#heres to making more art this year AT ANY COST

[ballbuster2000]

Something was bothering me about OP’s take, as an artist in con space.

While I agree that there is a irrefutable space today from what zines original purpose was 40+ years ago when publishing was even more cheap than today, and information that zines provide and continue to provide was not easily accessible the way it is today (albeit- we can definitely make a point that social media suppresses pure free discussion)

the thing is that zines is a colloquial term by the very nature of zines living outside of a rigid space and outside of societal expectation to conform. There is a wide wide array of what zines are and what people feel like zines are. And there is a space in which art zines (and in con spaces it may possibly be referred to as fanzines) exist.

The issue is that art zines is definitely *also* the accepted term for what you would see for $20 at an art con, whether curated with hand selected artists or not. The issue is that people are treating it here like it is making a mockery of what zines are especially in terms of origin. But end of day all zines have the common thread of self expression outside of a mainstream space.

Art zines do not belong in a different word category, and it is in fact the subcategory. They do not include the traditional markers of an artist book and rarely are published in a larger distribution format than the higher end of zines, likely never breaking 1k books in circulation. They are cheaper than an artist book (which may cost $40) and cost more than a zine. They are made with love and can deliberately be made with more expensive materials that the independent artist wants to eat the expenses of in some way. And whether $20 or not, it is good to also remember that original zines could have circulations of 20k at time period where making it was cheaper like in the case of Straight to Hell. There was profit made that allowed some freedoms for such popular zines, but obviously the point isn’t profit but self expression whether $1.25 or $20. A large circulation did not diminish the nature of the zine, but the quality of the paper and the cost seem to be creating a very gatekeepy view of art zines.

They are a niche category. I will not rlly speak on whether or not they are appropriate at *zine conventions* where the creators had a very specific intent, but in the space they definitely do belong (fan conventions) it can be entirely appropriate for them to carry the terms that they do.

Just because the material is intentionally made of higher quality and the price is higher to make a a slight profit off of something that is high effort and polished, doesn’t mean such work has any sort of reputable space outside of self publishing and self expression. You will never see a fan art zine with an ISBN, or a masthead. Deciding to be exclusionary on the topic of price is strange to me.

Here is additional reading material:

grassroots motor sports explaining rise in price of publishing

Literary essay in the space and range art zines inhabit

It does suck that a result of art zines is that some people feel like they cannot create traditional zines. But this is in larger part a fault of social media taking precedent in distributing information rather than the rising popularity of fan art zines.

let people draw and write what they want and let them choose the price they feel is appropriate to the time and effort that they put into it. From the sounds of it, a lot of such zines still keep the spirit of putting excess wealth into nonprofit organizations the creators believe in.

the whole point of a zine is that it's cheap to produce, amateur and homemade. if you're being asked to apply to participate in a print project, it is not a zine. if the final product is being printed and bound professionally, it is not a zine. if you are being asked to enter into any kind of licensing agreement more complex than "my work can be reproduced as part of this publication" it is not a zine. nine times put of ten if the final product costs more than $5 you have left zine country. im so serious about this.

[darkbluekies]

Valentines dates with the ocs♡

warnings: none<3

A/N: i found some times on my breaks to write something small, I hope you'll like it! I hope you're going to have a sweet Valentines, I'm going to study with a course friend and then go fika with my best friend from high school ♡

Silas:

This man is is sucker for dates and would have them every night if he could. Valentines day is his favorite, though, because it gives him a reason to go all out. He'd book an expensive restaurant and let you pick whatever you want from the menu. His men would be guarding every corner of the building.

"Why there are no prices in your menu? Why do you want to know the prices? Are you paying? Who am I kidding, of course you aren't. Silly thing, aren't you cute? I'm taking you out on a date, not the other way around. Pick something."

Dr Kry:

Spending valentines in a hospital is bad enough, but not being able to spend it with anyone is even worse. Dr Kry would act like your boyfriend. He'd come into the room with roses and a box of expensive chocolates and a small gift of some sort that he'd know you would appreciate.

"It's just me, unfortunately, but I hope i can make your day good enough, despite the circumstances. These chocolates, I've been told, are quite the deal. They're exclusive ones from Belgium. Cost me a bit but if they're tasty that's all that matters. And I hope you'll like the sketchbook and the pens i got you, I know how boring it can be in here sometimes. Draw me something, why don't you?"

King Edmund:

This man does not kid around when it comes to valentines day. He will gift you pearls, jewels, clothes, flowers, pets. He will shower you in all his suffocating love and if you dare to show the slightest bit of overwhelm he'll throw a tantrum. A perfect date for him would be something away from people's eyes, maybe take a trip on the royal yacht.

"It's nice to be away for a while, isn't it? Away from everyone lusting over you. Here, I can have you all to myself. I can't imagine a more perfect valentine's day. Do you like how I've decorated? Every flower in the kingdom has been cut and put in here, all for you."

Jerry:

Unlike the others, she detests Valentine's day. She doesn't believe in showing love once a year through capitalistic marketing tactics. Why should a teddy bear with an 'i love you' heart matter more than a normal teddy bear any other day of the year? Instead, she'd make Valentine's day into "your day" where you could choose a date and Jerry is not allowed to complain. This year, you've chosen a museum.

"What? No, I'm not making faces. I'm not complaining, baby, I'm just not understanding why a blob on a canvas is more popular than actual pieces of art. But if you like them, I do too."

Hedwig:

Hedwig's almost as bad as Edmund. She'll spend a fortune on gifts for you and cling onto you all day. She'll want you to match and will treat the entire day as a date. You'll go to amusement parks, cafés, restaurants, shops and eventually ending the day at her home where the two of you will have a cosy home date.

"I'm so happy, i love you so much. Valentine's day is my favorite day, did you know that? I love when people express love. And I love expressing my love for you. I'm so glad I can spend my Valentine's with you, I wouldn't want to spend it any other way."

[maikaartwork]

Artists, let’s talk about Instagram commission scammers

There’s been a huge rise in commission scammers recently, mostly on Instagram. A lot of new artists don’t know what to look out for, so I figured this might help people.

How they begin

Usually the scammer will write to you asking about a commission. Something deceptively cute - mostly I encounter asks about pet portraits, with one or two photos sent. They’ll probably try to sell you a sweet little story, like “It’s for my son’s birthday”. They will insist that they love your artwork and style, even though they don’t follow you or never liked a single piece of your art.

What to look out for:

Their profiles will either be private, empty, or filled with very generic stuff, dating at most a few years back.

Their language will be very simple, rushed or downright bad. They might use weird emojis that nobody ever uses. They will probably send impatient “??” when you don’t answer immediately. They’re in a crunch - lots of people to scam, you know. 

They’ll give you absolutely no guidelines. No hints on style, contents aside from (usually) the pet and often a name written on the artwork, no theme. Anything you draw will be perfect. Full artistic freedom. In reality they don’t really care for this part.

They’ll offer you a ridiculous amount of money. Usually 100 or 300 USD (EDIT: I know it might not be a lot for some work. What I mean here - way higher than your asking price, 100 and 300 are standard rates they give). They’ll often put in a phrase like “I am willing to compensate you financially” and “I want the best you can draw”, peppered with vague praise. It will most likely sound way too good to be true. That’s because it is.

Where the scam actually happens

If you agree, they will ask you for a payment method. They’ll try to get to this part as soon as possible. 

Usually, they’ll insist on PayPal. And not just any PayPal. They’ll always insist on sending you a transfer immediately. None of that PayPal Invoice stuff (although some do have methods for that, too). They’ll really, REALLY want to get your PayPal email address and name for the transfer - that’s what they’re after. If you insist on any other method, they’ll just circle back to the transfer “for easiest method”. If you do provide them with the info, most likely you’ll soon get a scam email. It most likely be a message with a link that will ultimately lead to bleeding you dry. Never, and I mean NEVER click on any emails or links you get from them. It’s like with any other scam emails you can ever get.

A few things can happen here:

They overpay you and ask for the difference to be wired back. Usually it will go to a different account and you’ll never see that money again. 

They’ll overpay you “for shipping costs” and ask you to forward the difference to their shipping company. Just like before, you’ll never see that money again.

The actual owner of the account (yes, they most likely use stolen accounts to wire from) will realize there’s been something sketchy going on and request a refund via official channels. Your account will be charged with fees and/or you get in trouble for fraudulent transactions. 

You will transfer the money from your PayPal credit to your bank account and they will make a shitstorm when they want their money back, making your life a living hell. They will call you a scammer, a thief, make wild claims, wearing you down and forcing you into wiring money “back” - aka to their final destination account. 

Never, EVER wire money to anyone. This is not how it’s supposed to go. Use PayPal Invoice for secure exchanges where the client needs to provide you with their email, not the other way around.

You can find more info on that method HERE.

What to do when you encounter a scammer:

Ask the right questions: inquire about the style, which artwork of yours they like, as much details as you can. They won’t supply you with any good answers.

Don’t let the rush of the exchange, their praise and the promise of insanely good money to get to you. That’s how they operate, that’s how they make you lose vigilance. 

Don’t engage them. As soon as you realize it might be a scam, block them. The sense of urgency they create with their rushed exchange, and pressure they put on you will sooner or later get to you and you might do something that you’ll regret later.

Never wire money to anyone. Never give out your personal data. Never provide your email, name, address or credit card info. 

Don’t be deceived by receiving a payment, if you somehow agree to go along with it. Just because it’s there now doesn’t mean it can’t be withdrawn. 

Here is a very standard example of such an exchange. I realized it’s a scam pretty fast and went along with it, because I wanted good screenshots for you guys, so I tried going very “by the book” with it. 

Please share this post, make it reach as many artists as possible. Let young or inexperienced artists know that this is going on. So many people have no idea that this is a thing. Let’s help each other out. If you think I missed any relevant info, do add it as an rb!

Also, if you know other scam methods that you think should be shared, consider rb-ing this post with them below. Having a master post of scam protection would AWESOME to have in the art community.

[tiredguyswag]

It's my birthday today, and I am lucky to be able to celebrate it in the comfort of my home! Some, however are not so lucky.

It would mean the world to me if you could give at least a small donation of $5 to the fundraiser I've linked below. Please reblog as well after donating, or even if you can't donate, so that it may reach others who are capable of donating.

I can vouch for the legibility of this fundraiser! Here's a post by @gothhabiba explaining the same. He is the brother-in-law of @ma7moudgaza2, so you can rest assured that the money is going to a good cause.

Ahmed (@ilovelifetbh) has two small children. One is three years old while the other, Anas, is only one. He was born in the beginning of the days of the genocide and has known nothing but death and destruction his whole life! Can you imagine! Please put yourself in his shoes for a second, and be compassionate. As fellow human beings, help restore hope to him and his wife after the tragedy of the destruction of his house. The money will help him rebuild his house and provide for his children.

It is not an exaggeration to say your contribution could save lives! Ahmed currently only has $226 on his fundraiser! That's extremely low, it's not even enough to cover costs of the absolute basic necessities of life in Gaza, what with the soaring prices!

I am willing to make you a fully coloured drawing of anything you'd like for the first five people who make a donation of more than $50. Just reply to this post and I will reach out to you with details on what I can do (provided you have proof of donation).

The first ten donations of more than $10 will get smaller doodles depending on the amount donated (again, provided you have proof of donation)

Here are some examples of my art:

Apologies for the tag:

@victoriawhimsey @jewishdainix @timetravellingkitty @jackie-shitposts

 @oorevitcejda @yellowwperil @sandersgrey @ofide @rukafais

@officialpenisenvy @theonpilled @fleurrice @tetrafelino @think-queer

@timothylawrence @roakkaliha @lostacelonnie @huzni @laurajameskinney

@gamb0fficial @vincentspork @teabisexual @officialscud @evilponds

@dinodamage @yurischolar @lune-tic @lipid @newporters

@witticismz @dovv @capricornpropaganda @charlott2n @determinate-negation

@parsleyrosemarybotch @tadpoledyke @userpeggycarter @thedigitalbard @melon-colli

@demilypyro @lesbocrocker @kahin @chososhairbuns

@zamanassad @wayneradiotv @jihaad @evillesbianvillain 

@stuckinapril @goldenspirits @scarletlich @rongzhi @marxistcomedy

[eye-of-enigmatic-thought]

HEY! As you may have read on this sheet, I am gonna start doing commissions to help support my friend @sfaamq10, who is a Palestinian mother stuck in the war and is trying to get her and her family to escape genocide! She is vetted by 90-ghost here*, if you do not know who 90-ghost is, he is a Palestinian that vets legitimate fundraisers, he has had his blog for many years and has posted about Palestine for a long time before this war.

If you send me proof that you've donated to her, I will draw art for you in turn! Because her fundraiser is in USD, all the prices here will be in USD. Even if you are not interested in my art, I still ask consider supporting her!

You can send and make a commission in this google form here, terms are also included.

And you can donate to Safaa here

*The account despite being deactivated is also Safaa and she has since changed her GFM to Chuffed due to issues with the former, but I can vouch that this is the same person and that you should donate to her Chuffed rather than GFM.

If you can't read the sheet above, the information and prices are also listed under this cut!

I Will Draw:

-Human/Furry/Monster/Robot/etc

-Mild Nudity (pinups/body refs/etc)*1

-Scenery

-Gore

I Will NOT Draw:

-Explicit NSFW/Fetish*2

-Complicated Machinery

-Hateful Imagery

*1 You must also be 18+ to commission any nudity.

*2 I debate if I'm okay with this, as theoretically I don't mind working with mild fetish art, but I'd rather wait until I have more experience, sorry!

_

Manga styled icon/avatar/pfp - $5 each

Because the minimum amount that can be donated is 5$, I can in turn give a easy-to-make manga styled avatar drawing! These will be the cheapest I can offer and you are free to ask for multiple so long as youve donated the appropriate amount. ($5 x 2 = $10 = 2 icons.)

_

Portraits & Figures

____________Graphical__/__Painterly

+1 Bust______$10.00______$20.00

+1 Halfbody__$15.00______$35.00

+1 Fullbody__$20.00_____$45.00

Note: '+1' refers to the amount of traits a commission can have and how much it may cost altogether.

Example: A piece with two graphical fullbodies would be $40.00 altogether

_

Landscape & Backgrounds

____________Graphical____Painterly

+1 Simple____$10.00______$20.00

+1 Partial____$20.00______$45.00

+1 Complex__$35.00______$65.00

Simple refers to quick and abstract backgrounds.

Partial refers to simple scenes that may use props.

Complex are entire scenes, and the amount of detail may affect the price, please discuss with me to confirm the price before you donate if you want something complex.

_

Character References

____________________________Graphical__/__Painterly

+1 Fullbody__________________$20.00______$45.00

+1Expression/Detail__________$10.00_______$20.00

Note: Remember the '+1' prices, these two examples would cost more than the listed prices here!

Contact me:

Instagram: Scarfasaurus

Furaffinity: Scarfasaurus

Tumblr: eye-of-enigmatic-thought

Email: enigma.art@outlook.com

[were--ralph]

why exactly do you dislike generative art so much? i know its been misused by some folks, but like, why blame a tool because it gets used by shitty people? Why not just... blame the people who are shitty? I mean this in genuinely good faith, you seem like a pretty nice guy normally, but i guess it just makes me confused how... severe? your reactions are sometimes to it. There's a lot of nuance to conversation about it, and by folks a lot smarter than I (I suggest checking out the Are We Art Yet or "AWAY" group! They've got a lot on their page about the ethical use of Image generation software by individuals, and it really helped explain some things I was confused about). I know on my end, it made me think about why I personally was so reactive about Who was allowed to make art and How/Why. Again, all this in good faith, and I'm not asking you to like, Explain yourself or anything- If you just read this and decide to delete it instead of answering, all good! I just hope maybe you'll look into *why* some people advocate for generative software as strongly as they do, and listen to what they have to say about things -🦜

if Ai genuinely generated its own content I wouldn't have as much of a problem with it, however what Ai currently does is scrape other people's art, collect it, and then build something based off of others stolen works without crediting them. It's like. stealing other peoples art, mashing it together, then saying "this is mine i can not only profit of it but i can use it to cut costs in other industries.

this is more evident by people not "making" art but instead using prompts. Its like going to McDonalds and saying "Burger. Big, Juicy, etc, etc" then instead of a worker making the burger it uses an algorithm to build a burger based off of several restaurant's recepies.

example

the left is AI art, the right is one of the artists (Lindong) who it pulled the art style from. it's literally mass producing someone's artstyle by taking their art then using an algorithm to rebuild it in any context. this is even more apparent when you see ai art also tries to recreate artists watermarks and generally blends them together making it unintelligible.

Aside from that theres a lot of other ethical problems with it including generating pretty awful content, including but not limited to cp. It also uses a lot of processing power and apparently water? I haven't caught up on the newer developements i've been depressed about it tbh

Then aside from those, studios are leaning towards Ai generation to replace having to pay people. I've seen professional voice actors complain on twitter that they haven't gotten as much work since ai voice generation started, artists are being cut down and replaced by ai art then having the remaining artists fix any errors in the ai art.

Even beyond those things are the potential for misinformation. Here's an experiment: Which of these two are ai generated?

ready?

These two are both entirely ai generated. I have no idea if they're real people, but in a few months you could ai generate a Biden sex scandal, you could generate politics in whatever situation you want, you can generate popular streamers nude, whatever. and worse yet is ai generated video is already being developed and it doesn't look bad.

I posted on this already but as of right now it only needs one clear frame of a body and it can generate motion. yeah there are issues but it's been like two years since ai development started being taken seriously and we've gotten to this point already. within another two years it'll be close to perfected. There was even tests done with tiktokers and it works. it just fucking works.

There is genuinely not one upside to ai art. at all. it's theft, it's harming peoples lives, its harming the environment, its cutting jobs back and hurting the economy, it's invading peoples privacy, its making pedophilia accessible, and more. it's a plague and there's no vaccine for it. And all because people don't want to take a year to learn anatomy.

[queensunshinee]

So sweet || Patrick Zweig x reader, Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex), drinking, mention of an eating disorder, again, I really don't know what's going on here. It's so weird. Just a small but important reminder: English is not my first language, so please don’t be mad if there are any embarrassing mistakes- I’m really trying my best!

Word Count: 7.3k

So sweet

Patrick wanted to know what is it about you that makes Art lose it. You're not the funniest, not the best at tennis—or at anything Patrick has ever seen you do, to be honest—and you're definitely not the prettiest. You're not the best. You're just not.

"She’s just so sweet," Art had said when the two of them were sitting in one corner of the Stanford cafeteria, and you were in another. Patrick didn’t see it; he thought you were scheming. That you were the least sweet person he knew. And because Art has known you for so many years, Patrick has known you long enough not to trust you. Who picks a college just because the guy she’s sleeping with also chose Stanford? Only a conniving witch. Someone who wants to pull Art away from him and Tashi. Someone who wants to pull Art away from his dreams. From tennis. Someone who wants Art all to herself. Patrick figured it out years ago. You can fool Art. Fuck it, you can fool yourself if you want. But you can’t fool Patrick.

And it doesn’t matter at all that you and Art have known each other since you were six. It doesn’t matter that all the evidence points to your parents being responsible for your academic choices. It doesn’t matter that it’s only since you got to Stanford that you started sleeping together; he never touched you inappropriately even once before college. Patrick didn’t like you before you two started having sex, so he sure as hell doesn’t like you now. You didn’t even bother to sit with them. You didn’t even bother to say a simple 'hi' to him. You don’t respect him enough to sit at the same table when he comes to visit Tashi and Art. You don’t respect him. Period.

“Do you think she’s ever eaten a burger?” Patrick suddenly asks, completely ignoring Art’s rambling about competitions and trying to inspect your plate from afar. He can’t see what’s on it, but he’s sure there’s nothing nutritious enough there. “I know for a fact she’s eaten more than one burger in her life,” Art rolls his eyes. “Why are you so obsessed with her?” he asks for the millionth time. He asked it every summer. He asked it after Patrick went on about how insane it was that you and Art were going to the same college.

“I’m not obsessed. I just think there’s no way her pussy smells normal with that diet,” Patrick says, earning himself a well-deserved elbow jab from Art. Art never talks about you that vulgarly. Art doesn’t talk about you much at all. That’s part of what annoys Patrick: that they can talk about any other girl, but with you, it’s never an option. Even about Tashi, he managed to talk to Art. He gave him the signal. He told him. But Art doesn’t share anything about what he does with you.

Patrick knows about Melanie from statistics that Art slept with. Patrick knows about Georgia or Regina or whatever her name is who works at the library and made it to second base with Art. He knows down to the exact books they leaned on. But he doesn’t know anything about you. Art keeps you to himself as if you’re some treasure he needs to guard at all costs. Patrick hates you and the broccoli you’re shoving into your mouth while reading a book, ignoring the outside world. You’re such a fucking smug witch. You won’t be able to fool him. . . . Art will never tell Patrick that there are moments when he thinks he loves you. Sometimes. Most of the time, he doesn’t. Most of the time, he knows he loves Tashi. The same Tashi that Patrick took for himself. Snatched her right out of Art’s hands.

But with you, it’s different. With you, it’s been building for years. You’re the one he smeared snot on when you were six, and somehow, you kept coming over to his house to watch cartoons with him. You kept showing up at the tennis court, reading a book while he practiced. You kept being an inseparable part of him.

Art knows you love him. It’s so clear to him, almost as clear as the fact that his first dog was named Jameson and that he died when Art was 8-years-old. You held his hand when he forced his parents to bury him. He didn’t want you to hold it, tried to shake you off for a few seconds, but you insisted. He never told you, but it felt nice.

Your first kiss was with Art. He insisted. Of course, he insisted. You love him so much, and you’re so, so sweet. Always polite and blushing at the right moments, and at 14, he kissed you. Explained to you that you couldn’t start high school without knowing how to kiss. He was doing you a favor. You said “thank you” afterward, like the polite girl you always were.

You kept kissing after that, as if it was the natural thing to do. Every time he came to visit in the summer and you’d come over. Every time he went to your place. You’d end your time together with his lips exploring yours. So sweet.

He will never tell Patrick that he knows you better than he knows himself. That he knows all your secrets just as you know all of his own. That sometimes he melts under your gaze and would be willing to tell you his ATM code if you asked. He will never reveal this to Patrick. Or you. He will never tell him that sometimes he feels like you’re such a deep part of him that you are simply him. And he is simply you. And when he thinks too deeply about that, he’s capable of barging into your lecture, telling the professor there’s been an emergency, dragging you into the janitor’s closet, staring for a second at your terrified face, and fucking you there on one of the shelves. Not that it happened. Maybe. He won't tell anyone.

And he will never give you the chance to go all in for him because it’s too terrifying. Because with you, he feels helpless, out of control, almost embarrassed. And because Patrick hates you. He’s never seen Patrick hate anyone as much as he hates you. And Art doesn’t think he can be in a relationship with someone Patrick doesn’t like. Which, in itself, is a crazy thought.

But Patrick loves Tashi, and Tashi has nothing sweet about her. No look that radiates tenderness or sweetness. She doesn’t smell like cinnamon and vanilla. She doesn’t have a soul that wants to share secrets with him. Tashi doesn’t look at him like he holds the moon. Tashi doesn’t look at him as if he could fill an empty space in her heart. Because she has no empty space in her heart. Tennis fills her heart. Tennis and Patrick. Art looks at her heart from the outside. He’s not a part of her story. He so badly wants to be part of her story. He thinks it's a need at this point.

And every time his mind fills with Tashi, he finds some random girl willing to stroke his ego (and his dick) just enough to make him forget. He never goes for the easy option; he doesn’t go to you. He only wants to be with you when he’s thinking of you. When you fill him so completely that he can’t breathe. When he physically needs you in front of him. Not when he wants someone else to touch him. Not when he wants Tashi Duncan so badly he could cry.

He looks at her and Patrick, unable to understand what she sees in him. What she finds in his best friend. The scatterbrained guy who doesn’t shower every day, who wears the same underwear longer than is acceptable, who snores while laughing, who eats whatever he wants, whenever he wants, like he isn’t trying to make a living as a pro. Like everything is a joke. Art doesn’t understand how Tashi can waste her time on a joke. . . . "What are you studying, Little Dove?" Patrick pulled out one of your earbuds when he found you tucked away in a corner of the library. He saw how you physically recoiled at the nickname he’d given you the first time you met. Not a nickname you liked. That only made him want to call you that enough times for it to be engraved on your gravestone when you die. For you to maybe one day think it was your real name. For it to become a part of you. Little Dove. He didn’t even know why he called you that. It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t good either. But it wasn’t necessarily bad.

"What are you doing here?" you replied, half-indifferent, reaching out for him to give you back the earbud he’d so brutally yanked. "Killing time. I had a fight with Tashi, so I can’t go to her match. Art’s obviously there because well, he’s in love with my girlfriend." He paused to study your reaction, wanting to see how you’d respond to the fact that Art didn’t love you. That he loved what belonged to Patrick, and you didn’t belong to Patrick, so he would never love you. Not really. Not entirely. "You’re the only person I know here. It’s your job to entertain me," he said, flashing a fake smile.

Everything about Patrick was fake. That was something you’d learned to be indifferent to years ago. Every time he jabbed at you or said something vulgar to disgust you, you knew it was fake. There was no point in taking him seriously. You pitied him the way you’d pity a little kid whose ice cream cone had fallen and no one was willing to buy him a new one. "I’m not a clown, Patrick. I have a test tomorrow," you said and snatched the earbud from his hand. He didn’t retaliate. He simply sat down across from you, examining you more intensely than you were comfortable with. His gaze pinned you like a scalpel. You tried to breathe evenly. He’s always like this. He’s always like this. Remember that he’s always like this, and everything will be fine. This is not the time to panic. Not in front of Patrick Fucking Zweig. He can’t win a war you’re not actively fighting.

"How’s life, Little Dove? Happy at Stanford with Art? Better now that he finally agreed to fuck you?" He was blunt to the point that it made you glare at him and wrinkle your nose for a second. That only deepened the smirk plastered across his face. "Do you need something?" you asked, trying to sound as though his vulgarity couldn’t faze you. As though everyone around you spoke that way all the time. As though your pathetic sex life wasn’t plastered on your forehead like a billboard. He was laughing at you. Patrick Zweig was laughing at you.

The thought that he might know every intimate detail of what you and Art did in bed made your entire body shiver. He could see it on you. He knew he’d won. But you weren’t even playing. You wanted to scream you weren’t even playing. No sound came out. He’d won. He knew it, and you knew it, and there would never be a draw again. Because you would both always know he’d won. That Art had told him how you moan. Maybe Art had even figured out that you fake all your orgasms because you’re probably broken so he told Patrick that too. Maybe it was all more humiliating than you could imagine. Maybe you wouldn’t be able to talk to Art ever again. Maybe-

"You’re overthinking it, Little Dove. I can see it on your face. It’s not that deep," he rolled his eyes and took a bite of an apple he’d pulled out (you had no idea from where). "You can’t eat in here. This is a library," you mumbled, grateful for the change of subject. Any change of subject. You’d be willing to talk about cactuses at this point if necessary. "I’m not a student here," he reminded you, as if you’d forgotten. As if that wasn’t the sole reason for your fleeting happiness- that you didn’t have to see his face here 24/7. Only sometimes. Only when he was visiting people who actually mattered to him.

You put the earbud he’d pulled from you a few moments ago back in your ear, signaling to him that the conversation was over and that you hoped not to see him again for the next year. Or ever, if you're being honest. You wanted to go back to studying in peace. To not think about the brazen guy in front of you. The one so emotionally entangled with the boy you loved that sometimes you felt there was no way to win. No way to beat Patrick Zweig. Because he came gift-wrapped in a package deal with Art. And once, you tried so hard to make him like you. You tried to fit into their conversations, laugh at the crude jokes, nod when Art nodded. Just so Patrick would stop looking at you with disdain, stop looking at you like you were a stray cat too wet to save. Like one that had rabies. Like one that needed to be put down.

He just kept staring at you, eating his apple as if rules didn’t apply to him. As if he were above what was allowed and what wasn’t. Making you hate him a little more, but admire him just as much because you would never have the guts to act like the world belonged to you. You thought it had something to do with the amount of money he grew up with. Art once told you Patrick had two pools (in one of his houses). Who needs more than one pool in a house anyway? But that was all you needed to know about him—he was privileged enough to believe he had the right to treat people like they were beneath him. And you’d never admit it, but you didn’t want to be beneath him. You didn’t want to lose to Patrick Zweig. You didn’t want to lose when you knew the prize was having Art. . . . He finds out that Tashi got injured completely by accident. He leaves you alone in the library because you bore him. You don’t let him sink his claws into you, something he realizes he liked doing only when he's around you. So, he goes out to smoke a cigarette, what else is there for him to do when he’s stuck here while Tashi plays and Art makes eyes at her from the crowd? What else does he have to do when you're sitting in front of a book and ignoring his existence and the nasty words? And then someone said something about seeing Tashi's knee fly through the air, and Patrick’s cigarette fell out of his mouth.

He asked three different people where the athletes' clinic was. Two ignored him, and one gave him wrong directions. He found the clinic on his own, trying to make sense of the campus signage. He felt like it was taking him forever. In hindsight, maybe it was better that it took him longer. Because Tashi looked devastated, Art looked lost, and both of them screamed at him. Art’s scream hurt more. He wouldn’t admit it, but he felt Art’s scream all over his body. It made him shiver.

And that’s how he lost Art Donaldson forever. Checkmate by Tashi Duncan. He didn’t expect that. He thought only you could take his place in Art’s life. Never Tashi. He thought you were the only one Art would lose control for. Maybe he looked at everything wrong. What a terrifying thought, to realize you spent years trying to beat someone without noticing the other players. Absolute blindness. He felt lost. Stuck in your disgusting university. Stuck in the loop that his life dragged him into. No matter how much he tried to think about it in the last half hour, he couldn’t find a way out. He couldn’t see a world where he and Art could be friends again.

‘I've got your bag, you forgot it in the library,’ his phone beeped with a message from you. Another message with your room number. He nodded to himself, even though no one could see. He wiped away some of the tears that had fallen from him, hoping no one would see that either.

He knocked on your door loudly, not caring about the other students living in the hallway. You opened quickly, intending to say everything you think about him, but in the hour and a half he’d been gone from your sight, something in Patrick’s gaze had changed. You’d never seen him like this, and it made you lean against the doorframe, mouth half open. You know for sure that he cried, the trail of tears was obvious. You know for sure that he was confused, his gaze zigzagging. The famous smirk he dedicates to you at every moment wasn’t there.

"Who died?" you asked quietly, because you couldn’t find any other reason for what you were seeing in front of you. He just passed through you, as if your room was his own. As if he had an invitation. As if you had to let him in. "Can I sleep here tonight?" he asked. His leg was shaking. He looked the worst you’ve ever seen him. "What happened to Tashi's room-" "Please (Y/N)," he used your actual name, "I’ll be out of your hair by morning. You won’t even feel like I was here, there are no more buses, and my car’s at the tournament site," he explained incoherently but clearly enough for you to nod. For you to understand that something terrible had happened. Bad enough that he couldn’t sleep at Tashi’s. Bad enough that he couldn’t sleep at Art’s. The thought of it made you cringe because the only thing that could have happened, the only thing that could have caused Patrick to fold in front of you like this-

"Am I overthinking this?" you asked after what felt like an eternity. When you were lying on the bed in the dark, and Patrick was lying on a makeshift pile of sheets and pillows on the floor next to you. You hoped he’d tell you that you didn’t need to think about it too much. That he’d tell you the same thing he said to you in the library. "Not this time," he said almost in a whisper, "I’m sorry," he added. Neither of you knew what he was apologizing for; For how he acted all these years or was he apologizing on behalf of Art? On behalf of the person who until just a few hours ago was his best friend. Patrick thinks an apology won’t be enough for either of you. He tries to sleep. When he leaves, he doesn’t write you a note. But there’s a flash of understanding when he looks at you before he walks out; Art was right, there’s something sweet about you. Patrick will never admit it. But what reason would he have to admit it now? Art is no longer part of his life, and he’s pretty sure Art won’t be part of yours just as quickly. You and Patrick both lost him, you just don’t know it yet. He almost feels sorry about how out of the loop you are. And what connection do you and Patrick have without Art? He thinks he’ll miss you. He saw you move slightly, one leg sticking out from under the blanket. He’s sure he’ll miss you. What a humbling thought. . . . You haven't seen Art for a week. And that's okay. Because he doesn't owe you anything. He made sure to remind you at every opportunity that he doesn't owe you anything. Not with words. Never with words. With actions. By acting like he doesn't see you, even though you both know he does. He never sat with you in the cafeteria. He never introduced you to his friends from the tennis team. He never introduced you to Tashi. He drew a very clear line about who you are to him, and you decided years ago that it's okay. That it's enough for you. That Art is yours in the summer. That Art is yours at night. That Art is yours when he wants to be yours.

He doesn't want to be anymore. You can see it in him because on the rare occasions you do see him in the cafeteria, he looks away the second your eyes accidentally meet his. On the rare occasions you do see him this week, his arm is half-wrapped around some girl you don't know. He's trying to tell you something without saying it out loud. Hurt you without really hurting you. He's trying to remind you that he doesn't owe you anything.

You'll never tell him it hurts. You'll never tell him that when you were ten, your mom, half-drunk, told you that to be loved, you'd have to sacrifice a lot. You don't know why you remember that, but you do. And since then, all you've done is sacrifice and sacrifice and sacrifice until sometimes there's nothing left to give. And now is one of those times when there's nothing left to give. You look at him from across the room, and he's a stranger to you, and you're a stranger to him.

You expected him to say something when it happened. You expected a hug, and if he were sensitive enough, a kiss. You expected life to flip upside down and for the sun to stop rising. But life went on, and your sacrifices stayed behind. Along with secrets and hugs and caresses and tears and memories. So many memories. All of it left behind. You can handle heartbreak. Everyone can. You won't be the first to sacrifice and not be heard by God. You won't be the first to starve yourself, and you won't be the first to wait for a phone call that never came. You won't be the first to cry and cry and cry.

After two weeks, you stopped waiting for a message. You stopped expecting a 'hello' in the hallway. You stopped hoping that Art Donaldson would knock on your door in the middle of the night. After two weeks, you looked at him one last time with pleading eyes. With an almost tortured look. After two weeks, you decided you wouldn't sacrifice anything more for Art Donaldson.

After two weeks, you ordered pizza and ate the whole box. He doesn't love you. He doesn't owe you anything. It's okay. You're okay. If not now, then soon you will be. . . . Art spent all his free time helping Tashi recover. He missed Patrick the way you'd miss a vital organ that had to be removed in an emergency surgery. He missed Patrick's messages from the tour. He missed his stories. He missed hearing him talk about a show Art had never watched and never planned to watch. He missed Patrick, but he had Tashi. He missed Patrick, but it was necessary, and one day he wouldn’t miss Patrick anymore, and he’d still have Tashi.

It’s different with you. He doesn’t just miss you—he’s hollow without you. He doesn’t know who he is without your admiring gaze. Without your nose brushing his in the middle of the night. He doesn’t know who he is without you ever since he learned how your skin feels under his touch. And he thought he’d be brave enough to walk into your room and just tell you that he can’t keep doing what the two of you have been doing your whole lives. He can’t keep playing this game. Because it’s not fair. Because he wants to be somewhere else. Because you weigh him down.

He knew he’d be in trouble if things got too serious with you, so he followed all the rules. He never introduced you to his friends. He never took you on a date. He never called you his girlfriend. He did everything right, and he’s still in trouble. That frustrates him more than anything.

He’s noticed that you don’t seek his gaze anymore. That you don’t try to catch his attention. That you’ve stopped sending him messages. He’s noticed that you understood the painfully obvious hint of “no,” and he hated himself for it. He showered that day for almost an hour. Scrubbed himself until his skin was red. As if trying to wash you off his body. As if trying to cleanse the filth he carries in his soul. As if trying to convince himself he’s not a bad person.

He found comfort in the fact that summer was almost here. That it wouldn’t be up to him. That there would be family dinners. That your parents would invite him, and his parents would invite you. That someone would force you both to be in the same room. He found comfort in knowing he wouldn’t have a choice. He didn’t want a choice. He wanted to see how you were handling it. He always sees you immersed in a book. Immersed in a conversation with someone he doesn’t know. Immersed. So immersed. Once, he thought that look -that ability to see into someone’s soul- was reserved only for him. How presumptuous of him. How foolish. How fucking selfish. . . . Patrick sent you a picture of a pigeon that wouldn’t leave him alone while he was eating pita on a bench in some park. He didn’t know why he did it. You’re not friends. You were never friends. But he saw that ridiculous pigeon and wondered if there was something about it that might remind you of him. He wondered if you and Art were still you and Art. He wondered and wondered until he sent the picture. Maybe you wouldn’t reply, but ignoring something wasn’t your style. You’re too good to ignore someone. You don’t have any malice in you. He doesn’t know when he started thinking you didn’t have any malice, because up until two months ago, he thought you were a scheming witch.

'You don’t know how to take pictures.' -(Y/N)-

'Look at you bothering me while I'm eating, little dove' -P- He smiled as he typed.

'Are you bored?' -(Y/N)-

'Maybe I miss you like you clearly miss me' -P- He didn’t know why he wrote that. He didn’t know what he wanted from you, if he was being honest with himself. But he wanted something. He wanted someone. Everyone deserves someone, and Patrick deserves someone too.

'You’re full of shit' -(Y/N)- He could imagine you rolling your eyes as you typed that. He knows you don’t talk like that. He thinks it’s something reserved just for him.

He decided to call because typing with food in his hand was too much effort. You answered quickly, out of breath. “Are you in the middle of sex?” he asked, unable to stop himself. “Why do you always have to say the grossest thing possible?” you shot back. He was glad you couldn’t see him because if you could, you’d hold the grin on his face against him. “What’s gross about sex, little dove? It’s natural-” “Why did you call?” you cut him off, not giving him any more points. “Just wanted to ask how you’re doing.” His voice sounded smaller. Embarrassed. You’re not friends. You never were. That’s not the nature of your relationship. There’s nothing he loves about you.

“I’m fine. Busy with school.” He could imagine you shrugging. “You’re going home soon, right? Summer break.” He knew what that used to mean for you and Art. He didn’t know what it meant now. He was fishing for answers, trying to figure out where things stood between you two. He wanted to know if Art had cut you out of his life with the brutality of a killer or if he was still keeping you wrapped in a ribbon, belonging only to him. He thought the former sounded more like Art.

“I’m probably staying at Stanford, for obvious reasons.” He could hear your voice, quiet as though you didn’t want to admit it. “It’s not fair,” Patrick said. “You’re supposed to enjoy your summer.” He added, growing frustrated with how inconsiderate Art was, with the monopoly Art held over your shared neighborhood. Bull-fucking-shit; “I’ve got two weeks off, and my parents are abroad. You could come to my lake house if you want a change of scenery,” he said, spitting the words out quickly before he could regret the invitation. Art was the only one who’d ever been invited there.

“That’s nice of you.” You said. He could hear the surprise you tried to hide in your voice. “I mean it,” he said, much more determined now. “It’ll be fun. My parents have the most impressive alcohol collection you’ll ever see.” He didn’t know what he was doing or which part of his brain was speaking for him right now. “I’ll think about it,” you said, wrapping up the call with a few more sentences. It felt like a win. And more than anything, Patrick needed a win. . . . "Is it true?" you heard Art's voice before you lifted your head from the book you were reading. "Hey, Art," you said with the most genuine smile you could muster, ignoring your racing heartbeat that only quickened. The truth was, you hadn’t seen him this close to you in two months. "You’re not going home for the break?" He sat down across from you without an invitation. "Nope," you said, as if it were obvious. As if that had been your plan all along. As if three months ago, you hadn’t whispered to each other in the dead of night all the things you’d do over the summer. As if you’d never loved him.

"You weren’t planning to tell me?" he asked, his gaze never leaving you. All you could do was raise an eyebrow because, honestly, where did he get the audacity? Where did he get the nerve to sit down across from you and make demands? Where did he get the idea that he owed you nothing, but you owed him everything? It’s your fault. You know it’s your fault. You taught him that you’d give every part of yourself for just a sliver of attention. But you don’t need that from him anymore. He’s a stranger. A stranger whose favorite scent you know. A stranger you’ve seen cry at Titanic. A stranger whose taste still lingers on the tip of your tongue. A stranger you know too well.

"No," you answered honestly. Because frankly, what else is there to say to him? "Are you serious? Why aren’t you going home?" he demanded answers. Demanded and demanded and demanded, after you gave and gave and gave. It’s your fault. Your mother’s fault and her foolish advice. You spoon-fed him love. "Because I have other plans. I’m sorry, am I missing something here, Art? We haven’t talked in two months, and I don’t understand what the issue is now." You didn’t want to be rude. Not to Art. Not to anyone. Sometimes to Patrick, but only because he was the most vulgar person you’d ever met. But Art was gentle and sensitive and beautiful, and harsh words had no place in your conversations with him.

"What plans?" he ignored your jab, but you could see him swallow hard, his eyebrows knitting together as if you’d sent him to work in a coal mine all summer. "I’m going to a friend’s," you found yourself shrugging. "Who? Someone I know?" he asked. "No," you felt guilty for the lie, "Why is this your business, Art?" you tried to make him leave or at least give you an answer. "We had plans too," he said quietly, as if revealing one last secret to you.

"I don’t remember." His expression changed in seconds. It was the look you’d only seen when he played tennis or tried to fend someone off you at one of the parties he told you to come to. Ice. He stood up and walked away within moments. Maybe this is the closure you two needed. Maybe it’s for the best. . . . Until the very last moment, Patrick didn’t believe you’d come. He waited for your bus by the side of the road, and when you got off, dressed in a floral summer dress and an oversized hat, signaling to the driver that you had a suitcase in the luggage compartment, Patrick stood frozen in place, his mouth agape. Because if someone had told him six months ago that he’d want to spend his free time in the summer with you, he would have laughed in their face. If someone had told him you’d show up in this remote place, in that ridiculous outfit, he probably would have snorted.

"Little dove, I was sure you’d chicken out," he said. Back when you talked about it, he treated it like a challenge. He spoke about your arrival at the lake house like it was a mission on a reality show. Impossible to pull off, with so much to lose. "I told you I’d come." You shrugged and smiled a smile he’d once seen you give to Art. Patrick had never received a smile from you, at least not a friendly one. Always a fake one. The kind he wanted to wipe off your face. "Are you going to help me with my suitcase, or are you going to keep standing there like a statue?" you asked with a chuckle. Patrick thought he was ready to sell the Porsche he’d come in, just to hear you chuckle again.

"This car is ridiculous," you said as you sat down beside him and raised your hands for emphasis. The convertible top was too much for you. Patrick had chosen this car on purpose. He wanted you to have the full Zweig family summer experience. He wanted you to feel what it was like to be in his inner circle. For a fleeting moment, he thought maybe he could buy your friendship. He didn’t know why he wanted it so badly. He went to sleep with your messages and woke up to them. Neither of you had any other friends, not real ones at least. It would’ve been sad if it didn’t make him so happy. He was such a loser. But it didn’t seem like you cared, and maybe the Porsche would grow on you by the end of these two weeks.

He showed you the rooms and the massive windows that let an unreasonable amount of light into the "cabin," which was supposed to be modest but was larger than most of the houses in your and Art’s neighborhood. Patrick knew that. He studied your reaction to everything he showed you. Watched as you stared at the lake right outside the cabin. Sat on the sofa in the living room for a moment. Placed your belongings in the guest room.

"We need to go shopping," you announced after opening the fridge to find it completely empty. "We don’t have to. You don’t eat anything anyway," he blurted out, and he saw you pale. "What are you talking about?" you mumbled, looking everywhere but at him. "Nothing, I’ve just never seen you eat." He tried to say it casually, but the truth was, it had always preoccupied him. Every time he visited Art in the summer and found himself at gatherings with you, you’d take food onto your plate but never actually put it in your mouth. He couldn’t understand how it didn’t bother Art. He couldn’t understand how Art just ignored it. As if it were completely normal behavior to sit with someone you called your best friend and not eat.

"I eat." Your entire face was scrunched up, the way he’d learned it does when you overthink. When you’re trying to get the most out of a situation you’ve found yourself in. When you’re trying to be nice to Patrick but don’t want to because he doesn’t deserve it. "Whatever, little dove. Let’s go shopping. I’ll show you the main street. There are some cool spots there," he concluded the conversation because he didn’t want to argue. And honestly, it wasn’t his place to comment on your habits. So he decided to let it go.

The main street of the small village you were in was almost empty. It could have been suspicious if Patrick hadn’t been here dozens, if not hundreds, of times since he was born. This was one of his dad’s favorite vacation homes. After an hour of wandering between stores, they found themselves sitting across from each other at a diner. Patrick watched as you ate fish and chips in front of him like your life depended on it. Like you had something to prove. He just rolled his eyes, shoved three fries into his mouth at once, leaned back, and chuckled.

Everything was peaceful. Patrick was sure it would be much weirder, at least at first. But no. You fit into his summer as if you’d always belonged there. From conversations with the elderly neighbors at the cabin next door to the meals you cooked together- it was domestic. Patrick was afraid to talk about how different this was from anything he’d ever done with a girl. He was afraid to mention that you were sleeping in the room that used to be only Art's. He was afraid to admit that he thought you were pretty in a way he hadn't thought before.

He thinks you’re most beautiful in the morning, before you’ve had your coffee. If he’s lucky and goes for a morning run, even before you’ve brushed your teeth. He’s discovered you’re funny. That you can deliver the funniest line with the perfect timing. He thinks it’s because you read a lot. Because you’re smart. Because you know things. He loves that you come to watch him train, even though you’re busy with your own things and only steal occasional glances his way. He thinks he could replace Art in your life. He thinks you think so too.

But deep down, you both know nothing could ever replace Art. And one of the times you’re sitting across from him at the diner, he takes a picture of you sipping a milkshake while smiling and uploads it to Facebook. Because Facebook is the new 'it' thing, and everyone has it. And if Patrick’s lucky, you’ll make it your profile picture. Then he can look at it and remember that he made you laugh, that he made you happy, and for two weeks, he beat Art Donaldson at something. And it felt sweet. So sweet.

The night before you plan to go back to university, you and Patrick get drunk on his dad’s fancy tequila. He’d never seen you drunk before, so like many things, this was new. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and you were wearing shorts that were far too short because August’s heat was unbearable. And the more both of you drank, the fuller your lips seemed to him, the rosier your cheeks, the larger your chest.

He just wanted to touch something. To feel something.

When one thing led to another and you were straddling him, your lips on his, he let out a deep bassy groan he never thought he could produce. Patrick had been with girls before- God knows he’d been with enough girls not to lose his cool over someone agreeing to kiss him. But something about how delicate you were and how much he had hated you a few months ago, how much he’d wanted to erase every trace of you, made him so hard he found himself grinding against you like some kind of desperate dog. He fucked you on the couch in the living room, and though the couch was comfortable, he wasn’t proud of it. He thinks he should’ve restrained himself, taken you to a bed. He thinks you deserve more than him being lazy, drunk, and not at his best. But if there’s one thing Patrick Zweig is terrible at, it’s delaying gratification. And he wanted you so badly. You didn’t seem to mind the location, at least not outwardly.

His lips were everywhere, as if he was trying to swallow you whole in one go. The sounds coming out of you were pornographic. Every so often, the thought crossed his mind that Art was the only other guy who had ever heard you like this, seen you like this- so needy, so vulnerable. It made his cock twitch even harder than it already was.

When he touched you, you were so wet that he told you how dirty you were for him. He talked to you like he still hated you. Like it was all punishment. Like he was about to get up, point at you, and laugh at how pathetic you were. But you couldn’t think about that now. You didn’t have the bandwidth. Not when his hands were teasing your nipple. Not when his lips were marking your neck. Not when he entered you in one hard thrust, making you almost cry out.

At some point, your heels found their way to his shoulders. He looked at your face with the little focus he could muster, and it was a sight he needed to preserve. To remember until the day he died. And he pushed deeper with that thought, drawing sounds out of both of you that neither of you knew you could make. In the end, he felt you clench around him, making him release everything that had built up in his balls with one long groan.

He just lay over you for a few minutes, still wearing the condom. With the sweat, the tears, the marks- you looked so utterly fucked. And it was because of him. He hadn’t felt this proud in a long time.

“So this is what it feels like,” he heard you mumble. “What feels like?” he asked, finding himself playing with your soft hair. “To have an orgasm.”

He hadn’t expected that, so he shifted slightly to look at your face. Your eyes were still glassy. You weren’t focused. If you were, you probably wouldn’t have said that. “What did you say?” he asked, wanting you to repeat it. “I’ve never come before. I thought I was broken,” you chuckled like it was a joke. But Patrick’s heart pounded harder than he expected. He knew for certain that you and Art had slept together before. That wasn’t a secret. He knew you and Art had done things that weren’t just sex even earlier. “You and Art-” He was confused. “I’m not proud of it,” you sighed quietly. “I faked it so he wouldn’t feel bad. I read in a magazine what to do to make it seem real,” you explained quickly, as if saying it faster would make it less scandalous. “You don’t have to fake orgasms to make someone feel good, Little Dove,” he sighed. “You’re the one who's supposed to feel good. That’s the whole point of sex,” he declared, explaining it to you like reciting a rule to a confused puppy.

Patrick needed a win, and this—this was the biggest victory of all times. He had beaten Art Donaldson in every damn set, and it felt so fucking sweet.

It’s been such a long time since I’ve written anything, so this came out super weird and unclear. I hope you like it tho! Please DM me and let me know what you think. That’s it, byeeeeee

[canonkiller]

I don't want to beg but it's so bad rn. explaining below the break because it's a Lot but if you have the means I would really appreciate the support

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thank you so much for your time and patience with me, it goes beyond words.

not to get right into it but I am going to fucking die here as things stand I shan't lie

the teeth I need out or repaired are going to cost thousands. the implants to replace the ones already out are $1500 to start and it's only going to go up from there. magnet therapy to try and get my brain to accept that food and medication aren't evil poisons are more thousands, before the daily transportation costs. medication, supplements, and most of the testing I need done isn't covered in Canada, same with pretty much anything about my vision. subsidized housing is $800+ for accessible units after a 7-14 year minimum wait, and the last unit that changed ownership in my area did so in 2020. rent without social support is currently hovering around $3k for anything that isn't a single bedroom at the end of a flight of stairs.

I know there is so much going on in the world right now and I already feel like I ask for a lot. but I'm disabled, blind and a wheelchair user, on government disability benefits that don't even begin to cover any of this, living in the upstairs corner of a house I'm not physically able or permitted to use because my family simply doesn't fucking like me, and despite it all I still desperately want to fucking live. I've applied for housing, transportation services and other government programs that have basically all ghosted me or left me in perpetual waiting list limbo. the coverage u try to get takes months to process, if it ever does, and it's scraps. I'm really trying to not lose my mind about all of this but this cycle of bearing it until it breaks me is getting shorter and shorter and I can barely walk without my heart trying to give out now. I'm really scared, honestly, and I don't even have the energy to feel it as fear. I just don't know how to make it out of this okay.

[lady-raziel]

It's time...we're edging the sleep

Link to the full pdf document HERE (includes links)

What This Is:

A collaborative, grassroots initiative for fans of Markiplier and The Edge of Sleep to promote the newly released TV show on Amazon Prime Video to raise awareness and generate attention that will drive supporters and casual viewers alike to watch the show.

Why This Exists:

Fans of the hit podcast and followers of Markiplier (Mark Fischbach) have been anticipating the TV adaptation for years since it was announced in 2021 and have been waiting to watch the show since then. However, after radio silence since nearly after filming completed, the long-awaited show is now being dropped on Amazon Prime early—before any official promotion starts.

Many fans disagree with the confusing treatment of an adaptation they have been wanting to watch for years, the haphazard amount of pre-release promotion for the show, and the increasingly high benchmarks of instant success placed on creative material, regardless of origin, that challenges the ability of new ideas and stories to thrive and grow.

This collection of suggested guiding materials is intended to serve as a starting point for fans and advocates in taking matters into our own hands and promoting the show we want to succeed, to open doors for future creative projects for all sorts of innovators, and to bring attention to the current challenging creative environment that stifles new projects before they have a chance to shine.

CRITICAL TAKEAWAY (if you read nothing else):

Stream The Edge of Sleep on Amazon Prime Video if you can and TALK ABOUT THE SHOW. Talk about it and anything else covered in this guide as much as you can, because every bit of chatter matters in allowing this project to succeed.

(More info on steps you can take to help under the page break, or check out the full doc linked above for everything!)

Most Important Steps To Take:

Stream The Edge of Sleep on Amazon Prime Video, as well as add it to your watchlist and like the show on the platform to enhance performance metrics.

The full pdf document has information later on detailing how to access Amazon Prime Video as well as information on low-cost pricing and deals for gaining access to Prime Video, and how to use “Watch Party” mode to stream with others.

You can “like” the show even if you don’t have Prime Video and just have a basic Amazon account! Even small metrics like this impact both the front and backend impressions viewed by corporate employees.

Use the hashtags #TheEdgeofSleep and #TheEdgeofSleeponPrime on social media sites where hashtags are applicable in sharing material about the show. Share or make anything you can—memes, art, discussions of the story, pictures, edits, or even just posts saying you’re watching the show. Truly, it all matters and helps!

It’s important to use both tags or at the very least, the second one indicating the streaming platform. It identifies WHAT the show is and WHERE to find it, which is helpful information for those stumbling across The Edge of Sleep for the first time. Additionally, using the name of the platform frequently attracts attention for Prime Video, which can reflect back positively on the show in the eyes of the company if The Edge of Sleep is the source of the discussion.

Although it can be laborious to type out “The Edge of Sleep” every time and thus impulse says to abbreviate in both discussion and hashtags to “TEOS/teos,” this can hinder effectiveness as it is not a recognizable acronym to non-fans and might impact the potential of the full “The Edge of Sleep” title to trend on any social platform.

Share the show with anyone and everyone you think would like it, offline and in person. A personal recommendation will always be more impactful than any ad—everyone is an “influencer” to someone! Also, be sure to rate the show or add it to your watchlist anywhere you can—including on Amazon Prime Video itself through the like function on the show page, as well as on third-party sites like IMDB or TV Guide.

Not sure how to recommend the show to someone? The brief synopsis, “fast facts,” and “pitch” suggestions in the HELPFUL REFERENCE section of the full pdf document might help, along with thoughts of enthusiasm for the show, original podcast, or any of Mark’s other projects mixed in!

Sites like IMDB allow you to rate shows and films for free, even if you haven’t gotten the chance to watch them yet.

Most Important Thing To Remember:

JUST HAVE FUN!!! This is about promoting the show we’ve waited for and want to succeed, opening the door for more projects we want to see, but also just about getting together as a community and making cool stuff!

Again, you can find all this info and more resources in the full Strategy doc linked here. Go forth and sleedge △

[sans-enjoyer]

Inanimate Insanity Episode 16 Spoilers!!!!

its been like, two days since episode 16, and people are already arguing about Mephone's age. He is a child, and this didnt come out of nowhere guys, he's always BEEN a child:

^post from 2018!! 5 YEARS ago!

^Brian reposting art (amazing art btw<3) where Mephone is described as a CHILD and drawing in a childish way.

^Brian saying that Mephone is so young he doesn't even know how to SPELL.

Now; heres some stuff ive been hearing in argument against him being a child.

"Cobs is infantilizing him." I agree with this to a certain extent, he is acting like Mephone is a child who cant comprehend anything like an abusive parent. but thats where it stops. Children can ALSO be infantlized! But aside from that, Cobs even says; "I forgot how young you are!" Parents don't say that to their adult children, because it makes no sense unless Mephone is a child.

Secondly, why would Brian and Justin be doing the same thing? They say he's young!

"He has an adult voice." Robots don't hit puberty! This means nothing. Unless youre saying that the creators implied hes an adult because hes voiced by an adult, well i'll have to refer you to the images above.

"He hosts an entire show." Arguably not very well, also again, he's a robot, and also, theyre on an island! its not like you need a permit to film on a random island in god knows where. Any child can "host" a show if they have enough determination, general knowledge of how they work, and equipment, and would you know it Mephone has all three! He knows how they work because he watched them in meeple, and he can generate any equipment he needs.

"He's a robot, he doesn't have an age." True..? sort of...? But the thing is, being legally defined as a child is based off your mental capacity. Children arent as mentally/emotionally intelligent as grown adults, because they don't have the life experience nor the capacity to be. Mephone barely has ANY life experience, he grew up in Meeple, and then started the show immediately after leaving. And obviously, in Inanimate Insanity (and all object shows), robots are almost always sentient beings, unlike real life.

"He's much more mature than a child, especially one that couldn't spell." Debatable! First of all, he thinks things like 'going to jail for one day' and 'the calm down corner' are terrible punishments, like children. If you tell a child to go sit on the stairs for 5 minutes and frame it as a punishment, they will take it as serious as anything else. Secondly, he literally decided to make a random species of bat.. things? fight to the death because they ate his four month old ice cream. No mature person would do that... Thirdly, abused children ACT more mature than others because they HAVE to be. Abused children are not ALLOWED to act like children. They have to be mature for themselves because who else is going to be? Who else is going to take care of you when your parent doesn't? But that doesn't mean they arent still a child.

So now we tread into questionable territory. Is it okay to deny the idea that he is a child at all costs, just so you can ship him or sexualize him? There is really no other reason why you would deny that he is a child.

Now obviously; lets not harass anyone who has drawn ship art of him or sexualized him in the past. This stuff was not commonly known, most people thought he was an adult. But if you look deeper, he isn't.

Thanks for coming to my ted talk, if anyone reads this far (￣^￣)ゞI know I usually only post art, but this is an important topic to me as i am very hyperfixated on Mephone4 i swear i can't control it guys!!

Feel free to make any counter points, im open to discussion, but i am also very set on this opinion. Have a good day everyone!!☆

[upthehillnsfw]

Hello old friends🫶 Hope things are well☀️ Dropping by to specifically ask whether anyone would be interested in commissioning some NSFW Harry Potter art? I need some extra earnings, I miss drawing, figured I could open 2-4 commission slots? DM me if you’re interested!🌶️

SLOTS TAKEN🥹 (I’ll let you know if I open more!)

Details: a two-character, fully rendered, minimal background piece would cost ~80 USD, a little cheaper if single-character or flat color. Must have PayPal to pay. Any questions, DM to ask!🙏🏼

And yes, I’d prefer Harry Potter characters only! Although I’d make an exception for these ships: Catradora, Piltover’s Finest, Korrasami, Villaneve, Zutara.

Thank you either way!!❤️ I miss you all so much you have no idea😭😭😭

Also, since I’m here, here’s a quick personal update:

I’m doing ok! A little rough on the edges, but ok🫡 I’ve been in a pretty bad autistic burnout for the past 2-3 years (yeah, official ‘tism diagnosis acquired🏆), so my limited capacity has been exhausted by working, settling into my new home, therapy, and just generally trying to figure shit out🥴 But art is still a huge part of my life, though now I’m dabbling in a multitude of other hobbies (abstract drawing/painting, crocheting, beading, clay, writing, etc.). Nonetheless, I still think about the fandom and the characters frequently, just don’t have enough time and energy to actually create or finish projects I had already started🤧 I wonder how many of you have also moved on during the recent years, probably a lot… Feel free to drop a hello if you’re still here, it’s always lovely to hear from you❤️🌌

[kroas-adtam]

Let’s Talk

There’s something happening here. Something that makes me feel gross to be back.

The Ghost fandom shouldn’t be like this. We’ve been labeled toxic, we’ve driven people away instead of welcoming them, and what’s worse is we’ve let the real toxicity slip into the waters.

Anon hate is rising again, people are complaining that Father Forge isn’t pumping out new music every year on the dot, and the vibes are so harsh it’s draining creativity.

Let’s get a couple things straight:

1.) anon trolls are cowards and are only interested in the attention, because to them, any attention is good attention. I have a system in place to check my inbox when I get messages. I suggest you guys try and figure out a way to help yourself deal with them should you get the messages. I have been run off my anons before, and I guarantee you, they left me miserable and moved on to their next victim. Don’t let yourself be their next victim. You’re worth so much more than that.

2.) TF just made a full length goddamn movie for us and TWO music videos. Calm down. Touch grass. Let the man have a break.

3.) We’re losing artists, writers, creators on this platform left and right. The things created and shared are free. We create them to contribute to what should be the love we feel for this fandom. You are not entitled to more art, more chapters, more creativity. You want something made? Make it yourself.

Now say it with me:

It costs nothing to keep your opinions to yourself.

[babsaros]

being evicted from my "home" suddenly after 5 years and need support

Hi all, i really really really hate that I have to make this post, and the background feels too personal to get into, but after 5 years of living here in what i thought was an amicable and indefinite arrangement, I am being forced to find alternate housing as my relationship with our landlord has completely deteriorated over this winter. My girlfriend and I have until the 31st to be completely moved out. We intend to follow through on this no matter if we have somewhere else secured or not. Living out of our car would be preferable to dealing with any more hostility or attempts at manipulation from our landlord. I work 30+ hours a week in retail, my girlfriend does online sex work and has a potential part time job lined up as well, but because this is so unexpected we have basically no savings. I have some very dear, generous friends offering to spot us on moving costs and first month's rent, as long as I can find somewhere, but I would prefer not to rely on them so heavily. It doesn't make me feel any better to e-beg, but know that I will be immensely grateful for any amount of support we receive at all, especially when I know so many other people are in equally vulnerable positions, including those attempting to survive and flee the genocide in Palestine.

If you are not in a position to donate, please do not feel pressured to! Just sharing this post would also be incredibly helpful, and I sincerely thank anyone who gives us support in any way.

I can offer small doodles as compensation for donations, though please bear in mind my turn-around may take longer than normal as I deal with everything else. I have full commission info and slots on kofi, and you can see more of my art style on my blog. Anyone interested in supporting my girlfriend through OnlyFans can DM me for the link to her page.

Book-ending this post with a picture of my cat, to make myself feel better. I love him more than the world. He's cuter than the two of us anyway, and deserves to be warm and safe.

[genericpuff]

I'm sorry, but this should come as a shock to absolutely no one.

Just a little bit of 'insider info' (and by 'insider' I mean I was a part of the beta testing crew a few years ago) Webtoons has been messing with AI tools for years. You can literally play test that very same AI tool that I beta-tested here:

Mind you, this is just an AI Painter, similar to the Clip Studio Colorize tool, but it goes to show where WT's priorities are headed. I should mention, btw, that this tool is incredibly useless for anyone not creating a Korean-style webtoon, like you can deadass tell it was trained exclusively on the imports because it can't handle any skin tone outside of white (trying to use darker colors just translates as "shadows" to the program, meaning it'll just cast some fugly ass shadows over a white-toned character no matter how hard you try) and you just know the AI wouldn't know what to do with itself if you gave it an art style that didn't exactly match with the provided samples lmao

And let's be real, can we really expect the company that regularly exploits, underpays, and overworks its creators to give a damn about the ethical concerns of AI? They're gonna take the path of least resistance to make the most money possible.

So the fact that we're now seeing AI comics popping up on Webtoons left and right - and now, an actual "Webtoon AI" branding label - should come as zero shock to anyone. Webtoons is about quantity over quality and so AI is the natural progression of that.

So yeah, if you were looking for any sign to check out other platforms outside of Webtoons, this is it. Here are some of my own recommendations:

ComicFury - Independently run, zero ads, zero subscription costs (though I def recommend supporting them on Patreon if you're able), full control over site appearance, optional hosting for only the cost of the domain name, and best of all, strictly anti-AI. Not allowed, not even with proper labelling or disclosure. Full offense to the tech bro hacks, eat shit.

GlobalComix - Very polished hosting site that offers loads of monetization tools for creators without any exclusive contracts or subscriptions needed. They do offer a subscription program, but that's purely for reading the comics on the site that are exclusively behind paywalls. Not strictly anti-AI but does require in their ToS that AI comics be properly labelled and disclosed, whether they're made partially or fully with AI, to ensure transparency for readers who want to avoid AI comics.

Neocities - If you want to create your own site the good ole' fashioned way (i.e. HTML / CSS) this is the place. Independently run, offers a subscription plan for people who want more storage and bandwidth but it only costs $5/month so it's very inexpensive, and even without that subscription cost you won't have to deal with ads or corporate management bullshit.

Be safe out there pals, don't be afraid to set out into the unknown if it means protecting your work and keeping your control as a creator. Know your rights, know your power.

[keksalot404]

Uh oh! Some BOZO decided to play UNDERTALE and UNDERTALE YELLOW at the same time (Both games FUN value was 66) and now the timeline is F*CKED (By about one year; It wasn't that long till Frisk came along)

This is the Guide to UNDERTALE ROM LEAK, mostly a frame of reference for me and you regarding this AU born from a doodle and a dream. Those who just want to see the art with no context, feel free to click the top pic and swipe down or something.

A Tale of 2.5 Souls

Seems like whatever the reason Frisk went to the mountain, they ended up tailing Clover, where the game begins. Control between the 2 fallen children is split, meaning that both Frisk and Clover are free to express their quirks and personalities more.

Adding to that, NarraChara is also here, being visible to Frisk, Clover, AND the player due to more determination in the area. Frisk still has higher DT than Clover, so they're in charge of LOADing and SAVEing as well as playing leader.

Prepare For Trouble, Make It Double!

Now obviously the timeline can't really be UT or UTY if all major events need to be dealt with. The universe's solution? Now every Major Character (and perhaps minor ones) are paired up with their cross game counterparts. While encounters for each monster can be seperate, eventually they will cross paths with eachother and the fallen humans.

With each section of the Underground now longer with even paired area newly connected (More on how that works later), it'd feel like even 2 player characters can't make it easy. Fortunately for a certain route, you may get some help...

Kanako

To fill a void for a Certain Short Scientist, seems fate pulled a few strings, and brought a new friend back from near-death! If you don't kill any monsters during RUINS, Kanako will sense your pure hearts and join the party, acting as the Ralsei to this Diet Fun Gang.

With healing and shield magic, she'll make your journey a lot more manageble, at the cost of not being able to kill any monsters all the way until Asgore (She will still allow you to spare monsters by lowering health but if she senses a chance to kill she will block the attack and scold you for it.)

Being a much more attentive protector than the Skeleton, she'll accompany Frisk and Clover through the emotional highs and lows of their journey, and perhaps maybe...

You'll find out the true reason she's helping you.

Stronger Monsters

For the characters of the 2 timelines being destined to meet, it is also true that destiny will point into blocking your path. For the Major Battles at least, you'll have to fight both of them at the end of each paired areas. An example being meeting North Star in Wild East only for Starlo's betrayal being calling Undyne to hunt you during Waterfall.

Expect combo attacks, fused soul modes, and complex strategies when facing the duel bosses. Some might even compromise Kanako from assisting. No fight has the same solution as the UT and UTY fights (except maybe Papyrus and Martlet), so be prepared and stay determined!

So have fun while you can, won't you? It's not likely you will get these games together again. You wouldn't waste this once-in-a-while experience just to do something you'll regret.

You wouldn't waste it just to see what happens...

...right?...

...

[threepandas]

Bad End, Hidden Heir: Part 2

Prev <-

A pounding headache and cave air, that's what I woke up too. The air was being choked, though, by familiar scents. All trying desperately to make the cold, wet, and softly echoing quiet, hospitable. It was nauseating in my current state. Weak and... drugged? Had I been drugged? I certainly hadn't been drunk.

So why did my head hurt so much?

Why did every motion, make my stomach want to rebel?

My limbs felt so WEAK. Heavy and useless. Barely budging when I try to lift them. To rub my head? Adjust the blanket? Sit up? I can't tell. Thinking... thinking is so hard past... the pounding in my head. The fog. I struggle to concentrate. God, that SMELL.

Like a perfume store combined with... with... ugh. Everything!

I could pick out individual scents I knew I liked, on their own, added to the nauseating chaos. My favorite potpourri was there. But so was the one I like for winter? Fall? That one I liked as a kid until I found Mrs. Tianna's blend...

And perfumes! Colognes! The clean products and scents I preferred the maids used. God it... it blended together like a trash heap. As though someone drove a carriage through a perfume shop at speed. Cloying and musk and spice and fruity and-!

I sucked air through my teeth, trying not to smell it, hoping to god I wouldn't TASTE it.

Finally I managed to pry my eyes open. Either hunger or thirst giving my the strength to push past the nauseating pain. I NEEDED to move. Find out what was happening. Survive.

My gaze... met the most elaborate embroidery I had ever seen. Tapestries had less art. Almost to the point of gaudiness. Possibly past it. It was...

It was everything I had ever said I liked.

Too anyone.

Puppies and flowers, history and art, books scenes and more. It kept GOING! Hideous and magnificent. Chaos. Unhinged. Flowing down from above me, along the rest of the curtains, for the canopy bed upon which I rest. So I would be surrounded by it all. Even the blanket... it was a sea of my favorite flowers, made eternal through string.

This wasn't something people just DID. Could just FIND. I could feel my panic under the muting pain and exhaustion. This was the work of YEARS. Obsessive, continuous, YEARS. Some of these threads cost more then certain house hold make in WEEKS! And for what? A secret canopy bed?!

I struggled, body barely able to obey me but trying desperately to assist. The blankets were heavy. The curtain around the bed equally so, thanks to all the embroidery. I.. I manage to roll. Squirm. Wriggle my way, undignified, to the edge. Flop over it and out from under the blanket. Too freedom.

The air is cold.

The scents WORSE out here. Now, I can see why.

It is a museum to all that I am. Every like carefully gathered in one place, every preference. Stacked and shoved together, with no regard for if they fit. Hoarded like a collection.

I can not even tell... if I am sitting, flopped down, on my favorite winter bedside carpet or just an exact copy. My entire life is shoved together and suddenly... suddenly I do not like any of these things at all. They feel dirty. Dangerous. Like they have betrayed me. I want to cry.

But I am nauseous. Hurting. Tired and thirsty. So very hungry dispite it all. I just... I just need to know what's going ON! This isn't... this isn't how the Game goes! Not for Protag-chan. Not for me! I know I changed my "character's" behavior... but...

I... I don't understand...

Try not to cry. It's... it's really hard.

I was right. I'm pretty sure this is the Caves of Spring in the northwest of the Duchy. The offical Heir has an estate near them. The stone looks like the cliffs I'd seen in passing.

Crawling is hard. My legs keep getting tangled in my fucking nightgown. My... my f.. favorite.. nightgown! I'm not gonna cry. Damn it. I'm NOT GONNA CRY. How dare he? How DARE he ruin even that? What did he DO to me!? When I was... was...

No, don't think about it!

Move.

A decanter. Needlessly pretty. I probably loved it as a girl, fresh into this world. Everything was so FANCY and I wasn't used to having money yet. Hadn't developed any real class or taste. It looks so fucking gaudy to me now. But God, it has water. Please... PLEASE let that be water!

I drag myself up on badly shaking limbs. Nothing wants to hold. Wrists buckling, knees giving, legs shaking like a new born lamb. My arms are so weak. But thirst... oh thirst is a powerful motivator.

I force myself to move.

The water is not enough. It is everything. Cold and perfect, I force myself to go slow. To not spill a single drop, as I collapse against the dresser it was placed upon. Letting my eyes explore my cage in the way my poor abused body can not.

There are thick bars buried deep into the bedrock, separating the "room" I'm in from the hall that leads away from it. And it IS a "room". Made in cruel mockery to resemble the luxury of the dukes estate. Perhaps even more aggressively decadent in certain aspects, though that isn't a good thing. It makes it border on a storage room, for how crowded with luxury it has become.

It is the reflection of an unwell mind.

And staring up at the portraits of myself I KNOW I never sat for? The countless sketches pinned up beyond the bars? I am in trouble. I... I should have run. Not sent Creep away. I should have been the one to run. Before it was too late.

I think... I think it might be too late.

Footsteps.

I want to escape. But where can I run? I am caged. I feel close and far away. My head hurts. My body hurts. Everything stinks and I am cold. Why? Why did you do this? The foot steps are calm and commanding. Even. They do not break stride.

I do not bother to watch my hunter approach me. The monster I can not escape.

I close my eyes to spare myself the pounding in my head. Drink more water.

He makes a softly dismayed sound, as though he was not the one to drug me, to leave me here. The door to my cage opens. Closes. Ah... such a heavy lock. Should I be flattered?

Crisp steps, the rustle of fabric.

"My lady, the floor is so dirty! You shouldn't be out of bed yet. I was just about to make you tea."

The AUDACITY.

Tea? TEA! Ha ha! After DRUGGING my tea? He actually expects me to accept a cup from him again?! He truely IS insane, isn't he?

I am scooped up without my consent, unable to so much a truely struggle. Placed gently on a plush chair, a tea table moved in front of me. A familiar cup. My favorite blend. Pretty little snacks laid out deftly on lovely little plates. I grit my teeth. Slowly tip my head up to glare.

He pauses when our eye meet... then shudders, some terrible look of pleasure dancing across his face.

"That's right... look at me~" he whispers, leaning entirely too close. "I'm all that you have now. So you'll HAVE too now! No more others. No more distractions. No more sending me away! People trying to get between us. Trying to take you away. I'm all that you need, My Lady. All you'll EVER need."

"Just look at ME, your loyal dog. And I'll take such good care of you. I promise~♡"