#art is so hard these days I will take what I can get

[comicaurora]

hi, you seem to be drawing a lot. can you please tell me, will drawing ever become easy? or is it always a struggle?

(because for me, drawing seems like a neverending fight against artblock, and at this point, i start wondering if it's not really artblock, but instead it's just the reality of art making)

It's not so much that it becomes easy. It's more that you'll find new things about it that are hard.

Art will never become effortless because you will start finding new challenges to wrangle with, but the act of wrangling them is a good part of the fun. Finding new visual effects you struggle to capture or comprehend the shape of, let alone put down on paper. You might start off struggling to render shadows on a figure, and then as you progress you start wondering how to do shadows of foliage, or caustics of light projected through water, or how glowing eyes would cast shadows on a face, etc. New complexities reveal themselves as old struggles are mastered.

If you're struggling with something that feels like artblock, the problem might not be in your hands, but in your eyes. What to draw is at least as much of a challenge as how to draw it. If you notice your eyes snagging on small details or vistas and you catch yourself trying to work out how to capture that effect, that's your artist eyes at work, and the better you get, the weirder your artist eyes will make you.

There's an exercise my mom recommends that she got from her old teacher: three life drawings a day. Of anything - a chair, a glass of water, a tree, someone's dog, your own hand. I think this is less about honing your techniques and more about honing your eyes, training them to snag on everyday things and observe their complexities, the nuances, the way they really look, not just the way you think of them looking.

When you're a kid and you're drawing your first landscape, it's probably a house and a tree under a yellow sun in a blue sky. The tree looks like a lollipop, the house looks like a box with a hat, the sun is an egg yolk surrounded by lines, the sky is the bluest crayon you have. Maybe it has fluffy clouds in it if you were thinking ahead, cuz it's hard to draw white crayon or pencil over already blue drawings. This hypothetical drawing is a pure manifestation of art without artist's eyes; it is made entirely of what you understand things to look like, not how you see them. No real tree looks like a green lollipop. The sun is a blazing white ball that shades half of the dome of the sky in painfully bright white, and the sky is only blue in the loosest sense - even without clouds or sunsets confusing things, the sky will always fade to a lighter shade closer to the horizon. It is never uniform blue. Clouds usually look like shredded cottonballs around the edges, not fluffy rounded boubas.

This awareness extends to more complicated things. We know glass is clear. When we draw something made of glass, how can we capture that clarity? Do we just draw the outline, maybe some token specular highlights to show that it's catching the light? Or do we render the way it bends and distorts the image passing through it? We know gold is yellow and shiny; do we draw it as a yellow sparkly thing, or do we capture how it reflects the space around it? We know that water is blue and reflective. Do we draw it like we would draw a shiny blue car? Do we render a glass of water like a blue raspberry icee?

Actively perceiving the world as it is takes work and practice, but it's a vital component in all art - even completely fantastical art that is not at all drawn from life references. Skin has a particular luminosity to it, subcutaneous scattering of light that is inobvious if you just know that Skin Looks Like A Color. Even if you're painting a goblin or a mermaid or a centaur, capturing how the light hits their skin can make the difference between them looking like an action figure and looking like a living thing. If you're painting a landscape that isn't earth, it helps to have observed what earth's clouds and atmosphere really look like, how they catch and scatter the light. You have to know the rules in order to break the rules.

I can honestly say it never gets easy, but it does become a lot of fun, and if you're currently struggling to find the fun of it, it will get better the more you hone your eyes.

[theotherchaospixel]

Her voice boomed, echoed, reverberated across time.

Truth be told, it was really boring. Infinity is just one of those things humans don't understand right. Before I did anything, there was nothing. Nothing, nothing, & more nothing. An infinite nothing. A lot of it. I'm sure you've written before.

Yeah? So what if I have? I could feel Her invisible hand pointing my head down, toward the rock at my feet. A pebble, really, and that was an overstatement.

I'm sure you're aware of the pit in your stomach that grows as you stare at an empty page. Imagine that feeling, multiplied by 6.

I stifled a laugh. Why 6? I could feel Her roll their eyes, if She had eyes, if there were eyes to speak of anywhere, and after a moment, the rock looked at me. With the eyes it didn't have.

It took 6 days before I even started thinking about doing anything, obviously! On the 7th, just before I resolved to spend the next week making life, time, space, the void, stars, nebulae, galaxies, & of course, Saturn, I looked at my clock & panicked, realizing how close to the date I was.

I couldn't quite make sense of what She was telling me. Days? Clock? Date? I thought time didn't exist before that week.

It didn't.

That was where Her thought ended. Silence fell across the plane, across the gaping canyon before me, after me, around me. Minutes passed, centuries passed, empires fell to dust; the rock at my feet wore away into nothing then reconstituted itself. It had been about 5 seconds.

Confusing, I know. That's how the art of creation tends to be. It gets hard to know where you end & the art begins.

None of this really answered my question. What was the nothing like? I could feel the inferno in Her heart, the tsunamis in Her eyes, the earthquakes in Her feet, the tornados in Her hands, as she fidgeted. I'm getting on Her nerves. Not great. I know She's my friend, but making a friend mad was always the last thing I wanted.

The first 6 days were boring, the 7th was stressful, what you want from me, Larry?!?

What was it like though?!? Were you hungry? Did you do it because you wanted to, or because you had to? Her voice echoed again. It was my voice. The rock nudged my feet a bit.

Why do you do anything? Because you have to, or because you want to, or because you need to?

The rock looked up at me again. It wasn't mine before, but somehow, it was now. It was always Hers, but there was something else there now, something ineffable. A love, almost. She sighed. The clouds parted & danced.

On the first day, before time began, there was nothing. It was dark. Second day, same as the first. You get the idea. A whole lot of nothing, but not like when you look up into the night sky and see the spaces between stars nothing; more like when you go to sleep and dream sweet nothings, that kind of nothing. It was like that all seven days, really.

I didn't understand. Things happened in dreams, after all; they were far from nothing. And reading my mind like a book, She continued.

You know how, when you stare at a blank page for long enough, you can see small designs, patterns in the pulp that made it? How if you stare at the floor for long enough, you can see pictures, stories that never happened? How when you look up at the clouds, you see things within them, even though you know that they're just random formations of dust & water vapor? Imagine the page, the patterns, the clouds required in order to see everything that ever was, ever is, & ever will be. Imagine the detail & size of the floor required in order to see all that ever might be. Now, take a step back. It's a blank canvas again. Focus on any part, and you could see everything. People come & go. Empires rise & fall. Seasons change. Time goes on. Step back again, and it's still a blank canvas. Infinite possibility, if you can only bring yourself to paint. Once I had the canvas, it took me several days just gather up the gall to do anything with it, and a whole other day to figure out what. An infinity of possibility, a true, endless ocean of choices.

And this is what you came up with?

Yeah. Pretty cool, right?

I wasn't impressed. And as if She knew it, Her deft, invisible hand pushed my head down to the rock once more.

Look at this pebble. Not impressive, right? Hardly bigger than an eraser. But it's been around the world three separate times. And inside it once. I mean, if you count all of it as one thing, and I know you do. A bit of sand off the coast of what you know now as California, 40 billion years ago, drifted off to sea. Decades later, it washed up on the shore of what is currently Japan. It sat there for a while, as more bits of sand slowly built on top of it. Just a couple million years. Then slowly, over several million more years, the winds carried it across the continent, inch by inch, molecule by molecule. It ended up inside a volcano for a few millennia. And now it's here. Really, it's basically a whole different rock than it started, but it never changed in big swathes. So, that's neat. Billions of years, all to get here, to be in the same room as you & me.

But what was Her point?

My point is that I really can't explain to you what it was like before I made everything. I could swarm you with half a trillion analogies & metaphors & anecdotes & stories, but I'll never be able to explain it to you in full. But if you've written - & I know you have, Larry, you scoundrel, writing things like that - but if you've written, I think you get it. If you've painted, or knit, or drawn, or coded, or sewn, or sung, or played or danced or thrashed or cooked, you get it. Before there is anything, there is love & a dream, and you'd be amazed how far that can take you.

.

.

.

.

.

So it was kinda boring?

Yeah it was kinda boring.

"Hey god?" "Yes, Larry?" "You existed before the universe, right? And supposedly always existed?" "Yes, that's true." "What was infinity like, before you made the universe?" "Ah. Not one human has asked me that before. Well, I guess it's time I tell someone about before the first 7 days."

[scoutofmymind]

Momma I request a prompt inspired by a song of your choosing (: I L Y

Couldn’t Make It Any Harder — { Luigi x Reader }

Content: mental health issues, mentions of past trauma, TorturedArtist!Reader, Empath!Luigi, Luigi says “go birds” after flipping off a woman, confused feelings, situationship, reader is just Very Confused in general, angst, eventual romance.

Wc: 5,107

I couldn't make it

Any harder to love me

Oh, one day, believe me

You’ll want someone who makes it easy

This has been floating around in my asks for awhile, and I wasn’t feeling practically inspired by any songs lately until Sabrina released Couldn’t Make It Any Harder and I couldn’t stop thinking about writing it.

This work was done quickly between my other ongoing Luigi projects, so I apologize for any inconsistencies or skipped backstory (you know I’m a backstory bitch) but I simply needed to get this out of my system, and remembered that an anon had asked me to write something based off of a song quite awhile ago!

Also, how could I leave you hanging on Valentine’s Day? Even if I’m posting this at 2 AM….

It's 8:30 AM at your usual coffee spot — that tiny café two blocks from Luigi's apartment where the barista always draws terrible attempts at latte art, and you’re still wearing yesterday's mascara, not because you've been crying, but because you spent the night in your studio, channeling your frustration into a new piece that's all sharp edges and bold strokes.

"I mean, we had a great time!" You're gesturing with your coffee cup, nearly spilling it. "We went to that new gallery opening, and he actually understood my rant about contemporary minimalism. Then dinner, drinks, great conversation — and now? Radio silence. Three days of nothing."

Luigi, sitting across from you, is trying not to smile at how animated you are, his laptop open beside him — he's probably got a Slack channel blowing up with messages from his dev team, but he rushed to meet you for this emergency coffee session, anyway.

The startup's dress code might be casual, but he always manages to look put-together in that effortless way that makes other tech bros look like they're not trying hard enough.

"Maybe I'm just-“ you pause, stirring your coffee aggressively, "too much, you know? Too loud, too passionate, too-"

"Stop," Luigi cuts in, closing his laptop and fixing his gaze on you again, "You're not too anything. You're exactly enough. So don’t even go there with me.” He massages his temples, “Too early for it.”

"I know that," you say firmly, because you do. "That's the thing — I like who I am. I like that I can talk about art for hours. I like that I get excited about things. I like that I feel everything so intensely. I'm not going to make myself smaller just because some guy can't handle it."

"Then don't," Luigi says, and there's something in his voice that makes you look up from the foam disappearing from your cappuccino. "The right person won't want you to."

"Exactly! And you know what? If Jake can't handle a woman who knows what she wants and isn't afraid to say it-“ you trail off, reaching for your sketchbook. You start absent-mindedly drawing on a corner of the page.

“Ugh,” Luigi’s face screws in mock disgust, “His name was Jake?”

Putting down your pen, you lean back in your chair with a frustrated sigh. "But then again, if I'm so great, why does this keep happening? Three first dates in two months, Lu. Three. And they all end the same way."

"You mean with guys who can't handle someone who actually has opinions?" Luigi takes a sip of his coffee, his fingers tapping absently on his closed laptop. A notification buzzes on his phone — probably his team wondering where he is — but he doesn't even glance at it.

"No, see, that's just it," you lean forward, your hands moving expressively as you talk. "They love it at first. They think it's so fascinating and refreshing that I'm 'not like other girls', or whatever." You roll your eyes at the phrase, hating the taste of the words in your mouth. "But then it's like they realize I'm actually serious. That I'm not just putting on some manic pixie dream girl act for their entertainment."

Luigi's mouth quirks up at one corner. "Heaven forbid you be a real person with actual thoughts and feelings."

"Right? And I know — I know I'm not too much," you say, but your voice wavers slightly. You start fidgeting with your rings, a habit Luigi's seen a thousand times when you're wrestling with something in your head. "But sometimes I wonder if-"

"If what?"

"If maybe I should just- you know.. tone it down? Just a little? Just at first?" The words sound wrong coming out of your mouth, and you can see from Luigi's expression that he knows it, too. "No, you're right, forget I said that. That's stupid."

"It is stupid," he agrees, but gently. His eyes catch yours across the table again, his gaze steady and genuine. "Remember that installation you did last month? The one about authenticity?"

"Yeah?"

"What did you tell that bag of bones professor who said it was 'overwhelmingly honest'?"

A smile starts to spread across your face. "I told him that was the whole damn point."

"Exactly." Luigi checks his watch and starts gathering his things — he's definitely late now. "So maybe the problem isn't that you're too overwhelming,” he pats the top of your head, slinging his bag over his shoulder, “maybe they're just underwhelming."

•

You're standing in front of your last piece, forcing a smile that feels like it's splitting your face in half, as another guest explains to you what your own art means.

Behind you, you can hear snippets of conversations that make your skin crawl.

It's a bit... aggressive, isn't it?

Not quite gallery standard... these nepo kids..

Experimental, but perhaps too experimental..

Your hands are shaking, so you clasp them behind your back. You've been doing this grim waltz for two hours — nodding, smiling, explaining yourself over and over to people who look through you rather than at you, and the gallery owner keeps shooting you these looks, these little disappointed glances that make you feel about two inches tall.

You catch Luigi's eye across the room.

He's been watching, you realize, while pretending to be deeply invested in a conversation with some tech entrepreneur who probably thinks art is a good investment opportunity, and he tilts his head slightly — a question.

You shake yours — you’re not okay.

"The brushstrokes here," the current patron is saying, pointing at your most vulnerable piece, "they're rather — well, chaotic. Unorganized. Muddy. It’s strange to see. Was that intentional?"

Something inside you splinters.

"Excuse me," you manage, your voice surprisingly steady for how the room is tunneling, how your fingers begin to tingle, how your lungs have lost the ability to draw in a full breath. "I need some air."

You make it through the gallery, past the whispers and the stares, past the owner who starts to say something about maintaining appearances, past the front desk and around the corner to the back alley.

Then your legs give out.

You're gasping, trying to remember how breathing works, your back against the cold brick wall. The dress — that stupid yellow dress that Luigi said was his favorite — feels too tight. Everything feels too tight.

You tear at your collar, needing air, needing space, needing- "Hey." Luigi's voice, close but not too close. "I'm here."

"I can't-" you choke out. "I can't breathe, I can't-"

"Yes, you can." He moves slowly into your space, hands hovering but not touching. "Look at me. Just look at me. I’m right here. It’s all good.”

You shake your head violently, sliding down the wall. "They're right. They're all right. I'm not- this- This isn't-" Each word feels like it's being ripped from your throat, bloody and raw and dishonest and horrific. They aren’t right. You know they aren’t.

"Bullshit." The sharpness in his voice makes you look up. He's crouched in front of you now, his tie completely undone, his eyes fierce. "They're not right. They're not even close to right. They're looking at fireworks and complaining about the noise. Old fuckin’ bunch’a assholes.”

A sob catches in your throat, half laugh, half cry. "That's a terrible metaphor."

"Made you look at me, though." His voice softens, his hands resting on your clammy shoulders. "Breathe with me, okay? Just breathe."

You try to match his exaggerated breathing, your hands still shaking. "I put everything into this show," you whisper after your second deep breath. "Everything."

"I know."

"And they just- they- they just-“

"I know." He shifts, sitting beside you against the wall, careful to leave space, but still your shoulders bump together. "But. Want to know what I think?"

You turn your head to look at him, makeup probably ruined, dress definitely stained from the alley ground, but you’ve already abandoned ship, you’ve waved your white flag — there’s no use in pretending you haven’t crumbled in a New York alleyway now. "What?"

"I think they're terrified of you."

That startles a real laugh out of you, “What?"

"You heard me." He's looking straight ahead, but there's something fierce in his profile. "You walked in there with your soul on full display, unapologetic and raw and real, and they don't know what to do with that. People like that, they're comfortable with art they can hang in their dining rooms and forget about.” You watch him blink, gathering the words, “Your shit doesn't let them forget. It makes them feel things they don't want to feel."

You nudge him gently, a laugh flaring your nostrils. "That's a lot better than the fireworks metaphor."

Now he does look at you, a small smile playing at his lips, his cheeks blushed crimson from the wine he’d gulped down just to make himself a bit more sociable. "Yeah, well, I've had three glasses of their overpriced wine. I'm feeling poetic."

Another laugh bubbles up, watery but real. You let your head fall against his shoulder, just for a moment. "I don't want to go back in there."

"So we won’t." He doesn't move, letting you lean on him, his head leaning atop yours. "Let's go get real drinks instead. You can tell me all the things you wanted to say to that guy who tried to explain color theory to you."

"God, he was the worst." You straighten up slowly, wiping at your eyes. "Did you see his socks?"

"I was trying not to."

•

You're standing at the open bar, counting the minutes until it's socially acceptable to leave, when Madison — a college friend you haven't seen in years, who always seemed to help herself to open bars beyond her means — sways over.

Her champagne sloshes dangerously close to your dress, but for some reason, you don’t step back.

"Oh my god, it really is you!" Her voice carries just a bit too loud, and you can feel a few heads turning in your direction. "I almost didn't recognize you without, you know-“ she gestures vaguely at all of you, that sick smile still on her blush pink lips. "All the paint and shit all over you.”

You take a long sip of your drink, hoping it would wash away the rising tide of anxiety in your core. "Good to see you too, Mads.”

"So,” She leans in conspiratorially, her breath smelling of booze and mid-tier champagne. “I heard about your gallery show last month. The one at The Maxwell? God, that must have been-“ She trails off, eyes wide with what looks like concern but feels like something else entirely.

Your hand tightens around your glass. "Must have been what?" Your lips tighten into a line, “It was an- an honor to have the opportunity.”

Words your father had always said to you growing up echo in the far depths of your mind; Honor and Integrity.

There’s a humility in it, in accepting such a nightmare as privilege.

"Well, I mean — I saw that article that was going around Instagram. About how you just up and left? In the middle of opening night?" She takes another sip of champagne, watching you over the rim with her big, stupid brown eyes. "Is that true? That you didn't even come back to collect your pieces? God, that's crazy!"

The word crazy hits like a slap, and you can still feel the panic from that night, the walls closing in as people whispered, pointed, discussed your work like it was a car crash they couldn't look away from and did nothing to aid.

"It's not exactly-"

"And after everything with Matt, and then Jason- ugh,” She shakes her head. "I mean, I get it. Using art as therapy. But maybe actual therapy would be — I dunno — you know, beneficial?”

"Madison-"

"I'm just worried about you," she continues, reaching for your arm and her fingers feel like serpents, coiling around your skin, suffocating you. "We all are. First the whole thing with your poor father — god, remember how he used to say you were just too-"

"Don't." Your voice comes out sharper than intended, your brows furrowed at her like she’d backhanded you. “Don’t you fucking say another word.”

Madison almost gasps, clutching her necklace. “See? This is what I mean. All this reactionary stuff. The anger. The intensity. Have you thought about getting help? My therapist says sometimes when we've been through things-"

The garden somehow feels too small, the fairy lights too bright, the music too loud. Across the room, Luigi is trapped in conversation with the bride's uncle, but somehow he must sense something because his eyes find yours, his head tilted at you, his usual question.

Everything okay?

This time, you look away from him.

"I’m going to leave this conversation before-“

"No, wait, listen." Madison's grip on your arm tightens, slithering, sneering, hissing. Fangs, poison. “That show — people were talking about it for weeks. How raw it was. How fucking uncomfortable it made everyone. One of the pieces — the one with all the broken mirrors? Someone said it looked like a cry for help."

You can feel your pulse in your throat. "It wasn't a fucking-“

"And then you just disappeared! Like, who does that, girl? Just leaves their own show? The curator had to pack up your pieces himself. That's what the article said. Is that true?" She may as well have a microphone beneath your trembling lips, taking on the role of some cheap reporter for a local shittalking magazine.

Of course she read the article.

Everyone read the article.

The one that called your work a disturbing glimpse into a clearly troubled mind. The one that suggested your artistic breakdown was inevitable given your history of emotional instability.

It was laughable, truly, and anyone that knew you well enough had known so much to be so very far from the truth.

"I had my reasons," you manage, but your voice sounds distant even to yourself. “I had reason for leaving the way I did.”

"Obviously you did. That's what I'm saying. Maybe if you got some help, you know, dealt with all this and found ways to properly cope-“ She waves her hand vaguely again, like swatting away a pesky fly. "Then maybe you could make art that's more you know.. accessible. Enjoyable. Less-“

"Less me?" The words come out before you can stop them. “Bullshit. You wouldn’t know, Madison. You haven’t seen a single one of my shows, haven’t shown yourself at any of my gallery openings-“ your cheeks burn red hot, your glass of wine discarded and your hands balled into fists. “You’re lucky I don’t fucking pop that smirk right off your-“

"That's not what I-"

“It is exactly what you fucking-“

“No, it’s not! Look at yourself!”

"Hey!” Luigi's voice cuts through the rising panic. He's suddenly there, solid and real. "Sorry to interrupt, but we have that thing that we have to get to-“ he loops his arm around yours, and he swears he can feel the heat radiating off of you, hot and quivering like a volcano deciding if it’s time to erupt just yet or not.

Madison blinks at him, her nostrils flared at the sudden interruption. It seems as though this is exactly the reaction she wanted, and was pissed the show had called curtains so quickly. "What thing?"

"That very important thing," Luigi says firmly, already guiding you away. "Great catching up. Green is not your color. Go Birds.” As he turns you both, he raises his middle finger behind your back — not because you needed defending, but because that's who Luigi is; all sharp edges and fierce loyalty, a guard dog with his teeth bared in your honor, though, you catch the gesture in a reflection, and something warm unfurls in your chest.

Not because you needed saving, but because he'd always take your side, no matter the circumstances. He didn’t need to know why you were barking at this girl he’d never met before — he already knew you had good reason to do it.

You make it to the venue's back garden before your legs give out, and the fairy lights blur through tears you refuse to let fall. "Did you— fuck,” Your voice shakes as you reach to wipe away the tears before they even get the chance to glide down your cheeks. "Did you actually hear what she was saying or just see it?”

"Caught the greatest hits." His jaw is tight, his hand resting on your lower back as he hunches forward, clearly concerned but approaching all of it carefully.

You can’t help but wonder then how many times you’ll find yourselves like this — Luigi rescuing you from yet another mishap, and that alone could become a new reason to feel sorry for yourself.

And him.

"The article." You wrap your arms around yourself. "She read the fucking article."

Ironically, you had originally taken the article well.

Too well, in fact.

You'd invited them all over — Luigi, Anna, Theo — for what you called A Reading of My Professional Obituary. You'd spent all day in the kitchen, channeling your grandmother's stress-cooking legacy; bouillabaisse simmering for hours, Tarte Tatin caramelizing to golden perfection.

The good wine came out, the kind you'd been saving for a real occasion.

Perched in your chair like it was a throne, wine glass dangling from your fingers, you'd performed dramatic readings of the choicest quotes. "Sources close to the artist describe a history of emotional instability," you'd intoned, affecting a pompous art critic voice that had Luigi choking on his wine. "An unsettling collection that seemed less like art and more like a cry for help.”

The evening devolved into a tipsy game of "Guess the Snitch" — everyone taking turns suggesting increasingly ridiculous candidates for the mysterious source. "It was Gabby, in the gallery, with the emotional manipulation!" Theo had declared, wielding his bouillabaisse spoon like a gavel.

But Luigi had watched you through it all — the way your hand shook slightly when pouring wine, how your laugh got a little too loud to be genuine, and how you'd spent three hours making a perfect French dessert like your life depended on proving you weren't falling apart.

"We all did." Luigi reminds you, his voice gentle but firm. "Christ, we turned it into dinner theater. Remember how Anna did that dramatic interpretation of ' the unsettling collection'?" His hand finds your knee, squeezing. "And it was shit. Not only was it shit — it was cowardly. Didn't even have the spine to name you."

You tilt your head back, using the stars as gravity's help against the tears threatening to spill. The fairy lights from the wedding garden blur into little halos. "I know, but — these people, Lu." Your voice catches, and you hate how it betrays you. "They believe it. They're all walking around thinking I'm some unhinged artist who needs to be sedated and locked away from sharp objects." A laugh escapes, but it's wet and hollow. "God, I wish I'd understood what that article would do. I wish-"

But there's no point in wishing.

The damage was done with surgical precision.

They hadn't needed to use your name — everyone knew exactly whose exhibition had opened at Maxwell Gallery on August fifteenth.

Yours.

•

The hotel room feels smaller with each passing hour.

You've mastered a careful choreography — sliding past each other in the narrow spaces, maintaining precise distances on the king bed as you both pretend to watch some mindless cooking show. But sometimes, despite your best efforts, you slip. His hand brushes yours as you both reach for the room service menu, your feet touch under the shared blanket; each accidental contact sends you recoiling like a startled cat, though you used to fall asleep during movie nights without a second thought.

When your knee accidentally bumps his as you shift position, you jerk away so violently you nearly fall off the bed.

"Okay." Luigi mutes the TV, turning to face you. "We need to talk about this."

"About what?" But you know exactly what, can feel heat creeping up your neck and it makes you want to run.

"About how we used to share my twin bed during college when you crashed at my place, but now you act like my skin is fucking toxic." His voice is gentle, but there's an undercurrent of hurt that makes your core ache. "Remember that road trip to Detroit? You slept on my chest the whole way back because the car heater was broken.“ he looks desperate, grasping at the last straws of you. “I feel like we hardly look each other in the eyes now.”

You stare hard at the geometric pattern on the duvet, picking at a loose thread. "Things were different then."

"Were they?" He shifts closer, and you fight the urge to move away. "Or are you just scared they weren't?"

You get up abruptly, needing to put physical space between you and that question, the Chicago night spreading out beyond the window, a constellation of lights blurring through unshed tears; each one feels like a witness to this moment, to your cowardice.

"You know what changed," you say finally, arms crossed tight against your chest like armor. "After Maxwell, after the article, after everything became public consumption — I can't be that person anymore.”

"Why not?" His voice is closer now — he's moved to the edge of the bed, but he doesn't approach further. Giving you space while refusing to let you run.

Very classic Luigi.

A laugh escapes you, bitter and dry. "Because now everyone's watching. Waiting for the next shoe to drop. And you-“ You turn just enough to catch his reflection in the window, superimposed over the city lights. "You're too important to me, Lu.”

"So you'd rather just — what? Keep pretending?" There's frustration in his voice now, raw and real. "We both know that's not sustainable. Not when we used to-“ He trails off, and you recall the many countless nights on his cramped couch, your head on his chest, his heartbeat your lullaby to the most restful sleep you’d ever known.

"Maybe not," you admit quietly. "But it's safer than the alternative."

"Safer for who?"

The question almost knocks you off your feet.

Because he's right — this careful distance isn't protecting him. It's protecting you. From vulnerability. From the possibility of loss. From the terrifying reality that despite everything, despite all your jagged edges and dark corners, he's still here.

Still looking at you like you're something precious instead of precarious.

The silence stretches between you, heavy with all the things you're afraid to say, all the ways you're afraid to need him, and even more terrified of the way he needs you.

Eventually, you turn from the window, facing him. "It can't be simple. I won't let it be." Your voice catches. "I push and I pull and I keep everyone at arm's length until they prove me right by leaving."

Luigi stands slowly, like he's approaching a wild animal. "You've been trying so hard to make it impossible," he says softly. "Creating distance, convincing yourself I'll give up." He takes another step closer. "But loving you has always been the easiest thing I've ever done."

"Don't." The word comes out choked, your hand pressing against his chest in hopes that he’ll back away. "Don't say that when you know how complicated — how- how difficult-"

"Difficult?" He's close enough now that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, stood firm but not inching any closer. "You want to talk about difficult? Try watching you date other people. Try sitting across from you at coffee shops for years and watching you cry over them. Try fucking loving you quietly through every gallery opening, every crisis,“ his brows furrow, his nostrils flare, “you don’t get to tell me what loving you is like.”

Your breath catches as he reaches for you.

"You think you're pushing me away?" His voice is barely above a whisper, his hands finally cradling your face, tears dampening your cheeks that blaze with warmth. "I've been yours since that first night you fell asleep on my shoulder during finals week. Everything since then — it's just been waiting."

You clench your jaw, your heart a wild thing against your ribs. This tightrope you and Luigi have been walking for years — this delicate balance of almost-but-not-quite, of maybe-someday-but-not-now — has finally frayed beneath your feet. All those careful steps, those perfectly maintained distances, those nights of pretending your skin didn't burn where he almost touched you.

They’ve led you here, to this hotel room in Chicago, where the fantasy of staying safely suspended between friendship and something more has finally given way to gravity.

And what, you wonder, has Luigi seen in you to make him want to dive deeper into your chaos?

He's already witnessed the 3 AM phone calls when your mind won't quiet, the obsessive cleaning episodes that leave your hands raw and your apartment sterile. He's held you through the tears that come without warning, weathered the anger that burns hot and fast like summer lightning.

You're no manic pixie dream girl — you're the real thing, messy and unpredictable, with a heart that bleeds all over everything it touches.

He's either a storm chaser or a fool, you think.

Some hopeless beast tamer who hasn't realized that some creatures aren't meant to be gentled, that some storms leave nothing but wreckage in their wake.

But that's the thing — to Luigi, you've never been a storm to weather or a beast to tame. He doesn't look at you like you're broken machinery in need of repair, doesn't treat your edges like something to be smoothed away.

Instead, he's spent years matching your pace, stepping back when you needed space, stepping forward when you needed anchor. And now, finally, the weight of all that careful patience has brought him here — raw and honest in this dim hotel room, asking you to either meet him in this space between what you are and what you could be, or lay him to rest.

"Touch me," he says, the words falling soft but heavy in the space between you. His eyes hold yours, steady and sure, "Or let me go.”

The city lights paint his silhouette in gold and shadow, and you realize you've never seen him look so vulnerable, so stripped of the careful composure he always maintains. Your Luigi laid bare — not the patient friend, not the steady shoulder, but a man who's finally reached the end of his endurance.

"What if we break?" The question slips from your lips, small and honest, carrying all the weight of your fears that kept you at such a distance all these years — shattering to pieces, left broken by the man you’d loved the most.

Luigi's eyes soften, and something like a smile — sad and sweet and knowing — tugs at the corner of his lips. "Then we break," he says simply, his thumbs swiping away the tears that slide down your cheeks. "But I'd rather that than spend the rest of my life whole and wondering."

His hands haven’t moved. Patient, steady Luigi, who has never pushed but never fully retreated, either. Who has somehow found this perfect middle ground between staying and going, between asking and waiting.

And maybe that's what finally does it — the realization that he's offering you both beginning and end in the same breath. That he's standing here saying yes to all of it; the possibility of breaking, of shattering, of ending up with nothing but deadly carnage between you.

That he knows exactly what he's asking for, and he's asking anyway.

Your hand moves before you can think yourself out of it again, crossing the space between you like a prayer finally answered. When you cup his face, the scrape of stubble against your palm is both foreign and achingly familiar — like a song you used to know by heart, now half-remembered.

His eyes flutter closed at your touch, and you feel the slight tremor in his jaw, the way he leans into your hand like he's been starving for it.

His breath catches, shaky and soft, and when he speaks, his voice is rough with emotion. "There you are," he whispers against your palm, like he's greeting someone long lost, like you've finally come home after years away. "There you are."

His lips brush your palm once more before he lifts his gaze to yours, eyes dark with something between hope and heartache. "Tell me to pull away," he whispers, voice rough. "Tell me this isn't what you want, and I'll go. I'll understand."

But his body betrays him — the slight tremor still present in his jaw under your touch, the way he's still leaning into your hand like he can't help himself. He's offering you an exit, even now. Steady, selfless Luigi, always making sure you have a way out, even when it's killing him to do so.

And that's what breaks you finally — not his touch or his words, but this endless capacity of his to put your needs first.

To stand here offering everything he has left and the chance to walk away from it.

His hand finds your waist, fingers pressing into soft flesh with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. That small sound seems to undo something in him — his control fractures, and suddenly he's pulling you down to him with a urgency that matches your own, your hands bracing against his chest, feeling the thundering of his heart beneath your palms.

"I've thought about this," he confesses roughly, eyes locked on yours with an intensity that makes heat pool low in your stomach, his thumb tracing a burning path along your hip bone. "Having you like this.”

You can feel the tension coiled in him, the way he's still holding back despite everything. Even now, he's giving you the chance to set the pace, to decide how far this goes. But you're done with hesitation, done with the careful distance you've maintained for so long.

You lean down, letting your lips brush against his ear. "Show me," you whisper, and feel him shudder beneath you. "Show me how you wanted me."

He moves with a swiftness that steals your breath, flipping your positions in one fluid motion. Now he's the one hovering above you, his forearm braced beside your head, other hand still at your waist.

The weight of him, the heat of him so close — it makes your head spin.

"Like this," he breathes, pressing his forehead to yours. "Just like this." He holds you like you’ll run from him — just like he’s watched you run from everything before that doesn’t run from you first.

Your hands find their way to his shoulders, feeling the tension there, the way he's trembling slightly despite his strength. "I'm here," you whisper back, one hand sliding up to cup his cheek. "I'm not going anywhere."

[bunbundubdub]

Below The Belt - Zayne

What was supposed to be some spicy headcannons quickly turned into an entire essay...oopsie. Still, these are some spicy takes about Zayne, his behaviour in bed and well, what is happening below the belt. TW: smut (kinda? not really), more suggestive I guess, description of male anatomy, awkwardness, also sneezing -----------------------------------------------

If Zayne is anything, it is meticulous. More than once he has gotten you almost past the point of overstimulation with anything more than his hands and tongue just because he is so intent on discovering every single spot that makes you either gasp, moan or scream and he is incredibly good at it.

Sometimes if he wants to indulge you, he rattles off facts about you anatomy and why those specific places on your body illicit such a strong response from you and as strange as it seems, this clinical sounding array of medical jargon might just be the most arousing and dirty thing he could ever say to you, even the few times he get so out of it from pleasure that he drops all his decorum cannot even get close.

Staying on topic of his voice, Zayne isn't particularily loud, while he does tend to talk a lot, especially while he is preparing you for what is to come, when he is finally ready to chase after his own pleasure, it is hard to get anything more than a few groans and gasps out of him.

If often seems like this doctor prefers pleasuring you more than being pleasured, as he could spend hours on his knees with you pressed against the wall, your hand buried in his hair and one leg over his shoulder as he buried his face inbetween your thighs, or on his stomach on the bed with you spread out in front of him.

The simple reason for it is, this man is so incredibly tense and stressed all the time, once he does get his turn, he finishes rather quickly. He obviously doesn't mean to, but after a stressful day, just the thought of being with you simply overwhelms him, which is why he makes sure you are well taken care of and ready to fall asleep at a moments notice once he becomes a little more selfish and chases after his own pleasure.

But even if he is just about to crash and fall asleep immediately afterwards as well, as a doctor specifically, he knows that aftercare is not just important from an emotional standpoint. After being yanked from one climax to the next for so long, he doesn't expect you to make it to the bathroom on foot, so if necessary he will carry you there himself or at least lend you a hand or two if he is too tired for it.

He won't stop pestering you until you went to go pee and cleaned yourself up, that is something he will not make any exceptions for. He is also uncannily good at keeping messes in the bed to a minimum, either with towels or some sort of dark magic, so most of the time clean up can wait until morning.

Below the belt:

Zayne has mastered the art of tucking himself away neatly, so the first time you see him in the nude you might be surprised. While he might be considered larger than the average, he is in no means intimidating. While he is a little on the less girthy side, he does make it up in length and shape. With a tip that blushes a very pretty rosy pink, his length has a nice upward curve and very prominent veins that are not just visually appealing.

With the amount of exploring he does when it comes to your body, even if you think you are completely spent from what is often an hour of foreplay, he always manages to hit that one spot just right and drag you over the edge with him just one last time.

Awkward moments:

You do try to make yourself as pretty for Zayne as you possibly can, knowing how well he treats you in bed, it's the least you can do. He personally doesn't care too much if you dress up in pretty lingerie or your usual pyjamas, if you dolled yourself up with a special hairstyle and makeup or seduced him just looking the way you are, to him you are the most beautiful creature he has ever laid eyes on. And he also knows that by the end of the night your clothes will be flung across the room and your hair and makeup will be ruined. And if it isn't, he might just have to torture you with pleasure just a little more.

What you forgot once however, is how sensitive he is to fragrances and perfumes. As a surgeon he cannot wear any cologne to work, which has made his nose a little less accustomed to stronger scents.

Wanting to do something special for him, to not just look pretty but also smell ready to be devoured by him, you got a nice gourmand perfume, intending to smell like a luxury candyshop just for him.

As usual he got so distracted pleasuring you that he didn't quite pick up on it, at least not until he made his way back up, kissing along your thighs, stomach and chest until his lips found yours and he sunk into your warmth.

It never took him long to find his rhythm and you could feel and hear his gasps in your ear. At least you could until he raised his head a little…and sneezed right in your face. What could've been a small hiccup, something you would forget once you got back into it, quickly turned into a sneezing fit for him, and a giggle fit for you.

As sorry as you felt, it was hard not to laugh as Zayne both desperately tried to stop sneezing while simultaniously attempting to apologize for the biological warfare he had unleashed on you while also trying to find something to clean your face with.

It had indeed utterly destroyed the mood, but you could now both share the laughter after he had calmed down and you had washed off the fragrance.

[sleepstxtic]

Birthday Fic Reclist - NV-MD

Dear Ali @nv-md, happiest birthday to you!!!! <3 You are such a brilliant writer and the best beta and the kindest, warmest friend, and also such an important part of my (and so many others'!) fandom experience. I appreciate so much that I get to share this space with you and bask in your creative work, and be able to hang around in your incredibly uplifting and positive orbit <3 Thank you for all you do here, I'm so happy you're in this fandom, truly.

This is a reclist of some of my favourite Ali fics, and has some of the "Ali classics" mixed in with some hidden gems that I adore so very very much!!!! (It was very hard to choose a top 5 because Ali is SO prolific and has over 70 works on her AO3, all SPECTACULAR!!)

Let Me Take You Home | M | 1k | Ginsy

FEMSLASH MY BELOVED!!! This is a Ginsy that I rec SO hard. The characterisations are brilliant, and Ali's writing hits just right. Set in a fragile, post-war world where everyone is struggling to heal, and Ginsy find each other and learn to heal together. There is so much story and depth packed into just 1k words, and a beautiful repeating motif that comes together so satisfyingly at the end. BEGGING EVERYONE TO READ THIS <3

Draco Malfoy Absolutely Does Not Need to Be Loved by Harry Bloody Potter | E | 18k | Drarry

This fic!!! This masterpiece!!!! It is SUCH a sweet, funny, lovely fuckbuddies-to-lovers accidental bonding fic that just hits all the beats PERFECTLY. The pining is so sweet and delicious and the getting together is just the perfect amount of fluffy and heartfelt. The BEST read for when you want something light and fun that you can just sink yourself into and enjoy to the fullest. <3 (Oh and there is also some spectacular art to go with it!!)

but first, we fight | E | 8k | Drarry

THIS FIC OH MY GOD THIS FIC. It's a distinctly different flavour to the one above but is still equally incredible and such a riveting read. The Drarry dynamic here is ELECTRIC. LITERALLY IT IS SIZZLING. Fighting-to-sex at its FINEST! The angst is scrumptious and hurts so good, and I would recommend this so so extra hard to anyone who is looking for a spicy enemies to lovers story to kick back with <3 Featuring Drarry as extremely competent Auror partners + a host of delectable kinks. SO GOOD!!!!

Bite Me - Vampires All Day | 6k | T-E | Drarry

Cheating a bit with this one since this is a series and not a fic, but I can't help it!!! IT'S SO GOOD. Drarry as vampire boyfriends is DELICIOUSLY DARK. Another suuuper fascinating Drarry characterisation (Ali finds so many different ways to portray their dynamic, without ever compromising on what makes them them!). Harry and Draco are both so enticingly jaded and cruel. Reading about these murder boyfriends zipping around the world leaving a trail of bodies in their wake is something only Ali could make simultaneously spine-tinglingly dark and SIZZLING HOT!! Also, they write 1st person POV so good, and this fic is no exception!!!

Kiss Me, Fuck Me, Love Me | 5k | E | Drarry

One of my actual favourites from Erised this year, this was such a delightful and sexy romp. The non-linear timeline was so so masterfully done, the way we went back and forth until we converged on New Year's. The pining was so sweet (Ali's pining is always top tier! I'm such a sucker for it, as you can tell xD) and the getting together was CHEF'S KISS. Highly recommend this if you're looking for another light-hearted (and hot!) read <3

Eeeee once again, HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALI!!!! WE LOVE YOU!! <333

[tarotbyjam24]

What does this person think of you ?

Likes , reblogs and feedbacks are very much appreciated 💗

Masterlist \pick a cards

Disclaimer: this is general reading . It may or may not resonate . If reading doesn't resonate let it fly and choose another pile or simply there were no messages for you through this reading 😊 Take the reading lightly as nothing's set in stone until you believe so 🕊️

If you like my work you can now tip me on kofi too ,leave 🖤 emoji while tipping me because @winisayswhat and I both share same accounts and it'll help us distinguish our tips ♡

Thankyou for stopping by let's dive in ☄️ Choose the pile you feel most drawn to 🧸

this reading is a Collab b\w @tarotbyjam24 and @tobari7x3 🧚🏻‍♀️✨

Pile 1. Pile 2. Pile 3.

Pile 1

Hello pile 1 , this person thinks of you as someone who can get somethings outta nothing. To them you're probably an easy going person. They may also think that you're mostly submissive in nature . They think you're good at balancing, moderation or managing things . For example you may like to drink but you're also someone who works out and meditates so this is the balance they appreciate about you . They may think that you've gone through so much that now you're becoming fragile you've been holding onto it for so long and you desire that someone else could hold it or do it for you . Probably you're trying hard in school. I'm also getting this line from Charlie Puth 's song see you again . We've come a long way without you my friend and I'll tell you all about it when I see you again . And and It's been a long day without you friend and I'll tell you all about it when I see you again . They may also think that you're trying to fit in when you're not supposed like you're supposed to be yourself gurlll. They may also think that you're connected to sprituality probably your chakras are open , aligned and active or you're working on your third eye and throat chakra. They think you may like to plan things before executing them even in your daily life you may like to make to do lists and tick it off when the day ends . They may also think that you're working on something right now for future and they may wanna lend you a hand in your work ? This person thinks you might need someone to help you and they're here for you :) probably you're thinking of traveling but you're not in the mood to go solo and this person is ready to go on trip with you . They may also think that you need to get outta your comfort zone and cross that self made boundary to see that there's so much in this world to see and explore. They may think that you need a change . You need to do the changes in yourife and be more go with the flow typa person instead of planning everything months before as it might not lead to the natural process of plans because you kinda manipulated events by planing them ? idk if that makes sense . Take this sentence only if it resonates otherwise let it fly . I'm getting very sagittarius vibe you might need to or wanna embody this zodiac's vibe. Also don't be afraid of falling on ground and being bruised . Those bruises are your experiences and those scars will always tell you that how far you've made. And how you've stood up again for yourself. That's all pile 1 Bbye bless you and love you .

Pile 2

read by @tobari7x3 💗

I'm getting, Pile 2 is in the procss of creating like, learning to create any form of art or maybe a new skill. You're not an expert at it, you're still learning and you have immense passion for it— at least that s your person’s point of view. They think your passion is like your wings to your being, and they believe that whatever ou are working hard to learn, your passion for it would lead you to success. Im getting this person enjoys your creations/ work and loves watching you in the process. I struggle in words, but I have this imagery in my head: Theyre excited and watching you work and your passionate bursts give them a feeling of deep admiration. Their eyes literally see you as the bright shining being, when watchin you work or talk about your work/art. In short, tey deeply admire your passion for your craft and you inspire them to thrive, to maybe try something new, go past fears and work hard. I feel like this person has seen you rise fro the ashes: I heard the word “Phoenix” in my head starting the reading, however, the second pull of cards are clarifying it. Theyve seen your darkest times… maybe you werent always the person youre today and faced struggles with being confident abut yourself and were afraid of doing what your heart desires for the fear of failure was holdingyou back from your passion. However, you broke through like a determined warrior, accepted your flaws and moved on to pursue the will of your heart. Yure a free spirited phoenix in their eyes Pile 2! They are proud of you and admire your story. You inspire them to break through their own fears.

Pile 3

Read by @tobari7x3 💗

Welcome pile 3! First of all, it was very prominent that your person struggles to communicate their feelings. They are calculative and even a little timid. I wonder if they do not want you to know what they think about you… First look at the spread, there is a color palette: Mostly blues, purple and a hint of yellow on every card from the first pull. Now that I notice, the yellows are either stars or a light source! And OMG! 3 major arcanas with Ace of Wands! With my limited experience with color symbolism in tarot, I can map out that this person perceives this connection as a spiritual light that leads them through their shadows and into somewhere high and profound. This connection makes them spiritually grow. I can sense some romantic undertones to their feeling(take as applies, might be a specific group of people). On the cards- Your arrival in their lives may have put an end to something and pushed them to look into themselves and fix old patterns. Eventually becoming the better version of themselves and starting a new beginning into a new era with this connection. They feel a deep spiritual bond to you, and yo make them take steps they really should. Reversed AOW tells me that this relationship is rather calm and lacks passion or isnt that energetic at the moment…very slow pace. “Let it be slow for the soul needs healing” I just heard that. I pulled 2 more cards: Youve made them learn crucial lessons about themselves. Overall, they view you as a spiritual mentor,friend and maybe even a lover(specific groups again, take as resonates). They are grateful to have you and this profound connection in their lives. I literally hear them say “thank you” hehe! Good luck lovely pile 3!!!

I hope you liked the reading . Thank you so much for letting me read for you . Wishing you best ahead . 🎀Bless you and have a nice day

Loads of love , jam\gem

Exchanges : open , collabs for paps : open

Please leave 🖤 if you tip for @tarotbyjam24 and leave 💗 if you tip for @winisayswhat as we both share same kofi account

[not-poignant]

Hi Pia,

I just wanted to say you are an inspiration to me. I'm in my twenties and also struggling with an insane amount of health issues with new ones constantly popping up, which makes me feel like I will never be able to do anything with my life. Except maybe for writing, because I can do that in my bed and I love escaping into fictional worlds.

I don't know much about your life except what you share in the author's notes, but knowing that you're living life out there and writing these amazing stories despite all your health issues gives me hope. Unfortunately I live in the US, so it's easy to fall into a spiral of doom, but maybe I can be like you one day. The choices you make every day to keep pushing forward, keep doing things that make you happy, is what makes me believe that it's possible for me to keep going, too.

Hiya anon,

Health issues suck, don't they? I started my Crappy Pokemon Collection of Chronic Health Issues in my teens but I remember I really started to get concerned in my 20s when it just kept happening. And kept happening. I think there's a sadness/grief and depression and anger that comes with that too, and a fear.

For what it's worth, science comes up with new medications all the time, new discoveries, new breakthroughs. I have started medications that have helped some issues I've had for 25 years, thinking they'd just progressively get worse. And to be fair, some of my issues do progressively get worse, and I do have new chronic illnesses or chronic or stupid health things come up fairly frequently. And as I'm sure you know, maintenance and surveillance and chasing this shit up is its own job and labour that is extremely thankless.

But outside of that, there is a great radical activism in simply being kind to yourself, loving yourself, trying hard not to see yourself as wrong in the world, as still deserving to take up your space, no matter how much that changes over time.

I have loved ones in my life who spend most of their time in their bed (and otherwise in a wheelchair), all in their 40s/50s, all who have rich lives filled with loved ones. That doesn't mean they're not sad sometimes, or not frustrated with an ableist world (especially around how quickly everyone gave up on us), but it does mean when everything feels awful and despair-filled, they have people who love them, they have hobbies and interests (game coding can be done from a bed, art can be, cross-stitch can be, writing can be, and even sometimes chopping fruit and vegetables can be if you have one of those sturdy overbed tables and can trust your hands), they have things that get better and things that get worse, they all think their lives are better now because it does just take time to...learn how to live in a body that does this when you're younger and had different visions for yourself.

I spend a lot of my time in bed. I need to lie down every afternoon for several hours or I'm non-functional in the evenings and that's on my best days. Escaping into fictional worlds is honestly such a blessing, whether it's in writing or movies or TV or anime or manhwa etc.

Sending hugs and solidarity and much love for how things are in the USA right now, especially for ill / disabled folk. There are lot of people fighting the good fight, so please make sure you take the time to rest, even on the good days, when you might be tempted to push past your limits to get everything done.

It took me forever to stop overspending energy on my good days, and I still do it all the the time, lol.

[cinderflower]

.

I hate that I can tell when my work stress starts to tank my mental state and I hate that it all overlapped with MalMiq week, but man this week has been the worst in a very long time. Pretty exclusively in regards to the communities on bluesky and twt (truly a cesspit) not so much tumblr, but man it has been so utterly and completely discouraging to put my all into a community event and put my best foot forward to support the other artists (I left a few comments but not as many as I planned to, I do want to circle back and leave more when my brain is less shit) but it just so rarely seems to be reciprocated. And I know that I'm not owed anything, I should support because I do genuinely support - and I do! - but it'd be a lie to say that it doesn't feel bad to not get that same support from the actual community in return.

Like, I get it, I'm a mediocre artist and writer on my best days because they're just my hobbies, and especially on twt the talent there is insane in comparison. But even with my expectations set so utterly low, it's just been a bit surprising how little people engaged with my work comparatively. I don't know. Am I worse than I think I am? Is my art that unpalatable? Especially the day 1 art, that's the one I was most proud of even if I couldn't execute it as well as I wanted, and it flopped harder than even the art/fic for Kintsugi.

As for fics, I know I personally am very proud of Kintsugi and I spent an obscene amount of time on it, but the only other fic of mine that flopped this hard this fast was Hypnagogia (ironically another fic I was super proud of). So at a point it's just like, is the fic fandom space truly so dead? Or is it me? I know I've really fucking struggled with writing up to my normal quality standards with how dreadful the brainfog has been, but I didn't think it had dropped that much in quality. Like I used to get at least some feedback.

I don't know what my point here is other than just to vent I guess. I know this is definitely worse because work has been utter hell this week and I am at an all time low. Well, that and the AI hellscape and US pol fascism nightmare. But art is supposed to be a conversation but it's so god damn hard to put myself out in the fandom space and earnestly try and community build only to be met with nothing.

If you made it this far, even if you don't like my fics or art, or they're not your speed - try to engage with artists and writers you do like. Especially the smaller ones, or the ones who draw or write "taboo" art. We're sitting at a table when we post our art/fics, inviting you to sit down with us and talk about this thing we both clearly like, but what's the point if everyone is too afraid to take a seat? If everyone just walks by, takes the art/fic from the table in silence, and scurries off to shove it under their bed and never speak about it?

(to the people here specifically on tumblr who I do interact with a bit more regularly, thank you, your support genuinely means the world to me and does truly motivate me to keep publicly sharing my works)

[sillyuin]

(Stolen) tagged by: @ylangelegy

what's the origin of your blog title?: silly: because I think that word describes me a lot + yuin: a name I got from a "build your korean name" game. I loved that name so I wanted to use it.

favorite fandoms: I'm not that much into fandom but I was into Puella Magi Madoka Magica and I was very invested on it.

OTP(s)/shipname: I used to be a sucker for Lukanette (miraculous ladybug)

favorite color: rose quartz and blue serenity. I loved those colors even before been carat (it was destiny)

favorite game: Persona 3 Portable, Stardew Valley, Final Fantasy type-0 and literally any dress up game.

song stuck in your head: nowdays, break the ice by Britney Spears.

weirdest habit/trait?: I daydream, A LOT. If I'm ridding bike or walking, I'm creating scenarios in my head, ideas for writting or talks between me and God. I don't know how but so far this hasn't given me any problems.

hobbies: watching videos on youtube about life-style or essays, photography, drawing, programming in HTML and CSS, reading, journaling.

if you work, what's your profession? I'm a system enginner but haven't found a job, so in the meantime I do bakery, sometimes I work as receptionist in my aunt's clinic.

if you could have any job you wish, what would it be?: full-time programmer, professional photographer or film-maker.

something you're good at: follow orders.

something you're bad at: spoken words, I'm bad at speaking and expressing things or ideas (ironic enough, I can talk a lot)

something you love: taking photos of animals and pets.

something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: the madoka magica lore and sewerslvt music.

something you collect: coins from different countries (I have few tho, is hard to get them), stuffed animals, notebooks, stickers and key chains.

something you forget: pretty much anything, but especially names of people I just met.

what's your love language?: gifts and acts of service.

favorite movie/show: Puella magi Madoka magica, The witch (2015), Perfect Blue, love like the falling petals, blue my mind and my comfort series, The Fairly OddParents.

favorite food: basically anything except for beetroot, but if I have to pick: hot dog, pizza and chinese fried rice.

favorite animal: dogs and snow leopard.

are you musical?: singing in the shower and playing kalimba.

what were you like as a child?: a loner, crybaby but someone with a rich imagination, not that I changed that much actually.

favorite subject at school?: arts, english and spanish. In college it was programming and pretty much anything with a lot of theory.

least favorite subject?: maths, chemistry and something in college that I can't quite remember, I think it was Logic gate??

what's your best character trait?: I think I'm a good listener and willing to help in any way I can.

what's your worst character trait?: I get overwhelmed with ease and if it's too much, I may freeze in the place.

if you could change any detail of your day right now what would it be?: not being sick with COVID ;-;

if you could travel in time who would you like to meet?: probably my my great-great-grandmother, she was a foreign woman whose family somehow ended up raised in latin america (she was dutch)

recommend one of your favorite fanfics (spread the love): The Xu Minghao Dilemma by shuaflix. That's it, that's the tweet (?)

Feel free to tag yourself! ♥

get to know your mutuals ★ tag game.

saw this doing rounds on my dash and i love yapping! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

what's the origin of your blog title? it's a reference to my favorite NIKI song, sugarplum elegy. ylang refers to a filipino flower— the ylang-ylang.

favorite fandoms: i'm not in fandom as much as i used to be, but every so often i do go back to broadway 'fandoms'. happy 10 years to hamilton. man.

OTP(s)/shipname: i was big on fremione (harry potter) and enjonine (les miserables). dark times.

favorite color: orange or brown! specifically in the shades of #f28500 and #5e2co4, lol. i love color palettes.

favorite game: walk with me now, but harvest moon: animal parade. absolutely guts me that it was for the wii and is now virtually unplayable elsewhere.

song stuck in your head: for quite some time now, it's been 711 by toneejay.

weirdest habit/trait? when bored on transport, i play word games with anything i see that has letters i.e. if i see a plate number that says 'PUV', i have to think of words that start with p, u, and v before moving on to the next. no repeats.

hobbies: junk journaling, hand-building with clay, and baking anything that involves puff pastries.

if you work, what's your profession? a news story editor for broadcast television. communications consultant for a foundation, too.

if you could have any job you wish, what would it be? proprietor of a flower shop that's also a bookstore/library. alternatively, i want to teach english literature to uni freshmen.

something you're good at: making lists. love lists. of all kinds. on all platforms. if it can be made into a list, i am doing it.

something you're bad at: anything that requires consistency/forming habits. i'm bad at keeping up with things because i'm bigger on random bursts of energy.

something you love: a good poem. recent good read would be laura fargas' if there is a.

something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: the harvest moon/story of seasons franchise. also, button poetry classics.

something you collect: coins/loose change from different countries. cameras, too, although that one is less of an intent to collect and more of a hobby over the years. recently secured a kodak ektar half-frame i've been eyeing for months!

something you forget: what my closest friends do for a living. i know it in the vaguest terms, but i could not tell you for the life of me what they do at work.

what's your love language? receiving/giving gifts.

favorite movie/show: my all-time favorite movie has indisputably been the truman show (1998) for quite some time, while my favorite filipino film is distance (2018). the good place is my favorite series; chidi anagonye, the love of my life.

favorite food: naan or cua pao with absolutely anything. chicken ala king is preferred.

favorite animal: elephants or quokkas.

are you musical? can't hold a note to save my life, can't play any instruments. but i love, love, love karaoke.

what were you like as a child? a lot as how i am right now, although probably a lot more attention-seeking and dramatic.

favorite subject at school? to absolutely no one's surprise, english. in uni, it was specifically english literature. although something that comes as a close second would be my philosophy and theology electives.

least favorite subject? to absolutely no one's surprise (2), math. in uni, i didn't do very well in my spanish foreign language class and i passed environmental science by the skin of my teeth.

what's your best character trait? i like to think that i have a healthy curiosity for most things.

what's your worst character trait? as of late, procrastination i.e. thinking i have more time to do something.

if you could change any detail of your day right now what would it be? i wish i had the energy to sort through my clothes closet.

if you could travel in time who would you like to meet? my maternal great grandmother. she sounds really badass (e.g. lived through the japanese occupation, raised 12 kids on her own, owned a coffee plantation).

recommend one of your favorite fanfics (spread the love): viv's (heartepub) something in the orange. i've already annotated it, but i stand by what i said back then— one of the best pieces of work you will find not only on svtblr, but on the whole damn internet.

🍊 if you want to do this yourself, just say i tagged you! <3

[pallanophblargh]

Another desperate strike at the art block and a tribute of sorts: super rusty linocut to reinitiate me into the world of printmaking. It’s not as attuned to my working style as intaglio was, but this is fun, tactile, and enough of a departure from my way of thinking that is super welcome.

It’s nothing special and definitely technically lacking (over-inked block and such) but it’s something, which is a big deal lately. Also it’s my favorite species of fish and we all know Kuhli loaches deserve all the tributes we can give.

[silverwhittlingknife]

"the fault, dear Brutus -" (Julius Caesar)

Quotes from A Critical History of English Literature by David Daiches. Panels from Death in the Family, Under the Red Hood, Lost Days, and Batman and Robin.

[triglycercule]

horror is so BLESSED he's the only one out of the murder time trio that has actual good people trying to influence his story 💔💔 dust and killer were both driven to INSANITY because of the choices of their respective humans but horror??? every time without FAIL the polls for horrortale's plotline have always ended in a good place for aliza (either by bettering her relationships/reputation or for her to just. not DIE)

horrortale's potential alternate timelines my beLOVEd🙏🙏 they're SO lucky that we're being kind and benevolent hehe (≧ω≦) now where are the aus based off the possible different outcomes that could've happened in horrortale HUH???? (like how aliza couldve killed toriel or chosen horror's puzzle or gone with undyne to the core........)

[puppppppppy]

man

[fobnsfwdoodlesbackup]

Hi y'all, I just wanted to talk a little about the behind the scenes of what I've been up to, to give y'all a little transparency and to open myself up for any tips or input! 🙏 Thank you for your continued support and for taking the time to look at my art 🫶

First and foremost I wanted to give some transparency about my art capacity.

As og followers may remember, I started this blog when I was doing art full time. Eventually my living expenses grew and I had to go back to work. I find myself in a cycle of "I'll make more art soon, once I get a job!" And "I'll make more art soon, once I am done with this job!" I lost my most recent job suddenly, having had an extension waved over my head until the last day(October 7th). Now I'm excited to have more time for art, but I am also feeling a rush to get a new job ASAP as I've been living paycheck to paycheck. I dream of doing this work full time, I'm just scared it's not quite there yet and I worry that I come off as scammy or dishonest when I anticipate more stability around the corner.

Second, I've been struggling with the Patreon. It's taken me a while to come to terms with this, but from what I've seen Patreon is not intuitive at all from the creator end. It doesn't do a good job of organizing addresses, emails, showing who or who isn't subscribed to me, or organizing and displaying the work I put on there. I've been really shocked by this experience, since lots of big names use Patreon. It's been a great way to streamline support, but it's been unhelpful in every other regard. I would like to continue using it, but I will most likely post more wips or process videos there in the future.

Which brings me to my third point, zines. I love making zines so much, it feels personal and fulfilling and fun! However the Patreon issues make it harder to keep information in order about where to send zines, or even where to message folks about them. In addition to this, the post office has been a big barrier to me, oftentimes only being open at the same time as my dayjob. Making zines can take days, then sending them out is a whole other monster.

This work is so important to me. Drawing peoples fantasies, representing body types, creating work around sexuality and the human experience feels like what I'm meant to do. I've made comics since I was a kid. This is the dream to me. The friends I've been able to make through this work are so important to me, and the conversations have been invaluable. Not to mention fun! I wanna doodle, I wanna draw hot stuff, I wanna thirst over these dudes! I want to play!

But I also just want to be transparent about the barriers I'm working around to share that experience. I'm completely self taught, both in art AND in running shops, building websites, running 8 accounts, etc. I take a lot of time to learn the logistics of these things, and try to make them make sense for my relationship with y'all (I do not want to paywall my art!! I don't want to!!!). This year my desktop broke down (the main one I use for all paintings and digital art). I've paused my Etsy shops and my Patreon to try to catch up with things. Trying to learn to paint in a completely different program. Then lost my job with no savings.

At the end of the day I don't want anything to come between me sharing my art with you. I wish I could doodle a thing, take a picture, and post it here. No third party site, no shop, no subscription. Just sharing my art with you. I promise I'm trying to figure out how to stay as close to that as possible, and I want to thank y'all for sticking with me as I untangle all of that.

So, what can you expect in the near future?

I'm working on a couple of painting commissions right now, which you should be able to see in the next couple of days! I want to catch up on kinktober and get those posted as well. There's a comic commission in progress which I'm very eager to work on, and which I think y'all will be excited for! To ease the weight of the Patreon I think I may do less zines/polls there and more wips and process videos! If possible, I want to do more full colored work too.

Thank you again for enjoying my work, and if you have any input or tips my inbox is always open 🙏🫶💕

[i-will-go-with-you-five]

Runner Five is feared for a reason… she is absolutely terrifying when she wants to be

[crescentfool]

🍊🫐 throughout time!