#but my problem is i hate the art. it's ugly....

[hychlorions]

maybe i'll make. one entry for kp week.... hm

[pine-arten]

guys the light deity is literally called light WEAVER ...... it makes sense to have pupa/grub dragons. they are weaving

[lacesoflove]

glimpses of you pt. 1 | hamzah x editor!reader

rating | slightly suggestive, nothing too crazy though

warning | semi-proofread! smoking of ganja lol

author's note | will be rewriting this slightly because i hate most of this but i wanted to put something out :) also my first series ayeeeee

YOU HAD FOUND YOURSELF IN THE DESPERATE PREDICAMENT OF EITHER KILLING YOURSELF OR TURNING TO ONLYFANS.

Both options felt equally unappealing, and frankly, a little extreme for what the was, at its core, a mundane problem: you were broke. Flat out. You were just another college student drowning in debt, tuition fees rising like clockwork, and your part-time gig at the campus café barely covering any of your basic expenses. Still, you didn’t fancy having your ass plastered on the internet, and suicide seemed a bit tedious if not dramatic. So there you were, perched on the rickety communal library computer, two minutes left on your internet credits, with the only things popping up on your screen were clearly scams or were posted by “Jessica” or “Alex” living 5km away who, shockingly, wouldn’t be resolving your financial crisis.

Then, as though God had decided to throw you a bone, you saw it: a post for a part-time video editor.

The job was listed by someone named Mandy, a vet who was working as a vet but also did YouTube on the side, and working full-time with animals didn’t leave much time for Adobe Premiere on her end. The pay was decent—more than decent, really—and seemed almost too good to be true. You clicked her socials out of pure paranoia, half expecting her to be some creepy guy with a burner profile and you realised then and there, in the library of your communal college, all the years spent in highschool doing edits would now finally pay off. Literally.

Without thinking twice, you messaged her and said you’d take the job.

The next day, she sent you a zip file with raw footage, and that’s when it all began.

Editing for Mandy became your saving grace. She sent you a few videos every other week, and you gradually got better at your craft. So much so, in fact, that Mandy stopped reviewing your work altogether. She uploaded everything you sent her without a second glance, calling your edits “art” like you were the second coming of Stanley Kubrick. 

Which was an odd thing really. The trust she had in your work - which she’d call ‘art’. It was nice how much she trusted you so much with something so important to her, yet she didn’t really you know you beyond your name, your availabilities and the fact you had a roommate and said roommate needed your help with schoolwork thus leading you to being a bit slower with the updates on a video.

It was kind of difficult not forming a weirdo pseudo-parasocial relationship with her, on your end - after all you’d edit her most intimate moments. Her videos consisted mainly of her and her boyfriend, who you’d come to find out name is Martin. You knew so much about her life - her quirks, her habits, her boyfriend, Martin. He was nice and easy-going. Funny even -  you remembered laughing when he noted his surprise that you were just some college student who did Justin Bieber edits back in highschool and not a certified editor. You laughed along, but his words stuck with you. You were just some college kid. And yet, you knew the most intimate corners of their lives—their inside jokes, their fights, the way Martin looked at Mandy when she wasn’t paying attention. Something about the love they had for each other stirred something ugly in you.

Eventually, she wanted to meet up with you. The message came a little out of nowhere. It was around 10am after you had just bombed a test, and you were bed-rotting in your dorm room when you felt your phone buzz and your eyebrows furrow when her caller-ID popped up. “I just feel bad,” she’d remarked in a over the call. In the background you could hear her dog Rudy, if you recall, playing in the background. “You’ve done so much for me, and I barely know you. Let me take you out as a thank-you.”  She followed up by saying she wanted to go somewhere downtown, cozy  - you rejected as, although it was sweet, but honestly being paid was a thank you enough (as well as the fact that you could barely afford some of the places she suggested) - but she was relentless in her generosity so you gave up, put on the most “I am not a broke college student and this restaurant you suggest will definitely not financially break me” outfit you could find in the depths of your, and your roommate, closet and met up with her. The dinner was…nice. Mandy was calmer than you’d expected, a bit blunt, but funny in a way that made you feel at ease. By the end of the night, after too many drinks and a waiter accidentally spilling pasta all over you both, you’d started to think of her as a friend.

You began hanging out at her shared apartment with her boyfriend, sometimes sleeping over with her in the same bed (her boyfriend, Martin, banished to the couch). You’d watch movies till the sun came up and helped yourself to breakfast without having the typical self consciousness of being a guest.

And then you met Hamzah.

You’d gone to Mandy’s to pick up a bag of clothes you’d left behind. She’d given you a spare key ages ago—it was easier that way, she’d said—and you hadn’t thought twice about letting yourself in. You figured you’d grab your things and leave unnoticed.

As you walked past Martin’s office, though, you froze.

Sitting in one of the gaming chairs was someone you’d only seen in clips before. Hamzah.

He was leaning back, scrolling through his phone, a dab pen loosely held in one hand as he exhaled a slow cloud of smoke. He hadn’t noticed you at first, not until the floor creaked beneath your weight. His head lifted, brows furrowing as his eyes landed on you.

“Uh, hey,” you said, awkwardly waving.

Before he could respond, the bathroom door opened, and Martin appeared, wiping his hands dry on a towel.

“Oh, hey, Y/N!” Martin grinned. “Here for your stuff? It’s in the bedroom.”

You nodded, eager to move past the awkwardness, but as you left the room, you caught the brief exchange of looks between the two men.

“Who’s that?” Hamzah asked, his voice low but not low enough for you to miss.

“Mandy’s editor,” Martin replied. “You know, the one I told you about.”

Hamzah hummed, and though you were already walking away, you couldn’t help but feel his eyes trailing after you.

After you left, you weren’t really sure how to feel about seeing Hamzah. You knew you had to get used to him, especially considering he was just as close to Martin and Mandy as you were, if not even closer. It was strange, weird even. You knew a lot more about him than you should’ve - you’d seen him before, of course—in Mandy’s footage, in the background of videos you’d spliced together, laughing with Martin, rolling his eyes at a bad joke. But seeing him in person was something else entirely. You wanted to know more about him though, you weren’t sure if that was weird. The memory of his gaze stayed with you longer than it should have. You felt weirder about the fact that you didn’t feel weird enough  about it, that you did sometimes wonder what he was thinking of when tying strings of footage together. You found yourself replaying footage of where he smiled more than other pieces of footage. Maybe you were weird.

Martin and Mandy were throwing a get together. It was small, Mandy assured you when she noticed you wavered, picking up upon your your reluctance. “Me, Martin, and a few friends. Totally lowkey.”

You should’ve realised that meant he’d be there. 

Hamzah wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea of a party, but the thought of hanging out with Martin made it tolerable. That, and the unspoken promise of weed, along with the fact that it wasn’t going to be some huge, overwhelming crowd. Just Mandy, Martin, Chase, Claire, and a handful of their friends who weren’t part of their usual social media circle.

What bothered him, though, was the mention of a “special someone.”

Martin had been annoyingly vague, but Hamzah knew. It had to be you.

He’d caught himself that day, when his eyes lingered on you far too long as you stood in the doorway of Martin’s office. The second he let it slip, Martin noticed. Martin always noticed. And once Martin had something like that to tease him with, it was game over.

To Martin, it was probably exciting—Hamzah showing genuine interest in someone for once, and not just anyone but someone in their circle. Hamzah, on the other hand, was already bracing for the sly comments, the well-timed nudges, the not-so-subtle efforts to push him into a conversation with you. By the time he was on his way to the party, he already had a headache from overthinking. Worse still, he could feel another one building as he tried - and failed - to think of something, anything, to say that wouldn’t immediately come off as awkward or disinterested. And what if he did mess it up?

The idea of talking to you shouldn’t have felt so monumental, but somehow, it did.

You walked into the party with your roommate, Candance, who was dying to meet the so-called Mandy who, ever since entered your life, seemed responsible for your sudden ability to start paying for your own drinks when you and her went out. Candance was buzzing with the need to socialise and almost immediately departed from you to talk to Mandy’s female friends, one of which being a girl who believed was named Clara or Claire? You weren’t really sure, you tried to avoid Mandy’s other friends, Not for any strange or unkind reason—it was just how you were. Conversations with Mandy’s friends always seemed to trip you up, words slipping out of rhythm, leaving you stranded in awkward silences. Even Mandy’s good-natured attempts to bring you into her group couldn’t quite shake the feeling that you didn’t belong - that you were simply a girl who just edited her videos.

So, you’d drifted, quiet and unnoticed, until you found solace on the balcony. The Toronto air was crisp, a faint chill weaving through the hum of the party inside. You laughed as you noticed someone, Martin probably, had started blasting Nettspend. You leaned against the railing, fishing a blunt from your pocket, and lit it with practiced ease. The first inhale hit like an exhale—something uncoiling in your chest as the smoke curled upward, vanishing into the dark. 

Hamzah stepped into the party, the familiar rhythm of low laughter and muted music settling around him. He made a beeline for the drinks, grabbing a red cup filled with liquid courage (something he’d need plenty of).

It didn’t take Martin long to corner him, practically bouncing with thinly-veiled amusement.

“So, where’s this ‘special someone’ you mentioned?” Hamzah asked, feigning casual indifference. 

Martin’s smirk was immediate, sly and deliberate, as he gestured toward the balcony. “Out there.”

Hamzah followed his line of sight. You were leaning against the railing, the soft glow of the city lights flickering against the smoke curling from your hand.

“What do I even say, man?” Hamzah muttered, suddenly too aware of the weight in his chest, the too-familiar flutter of nerves threatening to undo him.

Martin shrugged, already stepping away, his grin widening. “I don’t know. Maybe start with hello? Or ask for a hit?” Hamzah sighed. Hamzah sighed, half-resigned, as he watched Martin retreat into the party, clearly pleased with himself. He really needed to get Martin to stop meddling in his love life—or, as both Martin and Mandy liked to point out, his complete lack of one.

Still, here he was, stepping out onto the balcony before he could overthink it. You hadn’t noticed him yet, your attention fixed on the glow of the city beyond the railing. It wasn’t until the soft creak of the door closing behind him startled you that you turned, wide-eyed.

“Oh, shit,” you exhaled, clutching your chest. “I didn’t see you there.”

Hamzah raised his hands in mock surrender, a small grin tugging at his lips. “My bad.”

“Do you do this often?” you asked, recovering quickly. “Creep up on people?”

“Do I look like I creep up on people?” he shot back, a flicker of amusement in his tone.

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it. “I don’t really know you.”

“Fair point,” he conceded, leaning against the railing beside you.

When he gestured toward the blunt in your hand, you passed it to him without hesitation. He took a drag, and something about the faint taste of cherry on the filter made him pause, his heart betraying him with a quick flutter.

“So,” he started, exhaling slowly, trying to mask his nerves with feigned ease, “what do you know about me?”

“Your address,” you said flatly, with a nonchalance that made him blink in surprise.

“What?” His eyes widened, and he gave you a look that silently demanded an explanation.

“In Mandy’s videos,” you clarified, smirking as you watched his alarm shift into sheepish realization. “When they visit you, the background gives away your street and house number. I’ve had to edit it out and censor it.”

“Oh. Damn.” He winced, scratching the back of his neck.

“You’re welcome for not doxxing you,” you said with mock seriousness, plucking the blunt back from his fingers.

“Thanks,” he muttered, exhaling a stream of smoke that curled into the cold night air.

For a moment, the silence between you wasn’t awkward. It hung there, fragile and almost weightless, like the smoke that lingered before dissolving into nothing. 

You both stood there for what felt like an eternity, the air thick with the smoke, your thoughts muddled by the high creeping through your veins. The party had been loud, the music had pulsed in your ears, but out here, on the balcony, everything felt quiet. Just the two of you and the low hum of the city below.

Hamzah’s gaze was steady, yet unreadable. You could feel his presence in the space between you—close, but not close enough. It was like you both were hesitant, waiting for something to shift, to give you the sign that it was okay to lean in further.

“So,” he started, voice a little lower than before, “this is where you come to hide, huh?”

You half-laughed, half-sighed, glancing down at the blunt between your fingers before looking up at him. “Yeah. It’s easier to think out here. Or forget, I guess.”

“Forget what?” His tone was gentle, but curious. His eyes didn’t leave yours.

You paused, biting your lip. “Stuff. Life. Whatever.” The words felt a little too raw, too honest for this moment, and you quickly added, “I’m not a big fan of parties, anyway. Too much noise. Too many people pretending they’re happy.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Hamzah said softly, his voice seeming to drop even lower. He stepped a little closer, and you had to resist the urge to step back. His proximity didn’t feel intrusive—it felt electric, like you were both standing on the edge of something. “I don’t really do parties either.” He paused, looking down for a second before meeting your eyes again. “But I like the quiet. The realness. The moments where you can just... breathe.”

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how dry your mouth was. “Yeah, me too.”

There was a moment of silence, and it felt heavy in the air. Your fingers brushed his, the contact brief but enough to send a ripple of warmth through your chest. Your heart skipped a beat, and you found yourself wondering if he felt it too.

“Y’know,” Hamzah began, his voice even quieter now, “I never really thought I’d be sitting on a balcony with Mandy’s editor, talking about life.”

You smirked, trying to lighten the tension. “And yet, here we are.”

He chuckled, but the sound was low, almost intimate, and you noticed the way his gaze flickered down to your lips before darting back to your eyes.

Your heart raced in your chest, and suddenly, everything felt a little too much. The weed, the energy between you, the overwhelming urge to close the space between you.

“I—” You started, but your words faltered. You didn’t know what you wanted to say, only that something had shifted, something that felt too important to ignore.

Hamzah took a step closer. His hand brushed the side of your arm, his touch lingering, just enough to make your pulse quicken. He tilted his head slightly, studying you, as if searching for some kind of sign.

You could feel the heat rising between you, the weight of his presence pressing in. “You okay?” he asked, his voice soft, but you heard the underlying question—something more than just your state of mind.

You nodded quickly, but then your nerves caught up with you. You could feel the anxiety building, and before you could second-guess yourself, you blurted, “This is weird, isn’t it?”

Hamzah smiled faintly,  “not really, I think you’re nice.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, and then, without thinking, you found yourself leaning in closer to him. Your lips were so close you could almost feel the heat between them, but then—just before you closed the space—your nerves overtook you. You stopped yourself, your breath catching in your throat.

Hamzah froze too, his eyes locking onto yours, both of you so close yet not quite there. The moment was suspended, hanging in the air like a breath waiting to be exhaled.

“I…” You pulled back slightly, the tension between you thick and palpable now. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you could feel your face flush. Fuck you hated being high. “Sorry. That was… stupid.” You stepped back a little more, suddenly feeling too exposed, too vulnerable.

Hamzah didn’t move right away, his eyes still locked on you. He looked like he was weighing something, deciding something. “No, it’s not stupid,” he said quietly, his voice steady, but you could hear the hesitation there too. He ran a hand through his hair, as if trying to gather himself. “I just—don’t want to make things weird.”

You nodded, but the knot in your stomach didn’t loosen. The air felt charged, and you couldn’t decide if you were relieved or disappointed. “Right.” You cleared your throat. “I should go.”

Hamzah didn’t say anything, just gave a small nod, his expression unreadable. You turned away quickly, as if running from the tension, and walked back inside. The party felt suffocating now, the music and laughter too loud, the distance between you and Hamzah somehow stretching even farther despite what had just happened.

You could feel your heart beating fast in your chest, the weight of everything swirling inside you. Your mind raced, replaying the moment over and over. What if you’d leaned in? What if you hadn’t pulled away? 

You asked Candance if she wanted to go home, and naturally, with her charisma she had become good friend’s with one of Mandy’s friends and was knee deep in a tea-spilling session.

You wished her goodbye grabbed your things and hurried out of the apartment, your pulse still racing as you made your way home. The high was still with you, the dizziness mixing with the anxious energy that had taken root in your chest. You couldn’t shake the feeling of his presence, like an echo, lingering in your mind.

As you stepped into your dorm, you kicked off your shoes and collapsed onto your bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to make sense of the mess inside your head. Why the fuck had you tried to a kiss a guy you only know through your friend’s videos? You wanted to scream and kick.

You rolled onto your back, eyes closing, but the image of him, that near kiss, lingered in your mind like smoke—unwanted but impossible to shake.

Would he tell Martin? Worse, would he tell Mandy? Would she be mad that you nearly kiss Hamzah? Would you lose your job?

You glanced at the clock. It was late, and you were so tired, but the restlessness wouldn’t let you sleep. Instead, you reached for your phone again, scrolled through your messages, then stopped.

One new notification.

It was from Hamzah. 

“Hey, sorry if I was too forward earlier. I was a bit high. You cool?”

You stared at the message, the screen flickering under the dim light. Was he apologizing? Or was this just his way of dismissing it, making it nothing?

Your fingers hovered above the keyboard. Was he expecting an answer? What were you supposed to say?

Finally, you typed a response, only to delete it a moment later. It was easier to just lie here in the silence, letting the unanswered questions fill the space. You weren't ready for any of this.

taglist: @xoxoange1l @sillyfungirl10112 @adiormoi @cheesecakeluver @homesick4la

[crucialplayer]

Thoughts on moon placements

!! everything is based purely on my experiences with signs, written with no other purpose than to share my observations and be unserious.

Aries moon. Will ask you a question and leave midway through u answering it just cuz little men in their head pushed a new button on the emotions console, inside out style. If they feel some type of way be sure everyone in the room will also feel it. Great at destroying social harmony. 

Taurus moon. Brick wall banging against which you risk irrevocably damaging ur head. Usually deal with stress or any negative emotions by falling asleep. Insanely bad at moving on from anything.

Gemini moon. Find an outlet for your thoughts and ideas and it better not be that one poor friend that is too nice to stop your rambling. Anxiety ride from the moment they wake up till the moment they fall asleep if they actually manage to. Never have a firm stance on anything. 

Cancer moon. If they feel sad they can suck the life out of the air. Feel a lot and usually stop at that. Somehow kinda bad at reflecting. Some of them could really benefit from rationalizing their emotions. Like to reminisce a lot. 

Leo moon. Every day is a Miss Universe contest. Don't understand the concept of putting yourself in someone else’s shoes. Live life like they’re being filmed for a biopic about them. Get offended easily. Having too many ego deaths on a daily basis bless them. 

Virgo moon. Invented anxiety and hating things. Genuinely think they are smarter than everybody but like to ignore the fact that they’ve been stuck in the loop of the same problems for a couple of years. VEry unstable self-esteem. 

Libra moon. Appear very carefree to the point of care actually not existing in their world I think. Like cute things and cute feelings. Dislike ugly things and ugly feelings. Shine best when surrounded by people and are needed by someone. 

Scorpio moon. If mood swings were a moon placement it’d be this one. Cutting ur hair at 3 am moon. Everything is profound and deeply personal. Identity crisis during a bus ride home. Being nonchalant is a hoax. 

Sagittarius moon. 3 minute emotional life cycle. Consider feeling down a random virus they caught somewhere and not a genuine state of being. Cure themself to the natural optimistic disposition by blowing up to someone’s face and proceeding to go with their day unbothered.   

Capricorn moon. Incapable of giving approval or being positive about anything. See three steps forward except only for the situations going wrong. Hence dissociate when they’re supposed to feel happy. The soul leaves their body when entrapped by loud people. 

Aquarius moon. Have ideas about feelings. When exposed to simple emotional stimuli fall into a theoretical spiral. Like to look for the signs and parallels. Without a social circle are like fish without water. 

Pisces moon. Kid lost in the mall vibe. Dreamed a more exciting life and are living it. Need alone time to survive but also kinda hate it?? Always care, would lose at the speed of light in the idgaf war. Do art please. 

[mclalan]

Can you share what your art-making process is? What software and tools do you use?? I'm falling in love with your work!!

Thank you, I'm so happy you like my work and are interested in the process. The short answer is I mostly use Adobe Animate.

I hate how I'm using an Adobe product (although I still regard it as a MacroMedia Flash product), but there's just no other software that compares to its jankiness. Perhaps it's just my long familiarity with the program, but nothing I've experienced matches how it simultaneously feels like drawing in MS Paint and using Microsoft PowerPoint vector shapes. The result is something that feels in-between the two; handmade yet computer-generated.

Typically, I'll start with a hand-drawn sketch, often beginning as a thumbnail done with pencil and paper.

I'll then do a mix of hand drawing and vector shape tool rendering. I use the Paint Brush tool to hand draw strokes, and the line and shape tools mixed with transform to make more geometrically accurate shapes. The design is rendered into divided closed loop shapes, ready to be filled with a solid. The strokes are kept or removed depending on the design.

These fill shapes are then either coloured and rendered in Adobe Animate, using fills, gradients, or a more complex process of masks and effects.

Alternatively, I'll bring all these vector shapes into Photoshop and use them as clipping masks. The vector shapes act like masking taped areas or shields to maintain sharp edges, while the brush is like an atomized airbrush used to build soft volumed forms.

Please excuse all that horrible Adobe Cloud and AI bloatware...

And there we go!

Variations in the process include just using MS Paint, index color in Photoshop, or 3D programs.

Very old works of mine were almost abstract, just exploring digital mark-making, which was a trend I was following in the mid 2010s that I loved. This kind of stuff.

While my current work uses its digital material specificity as an intermediary to the subject in the illustration.

For example, #ersatz.world parodies clip-art and flash edutainment styles but imagines the characters living within that kind of world. The designs are meant to be cute, easy to read, light in computer processing, but also irreverent, janky, and generic too.

People typically regard this sort of clip art style as ephemeral trash, but I always found them charming. I use Ersatz World primarily as a satire vehicle, parodying educational formats to spoof corporate explainer content and digital media.

However, part of the problem with Ersatz is I've made it look too polished, complex, and I've grown too attached to the characters, which I imagine is a typical issue with overbuilding a world. So recently, I've made an even jankier Ersatz-like set of characters to play about with, using an even simpler style with less cohesion. I like to try and use slightly different styles and digital material styles to relate to the property at hand.

That’s why #autonymus has a bitmap digital material and a denser feel to it. Unlike Ersatz, Autonymus is not meant to be an overt semi-meta fiction. It’s not exactly pixel art, but the pixels are just about visible, as the intention is to create a digital expressionist depth to the setting. Although it’s still stylized and not realistic to our world, I definitely still want to evoke semblances of our world. That’s why there’s attention to landscape, plant life, and implied life beyond what you see in the frame with the characters, etc. But I'm still making a cartoon, and I still want it to feel at ease with itself being a digital material work. Characters are therefore flat, simple, stiff, and the speech style is like a bad Shakespeare parody. I like to balance between ugly and appealing, simple and complex, familiar and unfamiliar.

In regard to things like inspiration, references, and my relationship to aesthetic genres; these things certainly factor into my work, perhaps I'm even overtly dependent on them. My work can definitely be post-modernist in method; creating new, ironic, or fragmented interpretations through deconstructing a mix of various styles or methods. But at the same time, I'm still trying to make a digital gestural representation where the aesthetic is driven by my relationship to the software and techniques directly—not simply in an attempt to reference a style. For example, I like drawing lines in sweeping strokes, not to a point of geometric perfection, but just in a way where the curves are smooth and simple. But if I want perfectly curved or straight lines, I'll use the vector tools.

Working this way, you can sort of learn why certain styles and design choices in past vector aesthetics were made, as they would have also needed to make similar choices. That’s why I’m more mindful of using digital material specificity as a foundation to build narrative and subjects upon these days.

For example, genre references like cyberpunk clichés for #cyberhell or late medieval design for #autonymus or 2005 to 2015 era subculture fashion for #gradientgoblinz.

I think it’s important to take inspiration and reference from a wide variety of sources, but I think they’d mean nothing without having something to say or express. Autonymus, although it is a collection of tropes and clichés, isn’t just about that. It’s a story about the tensions of socially constructed systems and how that shapes faith, technology, and the natural world, or at least that's what I'm aiming for anyway.

But despite all that, I think there’s a danger of locking myself into the past by using these methods. For example, using nostalgia and references to past aesthetics can result in just recreating the past in a form of role-play. To avoid that, I try and evoke the past through a messy, inaccurate pastiche rather than caring to accurately re-enact anything. I’m probably not always successful at communicating the deliberateness of this, and it can certainly get very frustrating and pedantic. To be honest, I do kind of hate aesthetic labels (terms like Y2K, global coffee house, utopian scholastic designs from a pre-9/11 world).

I do not believe that a project aimed solely at mapping history through aesthetic styles is worthwhile. Sure, they can be handy for organizing style trends, but they can also be reductive and ahistoric. Who are these people to define the history of these design eras? The result is a kind of suffocating simulation of design history but removed from context, perfect for moodboardism. I wish it felt more tongue-in-cheek, less absolute of itself in its own practice. Instead, it acts to legitimize and engender those making these labels, almost giving them ownership of the design styles. It’s similar to the logic and process of generative AI and its databases in a way, just done manually.

I’m very inspired by artists like Oneohtrix Point Never in this regard, as I think he’s able to create an aesthetic portal to all kinds of memories, feelings, and worlds reminiscent of the past, while still being in the present. It’s more a reflection of how timelines are messy now, like a memory or dream, rather than an audacity to say the past was actually like that, or to try to actually map some kind of timeline.

I think the benefit of this process is how it avoids the other side of the spectrum—being locked into chasing the cutting edge of digital processes. I don't necessarily think using an old digital process means your work inherits the semiotics of old aesthetics. Non-digital mediums don’t have this issue to this degree, as you can still paint in oils and be considered contemporary, or at least it's not frowned upon to such a degree. And I also don't think anyone in the heyday of Flash ever made work the same as I do, especially as computers are more powerful now so can handle more. I probably shouldn't boast too much about that though, as artists at the time probably just had more sense than to use Flash like a painting program! So then, why is my use of Adobe Animate critiqued as obsolete and an aesthetic dead-end? Because to whose standards is this process obsolete? If you value digital aesthetics as an apparatus in industry practice, then sure, my work is redundant.

But as wonderful as the latest tech can be in creating new aesthetics, I do feel it can be overtly dependent on the trends and directions of tech corporations, and therefore act as an indirect propaganda tool to their hegemony over digital aesthetics, such as the ever-demanding processing power needed for simulated realism. If anything, work that does follow in the direction of the latest tech trends is ironically the quickest to date once the trends move on.

I've noticed I've not really described what my work is about, just the process, in this text. But I don't know, maybe I like Flash because it is regarded as redundant. No one really cares about it, so I feel free to make whatever I want, and can decide on form myself, to my own standards, the quality of my work. As fun as making images is, I find it difficult to put into words what it is exactly I'm expressing in my work, and perhaps that would spoil it anyway.

[yukizme]

meet the residents . . . !

yn yln — apt. 444 ; 11th floor.

( art deco by lana del ray // pressed flowers // knowing it's for the better // glitter on the floor )

runs the super freak tattoo shop and routinely cries over the two headed calf as if it were her own child. has a pinterest board named "poems that made me cry on my kitchen floor" and when she has a bad day, scrolls through it to make it worse.

has a cat called coochie and the name has been subjected to many, many, many debates held by her social circle and her only argument has been that it is synonymous with pussy.

would've happily dated sukuna had he not called her baby ugly and lowkey felt it when yuji said that sukuna and her act like a bitter divorced couple who never even dated.

has an nth number of tattoos and piercings and doesn't remember how she got most of them and at this point, she's scared to ask. (she isn't allowed to drink more without supervision anymore because she almost got a face tattoo the last time they all went clubbing.)

sukuna ryomen — apt. 609 ; 12th floor

( ivy by frank ocean // wilted flowers // pink dye // finding escape in escaping )

runs the flower shop, "i'm so thorny." and has never elaborated why he named it that. he thinks it's hilarious. yuji thinks it's fucking stupid.

hates the girl who owns the tattoo studio below his shop in the commercial block, because a. her demon cat ripped apart his expensive as FUCK dahlias, b. his (half) nephew works at her studio and he cannot stand that betrayal and c. he's tired of explaining that he actually runs the flower shop while that witch with pink bows in her hair is the tattoo artist.

deep, deep down he wants that fucker of a cat to like him so bad but he once pspspspspsps-ed at it and it hissed at him and he's been bitter ever since.

really hates his nephew giving out free flowers every time she stops by their floor; the fact that he keeps those ugly fuckers in stock is completely unrelated.

satoru gojo — apt. 382 ; 9th floor

( christmas kids by roar // getting to know someone again and again // clear blue skies // violet nail polish )

part time model who has way too much free time and makes it everyone's problem. he's temporarily (nanami is working on making it permanent) banned from the building common area without supervision because one very bad day, gojo was bored.

is filthy rich and isn't humble about it. everyone hates having him as their pick in the building's secret santa which is mandatory — thank you, utahime — because he's impossible to shop for solely because of how expensive his daily stuff is.

no one mentions the Thing he has going on with suguru, mainly because they value their peace of mind but it very much is a Thing. everyone is sick of their Thing.

he's also coochie's dad (he sent yn increasing unhinged texts until she agreed to co-parent) but yn refuses to call him anything but a deadbeat because she walked in on him and geto making out and it wasn't even 9 a.m.

suguru geto — apt. 193 ; 9th floor

( smoke signals by phoebe bridgers // broken lighters // if you go, you have to stay gone // purple skies )

is an artist and he's so fucking good at it. has his own art gallery a few blocks away and his paintings are so targeted yet so open to interpretation and he has his own little fan base consisting of girls in their 20s and art students and people seeking god.

has to have a required amount of alone time or lay in bed at least once during the day or he starts to follow through with the various threats he has made. (once gojo tried to annoy him but setting alarms on geto's phone to go off every 5 minutes and the next day, gojo was seen wearing a bucket hat that seemingly stayed glued to his head. everyone bet on it being a bald patch.)

has a few piercings that he got done by choso and lets yn decide which one he's gonna wear whenever he changes them.

watched the haunting of the hill house and the haunting of the bly manor with the girls and nanami and cried.

utahime iori — apt. 396 ; 10th floor

( falling behind by laufey // alone with their loved ones in the past // cherries // pink and white )

owns the café on the upper ground floor, "we have coffee" and runs it like the navy. the sign outside the glass door says "these freaks are banned" along with a photo of gojo and geto and another picture of gojo with bright blue sunglasses and geto with a neon green wig.

met yn and shoko in university and they've all suffered through the horrors i.e the 20s together.

loves jewellery and gets matching stuff for her girls, yn, shoko and yuki, whenever she can. her favourite the set of matching pendants all four of them have; a kiwi (shoko); a cherry (yn); an orange (yuki) and a strawberry (for herself.)

once brought in nine kittens and managed to keep them hidden for two weeks because they all escaped and she has been mourning them ever since. prime number 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19 and 23 have their own photo album in her phone.

shoko ieiri — apt. 103 ; 10th floor

( last night's mascara by griff // expired makeup // fluorescent lights // forever being eleven years old on that playground with no friends )

teaches biotechnology at the local university and is easily the most liked professor over there. calls off classes because she saw a cat and got lost trying to pet it or because she took too much ibuprofen and can now hear colours; there's no in between.

once went to a couples counselling session with utahime to see how long it would take for the counsellor to realise that they weren't together. the session was over in an hour and a half and they had been advised to talk about their problems and communicate their feelings explicitly. yn has not let this go.

knows the most about everyone in their circle and she's mad at someone, she just casually drops the most insane piece of information and watches everyone argue. everyone likes her.

tried to confess to utahime but she just replied with "thank you!" and shoko doesn't think she can get drunk enough to dissect that interaction or confront her again.

yuki tsukumo — apt. 288 ; 11th floor

( arabella by arctic monkeys // silver jewellery // never existing until someone asks you how you are // animal print )

joined yn's studio because the ad said "hot people with decent drawing skills required + we have a cat" and was hired on the spot after she drew yn a perfect five-pointer star.

tried to bake cookies for her friends one day and managed to cause a blackout. ino still hasn't forgiven her because his essasy was due at 11:59 and his computer crashed and it did not submit; yuki thinks it's his fault for starting to write an essay at 11:27.

has multiple piercings, mostly in her ears and yn and her facetime every morning to decide her earrings for the day.

tattoos yn all the time along with choso. cherries, hearts, stars, dinosaurs, flowers, anything she can think of. her favourite is one with a small cherry shaped like a heart; just like the one on her own middle finger.

choso kamo — apt. 492 ; 12th floor

( strawberry wine by noah kahan // handwritten letters // missing the sunset by a few minutes // choosing to stargazing but it's cloudy )

works at the super freak tattoo shop and has been solely responsible for all the plants around the studio; his personal favourites are christofern, salad and prick.

his texts to yn include photos of plants followed by "look (o゜▽゜)o☆", "yuji asked u to stop by the shop because he has a new combo of flowers for you :D"; "sukuna just called coochie something from pandora's box btw can we slash his tyres ?? !!!!!!!!" and variants.

has a tiny crush on yuki but thinks that yuki and yn have a thing because they're always calling each other very affectionate names and choso thinks that he connected the dots.

sukuna yelled at him for two hours when he learnt that choso started working at the studio part-time and choso went back the next day with cacti and sheer willpower and made his position permanent. choso's mantle photo was placed on the side table by the couch that very evening.

kento nanami — apt. 307 ; 11th floor

( too sweet by hozier // beige and blue // time passing isn't an apology // blueberries )

works in finance. truth be told, no one from the circle knows exactly what his job is or his designation, they just know that he's very serious about his job and that he truly hates someone named "matthew" because of the phrase he often says, "matthew for the love of god — !"

cried when he spent four weeks tutoring ino for his physics paper and he got 3/100.

gojo hangs out so much at his office that they had to put a sign that said "no gojo allowed inside"; the said sign was promptly ignored and nanami had to visit the hr department because of some very interesting words thrown around in his office when he saw jack frost's cousin swirling in his chair.

has only one tattoo but will never ever disclose where it is and what it is.

hiromi hiruguma — apt. 203 ; 11th floor

( lover's grip by them & i // love letters // forced to be the one who got away // banana bread )

has his very own law firm and his office is on the same floor as yn's studio in the commercial block. it's both his worst nightmare and the best thing because the only other choice was next to sukuna's flower shop and he Cannot have that.

his number is saved as "sexie lawyer," "sex c attorknee" and variants in everyone's phone and he has given up on trying to change that.

has a group chat with nanami, shiu and kusakabe and all of them talk so much shit about their work and the other tenants. one time, they were so in deep figuring out the truth behind the divorce of apartment 105 that hiruguma had to make them sign an nda.

since his office is on the same floor as yn's studio, she sometimes hangs out there when she doesn't have any clients and he doesn't have any cases and they watch buzzfeed unsolved.

takuma ino — apt. 338 ; 6th floor

( cherry wine by grentperez // splintered skateboards // but i miss you like a little kid // temporary tattoos )

works as an intern in nanami's company but he might as well be working at the tattoo studio with how much time he spends there. he has his own small desk and a chair in their backroom and he nearly cried when he first found out.

once pulled the fire alarm because he forgot the papers nanami asked him to get and he'd chew on glass before disappointing his mentor. nanami had to make it very clear that he's allowed to forget things but he's not allowed to pull the fire alarm for the hell of it.

he once intentionally placed bread crumbs outside kusakabe's apartment and then procured a few ducks to give the older man a surprise because he insulted ino's hello kitty tank top.

once fell down 28 stairs because there was a double rainbow and he had already downed three red bulls. he regrets nothing.

atsuya kusakabe — apt. 299 ; 6th floor

( softcore by the neighbourhood // fog in winter mornings // i am not a violent dog, i don't know why i bite // cocktails with tiny umbrellas )

no one knows where he actually works; it could either be with nanami or with hiruguma or it could be somewhere entirely different. (it's actually with shiu and toji, he's the head of their marketing department and he has no intention of telling the others where he works lest they bother him there too like they do at his apartment.)

surprisingly likes coochie and takes her to work with him if shiu doesn't have her already. she's their mascot and he'd never admit it to anyone but she has her own small desk with toys and her own name cards.

got forced to dress up for halloween by ino for the party and showed up as the grinch, only to find out that it was just a normal get together and he was only one in costume — he has hated that kid ever since; his hair was green for two fucking weeks.

his most played song on spotify last year was symphony no. 7 in a major, op. 92: iv. allegro con brio by beethoven and shoko gave him so much shit for it that he never ever asked for aux again.

shiu kong — apt. 692 ; 7th floor

( into it by chase atlantic // chevy corvette // always borrowing grief from the future // sunlight on water surfaces )

owns a security firm that he built from the ground up and is probably the most laidback guy ever. babysits coochie when yn goes out and is secretly coochie's biggest fan.

comes from old money but never tells anyone about it outright. casually mentions stuff like "the old manor" or "the private school i went to" and then proceeds to drop the most insane lore when asked about it.

lives in the apartment complex only because he was bored in his penthouse on the other side of the city and watching yn and sukuna argue has got to be the most fun thing here. he once saw sukuna spray yn with water and then proceeded to watch yn push him into the lobby fountain. no, he did not intervene.

has been babysitting megumi since forever and the teen has his own room in his apartment. toji is jealous because his kid actually enjoys shiu's company while he just gets called "shit clown" by his own blood.

toji fushiguro — apt. 375 ; 6th floor

( party monster by the weeknd // half finished whiskey // something other than time that heals all wounds // headlights on the ground when it's drizzling )

works right under shiu at his security firm and does not treat shiu as his boss at all. shiu threatens to fire him every hour but never does. no one is surprised why.

has a fun ton of money due to his job but he's stingy as FUCK. megumi pretended to not know him once when toji had a breakdown over which cereal to take home with him while standing in the aisle.

lives in the apartment right below shiu and calls him when he's out of creamer for his coffee and has shiu pour it from above. yn, who lives right under toji's unit, is sick of them.

will literally never answer his phone, so if someone needs something, they have to either ask someone on his floor to ring his bell (continuously) or go to yn's apartment and throw stones up at his fire escape. (shiu banned them from his apartment after ino fell out the window and on the fire escape; on a completely unrelated not, ino is now banned from standing/sitting/laying down/dilly-dallying/attempting to catch pigeons near any window without adult-er supervision).

[weepingpussywillowtree]

for the hate of trendy fast fashion sweaters

Okay, I want to preface this that there's nothing wrong with liking the style of these types of sweaters, though I think most of these are ugly, I do like some of them, I just wanted a place to put down my frustrations with these sweaters from a sustainability and wear-ability perspective, as well as my frustration with people coming into knitting spaces asking for dupes of these sweaters and then becoming upset when experienced knitters suggest that these sweaters are not the best idea. be an aware consumer. If you really must own one of these kinds of sweaters, understand that it will probably be a short lifespan or incredibly high maintenance garment. Or realistically, both.

Have you seen the newest sweater? everyone is talking about it. It looks like this

Or this

Or this

Yes. They are very unique looking. they're striking and sometimes even cool (in a photoshoot at least), but lets take a look at some of the problems with these types of sweaters, and how I feel that they exemplify fast fashion culture, and that culture invading fiber arts spaces as well.

Ethics, Pricing, and plastic waste

Let's take a look at this sweater as a case study for some of the ethical, sustainability, and pricing issues.

I think it exemplifies a lot of the issues with this wave of trendy sweaters.

first, lets take a look at the website. 260 dollars + shipping, 94% plastic, and from a cursory research, there seems to be no evidence that any of that price is going towards a living wage for its factory workers. So, not to be rude, but what exactly am I paying for? I have seen similar pricing and ethical issues almost across the board with these trendy sweaters.

There's nothing wrong with acrylic yarn on an individual level, it is cheap, easy to care for, and easily available, but for 260 dollars on an item that already it dry clean or gentle hand wash only due to its construction? I would expect higher quality materials. also, not this sweater in particular, but in many of these types of sweaters/brands it really bothers me that they have been able to market themselves as 'vegan' as a form of greenwashing when all of their clothes are plastic or mostly plastic. So yes, while its technically true that they are vegan, are vegan clothes really better for the environment when most of the time vegan clothes means more microfiber shedding pollution and eternal piles of plastic clothes waste?

okay, so now lets get to some common issues with the actual wear-ability and construction of these types of sweaters.

Roving Woes

I think everyone remembers these massive, chunky sweaters or even the roving blankets (roving is wool that has been processed but not yet spun). I'm not sure if the tops/sweaters of very chunky yarn are in peak trend anymore but I do see them around.

Here's the issue. If you want a garment that will fall apart in one wash, these are for you. If you want to have a garment be a lasting part of your wardrobe, move on.

A good example is above. These kinds of sweaters sell like hotcakes on Etsy and go upwards of 300 dollars a pop, but see that fuzziness around the edges? the lack of any twisting look that you'd typically see in yarn? this is roving and will pull, snag, pill, and straight up fall apart at the slightest provocation because the thing that gives spun fibers their strength, is well... the spinning part. The woolery has a great video about this where you can see the roving fall apart over time, and also collect, dirt, dust and other grossness over time with no good way to clean it. Making that 300 dollars you spent a disposable purchase, not an investment. Like buying a 300 dollar disposable rain poncho, but with even less use.

Finicky detailing

Things like ribbons, charms, and other items make an item hard to wash. If they are not properly secured, or sometimes even if they are, they will come off and either need to be thrown away or somehow reattached. These items can also tug, snag at, or warp the main fabric of the garment.

Neglecting Weaving in Ends

Another trend I've been seeing is not weaving in the ends of a garment, as you can see in that flower sweater above. This may give a cool sort of ripped jeans effect for some, but it will ultimately lead to the garment coming unraveled, and you will have wasted, in this case, like 600 dollars on nothing.

...

Overall, all of these trends lead to more plastic waste, disposable clothing, difficult or impossible to wash items, or clothing that you'll spend a lot of money on only to have it fall apart.

Its frustrating to see this clamoring for dupes or this rush for similar styles take over some fiber arts spaces and lead to wasteful consumption of yarn, and trend cycles where these sweaters quickly get created and then discarded.

thanks for coming to my TED Talk.

[lunarthecorvus]

After being a part of this fandom for a while, I have seen quite a few posts about people asking artists to draw Nina as fat, because we know she's curvy and isn't slim like some artists draw her. I've seen the debate around not telling artists what to draw and there is a lot to say, but I'm not here to talk about that. I just think that a part of Nina's appearance is obviously the fact that she isn't fitting the slim type that almost all women characters are.

Nina is (to quote the gv wiki) tall and curvaceous, and to quote Kaz "built like the figurehead of a ship carved by a generous hand". These descriptions are not descriptions of a thin person. I have scene people be offended by people drawing Nina larger than they think. The thing is we don't know her exact appearance, even the official art of her fluctuates, BUT from the descriptions it is so easy to tell that she is not slim/skinny/thin.

I grew up surrounded by people who were harassed, relentlessly for years bullied and ridiculed for their weight and the fact that they were bigger. Often the world fat is used as if it was a derogatory word, and I have seen it be used that way, which and I may be wrong here but I think people hate picturing Nina as fat and hate that people says she's fat because in most of media and in real life, fat is used as if it was a negative word and means bad/ugly but we shouldn't think that (and of course there are fatphobic people) because fat is not a bad or negative word, its the people that use it as if it was bad that are the problem. Being bigger/not slim is not bad, there is no better body type, Inej is described as slim, neither body is 'better'. I've strayed from the point I'm trying to make-.

To get back on track, what I'm trying to say is that for someone to see representation of their body type not being used as a derogatory way or a comedic way is so amazing, it will help people feel more comfortable with their body type and see the beautiful human being they are. And we know Nina knows how to dress well and is feminine which is quite rarely shown in body types that aren't thin, it feels so refreshing to have that, as characters who are bigger are often not dressed as well as the slim characters.

Also for Nina to have confidence and to be the icon that she is, she doesn't care that she's seen as loud or that people judge her for that. These aren't traits that are commonly seen in characters that aren't thin and if someone who isn't slim is loud they are made fun off and bullied for it. We know Nina was bullied, yet she is always unapologetically herself and doesn't squash that to satisfy how someone else thinks she should act.

I know there will always be a debate as to how 'fat' she is, everyone will have different ways of picturing Nina, but all we know for sure and is 100% is that Nina is not thin, and is curvy, there's still so many ways she could look but she is not slim. (We all should know that there is not just two body types, there are billions of variations and I know my terminology probably isn't the greatest but I hope you know what I mean). There are so many characters that are described as slim, leave alone Nina to not be drawn that way because it is explicitly canon that she isn't thin.

There are so many ways you could draw/represent Nina with a curvaceous body just because she's bigger does not mean that she only has one body type, again even the official fanart represents her in different ways, she just is not slim. I also want to reiterate that I do not think that all Nina is just her body type, I actually felt uncomfortable only writing about this because people like to put down women just to their body, but she has so much more to her than just her appearance. She is NINA motherfucking ZENIK for saints sake.

This post probably won't be posted because some people probably won't like it.

[dykemind]

my problem is that there’s nothing i hate more in the world than feeling expected to play along with other people’s bullshit self-conception. god is not real im not even going to be polite about it neither is being “femme”  you’re just a typical woman who dresses like an art teacher because being gay made you slightly weird. astrology tarot gender the split attraction model none of these are real. What else. your boyfriend is an ugly piece of shit and if you think you’d make a good parent you are the last person on earth who should have children

[luvtonique]

Earlier today, a girl shot me a DM thanking me for not listening to people saying Melodi's body shape is unrealistic or fetishy and choosing to double down on her being a top-heavy P-shaped anorexic lanky long-armed twig lady.

She said, I quote, "I look like that IRL, and have the back problems and eating disorders to prove it. I have gigantomastia and have to get breast reduction surgeries to keep them in check [she described a lot of medical problems that come with the tissue growing too much here, too, but I cut it out cause it's pretty visceral]. I saw your post saying you're not intentionally putting representation in your game [like a year old post at this point] and this isn't about representation, it's just something that made me feel good about myself knowing someone finds my weird body shape attractive."

I told her that she is loved, and thanked her, and said that I hope that she can live a fulfilling and good life despite her disease.

She said "Same to you about your arthritis!" and that was that.

Little moments like that are why I make art and why I don't just do "what sells." I was willing to give up a huge portion of my fanbase by not flocking to Twitter in 2018 and staying here on this weird site full of people who regularly annoy me because it's my fuckin home. I was willing to leave the brony fandom after massive success in it. I am willing to receive hate-reviews from people saying my characters are "too sexualized" or that they "don't have enough identity-representation."

When people come along to tell me that something I'm doing made them happy or feel appreciated and loved, or that I helped make the hard times worth it for them, that's what really matters to me. Not filling quotas, not making characters with relatable social issues, not shoving politics or ideologies into my game to "send a message," but just those moments where the occasional person comes along and thanks me for never caving to social norms and continuing to just do the weird shit I love doing.

I love you, weird body shape girls.

Just because God hit "Random" on your body shape doesn't mean you're ugly, weird, gross or unwanted.

You're bootiful.

Also I just gotta be a snide bitch at the last line because this is Jay we're talking about. "But Jay! You'd get SO MANY MORE people coming to you and thanking you if you PUT SOME REPRESENTATION-QUOTA CHARACTERS IN YOUR GAME TO BAIT THEM OUT, LITERALLY SLAPPING THEM IN JUST TO GET BROWNIE POINTS AND INTERNET HUGS AND ACTING LIKE THAT MAKES YOU A GOOD PERSON."

That shit isn't genuine and your sense of feeling represented by disingenuous ideology-bait is as fake and fleeting as seeing a corporation put up a pride flag on their profile in February. They are using you to sell their product and you're praising them for it. I will never put a character into any work I create with the intention of representing a group of people or an ideological belief, because my characters are fictional storytelling devices, not strawmen who serve as a walking wikipedia article for a culture that the media has deemed an oppressed minority group to talk down to the audience instead of talking to the other characters.

[thrashkink-coven]

What I thought being patroned to Lucifer would be like for me:

Lots of intense rituals, blood offerings, and sacrifices to keep the demon lord happy. The work is never done. Strict rules and serious business. This isn’t a game, it’s not supposed be fun or enjoyable. I am being tossed into the fire. Demons and shadow people would follow me everywhere, I’d constantly be protecting myself from his enemies and fighting for my life. I may loose my mind. God would hate me. Lucifer would make my life difficult to help me grow into an enlightened god on earth. He would demand respect and force me to do things to teach me lessons. He would make me hate God. I’d be afraid all the time. My relationships might erode but it’s for the best. I would learn how to live without emotions or worldly connections. An ugly, vengeful demon lord with a terrible voice would appear to me and teach me how to use my hatred to gain control over this world. I won’t like who I am at the end of it but it won’t matter because at least I’ll be free.

What being patroned to Lucifer is actually like for me:

I am God’s favourite. I am constantly spoiled with gifts and celebrated. Most of the demons in the hierarchy immediately recognize me as his and give me respect and right of way. Lucifer doesn’t demand offerings but he gets so excited and touched whenever he receives them. Any time I offer him my blood he acts like it’s an incredible gift. He helps me work through problems and encourages me to live a fulfilling life free from unnecessary stress. He provides me with countless books to educate myself with. He asks me to make art for him and he sends me familiars to remind me he is always protecting me. Shadow people and malevolent spirits cower away from his light. He calls me pet names and asks me to tell him about my day. He tells me how much he loves me every day. He never raises his voice at me or forces me to do anything. The only thing he commands is that I worship and honour myself. He encourages me to pray and heal my relationships with God. He visits me in my dreams to give me kisses. He offers me pleasure and gives me rewards. He loves just spending time together. Every morning when I burn incense at his altar, he thanks me for waking up. My relationships with the people who are good to my grow stronger and more lovely, and my relationships to the people who are bad to me break down so that they can no longer harm me. Crows follow me around and leave me feathers to give him, stray cats and deer like to say hello to me. I see beautiful things every day. Every morning and night I get to watch the Lucifer star rise. and I’m truly happy and at peace for what feels like the first time ever, and there isn’t a problem I can’t overcome. I’m not afraid of anything. He’s so incredibly beautiful and kind, he makes beautiful music with a beautiful voice, and he teaches me to use empathy to understand others. I love him and he loves me. I am free.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not caring about other people's ocs or sonas?

I am a fairly popular artist. I usually draw and make content of my own ocs, but sometimes enjoy drawing for visual novel fandoms of selfship stuff with my sona. I usually get a few asks from people interested in my ocs, and have a pretty nice fanbase of people who like them and their story! I'm always happy to talk about my own ocs, and I'm happy when others are interested. I've always only ever drawn my own ocs or sona and have never shown interest in anyone else's ocs. I'm not saying I think my ocs are superior or better than other people's ocs, I just frankly do not give a shit.

The problem is that lately a few mutuals and non-mutuals in a discord server of mine (about my ocs) have been vaguely complaining that I don't bother to highlight on others ocs and "gush" about their ocs and goad other people to talk about their ocs. They say that the biggest part of "oc culture" is infodumping about your ocs then listening to other people infodump about their ocs since we're each others biggest fans. But like I said, I don't care about other people's ocs. I go online to gush, draw and write about my own ocs.

They say I'm a hypocrite for saying I enjoy getting asks about my ocs and encouraging asks through ask games when I never said asks to anyone else. But I don't see how this makes me a hypocrite at all? It's not like I'm complaining, my inbox is usually full and when it's not I just remind people they can send stuff?

The only time I ever draw other people's ocs is usually during Artfight and even then its just revenges which is another point my mutuals have brought up, saying I'm not even bothering to attack other people which is another reason they claim I'm a hypocrite. Even though as I said, I do revenge people always.

And then their last point is that I never draw my selfship x reader fandom art with the ugly grey anon fill-in character for gender neutrality, and instead just draw my sona and only my sona. They say I'm excluding people and their sonas from feeling like the character cares about them and feels like the character only cares about me. And they don't like that I never reblog other people's fandom art either. I don't see why I should reblog other people's selfship art of their sonas when I don't care about their sonas or the art if it's not something I relate to. And I don't relate to the anon character either even if it's meant to be fill-in. So I have no reason to reblog.

Anyway, this is long, but long story short. I've been getting a few anon hate asks over this and I'm worried I truly am in the wrong for not caring about other people's ocs or sonas, and only ever indulging in mine own. So, AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[meanbossart]

Ask Compilation: Advice, influences and Misc.

Apologies for taking so long on some of these, admittedly I'm much more likely to entirely forget about asks that are about me and my interests 💃 Thank you for all the questions regardless! And thank you specially to everyone who just drops nice messages into my inbox out of kindness.

I'm brazillian and a native portuguese speaker!

I'll probably return to twitter eventually, but a) I hate that place and b) It didn't make much sense to me to turn it into a BG3 account out of the blue. I am considering making an Instagram or a new twitter just to have more places where people can follow in case they don't care for tumblr, but it's just been a very busy year so far and so that's kind of low on the list of priorities. If I ever do that I'll be sure to announce it here. Have a nice day yourself!

Sorry to hear that! I've gotten a few messages before about this issue, and the problem is that since I am myself not from the US, my options are also limited :( a lot of patreon alternatives don't work for me because they either don't go through paypal, take insane currency conversion fees, or just straight up block me from signing up.

Speak for yourself, I just assume everyone I speak to online has committed some sort of atrocious crime until proven otherwise. Except for me - of course. I have never done anything bad in my life.

I still have a lot to learn! But I will basically use whatever works for me at the moment, as well as make a sincere effort to learn about musculature and anatomy so I can understand those components and how they move, instead of only knowing what they look like when still - that's how you get better at drawing from memory. Volume mostly comes from coloring and understanding light, which is it's own beast but can very much be learned from similar reference materials and observing it IRL!

My favorite places to get reference are medical diagrams, weird pictures I take of myself, 3D software (often Virt-a-mate) and questionably phrased image google searches.

My favorite artists are Jason Shawn Alexander and Sean Murphy, but I'm not sure how much of it reflects in my art nowadays! I generally seek to pick up techniques from artists rather than to emulate style.

Honestly I love that you guys generally do the thing he would hate the most: take him very non-seriously LOL

I've been in a real Chelsea Wolfe and Amyl And The Sniffers kick lately! But usually you'll also find me listening to stuff like Boy Harsher, Swans, FWF, JK Flesh Lingua Ignota, Nick Cave, David Bowie, and so on. Music for the weird gays, basically.

I went insane and wrote a 23-chapter-long-and-still-ongoing fic in like four months. But also - I'm not that good, I'm just shamelessly pretentious LOL

Hm. That's a good question, but I'm not really sure. Sincerely not trying to be a edgier-than-thou here (in fact, this has made me a little self conscious at one time or another) but a lot of art that I don't mean to be horror-y in nature at all has been associated with the genre. So perhaps I don't know what I'm doing either, LOL.

I think just leaning on making things look slightly "wrong" or "ugly" on purpose is the way, but I also find that if you just seek to depict people as they are instead of idealized versions of themselves, you will arrive at that either way.

Thank you for reading! Honestly, I'm guilty of having not read much at all since I was in my late teens, and the style I'm employing for ANE is very different from the things I would call "influential" for me, or even that I used to enjoy reading at all before. I read a lot of Chuck Palahniuk as a youth (and, no slight to people who do like him still, but nowadays I'm not sure why I ever did. His stories don't speak to me at all anymore) as well a lot of weird experimental lit that I didn't even care to remember the name of. My last book stint from one or two years ago was composed solely of historical and medical literature, and last year I got really into Cormac Mcarthy thanks to the internet.

So, all in all, I'm absolutely all over the place LOL if you put a gun to my head and told me to list my favorite books, I'd say The Indifferent Stars Above and Blood Meridian.

(Consider the reading portion of the question to have been answered above) I really really liked Beau is Afraid and think it's a really great "horror" movie. Sue me.

[liquidorcard]

HEY Y'ALL IT'S MIKAILER WITH AN "ER" WHY IS THAT SO HARD TO GRASP!?

---

Did I get your attention, Mikaila? I hope so, let's see.

Mikaila, I don't like you. You've done shit that's soured my opinion of you. I'm acknowledging that now to get that out of the way. I'm not here to be two-faced about this or blow smoke up your ass.

But as one idiot who stayed in a toxic relationship to another-- I'm not making fun of you because I think I'm better. I know. Being in a relationship like that brings out some ugly shit. You resent and fear people will never forgive you. You don't know if you will forgive yourself. I'm not making fun of you because I think I'm better than you.

And it feels kinda good, being treated badly? In a weird way? When you're used to it? When you feel you kind of deserve it? It did for me too. My abuser did some fucked up shit to me. I don't know how to describe to you the strange feelings I'm left with now. Sometimes I think I finally hate her, sometimes, as pathetic as it makes me feel, I still miss her. It's a rot in you that never really goes away, but you learn to live with it. I understand that agony. I understand that anger of how fucking unfair it is.

You know my opinion of Lily. You're not going to trust me that I'm not saying all this just to get you two to break up to hurt her. Fair. Very fair, not going to pretend like it's not. But if Lily loves you, nothing I'm about to say should be an issue. She should want what's best for you, right?

Here's the rub Mikaila, it's been a few years now. I know you want out of your situation at home, but it doesn't seem like Lily's going to be able to help you with that at this point. I'm sure Lily's given you plenty of reasons as to why, and it's time to listen to her.

If you're heart's set on coming to Canada, your best bet is getting a job here. Or even, going to school. Art degrees (Here in Canada) aren't as expensive, provided you go to the right school. Even taking out a student loan for just one year to figure your shit out. I know you're in quite a bit of debt right now and don't want to get into more, but. You gotta do what you gotta do.

Here's the college I went to. Yes, your work is sufficient to potentially get admitted. Believe it or not, art school's get that illustration is a learned skill. Artists start from all different levels:

Look through the admissions requirements to see if you have the academic records to be admitted. If not, you could also consider upgrading through online classes aswell.

Again though, your best bet is to try to find employment. The cost of living isn't great here right now, but it isn't great anywhere. I doubt you'll be able to find cheaper rent in America.

Once you're here or wherever you end up, away from the chaos of your home, you might find it a lot easier to get your head around, establishing some better independence and becoming a citizen by yourself. It's a shitty process, but not as bad as the one you guys have in the States. We stan an immigrant here.

You need to look out for you, Mikaila. It's not selfish. It's not a matter of whether you "really deserve it or not." Nobody's going to save you. You're emotionally spent because of your parents, You're emotionally spent because of Lily. And it feels kind of nice how much Lily needs you. But you can't help her until you help yourself - and again, if we're all wrong and Lily really loves you, she shouldn't have a problem with you finding your way.

My own mother once told me I was "born sad." I've never not hated myself. I ate up any little bit of love and validation no matter how many bitter, razor pills that came with it too. That's just how it is for some of us.

But you know what Mikaila? Fuck em. Fuck all of them. Fuck everything. Fuck me, Mikaila. You've got one life. One body. One you. Whatever you think of her, someone's gotta fight for that poor bitch. Why not you fight for you?

Everyone's a stinky meat bag stripped down, Mikaila. Everyone's made a fool in the wake of the shit people like you and I have been through. Not everyone's going to be able to forgive everything, but everyone's not wholly past forgiveness.

I'm no better than you Mikaila. Nobody is. Some of us just get to know the worst sides of ourselves better than others.

I don't like some of the things you've done, girl. But I see you. I get it. Tell us all to eat shit. Fix your life. Don't rely on Lily to make you feel whole or to save you. To make you feel worthy. No person can do that. She could be the reincarnation of Mary Mother of God herself, and you couldn't expect that from her. Be your own advocate. If your relationship isn't toxic, it can survive you becoming a more whole you.

This asshole is rooting for you. Give me an excuse to undoomer "Mikailer." My girl needs a win.

[otdiaftg]

The King's Men - Chapter Three

Day: Friday, January 5th Time: 8:30 PM EST

Neil hesitated, then set the bag on Matt's bed and struggled out of his shirt. It was getting a little easier every day, but it hurt when he raised his arms too high and when he twisted he felt the pull at his stitches. He got his shirt over his head and to his elbows before Andrew got tired of watching him struggle and tugged the shirt loose. Andrew tossed it off to one side and didn't look to see where it landed. He was more interested in the scars and bruises covering Neil's front. Andrew reached for the bandages on Neil's wrists, and Neil let him rip tape and gauze off. The scabs looked worse today than they had when he first landed in South Carolina. Abby was right; he needed to let his wounds air. Neil dragged his stare up from the ugly lines striped across his wrists to Andrew's face. Neil wasn't sure what he was looking for: a hint of Wednesday's violence or last semester's callous, cheerful dismissals. He got neither. Andrew looked a thousand years from all of this, detached and unconcerned. On Neil's right shoulder was a burn scar, courtesy of getting smacked by a hot iron. Andrew put his left hand to it, fingertips lining up perfectly with the raised bumps the iron's holes had left behind. His right thumb found the puckered flesh from a bullet. Neil had slept in his bulletproof vest for almost a month after that close call, too scared to take it off. His mother had to bully him into shedding it long enough to wash up. "Someone shot you," Andrew said. "I told you someone was after me," Neil said. "This," Andrew dug his fingers harder into the iron mark, "is not from a life on the run." "My father gave me that. People came by asking questions about his work. I didn't say anything, but I didn't sit still enough, either. He hit me as soon as the door closed behind them. That's why I gave you 'Abram'," Neil said. "I don't want to give you my father's name because I don't want anyone to call me it ever again. I hated him." Andrew was quiet a long time, then dropped his hand to the slashes across Neil's gut. "Renee said you refused our knives. A murder magnet like you shouldn't walk around unarmed." "I'm not," Neil said. "I thought you were going to watch my back this year?" Andrew glanced up at him again, expression unreadable. He said nothing, so Neil pressed on with, "You're not actually a sociopath, are you?" "I never said I was." "You let them say it about you," Neil said. "You could have corrected them." Andrew waved that off. "What people want to think of me is not my problem." "Does Coach know?" "Of course he does." "Then your medicine...?" Neil asked. "Were those pills really anti-psychotics?" "You ask a lot of questions," Andrew said, and left Neil alone to get dressed.

Art used with permission by Danka-In-Art. Thank you @danka-in-art!

[atwas-gaming]

People who complain that Sonic's character is "static" must have never played Unleashed or Black Knight. Or they did, but they didn't understand them.

I think one of the reasons why Unleashed and Black Knight are such fan favorites and stick in our memory so well is because the entire theme of both games is about taking Sonic out of his element, taking away things that he has relied on for so long- speed, jumping, spindashing, boosting, homing attacks- taking all those things away from him, and seeing how he does.

And he still shines. Even without all the abilities that he has relied on throughout his entire life, he still manages to beat the Big Bad.

(Please note that I haven't finished either game yet and I'm just drawing from what I've been spoiled on.)

As the werehog, Sonic is not able to curl into a ball at all (we're ignoring the mobile games for this post), and his greater height and weight, probably due to a larger bone structure, as well as heavier, thicker fur, keeps him from being able to run as fast or jump as high as he's used to. He now how to resort to fighting styles he has never used before, including several forms of martial arts (aided by his Dark Gaia-powered stretch abilities). Perhaps the most unusual of all is how he has to get down on all fours to run.

In addition, Sonic describes his werehog form as "pretty ugly." Sonic thinks of himself as good-looking, and this is a part of his personal identity, which is part of why he was upset that Amy didn't recognize him (no matter what feelings he may or may not have for her). The werehog form also seems to be physically uncomfortable and taxing on Sonic's body due to the heavier weight, as the werehog idle animations include Sonic stretching in an exaggerated way and forcibly rotating his shoulders (motions I, myself, have learned to use after years at a desk job that has ruined my neck and upper back). Sonic's idle animations also include him being jumpy and looking around every few seconds- basically, the werehog never fully relaxes.

All in all, Sonic is very uncomfortable as a werehog, and prefers not to be seen in this form. But the reason why is not fully evident until he thanks Chip for protecting him and keeping him from turning evil. To this, Chip replies, "I haven't done anything, Sonic. You're too strong to lose yourself."

On top of this, Amy doesn't have a problem with Sonic's appearance. She still loves him. Tails also doesn't care what Sonic looks like. Neither does Professor Pickle. Neither does ANYONE. Even if they're startled by the werehog's appearance at first, they all seem to go, "Oh, it's just Sonic. This is just what he's like at night."

The entire story of Unleashed was about Sonic coming to realize that he is not who he is because of what he looks like or how he is built.

Black Knight takes this a step further. In Unleashed, Sonic wasn't able to run, but he was still able to use his body as a weapon. In Black Knight, Sonic can run again, but nowhere near as fast as his normal speed. All of Sonic's abilities to fight with his body are stripped from him, and he is forced to use an actual weapon, instead. And Sonic hates this. He even says it: "I wish I didn't have to use this dang sword!"

Sonic has never used a weapon before in the games (as far as I am aware, anyway). His weapon has always been his own body: his feet, his fists, his whole body via spindash and homing attack. Now he's having to train himself to fight with something outside of his own body. This requires not only the creation of new muscle memory, but also a complete shift in the way his brain processes information to fight. He always has the option to just crumble and say, "I can't do this, it's not what I'm used to, I give up." He never does that. He complains a bit at first, but eventually rises to the occasion and excels at swordfighting.

Please bear in mind that I haven't ever gotten past the King Arthur battle. I presume Sonic is forced to kill him, and then I believe there's another half a game after that. But so far, it seems that Sonic's character arc in Black Knight is about him learning that he is not who he is just because of what he can do.

What makes Sonic Sonic is not what he looks like or what he is able to do, but about who he is inside. Sonic is someone who cares, someone who is strong, someone who doesn't give up, someone who sees a difficult situation and, no matter how much of an inconvenience it may be, turns it around and finds a way through.