#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) 🫶🏻

[miseta]

Chapitre 4 ➺ Hell Clasico

Starting over In Madrid

Misa Rodriguez x Reader (Nicky/first person)

After moving to Madrid as the new Real Madrid photographer, Nicky's eyes can't look away from the pretty face of Misa Rodriguez. But how is she going to handle her growing desire for the Canarian goalkeeper when her working contract's strictly forbidding her to date players?

Chapter 1 ➺ A harder job than I thought Chapter 2 ➺ Clearly on a bad slope Chapter 3 ➺ Calmly panicking

4K words

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧ 

"You don’t come after training because we’re still grounded ?" 

Misa’s text made my heart lifted. With the Clasico and games abroad coming, I had a huge amount of work that was keeping me out of the stadium. I had shut myself in my office for three days now, importing, retouching photos, thinking about the next games’s visuals… Due to the fact that resisting the goalkeeper was becoming more and more difficult, I had to admit I was relieved to be able to avoid her.

I thought a moment about what to answer. As soon as she had stood up from that bench on the evening at the park, Misa had been her funny self again. She had joked happily. We had said goodbye at the entrance of the parking. Like friends do. If she had been disappointed, she had been hiding it well. 

And now she was texting about me for not coming to our photo meeting in a casual yet flirty way again…

"Feels like I’m the grounded one… work is having me trapped in my office!" I texted back.

"👉🤓" 

"🫠👋"

She started typing and stopped. Her text bubble didn’t reappeared. I sighted. I hated having to be distant with her. I sighted again and buried myself back into work. 

Fifteen minutes later, loud erratic knocks boomed against the door of my office.  "What…?". Without waiting, Misa, Hayley and Sofie burst into the room. "Here she is ! You believed to could get rid of us that easy Nicky?" Hayley asked while the three girls came around my desk. Misa had bring a ball and severals biscuits with her. "What are doing here?!" I said already annoyed. I had a feeling they weren’t here to help me… 

"We’re checking if you’re still Nicky and not a robot." Misa dropped the biscuits on my desk and started to play with her ball, making it rebound between her foot and thigh. Sofie was leaning toward my computer’s screen. "Do you have new photos of me?". Hayley was observing my cameras under every angles. "I’ve never seen this one, would you recommend it Nicky?" The dull sound of the ball rebounding rhythmically was constantly filling the room. I wasn’t believing how fast they had created such a mess.   

"Guys, a girl needs to focus right now!" I said, eyes closed, a hand on my forehead. "Oh, you can keep working, don’t mind us." Hayley had taken a camera and was back at taking pictures. Sofie joined Misa and they went passing each other the ball. There was no way I was going to be able to concentrate in this chaos. 

Edit just ten more photos tonight. I said to myself. I grabbed back my pencil and graphic tab, opened a photo of Olga striking, and started to erase an unwanted grass twigs on one of her socks.

On the corner of my eye, I saw Misa’s face approaching the screen while chewing a mouthful of biscuits. "What’s this? Are you drawing?" She pointed at my tablet. The sound of the ball was still resounding, Sofie had taken over. A few crumbles fell off the goalkeeper’s mouth. "Misa! The keyboard !" I blowed hard on it to make them go away. "Perdòn!" She stood back and tried to swallow her snack. She gestured to me to explain again.

That girl can be such a pain !

"No, I can’t draw, I’m just correcting details. A pen is more precise that a mouse". I said to her.

"Oh vale ! Can I try It ?" I glared at her. "I mean not now! When you have the time. And… I can teach you football in exchange". She ended up showing an innocent smile.

That girl will drive me mad! 

"Misa! Leave Nicky alone and come to my IG Live, the fans wants to see you !" Sofie called from the farthest corner.

"Coming! Nicky, take a biscuit, son muy buenos!"

They kept going like this until they were forced to leave with me. I had painfully managed to do half the work I wanted to be over. Tomorrow is another day, they say. 

***

Alas, next day was just the same. They came after their practice and occupied themselves more loudly than ever until my boss finally came to have them go away. With all of that, it was miracle I had finished everything at a rather early time on the eve of the Clasico. That meant I could attend the motivation speech that followed today’s training session.  

Sitting in the stands, the speech wasn’t captivating after all. Maybe I hadn’t enough knowledge of football to really get it but I found it lasting forever. The players weren't into it either. Olga’s legs were showing signs of impatience. Linda was slowly drifting. But despite my tiredness, I wanted to check on Misa and Hayley, so I kept waiting. 

I caught them at the building exit. I could sensed their nervousness behind the frank smiles they both gave me as a greeting. 

"Hey Nicky, great speech eh..?" Hayley hugged me, she was so tensed. "Thanks for waiting but I need go home. I’m off, girls, see you tomorrow !" Misa patted her shoulder as she left and she roughly brushed her hair in return. 

I turned to the goalkeeper. "How are you coping?" I asked her gently. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other. "Estoy bien…", she answered peering down, her foot kicking at the floor vainly. She obviously wasn’t. 

"Do you want to walk ?" I said without any back thoughts. I just wanted to help my friend to feel a bit better. She nodded. 

We went touring the sport campus. We tried to talked about anything but the Clasico. At first, Misa was jumping in place every now and then to get rid of her stress. She relaxed when we started to tease each other. 

"Misa, you can’t be with a ball without showing off! That’s insane!". 

She smirked. "I’m athlete Nicky! Football is my life, of course I play with my ball all the time". She side glance at me, her mischievous tone and satisfied smile back. "I did 65 rebounds yesterday." 

I giggled "Is that much ?". Misa’s both disappointed and irritated air had me laughing out loud. 

She slapped me on the arm "Jajaja, muy divertido! Enhorabuena Nicky! I don’t care about what a girl who work al Real Madrid and knows nothing about football thinks!" 

It was my turn to faint annoyance. "I see trainer Misa is long gone before she even started… you are a very reliable person." She opened her mouth but was out of answer. I had had her sulking again. Grumpy Misa was one of my favorite. 

I took a pleading look. "All right, you are the best Misa! Now, when do we start training ?" I was sure the training part would lift her spirit. 

She side-eyed me again, still vexed. "Have you at least ever play football ?". 

I pretended to search my mind. "It happened... twice maybe. First was at school, and second on the alley in front of my parent’s house". 

She snorted. "No es posible…" She shook her head and continued, her voice suddenly curious. "For real, why did you want to work for a football club?" Her mocking tone gone had me really wonder how much I wanted to tell. 

"I needed a change in my life. Anything was… not going well. I had a rough break up and was really unhappy in my previous job…"

"I’m sorry to hear that" she said with a concerned look. 

I half laughed half sighted. "It’s ok now. I’m glad to be here. I really like Madrid". We were reaching the exit of the building again. 

"Bueno… and do you like your new job too ?" 

"Yes, I’m quite found of it… and of my new exasperating friends" I went back teasing her a little as we headed to the parking. 

"I’m happy you’re good with us", she said, not reacting on the teasing part this time. 

We arrived in the middle of the car park. I didn’t know if we were going in the same direction so I gestured on the right  "I’m parked this way". 

"I’m parked over here but I’ll go with you to your car, I can do with walking a bit more " she replied although she sounded far less stressed now. 

We reached my vehicle and faced each other to say goodbye. "Thanks Nicky" Misa softy spoke. Her features were less drawn. The walk had soothed her a little. 

"You’re looking better. Are you sure you’re ready to go home ?" I inquired one last time. 

She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Instead she simply smiled and looked away. "Misa?" I frowned not knowing how to help her anymore. 

Her head turned back to me. She bit her lip and her eyes stopped on mine. Then she slowly moved forward. My brows went up, having me frozen in a surprised look as she took my hands in hers, and I knew that that was it, that there’s was no escaping this time, and that I didn’t gave a fuck.

I half closed my eyes, my head slightly bowed while she leant over. My gaze stayed on her quivering mouth as she approached mine. At last, she pressed her lips. I let out a short breath. I was surprise by the tenderness of her kiss. Her mouth was soft, its movements slow.

I kissed her back. Letting relief fill me up. Completely abandoning myself as her taste and scent washed over me. Our noses brushed against each other. The grip of our hands tighten as we went on kissing, softly still, slowly still. 

Finally, she withdrew her lips from mine, a soft smile lingering on them, having me missing their contact immediately. My eyes couldn’t leave hers. 

"I’m ready now" she whispered. I exhale and shyly smiled and she released my hands. "Good night Nicky ». She stepped back and turned over. My gaze followed her until she disappeared behind the birch trees growing between the parking spaces. 

***

Aitana Bonmati was running fast, dribbling everyone coming for her. She armed her strike and shoot between Ivana and Olga toward the penalty area. The ball landed right on Salma precise foot who immediately kicked hard at the upper left corner of the goal. Misa jumped with all her strength and the tip of gloves deflated the ball, preventing Barcelona to strike once again. 

The match had been hard and demanding from the very beginning. Barça team had been pressing Real Madrid players, having them constantly cornered near their penalty area. Misa had already saved five goals but as Mariona Caldentey had outpasted all the defenders for the third time and send a particularly well aimed kick to Caroline Graham Hansen, the goalkeeper had gone on the wrong direction and the ball had rolled easily in the cage. Misa had sweared, gotten up, and send a long clearance skillfully recovered by Hayley. Hayley was a fast runner too. She had passed the ball to Athenea, who had dribble passed Irene Paredes and used the one second of disorganization to find Linda. The kick from Linda’s head had miraculously flied through the expert gloves of Cata Coll, and crashed on the net behind her, filling the stadium with unexpected joy. 

Returning from the halftime, Barça had pressed harder and harder without succeeding at scoring yet an other goal. After a clever discussion in locker room during the break, the real Madrid was holding well against them for the first time, Misa’s many saves putting and end to theirs brilliant sequences of passes. And the unbelievable had happened at de 78th min. Naomie had succeeded at loosing Alexia Putellas’marker to get the ball from Oihane’s throw-in. Her quick arched shot had found Olga on the left side, who had managed a shot worthy of the World Cup. She had stricken from her rather distant position straight at the right upper corner, giving Cata Coll an impossible job. The stadium had burst screaming, echoing Madrid players all hugging together to celebrate their first time ever leading Barcelona. 

It was extra time when Misa’s body crashed on the grass again from saving Salma’s strike. The Madrid player were back at having a hard time. I could see they were physically drained, their feet barely touching the ball anymore. 

They all took position, ready for the corner, Misa giving directions to her teammates as she prepared herself for the upcoming action. Salma struck. She crossed the ball back from the goal line. The ball descended on Alexia in a perfect neat curve before she sent it crashing to the net. Barcelona had come up to the score, victory slipping through the Madrid girls'fingers at the 95th minute. Now, the match was going extra time. I saw Misa down in her attempt to save to ball, kicking the grass with her fists in frustration. As well trained as they were, the team was exhausted. With Barça clearly dominating, the extra time was going to be a living hell. 

Misa passed by me as she exit the tunnel to ran toward her goal after the short break. I took a shot of her face, a mix of deep concentration and extreme fatigue. My heart sank. I had been covering the match with other photographers from the start, trying hard to focus on my job rather than on the ongoing actions and the increasing pressure on Misa. 

The game resumed. Madrid team formed two compact lines in front of the goal. They had received new guidelines: keep on defending and don’t take another goal at all cost. Their strategy, and Ivana’s agile foot prevented a new shot on target finding the net. The only two more attempts of Madrid met Cata’s gloves, her clearance sending the ball back on their half pitch again. But, they hold on again and again the entire the first half of extra time.

During the second, fouls and cramps multiplied on each sides, chopping the play in numerous sloppy actions and hardening the footballer’s job by giving them unnecessary minor injuries. Misa’s attempt to grab a shot by Mariona sent her rolling on ground and her knee hit the goal-post. The ball luckily found the cross-bar and was quickly cleared by Kathellen. But Misa was still down, grasping her knee between the puffy fingers of her gloves. I shuddered. No please! Let not it be a serious injury! I silently prayed. The medical staff came over after the referee had blown the whistle. With several of her teammates surrounding, I could barely see what was going on. 

I waited, trying to breathe properly, not looking at the last picture I took of Misa, curled up on the grass, her features distorted by pain. After what was feeling like an hour, the med staff went away and the small crowd scattered, revealing Misa standing on her feet again, though she was breathing hard and slightly limping. I relaxed a little.

The goalkeeper settled back in front of her caged but she gave the ball to Ivana for her to do a long clearance. She clearly hadn’t the strength anymore. The ball was back in her penalty area in a heartbeat but the match had Madrid finally find the key to put up a very strong defence. When the whistle blew again, it was to put an end to the game at last. 

The penalty shoot out would decide the winner of the Copa de la Reina. More than ever, the outcome of the match was now resting mostly on Misa’s shoulders.

The goalkeeper and the rest of the team gathered around the trainer near the bench. I crossed eyes with Misa and I smiled, my fist clenched up in the air to show her my support. She didn’t seemed to see me. Nothing exists apart from the game when she was playing. 

Madrid opened the shoot out with Olga. She shot, scored. Cheers burst. 

Misa jumped on her line. Caroline Graham Hansen scored as well. 

Claudia kicked hard on her right but Cata had understand where she was aiming. Her body blocked the ball, having Barça yelling in triumph. 

Aitana scored. 

Athenea scored. 

Mariona scored.

Hayley scored.

Last ball. All was resting on Misa. If she failed the ball, everything was over. 

Alexia armed her leg. Kicked. The ball flew on the opposite of the goalkeeper. 

It was it. Madrid had lost. I forgot to take pictures, focusing on the limp body of Misa still laying on her back, her gloves on her face. As the Barcelona players hugged together in victory, the sturdy figure of Alexia was crouched at Misa side, muttering to her words I could not hear. She heaved Misa to her feet, helped her taking off her gloves. I could see her face wet with tears, her eyes puffed and closed as she was still sobbing. They leaved the pitch, Alexia’s arm over Misa’s shoulders. One of other photograph was shooting restlessly at them while they headed toward the tunnel. I couldn’t suppress a surge of anger. 

I got up, quickly took the steps that separated me from the man with the camera. 

"Give her a rest ok ?!" I shouted in his direction. The man stared blankly at me, astonished. In addition to my strange behavior, he probably wasn’t speaking English. 

Noticing my action, Misa and Alexia had stopped. When she saw me close, Misa lowered her head as if she couldn’t bear to look at me. Alexia stared kindly at me, guilt still her eyes as she knew she had partly caused the sadness of her friend. 

"I can take her to the locker room if you want" I said, instantly shocked by my own words when I couldn’t leave my job. 

Misa lifted her face again. Alexia looked at the goalkeeper to see if she was ok with that. Misa nodded and I took over Alexia to guide her through the tunnel. 

I made Misa sat on the farthest bench of the locker room. Everything was quiet here, the screeches of the celebration only a distant echo. The goalkeeper had stopped crying. Her board shoulders and muscular body seemed so fragile somehow. I took a seat beside her, not knowing what to do now it was up to me to comfort her. 

"I’m sorry" I simply said.

"We were so close!" she cried. "Let’s just go! I don’t want to be there, I don’t want the puta silver medal again!" She blown her nose hard and rubbed her red eyes with a towel laying by. Exhaustion was oosing from her at every levels. 

"No Misa you can’t go" I responded and caught a surprised side eye, as surprise as she could be in her current state. "You can’t go because everything’s not about wining or being better or best ! You can’t go because football doesn’t have to be that. It’s not about the score, the cup or whatever. Football is an emotion, a battle, a shared experience. And first and foremost it’s a spectacle and you put on one hell of a show as a team and as a player tonight! If you go, nothing remain, it would mean nothing. You have to go back Misa." 

Silence settled between us. I felt exposed and embarrassed by the words I had just spoken. It was ridiculous, saying obvious things like that to a seasoned footballer when I was barely discovering the sport. 

The goalkeeper exalted deeply. "You lied to me" she said, gotten me confused. She chuckled softy "You acted like you didn’t know a thing about football". She painfully stood up and waved me to do the same. "But you do" she said smiling as we faced each other. The tall woman pulled me into a hug, her head resting on my shoulder and I hold her tight against me. I gently stroked her back, her jersey was wet and she was clearly stinking of sweat but I didn’t care. I just wanted us to stay like this, clump together.

After a minute or so, we parted and smiled softy at each other. In spite of her weariness, Misa was looking less drained. She was waiting for... something while expectantly looking at me. Her dimples back with her grin enlighten her tired face. I kept smiling, my mind racing to figure out what I should do, what I could do… what I wanted do to. When she thought I wouldn’t do anything, Misa’s smile faded a little and she started to turn around. 

"Misa, wait…" I grabbed her arm and pulled her back against me. I only took a glimpse of her surprised yet eager face before I kissed her.

I grasped her face, pressed her mouth harder against mine. Misa let out a whine, the sound of it had my body set afire. I slowly made her step back until she hit the lockers room’s door. She gasped at the contact, put one of her hand in my hair, the other gripping the fabric of the bottom of my shirt. She opened her lips, her taste filled me up entirely and had me moan with want.

Our heated kiss had enlighten all my senses and turned my body into white iron. I felt my hand acting on her own as it went under Misa’s jersey and up her abs. She wimped again, her own fingers going under my shirt and touching the skin of my waist. Her soft and full lips were enveloping my mouth, our breathings had become jerky.

Fevered by my desire of her, I led my hand down her stomach to the strap of her shorts. She groaned and froze. "Wow! Nicky wait…" I stopped neat. She took her hands off my back and gently seized my face. "I have to go back" she said, a burning gaze on me. I breathed, trying to tame the flames devouring my insides. I smiled and repeated, "You have to go back". She placed a last kiss on my lips and got off the room.

Right now, Hell Clasico was finishing on a heavenly note.

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

Chapter 5 ➺ Valleys and peaks

[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!

[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.

[fx1600]

Okay I’ve seen a lot of ai art debates happening and no one asked but I want to rant about some of the arguments made for it because they just really bug me. 1) yes it is 100% unethical to unwillingly use other peoples art, photography, and likeness without any consent whatsoever. No this is NOT THE SAME THING as people trying to recreate or taking inspiration from the masters before them because while yes it is using someone elses art as reference it is to develop their own skills. The resulting art is still something they made with their own hands to further their own development. And to this day we still know who a lot of masters took inspiration from. Who they credit for their work. Ai work taking inspiration from other peoples styles to fit commands you are giving it IS NOT DEVELOPING YOUR SKILLS. This is NOT for development, it’s actively used to AVOID development and people openly say they do this because they don’t have the skill and don’t want to develop the skill. 2) Seeing people say it’s such a “boomer take” to be genuinely upset about these ai “artists” calling themselves artists is not the hot come back you think it is. Because people being upset is valid! Because this isn’t a group of people trying to make some new “revolutionary” art form and their own community around it. No these are people trying to align themselves with digital artists who spend so much time and effort developing their own skills. To equate pieces they prompted a machine to make and claiming it as their own because the machine cannot argue for its own effort. To the pieces people made after spending years developing their own skills to be able to make their art. If anything ai artists could be classified as some sort of writing group but that’s not what they’re aiming for. They hide their prompts to avoid “stealing” and pointedly don’t want acknowledgment for the one part they actually did themselves, they want credit for the results. 3) “Well people said the same thing about photography” do not and I mean DO NOT try to sit here and say these two mediums are the same! Because if you think they’re equal you clearly do not see the value or understand photography at all.  There are REASONS why companies still higher photographers to do product shots, poster shots, and event shots even though “everyone can do it with a phone”. Companies look for every corner they can cut to save a buck so it should SAY SOMETHINGS that they refuse to go the route of sending an intern with a phone camera to get photos of their products. Why they’re given full production teams and spaces to work. Because it takes skills, knowledge, dedication, and effort that only the photographer has. 4) “But it can sometimes take people HOURS to make!” Why are they willing to spend hours slightly editing prompts into an AI generator if it’s clear they know exactly what they want when they could just pick up some supplies and start trying to for it with their own hands? OR BETTER YET COMMISSION AN ARTIST!? 5) “It’s an accessibility tool, not everyone has the time, money, or skill to make what they want” Two of those three things are exactly WHAT MAKE ARTISTS ARTISTS the fact that they have the skills, they TOOK the time to develop. Money? Mspaint is free, a lowlevel tablet it surprisingly cheep you can get one for around 20 bucks. You can pick up cheep art supplies at the nearest Walmart, Target, or dollar store and get to work. You don’t need expensive equipment to make art, just a pencil and some scratch paper. Accessibility tools are tools made for people with disabilities that can hinder them from having access to the same opportunities or to ease pains and discomforts the disabilities can cause when trying to do every day tasks. There are definitely disabilities that can make it harder to make art But something that removes the need to develop the skill you’re trying to claim you have AT ALL is NOT THE SAME THING

Who knows, at the end of the day maybe there is something to be done with these generators, art is hard to define and it is hard to make lines about what is and isn’t art as a whole. Maybe eventually it will develop into something new and something respectable with it’s own community. But for RIGHT NOW the way it’s being used and the way these artists are trying to treat it and themselves is not it. Right now they’re a community trying to align themselves with one built on the skills they’re specifically trying to avoid and call it the same. Right now their art is dependent solely on the use of unwilling participants. Right now they are trying to pass off this art as the type that they have no understanding or basic skills for. Right now they are actively trying to hurt the respect of digital artists by saying they are outdated and unnecessary for people who want art made but don’t have the skills to do it themselves

[pearl-kite]

So something that I really liked about getting an iPad is that it made me feel more productive. Drawing had fallen off a lot by that point and I rarely did more than a few scribbles in a sketchbook here or there, but getting a tablet and procreate suddenly had me drawing all the time AND everywhere. I loved that.

But I genuinely think I've forgotten how to just sketch, and I think it's the tablet's fault.

I got a wacom intuos 3 in 2011 as a college graduation gift to myself, so I've had a drawing tablet of one kind or another for a long time. But the intuos line isn't a screen tablet; I still need to draw things out analog, on paper, retry, redraw entirely to get things to work the way I want to, then scan it in and work from there. My sketchbook was still an incredibly important part of the process.

I ended up with a lot more sketch than final product, and that was okay, because it was A Lot of Work to get there. Unfortunately, that meant I didn't get there very often, which, while not actually a bad thing, was a bit internally discouraging.

Then I get a screen tablet.

It was SO easy to go from sketch to final product. So easy that I took sketches that would be fine as just sketches into final products. It's gotten to the point where EVERY sketch is supposed to be Something, and I can't NOT follow it the whole way through lines and colors.

It's exhausting, and I think it's smothering my creativity.

One year, I bought a mini moleskine. It was a page-a-day unlined calendar I had seen someone use as a daily sketchbook, and I tried the same. A lot of pages were pretty bland and useless, but I'd get something worthwhile fairly often. Even tried some basic watercolors in it. They discontinued the little things, sadly, but I've found comparable little books.

I can't sketch. I've been trying for the last couple of weeks, and I just. Can't think of anything. I open it, pick up a pencil, and freeze. And I can't help but think that it's because my tablet made it too easy, and my sketching muscle has atrophied away to nothing, and what a loss that is.

I'm going to keep trying, because it's the only way I can get that ability back, but god is it painful.

[katabay]

I hope this is the right blog to ask this and that it won't sound too stupid, but how do you manage to draw such clean lines?

I've been trying my hand on and off at digital art for the past couple of years and drawing straight, clean lines with thin brushes is something I struggle with immensely

this isn't a stupid question at all!

so I actually consider myself someone who is more inclined to using traditional tools (pencil and ink) over digital (I keep several sketchbooks and do all of my studies and rough drafts by hand, I enjoy using water colors and oil paints, etc), and the techniques I use to do traditional art all carry over into how I draw digitally.

before I get into some more specific suggestions, for straight lines I have some more universal advice: a lot of people will draw from the wrist when you will get a much smoother, steadier line if you learn how to pull longer lines with your forearm/shoulder. this is something I learned to do with traditional art, but I carried it over to digital art (it's also vaguely reminiscent of advice I got when I played the violin, if that somehow clarifies the motion I'm trying to describe here. it'll save you a lot of wrist pain in the future!)

and now for the hard work part of this!

if you're willing to give the traditional art route a shot, this is how I'd go about doing it (because anything you learn traditionally can and will carry over to digital): I'd get a cheap sketchbook and do the usual round of artist warm ups (circles, straight lines), and then I'd do the same exercises again with a brush and ink. if you can pull a straight, smooth, steady line in brush and ink, you can pull a straight smooth line in literally anything. this is the main reason why my art looks the way it does, a lot of the traditional art I do, I ink with brushes, and my digital inking style is a direct result of that.

the downside to this is that if you're not used to it, it can be hard and the learning curve can be frustrating, and I've been doing it for a long time (like, over 7+ years now) (I also keep a sketchbook of pen only studies, which is probably the most nerve wracking thing to start, but the payoff is definitely worth it imo) this might not be something you want to do or have the time to invest it. which is totally fine!! because here's part two:

if the above is inaccessible to you in anyway for whatever reason, pen/brush stabilizers! I don't use them because they frustrate me (I know how I want my lines to turn out, so I get annoyed when something tries to 'fix' it for me and personally avoid them/turn the feature off), but I know a lot of people who use digital stabilizers with their digital art! some brushes have a stabilizer built in and you can adjust how much stabilizing you want (I find this a lot with procreate brushes, I always turn it off), clip studio paint has a stabilizer tool built into the program!

anyone who says using the stabilization features in a program/brush is cheating is a liar and a dick.

also if you ever need to draw a regular straight line digitally but with some line variation to it that the program won't give because it's straight line tool is too chunky, a lot of art stores sell these plastic six inch rulers that won't fuck up your screen/tablet, you can slap one of them down and draw a straight line with that sweet pressure variation using that.

[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

[softgrungeprophet]

IT HAS ARRIVED and is working (thank you again @bluef00t !!!!) and as you can see, omg... it's so big... (medium technically) It's def gonna take a tiny bit of getting used to using a tablet this size since I'm used to being able to travel my screen in half the distance, but I can already tell it's much nicer to use because of the size, much less cramped... and it's a fun color! almost makes up for the fact that I can't get a pink laptop these days 😂 (my old laptop was pink 😔)

The whole thing feels really solid too, like, even though it was only 80 bucks it's so much nicer feeling (and looking) than my old Bamboo tablet... like the pen especially is so much more ergonomic AND it has a rubber grip? luxe

the pen buttons are also really clicky and satisfying which is a nice step up from the kind of mushy buttons on the side of the bamboo pen barrel lol

it doesn't have an eraser or anything (but the bottom button is set to swap to it) but I don't mind that too much since i frequently just use my nib to erase anyway so once I get used to it not being there i don't think i'll mind much at all

haven't tried to draw anything for real yet but I've played around testing the pen feel and... the pressure sensitivity though... you guys... i knew increasing sensitivity x8 was gonna be different but it feels so much more responsive 😂 the nib feels pretty nice. I know some people don't like the kind of nibs that have give but I'm already accustomed to that style of nib so it doesn't bother me at all. It's interesting though cause it's shaped different and the way it gives feels like... softer? almost like using a felt pen, which is interesting. It feels pretty nice to me though, and it seems like it's much more responsive with a lot less pressure so I'm hoping this helps me stop pressing down so hard as well, since it responds so smoothly to very light pressure and can put down pretty firm lines more easily (i did try adjusting pressure on my old tablet recently, but it just felt really bad so it didn't work out, but this feels really nice by comparison)

it's like i've been drawing with a rock for 12 years and someone just gave me a pencil for the first time 😂

like I COULD get fine lines like that before but it was much less smooth and not nearly as fine in terms of control and taper (like the dropoff between fine lines and no lines at all)... wow drawing with a modern and current tablet is much nicer it turns out 😂

i do have to put some training wheels on though 😂😂 my old tablet only had four express keys (plus the two pen buttons) so having TEN whole buttons is like, whoa, need to learn a new layout, but very nice to be able to have both undo AND redo instead of just one 😂

i think for me the ideal number of express keys would actually be 13 (for copy, cut and paste lol) but having 10 is really nice

(i put shift on there because previously shift was on my lower pen button alongside right click so that i could draw straight lines without using my keyboard, but pen gets eraser instead and i think it will be more comfortable to press shift with my left hand instead of holding it down on my pen)

(not that i use that SUPER often but i do often enough for it to be useful)

also the touch bar is going to be SO useful??? being able to zoom with my finger... yes..... amazing.......

also the two media keys (touch buttons??? whatever) on the far right are actually basically a dedicated alt-tab and a button to go to desktop

which is also... super nice actually cause using my pen to navigate between programs is a huge pain in the ass so being able to alt-tab sounds super useful... i really like this.... i'm glad i specifically chose the one with the media keys cause I KNOW i will get a lot of use out of them, considering how often i use the media keys on my USB keyboard and how much time i spend listening to music👌

anyway i'm really looking forward to using this for real, it's nice to modernize 😂 and i will try to be very careful not to drop it 😅

[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