#going from pencil to tablet is a pain

[eclipse-strider]

I do be doodling on the iPad now.

[lastoneout]

It's also like super fucking infuriating to see people continue to argue that generative AI is the best way for disabled and/or poor people to make art because like, you know what helps make art more accessible? Giving poor and disabled people money.

Like take me for instance, I'm disabled. I get severe migraines and intense leg/back pain if I sit at my computer for too long, my hEDS makes holding pens and pencils hard, my ADHD makes it hard for me to start certain tasks and/or stop them before I potentially hurt myself, my neck also hurts if I look down too much, my dyslexia AND my ADHD both make it difficult to keep track of a story as I write and use correct spelling and grammar, plus, I need to prioritize taking care of myself and going to appointments and keeping my house clean and that takes up a lot of my free time. All of these things make creating the kind of art I want to create difficult if not occasionally impossible.

So what do you think would solve my problems better? Giving me money so that I can have a drawing tablet and desk chair that won't hurt my neck or back, another tablet + pen and a lap table and comfortable body pillows for drawing in bed, easier transportation to my doctors appointments, effective treatment for my chronic pain and migraines, the ability hire someone to help me keep my house clean, a spelling/grammar checker that isn't complete ass, and a therapist and psychatrist who can help me manage my ADHD better?

Or an AI program that takes my input and spits out a drawing or story made of stolen content glued together that, in the case of the art, I cannot meaningfully edit without starting over, which also destroys the environment in the process?

Seems pretty obvious to me. I don't need AI, I need help to manage the things that are actually stopping me from being able to write and draw.

Or take my mom. She's had severe rhumatoid arthritis since she was a small child, her hands are deformed and she relies on her wheelchair to get around. She doesn't need AI to help her paint, she needs special paint brushes she can actually hold, a table her wheelchair will fit at, and someone to help her with personal hygiene/keep her house clean/take her to doctors appointments so she actually has free time to paint.

Does that poor kid growing up in public housing with parents who are too poor to afford art classes or supplies or to send them to college really need a computer program to draw for them, or do they need support to help them take those classes, buy drawing supplies, and money so they can go to college.

Blind people can paint, deaf musicians exist, people with missing limbs find all sorts of ways to make art, people with parkinson's paint with typewriters, my mother can't hold a normal paintbrush and she makes some of the most beautiful watercolor paintings I've ever seen, Van Gogh had bipolar disorder and only sold like one painting when he was alive, I mean for real how many different artists have you heard of who's biographies start with them being born into poverty?

This is not meant to be inspiration porn, these people are just ones who were able to find ways to make art despite their struggles. They shouldn't have had to struggle at all, but god imagine how many more artisrs and writers we could have had if none of them had to overcome those struggles. It breaks my heart to think of all the wonderful art that never got to exist because no one helped the people who could have made it actually have the time, money, support, and safety they needed to make it. AI would not have saved them because making art isn't the problem, being disadvantaged is the problem. Living in a world that refuses to make room for you is the problem. Being fucking poor is the problem. Humans have always found ways to make art despite huge barriers, the solution isn't a computer that makes art for them, it's SUPPORT AND MONEY SO THEY CAN OVERCOME THOSE BARRIERS AND MAKE THEIR OWN ART.

As a last example: I love watching dancing and I would love to be able to dance, but I'm terrible at it(I got kicked off a dance team for not being able to learn the dance at all despite spending weeks on it, idk my brain wasn't made for dancing) and my disabled body makes it more pain than pleasure if not actively dangerous, anyway. Having a robot dressed to look like me dance next to me while I get to watch would not make me feel like I'm getting to dance. It would actually be extremely fucking demoralizing and frustrating. I would hate that!!

Having an AI spit out a painting or book would not make me feel like I got to paint or write a book. It's a fucking anamatronic doll running on stolen ideas and it will never be the same as getting to actually expirience the joy of creating art first hand. AI is not the solution. Helping people who need it is the solution. And I am CONSTANTLY pissed to think about all the time and money that goes into these fucking AI programs that would be better spent helping disabled and poor people get the help they need so they can make art themselves, all while the people running the nightmare plagiarism pollution machines pretend that their horrible inventions exist to help people like me.

[lynzishell]

OC Deep Dive Questionnaire 💛Atlas & Asher🩵

✨TYSM for the tag @raiiny-bay, @zosa95, @dandylion240, @sirianasims, and @hannahssimblr 🤗💖

Of course, I went overboard with this, so grab your favorite beverage and let's dive right in, shall we? ☕💕

-what common/uncommon fear do they have?

💛Atlas: [Pointing to Asher] Water. 🩵Asher: You can’t just leave it at that. It’s not like if you set a glass of water on the table, I’ll run screaming. I have a fear of drowning, so I don’t like to be submerged in water. You’re never going to catch me out swimming. Probably not on a boat either, while we’re at it. Not taking any chances. 💛Atlas: Fair enough. But you won’t even put your face under the water in the shower. 🩵Asher: That’s because it reminds me of being submerged in water. Anyway, this conversation is making me sweaty, and there just happens to be water on the other side of this fence, so let's change the subject. Next question.

-do they have any pet peeves?

🩵Asher: Oh, Atlas fuckin’ hates mindless small talk, like the kind you use just to fill the silence, or because you awkwardly feel like you need to talk to the person next to you. Seriously, he’ll like you a lot more if you just sit next to him in silence for an hour. 💛Atlas:  Very true. And yet, your record for silence is, what, twenty minutes?  🩵Asher: Maybe. But I don’t make mindless small talk. 💛Atlas: Yeah, I do like listening to you ramble on about your latest obsessions. You get all animated and excited, it’s really cute. 🩵Asher: You’re really cute.

-what are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

💛Atlas: Uh, I don’t know, what’s in our room besides the obvious? Probably too many electronics. 🩵Asher: Right, between the computer and the switch and my drawing tablet and our phones... 💛Atlas: And your sketchbooks and pencils. How many pencils does someone need? 🩵Asher: I don’t have enough; I’ll tell you that much. Count yourself lucky that most of my art supplies are scattered between Lex’s place and my parents’ house. One day I’ll get it all organized in one place, but that day is not today.

-what do they notice first in a person?

🩵Asher: Hm. That's a good question. What did you notice about me first? 💛Atlas: Your hair, obviously. 🩵Asher: [laughs] 💛Atlas: But no, I would say your eyes. I’d never met anyone with such pure gray eyes before, they’re striking. Your eyes are very expressive too. And you make eye contact with people more than anyone else I know. Like, whenever I talk to you, I always feel like you’re really listening. 🩵Asher: [smiles] I am.

-on a scale of 1-10, how high is their pain tolerance?

🩵Asher: Oh god, mine is probably like a 5, and Atlas’s is probably a fuckin’ 8 or 9. 💛Atlas: I would’ve said 7, but we can go with 8.

-do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure?

💛Atlas: I think my first instinct is freeze, but then probably flight. Depending on the situation, I’ll walk away or hide away. 🩵Asher: Mostly. But with James, you definitely went to fight. 💛Atlas: That was different. I don’t care if people hurt me, but I’m not going to let them hurt the people I love. Ash is definitely more of a fighter than I am.  

-do they come from a big family/are they a family person?

🩵Asher: I don’t come from a big family, it’s just my parents, me, my sister, and my niece, but we are very close. But honestly, family isn’t just about relatives. Chosen family is just as important. When I say my family is the most important thing to me, I don’t just mean them, I also mean Atlas and Lex and Dawn and Phoenix and Aspen too. And Jasper, obviously. 💛Atlas: Exactly. If we’re talking about relatives, I come from a very large family, but I will never see or speak to any of them again, except for Dawn, of course. A few years ago, I never would’ve considered myself a family person, but Ash’s family taking me in changed all that. I’d definitely say I am now. 🩵Asher: I love that.

-what animal represents them best?

💛Atlas: Oh, that’s easy. Ash is just like Jasper, his border collie. Playful and energetic, friendly, intelligent, hardworking, and he loves to snuggle. 🩵Asher: Hm. I think for Atlas, I’d say a deer. 💛Atlas: A deer? 🩵Asher: Yeah, like, you’re quiet and cautious, a bit anxious with a tendency to hide, but you’re also beautiful and sweet. 💛Atlas: You make me sound more like a bunny. 🩵Asher: No, definitely not a bunny. Have you ever come upon a big buck deer? They’re majestic and intimidating, and they’ll kick your ass if they have to. They’re… survivors.

-what is a smell that they dislike?

💛Atlas: Ammonia. 🩵Asher: No one likes the smell of ammonia. 💛Atlas: I know, but when I was a kid, at the end of every school year, we’d have to clean our desks with this ammonia spray. Twenty kids spraying ammonia in an enclosed room. It was awful. I’m sure they had the windows open, but even still, that smell is seared into my brain, makes me want to gag just thinking of it.

-have they broken any bones? if so, how?

🩵Asher: Okay, story time! So, when I was ten? Eleven? Something like that. Anyway, I was dancing around in my room, as one does, and I tripped on a book, one of many scattered around my disaster of a room, and tried to catch myself as I went down. Bad decision. I’ll spare you the details, but the pain I felt in my wrist was horrible. I literally saw stars. And then I almost puked when I looked at it. So, of course, I started screaming for my mom. She came running in, and I told her that I’d broken my wrist. And what did she do? She yanked on it and snapped it back into place! Because apparently, I’d just dislocated it. But, fuck, it hurt. If a broken bone is worse than that, then I hope I never break one. 💛Atlas: I broke a toe once. Stubbed it on the corner of my bed when I was in college. I wasn’t good about taping it up or anything either, so it healed a little crooked.

-how would a stranger likely describe them?

🩵Asher: For Atlas? One word: quiet. How they interpret that quietness varies though. Some people think he’s really shy, others think he’s just aloof. But he’s actually neither. He’s introverted and pensive, sure, but he’s also very warm and enjoys chatting with people if it’s a more meaningful conversation, y’know. Like, when we first met, we would talk for hours and hours. 💛Atlas: That’s true, but you’re such an easy person to talk to. I think that’s what people would say about Ash. He’s just very relaxed and friendly and has a way of putting people at ease. He’s good at connecting with people and getting them talking and making them laugh.  

-are they a night owl or a morning bird?

🩵Asher: Probably night owls, I’d say. Atlas prefers starting his day later and working late, if he has the option. 💛Atlas: Yeah, but these days, it feels like I’m working all the time. But even still, Ash starts his day earlier. I don’t know. I think he’s somehow both. He has no issues with mornings, but he also gets a burst of energy in the evening and sometimes it’s hard to get him to come to bed. 🩵Asher: To sleep, anyway. 💛Atlas: [laughs] Right.

-what is a flavor they hate and a flavor they love?

💛Atlas: Ah, Ash hates vinegar and anything pickled. And he loves warm spices like cinnamon and cardamom. 🩵Asher: Oh my god, and Atlas is fuckin’ backwards when it comes to this. He likes bitter flavors to a strange degree, like super bitter beer and strong coffee and he’ll only eat chocolate if it’s the super dark stuff, otherwise he hates it. He doesn’t like sweets. No sugary drinks or candy or even pastries.

-do they have any hobbies?

🩵Asher: We both love gaming and dancing. Otherwise, I like to draw and spend time with my dog. My favorite is taking him down to the beach to play fetch, he loves it there. 💛Atlas: Yeah, and I don’t know, I like to stay active because I feel like I’m constantly at a desk otherwise. I used to rock climb a lot, but since we climbed Mt. Komorebi, we took a break and never really got back to it, so I pretty much just run and work out at the gym occasionally. And I like to sing. 🩵Asher: Seriously, I wish you could hear him. He has the most incredible voice. 💛Atlas: Aw, thank you.

-boom, surprise birthday party! how do they react to surprises?

💛Atlas: Ash would love it! He’d be so stoked that everyone showed up for him like that. 🩵Asher: And Atlas would probably dump me on the spot if I ever did that to him. 💛Atlas: I don’t know if I’d dump you, but… okay, yeah, I probably would.

-do they like to wear jewelry? if so, what is their favorite piece?

🩵Asher: I don’t think I’ve ever seen Atlas wear any jewelry. 💛Atlas: No, I’ve tried, but I could never get used to it. I’d always end up taking it off by midday. 🩵Asher: I can see that. I wear earrings, but that’s it. I used to wear a necklace that an ex gave me, but I threw it out when we broke up. I wanted to throw it into the ocean, but I didn’t dare to walk out on the dock [laughs] so I tossed it in a dumpster instead. 💛Atlas: I didn’t know that. Which ex? 🩵Asher: Elias. 💛Atlas: Ahh. Yikes. 🩵Asher: Yeah. Anyway. Next question.

-do they have neat or messy handwriting?

💛Atlas: I think we both write fairly neat. 🩵Asher: I think so too. Yours is all sharp angles, but it’s not sloppy. 💛Atlas: Yeah, and you have a strong preference for uppercase letters. Sometimes it’s rushed, but it’s never messy. Actually, I’ve never thought about it before, but I really like your handwriting. 🩵Asher: I like yours too.

-what are two emotions they feel the most?

🩵Asher: [points to Atlas] Anxious. 💛Atlas: All of the time. 🩵Asher: And, hm, we can only pick two? I’d probably go with either introspective or focused. 💛Atlas: That’s probably right. For you, I’d say, passionate or inspired and then maybe playful or energetic or something like that. Okay yeah, passionate and playful.

-do they have a favorite fabric?

💛Atlas: Probably cotton, I guess. 🩵Asher: Yeah, same. I don't know. Never really thought about it, to be honest.

-what kind of accent do they have?

🩵Asher: I don’t know. Do we have accents? I mean, I guess Atlas gets a hint of a drawl when he drinks, it’s pretty cute. 💛Atlas: I do not. 🩵Asher: You do! I never told you because I didn’t want you to get self-conscious and try to stop. 💛Atlas: It’s a good thing I don’t drink often, I guess. 🩵Asher: Whatever. I love it. 💛Atlas: And I love you. 🩵Asher: I love you too.

And I love them too!! 🥹

Okay, whew! What are the chances anyone actually read all that? I really can't just be normal about these things, can I? Oh well... Now it's your turn!! I'm gonna tag @madebysimblr, @crownsofesha, @xldkx, @honeyjars-sims, aaaaaaaaaaand @igotsnothing 🤸🏻‍♀️💖 Answer them normally, or have a little fun with it, or ignore me completely, that's fine too (no it's not) 🫶🏻

[mellosdrawings]

What do you use to draw with? Like what device and drawing app? I finally graduated high school and want to get back to drawing and maybe start posting it but I wanted some advice

Hi~

I'm just gonna go and give you my full setup (plus health advices coz trust me they're important).

These days I use an IPad Pro 11" and Procreate. My friend has the bigger version but I hurt my elbow using it because it made my moves too big, so I settled for the littler version. I suggest you chose based on your feelings for that. If you want a bigger screen to see more of your work, it's perfectly valid.

If you do take those two, I suggest you also take the ICloud save. (I have the 200Go save and that's only 3€ a month, but the 50Go save in free!) Should your IPad eventually break, you'll be able to retrieve ALL your art files from the Cloud, which is a huge lifesaver!

(I used to use a simple computer plus graphic tablet plus Adobe Photoshop, but it kept crashing so much that I had one too many rage quits. Plus it's super expensive since it's subscription based, and nowadays they take your art from the Adobe Cloud to feed their AI, so I can't really recommend that. Photoshop is an excellent tool but the direction Adobe is taking does NOT suit me.)

For brushes I just use the default Procreate Pencil. For the eraser I use Syrup, which is found in the default Inking Brush set.

My base canvases are 4000x4000px with a DPI of 300 (I suggest you improve the DPI if you do illustrations or really precise work. I only do little fanarts and comics with that DPI). For posting online please be careful to chose an RGB color profile (I use the default Display D3). If you ever want to print though, you should chose a CMYK color profile (I use the Generic CMYK Profile then).

Now back to the real world! I'm going to strongly suggest you make sure your paper/computer/screen is at least at an angle, at best right in front of your face. The least pressure you have to put on your neck (bending), the better it will be. If you do traditional art, I'll suggest actual art tables that you can adjust in size and angle. Here's mine.

To prevent any pain in my thumb I use one of those hold-helpers thingies kids use to hold their pens properly! It increases the size of the grip which prevents from holding the pen too tight (trust me, it's important). You can also find special tape to roll around your pen if you need an even bigger grip.

I wish I had a proper desk and chair because that will also be very important for your posture and health, but rn I'm not in my own flat so eh. What I'll encourage you to do instead are stretches and exercises BEFORE and AFTER an art session. Fingers, wrist, elbow, shoulder, back, neck. If you want to avoid medical costs (masseur, kine, osteopath) you need to take great care of your body. You can also find little self-massaging gadgets in sports shops to help with your muscles.

(Talking from experience there. I'm only 25 and I already had to undergo surgery on my writing wrist because I f*ed up. Your health is important!)

I'm aware most of those are extremely expensive to get (it took me half a year of intense working and savings just to get the IPad) but I've found that they were 100% worth it in the end. It's alright to get things little by little if you feel they are going to be important for you. I strongly suggest you invest in your health first though!

Once you have decided on your preferred setup, I guess the only thing left to do is train, experiment and have fun!

I think that's all? If you need more advices on setups or art or whatever, I'd be happy to help, my DMs are always open!

Also congrats on graduating highschool!

[shipburner]

Over two years ago, I was inspired by @transhitman's personal Disco Elysium Skill project to make my own Disco Elysium Skills. Today, I am proud to present my own take on the idea, the Internal Family Skills, having finally gotten my brain in gear enough to finish it in a showable capacity. This isn't the final form of the project, but I'd need to learn CSS to make a full fake menu on my Neocities, and a new tablet to make the Skills as painterly as the game's art style (which I might not do, since this style is basically what the inside of my brain looks like).

We're starting off with the Manager (MGR) Attribute: Your capacity to present sufficient normalcy and interact with the people around you. Its six Skills are:

Bureaucracy

Disguise

Distress Tolerance

Hiya

Pakikiramdam

White-Passing

[ Firefighter | Exile | Self ]

Bureaucracy

Understand process and procedure. Pull on the levers available to the public.

COOL FOR: Pencil-Pushers, Concerned Citizens, The Maliciously Compliant

Bureaucracy is what humans use for detailed communication in place of emotional honesty. This is not, in fact, an imposition -- rather, it allows for smooth cooperation and organization at large scale without the superior's scorn or the inferior's resentment getting in the way. Your Bureaucracy skill familiarizes you with paperwork and precedent, assures that the powerful view you as properly compliant, extracts assistance from systems that don't care about you as a person, and teaches you how to work to rule.

At high levels, Bureaucracy lets you navigate hierarchies, provide and access information easily, and fill in gaps in existing procedure where there is none. It'll also make you a fussy, obstinate smartass who refuses to participate with anyone emotionally or act without structure. At low levels, however, you'll be adrift in a paper sea designed to silence, exhaust, and oppress you.

Disguise

Manipulate with masks. Fit yourself into palatable forms.

COOL FOR: Changeling Children, Sociopathic Butterflies, Emotional Laborers

Disguise wants you to know that if you can't be yourself, it's always okay to be someone else. As your handy-dandy superficial charm, Disguise feeds you the lines necessary for a given situation: Need to act mindful and demure at work when you're imagining gutting your manager like a fish? Disguise is already on it. Want to seem like a problem-solving super-genius when you're actually in the middle of cybersex? Disguise is running the social buffer. Trying to avoid telling the truth to your parents or scaring the hoes at the local queer scene? Got. You. Covered.

At high levels, Disguise makes you terrified of failing to live up to your image, to the extent that you'll partition off your life into different personas. You won't be tempted to become any of the masks, but by God will you not take any of them off. At low levels, though, you'll have to take all the lumps that come with never telling anybody what they want to hear.

Distress Tolerance

Endure immediate pain for long-term gain. Stay in the trap to remove the one who set it.

COOL FOR: Forward-thinkers, Sensitive Souls, Cluster Bs

Distress Tolerance is your lexicon of adaptive coping mechanisms. It snaps into action when the world is painful and unfair, identifying pain relief and things you can control. Distress Tolerance reminds you to go for a walk instead of lying in bed, to spend time with people you love instead of fighting online, and to box breathe instead of hiding in a cabinet and sobbing. It also helps you keep your goals in mind: the point of enduring the pain is to avoid hurting people and to have a better life in the future.

At high levels, Distress Tolerance makes you hyper-sane, and thus hypernormal. You'll fall victim to the seductions of personal responsibility, assuming that it's simply your duty to put up with the world's iniquities. Without it, though, you'll be a panicking woman-child ignorant of her own agency, unable to do anything about those iniquities but lash out at the people who love you.

Hiya

Feel shame yourself. Anticipate shame in others.

COOL FOR: Overton Glaziers, Panopticon Inhabitants, Human Dignity Enjoyers

Hiya isn't the cop inside your head, it's the patriarch -- instead of trying to shoot you when you've deviated from the accepted standards of behavior for a given community, it just makes you feel fundamentally unlikable and helpless. This isn't entirely a bad thing, since the accepted standards of behavior frequently involve putting others first so you don't make them feel fundamentally unlikable and helpless. That said, while Hiya teaches you that standards of behavior can change, the only tool it gives you to accomplish that is the cattle prod called "shame".

At high levels, Hiya makes you socially invulnerable -- because you don't do anything objectionable in the first place. Not only will you be self-sacrificingly afraid of being deemed deviant, you'll cringe and withdraw when others embarrass themselves regardless -- and you'll enforce shame yourself to make the cringing stop. Without it, though, you'll literally be walang hiya: a shameless, self-gratifying boob incapable of thinking about others' feelings.

Pakikiramdam

Understand that others’ needs are different. Find out what they are.

COOL FOR: Relationship-Builders, Active Listeners, Safety Tool Users

Pakikiramdam feels out everything that isn't explicitly said. It's a Skill of social moderation formed through trial and error -- knowing what will tickle someone's funny bone, whether acquiescence is hiding upset, and whether they see a given action as common courtesy or a true effort. Pakikiramdam creates models of others' internal states to better foster and maintain kapwa; to this end, it reminds you to check in, slow down, and look at the conversation from outside so you're on the same page about what's going on.

At high levels, Pakikiramdam will make you truly empathetic and understanding -- as long as people can stomach you being a busybody who demands adult communication and introspection about their wants at the drop of a hat. Too low, however, and you'll simply barge through situations assuming you already know what everyone wants, giving you no chance to build empathy in the first place.

White-Passing

Defend yourself and get away with it. Recognize and use what authority you have.

COOL FOR: Egotists, Dissatisfied Customers, Fifth Columnists

You are the phenotypical expression of a multigenerational effort to make you and your desires untouchable in any social situation. White-Passing measures your ability to live up to that standard: Can you talk over people in a meeting to make your point heard? Can you talk to a cop like he's a brave and dignified defender of your security? Can you justify the entire extractive supply chain in order to demand a better customer service experience?

At high levels, White-Passing will get you what you want, and getting what you want will reinforce the rightness of your power. Not only will this make you an entitled little martinet claiming power you lack, it'll chain you to the structures that have given you what power you have. But without it, you won't even be able to get past the cop in your own head, let alone the ones outside it, and you'll make a cult of your own disenfranchisement.

Notes:

Bureaucracy's ear-thingies are a reference to Intergalactic Advocate Bob from Jupiter Ascending.

The mask Disguise is wearing is based on Caves of Qud's gentling mask.

Thanks is due to Jeremiah Reyes' 2015 article "Loób and Kapwa: An Introduction to a Filipino Virtue Ethics", which was instrumental in me figuring out how exactly my lolo's ethics filtered through my dad to me, for good and for ill.

[urnumber1star]

OC Deep Dive Tag!

So sorry for taking so long to get to this one @mysticstarlightduck but thank you for tagging me anyway haha

I'll do the main trio for BRS! Michael, Ray, and Talia!

What uncommon/common fear do they have?

Micheal: It’s a fairly common fear but Micheal has a crippling fear of doctors. He’s disliked them since he was a child but his dad always told him doctors were friends. That mindset changed very quickly after he became a hero.

Talia: Public speaking. She’s the least ‘popular’ member of her family so she’s grown accustomed to not being in the spotlight and when she is she doesn’t know how to act. 

Ray: Deep water. He doesn’t really know why. But if he ever has to be flying above water or visiting a lake he won't go in and it stresses him out. 

Do they have any pet peeves?

Micheal: People that think they’re better than everyone. Especially when they think they’re better just because they have money.

Talia: Sudden loud noises. Especially when she’s trying to paint something. It throws her off and then she has to take a break to figure out what happened.

Ray: Interruptions.

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

Micheal: His super suit, a police scanner, a little crystal Bianca bought for him (He doesn’t even like crystals but if Bianca gave it to him he’ll keep it till the day he dies)

Talia: An assortment of paper and pencils on the ground, her tablet, unfinished homework

Ray: Byte (His favorite robot), lots of computer monitors, old take out food

What do they notice first in a person?

Micheal: Their intentions. Micheal hasn't been a hero for long but he has long enough to guess if someone has bad intentions or not. 

Talia: Their clothes (She’s a bit of a fashion girly)

Ray: Their eyes. (When people are controlled by No One their eyes turn yellow. He always keeps that in mind.)

On a scale of 1 to 10, how high is their pain tolerance?

Micheal: 9/10. He grew up in a bad part of the city and gets beat up all the time as a hero. He’s used to it.

Talia: 6/10 Sheltered rich kid but is trying to go out and help Micheal with his hero stuff more. 

Ray: 3/10. He’s a sheltered rich kid who lives in his basement.

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure?

Micheal: Fight

Talia: Flight

Ray: Fight

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person?

Micheal: It’s only been him and his dad. His mom left when he was two and he never met the rest of her family.

Talia: Loves her family. It’s her, Ray, and her mom and dad but she’s also close to her extended family.

Ray: He’ll go to family events when he has to. But he likes his grandparents.

Have they broken any bones?

Micheal: Yes. Many times.

Talia: No. (Somehow)

Ray: Yes. 

How would a stranger likely describe them?

Micheal: A pretty friendly kid! He’s a little awkward and looks kind of disheveled but he seems nice!

Talia: Very difficult to describe. She doesn't really give you any room to talk. She just seems to like talking about random things she likes. But she’s not rude per say. I guess she’s nice enough?

Ray: Very quiet. Lets you do most of the talking but he always seems like he’s judging you.

Are they a night owl or a morning bird?

Micheal: Night Owl

Talia: Morning bird

Ray: Night Owl

What is a flavor they hate and a flavor they love?

Micheal: Hates cherry, loves bubblegum

Talia: Hates peanuts, loves birthday cake

Ray: Hates strawberry, loves cheese

Do they have any hobbies?

Micheal: Other than being the city's only hero he also dabbles in the guitar! His dad got him a beat up one when he was twelve and he loved it.

Talia: She’s my painter girl but she also does some scrapbooking sometimes.

Ray: He cooks. Very well. Talia and his dad can't cook for their lives. So it’s just him and his mom.

Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprises?

Micheal: Very very happy. May or may not cry. 

Talia: Very shocked and needs a second to recover then immediately starts partying.

Ray: He doesn't like surprises much. But if it’s just a few people that mean the most to him he’s just happy to be hanging out with them.

Do they like to wear jewelry?

Micheal: No.

Talia: Definitely.

Ray: Once in a while if he feels like it.

Do they have neat or messy handwriting?

Micheal: Messy.

Talia: Neat 

Ray: Neat

What are the two emotions they feel the most?

Micheal: Tired, regret

Talia: Energetic, anxiety 

Ray: Tense, Determined

Man I forgot how much I love tag games. I'll tag @kaylinalexanderbooks, @leahnardo-da-veggie, @illarian-rambling, @melpomene-grey +OPEN TAG <3

[rontra]

Can I ask how you hold your pen + tablet when you draw? (My wrists started hurting n I wanna figure out how to make it stop lol)

pardon any awkwardness in this post whether phrasing- or formatting-wise I’m typing it on my phone at like 8am HSBDBSB

I hold my pen in a pretty standard(???) grip like this

I sit at a desk (w a desktop computer) and do not use a screen tablet. So I try to keep a pretty upright posture. my tablet is laid firmly on my desk and I can look straight ahead while I draw, which is good for me (my neck/back can get sore easily)

However I do have wrist problems. I can’t always draw as much as I want to, and I often won’t “double dip” on strenuous activities (for example I usually decide whether to play a video game OR draw, and don’t do both on the same day)

(or I can only play specific games, like ones that are purely mouse-controlled (=opposite hand). You get the idea)

Without knowing your exact like, drawing setup and habits (and medical history for that matter) it’s hard to give specific like Hard Advice—but in general try to keep good posture (sit straight, try to use a seat with good lower back support, don’t hunch) and keep loosy goosy. try not to hold tension in your body if possible (including the fingers—hold your pencil loosely and don’t grip it tightly)

you might benefit from assessing How you draw and adapt certain parts to relieve how much work your wrist is doing (do you rest your hand on the drawing surface and rely entirely on wrist movements to draw curves/etc? Is it possible to raise your arm up from the desk and use your whole arm/elbow to draw larger gestures instead of causing repetitive strain to the wrist?)

(the settings in your art software—does your brush demand too much pen pressure? Can you adjust the pen pressure settings to respond better to a lighter touch? <- This was Huge for me!!!)

Do stretches before you begin. Take intermittent breaks to do stretches again while you draw. You can look up stretches for artists online!

If your wrists are already hurting then something is already wrong. You should be strictly resting whenever this happens and trying to minimize how much strain you put on your wrist, ideally until you feel no pain at all (and depending on how tender your wrist is, maybe a little after that too just for good measure). I use a wrist brace with a metal plate inside to keep my wrist as immobile as possible when I’m resting. If your problems persist like mine, a solid immobilizing brace is really a godsend. Don’t wear a brace while drawing, but put it on when you stop to rest (even if you don’t urgently feel any pain!)

The most hard to swallow advice—but also the most true—is that you should never work to the point of pain. This sucks, because sometimes I’m in a groove and a drawing is going really well and “if I just push through this slight discomfort the art will be finished and it’ll feel awesome”. This is The Deceiver. You never want to work until it hurts. If you (like me) tend to get caught up in the flow and find it hard to stop midway, get in the habit of checking in with yourself at a set interval (eg set a timer, or make up a rule based on your habits like “after every 2nd Monitor Youtube Video I half-watch while drawing, check to see how my wrist is feeling” (<- meee)) and if you feel discomfort or pain, you have to stop and rest

Getting into good habits NOW is the only way to protect your FUTURE wrist... So you have to bite this lemon for me and stop having fun when your wrist starts to complain. Which sucks a lot. But trust me HDNDBHS

Sorry if I sound like a big downer and/or a fussy worrywart but yknow. I have wrist problems that do prevent me from doing things I want to do sometimes and I hate to see it blooming in other artists 😭 take care of yourself anon!

I’m probably forgetting something because I’m very tired rn (and ironically my wrist hurts so I’m gonna put my phone down and sleep) but if possible you should ask a doctor to have a feel, and tell them any other symptoms (numbness, prickling, etc) if you have them. I’m not a doctor and idk what you have going on, but a wrist brace is pretty easy to acquire and wear, so I do generally recommend that!

Like tldr imo its about the preventatives (good habits like posture and taking breaks) and listening to your body (both during work and when resting in between work!). Wrist problems can get seriously bad if you don’t take measures to slow em down. Good luck! Take care of yourself!!!! 😭🫡

[ozwuv]

If I have hand pains (as artists get) what’s should I do? Do you recommend any exercises?

hmmm so i don't get hand pains necessarily, but i did damage my ulnar nerve pretty badly end of 2019-2020 from the oz fanbook grind lol. this led to a constant, dull pain in my dominant arm and persistent numbness in my hand. for a long time, i couldn't hold a pencil at all and to this day my grip is pretty weak. i remember when acnh came out in march 2020, i cried out of frustration constantly bc my grip was so lax i couldn't play.

that said, i'm speaking from experience when i say that taking advice on stretching techniques i found online made things way, way worse for me because it exacerbated the nerve damage i didn't know i had until i saw a doctor. the wrong kind of stretches can be more damaging than helpful if you're not doing them correctly, and especially if you have some kind of underlying issue that would be counterproductive for. the same thing goes for wrist braces and such -- a lot of people recommend them, but the wrong kind of brace can damage you further, and you should not be constantly wearing a brace unless a medical professional has told you to; constant usage of braces weakens your muscles over time because the brace prevents you from actually using them. if you have the means for it, i would really recommend consulting a physical therapist for preventative care.

but i didn't have access to medical care for a long time, so i get that's not feasible for everyone. if that's you, basic harm reduction guidelines are good to keep in mind. these are going to be things you've undoubtedly heard before, but they're drilled into your head for good reason:

take breaks. set a timer for every ~30-60 min and every time it goes off, get up, walk around, flex your hands and wrists, etc. ideally at least 10 minutes.

keep plenty of water within arm's reach at all times. hydration manages/prevents pain more than you might think. as soon as my grip gets too slack, i know that i need to stop drawing and drink a ton of water, but you should be drinking fluids at a semi-constant rate so you don't get to that point.

if you're in pain, stop drawing. no "i'll just wrap up the lines and then stop" -- listen to your body. if you're hurting, you've already pushed it too far and anything more is just going to make it worse.

posture posture posture -- any kind of posture advice for office workers generally applies to drawing.

^if you use a screen tablet (like cintiq or ipad) it's going to be virtually impossible to maintain good posture without buying a tablet arm or something. in cases like that, you should place even more of an emphasis on harm reduction or maybe even consider switching to an analog tablet so your monitor is at eye level. personally i'm in it for the longhaul with my ipad though lol

unfortunately advice like this kinda sucks for ppl with ADHD (meee) because pausing in the middle of something can cause you to become distracted or lose motivation. i don't really have a solution for that, but ultimately i got to the point where the nerve damage was so bad that i solidified these habits to prevent making it worse. i do get distracted and lose motivation a lot, but i did that to myself by not treating my body with the care it deserved.

if you take one thing from this response, let it be this: if you don't already experience chronic pain and/or nerve damage while drawing constantly without taking necessary precautions, it's not a matter of "if" you develop these issues, but "when". if you don't already have chronic pain from drawing, your goal right now should not be to preemptively look into things to remedy it, it should be seeking to prevent these issues altogether. work in some good habits, even if it's just taking breaks every now and then. even just one break per drawing is better than no breaks at all. i thought i was immune to these issues for over a decade & then i developed arthritis in my upper vertebrae at 20 years old lol nobody is immune i prommy<3

[panda-writes-kpop]

Platonic! Handong ~ The University Experience

A/N: My pearls, this story is based on my own experience. I'll let you guess who I am in this story. ;) Also, this is for @sanccharine because they requested this from me a long while ago, and who am I not to deliver (at a much later date)?

TW: Alcohol mentions, college antics, bad language from multiple parties, Reader is NOT a model student.

Summary: Handong goes to her Chem lecture, expecting much of the same boring content, until she overhears the conversation from you, Ryujin, and Yunjin about Dongie's oddly shaped pencil pouch.

♡ Masterlist ♡

Handong quietly sketches a figure in her Chemistry notebook as she waits for the lecture to start.

University had been an… interesting transition for her, especially since she was going to be so far away from her old school friends and her family. Handong had moved away from her family to go to primary school, but she had made a group of friends that became her new family. Primary school, unfortunately, had come and gone, and her friends had moved on to greater pursuits in many different places.

Luck had been on her side for a little bit, as she went to college with one of her old friends: SuA, and SuA was in her Chemistry lecture and recitation. Handong’s luck ran out because the two were in different majors, but it was nice to see a friendly face a few times a week.

Handong mostly stayed on her own throughout university, and she didn’t really mind it. The best company was her own, after all. Studying and eating in peace was nice, but she did miss the chatter of friends talking over one another and sharing incredible stories of their ridiculous shenanigans.

Then, of course, you had come crashing into her life with the grace of a rhinoceros stomping through a feeding ground.

Handong got herself ready for the lecture as time ticked down, and you came walking in about two minutes before class had started. You sat a row back from her, and you lazily threw your backpack to the side before checking your phone.

“Are you always this disorganized?” A voice to Handong’s left asks.

Shin Ryujin.

With her glasses slightly askew, Ryujin types on her computer without hesitation.

You scoff before rolling your eyes.

“You shouldn’t visit my dorm, then.”

“I’ve heard from Jisu about the mess that you’ve made of that poor room. And your drinking habits, by the way, aren’t exactly… how should I put it?”

“Ryujin!” You scold before setting your phone aside. “Don’t bring that up. I only vomited once, and it was Yunjin’s fault!”

You grab your tablet and open your computer as Handong continues to listen in on your conversation.

“Where is the she-devil, by the way?”

You scoff as you roll your eyes.

“First off, that’s not a very nice thing to say to someone, and secondly, you know how she is: she’s either 5 minutes early, walks in when the professor starts lecturing, or she skips because she’s hungover or overslept.”

“Whatever.” Ryujin sighs as you flick a pencil over to her, and it smacks her in the back of the head. “Seriously? How old are you, five?”

“I’m six, actually.” You stick your tongue out at her as the door in the front of the lecture hall opens. “There she is! The woman of the hour in the flesh and blood.”

The professor starts lecturing as Yunjin sits down and leaves a seat between the two of you. You give her a high-five as you lower your voice to speak with her.

“How was your nap?” You quietly mutter.

“I was getting food at the dining hall, actually.” Yunjin matter-of-factly tells you, “And I did some Calculus while I was eating.”

“Did Lisa have to help you?” You jokingly say as Yunjin reaches over and punches your shoulder. 

“I did two of the problems by myself, thanks for asking.” She hisses as you rub your shoulder in pain. “What section of Chem are we on, by the way?”

“You’d know if you did the notes.” You say.

“Did you do the notes, genius?”

“Fuck no!” You exclaim before immediately hushing your voice. “I have better things to do.”

“This is why neither of you have an A in this class.” Ryujin rolls her eyes as you tap your tablet’s pencil against your chin.

“Okay, smart-ass, we get it.” Yunjin shoots back at Ryujin before taking out a notebook. “Seriously, what chapter are we on?”

Ryujin chuckles to herself before turning back to her computer. 

Handong finds herself enthralled in the conversation, and she’s managed to keep up with the notes along with the conversation.

“We’re on Chapter Four, the one with electrolytes and titrations.” Handong quietly says as three sets of eyes travel to her.

“Thank you, ah…” Yunjin trails off as Handong quickly answers.

“Handong. My name’s Handong.”

“Huh Yunjin.” She cheekily smiles before looking over at you.

You stick your tongue out at Yunjin before saying your name.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Handong.” You add on as you nod at Ryujin. “Are you going to say anything, or are you just going to be all mysterious over there?”

“Fuck you.” Ryujin spits out before glancing at Handong. “Shin Ryujin is my name.”

“Ah, it’s a pleasure to meet you all.” Handong says while continuing to take notes.

You continue to chatter with Yunjin throughout the lecture, and Ryujin joins in your banter every once in a while. Besides complaining about Chemistry itself, the conversation jumps to parties, Halloween, and the newest shows on Netflix and Disney. 

Eventually, once the class is almost over, your discussion with Yunjin jumps to a more… irrelevant topic.

“Is that someone’s shoe on the table?” Yunjin asks, and you shake your head before sighing.

“You’re being ridiculous. Did you drink too much last night?” You joke, and Yunjin scrunches her nose before pointing at the spot next to Handong.

“Do you not see the shoe right fucking there?”

“Sure, it’s a shoe, but I don’t think it’s her shoe.” You stare at the brightly colored shoe as Yunjin looks at you like you’re an idiot.

“Of course it’s her shoe! Why else would someone have a shoe on the table?”

“Oh my god,” You smack your head against your hand, “it’s not a shoe, Yunjin!”

“It’s clearly a shoe! What else would it be?”

“It is a pencil pouch because it has a zipper, you dumbass!”

Ryujin laughs as Handong chuckles to herself.

This was going to be one interesting semester.

[anamelessfool]

Maestro (part 4 of 4) p1 p2 p3

It was 1977.

Sister Imperator, the Dark Mother, was looking for an apprentice.

@petrifyingpapas Challenge Week 2: Incantation

Sister Imperator & Young Secundo, Young Terzo AO3 Link

Notes: Thank you all! This one took a while to finish!

tags: dark magic, ritual magic, initiation, family drama, exploration, SFW

P4: He was going to die. He exhaled. He knew. He knew in that moment. His clock had started to wind down the instant he closed his suitcase and left his room.

4

“Terzo, my dear…” Sister said sweetly, her grip tightening on his shirt. “I've caught you underfoot before…and if your brother does not fuck this up tonight, I will catch you meddling again.” The boy’s eyes were wide, stunned at his luck, watery with smoke. “Over and over, cat and mouse, until….” An insane smile twisted across her face. She pet his head in an absurd mockery of comfort.

“I will get us out of this.” Secundo dug his nails into his palms, hard, biting down on the inside of his cheek, hoping the pain would snap his mind back into action.

He rummaged around his suitcase, assessing whatever he had left. Whatever book held the proper symbols was now alight and slowly filling the room with smoke. If he didn’t have the incantation available, he needed to scry for a new one, somehow. It was more of a longshot, but that was how spells were made in the first place.

He pulled from his suitcase his elemental tablets, picking the appropriate one— Earth— from the four. The grid of golden symbols gleamed in the firelight, each one representing a syllable of magical intent. Collect the right ones, calculate their meaning, write them in the circle and it was done. He kept digging through the items, struggling to think, struggling to find the most vital piece of the equation.

All he needed…all he needed right now…was not there.

Secundo leaned back on his heels, wiping the hair plastered against his forehead.

He was going to die.

He exhaled. He knew. He knew in that moment. His clock had started to wind down the instant he closed his suitcase and left his room.

He brought everything.

He was sure he brought everything.

He brought everything except a fucking pencil.

Secundo looked up at Sister, exasperated. Her face betrayed nothing, and she still held Terzo by his dirty tee shirt. Terzo looked up at Sister, a pleading look in his young eyes, then met Secundo’s gaze through the smoke. Despite Secundo’s disdain for him, despite his loneliness, he still looked on at Secundo with the deepest trust that a child could have for his brother.

Something in Secundo shifted. Enough, he told himself, narrowing his eyes. If it means I need to write in blood, I will do it. He pulled a crude athame from his suitcase, staring into it, anticipating the pain while sweat continued to sting his eyes.

Terzo pulled himself away from Sister, crawling low on the floor where the smoke couldn’t reach him, moving towards Secundo. He stood up beside him, fussed around in his pockets, and handed Secundo the crayon and crumpled rubbing of the death’s head relief. Secundo stared at his brother, mouth slightly agape. “I…” he began, but trailed off. Terzo started coughing. Secundo brought his hand to the side of Terzo’s little face, ruffling his hair in wordless thanks.

“The stones,” croaked Terzo. He lay down on his side, drawing his legs up, squeezing his eyes tight. Secundo lay a hand heavily on his small shoulder, then returned to work.

The stones. He’d scry using the stone around him. He focused his brain, centered himself, reciting in his mind the opening phrases. The beginning of any magical rite. The Assertation of The Will.

MAGICIAN, SPEAK YOUR INTENTION.

“To seek the words that will quell the flames, and save our lives,” he said out loud, quietly to himself.

Sister cleared her throat from across the room. Somehow, she knew what he was doing. “Receive the Vehicle,” she said, picking up the traditional call and response from where Secundo started it.

Secundo lifted the small bit of crayon aloft in one hand, the tablet in the other. He squinted his eyes, focusing his will on the patterns of the stone floor. “I cast my Will as a net. The Void will provide. Nevertheless, I will endure.”

“So it is.” Sister completed The Assertation of The Will with an amused chuckle.

Secundo took a step back from his thoughts, letting his eyes and the hidden parts of his mind collect the symbols, one after the other. He wrote them down as he saw them onto the back of Terzo’s paper, until he felt in his heart there was enough for the calculation.

“What's next?” Terzo’s voice was small, slow. He looked like a heap of laundry on the floor of the catacombs.

“Arranging of the syllables,” Secundo replied, and he produced a brass instrument made of circular plates, a cipher wheel. “Move the planetary and zodiac information into the correct form for this moment and…we have the order.” He coughed, blinking furiously as he spun the multiple wheels into position.

“And that’s it?” Terzo asked. Even as he was slowly choking from the smoke, he looked on in curiosity. “And it will…work?”

“Hopefully,” Secundo said, but then he gritted his teeth and wiped his hair from his eyes. “No. It will work. I made it, and so it will work.” By My Hand, it will be done.

He kept himself low as he crept towards the flames, using the last of his chalk to draw the symbols within the ring. As he crawled around the circle he came across Sister, who leaned against the wall as if waiting for a bus. She examined her blood red nails, bored. Another fake out. She wouldn’t be this confident if she knew I would fail, Secundo thought. …Right?

No. He had to believe. By My Hand, it will be done.

He finally completed the drawing, the last scraps of chalk crushing into dust in his fingers. “The wand! Terzo, hand me the wand!”

Terzo dragged across the floor, grabbing the long rod beside Secundo’s suitcase. He handed it across to Secundo, his arms shaking.

His incantation written around the circle, Secundo got to his feet, his face seared once again by the heat of the flames. He walked as methodically as he could around the circle, dragging the wand across the symbols. He used the last ounce of his resolve to keep his recitation even and clear. “Ab-e-khur-ra-be-che-aumy-ra-e-el-koor….”

He circled and circled, chanting, feeling Sister’s eyes on him like ice amidst the fire.

And then the fire went out. The smoke was gone. Nothing but black soot and the chalk circle remained.

Secundo blinked away tears, the contrast from the searing white hot light to half darkness a strain on his eyes. Terzo rolled upright, sniffing and rubbing his face. He got up, stepped toward Secundo and grabbed his hand. Secundo wrapped his fingers around Terzo’s hold.

Sister moved from her leaning spot on the wall. There was ash in her hair. A small part of her polyester dress had melted. She didn't seem to notice or care about any of it, shifting her weight from one heeled foot to the other. Her eyes fixed on Secundo as he stood sweating and panting before her. “Pass.”

Secundo was still holding Terzo’s hand when they emerged from the catacombs and into the soft moonlit darkness of the Sanctum. Nihil was waiting for them, chain and padlock in hand, gummy smile on face. “Ah! My boy! You're alive!”

“He passed,” said Sister flatly. “And he begins his training soon.”

“I knew it, I knew it!” Nihil chuckled. “Rebecca will be so pleased to hear her son is moving up in the world, eh!”

Secundo gave him a curt nod, and glanced at Terzo. The boy was grimy and tear-streaked but not harmed. He returned Secundo’s look with a small proud smile.

Secundo turned to Sister. “You weren’t afraid I’d fail? That I’d kill us all?”

There was a long pause. Sister finally spoke. “No.”

Secundo stood there, his hair matted and singed, his face smeared with soot and sweat. “How?”

The fierce line of red lipstick that was Sister’s mouth curled upwards into a smirk. “Beginner’s Luck.”

***

Jays called in the trees as the two brothers wandered the woods of the ministry grounds. The morning was cool and damp from overnight rain, the stinging smoky heat from days before fading in their memories.

Terzo was proving to be an excellent forager. He stayed very low to the ground, rushing from tree to tree. Despite his impulsive bursts of energy he gently moved leaves and reverently harvested the things on Secundo’s list, leaving little disturbance of the forest behind. Secundo only had to show him once what a plant or fungi looked like and already he was spying them from afar.

“I should take you out here more often,” Secundo said.

“I’m out here a lot myself,” Terzo replied. He hesitated as if he was choosing his words carefully. “You're so busy you may not know I'm out here so much.”

“Oh.” Secundo was always doing something in the Ministry, whether studying magic theory, helping his mother, giving piano lessons to other children…even as a youth he was already cementing himself in the fabric of Ministry life.

“What’s next on your list?” Terzo asked, stretching against a tree.

“Monotropa uniflora,” Secundo said. “Ghost Pipe flowers.”

“Sounds mysterious.” Terzo’s eyes glittered. “What do they look like?”

Secundo flipped through his book to the picture and showed him. “They're quite rare, actually. But I've heard they're out here.”

“I've seen them! They started popping up a few days ago!” Terzo bounced in place. “Just over here there's a whole lot!”

They walked a little further on, and Secundo noticed Terzo hugging his arms to his chest, lost in a cloud of restless thought. Secundo swallowed. “Are you okay?”

Terzo stopped, staring at the ground. “What did Sister mean, that I'm always going to be meddling?” Terzo asked him. “ Cat and mouse … can she predict the future?”

“Somewhat.”

The boy had a rare fearful look in his clear eyes. His mouth stretched nervously. “Who is the cat and who's the mouse?”

“Sister says these things to intimidate you. To scare people away that aren't serious about her teachings.”

“She tried to kill you.”

“She knows what she's doing. She had a plan.”

“Oh. Ok.” Terzo did not sound convinced.

They arrived at the little clearing and Terzo’s memory was correct. Under the shade of the trees there were clumps of ghostly flora bursting from the leaf litter.

“I had no idea they were flowers!” Terzo picked one gently, studying the milky curled leaves.

“Yes, and they turn purple in a tincture.”

“Purple!” Terzo was fascinated. “What else?”

“They grow off the tree roots. They have no means to collect sunlight, so they get everything from the tree host.”

“They don't hurt the tree, do they?”

“No. The tree…supports them.” Secundo picked a few from the various small clusters across this area of woods. He stopped, noticing Terzo hadn't moved. The boy was still staring into the first ghost Pipe flower he had picked, smiling to himself. It seemed like every bit of Secundo’s information was held by him like a treasure, like a precious gift. Whatever scraps Secundo gave him opened him up even more.

Secundo cleared his throat. “Would you…like me to teach you piano? I give lessons.”

“I would like that,” Terzo said, his small smile spreading into a grin. “Nihil started teaching me guitar, but he keeps forgetting.”

“I’ll remind him,” Secundo said. He held out his hand to his brother to help him up.

AO3 Link

[funnel-webbed-au]

The Fools/The Family

Syntax dropped his pencil as the robot that carried his claws attached itself to his back. A soft, guttural hiss escaped the half-spider as he bore his fangs, then wiped a bead of sweat off of his cheek. The pain from when the needles slid in never ceased to catch him off guard, no matter how many times he endured it. As the scientist sighed, he couldn't help but remember the first time those needles had slid in and penetrated his spinal column, binding and readjusting part of it so violently that it knocked him out for a few minutes.

The ironic part was that it was his machine. Perhaps he should have seen the signs, her megalomania being the largest red flag. He was too trusting, even now as the cynical, walled-off individual he'd become over the years. Syntax hissed.

He'd been a fool. Her fool.

That thought alone had him pacing in his laboratory before he barked an order at the AI to scramble the passwords of his blast doors. The sigh of relief that came to him afterwards would have been audible to anyone within a car's length of him.

Syntax leaned against one of his walls, then slid down it until he landed in a small heap, legs pulled against his chest ever so gently. He couldn't aggravate the scars there, after all. That sting wasn't something he could forget.

It felt like his mind was full of static. For all he knew, it likely was. The buzz in his ears reminded him of flies that hadn't been caught yet, of ambient voices who said too much for him to parse what they were saying, what they meant.

Why had he trusted her? He should have known she would use him, like they always do. It's always his talent that's important and never him. He was sick of it, but it wasn't like there was anything he could do, or so he thought. His claws curled around himself, ready for a cocoon. He needed a nap anyway, and maybe he could sleep off this dread, sleep off this grief.

He was interrupted by Maratus's monotone voice as the artificial intelligence spoke, penetrating the silence and giving him much needed reprieve from his own demons. Right, yes, he had more important things to worry about than anyone else's opinions. They didn't matter, they shouldn't matter.

"Huntsman has deposited a bowl of pho on the gift table outside." Maratus announced, and the thought of a hot meal brought Syntax to his feet. As he unlocked the blast door that separated his lab from the rest of the nest, and the world at large, the scent of beef hit him like a ton of bricks... and he couldn't help but smile.

[Flashback.] Huntsman knocked on the blast door to Syntax's lab. The spider hadn't come out for dinner, which had the stronger spider antsy. Syntax almost never missed dinner. When the door opened, the larger spider entered slowly, carefully. He didn't want to mess up anything that the scientist had left out; he knew he'd get an earful for that at best.

Huntsman paused. Why was Mac lying there like that? He was curled up and uncomfortable, and those tears looked like they'd recently started. Hunter sighed and went to kneel in front of his sibling, then chose his words carefully. Sure, he did care... but he didn't want the other spider to know that. He'd never believe in his sincerity. Both of them were closed off, and justifiably so.

"What do you want for dinner, Mac?" Hunter spoke softly, his voice barely above a whisper in the quiet of Syntax's lab. He'd seen the signs. The other spider had been shivering ever so slightly, goggles over his eyes in case any bright lights came on unannounced. Hunter knew how Mac reacted to too much going on at once.

The younger spider sighed softly, then reached for his tablet so he could pull up an old photo. A dinner long past, but something Hunter could definitely make if he decided to. He likely would, for the other's sake.

"Pho. Got it. You just sit tight here, Mac. I'll return with food in the next hour... it's lucky I saved so much spare broth, eh?" Huntsman chucked gently as he ruffled Mac's hair.

[End of flashback.]

"Send one of the robots to deliver one of the stuffed toys I sewed last week. Make sure to leave a note on it, Maratus." Syntax instructed the AI of his workshop lab, and soon enough, the letter and the plush were sent to Huntsman.

A soft smile distorted the former lumberjack's face as he read the note attached to the small plush. It was a sweet note, truly, but the colors of the plush spider were what really got him: Jade, amethyst, gray, and black. Both of their colors.

"Syntax, you sap." Hunter chuckled as he took the plush to bed with him... one of his most closely guarded secrets. He had several similar plushies in his room, and never went to bed without one of them. The last words he spoke before he fell asleep were almost too quiet for himself to hear... and yet...

"...you're a good kid, Mac."

[fyeahiwatarikei]

Chives + Kosuke?

Flower Language Writing Prompts

Chives ◦ To build a love together. Badly.

You can also read this on AO3!

“I was thinking about what you told me the other day…” Kosuke’s pencil tapped the paper covered in handwriting so scrawly only one other person had ever managed to decipher it before. “That death is not a possibility for you. Yet this body can be hurt: how is it possible? The human body is by definition unable to withstand heavy wounds and an intensive huge of magic.”

Kei waited for water to fill his glass, took a sip, placed it back to the table, but the sharp stare he threw in his direction was probably darker than planned. Pain weakened his patience, but Kosuke forced himself to not care too much for his discomfort: after everything they had gone through, he deserved at least the truth, didn’t he?

“I have been created by the founder of the lineage of Hikari artists, but this is not my original form.”

“It’s a cane, right…?” Kosuke flipped back to an earlier page, where the scribbled shape of Elm Root had waited all these years. This artwork had been considered lost for several centuries and Kosuke had never found any information about its fate. No wonder why. “So you’re not, in fact… a cane?”

“This appearance is human, not a creation. Hikari associated a human body with the artwork, using his talent to make them function together: if the receptacle is technically mortal, the item is powerful enough to maintain it alive without alterations.”

“And yet, you don’t have two personalities…”

“You think like a Niwa.”

In the way the name rolled on his lips, this didn’t sound like a compliment. As always. Plus – Kosuke would however explain later – Daisuke and Dark being distinct from each other enough to pass as two personalities was an exception in the family. If anything, Kei thought like a Hikari that Kosuke thought like a Niwa. There was a lot they both didn’t know about each other’s families.

“There is only me, the shape of one of Hikari’s apprentices and his first creation, together as one.”

“That’s amazing…”

An eternal, self-sustaining artwork that could easily live amongst humans would have sounded impossible if Kosuke hadn’t witnessed such miracles for years. How marvellous was that Kei had survived long enough to meet him in person and share his experience? No one would be able to talk about historical events like him! Any researcher would kill to be able to talk to him! And he was dating him! Kosuke had used up his luck for twenty years.

“Let’s stop talking for now.”

Kei’s back rested against the kitchen chair’s, hand still grasping the glass, painkiller tablet abandoned on the table; sweat beaded across his forehead. Kosuke finally sat before him, shutting the notebook down. Leaving the hospital had been excellent news for both of them, but he was starting to wonder if the doctor hadn’t displayed some negligence here (and the possibility that Kei had prematurely “asked” to return home in some of his usual persuasive ways wasn’t to underestimate either.)

Where artworks could be fixed in minutes, flesh and bones required time to heal, after all…

Not that Kosuke truly minded being in charge of any task that required walking down the residence’s flight of stairs and returning home to Kei’s curious eyes peeking at him from wherever he had decided to collapse for the moment.

His fingers found Kei’s on the glass they still hadn’t let go of and pressed them softly. Immediately, they picked his hand instead and found their way where they could rest, intertwined with his.

Somehow… the need to touch each other had grown since the “incident”. Was it the sudden proximity with death? Were words unable to properly convey the details of their new, healing bond? They sought each other, in a way…

When Kosuke dared opening his mouth again, it was to suggest laying down properly, a proposition that did not receive an enthusiastic response. Yet, he led him to the bedroom, and Kei had no choice but trying to find a comfortable position on the bed instead of his austere, angular kitchen chair.

“Should I read for you?” Kosuke suggested as he slid next to him. He grabbed his current bedside book, an essay dealing with the cultural heritage of some foreign ancient literature, and brandished it with what he hoped was convincing determination. The other’s eyes lingered on the stark cover, obviously unconvinced. To be fair, he hadn’t read anything from said ancient literature, and Kosuke was only in the middle of discovering it, so…

“Go ahead.”

“Are you sure…?”

Kei nodded. Obviously, reading such a niche book was nothing thrilling for anyone who wasn’t a researcher, but he needed to rest and… a voice that awaited no response could allow his mind to focus on an external element.

Or so he thought; as he was flipping the pages to return to the scrap of paper that served as a bookmark, the sudden contact of Kei’s shoulder against his leg made his eyebrows rise in surprise. The other had settled against him, lids shut behind the glasses he had neglected to get rid of, arms resting alongside his flanks to avoid pressure on his wounded stomach. The stiffness of his posture was only broken by the slight angle of his head, tilted towards Kosuke, a Kosuke who had to resist the temptation to pass a hand in the hair that still slowly fell to the side, clearing his forehead.

Once again, he caught himself thinking about how human these traits looked to him. Of course, a human body would resemble a human body…

Oh. In his haste to let Kei rest, he had forgotten his notebook in the kitchen…

Part 1 ◦ Part 2 ◦ Part 3 ◦ Part 4

[sleepysigh]

This is long but most of my followers are bots, and Charlie, if you've stuck with me for 12 years I think one more aimless ramble isn't going to be the undoing of that. I never forget you, by the way.

When I was little, my mom would read to me, help me organize my Pokémon cards, join me for coloring time, and work I the garden while I played outside.

If anyone asked me what I wanted to do for fun at those ages, I wanted to read, build with my k'nex, color a new poster, or go outside with my friends and play pretend fantasy adventures with sticks.

My grandmother watched me often in the summers, and is a great animal and plant lover. We would feed the goldfish and minnows, clear brush, tend the veggie patch, feed the chickens... etc etc. she showed me where rain frogs liked to hide (daylilies, wind chimes) and how to find worms and roly-polies.

Naturally I spent my time at her house bug-catching, harassing frogs by putting them in a jar I found until an adult made me release them, relocating snails from garden plants to weeds so my grandmother wouldn't notice and kill them, playing with monarch caterpillars from milkweed plants, and generally wandering around looking for cool stuff like mushrooms and pretty rocks.

I had a rock collection, a button collection, a marble collection, k'nex, bionicles, a tool set, a magnifying glass, a rock tumbler, a trowel, a small pick-style hand tool for digging, little jars for stashing my finds, mountains of books about the natural world, archaeology, fantasy, history, access to a variety of small family pets as well as cats/dogs, coloring books and markers/crayons/colored pencils, journals, and of course, no tablet or phone.

When I got older, I didn't need to stay with my grandmother over the summers, and I didn't need supervision to do my hobbies. I had my own creative ideas, so I didn't need encouragement by an adult at the table to get started. I began to understand as I got older that my mom was a "single mother" and single mothers are very tired most of the time, so I was happy to let her take afternoon naps instead of doing activities with me because I loved her. But, my friends didn't like most of those activities, and I was tired more often too as school became more demanding and my social skills defects became more painful around my peers.

So I went out less, and instead began exploring media. I watched Jackie chan adventures and yugioh and fighting foodons, but I also found an actor I liked and watched their entire filmography. When I got interested in Ken Branagh, I began reading Shakespeare to enjoy his films better. I was still curious about the world, still unsure what was beautiful and what was ugly.

My mother would tease and chide me for being online so much, but I became obsessed with it nonetheless as an escape. I didn't realize it and couldn't have articulated it at the time, but I had lost some of my innocence, and the activities I used to enjoy made me just a little sad now. I was 12 and the people I relied on to make me feel worthy simply by taking an interest had begun expressing that interest almost entirely through criticism and intimidating expectations.

In the grownup world, grandmothers shouldn't get surprised by kids jumping into the kitchen and shouting boo in the mornings. They could die from that. In the grownup world, your mom is tired and she has this Boss who is awful to her even though she is the best person you know and that isn't fair and every day she's sad is a day she could have been happy but didn't get to, and she only gets so many days to be alive, and then you'll never see her again no matter how much you need to and it hurts so much knowing how much it will hurt but there isn't anything you or anyone can do about it.

In the grownup world, you aren't interesting just because you're interested in something, at least at that time. There is a lovely culture developing to combat this, these days. And in the grownup world, people use computers to do stuff you never dreamed of, and all the art anyone ever made, the history records so far, and the newest studies, and the entire world of lively philosophical debate is on yours.

Grownups don't harass frogs and caterpillars for fun. They don't fill their home with random rocks or run a noisy rock tumbler that keeps their mom from napping. They don't color. (At the time.) They research and debate, they make Real Art (folk art was beyond me, it was either Monet and Shakespeare or it was dumb and bad.) Grownups are serious and thoughtful and stressed and sad and put on a brave face so no one else has to feel bad even though it makes them feel so unbearably lonely, right?

So I became screen-obsessed, and still an, though I have rediscovered the joy of being in the natural world as an adult, and I go looking for frogs and roly-polies from time to time.

I had and entirely screen-free early childhood and still spent my teens glued to a phone or laptop. I only read books because for a long time I had a flip phone. I consumed massive amounts of media and was in a bunch of fandoms. As soon as I got home I was on the computer until I passed out. This pattern continued into my early twenties, when I suddenly noticed I was fucking lonely and made some IRL friends.

Those friends moved or fell out with me or what-have-you, and I ended up sucked into the net again for a while. Made new friends, rinse, repeat. Started dating someone and going out, but when we moved in together it was more stressful and I withdrew to the net...

All of this is to say it's not unique to kids. It's not all bad parents. It's not kids who aren't curious about the world. It's not the addictive algorithms, which I think on their own would not be able to hook most people.

It's having a teacher, a friend, a pastor, a partner, a colleague. It's being asked what animals you found today and being told what traits are unique and special about them. It's someone putting your art on the fridge and pointing it out when company comes over.

It's a kid two years younger than you coming to you crying because she found tadpoles in a puddle that will dry up soon, so you have to pour out your water bottle and rush off to help her rescue them. It's she way she follows you from a distance the rest of the afternoon, not knowing how to talk to you but wanting to so badly it pulls her along like a rope. It's the face she makes when you ask if she wants to learn how to play four-square and when you let her win.

It's a chemistry teacher who has a wardrobe full of tie-dye labcoats and an open-door policy during lunch for kids who don't want to get bullied.

It's meeting a trans person for the first time and suddenly realizing that *you* are an unexplored field full of undiscovered artifacts and wonders.

It's community. It's other people taking an interest in you, leaning on each other's patience a little in order to have a helper for our daily adventures. It's the emotions and needs of others that spur us to act, to embody our beliefs and express our views in a way that inherently conflicts with escapism.

Being invited along to the park or the mall. Talking about who you might want to grow up to be and seeing others who know you, who have been paying attention, the body language, the micro expressions, the responses of approval, disapproval, curiosity, concern, encouragement...

The net is the moon and community is the sun. The net shines a little, but not enough to make out all of the colors and fine details around you. The moon's craters show us its history, and the net is a great resource for history and established knowledge. But the moon does not nurture, it only pulls.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not being a naive Disney prince here. Community can easily destroy you. I was bullied terribly as a child. I fixated on my worst bullies and tore myself apart trying to understand why they hated me.

Don't look directly at the sun, don't spent too much time out in it, and protect yourself before you do. But without it, you might get tired, depressed, myopic. You forget there are so many colors and fine details of you live in the dark.

On a long enough timeline, your body forgets the use it had for eyes and stops using them at all to spare you the confusion.

Screen addiction, net addiction, whatever you call it, is not simple or generational. It is a symptom of a failure of community. We couldn't have expected it, but we can understand.

Mothers used to give the baby a little whiskey in the milk bottle at night for sleep. Now there's coco melon. Adults used to have more free time to teach and play. A single mother could keep her child's toychest stocked with a variety of learning toys and tools to enjoy the outside world.

There once were several billions more monarch caterpillars, rain frogs, roly-polies, snails, and minnows in our world, just waiting to be gently harassed by curious little hands. Or living out entire blessedly unmolested lives just by chance.

Rats in a cage will consume addictive and enjoyable drugs until they overdose and die.

Rats in a scientifically constructed optimal rat city with a surplus of food, toys, places to hide and explore, and mates will try substances rarely enough that their health is not impacted significantly.

Unfortunately, if you want to pin the blame for screen addiction somewhere, it's because we are out of community with our world and ourselves. It's because knowing who you want to be is painful when no one cares.

It's because the sun hasn't come up in a long time, and when it does, you forget sunscreen because you broke the habit, and you end up craving the cold dead moon because it cannot help you but it probably won't hurt either.

It doesn't feel like you're losing your sight. It feels like the world lost its color and you're lucky to see anything at all. You strain your eyes even harder to navigate it at all.It's the feeling of sadness remembering the light.

We all feel it to some extent. Millennials crave nostalgia media. They color to soothe their anxiety. They struggle to let go of JK Rowling's work despite its mediocrity and her abhorrent actions.

Because that stuff came before we started understanding the lessons of the 2000's, when suddenly the world sharpened into focus and we saw it was fracturing, and our parents were being pulled apart trying to keep it together, and the grownups were sending our older brothers and cousins to war to kill real people and die for real, forever, and every day we were angry or confused or sad or grieving was a day we could have been happy but weren't allowed to be, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

Community became less about locale, less centered on the mundane decisions at the town hall meetings about potholes and property lines and the 4-H Club's Spring Fundraiser, and more about performing, demonstrating our fundamental insecurity and fear as individuals unmoored from our social structure.

People get online when they're busy or tired or broke and it's prohibitive trying to do anything else, and being online is ALWAYS a form of being totally alone and in your head even when it creates a really, really convincing facsimile of community.

Why else would we all have gotten so far apart, stridently announcing by rigid sets of increasingly tribalistic behaviors and beliefs who is worthy and who is important and who has to grovel at the lunch table to even be allowed to sit and eat with us -- what happened to stone soup?

Continued under the cut.

It's not like all people in all communities got along historically, of course, but people who were othered by the hegemonic mainstream still had thriving community in each other. Now they can reach everyone like them instantly, and... What a mixed bag.

The net has saved lives, countless lives, through the watered-down form of contactless, inhuman community it offers, even as inherently solipsistic and self-defeating and hijacked by ad-riddled algorithms as it is.

"Fed is best," after all when the alternative is starving. I met trans people online years before I met any in person, and without tumblr and the faceless, unremembered remnants of snippets of their thoughts that I happened to read, I would never have accepted my own relationship with gender.

But so often instead of a panacea, this just-barely-enough-nutrients to live kind of diet is an escapist placebo that makes us weak, confused, frightened because we feel we're doing everything right, we're filling ourselves up and filling our time up and ingesting a hell of a lot but we're *still fucking starving*.

Zoomers are a gaslit generation. Millenials at least can remember how things accelerated like a fighter jet flying full-tilt straight into the cliff face. We're still mangled and on fire in the wreckage but at least we know human bodies are supposed to be intact and breathing and dressed for work or school or church, not twisted and broken in parachute cords with their bloodied faces hidden under half-shattered helmets.

Zoomers were born into a world of screaming and told its normal to have to make your throat raw before anyone can even hear what you're trying to say.

Mothers who took thalidomide didn't know any better than mothers who put the kindle in their toddler's hands and let it auto play until the poisoned stream of profitable Elsa Spider-Man Arrested Bat Man Dies meaninglessness did it's number on their neurochemistry and left no one bringing up the rear while the numberless hellbenders and cicadas and whales slowly got converted into grave dirt for the sake of helping someone score higher in nightmare-mode real-life cookie clicker.

Blaming the parents for what has been done to us all is like blaming them for the time we invented agriculture and suddenly our fossilized skeletons had fewer recognizable teeth from all the sugar, or for how we invented a machine to get food to hungry people faster using just heated water and now you can hardly see the stars anywhere near human settlements, or for the way we made it easier to package and preserve food using gunk we found underground and now every organism with more than one cell is basically carting around a load of endocrine-disrupting microscopic Orbeez in whatever they have that passes for tissues and a circulatory system.

The phenomenon of humanity writ large bent something the wrong way and warped it until it was unrecognizable. Again. Whether someone trying to raise kids in the middle of the ensuing slow-motion inferno managed to keep them on one side of it or the other isn't really the point if there's no one coming with any fucking water, is it?

Forget blame. Blame, guilt, embarrassment, discouragement, hatred, rejection.

Every single barb you or anyone ever felt proud of saying to someone who "deserved it" is now a rock in everyone's pocket at the bottom of the Thames (or whatever populated river you know best), and even if we can scramble back up the banks we're liable to collectively be infected with god knows what social parasite or disease that's been thriving down here --in a place that once gave us life and helped us raise up a city that gave thanks in the form of unrestrained annihilation of all natural hospitality from every cubic inch of the water and soil and air and haplessly benighted creatures within its range.

Try to point fingers from inside a coffin and all you accomplish is a couple broken bones and more pain screaming through you while you try to claw your way to anywhere you can survive.

We belled the dead once when bells were all made by hand and it meant someone sleeping next to a graveyard every night, on the tiny, almost nonexistent chance that one person, no matter how guilty or shameful or unloved, might be allowed to suffer -- might be failed by us, all of us, every person who did not pay attention and did not bother to do the only thing that ever allowed us to thrive on this earth and keep the ancestral hearth warm in the first place.

It's work. It's boring. It's tiring. People get hurt doing it, people die doing it. It doesn't fix everything inside you. There is no guarantee anything ever can. But to have compassion, to lay down the need for blame and superiority, to drag the broom bristles across the line in the sand, to hold out your hand as bruised and calloused as it is, and to take whatever hand is within reach as rough and panic-pained as the grip may be, is the only way any of us are ever going to make our way through this bitter, lonely, only-seemingly-endless night.

If you care about my advice it's this: out the sources of division on sight. Eliminate pettiness and retribution. Take your neighbors some brownies or invite them to your kid's recital. Don't try to feel love you don't feel, just make meaningless human suffering your enemy.

If you try for a while you realize your body already knows, your feet can point the way, your hands come up before you see the next rung, a mongoose doesn't think about a cobra for a second, it just acts by its nature and eliminates the threat.

Every base-pair in your DNA is a single bit comprising the algorithm that replaced the misery of wordless violence with song, made sex feel better when we can choose if we have it, invented caramelized onions and beer and taught us not just to crave them because cooked and fermented is safer than raw, but to delight in them both and invent endless alternatives to please endless tastes.

You and everyone you know are built to tessellated in an infinitely adapting phenomenon stretching back to the first chemical reactions in the ocean floor when a confluence of particles made the brutal decision to comprehend annihilation as a price worth paying if it bought a chance to know mercy, to find peace in forgiveness, to temper the burning and frozen extremes of stars and voids with the honor and privilege of being in the presence of love.

Every person you will ever know is the product of infinity expanding as fast as it can for billions of years and somehow, almost impossibly, by astronomical chance you have the privilege to spend a fragment of your faster-than-a-blink time existing doing something no atom or nebula or rock or star can do. You get the chance to know them. You get the chance to open your arms and ease the howling loneliness and feel the real warmth and weight of what someone's been carrying for too, too long. For a while you can be where they put it down.

You get the chance to be brave, to be strong, to be safe for someone who cannot expect safety, to be kind to someone in need of kindness. Many creatures have hands but yours can build a fire against the cold -- and when you are lost and cold, if you are willing to reach out dauntlessly in the dark, eventually your hands will find others to lead you back home.

Every atom since the Big Bang is a link in a chain that remained unbroken for billions of years so every single human being could have a *chance* to feel a little warmth before entropy stops the clock forever. Don't insult the sacredness of that with pettiness.

Who gives a damn about placing blame or guilt when every choice anyone makes is condemned to never be undone, when the time spent bitching and punishing and rejecting others is gone just as irretrievably as time spent easing their pain and allowing them to soothe your own. Addiction to anything is at least kinder than causing the isolation it attempts to soothe.

The plane is going down. Who gives a shit if the person next to you let their kid watch YouTube in kindergarten? Given the choice, why would anyone not embrace them, why refuse to hold their hand? What does anyone stand to gain spending their final moments being the reason someone else dies ashamed, hurting, alone, feeling guilt for their own children instead of joy that they will be okay?

Our hearts aren't made to bear ostracism. You can't take solace in inflicting it, not really, no matter what you tell yourself. No matter what people on the net say about how people on the net ought to let newer people onto the net, everyone is going to eventually go away from us forever and they are going to spend an awful lot of time miserable because of things they can't control because the shame they're forced to feel for it diverts them to escapism for relief by convincing them community does not need them and offers them no comforting embrace

And frankly I don't see the justification in doing that kind of meaningless harm to anyone because superiority is just another escapist lie, and at least most permissive parents have the defense of ignorance.

There is no generation to blame. There is no generation without hope. There is no generation excluded from the promises of history, for all the peace and the disquiet it offers. Every moment spent deciding who is bad, who is shameful, who to punish, spits in the face of humanity when it could have been spent deciding how to help.

Someone you know is having a bad day today when they could be having a happy one, and they only get so many days, but there is probably something you can do about it. Even if it's just showing up when you don't know what to do or what to say.

Humans find all kinds of hidey-holes to try and avoid showing up and not knowing what to do because they have been taught to venerate shame and be silenced by ostracism.

Everyone who suffers without escape has it in them to get caught in the Net, and everyone has it in them to help someone get free. It's not the kids. It's not even really the Net. It's every moment a hand reached out in the dark and met empty air. It's every hand that could have caught them if it wasn't busy being curled into a fist.

It's just the kind of thing people do when everything becomes too ugly to look at, too painful to feel, too wrong to withstand, and there's nothing they can do.

im so done with seeing articles about kids and screen time that doesnt mention parent behaviors even once. “kids are always on their phones” so are the parents! which the kids look to for how they should behave! ipad babies didn’t chose to only play on their ipads, thats what their parents gave them!

an anecdotal example: when i was a kid, all my parents would do in their minimal free time was watch tv and then they would be surprised when in my sister and i’s minimal free time we would also only watch tv/play video games. they scolded us for not reading books, but they never read books. they scolded us for not going outside but they never went outside.

“kids are always on their damn phones” my mom is in her 60s and opens up candy crush anytime she’s sitting — it isnt just the kids

[lindsaywesker]

Good morning!  I hope you slept well and feel rested?  Currently sitting at my desk, in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day.

I was recently prescribed ‘blood-thinning’ tablets.  It was explained why and the explanation made sense but the side effects of those tablets were so extreme and unpleasant, I was like, “What the hell am I taking?”  And, of course, these things we are prescribed do not grow on trees and they do not grow out of the ground, they are concocted by scientists in laboratories.  They are man-made and completely artificial.  Now obviously I understand that some ‘drugs’ save lives, and make life more bearable, and ease the pain but me, personally, I am going to minimise my intake of these substances. 

What is your understanding of the term ‘red tape’?  And who creates it?  And why is it created?  For me, red tape is created by people with too much time on their hands.  They have no real important work to do, so they hold meetings, they host brainstorms, they hire ‘consultants’, and they create an unnecessary policy that no one really understands (or they’re too scared to say they don’t understand.)  Red tape makes life more difficult (when life is already difficult.)  Red tape stifles creativity and kills commerce.  Red tape turns a three-page into a 30-page application form.  Red tape creates rules and restrictions where they are not needed.  So, when my mother’s local council are taking money from her bank account, and she has to call up and deal with ‘red tape’, I get very upset, because these policies will traumatise an 88-year-old woman, who is worried about whether she’ll be able to heat her house this winter.  My suggestion is shrink the workforce, so there are no pencil-pushers with lots of free time on their hands!   

Friday, December 27: ‘Let The Music Play’ at Cinnabar in Stevenage.  Saturday, December 28: ‘Xmas Reunited’ at Cottons, Hoxton Square.  Tuesday, December 31: New Year’s Eve Party at The White Lion, Streatham.  What a climax!     

Have a throbbing and thrusting Thursday (with hopefully a few thrills through your thoroughfare?)  I love you all.

[ainavisa]

in a dream-like state

going home now

head on the window pane i watch my mother switch the car lights as we drive along the highway. a coat of deep dark blue on top of our eyelids

everything i ever remember always stands tall in front of my eyes. a wall of memories hard like stone i press my hand against its coldness

coloured pencils a bed an infected wound on the knee blood drips the awful sight of pus three pink stones on a rail what if i jump from above here a pair of striped wool socks you know you'll hurt that'll never change a charger a door two doors my box full of secrets where i kept you for six months

it is the darkness of the void that lays unknown behind my back there where my eyes won't reach

that's the very last image i ever had of my father. his eyes half drunk from drugs and pain years of pain he never let those slip away; his head still hoarding memories of half-empty bottles and the desperate cries of a nursing child weeping. his little fingers curled up jaw clenched of anger

his head dizzy still after all those years. fifty years came by his reality untouched by time. memories grow sharper every day pressing against his chest tearing off layers of skin until blood reaches the surface. he then asked me how will you build your armour?

mine will be silver like a fishtail, spineless and slippery like their cold flesh

oh so brave less of me!

i looked with repulsion there where your eyes swelled up like balloons nausea running up my stomach. having to look at myself through you. it is because of the cigarettes said the doctor it is the endless sleepless nights. you laughed out of fear afraid of facing life, even more afraid of facing death. four tablets every day for twenty-five days two more from now on until the very end. is this the end? you laughed. the doctor looked at you dead-eyed

that's the very last image

your face blurry from the clear-stained glass light shines from behind the smell of wood and cigar piercing my brain. bodies pulled apart by an old elevator rack his body catapulted up high maybe it's me i'm the one going down down below. his face once again distorted by the spasmodic movement of the mechanism pushing me down a green fluorescent light flashes for a split second just enough to see his hand clear as day pressed against the metallic rack his hand quietly moving from side to side his hand waving goodbye goodbye dad i've missed you

the wild dogs are howling outside and i hear my sister screaming in her sleep voice shattered by despair - are you all mad?

[mossy-drawingtablet]

🌱🌸🌟🐚🏳️‍⚧️🪲🌻🌿

~~Intro post~~

🪻🪼🩷🍓🌈🌧🐞🏳️‍🌈

Hello beloved visitors! Feel welcomed to this blog. My name is Moss and I am the artist who posts here :3

🩷 Commissions are currently closed.

🩷 Trades are open but depends on style, subject & if you're nice to me

❤️ I have other (art) blogs:

❤️ Main: @kid-a-their-blog

❤️ Furry art (safe furry): @mossy-paws-art

❤️ OC art & lore: @aveganvampire

🧡about my art🧡

🧡 I like to draw all sort of things, usually with fantasy or natural themes

🧡 my current artistic interest is "children's" illustrations of animals. There is just something so sweet about stylized nature & the personalities that can be added to the animals!

🧡 when drawing digitally I draw either on an Ipad 6 with procreate and apple pencil, or on a wacom intuos pro large with krita or gimp (I'm still learning gimp but I like it thus far!) Result wise I really prefer an actual drawing tablet over ipad, but sometimes I'm lazy and wanna see my drawing directly under my pen lolol

🧡 when drawing traditionally I like to combine many materials. This includes watercolor, collage, scrapbook kinda stuff, markers, oil pastels, colored pencils, stickers etc etc etc.

🧡 I go through phases of different art styles & interests :3

💛about me💛

💛basic info is in the bio

💛 I am about 3 years on T and about 2.5 years post-op from top surgery

💛 I love being non-binary & my medical transition has made me a bazillion times more happy in life! Yeah, it still gets difficult & dark sometimes, but I can say now that I am mostly content and that I am able to connect, love, enjoy. This is not oly because of my transition, also many other things including a lot of therapy

💛 I have autism & (undiagnosed) adhd. I am also chronically mentally ill (doing way better than before but bad times still sometimes come) & chronic pain.

💛 I have 2 cats, the youngest one is evil & the oldest one is a fool (I love them)

💛 I collect rocks, crystals, shells & fossils.

💛 with friends I like to do grandparent activities like going for a walk of making a puzzle or sorting out beads.

💛 listening to music is a very important coping mechanism to me & I am currently saving up for better headphones & streaming!

💛 art/illustrating/creating is also one of the things that is super duper important to me! I have done it for as long as I could hold a pen & I cannot imagine myself without it.

💚reblogs are honestly gifts to artists like me!💚

& spam reblogs/likes etc are welcomed too <3 . Reblogs are a very important way on tumblorb dot com to help artists be seen & appreciated !

🩵 Some recent works I am proud of will be added here: