dragon of Fontaine, the man who had taken out Childe with a simple slap being so gentle and enamoured in the face of his wife.

They way they looked at each other - that level of love had been a rare delight to find across her journey. Perhaps in how Zhongli spoke of Guizhong or Cyno and Tighnari - or how that certain someone looked at her and she at them…

“Neuv, we must show Lumine and Paimon to Café Lucerne on our way to our picnic.” Y/N says, ushering them all from the store before locking the door behind her.

The walk was short, as pleasantries were exchanged and Paimon and Y/N did most of the talking in the wake of the quiet counterparts.

“And here we are! I do hope you have a wonderful evening. My regards to Miss Navia. Do come and visit again soon, I would love to exchange tales of adventures!” Y/N smiles, before pressing a kiss to each cheek of the two outlanders.

“Indeed, the melusine’s speak very highly of you both - you must forgive the children if they become over zealous.” Neuvilette adds with a fond smile.

“Au revoir, enjoy your meal!” Y/N says, grasping her husbands arm and smiling at him. Lumine looks at them walk away toward the aquabus station entrance.

She could not quite believe her eyes when she sees the hydro dragon press a large pale hand to the smooth, undisturbed lower belly of his wife.

The sunset brightened ever so slightly.

Fontaine surely was full of surprises.

[redgoldsparks]

August Reading and Reviews by Maia Kobabe

I post my reviews throughout the month on Storygraph and Goodreads, and do roundups here and on patreon. Reviews below the cut.

Heavyweight: A Family Story of Holocaust, Empire and Memory by Solomon J Brager After listening to this excellent interview with the author on the Gender Reveal podcast, I was very excited to pick up Solomon Brager's hefty nonfiction comic about family history, Jewish identity, the Holocaust, and empire. This is an incredibly well researched and thoughtful book. The author grew up with outsized family stories of a Jewish boxing champion great-grandfather from Essen who punched Nazis, and a great-grandmother who carried her children across countries and mountains to escape to the US. But these stories became much more complicated when the author started digging for receipts. One factor is the immense financial privilege of the family which already had bank accounts and significant savings in New York. Another factor is the layers of violence and empire that build up the power of the countries fighting on both sides of WWII. The author's quest to research the family story is a major thread in the story itself and I am absolutely awed by the amount of work that went into uncovering and shaping this story.

My Dearest Patrolman vol 1 by Niyama As a delinquent teen, Shin was mentored and protected by a friendly patrolman, Seiji. Having one supportive adult in his life completely turned Shin's life around and he also decided to become a patrolman. Years later, Shin and Seiji meet again, and Shin decides to confess the feelings he's been nursing for a decade. Lighthearted dating hijinks ensue! Strikes a nice balance between silly, sweet, and spicy.

Go For It, Nakamura! by Syundei An extremely silly and cute high school rom-com. Shy Nakamura has a massive crush on his classmate Hirose. Despite the fact that they see each other every day, Nakamura has never introduced himself. What will it take to get him to finally speak up and try to befriend his crush??

Something Not Nothing by Sarah Leavitt In 2020, Sarah Leavitt's partner of more than 20 years, Domino, died with medical assistance after years of severe chronic pain and a rapid decline at the end of her life. Leavitt, a cartoonist and writer, tried to make sense of this decision through comics and abstract watercolor paintings. The result is a gorgeous, heart wrenching, deeply human meditation on love and loss. There were pages that lifted my spirits and pages that pierced me to my core. I sobbed through the majority of reading it, but couldn't put it down. Leavitt's mapmaking of the landscape of grief is a gift to us all.

Assassin's Fate by Robin Hobb read by Elliot Hill What can I even say about this, the final novel of a 16 book fantasy series, which I have been reading and re-reading now for twenty years, other than holy shit??? I can't believe I've reached the end of Fitz's journey at last. This book is SO long (nearly 1000 pages) and much of it is brutal to read; characters we love are beaten, abused, tortured, and left in pretty hopeless situations for much of the novel. I think Hobb's insistence on revisiting almost every single character from the Rain Wilds and Live Ship sub-series expanded the first third of the book more than needed; had I been editing it, it would have been shorter. And yet! And yet! I was riveted by this too-long book, devouring it in big gulps, scream-texting about it to several friends who were reading the series along with me. The ending hit SO HARD. Its PERFECT, TERRIBLE, WRETCHED, one of the cruelest endings for several beloved characters and while also giving them a kind of grace and eternity I did not see coming, but should have. This book fulfills the themes of the entire series so well, completing repeated patterns, showing cycles that ripple through three generations, while also leaving a door open for the future that I'm already daydreaming about. Literally how did Robin Hobb come up with all of this. Its flawed but its perfect. I am in awe.

BL Metamorphosis vol 1 by Kaori Tsurutani translated by Jocelyne Allen An older woman picks up a BL manga by chance at a bookstore and discovers a new fandom late in life. She ends up befriending a shy high school girl who works at the bookstore and also loves BL, but has no one to talk to about it. This is such a freaking cute premise and I love the loose sketchy art style!

BL Metamorphosis vol 2 by Kaori Tsurutani translated by Jocelyne Allen Unlikely friends Urara, a shy high schooler, and Ichinoi, a widowed calligraphy teacher, bonded over their love of a BL manga series. Now they're heading to a doujinshi event to try and meet their favorite author. This brought me right back to my early days of visiting cons and meeting authors for the first time!

BL Metamorphosis vol 3 by Kaori Tsurutani translated by Jocelyne Allen Urara has been reading and loving BL manga years, but it takes a push from her older friend Ichinoi before Urara considers the idea of possibly drawing her own. Can she find the time to write and draw a story around her cram school schedule? This series PERFECTLY captures the BL reader to BL writer pipeline, I'm so charmed.

BL Metamorphosis vol 4 by Kaori Tsurutani translated by Jocelyne Allen Urara applies for a table at a comics festival, so now she has a deadline for her first original comic. Can she get it done in time? Ichinoi is there to cheer lead and support in every way she can (finding a printer, sewing a table cloth, agreeing to work the table, packing their lunches) but only Urara can get the comic done. This book contained one of my very favorite exchanges of the whole series, when Ichinoi asked "Is it fun to draw manga?" and Urara responded honestly, "No. It's hard to look at my own art for so long. But it feels like I'm doing what I should be doing."

BL Metamorphosis vol 5 by Kaori Tsurutani translated by Jocelyne Allen Urara and Ichinoi struggle through a long, slow day of trying to sell an original comic at their first ever comic event. Unbeknownst to them, their favorite author is there as an attendee. This book felt like one of the most relatable portrayals of the early days of a comics career I've ever seen. I'm obsessed with this series and definitely want to watch the live action movie adaptation!

The Spear Cuts Through Water by Simon Jimenez This complex fantasy novel weaves together a multi-strand narrative of violence, love, and the end of empire in an original world of old gods and talking animals. In the main thread, two warriors carry the corpse of an almost-dead goddess across the country in a five day dash from the mountains to the sea. The goddess was once the Moon, torn out of the sky by her own desire for immortality. Her children became the despotic Moon Throne, a cruel dynasty which has repressed and punished the people and elements. The Moon Thrones' heirs, three brothers with extraordinary powers, chase the warriors and hunger for the last dregs of the fallen Moon's power. In another thread, an unnamed protagonist watches this drama unfold as a play being performed in a dreamy underwater sleep realm, while recalling the stories their lola told of the old country before the war. This novel is often compared with NK Jemisin's The Fifth Season in terms of scope, literary prose, and ambition and I can see why. This novel employs some very creative and unusual writing choices that make it more rewarding to read in print than to experience in audio. I had a content warning for gore and cannibalism going in, so I was prepared for the violence of the middle section. I really enjoyed this novel and I can tell I'll be thinking about it for a long time.

Horse by Geraldine Brooks read by James Fouhey, Lisa Flanagan, Graham Halstead, Katherine Littrell, Michael Obiora This book follows multiple different story lines, some of which captured me much more than others. In Kentucky in 1850, an enslaved black boy watches a new thoroughbred racing colt's birth and begins a lifelong relationship with the horse, who will go on to be one of the most well-known champions in the history of American horse racing. In New York City in the 1950s, a gallery owner known for her modern tastes falls for an equestrian portrait of the great Kentucky race horse, Lexington. And in 2019, in Washington DC, a Nigerian-American art history student and a Smithsonian scientist dig into the mystery of an unlabelled horse skeleton in the museum's collection- and its possible connection with several paintings by a Civil War era equestrian artist. I admired the amount of research that went into this novel, and the way the paintings of Lexington tied the different timelines together. However, I really struggled with how the interior emotional lives of several of the Black male characters in this book were portrayed by this author. When Jarret, the enslaved Black groom, is separated from Lexington and forced into plantation labor temporarily, Brooks writes of him gaining a depth of spirit and understanding for the human condition from this experience. This felt deeply weird to read from a white author! I'm not really the right reader to say whether Brooks did a good job or not, but it put me on edge. When the final climatic moment of the novel read like a heavy-handed lesson in how Black men are still at risk of police violence even in 2019, I wondered who exactly that point was supposed to be for, and if Brooks is the one who needed to make it. So, I felt very mixed as I finished this book. There's a lot to admire craft-wise, and I can understand why so many readers were impressed by it. But I honestly I don't recommend it, unless you want to read it in a book club setting and have a nuanced discussion about what works and what doesn't in this novel.

The Summer Book by Tove Jansson A young girl named Sophie spends her summers on an island of the coast of Finland with her very present grandmother and her rather absent father. Each chapter tells of an incident experienced through the eyes of the very young and the very old- the growth of mosses and wildflowers on the island stones; boxes and bottles of flotsam and jetsam washing to shore; a great storm; an adventure in trespassing; an unexpected visitor; a night spent outside sleeping in a tent. Without much of an overarching plot this book is still a moving picture of living very close to and in tune with the seasons and elements in a very specific part of the world. It's brief and open ended but I really enjoyed it!

Delicious in Dungeon vol 14 by Ryoko Kui As the smoke clears after the explosive ending of the previous penultimate volume, our heroes gather themselves, check on the survivors, and set out on the most collaborative challenge: cooking and eating an entire chimera body. This is a satisfying and in some ways gentler ending than I expected from this series, but I really enjoyed it!

Notes from an Island by Tove Jansson and Tuulikki Pietilä translated by Thomas Teal  In the autumn of 1963, Tove Jansson, her partner Tuulikki 'Tooti' Pietilä, and their taciturn friend Brunström set about trying to finish a small cabin on a tiny Finnish island before the onset of winter (and possible legal delays of building permits). Tove and Tooti spent their summers on the island for the next 3o years. This book contains excerpts of journal and introspective writing on the nature of the island, the sea, the changeable weather, the futility of human efforts to shift the natural environment. These writings are paired with delicate prints Tooti made of water, stones, and ocean views. I read this directly after The Summer Book and after listening to a short biography of Jansson- this made a good companion to those other texts, but might have been a bit spare on its own.

[astranauticus]

Link Click single "Prometheus" Fan Translation

translation under cut!

让黑夜吞噬最后一点光

Let night swallow the last bit of light

就当是一场梦

Pretend this is all a dream

如果无法挣脱索性就让一切都失控吧

If I can't escape, then let everything go out of control

尝尝我的痛

If you have a taste of my pain

或许才会明白哭到失声根本没有用吧

Maybe you'll understand that there is no point to crying

倒数着三二一零

Count down, three two one zero

卖弄可笑的六欲七情

You're still playing up your laughable emotions and desires

这世界已经天翻地覆

This world has already been turned upside down

不如和我一起跳到深渊感受这失重吧 Why don't you jump into the abyss to feel this weightlessness with me

叫他们的幻想蒸发

Let their dreams evaporate

像是面无表情撕碎玩具那般从容

As simple as coldly tearing apart a stuffed toy

谁叫他们学不会听话

It's their fault they keep falling into my hands again and again

还是一次又一次地落入我的手中

Because they can't learn to stay in line

早听腻了烦人的叽叽喳喳

I've long grown tired of this annoying chattering

用绝望在墙上染个碎花

Use despair to paint a splatter on the wall

请他们永远永远闭上嘴吧

Invite them to never, never speak again

[(LTX:) piano solo]

隐秘的血色的黑夜童话

The hidden, blood-soaked midnight fairytale

刹那间将所有光芒抹杀

Smothers all light in an instant

偷走那神的火把

Steal the torch of the gods

坠落下万丈悬崖

Fall down the bottomless abyss

没有归处的人等待世界崩塌

The ones with no home await the world's collapse

（最后的 狂欢吧

(The final carnival

最后的 狂欢吧）

The final carnival)

偷走那神的火把

Steal the torch of the gods

坠落下万丈悬崖

Fall down the bottomless abyss

没有归处的人啊

The ones with no home

静静沉睡吧

Sleep peacefully now

暂时藏起了利爪和鳞片

I'll conceal my claws and scales for now

魔鬼躲进她黑白的���键

The demon hides in her black and white keys

收起你那套因果循环

Keep your talk of causality and repetition to yourself

我会遭报应吗？反正还没应验

Will I receive retribution? We don't know that yet

都是我的消耗品

(LX:) They're all expendables to me

被我牵着鼻子走还抓不着要领

I'm dragging you along by the nose and you still can't figure it out

一个 两个 三个 四个

(LX:) one, two, three, four

心跳加速只是我的白噪音

The sound of a racing heart is just white noise to me

撬开一层层的保险

Prying away the layers of safeguards

像茶余饭后的消遣

Just to pass the time after a fine meal

对黑夜缺了点敬畏

You people who get hurt needlessly

白白受伤的人

Because you lack respect for the night

看着我千万别眨眼

When you look at me, never blink

下一秒骇人的画面

Lest you miss the scenes of carnage

命运她由我来加减

I am the one who will alter fate herself

我是那灭灯的神

I am the god that extinguishes the light

隐秘的血色的黑夜童话

The hidden, blood-soaked midnight fairytale

刹那间将所有光芒抹杀

Smothers all light in an instant

偷走那神的火把

Steal the torch of the gods

坠落下万丈悬崖

Fall down the bottomless abyss

没有归处的人等待世界崩塌

The ones with no home await the world's collapse

没有归处的人啊

The ones with no home

静静沉睡吧

Sleep peacefully now

(bonus: my translation of 321!)

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

The Candlemaker

Summary: “He might’ve lost it now, Ma’am.” The Quartermaster informed you with a nervous hiccup in his tone, not knowing that he was about to throw oil into the fire.

Pairing: Edward “Ned” Low x afab!Reader

Word Count: - 3.2k

Content Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat 18+!, Canon Compliant Violence, Explicit Descriptions Of Torture (Not Towards Reader!), Talk About Scars/Scarring

A/N: Massive thank you to @ohlookapan for relentlessly listening to my somewhat demented, somewhat horny rambles about musty pirate men from a show you know nothing about.

Tagging: @queer-crusader

When is a monster not a monster?

Oh, when you love it.

Oh, when you used to sing it to sleep.

- Caitlyn Siehl

Although the night had fallen hours ago, the air hung so thick and humid, clinging to your skin just like a thin layer of sweat that always accompanied you, that you felt like you were able to just slice it, cut through it with a fancy, Stirling silver butter knife.

“Why am I doing this to myself?” The rhetorical question dripped from your lips like a spill of oil, slow and laboured, as you hunched your back just slightly, leaning down to submerge your hands into a vat of piss-warm water that had once held the faint idea of being cold in the morning, however, it still brought you a direly needed sense of comfort.

Even warm water felt better to you than sweat, coaxed from your skin by hot and humid air. Regular water didn’t stink, didn’t stick to your fingers and temples in such a displeasing way…it just engulfed you, being kind enough to take the accumulated dirt off your palms simultaneously.

Exhaling a low hum, you gingerly splashed handfuls of wet up to your elbows, careful as to not soak the sleeves of your blouse. The comforting sensation lulled you in enough for you to zone out for a moment, eyes falling out of focus as you watched the surface wave and swap against the basin's brim. You basked in it, the brief moment where not a single thought flitted through your mind and you found yourself perfectly well entertained by the playful splashing of water. The breaking light distorted the image of your hands beneath the surface to the point that made them nearly look normal, painted in a sun-kissed tint just like they should look. However, you were all too aware that they didn’t and although your eyes weren’t fixed on them, you could see the bright welts of old scar tissue snaking along your fingers and wrists in wide lines. A nearly continuous streak of pale and sensitive skin that still told about unimaginable pains you’d been subjected to by a particularly gruesome British officer years before you’d set up shop in Nassau.

Before getting way lost in musings of times long past, you redirected your attention to the nice feeling the water against skin created. Maybe you should just pour yourself an entire tub of water and lie down in there for the night; chances that you found some sleep certainly higher than in your bed surrounded by thin linen blankets and dusty velvet pillows.

What violently pulled you back into your own head was a stern knocking at your workshop's door downstairs. The sudden noise caused you to crinkle your nose and arch your brows in an uncomfortable flinch and at first you didn’t even consider answering it until it got repeated.

“A moment, please!”, You yelled loud enough for it to echo through drawn curtains onto the street before pulling your hands from the puddle of water and shaking the wetness from your wrists, “It’s 2a.m, I reckon you don’t come to buy candles, do you?”

“Mr. Holmes?” The familiar face of a man in his early 30s, features framed with an unkempt copper beard, looked right at you with a faint smile, feigning a modicum of decency and trying to hide the discomfort he was carrying in his chest after you’d swung the wooden door open.

“Mrs. Low, please excuse this disturbance at such an unsavory time. Just hours ago we returned to Port Nassau and I assume the Captain hasn’t been with you yet?” The red-haired man stammered clumsily, his eyes averting yours as politely as he possibly could.

“Correct. So much so, that I wasn't even aware the Fancy was back in the Port, Mr. Holmes. Now, what is there that you need from me at 2 in the morning?” You watched him pursing his lips in an awkward movement.

“We, uhm, we might be having a situation at camp.” The just recently appointed Quartermaster shrugged his shoulders.

“A situation? And what kind of situation might that be, Mr. Homes?” You inquired with spiked curiosity, interest thoroughly peaked by your husband's fellow crewmate showing up at your doorstep at this peculiar time of night.

“He might’ve lost it now, Ma’am.” The Quartermaster’s informal comment came so straightforward that it made you snort out in amusement.

“What’s Ned doing? Dancing naked at the beach?” Words failed to convey the comedic relief you wanted Mr. Holmes to experience since his posture turned more rigid by the second.

“Not exactly, no, Ma’am, I believe you might want to see it with your own eyes.” He pointed his head towards the street that led down to the harbor.

“Sure.”, You sighed, instinctively fastening the heavy leather holsters that dangled from the wide belt resting on your hips, “Please, go ahead.”

Mr. Holmes practically jumped at your request to lead the way, immediately turning to haste down the dirt road with you following suit, wondering what exactly was important or more likely unhinged enough to get you involved in things Edward and you tried to keep as separate as possible.

“Mr. Holmes, do you think it possible to enlighten me a bit about the nature of this nightly endeavor?” You quipped, a sense of amusement and curiosity inspiring your steps to come lightly, feathery almost.

“The Captain appears to be in a particularly foul mood today, Ma’am. We were supposed to anchor sooner, however, some quarrels within the crew delayed very much that.”, The man walking in front of you turned his head over his shoulder to answer to you in a lowered voice.

“Quarrels about what?” You’re brows arched up again, mind still wondering what might’ve pissed Edward off to a degree his crew felt like they couldn’t handle their own Captain anymore.

“The cook.” Mr. Holmes stated, not being able to hide the extensive rolling of his eyes from you.

“The cook?!” He nodded at you, shrugging his shoulders anew.

“Some men wanted to eat before setting course towards the harbor and others did not, impatient about getting to shore as soon as possible… most namely of those Mr. Low.” Both of you slowed down as the path between the houses turned rather steep.

“So? His ship, his crew, his decision, no?”, You couldn’t really fathom how a bicker over dinner could cause an uproar amongst grown men, “Nobody’s going to wither because of a missed meal.”

“Truly not, Mrs. Low, nonetheless, the cook and a not quite insignificant amount of men started cooking, effectively slowing the entire agenda down.” The Quartermaster's explanation pieced the puzzle together, making you sigh into the night.

“The cook’s fucked.”, Knowing the whims of your husband, the harsh statement was easy to utter, “Was his food any good, at least?”

Mr. Holmes shook his head, his upper lip twitching lightly as he briefly mused about the culinary selection on board the Fancy.

“Already hanging on by a thread then, hm?” Getting gradually closer to the shoreline, you picked up your pace, already seeing the torches and fire spots drenching the beach in flaming orange flickers.

“Doomed from the start one might wager.” The Quartermaster’s voice called after you as you passed him by in wide and swift steps, nearly jogging toward a bustling campsite.

The still warm sand creaked and crumpled underneath the thin soles of your sandals, making you wish you’d taken the time to step in a pair of proper boots as the grains got everywhere from between your toes to scratching against the bottom of your feet. However, you tried to ignore the mildly annoying sensation since much more pressing matters awaited right ahead.

“No, no, nonono, please. I beg of you, Mr. Low, Captain, please-” The muffled sobs of the poor soul who must’ve been the cook in question echoed right through the pile of people standing closely jostled in a half-circle.

It needed quite the amount of determination to squeeze yourself through the gathering of sweaty, dirty skin and equally rancid clothes, causing heads to turn to you whilst doing so.

“Mr. Hillock, Blake, can I call you Blake, hm?”, Your stomach did a little flip upon hearing your husband's voice for the first time in weeks, making the corners of your lips tug upwards just as well, “You possessed the audacity to act on your own behalf and against my request, my demand, my authority, Blake.”

In the very moment, you’d pushed yourself up to the first row of spectators, your gaze fell onto Mr. Hillock who cowered in the sand, tears, and snot running down his jaw as he stammered his words and panicked excuses, a truly pathetic display of thrashing regret caused by severely wrong decisions.

“Miss Landrake?” Of course, you’d been noticed right away and it had only been a matter of moments until someone opened up his mouth about it.

Landrake, you flinched a tiny bit upon hearing your maiden name, the one you used to keep the facade alive and the red coats in the utmost literal sense at bay.

“Who?”, One of the crew members spat before another one jumped in to answer, “Miss Landrake the candlemaker, you dense fuck?”

You tried to stifle your own laughter but couldn’t hold it back as you heard quite a few of the men snorting in amusement. Knowing that the overall attention had rapidly shifted toward you now, you couldn’t ride the edge of anticipation any longer for it buzzed away in your stomach with such intensity that you tethered on the threshold of throwing up in excitement; your eyes searched for Edward’s, who was towering above the sobbing and sniffling cook, a scrunched up cut of rope dangling from his hand.

You knew what he was about to do, no need for it to be uttered out aloud, and just the thought of watching this kind of very exquisite spectacle had your lips twitching whilst you tried to keep your expression as neutral as possible. Only very few of his men knew about your much more intimate connection with one another and for the moment, you just exchanged glances; some telling about quiet happiness and some searching for something to find purchase on how to go about this possible, rather brusque outing.

“Mr. Homes requested for my presence.” You explained to the mumbling and whispering crowd.

“And why would my dear Quatermaster do that?” Edward looked right at you, his good eye and the glass one staring right through you alike, as he fought himself to suppress a grin.

“Because…”, Said Mr. Holmes caught up to the scenery, palms pressed to his thighs as he gasped for air, “Be-cause… Ned, this is unreasonable and you know it as well as I do. I believe the highly valued opinion of Mrs. Low might hammer some sense back into your terribly thick skull.”

Immediately, the formerly somewhat quiet whispers broke into widespread murmuring.

“Hold on, he just said that’s Miss Landrake, from the candle shop.”, Jonathan, one of the newer members and presumably a few sandwiches short of a picnic exclaimed his confusion loudly, “That don’t make no sense now!”

“There’s a Mrs. Low?!” Another one hollered and the tall brute right behind you shoved hard enough against your shoulders for you to stumble into the inner circle. Well, there went the already fragile play pretend for good this time.

“Easy now, Mr. Matthews”, The moment your statue had started swaying, Edward pulled his heavy flintlock pistol at the gruff man, “Wouldn’t wan’ta waste a perfectly good bullet on you of all people.”

“Aye…” Mr. Matthews, who you weren't much familiar with, huffed behind you and took a step back, hands raised in a calming gesture.

“Good, now… since Mr. Holmes is so invested in de-escalation, why don’t we leave it to the Missus then?” Your husband waited for a reaction from his crew and after one of the men already had a pistol being pulled on him, nobody dared to boo at the suggestion.

“Ah, yes, the sound of democracy.”, Ned bellowed an erratic laugh into the cooling shore breeze upon putting the gun back into its holster, “Civilization, truly.”

The poor cook’s eyes shot right to you, expression pleading and a mouth that started to run a hundred knots an hour begging unto you for forgiveness.

“Please, please, Madame, you have to hear me out, please, I beg of you this is all just one big misunderstanding.” He rambled in between broken wails and sniffled cries but you paid it no interest.

You knew Mr. Hillock had chosen his fate the very second he’d stoked that tiny stove on board and started cooking against his Captain’s orders. If Edward’s mind was set on one thing, be it arriving at shore on his preferred schedule, he had to realize it without any minuscule alteration, and any change of plan was set to face his wrath, and wrath he dealt plenty.

“Save that breath.” You shushed him sharply, slowly walking over to your husband who traced your every move with his good eye.

He was watching, observing you, pondering whether or not you’d join in on the mayhem, ready to act in understanding for both outcomes. He sure loved when you did and this truly fine opportunity to prove your stand in this hierarchy of violent men practically left you salivating, plated on a silver dish like that.

“My god, Ned, that’s old wax, will hardly do you any good. See how that’s just flaking off!”, Letting your sly grin shine through eventually, you took the cut of rope from his grasp, allowing the rough yet partially greasy material to run through your examining touch a few times, “Let me fix that.”

What kind of incompetent candlemaker would you be without having some of your tools on your person at all times? They certainly came in handy in many a situation.

Eyeing the poorly soaked rope with pursed lips, you pulled a block of softly reddish wax from the leather purse on your wide, corset-imitating belt. The palm-sized pebble of soft-to-the-touch and lightly scented wax hailed freshly from the latest batch, commissioned by Mrs. Mapleton to illuminate and tenderly fragrance the brothel near the Port.

Although you found yourself well aware of the plenty pairs of eyes resting upon you, you took your time with the rope, letting it grate and chafe against the wax until every last fiber clung together, and in-between spaces were closed with a greasy film of rosy red.

“Here we go, that’ll burn proper!” Satisfied with your work, you slipped the wax pebble back into the purse and crouched to be eye-to-eye with Mr. Hillock, who was shaking and trembling in his sweat-stained linen shirt.

“You see, Blake, I’m inconsolable but I can’t help you here.”, You grasped at his already bound hands, starting to wrap the waxed rope around his wrists and through his fingers like your personal work of art, “From time to time, I do treat myself to the delicious thrill of talking back at my husband but you need to understand that I am in the position to do that and you, dearest Blake, are very much not.”

From the corner of your eye, you recognized Ned staring down at you, face beaming in a twisted and delightfully wretched sense of unfiltered adoration. You’d do everything and anything for one another, and scenes like those left no doubt about it.

“If Ned commands you to put down the potato knife because he wants to anchor at the Port, what do you do?” Your stare drilled itself into Mr. Hillock’s watery glazed eyes, fueling the terror thrashing in his ribcage.

“Did… did he do that t’you?”, He sniffled breathlessly, yet, the quiet uttering caught you off guard, “Did he do it? Fucking monster burn’d your pretty hands?”

For a brief moment, the crowd fell dead quiet, only the flames licking at damp wood crackling amongst the tense gathering.

“How dare you look at my hands with your filthy eyes?!” The words left your mouth in a cutting, shrill shriek that had some of Ned’s men flinching in shock, Blake shaking before you, whereas Edward’s demented grin only spread.

“Let’s try that again, Blake, shall we?”, Picking up on your hand gesturing to the side, Ned handed you one of the torches and you allowed the brightly hot flame to dance right onto the prepped rope, the layer of wax fueling it immediately, “What do you do when Ned commands you to put the knife down, hm?!”

At first, Mr. Hillock tried to shake his incapacitated hands vigorously for the rapidly spreading flame to die just as quickly but instead, the movement only fed it with more oxygen, making it all the worse for him. He screamed and wailed as the heat started to eat at the back of his hands first. You heard it; flesh burning, the low sizzle being carried to your ear by the salty breeze of the sea amongst Blake’s broken cries.

“Come on now, stay with me here!”, In an attempt to pull him back to the question you’d asked, you served the entire side of his face a firm smack, “That’ll all be over the very moment you answer to me.”

The slap pulled a wash of tears to gush from Mr. Hillock’s eyes but none of them led you to feel just the slightest hint of remorse or pity for subjecting him to this suffering. He disobeyed, he deserved punishment; the rules were simple, idiot-proof even.

“I.. I-”, Blake brabbled through snod, tears and drool dripping from a quivering bottom lip, “I- hmnnng, I putitdown! Dow’ !”

“There we go!”, You cheered, throwing your arms into the air before standing back up, pulling the brutalized cook with you, “Go on, make a run for it!”

You pushed him towards the shoreline, suggesting him to dash for the saving grace of softly rolling waves.

As you, alongside the crew and Edward, watched Blake stumble through the sand, a yawn slipped past your lips and you let your shoulders hang slack, a rush of exhaustion taking you by storm.

“Now that this matter is settled, I would prefer to excuse myself to the comfort of my own home again, gentlemen.”, You turned your head in the direction of Mr. Holmes, his expression clearly telling you about having lost all his admiration in exchange for gaining future compliance through plain fear.

He nodded quickly and so did the crew.

“And you might want to hurry or I’ll lock the door.” You threw at Ned accompanied by a sly smile before waving the bunch goodbye and turning on your heels to make your way back home, leaving the crowd to stand in in the sand, staring at each other in brutal silence.

[zeroducks-2]

💚💖💞 with a fandom that isn't DC 👀

I'm playing Black Mesa lately but the Half Life franchise wouldn't really work with this ask game, so I guess I'm going back to Baldur's Gate 3 hoo boy here we go I have VERY unpopular opinions on this one

💚: What does everyone else get wrong about your favorite character?

Pretty much everything about the Emperor. This is hands down the best written character of the game and the fandom treats him like an afterthought, when they don't take every single one of his actions or words out of context to paint him as way worse than he actually is.

The one that infuriates me the most is the circumstance of Ansur's death. I've seen people claim that "he killed Ansur because of his powerlust", girl I swear to god I turn into a fury, he was getting murdered in his sleep and defended himself, THE ✨FUCK ✨was he supposed to do (it doesn't help that after his confession the game doesn't allow you to give him a word of sympathy, well fuck you too devs I guess).

💖: What is your biggest unpopular opinion about the series?

Shadowheart sucks. I'm sorry I know everyone and their dogs loves her but I really can't stand her mug. I understand what they wanted to do with her and I understand what's the point with her storyline but 1: stop acting like a girl who I had to convince with a d18 NOT TO KILL HER PARENTS is a perfect child who did nothing wrong, and 2: the game kept shoving her down my throat and I was so fucking done with her bullshit by the end of Act 2. Literally all of Act 2 is about her ffs, meanwhile the player isn't allowed to try and find a solution for Karlach's heart problem and Will doesn't get a plotline, no because every second of that game has to be about Miss I Want To Lick Shar's Pussy. Weakest female character in the game. Lae'zel is way more interesting and well rounded but she's "ugly", so I guess she doesn't get a pass for being abrasive.

💕: What is an unpopular ship that you like?

Emperor x Tav/Durge, especially Durge since there is the added layer of everything being Durge's fault, including Baldur being turned into a Mindflayer. The fact that the game allows you to turn into a Mindflayer to take the blame for Orpheus' death is *chef kiss*, and the fact that it allows you to stay with the Emperor post game is also very appreciated.

But apparently! Since no one is allowed to like the Emperor! No one cares about this ship either! I am in a world of pain!

ask game here

[the-enzyme]

Here's my sealed work on my repainted Ken Looks number 5! I'm super happy with him. The only problem is his under-eye area turned out shinier than I was hoping. It was already like that before I sealed the repainted work with a few layers of MSC matte, and a single layer of MSC gloss. Otherwise, I am happy with all other areas of his face after sealing. I like using a light layer of gloss in-between, because it adds a nice "dewy/human-flesh-like" finish to my more "realistic-ish" repaints. However, I am not sure why it looks hyper shiny at the chin and under the eyes. Although, it was already like that before I sealed the work, as I said. I didn't expect to look like that after the layers of MSC matte. I don't mind it IRL too much, particularly the chin. But those under-eyes...

I might have to mask-off all other areas and add a layer or two of more matte fixative. I don't want to completely dull all the rest of the face, as I am happy with how it looks IRL otherwise. Just not super excited of how those two areas photograph. We'll see...

I took a lot of crappy repetitive photos of him; I am super happy with him now. Not the repaint work as I always feel I could have done a better job. I'm just in-love with how he looks in general, now. I like more realistic-ish looking repaints, and this is definitely a lot less cartoony than my last repaint work on him. So, I am happier for that reason. I do find this head sculpt extremely beautiful, otherwise I wouldn't have purchase one, let alone two (to customize one). I wasn't happy with the default chin, brow-bone and lips sculpting, so I modified the brows and chin a bit during my first repaint on him, back in 2022. I forgot about those when I repainted him a few days ago, so I just did a quick softening of the chin once again, but I thought I could have sanded even further. However, now that he is sealed and "finished," I feel like I don't mind the chin so much anymore. It is a pain to have to paint it to look the way I want it, instead of it just being the shape and size I want it to be. However, I don't mind it anymore. I am happy to leave him like this forever!

I say that now, watch me redo his face paint and mods once again in a few years. Lol! (; I am in love with this Ken, even if I am a crazy old fart who wants to mod and repaint things a million times over! I only wish I knew how to re/style hair a tiny bit, so I could try different hair styles on him. Or, that I was willing to re-root or shave him. I hate re-rooting dolls, and I like his hair style as is, a lot. I only wish I could restyle the hair, from time to time! I'm also petrified of doing anything because his flocking keeps falling off all over the place! That's what's on his face on some of these photos at his chin and lips. In case some of it is visible, I kept blowing it off his face, only to find more a few seconds later. I keep his hair in a plastic wrap "hat," to keep the hair from getting messy, but I don't know if that's the reason for the flocking to be coming off all the time, or if it's just a natural thing with flocking. I don't own that many flocked things that are unboxed -- or that I handle at all! Last four are from my older than dust phone, because it takes slightly better, hyper-washed-out photos, the newer likes adding a pound of noise and they are always dark as the dickens, which I would love, if it wasn't for the extra-crispy pixels. DX

[honeygrahambitch]

Lead us into temptation

"Dear Will... Your eyes hold the thrill of the most mesmerizing unfinished piece of art. There is a fire within you begging to be fueled. Why do you cover it with so many layers of black..." Hannibal whispered, his hand lingering hesitantly on his right cheek.

"You touch me as if you are afraid to hurt me..." He replied, not answering the question but letting himself melt into the palm of his hand.

"No, not to hurt you. I am afraid of staining you." He said and then added "With my sinns."

"Then let your sinns be the darkest shade of burgundy and let my skin be your most grandiose work of art." He murmured, closing his eyes and sighing deeply.

"Even the most skillful artist would be afraid to ruin such a masterpiece. The smallest stroke of brush in the wrong place could be a fatal mistake." Hannibal added, rubbing his thumb softly against his porcelain skin, the way an artist would lovingly caress his work of art.

"Then please, make as many mistakes as you wish, let each stroke change every fibre of my being, every single inch of my skin. Scrap the whole paper if that is what you wish. For to be ruined by your hands, it's the most delightful of the blessings and the most gentle of the crimes."

Will opened his eyes hazely and stared into his.

"Then I would be no better than Pygmalion." Hannibal concluded more to himself, no remorse in his voice. "Tell me, Will, is there something more immoral than falling in love with your muse and creation? Do you believe God has ever fallen in love with any of his creations?"

"Aren't we all created in his image? There is no place for morale in such a sinful world. If I am your canvas and you would be the artist, would you save one of the corners for the end to paint with the darkest shades you have? As a reminder of mortality and helplessness?"

"Not a corner, Will, not just a corner, your whole being is my sole reminder of my humanity, of my lack of strength in front of the most beautiful tragedy."

"You are referring to life or death? For I cannot tell which is a bigger tragedy."

"As gentle as he can be, God is cruel, Will. He will rob you of everything you have, hurt you in the most painful ways and remind you every single day of your inability to fight him. Life is a tragedy because he makes you watch all of these happen. Death... death is quick. Death is the antidote for all the suffering."

"Am I your antidote, Hannibal? Your everlasting reminder of efemerity?"

"No, Will, you are more than that. You are the poison that makes me weaker every single day. The cyanide that I crave. I look into your eyes and I want to kneel. I breath in your perfume and and I am ready to surrender...I touch your face and I am thinking there is no prayer solemn enough to whisper in your ear." He said as his other hand touched his face, bringing it closer to his.

"Then, Hannibal, as weak, fragile and small as we are, isn't there something that makes us with about an ounce more powerful than him?" Will asked and paused before anseering to his own question. "By the end of the day, God has no one to pray to."

Hannibal fell quiet for a few seconds, letting his words sink in.

"God doesn't pray because he knows no pain and dispair. But I embrace even the pain and dispair when you, my muse, my best and worst, sit in front of me."

"Come closer and look at your own reflection into my eyes." Will ordered, touching the hands on his face with his own. "Use your own colors and make me your best self-portrait, your most intimate thoughts that never come to light, carve your scars onto my flash...make me your masterpiece. Show me your design."

"You are about to witness all of it, my darling." Hannibal promised. "And no one else will be capable to understand and look into your eyes and see what I see. They will try to grasp the meaning of every stroke, of every shade and every color but it will be futile, they always try to go beyond the surface only to come up with their own projections. But no one will see you with as much clarity as I see you now."

"Clarity...clarity is the most beautiful gift the world has offered us." Will murmured, feeling Hannibal's lips touch his forehead as if he was a sacred painting on the walls of a cathedral.

[thelaurenshippen]

JABXKAKAKALA HELLO HI I hope you're doing well!! I just wanted to start off by saying that I saw your response to the email you received on Instagram and I love how you handled it so so much as a fellow queer person that loves creating and writing!! Thank you so much for everything that you have done!

AND SECONDLY I've been listening to audio drama podcasts for around four years now, and I'd only stumbled upon The Bright Sessions last year (after my friend recommended it to me over and over again!), which is pretty recent! And I just wanted to say that the amount of emotions and inspiration I received from listening to the podcast has just about changed my life 😭

I started listening to it avidly (on the daily JDNJAA on my walks to and from school and work) and just grew so so attached to the characters. The way you write their narratives is absolutely beautiful and brings me to tears if I think about it long enough😭 The way Sam is so full of love and care while struggling to do so for herself and that turmoil visibly affecting her relationships with other people?? OW OW OW it hurts so good every time?? AND JOAN OH MAn I love how Joan is written SO MUCH I think she actually changed my brain chemistry genuinely?? she is so layered and so full of emotion (it's safe to say that safe house ii absolutely DESTROYED me for that 😭❤️) and her dynamics with others ?? the amount of research put into writing her?? beautiful so beautiful HDBSJAHA and I could go on about every single character but that would take YEARS but I just want to say that the writing is so layered and authentic because these characters /aren't/ perfect, but they're still so lovable in every way, there's still some way to emphasize (I love Caleb) with them (COUGHS LOUDLY DAMIEN) even when they seem like the most unlikable (COUGHS LOUDER DAMIEN WADSWORTH HELEN) characters ever (I love how they're written so much I think it has actually changed my brain chemistry). ALSO the voice acting?? is absolutely BEAUTIFUL?? the amount of soul and found family vibes that go into this is just absolutely incredible I cannot stress it enough. Sam's panic attacks were written perfectly along with Mark's hidden anxieties and Agent Green's own guilt and hurt and oh man I COULD GO INTO HEAVY DETAIL ABOUT ALL OF THIS but oh man this is just incredible😭😭 also super random but the soundtrack makes me so emotional WHICH LEADS ME TO MY NEXT POINT AJDBAJ

I started listening to this in my freshman year of highschool (uh oh) so a lot of things were really stressful for me during this time! The Bright Sessions was something that despite causing me emotional pain, provided me healing just as much JSBXKAJAKDJSJKSD AND LIKE OKAY OKAY I would listen to this on my walks to and from school (I was walking back from school once and was zoning out until I heard Caleb beating the shit out of Damien and had to stop on the sidewalk to take in what just happened) and during art (I heard the part with Mark and Damien in the van and had to sit down when I heard Damien's backstory) and after I got my eyes dilated and couldn't look at much (I listed to agent Green's goodbye and actually cried until I couldn't breathe) and listened to the college tapes while studying for my unit circles test and just thank you thank you for the road trips and room cleaning memories and for being the best story to listen to while painting and going on runs. I struggled a lot with mental health and accepting myself as queer, and SO many of the narratives throughout the story also helped me figure out who I was, so thank you so so much for everything 😭 I still relisten to several of the episodes and still get that giddy feeling in my stomach when I hear the am archives soundtrack get a little darker, or literally want to lie down every time I hear an interaction with Frank and Chloe, but just overall thank you so much😭❤️🫂🫂

RAHHH AGAIN I'm so sorry this was so long but truly thank you so much for everything that you do!! your writing is absolutely incredible and your voice acting and the way you handle difficulties is so inspirational!! the rest of the cast and the art and community and soundtrack just,,, chefs kiss. thank you so much for being an incredible role model and inspiration for so many people!!!

HI WOW OH MY GOD THIS MESSAGE IS SO AMAZING THANK YOU!!!!!

I'm so glad the instagram video resonated with you (if anyone's curious, this is the video)! and I'm sO glad you found The Bright Sessions!! it means so much to me that you love the characters the way you do, that you see their imperfections and their complexities and you care about them because of and in spite of them!!

I'm so happy that the show could be a part of your life in such a real way - listening to it in so many places, and having it there in difficult times. that it helped you with healing and figuring stuff out is the highest praise that you could possibly give! I poured my heart and soul into this show - as did all of our amazing cast and crew - so it's incredible to hear that it touched you in the way that it did.

also, hearing that you love the TAMA score is so amazing - I love that score, Evan did such an incredible job!!

thank you so so SO much for this wonderful message and for loving my characters and my world and for telling me about it!! I'm so grateful to you!!!

[owlmoonboi]

Grace Hope Mcinnley

Chapter one

The hands on the clock had turned to rust. The sky was a dark shadowy blanket that cast over the town. A blanket made of tears which is cold, harsh and bleak. Not a single star shone. It seemed as all hope had been lost. The concrete had cracks in it. The brittle grass was made of pins and needles. Anyone or anything that walked on the grass left a trail of blood. The leaves on the trees had lost all their colour. The petals fell from wilted flowers like teardrops. Every street light had gone out and the glass from them had shattered. The shards of glass on the ground was a puzzle waiting to be solved.

The sounds of mutters and the cries of young children and babies filled the air yet there was a sound which stood out. A gentle hum. The melody felt warm. It was fire without any harm. Grace stood frozen, tears cascaded down her cracked skin causing it to sting. Her body was painted in blood. Each cut and every bruise told a story of the pain she has suffered. Her mouse-brown hair disheveled. She wore a torn dress which was turned from white to red as blood. Her blistered feet tired from the perilous journey felt glued to the ground. Every time she tried to take a step it felt like a stab in the heart. Enervation clung to Grace but she knew she must forge ahead as she needed to find a way to restore what had been lost in this now desolate world. Grace could feel a ringing in her ears as the hum turned to a whisper which she conjectured if it was just a figment of her imagination. Of what she presumed to be an elderly woman, croaked ”Find the butterflies and follow. The light has been lost before. Just hope for a miracle and everything should end up alright.” “How am I supposed to find the butterflies? What can butterflies do to help? How do I hope for a miracle? What does all of this mean?” Grace’s questions stacked up to the sky. She yearned for answers she knew no one could answer. Her necklace was unable to help. A blue necklace filled with magic, grey after the colour faded away. The magic had been drained from it. She was powerless.

With all the strength Grace took a small step forward. A silver mist began to surround her. She stumbled through the mist. Even though there was no longer the voice or humming from earlier Grace could still hear the ringing in her ears. The ringing was electrifying. It felt similar to static or being struck by lightning. She had never been struck by lightning but she could clearly imagine the heat from the zap.

On the other side of the mist Grace was greeted by the scorching sun. The sounds was sand. Some of the sand began to melt, forming into a glass bridge. Grace stood there in astonishment. She felt as though she was going to fall over. Her head was throbbing. Beads of sweat rolled down her face. Her legs began to wobble. She was a stack of cards which had now toppled over.

Grace was in the woods. She was surrounded by towering purple trees with orange leaves that swayed in the wind like fire dancing. She wandered around puzzled about where to go as all the trees looked the same, making the place a labyrinth. Fluttering about the branch of a tree was a bright green butterfly. “Where are all your friends?” Grace murmured. The little butterfly dispersed creating replicas. The butterflies sped up as they fluttered between the intertwining trees. The butterflies began to glow gold as they stopped at a cave. The butterflies transformed into balls of light which were slowly floating away into the sky.

A loud roar came piercing through the air. “The noise came from the cave.” Grace thought to herself. Curiosity pulled her into the cave where darkness had succumbed to many others who had dared to venture into the unknown. Something hairy gripped onto Grace. It peeled the layers of her skin with its nails. Blood oozed. Dry pieces of blood from earlier got caught underneath the beast’s nails. “Help!” Grace cried but no words let out. The only sound was the eerie sound of silence. The beast ferociously yanked her necklace from around her neck. “Help!” Grace cried but once again nothing came out.

“Open your eyes.” A voice inside her head yelled. The word “eyes” echoed in her mind. Grace tried to open her eyes but they remained shut. She rubbed her hands against her eyelids only to realise her eyes were covered in something hard and crusty. She peeled the layers of the crusty remnant but as she peeled it away chunks of her face cracked off. Her eyelashes fell off gently like snowflakes. She rubbed her hands against her face feeling that it had turned to porcelain and her lips were glued together. Eventually the crusty remnant was no longer over her eyes which had cracked and oozed out something gooey as if her eyes were eggs. “Humpty Dumpty.” Grace thought to herself confused. The ringing in her ears that had been going off since the hum in the desolate town had now faded away. She could no longer hear anything. Not even the loud growling from the beast. She tried to squish her eyes back into shape.

Her eyes opened wide as she began to look around. She was at the edge of the glass bridge. “What happened?” Grace queried as she felt her skin which was once again soft. Slowly she pulled herself up. Her legs were shaky. She took a deep breather. She couldn’t dare to fall over again; she had already almost succumbed to her nightmare. Hesitantly she took a step forward. The glass beneath her feet began to crack. The cracking sounded like the crushing of bones. With each step agony pierced through her veins. The cracking became quicker. She began to jolt hoping to outrun the shattering glass. Her heart raced. Everything became blurry. She felt as though she was looking through frosted windows. Grace fell to her knees. The whole bridge shattered into a million little shards. Grace came hurling into the deep. The waves of mystery pulled her in. Everything was darkness until she saw a flash of light.

[sortasirius]

I knew it was going to be painful, but this episode just gutted me all over again.

Spoilers for TLOU Episode 5

Making Sam deaf was such a powerful choice. It makes him simultaneously more reliant on Henry and makes Henry more fiercely protective of Sam.

The added background was perfect in my opinion, it was just enough to help us learn more about them, while still giving us plenty of opportunity to learn things about them through Joel and Ellie.

"He's scared because you're scared" and then Henry pretending not to be scared for Sam. Yeah. I'm crying again.

And then the "this place is ugly" and Henry pulling out a huge bag of crayons and coloring on the walls with him? This Henry is a lot softer than the Henry in the game (similar to Joel) and I think it works so well, especially because Sam's younger than Sam in the game.

The Super Sam paint

"He always sounds like that, he has an asshole voice" Ellie reading him to filth with a gun to her head LMFAO

Joel giving Sam the piece of paper GOODBYE

Really masterful job teaching the audience the term "collaborator" through Joel, especially since it's world-specific language that isn't in the game.

Sam's laugh <3

The whole thing with Kathleen and refusing to forgive...hmmmmmmmmmm much to think about (cough cough Part 2)

Joel's little head shake when Ellie pulls the gun out of her pocket instead of her backpack...I am obsessed with them.

The entire scene in the tunnels, the way it was straight out of the game was everything to me. The paint on the walls, the goal paint, Savage Starlight, and, of course, the Danny and Ish drawing, and it being an exact replica of the drawing you find in the game.

It is unbelievable to me that they made Henry and Sam's story even sadder. Henry's put in an impossible situation, backed into a corner to either let his brother die of cancer or become a FEDRA informant against the resistance. And he chooses his brother. I can't say I would have done any different.

I also live how they basically told the audience point blank "Every single character in this story is morally grey. Everyone is a villain in someone's story." Hmmmmm excellent setup for a certain Part 2.

I also love how much more vulnerable Henry is in the show than in the game. He's not a hardened survivor, he's a kid who made an impossible choice to save his brother, and he will happily rely on Joel if Joel lets him.

The neighborhood is such a setpiece, my stomach literally dropped when I saw those houses because I knew what was coming.

"Do you trust me?" BYE I LOVE THEM

Combining the bridge and the neighborhood was a great idea.

"Maybe he was supposed to die." Bitch. Maybe your brother was supposed to die. Consider that.

The infected are so much more intense, the way the runners swarm, the way clickers can hear every tiny sound, and then there's the fucking bloater. It's much more frightening than the infected in the game, probably because the game actually had to be beatable lmao.

Ellie is so important to me, I love her so much.

I'm really glad Sam showed her, even though I knew that the blood medicine wouldn't work, I'm glad he didn't have to be alone.

I think that Henry and Sam's death scene in particular was one of the only things in the entire game that I wanted to remain almost exactly the same in the show, and would have been disappointed if there were huge changes. It, to me, remains a triumph in the first game. Their deaths are jarring, completely unexpected, and with no closure, and I think that it had to remain the same.

Neil has said that they would take a look at what they could change and if it felt better, they would change it, and if it didn't, they would leave it alone, and I'm glad they left it alone.

"I'm sorry" on his grave. This adds a really interesting layer to Ellie's journey. She already feels guilty for Tess and (unbeknownst to the tv audience as of now, Riley) but now she feels guilty for Sam too, and that her immunity couldn't save Sam.

There's so much that I love about this episode, but in particular I love how much more richness Lamar and Keivonn brought to already beloved characters. I loved their relationship, and how much softer Henry in particular was, and I loved how Sam looked up to Ellie, how he trusted her with that secret and his fears.

It looks to me like we're going all the way through fall in the next episode, it's going to be painful to wait nine days.

Another absolute triumph of a tv episode, Craig and Neil once again owe me for therapy.

[space-blue]

I wanted to let you know that I am super SUPER excited for your recom picrew 😩 it looks beautiful already!! I've got two questions. I wanted to ask how difficult the process is for creating one, I've thought of trying to make a na'vi one myself. Is it complicated with all the layers and all of that? And wanted to also ask if you have any more avatar-related picrew projects planned for the future!

Ahaha, thank you Anon!! I'm excited for it to be over as well tbh. I wanna play with it and more importantly move on with my life lmao. I truly believed it'd be 3 days work... And I was wrong.

Yeah, gotta be honest, it's a massive bitch.

Mostly the issue that is costing me a ton of time is the stripes. Picrew does not surpport blending modes. You only upload normal PNG files. Because of that, I can't have a single stripe pattern for every skin colour.

No : I must export as many stripe colours as I have skin colours. And the stripes MUST match the colour of the ears for better transition... AND there are 3 types of faces in what I've done, that means that for EACH design of stripe, I need to export 3 shapes x 4 colours.

Another issue has been the noses. Entirely my fault mind you... But hiding part of the eye with broad noses, like here :

Meant I needed to have painting INSIDE some of the noses. Which I did on a single file. And uploaded. And matched to skin colour so you don't see my ugly patching up job.

But the nose needs to be on top of the eyes... The stripes must be under the eyes and on top of the nose... Which can't happen... So I have two options, and I've opted for redoing all my stripes better... And then realised fixing the noses instead would be so much easier.

I do wanna cry a little sometimes lol

But they look better now. I have 3 styles of stripes and I want to do 3 or 4 more, because I really love striping and it makes characters really unique. Next up is potentially eye colour (if y'all suck my metaphorical dick hard enough because what A PAIN).

Sanhi/Tanhi whichever spelling it is, is giving me grief and I'm looking for a CSP brush that would sort of automate it for me.

It's a LOT of tedium. Drawing is easy and has been very fun! I was dreading making the hairstyles and get ups for Na'vi, but I think I'll revisit the picrew itself later and add them as new options rather than making a separate one.

File uploading on the website is such a bitch. Here's the tutorial I use btw. I also use a firefox add on to auto translate the page.

Will I do more? Definitely. In time. I lost the one job that pays for my food, so was thinking of opening a few comms and focus on that rather than just faffing about, but I'll definitely be returning to picrew, either for more Na'vi stuff or simply to try my hand at some other style. I'd love to see more people do their own Na'vi picrews!!

I made this one simply because the options are so limited!! There's two and one is full bodied and chibi. That's nice but doesn't scratch my pfp or OC needs. Feel free to make more, I'd love to play with it!!

[ilyuu-archive]

psspssspsspspspspspspspsps more stuff!!! for you!!! my lovely lovely future spouse <3 i've been kind of busy over the last week, so consider this an apology? also, brief warning for negative thoughts!! you don't really need to read or answer this if you don't feel well and up to it right now!

today, the universe is painted in shades of mundane blue and grey.

everything has felt off, and your mind has been bombarding you with nothing but hurtful thoughts. they stab your heart over and over, acting as daggers formed of mental energy.

why do people like me?

i don't like myself.

am i good enough?

i don't think so.

why am i being so weak?

because i can't do anything right these days.

it's a cycle. the same words echo through your head again and again and again, allowing you little to no respite amongst a chaotic pandemonium of negativity, and to your dismay, they're only amplified as time goes on.

you feel tears beginning to pool in your eyes, coating irises that once shone as bright as the most brilliant of stars in a layer of crystalized pain.

the beauty of life has vanished, and all that's left is hurt.

the voice inside your head is relentless. it won't stop anytime soon, and you know it, so in order to cope, you try and shut out the world around you. you just want everything to vanish for just a moment. you long for a singular flash of transient serenity amidst what feels like everlasting suffering.

and perhaps a shooting star was passing by as you made that wish because mere seconds go by before a familiar cadence pulls you from the tides of agony.

"yui?" scaramouche's tone is laced with an unfamiliar softness.

both of you know that you're vulnerable at the moment, and you hate that he had to walk in at a time like this. right now, you want nothing more than to hide away from the prying eyes of the world so that no one has to bear witness to your sorrow, so instead of allowing more tears to run down your cheeks, you smile.

"what is it?" you ask. no matter how much you will your voice to remain unwavering, it still shakes, shuddering like a fiery leaf adrift upon autumn wind. each break and crack shines light upon the imperfections in your façade.

scaramouche isn't stupid. you're sure he can see right through you. after all, you've been together for a while now, and although he usually isn't one to care for others, he's surprisingly good at memorizing every single one of your habits.

"you don't have to act all happy. we both know that something's wrong. i'm not a fool," scaramouche snaps. his gaze never leaves your form.

you tense and take a deep breath. the last thing you want is to burden your lover. he's already preoccupied with his own issues, and you don't want to be a bother.

"no, i'm fine," you say.

scaramouche glares at you.

"oh really? i don't believe you," he refutes. "i'm not blind, and the expression on your face isn't all that convincing."

you flinch. why did you even try to deceive him in the first place?

"i'm sorry. i — " you start, feeling tears well up once more. you're never given the opportunity to finish your sentence.

you feel a pair of arms wrap around you as you begin to cry again, enveloping you in an embrace that feels more comforting than the caress of a summer breeze on an overwhelmingly stifling day. his hold is like condensed sunshine — gradually causing the shivers that wrack your body to subside.

you bury your head in his shoulder, trying your best to hide from everything around you. scaramouche doesn't attempt to stop you. in fact, you just pulls you in closer and traces subtle patterns on your back. you focus on the sensation of your lover's touch.

it's gentle. he's gentle — uncharacteristically so.

scaramouche allows you to cry for as long as you need to. your tears stain his clothing, slowly drowning the fabric in a sea of your misery, but he doesn't protest.

throughout it all, you wonder why he cares enough about you to treat you with such kindness. your lover isn't the most pleasant person, but he always makes an effort for you.

"scara," you manage to whisper through shaky breaths, "why do you bother?"

there's a silence. your lover ponders your questions for a few seconds before asking, "what do you mean?"

strangely enough, he sounds almost nervous now. it seems like he's not enjoying this any more than you.

"i mean, you're always so... so kind and patient with me, and i don't understand. what makes me special? why do you care?"

this time, it's scaramouche's turn to freeze. you hear a sharp inhale before your lover's voice fills your senses once more.

"you want to know... why you mean so much to me?" he mutters.

you nod. scaramouche draws a few more odd shapes on your back before speaking.

"idiot, i thought it was obvious," he sighs.

another pause ensues before scaramouche gives you a proper answer.

"i'm not the best at expressing affection, but i want you to know that you're my everything," he whispers the words as though they're a secret between the two of you — a hushed conversation that not even the skies above are permitted to witness. "besides, i'm simply returning the favour. even i can admit that i'm not the most outwardly loving partner, but you've stuck with me through thick and thin. i would be a pathetic excuse of a lover if i couldn't do the same for you."

scaramouche's words instill a sense of calm within you. your heart feels more at ease now, and you feel the tension within you alleviate, the threads of a complicated web of emotions beginning to unravel.

"i love you. you make me want to love again. i wonder if you can even begin to fathom how much that means to me, my dearest yui."

his breath is a fading zephyr, just barely brushing against your ear. but nonetheless, it helps you calm down.

because even amidst tumultuous moments full of agonizing uncertainty, you feel comforted knowing that the one that you love is holding you close as though both of your lives depend on it.

ughfahdifuh i'm sorry if this wasn't amazing or parts of it don't make sense! for one, i probably shouldn't be awake right now, and i've been kind of tired these past few days. i got bored though, so i wrote something for you!!! if you did read this, then i hope it managed to make you feel a bit better <3 i can't pretend i know exactly what you're going through, but no matter what it is, i'll always be here for you!! ily very much yui <3 /p

this.

rei. YOU COULD BE WRITING ALL OF THIS FOR A DRABBLE INSTEAD OF SENDING IT OVER FOR ME YOU’RE SO SWEET PLEASEKANSISJSJDJ I HAVEN’T TOLD YOU THAT ENOUGH. but i’ll say it again, you’re literally so sweet like THANK YOU

i’m feeling a lot better now!! all it took was an eight hour nap skjsjdjd feel like i can deal with anything!! that and i’m on my break from my shifts so i technically can deal with anything if you think about it teehee

anyways

THIS WAS SO NICE TO WAKE UP TO EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS AND SCARA IS SO SOFT AND COMFORTING AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA 💞💞 your writing is just so ✨👌 the amount of imagery and detail that goes into it is something i will always admire

ilyt rei and thank you so so much for this <3

[fattestwriting]

Vanessa but weights 498lbs, her clothes barley fits her fat body but Vanessa knows she had job to do, being an Security Guard, she’s also gassy

"Just... *huff* one more... *huff* hour..."

Vanessa had gotten hired to be the security guard a year ago, when she was in much better shape. But now? All the free pizza vouchers and endless access to El Chips had left her more than a little portly, struggling to fit through most of the doors in the Pizzaplex.

Right now, Vanessa is struggling her way back into her favorite restaurant, the afformentioned El Chips. Since Fazbear Entertainment was cheaper than cheap, the entire menu was just stored in the back freezers, frozen and microwavable. So, every night Vanessa would camp out here and eat a varitable feast until she had to shift her post. Tonight, she through together some chimichangas, 3 layer been burritos, extra cheesy quesadillas, burning hot chilli, and the restaurant's infamous Fifty Pound Family Burrito, something they had gotten sued over more than a handful of times. And yet, for some unknown reason, nobody could ever seem to get it to stop being sold.

But none of that mattered to the blond haired woman right now. All she cared about was the 300 lbs of food sitting in front of her and how hungry she was from walking all the way here from Roxy Raceway.

So, she dug in. Vanessa's already sweat/food stained work uniform got even worse as she threw all of her manners out the window for this meal. She ate chimichangas by the handful in a single bite, she drank the chilli like it was water, and she ripped the burritos and quesadillas apart with reckless abandon. The only thing she never wasted even a drop of was the 50 lbs. burrito, as she shoved that behemoth down her gullet whole every night. She felt satisfied as she could physically feel the mass plop into her stomach acid with the rest of her little snack.

Since she had finished her meal, Vanessa looked at her watch. 5:50 AM, and she needed to be at the front gates to open the doors by 6.

Vanessa began to panic as she got up (her newly acquired sloshy belly impeding her progress greatly) and began running towards the front (or, well, as close to running as a morbidly obese woman with a belly the size of a family hanging off of her abdomen could get).

This new disturbance caused a great bit of pain in her stomach, which her body decided to resolve immediately.

*PPPPPLLLLLLLFFFFFFFFRRRRRRRRRRTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTLLLLLLLTTTTTT*

*PPPPPLLLLLLLFFFFFFFFRRRRRRRRRRTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTLLLLLLLTTTTTT*

*PPPPPLLLLLLLFFFFFFFFRRRRRRRRRRTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTLLLLLLLTTTTTT*

Vanessa let out enormous wet fart after enormous wet fart on her way towards the front. Every step she took, every movement that gostled her belly even slightly resulted in a green miasma to explode from her rear, a fog so dense that it looked like she was the lead up to a sports entrance. The stench was horrendous too, with it being acrid enough to peel paint off the walls.

By the time she got to the front door, the entire Pizzaplex was filled with her stench and an opaque green mist. As soon as the doors were opened, they burst open like a flood gate, with the pure density of the gas inside needing to escape. The pure stench of the nasal assault escaping the establishment knocked out every single waiting customer.

"Ah well, at least I don't have to deal with them. Maybe I can have another bite to eat while I wait for them to wake up?"

[heiserosandhesapollo]

that blazed post was satire right

REAL fucking suspicious that all these rolled into my inbox in a single night, back to back. Almost like you forgot to turn on anon for half of them 🤔🤔🤔

But let's go ahead and give you the benefit of the doubt.

"How to be a trans man (according to the internet)" was loosely inspired by Sherman Alexie's "How To Write The Great American Indian Novel" in the sense that I wanted to do non-rhyming couplets that directly contradicted each other to point out how people outside of a marginalized group stereotype and fetishize said group. (Alexie's poem is much, much better than mine. He breaks the format pretty quickly and the last two lines are the greatest gut-punch I've ever read in a poem. I am white and did not want to appropriate an indigenous man's pain, so I tried to only take broad inspiration from the opening lines and go in my own direction.)

Now, with that context, let's examine the title.

"How to be a trans man" denotes a set of instructions or rules for behavior. But the poem has a parenthetical, "(according to the internet)", which implies that these are not the author's (my) rules, but rather something that comes *from* the internet. Reading the poem I used as inspiration, and the last two lines, "In the Great American Indian novel, when it is finally written,/ all of the white people will be Indians and all of the Indians will be ghosts," we can infer that this is a poem not about representation, but about cultural appropriation (and, really, genocide). It is not meant to be serious advice, but layers of irony about how colonizers use literature as a tool to erase an entire culture.

When you take irony into consideration, you can then look at the structure of my poem.

Every couplet (except the final one) starts with "You must", with the second line starting with "but". This sets an expectation, then immediately limits or contradicts the expectation. For instance:

"You must have a common, boring name,/ but nothing as common as "Aiden."" If you pay any attention to how trans men's names are treated, you may have heard jokes about trans men having the names of "Drowned Victorian orphans", which is just a way to say that trans men pick old fashioned, pretentious, or "weird" names. A trans man who is not out may see these jokes and therefore try to steer towards really common names, especially ones that are common *right now*. This meant that a few years ago, there was a flood of trans mascs naming themselves "Aiden". But again, if you've paid attention to the treatment of trans men the last few years, you'll know that "Aiden" is used to insult trans men with "basic" names.

Again, look to the title of the poem. This is how *the internet* tells trans men to behave - giving them one set of instructions and then immediately punishing them for following it. The poem uses an ironic structure to show the irony that trans men experience daily.

All of the lines in the poem were either things I have been told to my (digital) face, or seen other trans men on Tumblr, Twitter, Youtube, and Tiktok been told.

Now, not to be mean, but perhaps do some literary analysis when you find a poem that rubs you the wrong way. Look at the title, structure, imagery. Perhaps even look at the rest of the author's work - if you search my blog for "trans", you'll find multiple poems about the trans male experience (my personal favorite is "I relate to werewolves for more than just aesthetic reasons"). These, taken together, paint a pretty straightforward picture of my views on the trans male experience.

I'll admit, had I gotten these asks when I first posted these poems, I would've freaked out, wondering if I was being too subtle. But at this point, with over 4,000 notes on the post and tons of people in the tags telling me that they have felt the exact emotions of the poem... I think you and anon either aren't taking the time or don't care to actually analyze a (pretty straightforward) poem.