#i can’t remember if that’s a real piece of art that exists or if i just made it up in my anger but either way my point stands

[literatureisdying]

need to go to an art museum before i die from bad internet takes of what makes “good” art

[writing-for-life]

I’m running a Sandman blog. As such, I feel I can’t not say anything, but I’ll make this short (for me):

I believe victims. I’m a psychotherapist and work with them almost every day. My trust in the legal system on these matters is therefore also limited and a complicated affair. Having said this, I will withhold further commentary as the situation unfolds, because it’s too complex.

I also believe that stories have meaning to us that goes beyond their creators, and that meaning doesn’t suddenly fall away because of their creators’ actions, although it can, and that’s also okay.

Our feelings are allowed to be complicated, and no one deserves any type of harassment because they still love a story while simultaneously grappling with feelings of anger, disgust or simply sadness towards or about its creator. Neither does anyone deserve any hard feelings because they decide they don’t want to engage anymore.

Our feelings are our own, and we don’t have to justify them to anyone.

Fandoms exist because of story and community. And those stories and communities don’t suddenly stop existing, so I hope we can remember to treat each other with respect and empathy moving on from here.

Edit:

On a more constructive note, and also speaking as a therapist with both personal and continuous secondhand experience of SA who already sees the damage caused by unreflective knee-jerk posting on here:

You don’t have to make repeated public statements to disassociate yourself from works. Once is enough if you feel you have something to communicate to your followers. Not at all is enough, too. Simply do what you need to do. It’s enough if you know what you stand for, and to act accordingly.

Get your information from original sources, not “summaries” and hearsay on Tumblr. The amount of misinformation, both accidental and malicious, I have seen on here is shocking. All podcasts are freely available with transcripts. Stop believing the people who tell you otherwise, because they either don’t know what they’re talking about, or they aim to control the discussion for their own agenda. If you want to partake in discussion, get info from the source, because that’s truly something you owe to the victims. Otherwise, consider to withhold your opinions. We don’t have to add to the noise, there’s enough of it already, and it somewhat disqualifies itself if it adds its own agenda: This is not about LGBTQ+ issues or whether you deem an outlet trustworthy (it’s about the victims). It is not about your own opinions about kink (it’s about the victims). It is not about your disabilities or struggles that render you “unable to listen or read”. It is about the victims, not about you. So consider to stop centering yourself.

You are not a bad person for enjoying the work of a person who did wrong, neither does condemning them automatically make you a good person. How you behave towards your fellow human beings does. So if you feel tempted to judge, or even harass, other people for their love of a piece of media, take a breath first. Because in that moment, it has stopped being about the victims—it has become about centering yourself as righteous.

Don’t read into works, but don’t pretend they exist in a vacuum either. We can’t truly separate the art from the artist, but we can (re)assign meaning unique to us. The moment you interpret a piece of art, it reflects you. It will mirror back your feelings and worldview. If all you feel while engaging is negative, it is time to disengage. There is enough art in the world you can enjoy. But don’t judge those who still find meaning even if you don’t.

Take action in the real world, and step back from online discourse. Put your money where your mouth is, donate to women’s shelters or volunteer, organise fundraisers. In short: Make a difference where you can. Online opinion pieces are not that place, neither is keeping yourself in a state of constant aggravation by obsessively checking the tags. All it does it make you unwell.

Don’t support the creator financially if it feels icky. I know I won’t from here onwards, especially where there is a clear divide between his work and that of others. Secondhand books are an option, so are libraries. They’re everywhere, and eBay is your friend in that case. You can also still read and enjoy the works you own, it doesn’t harm anyone. You don’t have to bin, burn or sell them. If that feels right though, go for it. It’s your choice, but don’t expect others to make the same choices.

Most importantly: You have nothing to prove to anyone. You know who you are, that’s all that matters. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

[whosthere54]

My notes on the Quixis Answers stream!

- all bleeding eyes pointing back to Icarus

- look about mid 20s icarus genuinely over resets 40-50 years true for every character

- No creation powers because they are not “all them” they have pieces of the other sherberts in them. No creation powers because they aren’t them, hesitation because they aren’t them.

- bound is last one standing in the infinite hall of portals

- Midas fully believes that they will die with their world BUT THEY DONT (and they’re totally okay with that)

- REO WAS QUIXIS (They do not remember their time as quixis)

- THE THINGS allowed glitches (we were The inciting incident) THE REAL WORKD GLITCHES INTO FABLE

- THE THINGS THAT TALKED TO THEM USED TO BE BIRDS RHAJFJSIFJR

- WERE THE REASON THEY WERE ABLE TO REMEMBER THE RESETS

- Were rifts in those things WE TALK AS THINGS THAT DONT EXIST WERE RIFTS IN THE REALITY

- Fable can’t be streamed anymore because the glitches will hurt that world

- CHARLES IS FROM THE WORLD OF THE FIRST EVER QUIXIS BECAUSE THEY TRIED TO TAKE HIM TO THE WORLDPORT WITH THEM BUT IT DIDNT WORK SO THEYRE AN ENTITY NOW

M U L T I V E R S A L C O N S T A N T

SO THEYRE NEVER ALONE (ILL CRY)

- Midas is from a dystopian utopia (I CARE SO MUCH)

- Midas had a fable and isla, Athena Centross, Caspian, Jamie

- ILL YELL ABOUT THEIR SHOW

- Real older than Midas (Idk if they said specifically said on that show idea or if that was cannon so I wrote it down anyways cause I care)

- SORRY MIDAS SINGING NEVER LOVE AN ANCHOR ABOUT ICARUS ILL YELL ABIUT IT

- The tiktok account how did I not know-

- World rebuild themselves

- Townhall board - whiteboard (in quixian)

- Every sherb has to wake up in their bed, theirs is their desk.

- WHEN THEY MOVED THE DUPLICATE HOUSE SHOWED UP (They mention again that it was the opposite X and Y coords opposite positive and negative)

- THATS WHY THE OFFICE BEDS GLITXHED

- THE ORANGE DIMENSION WASNT ALWAYS ORANGE

- THE SYNDACATE CMV HELP

- The vods being matched to the auras

- The outside cannon was the only one I hadn’t caught

- Their browser being yellow and brown lolol

- MCCR SHERB - EVENT SHEB AJAX SICJSIJFJSCJISJCJSJCJDJGIF

-guys I care about Ajax so much

- Hypixel Sherb - 2 different eye colors bleeding yellow TubNet bleeding smth I didn’t catch that

- Icarus was always pulled to the worldport when gone across dimensions. Hypixel to TubNet Eye glitch because of the change in dimensions

- Reo is the most okay with being alone because he just finished being quixis and is used to it (I CARE SM)

NOTES IN THE ORIGINAL CONCEPT ART

- things disappear reappear swap places things places spaces change time does not (smth like that)

- CAME FROM UNDER MY SKIN I CARE

- The concept of having to ascend to do things right and fix things I hold it in my hands

- “Are you in ic has feelings? No…”

- THE ART

- THE LONGER YOU SOEND IN THE WORLDPORT THE MORE COLOR DRAINS FROM YOU

- B I R D I E

- THE PRISON SCAR I CARE SO MUCH

- GLOWING WING EARS THE BELOVED

- LIL BABY IN A LIK WAR UNIFORM ILL SOB

- Midas did not die or go back to their destroyed world.

- THE HAIR IS NORMAL AGAIN

- Gray eyes

- WE HAVE TI WAIT AND SEE WHERE THEY ARE

SCALE :

1 - Denial (Hardcore sherb farthest from denial)

2 - Asshole (Kurt farthest from asshole)

- Sherbverse is a metaphor

- Not a System

- Parallel to what it is like to be a system

- 1 full CMV 2 Mini CMVs coming out and lots more sherbeverse content <3

- Sherbeverse section of the discord

- May have something to do with the Ven epilogue 👀👀

- #SQCU :0

[olivia-sementsova]

Spotlight on the Murdoch House

One of the things I wish I could do on this blog is to share with you the artwork that I am making right now. But because I work on a TV show, I can’t do that, I have to keep it secret until the show airs. Now I wholeheartedly agree with this, not just because it lets me keep my job but also because I know how shitty spoilers can be. But what I can tell you about is the work I did on previous seasons. Today I want to revisit the drawing of the Murdoch House.

This project gave me the opportunity to imagine things that don't exist and fill in the gaps using problem-solving and creativity, which i love to do. And in my art, I want to include and celebrate people just as they are, in this illustration, I got to do that in a bit of a sideways way. I was able to celebrate the work of Bob Sher the production designer for Murdoch Mysteries. He had designed a really beautiful interior set for the Murdoch House and with this drawing, I could help show that off. I wasn't drawing his portrait, I was drawing his work and I think his work is an extension of himself.

I really wanted to do this justice because I wanted Bob and anyone else who had worked on this set to feel proud of what they did because it was beautiful! I also really enjoy imagining spaces that don't exist, I got to fully imagine what this fictional house is like, filling in the gaps that were left after filming.

My task was to draw the exterior view, and a plan view (the top-down architectural drawing) and highlight a few of the architectural features.

The exterior view is based on a quick establishing shot of the front door of the Murdoch house. I got to do a little bit of Architectural design as I changed the proportions of the actual house filmed in the show to match the story we were telling. There seems to only be one shot that is reused over an over again for the exterior and the shot only gives a glimpse of the front door. It was filmed on location in the outskirts of Toronto and as far as I know, we will never return to that location again. There was also an old pixelated photo of the same house. So what I had to go on was this one piece of footage, a pixelated photo, the interior set layout and the verbal description of how Bob envisioned the exterior.

Sets are not built like a house, one room doesn't logically lead to the next and could be on the opposite end of the studio. The different rooms are pieced together in how the actors move through them and the editing process. So I needed to alter the plan view of the set to match how the audience perceives the Murdoch house and not how it is actually built. I based what I drew on the actual set, but made changes to the layout, moving rooms around to make sense like a real house.

Going on the deserted set of the Murdoch House and taking reference pictures was really enjoyable. Being on that quiet and darkened set felt so peaceful and I got to see all the lovely details that the designer and build team had put in. It's wild but it feels like a real home and that isn't always the case with sets. Finding the details that would accompany the exterior view and elevations was easy. The hard part was whittling them down to just a few that would fit on the page. Showing off the doors was a specific request and those were designed by both Ryan O'Connell the set designer and Bob the production designer.

This drawing was for one of the early episodes of season 17, it was supposed to be placed above the mantle in the Murdoch living room. But I don't think it ever made it to camera! I remember there being some issues in regard to continuity from episode to episode. (We film out of order) And in a later episode, there was something scripted that had to take its place above the mantle. But I got a great deal of satisfaction from making it. I got to imagine a place that doesn't exist, helped to tell a story and I got to celebrate the hard work of creative people. And I know that it made Bob happy because it now has a lovely home in the hallway just outside the art offices.

[pointdotiozao]

The wait list for the second semester of 2024 is open!

DM me if you’re interested! Rbs are appreciated!

More info under the cut ↓

Process and general info

DM or email me (rose_captain@hotmail.com)* your inquiry so we can discuss the quotes and book you a slot if none are available at the moment. *I might take I little longer to reply emails.

Payments are made via PayPal invoices, so I’ll need your PayPal email.

All prices are USD.

My wait list is just a rough estimation. The time I take on each work varies and sometimes there are cancellations, as well as other external factors, so even though I’m mostly on time, the possibility I will be a bit late or a bit earlier than expected exists.

IMPORTANT: If you change your url after getting a spot on my wait list please remember to give me a heads up so that later I can still find you!!

It’s alright if you need to reschedule your comm for another time, or even just cancel it, just let me know. No cancellations once I have started working though, and no refunds.

I start working after receiving half the payment upfront.

References are appreciated but not required, and well detailed descriptions work just fine, but please try to have all information necessary for the commission ready. (References and/or descriptions for the characters appearances, facial expressions, clothes, poses; background, if any; lighting/type of coloring.)

I won’t charge for tattoos of which you provide transparent pngs.

I reserve the right to refuse a commission.

I reserve the right to post my artwork and use it on my portfolio, but I’ll keep a commission private if so requested.

The commissions are for personal use only.

Will Do

OCs, fanart, ship art;

Suggestive themes, NSFW, and even fetish art (with only a few exceptions I highly doubt I will encounter here, but who knows);

Gore and body horror;

Animals, humanoids and furries.

In doubt just ask, I’ll give almost anything a confident try.

Won’t Do

Mecha;

Hateful imagery;

IRL shipping (doesn’t apply to actors interpreting characters);

Create new designs (characters, clothes, etc.);

And I will no longer be accepting irl face claims/painting real people on painting style commissions (this doesn’t apply to realistic looking video-game characters).

The styles:

Sketch- just the early stage of the drawing, rough forms and somewhat messy lines. May include 1 rough color for emphasis;

Lineart- clean lineart with the brush of your choice (I have 3);

Flat colors- includes lineart and simple coloring, no shadows/source of light;

Shaded- includes lineart, more detailed coloring compared to flat colors, simple lighting/one source of light;

Painting- either pieces with no lineart (regardless of type of lighting), or those which have lineart + complex lighting/two or more sources of light.

You can see more of my art on my blog tagged as #myart. If you find a style you like but is not sure of which category it fits in, just ask me!

〃く⁠コ⁠:⁠彡 ₊ ˚ ⊹ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

And finally, seen below are my other contact info. Most of these accounts are still empty and I honestly don’t plan on leaving tumblr, after all the real “tumblr is shutting down” is the friends we made along the way yadda yadda, but seriously my heart can’t take it anymore. I’ll rather be safe than sorry.

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Nothing and Everything - Part 1

Summary: Certain times of the year are harder than others. This is the first year where they have all been present to face the memories of all the trauma. How can they come together when they each have their own traumas to face?

When do you call it and admit that you need help?

Especially when help is part of the trauma.

Pairings: Gen fic (they love Layla and she loves them)

Warnings: Heavy dissociation, Mentions of child abuse, some mentions of violence, Depression, mentions of self harm, PTSD, lots of flashbacks.

Word Count: 6340

Part one: Marc has a plan. It's not a very good one. The fallout ripples across the other two.

------

Sometimes it was better to be nothing. 

An odd sensation. One he was not supposed to like, if he was to believe the books. Disorientating, sluggish, and leaving one unable to process or do anything. 

Yet he welcomed it at times. He could feel it coming on and he would embrace that nothing. Floating outside of himself. Outside of time. Outside of the world and all it stood for. 

Out here, he didn’t have to be anything. He didn’t have to be Marc Spector. 

He didn’t have to be strong. He didn’t have to be grounded. He didn’t have to be a husband. A brother. A son. 

He could remember as a child sitting and staring down at his dinner plate. He could remember how the shape of the chicken and rice seemed odd. How the more he stared and tried to make sense of it, the less it became. He stared until the individual rice pieces became lost to him. What was it supposed to be? Where did it exist beyond the plate? It wasn’t real and yet here he was supposed to…do what? 

“Why are you such a pain? Why can’t you be normal? Pay attention when I talk to you!”

Crashing down, his world rang out and he felt what might be pain. He was aware of something hitting him. Splashing cold water on him as the cup crashed to the floor. Pain was not external. Pain was crawling out of that nothing. Pain was drowning in the cave. Pain was returning to his body and existence. Pain was the slow blink he forced on himself as he came crashing back to the diner table. 

“Go clean yourself up. You disgust me.” 

Pain was the man next to him continuing to eat with his eyes down. Pain was struggling to get up and move, wading through a universe that didn’t want him as he made his way to his room. 

Sitting down and holding his knees to his chest, he rocked. It helped. It soothed him. The rocking reminded him that he had a body. That he was supposed to be here. That there was someone else that he had to be there for. 

There were times when it was beautiful. 

Sitting in the temple, listening to the call of the Rabbi, staring at the beautiful art etched across the walls. The Hebrew letters ancient and strange and outside of his time. His father, so proud of how his son would become so moved. How his son would stare upward and rock until tears streamed down his face. It was beautiful out here. Beautiful and free… 

Walking home he would stumble. His feet were not his to move yet they had to move. 

“Did you enjoy it?” 

A voice answered that was not his. If the body was not his, someone had to own it. Someone had to make it move and speak and act. That was well enough for him. He could let Steven have this. Even if it made his father look at him with worry. 

“Son. You don’t have to talk like that. You’ve been watching too many documentaries from the BBC.” 

He would deal with it later. Let Steven have this. He didn’t want it. 

There were times when he would fight it. Times when the call of nothing scared him. When all he wanted to do was exist and he couldn’t. 

“Spector! If we don’t move we’re dead!” 

He stared down at the bullet shells around him. Glimmering in the sun, golden and charred and dented. He rocked back into the broken wall he was seeking shelter behind. Each thump of his back desperately trying to hold him. Lips moving he clung to reality desperately with each stay stay stay stay stay. 

It was what the counselor had told him. Just stay present. Stop drifting. They didn’t understand. It wasn’t day dreaming. Day dreaming was when he pretended he had a loving family at home. When he pretended his mother was at home cooking his favorite meal for him because she loved him. Yet drifting was a word that felt right. 

“SPECTOR! MOVE!”  

He cracked his head back into the wall and forced himself to his feet, running. He didn’t look where. Was it to safety? Was it to oblivion? He was moving. It was move or die. Gunshots. Metal in his hand. Bodies in the dirt. His own voice angry and firm. “Marc. Wake up.” 

No. He didn’t want to. It was fine out here. Why did he need to come out when clearly his body knew what to do. He closed his eyes. He would wake later to find the danger gone. The dirt red and the bullets surrounding him. 

“You’re a freak, Spector. A goddamned lucky freak.”  

Did the others ever drift? Did they find beauty or comfort in not existing? 

Steven hated it. It took away from his time that he could be studying. Or so he said. Honestly, it scared Steven. Steven who had fought so hard for his own sense of self. For his identity. Marc understood why Steven would find the experience disquieting. 

Steven would clench his eyes shut and dig his nails into his palms. He would fight it, exhausting himself and pacing the flat in any effort to stay grounded. He took up reading out loud, focusing on each word and saying it to make it real. He would spend hours reading out books on history until his voice gave out. When it was too much, he would throw Marc to the front and bury himself down and down until he could not drift away anymore. 

“I don’t know how you do it, mate. It’s horrible. Worse than feeling trapped. Worse than anything.” 

And Jake? Jake would not admit to it. There were long stretches at a time when they would not hear a word from Jake. Perhaps that was his strategy. The less he existed the less he could avoid not existing? Marc considered it an interesting problem solve. One he had contemplated in his darkest days as he tried to give his everything to Steven. 

Was Jake avoiding them? Was he avoiding life? Was he avoiding having to face what he was? 

Marc noticed the ticks. The way Jake moved his hands. The way he tapped his fingers one at a time on his thumb over and over. The way he tapped his leg, looking to outsiders to be an impatient man. The way he walked, always taking extra steps anywhere he went. Steps to be sure to place himself in the perfect position. The way he chose his clothes so carefully, feeling them and pulling them to test their sensations. 

No, Jake was not as prone to drifting. Jake was prone to a different problem. Jake felt too much. Too present. Too much sensation. Too much everything. Too much and Jake would leave. His solution to avoid that inner desire to scream and cry until it all stopped. 

A vague memory of a melt down in school. When the bell rang and the lunchroom trays crashed and banged and he could hear the rolling carts and laughter and screaming. Marc had drifted away and Steven was nowhere near the surface. It had been too much of everything and Jake had been forced to take front when he least wanted it. Jake hated school. He hated the over stimulation. He hated the sounds and the way he was forced to interact with so many people. People that did not understand him. 

Escaping into the bathroom he had locked himself in a stall and punched the wall over and over and over again, feeling the force of his hands on the wall. Listening to the thuds and feeling it rattle his skeleton. 

Marc had woken to bloodied and bruised fists. It was a wonder he hadn’t known Jake before. Looking back, he felt bad for all the times he’d force Jake to take a situation that made him want nothing more than to stay down below. He wanted to explain to Jake that it could be different now. That he didn’t need Jake to jump in all the time. That Steven could be there when he wasn’t. 

If only he could stay present. If only he could explain to Jake and Steven why it had to be this way. Why they had to suffer. Why he had failed them by just existing. 

“Marc?” Layla took his hand and squeezed it so gently. “Are you alright?” 

He blinked and gave the smallest of nods. It was the best he could do out here. 

He could feel her watching him. She didn’t understand. She didn’t know what it was like to lose oneself to the nothing. How good it felt to not have to be anything with any expectations. 

“Can you talk?” She wove her fingers in his and held on. 

“Yeah.” Marc pulled himself back down and held on, trying to focus on her. “Just…Having a moment.” 

She nodded and sat beside him, leaning into him gently. He could feel the warmth of her body radiating against his own. “Do you mind company?” 

He used to hide from her. If he felt himself start to drift he would lock himself away. Pretend to sleep. Anything so she wouldn’t know or suspect how broken he was. 

Now there was no use to hiding. She knew. She knew all of it. But she didn’t know the way it could make him feel. 

He could send out Steven. She would certainly welcome the company. Jake might even pop up if he was around. Jake didn’t mind the quiet calm she provided. It was hard to tell who was where in this state. 

“I’m sorry.” He managed to get out. 

“For what?” She leaned her head against his shoulder and he could smell her shampoo. 

“Being a mess.” He was slowly being pulled back in. It hurt to let go but it couldn’t last forever. He could already feel the headache setting in. 

“You aren’t a mess, Marc.” She looked up at him firmly. 

“I cause problems for them. Because of me, Steven has to put up with me... He has a hard enough time feeling recognized and I’m always taking that away from him. And Jake… I put him in these situations. I left him in the crowded underground station during rush hour yesterday. And for you… You having to put up with this.” He pulled away and moved to get up. 

She held his hand tightly, pulling him back down. “Marc. You aren’t the reason for this. It’s not your fault that you disassociate. All three of you do it. It isn’t really something you can control. You aren’t the reason Jake doesn’t like crowds or gets overwhelmed. He puts up with it because he cares, but I’ve seen all three of you melt down over different things.” 

She smiled and Marc frowned. “Jake is the one with the temper. Steven doesn’t melt down.” Even just saying it he knew it was wrong.  

Layla gave him a look. “I moved Steven’s book shelf the other day to get something. I thought Steven was going to have a heart attack. He doesn’t handle change well. Or loss of control. I know now to ask him if I can move things. Ask him to help me if I need to move something. It lets him feel more in control of his situation.” 

“It’s my fault.” Marc leaned back. “I had all this before them. Now that I have them, they have to have these problems too.” 

“That isn’t how it works and you know it.” She scoffed. “As far as I understand it, there is no ‘before them’ when it comes to this stuff. You all have the same problem because that’s just how it works. You all just handle it differently.” 

No before. Marc wasn’t sure about before. Who was he before Steven and Jake? Was he himself or was he all of them? Was he no one? Perhaps they were there first and he came later, crawling out of the desert leaving behind blood soaked sand filled with memories of pain and suffering. 

Thinking about it like that made him dizzy. Was he born in the desert? What if Jake and Steven had always been and he was the one that came out just to cause them pain and suffering? Soaked in sweat and blood and grime to reflect the inside of his very soul. 

He forced a little headshake to be rid of the thought. He knew better. He had been around since the earlier years. He remembered the snap of the belt. If anything, that was his proof of existence. 

Layla squeezed his hand when she noticed him frowning harder than normal. Thinking about his very existence was more than he could handle. He jolted a little and forced himself to squeeze her hand back, though it was weak. 

“Do you think you were happier before you knew all of this?” Marc leaned back and looked up at her. “When you thought I was just some normal man?” 

“You were never normal.” Layla smiled teasingly and brushed his hair out of his eyes. “You were a bottled up shell of a person that stared at me way too long and hard every time I looked at you. I fell for you because of the real you I would see now and then. You thought you were so clever and sneaky but I knew there was something.” 

“You probably weren’t expecting this much of a mess though.” Marc smiled back at her and laughed to himself. 

She shrugged. “Worst case I thought you had another wife and kids somewhere. Just turns out you were three people in a trench coat.” 

“Might still have a wife and kids somewhere.” It was Marc’s turn to give her the teasing look. “I mean, no one knows what Jake gets up to all the time.” 

“That is Jake’s business.” Layla shrugged. “And he would tell me if he did. He isn’t trouble like you are.” 

“Jake doesn’t tell you everything.” Marc frowned. 

Layla smiled and sat back. “He doesn’t tell you everything. I’m his gossip buddy.” 

“His what?” Marc sat up. “What does that even mean?” 

She zipped her lips and smiled. “Relax, Marc. You have nothing to worry about. Jake is my sort of gauge on how you’re doing as a whole. I help him relax and he lets me know when there are things to worry about.” 

“Things to worry about.” Marc crossed his arms. “So he’s like a snitch? I would have thought Steven would be the snitch out of all us. What sort of things does he tell you?” 

“He is not a snitch.” She frowned at him. “And I’ll have you know that Steven is the most trustworthy of the three of you to hold a secret.” She relaxed again, though he could tell she was mildly irritated. “Steven tells me if he has concerns. If he thinks there’s trouble or danger. He tells me if he’s having an off day. He thinks it is important to keep me in the loop, but he also doesn’t go into detail if he is fronting because of problems. Jake tells me if he is fronting because of necessity or because he wants to. There is a difference. An important one.” 

Marc looked away. He shared front most often with Steven. Steven was the easiest to switch with and often found it fun to sit with him as co-driver. It was a puzzle that Steven just couldn’t help but hack away at and be the best at. If Steven took over by force it was with good reason, but he knew Steven would never broadcast it. 

Marc had the hardest time switching with Jake. Jake often came to front after Steven. It seemed smoother and less jarring. If he and Jake tried to switch out on purpose there was always a delay. A delay that ran the risk of letting him drift. Not to mention the amnesic barrier that seemed to always sit between him and Jake. If Jake pulled front by force then it was usually a very bad day for a number of potential reasons. 

Reasons Marc didn’t want to think about. Reasons that Jake kept from him at times. Or perhaps reasons that Marc himself refused to see. 

Layla sighed. “I’m sorry.” 

“For what?” Marc stared up at the ceiling, resting his head back against the couch in a position that was sure to strain his neck if he waited too long. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

“I’m not upset.” Marc closed his eyes for a moment and felt the world shift. “I just… I wish you’d see…” 

“What do you want me to see Marc?” She sat forward and looked at him fully, the frustration on her face easy to see. “I don’t like it when you are so hard on yourself. You know I can’t agree with you when you talk like this. I love you too much to hear any sort of hateful speech about you, no matter who it is from.”

He couldn’t do it anymore. He didn’t want to argue with Layla and he could not explain it to her. How could he? He couldn’t explain it to himself. He didn’t know who was closer to the front, but one of them would step in. He let go and fell to the back. He didn’t even want to be aware of what was going on. Especially since he was certain it was not going to be an easy transition. 

He would apologize later. He was always apologizing later. 

Steven groaned and scrunched up his face as the world swam into focus. “Oh bloody hell.” He took a slow breath and let himself focus in on his surroundings slowly. “M’alright.” 

“Great.” Layla sighed and struggled to reign in her frustration. “Hey, Steven.” 

“Hmm.” He smiled as he focused in on her face. The smile faltered as he noticed her look of utter irritation. “Sorry. What did I miss? Is everything alright?” 

She shook her head. “It’s not your fault.” She took his hand and squeezed it gently. “Marc has been in and out all day. I made the mistake of pushing him. I thought maybe he just needed some company or something to ground him. He pushed back. I don’t know why I’m surprised. Then he just throws you out when I call him on his own B.S.” 

“Oh.” Steven squeezes her hand firmly then frowns. “Are you mad at him?” Steven was the peace keeper. He did his best to keep everyone happy. To make sure no one felt left out. 

He had been the first to bridge the gap between Marc and Jake. The first to open communication between Layla and Jake. He kept everyone in the loop. 

Even now, he was fishing inside for the general sense of wellbeing. Marc snapped back and pulled away, effectively slamming the door on him. 

“No.” Layla crossed her arms and looked up at the ceiling, taking a few deep breaths. She tried to contain her emotions at times. She hated to think that any arguments or problems would carry over to her feelings on someone else that wasn’t involved. 

Sometimes it was hard. 

Sometimes Marc shut her out and she turned a cold shoulder to Steven because she needed someone to know she was upset. She knew she had snapped at Jake more than once when the realities of the situation became too heavy for her to hold up. 

“Yes.” She sighed and forced herself to take his hand. The same fingers, the same warmth, yet a lighter and more delicate hold. “He’s been a mess all day and I don’t know how to help him. He won’t let me help him.” 

Steven nodded. “I think we’re just having a day.” 

“What does that mean?” She looked at him, desperate to know. “A day? A day of what? Is he depressed? Is he upset? Does he need space? Should I trust him with space?” 

Steven scrunched up his face and rubbed his temple. The headache was starting to pound. It was hard for him to know if this was what had set off Marc or if the headache was a result of Marc being set off. 

“No. Nothing like that. He’s… He’ll be fine.” Steven did not have a poker face. When his world spun, he reached inside again. “I’m sorry, Love. I feel terrible. I’d like to go lay down for a bit, if that’s alright?” 

Layla looked at him with concern then nodded. “Of course.” 

She watched him get up and wander to the bed, flopping back as he pulled the blankets around himself like a cocoon. 

“Do you want anything? Some aspirin? Water?” She tried to help. Wanted to help. Needed to help. 

Steven made a sound and curled up tighter, rolling up in the blanket till all she could see was a few stray curls poking out of the top. 

“Alright. Just let me know if you need anything.” She moved to fill a glass of water and set it on the bedside table. 

He would be in bed for the next several hours. Marc had pushed too hard and now it was like he had dug his finger into the brain and clawed at it like an animal trying to escape. All that was left was for Steven to cling to it like a tether. 

Sometimes things spilled over. More than headaches and spinning into the nothing. 

Sometimes emotions carried through them. Sudden bouts of anxiety could pierce them, making the heart pound as adrenalin shot through them like a live wire. 

Steven was prone to the anxiety attacks. Worry about life. About the body. About his headmates. About Layla. About the relationship. About his job. About existing. 

Marc coasted over the anxiety like nothing. He was used to adrenalin. His face neutral, he would take a breath and focus like only Marc Spector could, holding down the fort like a man that had never known how to relax a day in his life. 

Anger was an emotion that sometimes scared Steven. He hadn’t realized he had the capacity until he learned about his headmates. Marc was filled with anger. He held it all back until he blew up. Steven would often blow up right along with him, unable to hold on. 

Jake knew anger. Jake had known rage and learned how to harness it. When the anger became destructive, Jake could pull it in and use the fuel to get things done. Jake was never more productive than when the anger simmered over into a boil. 

Steven wondered what emotion Jake brought to the table. Then again, Steven also often found himself crying for no reason. There were times when the tears would flow down his face without any reason. 

Marc was not connected to this overflow. When the sadness was too much inside, Marc disconnected. It made Steven wonder who of them was really feeling it. His own connection with Jake left him with suspicions but he was too afraid to ask. 

Steven had asked Jake once if it had always just been the three of them. He wondered about time spans in their life that neither he or Marc seemed to have. Had Jake been that active once? 

The one with those memories isn’t around anymore.

It scared him. To know that someone had once been there and was simply not anything anymore. Not death and not sleeping. Just… Not. Not aware? Lost in the void? Sitting quietly alone somewhere and feeling free from the mess that existed around them? 

Then again, he himself had such large gaps in his memory that perhaps he had simply not been anything for a while too. 

Steven curled up tighter and pulled the blanket down until it was stuffy and hot. 

How many had come and gone? How many were simply lurking and staying quiet? How many knew things that were forbidden? 

Marc was prone to flashbacks. They usually came at night. Sometimes set off by sounds and sometimes by weather. Rain often clenched at his heart till Steven slipped in. 

Yet one of them had started waking the body up late at night screaming. Emotions so overblown and painful that Steven would blindly step in and catch the tail end of pure terror. Flashes of something he couldn’t see. Sounds from the past that deafened them until the world was a buzz. 

Marc denied these attacks. He had no recollection of them. Jake seemed tight lipped and frustrated by these break through attacks, but he assured Steven it wasn’t from him. 

Someone in the system was distressed. 

I don’t know who you are, and it’s okay if you want to stay hidden…. But you need to know that you aren’t alone. You are safe here. We’re here for you. 

He called out. Into the dark. Into the void. Into the inner space. 

You are safe. 

“Steven?” 

He jumped and sat up. How long had he been in bed? Was it still day? What day was it? 

A fear often struck him that one day he might close his eyes and open them years later to find everything different yet to him no time at all. 

He looked around, trying to find context clues till his eyes settled on Layla. 

“Are you feeling any better?” She sat on the edge of the bed, a soft and hopeful smile hiding her worry. 

“How long was I out?” 

“Just a couple of hours.” She glanced to the side where she had set a fresh cup of tea. 

Steven smiled and adjusted himself till he was comfortable then took the cup of tea carefully. It was still hot and smelled wonderful and strong. 

Layla always made a strong cup of anything she brewed. Marc swore that Layla could raise the dead with her coffee. Jake had gotten a taste for it and they now had rules in place on when and how much he could drink. 

Steven stared down into the dark water, hands clutching the cup as he let the heat radiate outwards to warm him. He could pretend that it reached into his very soul and set fire to his hearth, then perhaps Marc and Jake could feel it too and they could gather around the glow. 

“Are you alright?” Layla leaned down so she could peer at his face under the mess of curls. 

It was then that Steven felt the tears drip off his chin to splash down into the tea. 

He managed a nod and wiped a cheek on his sleeve. He sipped the tea, now laced in sadness. It was bitter, but not unpleasantly so. 

“We’re a mess today, huh?” He mumbled. 

“Everyone has bad days.” She smiled softly. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No.” Steven didn’t like talking about things that were not his own. If Marc needed space, he would give it. If things got out of hand, he would intervene. It was his place to trust Marc. To trust the others. 

Let me talk to her.

Steven frowned. Jake did not give space. Jake was often blunt and always analyzing a situation. 

“Let me finish my tea.” Steven suddenly felt stubborn and sour. Jake didn’t like tea and had let Steven take the brunt of the headache earlier when he had been just as close to the front when Marc bailed. 

The look in Layla’s eyes meant she knew Jake was trying to front. Like watching someone waiting for a friend at the airport. He would come with news and a smile.

Steven was just in the way now. A stand in between her and the functionings of something she wanted to know… But did she need to know? 

He sipped the tea again, less careful this time as he burned his lips a little. 

Steven.

It was a warning. Jake knew that Steven hated being spoken down to. Hated being looked at as incapable. He wanted to handle it. He could handle it. He always handled it. 

“Not now.” Steven snapped and moved to get out of the bed as if he could possibly put distance between him and the thing in his head that was annoying him. 

Steven. Let go.

Jake could pull him. He could pull Marc easily in the worst of times. Yet they all knew that Steven could put up a fight. If Steven didn’t want to go, he would fight and no one would come out of it unscathed. 

It was only kindness to them all that Jake asked. Normally Steven obliged. Jake didn’t ask for front a lot. Sometimes he was thrust into it, sometimes he took it by force, and sometimes he just slipped in. Usually when Jake asked, Steven was more than happy to step aside. He knew what it was to be pushed back when scared and alone… Begging to have control of his life… 

He burned his mouth on the tea and winced as he felt the scald run down his throat to sit in his stomach like a hot coal. The cup of tea sloshed over his hand before he set it down on the side table. 

“Fuck!” Jake moved to the bathroom and quickly cupped his hand under the cold water then moved to guzzle it, putting out the fire inside. 

I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Oh god! Are we okay? 

Jake sighed as he felt the damage, his tongue raw and the roof of his mouth nicely seared. That would be a lovely annoyance for the next week. His hand was only mildly burned and at least would be fine by tomorrow. 

He looked up to find Layla behind him in the mirror, her eyes full of concern. 

“We’re okay.” An answer to her and Steven. 

He let out a heavy sigh, feeling himself settle in as the air left him. Almost like he was forcing out the remnants of the other two. Inhaling slowly, he filled with his own troubles. 

“We aren’t okay.” He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back out of his face before turning back to face Layla fully. 

“It’s the change of the season. The end of summer as the rains start to hit.” Jake glanced at the window, watching the sun casting lingering shadows at low angles. “A bad time of year for us… A lot of bad memories… A lot of regrets. Loss…” 

The sun was no longer golden and warm. It was hot and unloving. The night would stretch on and the pounding on the door would get louder. Tears at night soaked through pillows and night terrors left dark circles under eyes. 

The first rain would flash flood, unable to soak into the too dry ground fast enough. Dark grays like her sweater, coarse and painful in a hug full of lies and promises. 

He would see his father’s sad face in the windows he passed. Unknown to him in his age, no longer the strong and happy man he had known. He would hear him begging to stay as he walked away. 

And the screams… 

Jake clenched his eyes shut for a moment, willing the memories away before they overwhelmed him and flooded through. Steven was already too close and getting emotional carry over. He didn’t need the nightmares too. One of them needed to be able to sleep at night. 

Marc knew the nightmares were coming. Like clockwork he knew the depression would slide in to poison his mind and drag him down. 

But this was the first year that they were all aware of one another. 

This was the first time that Marc knew he didn’t have to be present. That perhaps…

“Fucking bastard is trying to dissociate his way through it.” Jake groaned and moved to slump back on the couch. 

“What’s that?” Layla settled in next to him. 

“This is our first year being… We.” He struggled to explain. “Aware. The first time we’ve known about each other. In the past, Marc fought through it. Held his ground and got depressed and… You know. You were there for a lot of it.” 

Layla looked thoughtful for a moment. “I used to think it was seasonal affective disorder.” She tilted her head as she chased a memory. 

“I bought him one of those sun lamps that are supposed to improve your mood.” She sighed. “I don’t think it helped at all. I thought it was weird that his depression started in so much earlier than most people.” 

Jake gave her a small smile, trying to imagine Marc sitting in front of the lamp dutifully every day while Layla watched, knowing that it wasn’t going to help. 

“He doesn’t have to hold his ground anymore. He doesn’t want to be present for it.” Jake shook his head at the cleverness that was both impressive and also so utterly infuriating. 

“You mean like hibernation?” Layla looked startled. “He’s just going to… What? Sleep all season? I’ll see him in the spring?”

He would try to be a grumpy bear, wouldn’t he? Steven grumbled from the back. He was still keeping his distance, feeling ashamed for burning them. 

Jake leaned on his hand, covering up a smile at that. “Marc wishes he could go into hibernation. It doesn’t work that way. He might try to front less… But he is still going to be affected. He’s trying to detach himself from the moment. If he’s stuck in the moment, he might even try to force us to switch. Give us reason to pull him.” 

Leave it to Marc to come up with a way to use his D.I.D to try to get out of his feelings instead of trying to face them. 

Layla was quiet for a moment then looked down. “It’s not a bad idea… Maybe we should let him. Is it so wrong to help him not suffer?” 

Jake sank further back into the couch till even Steven was complaining about the posture. 

Jake please, our back!

He remembered the feeling of helplessness. The feeling of sitting in a chair as the sedation washed over them. The feel of the body being numb and heavy. The struggle to even look up and see who was talking. 

Jake had hated every moment of it. Every moment of helplessness. The sensation of nothing. Of being locked out. 

But not Marc… Marc had loved it. The feeling of not having to do anything. He loved the way he didn’t have to think. 

It was any wonder that Marc developed a drinking problem after that. Desperately trying to recreate the numbness. 

It was only out of pure will that they had managed to avoid diving into deeper and more damaging things. 

“It doesn’t work like that. You can’t control things like that. Our system is actually pretty delicate. All three of us…” He paused here, not used to including himself in these admissions. “We’re all in a pretty delicate balance. He can’t just pretend he isn’t here for half the year.” 

“What one does, the others have to deal with too.” Layla frowned then looked down at Jake. She reached out and gently gripped his arm, pulling him back up into a better posture to spare their back. “Marc might be fine, but the other two would suffer…” 

Steven perked up at that. The nightmares… Are they yours?  

Jake leaned into Layla lightly, laying a hand over hers to keep her touch there a moment longer. “Steven would be happy to run the show, I’m sure. Pretending that we didn’t exist. Living like he did before he knew…” 

Steven protested, but half heartedly. He knew the truth and couldn’t hide it. How easy it would be to pretend he was normal. He would be sad at first, missing the company. But how many times did he wake up in the morning and call out, wondering if it was all just a dream? Would it be possible for denial to kick in and make him forget? Would it be hard to give up control again in the spring? 

Even without the denial, the loneliness felt like a pit deep inside and it terrified him. 

“I don’t think Steven would be very happy alone.” Layla looked down at Jake’s trembling hand that clung to hers. He hadn’t even realized how tightly he had been clinging. “I don’t think any of you want to or should be alone.” 

She lay her head against his shoulder and gently wrapped her free arm around his waist. 

“I’m sorry.” Jake or Steven mumbled. They didn’t know who was in front. Steven had always blended easily with the others. Even before he knew about the others. It was easy for Marc of Jake to mesh with Steven. His strength had always been to hold them up and together. 

“It’s okay…” She whispered as she squeezed his hand. Steven loved to be held. Jake loved to be leaned into. Marc loved to do the holding. “I’ll be here for you.” 

Tears ran down their cheeks again, flowing into streams like a flash flood. Steven felt his heart clench in anxiety and Jake pushed back a memory. 

Someone inside was so sad that it threatened to drown them all. 

You’re okay. You’re safe now.  

He cried out into the emptiness. 

Jake’s hand squeezed Layla’s till he slipped back and let Steven have the front again. 

At what point would it not be enough to be reassured? At what point would it be too much to exist? Sometimes it was so nice to not be. 

Jake wished he could feel it too. The way Marc did… The free float of nothing. Instead, he was trapped here in the sarcophagus pounding his fists against the solid wood, feeling everything. 

---

Part Two HERE

[docholligay]

Do you have any words (yours or by others) on grief/grieving a loved one?

I’ve been thinking about this a lot since I got it. I know this will sound strange coming from me, someone who writes not-infrequently about grief in the context of fictional characters, but you have to understand this: A frame makes a thing look like art. It’s easier to do things when they’re made to sit on a wall. So I’ve written and erased a dozen things, because I’m not sure how to talk about it when it’s me saying it. Which I guess is sad in its own right. That’s fine. This will have to be what it is. 

Some people have never been touched by death. 

I know it’s true, but it surprises me every time. I think all people of a certain age think they’ve lost someone, but there’s losing, and there’s being touched. If you’re coming to me with this question, you must know what I mean. You know someone who died, and that’s a little sad, you miss them, and you think of them from time to time. Grandparents, great-grandparents, classmates. Celebrities, if you’re weird enough. 

But then there’s being touched. I’m not sure I could have described the difference, before it happened to me. Someone dies, and, the world changes in an immeasurable way. Nothing will ever feel the same again. Now that’s all a very well traveled and quasi-hackneyed set of ideas, but it is true. The world is shifted. Doorknobs turn the other way, and always will. You could have sworn that clock had a robin at six, and not a blue jay, but the jay is singing now. The coffee didn’t taste burnt yesterday, or maybe it did but it was right for it to be burnt. 

The world is too still, and too loud. 

Grief is a shared way in which we are alien to each other. No two people mourn alike, and no deaths are mourned the same. I have been furious in the first flush of grief. I have burned things and made sacred oaths to my eternal anger. My grandmother sold everything he owned the week of my grandfather’s funeral. My friend once sobbed picking up a box of cookies from the supermarket. If at no point in your grief could you be called insane by a reasonable person, you cannot possibly understand what I’m talking about. 

You ever eaten a piece of gristle? I think grief is that piece of gristle. You chew and you chew, and you chew, but it just won’t go. You think, ‘if only I could get this down, everything would be okay’ but you can’t. It just sticks in your mouth, and it makes you gag, turning its oiliness over in your mouth. 

I nearly died once, by accident, mind you, in the grips of grief. It happens. You gag. 

So I think about that a lot, because its true what they say that flowers grow best where there was rot, and that’s true, but the trick of it is, that before the flowers can grow, that rot has to be broken down. It has to be chewed. And that takes time. 

There was a bar we went to. It was a fucking dive with shitty food and badly-poured beer, but PBR was a dollar on Mondays and you got a free basket of bacon. That’s where she told me she was dying, and I told her if she planned on doing this, she might have paid more than 3 bucks for my tab. 

It was a mess of a bar. 

They tore it down, shit, seven years ago now? And I remember thinking, ‘No, they can’t do that. They can’t get rid of that bar. It has to stand.” and I couldn’t have articulated to you why it had to stand, why this place I never thought much of and in which nothing good had ever happened to me had to stand, but I it tugged at me so hard. Because I could still hear her voice echoing there, and I could still hear what she told me. And if that bar didn’t exist anymore, than maybe it was never really real. 

Because that’s the insane part, right? You have individually and personally experienced 9/11, but everyone around you doesn’t realize the massive change the world has gone through. You are screaming at the smoldering pit, the scent of jet fuel in the air, and someone gives you that pitying look and goes, ‘How you holding up?” because the world is not different for them. You are fully prepared to have your knitting needles confiscated for the next twenty years if it would just make you feel safe again, make things feel right again, but this asshole standing in front of you has no idea. 

Because you’re changed. 

Grief changes us, but it’s wrong to think of that change as a ruining. 

The grand canyon is nothing but but a ditch dug by time, and wear, but people travel from all over the world to see it. A silver bowl tarnishes, but in the tarnish there are patterns and plays of light the new silver never dreamed of. Then again, that shitty dive bar is now a gastropub that serves burgers with aioli and has a gluten free menu, so some change is ruin, but that is not settled law. You can be changed and just be different. Different is not always worse. 

I think every person I’ve lost, and there have been more than I’d like, has changed me in some way. I’ve been a drunk, I’ve been destructive, I’ve been religious and reflective, and I’ve been a planner. I’m not any of those on a full-time basis anymore, but I see them all in the mirror, looking back at me. All those Docs, all the ways she has felt, still exist in me. 

 My grandfather, he of blessed memory, used to say that you don’t ever have to get over things, but you do have to get on with them. I think that’s what I’ve tried to carry with me. 

That’s the first step to breaking down the rot. Chop wood, and carry water. You keep it moving. You carry that with you, and you carry them with you. Sometimes thre’s nothing to do but the work.Then one day, you realize you told a story about them, and you laughed. You didn’t even think about crying. So then you cry.  Time comes you spent a whole day not thinking about them, and then you cry again. But slowly, life starts to take shape there. Things grow in around the ruins, and maybe it’s even more beautiful than before. You fly their memory like a kite, bright and bouncing in the wind of your life. People can see it in you, even if they don’t quite know what it is. It’s just a pretty, dancing thing in the clouds. 

And then you realize, you don’t want you knitting needles confiscated anymore. 

I recently laid years of anger to rest over someone’s death. It was the first time I cried about it. As soon as I stopped being mad, I had to let the sorrow in. After you clear the rot, you still need the rain, I guess. 

You get better. There are still trenches dug in the French forest from WWI, but the forest is no less green for them. Tragedy above all others. Covered by the willingness to grow. 

I feel like this fucking ramble makes less sense the more I noodle on it, and in many ways is more about how to move through grief than what it feels like, so, I don’t know, the best I have in the way of a poetic thought is that sometimes grief in the way all the clothes end up in the hamper now, and the way you stop halfway up the stairs with a cup of coffee before you remember, and the way you never walk past that cafe with the little pink cakes. That sharp, cold knife is small, and fits in so many places. 

But it can’t stop the grass from growing.

[rewordthis]

The struggles of art, are not for everyone.

It’s really not, indeed.

You have to like the process first and foremost.

If when putting the tip of the pencil down onto paper your main thoughts are how you’re bad, how you won’t have any progress, or hope you’ll be as good as those famous artists you follow on here or Twitter, then you’re really doing it wrong.

I’ve been drawing for forever and I still don’t seem to make anything better than before but having an old drawing around always puts things into perspective. I draw because it gives me peace of mind. If it just gives you anxiety then sure, it’s not for you.

And in the end, what I love the most about it is the sensation of my pencil-tip scratching that blank void that a sheet of paper is. Not the prospect of earning likes, a following, or money from it. I have tons of art that’ll never see the light of day for many reasons, that I’m so hang up on the fact that I made it. I was in my best condition when I made those pieces, in the right headspace, I was whole. The muses guided my hands these times, God smiled down on me.

What can I say? I’m a girl of simple things.

But the whole debate about whether AI is a medium for creation or easy theft, has soured my mood.

I do NOT consider AI art when its main ‘reference’ is straight up stealing and plagiarising someone’s sweat and tears. Before feeding it your favourite artist’s (or writer’s) work to mince and chew it up like it’s nothing in order to vomit a halfassed attempt at creation on your part remember this, the artists and writers the works of you used, are real people. They breathe, they eat, they cry. They pour TIME into their works. Time that you do NOT respect. They put feelings into their works. Feelings that you do NOT respect. For some of them, it’s also their main income. Income that you DEVALUE by stealing what is considered a unique trait of their trade!

You will NEVER learn anything nor get better at anything other than stealing that way. Because you haven’t known the value of hard work. The value of putting a chip of your soul into what you make. The value of living inside every work you’ve ever CREATED. You never lost sleep, food, or a piece of your sanity trying to make something from scratch. Trying to make it work. Trying to give birth to something unique.

What pitiful existences really, are those who can’t value someone else’s soul enough to respect it…

Anyway… this is getting heavy for me so I’m not going to rant over this anymore. I just want to say that I’m going to release some basic everyday steps for those who really want to learn drawing to follow on their own. Art takes time. Great writing takes time. It also takes for someone to be happy each time for what they were capable of creating.

That said, let me be clear that these mini exercises aren’t gonna clinch you a job at mappa, nor are they going to teach you proportions or whatever else those tutorials promise you, they’re specific to making you understand how 3D and observation works in order for you to be able to pick the elements you need every time you make a new piece. That’s all!

Progress isn’t jumping from 3yo art to fucking Rembrandt. It’ll suck ass before it even looks remotely decent!

Make sure to have that☝️printed and posted on your wall. That’s an order! *flexes whip*

Ok, I’m kidding, but seriously that’s your only motto from now on if you want to get better.

And now let’s prepare the ground for your exercises.

What you’ll need first is either a normal pencil or a 2mm one. No 0,5’s or whatever… in general NO mechanical pencils. Personally I’d recommend starting with a wooden pencil, though.

A good eraser that doesn’t smudge. It doesn’t matter what colour or brand as long as it erases the graphite well and without too much mess. Remember, NO SMUGES! *Forgot to say, a charcoal eraser will be a good friend, if it’s affordable. (Sorry for forgetting that.)

Now, hardness:

Find your typical hand writing pressure in the table below.

Generally the harder you press, the more difficult to erase. So bigger pressure (aka black marks, scratches etc) is 5.

5 4 3 2 1

2H H HB B 2B

How it works:

If you’re 3 you’ll need:

H: tracing

HB: outline

2B: shading

If you’re a 5 you’ll need:

2H: tracing

H or HB: outline

B: shading

If you’re 1 you’ll need:

HB: tracing

HB or B: outline

2B: shading

If you are 2 or 4 you’ll have to go through trial and error. Sorry. Just keep in mind that depending on where you lean; extremes or average (3), you follow the guidelines above.

For example, I am a hard 5 (if not 5,5 lol) so at some point I resorted working with just 2H and HB. I only ever use B when I need something to be black— which admittedly happens rarely. It’s only a few times you’ll need to depict actual black.

> You generally need a tracing pencil that won’t leave too dark visible marks behind when erased. People 5 and 4 will have to be a little careful though and not scratch the paper but that will come with practice.

> Your outline has to be enough to ‘stain’ the paper so you won’t lose your main sketch. It’s also correction time. Yey!

> Your shading shouldn’t smudge because you’re going to use layers. Yes. Even in traditional art you darken in layers, typically in as light moves as possible and in varying angles until you get the shade you want but that’s for later.

I personally don’t have any specific papers to propose to you (bitch you’re using basic photo-printing A4 papers wth lol). You’ll just need a hard surface, especially my 5 and 4 palls.

Ok, that’s it for today, folks.

Let me also slap a disclaimer here: I am NOT a professional art tutor. I just love art. 🤗

[bunnidid-reviews]

DID(Headcanon) Book Review

Facts -

Book Title: Still Life with Tornado

Author: A.S. King

Publication date: 2016

Fiction or Nonfiction: Fiction

Was there a diagnosis of DID? No

Was the person with DID presented as evil for having DID? No

Major Trigger warning list:

-          Descriptions of domestic violence, at times somewhat graphic (mentions of hitting, punching, breaking bones and threatening

-          Witnessing a spanking (at least audibly and then mentioning it by name, which I personally cant stand)

-          Emotional abuse, general tension and unrest

-          Gaslighting (? Is it? I don’t like misusing the word)

-          Very vague mentions of witnessing sexual misconduct on a minor (a teacher having kissed a student and the main character witnessing it)

-          Medical stuff that can sometimes be a bit graphic? (the mother is an emergency room nurse)

-          The police show up and make an arrest in the end (its not violent)

Subjective Review(this is how I felt about it) -

Personal triggering scale from 1 to 10 (1 being not triggering at all, 10 being a badly overwhelming experience that might cause personal harm): 5-10? (not too graphic but hit a bit close to home for me personally)

Personal relatability scale from 1 to 10 (1 being unrelatable, 10 being OMG THAT’S ME!): 10

Personal avoidance scale from 1 to 10(1 being eager to get on with it, 10 being impossible to finish): 7

My interpretation of the media(Includes spoilers):

Aaaaaaahhh this book was a hard read. Okay let’s go

The basic premise is about the 16-year-old Sarah. She’s an artist, but suddenly finds she suddenly can’t create anymore, and this is obviously distressing for her. It’s hinted at that the art teacher is suspicious, and something had happened in the art club that sparks this initial avoidance. Sarah was seemingly a good student with fine grades and on her way to being an artist, when she suddenly decides to drop out.

It’s clear by the tension she comes home to, that this is not a household that communicates with one another. Her mother is a night-shift emergency room nurse who’s always exhausted, her father is a sinkhole of a man. He has a job I don’t remember, he takes up a certain space that makes everyone around him very wary. The older brother is completely out of the scene and has been for 6 years. No one talks about it. Or anything, for that matter. These aren’t people Sarah can depend on.

There’s something wrong and no one ever talks about anything. Nothing is original.

In the steady decline of Sarah’s mental health, we start with her deciding to get her name changed to Umbrella, something of a nonsense choice that becomes symbolic of her favorite umbrella, one that shields her from the raining Bullshit as she ponders on whatever’s making her the way she is.

At the bus stop she meets 23-year-old Sarah, who clues in that even though life is hard, it gets better. And 10 year old Sarah, who’s sole existence surrounds the trip to Mexico and the traumatic events that transpired. Then 40 year old Sarah, who pushes for Umbrella to talk about what’s all going on here. The Sarahs all exist in the world as real people that others can interact with (which other characters find uncanny), but also seemingly show up out of the blue around Sarah. You can see how I feel this is heavy DID-coding, right?

As Umbrella traverses her existential crisis, we get flashbacks that piece together what’s going on under the surface, going over the trip in Mexico several times with more and more truth to it. This is all chock-full of confusion, denial and obvious dissociation; a tornado. Every now and again the chapters are in the point of view of Helen(the mom), who’s resentful and full of loathing for her life and her rat of a husband. Sarah also makes contact with her estranged brother to find the truth.

The hard truth we find out, is that the father had been regularly violent to his wife and son for years and years, up until Sarah was born. The incident Umbrella can’t remember was the same thing happening again on their trip to Mexico, that pushed the older brother into deciding to leave.

When Chet(the father) is confronted with the sight of his son coming back home, he has a violent rage and completely wrecks the house. When Umbrella confronts him, he destroys things dear to her, like the very umbrella she named herself after.

The cops are called. Chet the rat puts on a pathetic display as he’s he’s hauled out by the police. A divorce is sorted out and no matter his attempts to come back, all four of the Sarahs personally pack up his belongings and kick him out of the house for good.

Everyone lives a hopefully happily ever after with their sights set on healing. 10-year-old Sarah fuses with Umbrella, and it’s assumed the other two do too

~

This book is very difficult for me because the only difference between Chet and my own father is a couple of letters in the name and the lack of the bitter irony of being a “Loving Pastor". Everything about this book really resonated deeply with me, from the way he was intentionally unresponsive in a way to bait others into starting fights with him, down to completely not recognizing my own face. Chris is just as perfectly pathetic as Chet was in the book, and it shook me to the core to read such an accurate description of my own father.

I recall having a similar mental breakdown from 14-16 as well, and it went very much the same way. Nothing is original, after all.

A big part of Sarah’s trauma too is the betrayal of the Helen choosing to stay for the sake of ‘the girl needs a father’. Helen lost her son over her broken marriage. She didn’t leave, despite knowing all this, despite knowing it could happen again. I understand that she’s a domestic abuse victim herself and its very hard to get out of these situations in real life, but the absence of violence is not love. Sarah is betrayed and traumatized by it, and rightfully so. Her viewing 10-year-old Sarah as a ‘second chance’ for HERSELF hits really hard.

This book reads like a teenager going through all this who will later find out about her DID, because she doesn’t have the words for it at this point in time. The fragmented, unfeeling or only-feeling nature of her memories feel a lot like what memory recall is like with DID. Her unwinding into Nihilism and unreality is very dissociative in nature. The betrayal of being lied to all her life is palpable and complex.

What I found interesting was that the author clarifies that there are four Sarahs (10 yr old, Umbrella, 23 yr old and 40 yr old), but I’d argue there are a couple other fragmentations. The chapters titled with Tornado seem to almost be another part of Umbrella who embraces becoming a homeless man feels like an introject part. The sudden change in goals at the start of the book feels as though Umbrella is newly split off and taking over for whatever Sarah came before.

The author put a lot of personal details into this book, so I’m assuming a lot of this story is true to her own life. I don’t know how else you write a quietly domestically violent family like this without lived experience. The characters are all flawed and so life-like. The villain is notably human and not evil in the classic Disney villain sense. Evil and vile but in an extremely real way

It’s a really hard read, but it’s a good one. I’m not sure what else to say. If you’ve had experiences like this, traverse with caution, it might take you back like it did for me

Sorry this review is a bit of a scrambled mess also. I might’ve gotten some details mixed up, usually I do extra research for what I’m ingesting and didn’t have the energy for this one by the end

Key features that makes it relatable to the CDD experience:

-          Heavy dissociative vibes.

-          Depression, anxiety, traumatized spiralling

-          The multiple selves that come from different time periods of her life

-          Introjection

-          Memory loss, memories that unfold slowly and in small details

Key features that deters from it being called a CDD directly:

-          23 and 40 coming from the future

-          The Sarahs appearing as physical people other people can see

Would I recommend this to someone with DID to read?: Yes, but it’s very very relatable. You can feel the tension in the book.

[ramurosa]

I’ve had this train of thought a lot and I think back to it every time I listen to my tears ricochet, but I really like love songs as a vessel through which to describe emotions and relationships that aren’t romantic. I thought about it first when I saw some people say that my tears ricochet is about the masters situation and Taylor’s relationship Scott Borchetta&Scooter Braun. I thought that was interesting bc Taylor writes a lot of love and breakup songs but she also writes outside romance and to me, my tears ricochet is a breakup song, but the situation wasn’t at all romantic. It was a very real and traumatic experience for her…

To preface, the most important thing to remember is that a song doesn’t have to be about any real life situation the artist has experienced. It can be inspired and hinted at within the piece, but it is a work of art that exists in the context of an artist’s life but isn’t defined by it. The age old “it’s about whatever you want it to be” that most people understand, but that I think it’s important to say anyway before I explain further. Bc yeah, my tears ricochet definitely alludes to the masters situation with a few lyrics (“cursing my name, wishing I stayed, look at how my tears ricochet/you know I didn’t want to have to haunt you, but what a ghostly scene/you wear the same jewels that i gave you as you bury me/I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want, just not home/you can aim at my for my heart, go for blood/you hear my stolen lullabies/you had to kill me but it killed you just the same”), but it can also be about my yaois if i want it to be. It doesn’t really matter, that’s what art is for. But that doesn’t mean that it’s perverse or weird to look at a song and explore the real life inspirations.

Which brings to my actual point, i think it’s really interesting to write love/breakup songs based on experiences that weren’t romantic! I can’t think of any examples off the top of my head right now other than my tears ricochet, which is sad, because I bet theres a lot of em. But isn’t it cute? There’s something very human about it to me. Compartmentalising emotions by putting them into a non existent relationship. Or even better yet, putting them into a past relationship. Isn’t it funny that being fired by your asshole boss might inspire you to write a song about your highschool boyfriend who was lowkey misogynistic? I think it’s crazy cute. Sometimes we have to compartmentalise with love, or lack there of. That’s so funny…

[danbisroom]

Ep. 4 - A Message Encased in You

Hello everyone,

Welcome back to Danbi’s Room, your weekly dose of safe space. Grab a cup of something warm and get yourself cosy.

I hope you’re doing well and that you had the possibility to rest during the weekend. And I also hope that, at least once, at least for a brief moment, you looked at yourself in the mirror and you felt proud. Of everything you are and you’ve ever been. And I hope that even if you felt failure within you your soul remembered that every failure is a clue that gets you closer to whatever you might want to be or do. I hope you looked at yourself like you look at a piece of art. A real piece of art. Complex, multifaceted, unique, sublime. Beauty and terror, or strength and softness…the possible combinations are infinite and ever-changing. The point is still feeling beyond our bodies. As we always say, we’re all particles of this universe, like trees and stars and drops in the ocean. Different, united and essential. Having our own singularities is not only beautiful: we would have never survived otherwise. The pack can’t survive if everybody’s the same and does the same things and behaves the same way. That’s, in short, why we should never look down on others or ourselves “just because”. We all have our reason to exist in this form and even without resorting to motives, can’t we just joyfully live and love ourselves and each other? After all, art is meant to make you feel something, to start a dialogue, to communicate. We are embodiments of thoughts. How wonderful is that? Sometimes we can’t see it. Sometimes we’re blind. Or maybe we just don’t know how to look. Everything need to be learnt and trained, sight is no exception. This means that even seeing beauty in others is something we learn. Art has many layers right? Sure, some colours and lines instantly intrigue us, but the more paintings we study the more we grasp something new, the more we appreciate something new, the more we appreciate things that didn’t even make it to cross our mind a while before. The same applies to music. I mean I grew up with classical and jazz but that didn’t prevent me from liking punk or kpop. Listening to Bach definitely made me able to comprehend metal and the complexity of be-bop let me feel the raw feelings of Nirvana’s songs even more. Of course I won’t like everything and that’s natural. We can’t like everybody and we can’t be liked by everybody. As some art and people will feel like home, others will be inspirations and role-models and more will make us sad. It is, again, all about welcoming and embracing all of the emotions, about holding space for them. What, at a first glance, might seem a flaw, can be exactly what makes that piece of art…art. What we’ve been conditioned to dislike can be what makes us fall in love. Picasso’s cubist visions are no less than the perfect symmetries of Piero Della Francesca’s paintings in the Renaissance. And they both changed the world. Dogon traditional masks tell us stories, like ancient Greek reliefs. And that slightly out-of-tune vocalisation in talking Heads’ “Psycho Killer” is exactly what makes the song special. But this can only be seen if we’re willing to step down, if we’re willing to be completely open to observe art, to observe people, to love them. Because sometimes, we don’t know why, things just feel right. We just really need to love them. Because small eyes can still hold galaxies in them, thin frizzy hair can remind you of majestic clouds in the sky, an asymmetrical face can create the most charming expressions whose highlight is your beautiful “crooked and big” nose, along with your unique smile gently accompanied by your fine eyebrows.

This was a stream of consciousness I had a few days ago. I tried to recreate it and put the fragments together.

The conclusion is that it is true, the beauty we see is a reflection of the beauty within us.

I hope you enjoyed this episode and that you’ll have a beautiful week ahead of you!

I’ll see you in the next, big hug!

With love, yours,

Danbi

[unknown-lifeform]

I’m displaying Genesis behavior having a lot of thoughts about Loveless and how objectively it’s such an interesting part of ff7 lore

First of all we know it’s immensely popular. There’s theatrical adaptations, and an entire road in Midgar is named after it, it’s not just Genesis’s weird obsession. Maybe Genesis as a First Class contributed to reviving its popularity, but it had to already be well known. It’s like some kind of Shakespearean play, it’s old but everyone knows it and it keeps getting adaptations

Except maybe more than a Shakespearean play it’s more like the Iliad, because Loveless is also described as ancient, and I’ve never heard anyone call Shakespeare ancient. Everyone has their own metric of what ancient means, but to me for a work of art to be ancient it has to be like at least more than a thousand years old. That being said, with Loveless we have no idea how old it actually is - might be like 1000 years ancient, 2000 years ancient, 3000 years ancient, who even knows

It doesn’t help that we don’t know anything about ff7 history outside of the fact that the Ancients existed and then got wiped out by Jenova. We can’t make an educated guess about what civilization might have originally wrote it down, because we don’t know any civilization other than the Ancients

And of course, it could very well be an Ancient piece of literature. That would make it more than 2000 years old, and also add validity to the fifth act being lost. Media can disappear without being old, but it’s not at all surprising for a work that old by a civilization that was completely wiped out to have missing pieces. Also, Hojo states he had read Loveless in the hopes of finding some interesting fact in it, and given Hojo’s obsession with the Ancients it would make sense

But regardless of who wrote it, what was this book meant to represent exactly? Was it purely fiction? Was it a religious text? Was it a mixture of real if heavily dramatized historical events and myth, like a good number of ancient texts are? The story itself doesn’t help place it historically, because the themes are very universal. With all the references to the Goddess, are we supposed to take it as tales that feature gods because that’s just how old tales are or do we consider it somehow relevant to the religious traditions of the people who wrote it?

And I’m going to assume it didn’t really have an author in the modern sense of the word, that what is written in it might have been part of an oral tradition that was at some point put down on page. After all, it’s a poem. Poems are good for memorization. Genesis only recites us parts of it, maybe the whole text included stuff like repeated lines that would help remembering what came next

This leads me to the fact that being an ancient text, Loveless as we know it also has to be a translation. Maybe the original version had a rhyme scheme that became lost. Maybe there are lines that are actually meant to have a different meaning than what we hear, because nuance is always lost in translation and sometimes translations are just plain wrong or carry biases. It means there’s a good chance Genesis either knew or was studying the language Loveless was originally written in, because I don’t think he would ever be satisfied with translation alone

Also. It’s stated Genesis believes Loveless has some key to the answer of many mysteries in many areas of knowledge. Given someone like Hojo too thought the text might be useful, we can assume Genesis wasn’t some kind of weird conspirationist his whole life but there is some basis to it. Which might not be wrong, the story might hold some reliable information regarding ancient historical event. Although Genesis apparently believes it can solve mysteries in “history, science, art, and astronomy” which. History and art, ok, but science and astronomy? Really?

EXCEPT, we can go back to the idea that Loveless could be an Ancient text. Now Ancients are known, for example, to have been able to create materia from mako, something that is only possible now with Shinra’s technological advantages. It’s not entirely impossible to think there may be some hints in Loveless of some mako manipulation practice or whatever the Ancients did

And. The Ancients. Who were wiped out by Jenova. Who came raining down on an asteroid. I’m not saying Loveless can let you find dark matter but I am saying that when you think about it there may be some connection to astronomy, if we assume Loveless was written by the surviving Ancients after Jenova arrived

Which is making me spiral into the real conspiracies here because. Because. The Goddess descends from the sky. Like Jenova. Wings. Like those of people who have Jenova cells. The war of the beasts and the world’s end. Like if mutated alien monsters were ravaging the land. And Genesis’s fifth act at the end of CC may just be his own interpretation, but it does talk of sacrifice for the Planet and for others. Like if a bunch of Ancients were dying to seal Jenova away

So what if instead of it being a purely Ancient text, it’s like some kind of dramatization of Jenova’s coming? Except, maybe it was put together by humans rather than Ancients, so they had some idea of what had happened and ended up confusing a lot of concepts so the Goddess ended up taking both the positive traits associated with the Planet and some striking details that were instead associated with Jenova

Which would it turn make it incredibly ironical that Genesis would decide to hyperfixate on this specific book out of all the available

[skyeee]

it's so sad that AI art is even a thing, and it's even more sad to see that it's taking over fandom spaces😔 I love your art style! everyone who wants art made for them should support a real human artist in these struggling times💕💖 (people need to remember that they are not just paying for the art piece, but also the process of making it as well♥️)

It’s one of the most existential problems for artists right now, which also doesn’t help that we’re in a recession so people don’t really have the funds to buy custom art.

It’s scary! I’ve already noticed how AI has infiltrated everyday life. I see ai written articles all the time. AI voice overs are everywhere. And many MANY ppl can’t tell that it’s AI. That’s what’s scary to me.

I remember seeing an AI art seller at NYCC last year and it didn’t even occur to me then the ramifications of it. Tbh tho at that time it was still pretty novel. I just hope they weren’t allowed back this year. That is nice to see art platforms starting to take a stand against AI art for the sake of its artists, but most platforms (cough cough the site formerly known as Twitter) are just letting whatever the fuck exist on it.

Anyway thank you for your support 😪 hopefully artists can come out of this alive.

[sasukesun]

I always stay far away from m/f shippers (from any fandom) because they always sound so entitled. I saw one saying that the mc and his best friend (who clearly has romantic feelings for him) have more proof of their love because it sells but at the end of the day the MC will end up with the girl and they will win.

If the target audience is straight young boys, the MC having romantic chemistry with his best friend cant be a marketing strategy. Also, it's horrible how they celebrate the existence of heteronormativity/homophobia to validate their ships.

I am really tired of anime/manga fandoms, sometimes I just want to quit but I remember that real life is as horrible so I try to create a safe space for myself by avoiding those kind of people and their ships.

Unrelated to ships but I watched a video about the creator of Pokemon and how the industry mentally abused him by not letting him express his ideas for the franchise he himself created. They would always censor him and his creativity. Did you know he hated the main character? He wanted him to grow and realized that chasing pokemon was bad? That pokemon should be free? But editors wouldnt let him do it. It made me think of Kishimoto and wtf they did to his story and SNS. Messing with an artist's work is like messing with his heart. A piece of art is an artist's baby.

you explained it so well. for real, how the main character, who is usually a self insert to guys, having chemistry with his male best friend is a marketing strategy? just see how many men are uncomfortable and in denial with naruto and sasuke’s bond. they are the target audience and yet they think naruto having a panic attack at the thought of losing sasuke is too much. i’m not saying everybody will be against it or deny it, my male friends themselves say naruto and sasuke are gay and we joke about it but they don’t actually make fun of them being gay as if it’s comic or something, just like we do here on tumblr a “haha how can they be so gay” way, because it’s obvious and yet people crazily deny it.

those m/f shippers can pick on the homoeroticism and even admit the characters have chemistry, which honestly it’s a good reason to ship a pairing and yet they still choose pairings with no chemistry just because “they have more chances of being canon” or whatever. like yeah i’d would love to see my pairings being canon (if they end up happy obviously, like imagine getting “canon” but they end up like ss/nh, no thank you) but damn i’m not shipping according to that, chemistry and love and mutual feelings will always be above, you’re falling in love with their love. and yes, they celebrate homophobia because they acknowledge the gay pairing has chemistry and work well together and love each other and yet they are okay with them not ending up together simply because they are gay, they root against it because they know gay pairings don’t stand a chance in heteronormativity and their mediocre cishet couple is cishet so it’s okay even if they have nothing, he was a boy she was a girl i can’t make it more obvious 🙄 ss/nh shippers screaming at the top of their lungs “SS/NH IS CANON WE WIN” so fucking what? when the girls are still unwanted, when the pairings still have no chemistry… but yeah go celebrate the existence of them for the sake of a sequel with ugly kids i guess

what you said in the last paragraph… it makes sense kishimoto wrote a lot of things out of spite, yes he is a sold out, but he still couldn’t let the series go how he wanted sometimes, he had editors that didn’t want him to publish certain things… such as reverse harem no jutsu, this is just an example that we know of, imagine the ones that we don’t. and kishimoto himself said a lot of his ideas were unshonen, but he was publishing for a shonen magazine so it’s obvious a lot of what he had in mind didn’t happen

[beardedhandstoadshark]

Which characters from your choosen fandom had the biggest impact into the story ?

Aside from main characters and characters who explicitly exist to have a big impact on the story, cuz that seems too easy…

In that case…Larry Butz from Ace Attorney.

It sounds. So stupid. To pick this random annoying loser guy above all others (especially over Morgan Fey, who’s in some way directly or indirectly responsible for like half the major backstories in the og trilogy)

But if Larry didn’t steal Edgeworth‘s (red suit guy with tissue cravat) lunch money in grade school,

Phoenix (MC, blue spiky hair guy) wouldn’t have been blamed for stealing it,

so Edgeworth could never have defended him

Larry couldn’t have jumped in too

The three would never have become friends

Phoenix would never have a reason to switch from an arts? major to law after being defended from a murder suspicion, so he can "save“ Edgeworth

Aside from regular defendants, multiple important characters would have been declared guilty for murder and received the fricking death penalty, including Larry himself, Edgeworth, and Phoenix’ sidekick Maya

The murderer of Edgeworth‘s dad would’ve continued being responsible for even more deaths than already these past few decades

Just. The entirety of Edgeworths character arc in general (which spans over 1.5 games and also made him a fan-fave)

Mayas psycho aunt Morgan would still be around (who essentially caused half the other backstories) and indirectly be the head of a place full of spirit mediums (…because dead people are real and can possess others here. It’s a whole plot mechanic)

Professor Layton would’ve been stuck in Medieval England (though I think he could handle the witch trials rather well himself on his own tbh)

Every time Larry shows up he‘s in some way responsible for a piece of major key evidence that ends up turning the whole trial around. Both in the main games AND the spinoff where you play as Edgeworth

Said thing with the spinoff leading to the head of a government getting overthrown

Phoenix being an attorney leading to him not being an attorney anymore, adopting a kid, and being around for the sequel trilogy and therefore indirectly impacting all the stuff that’s happened there as well. Like Maya not being dead, so she can do some stuff here, leading to ANOTHER government being completely changed.

This series ended with three separate legal systems completely changed, all because some guy called Larry Butz stole lunch money and thus created the beginning of the most impactful romance between colorcoded finger-pointing attorneys in all of story-telling.

And even more butterfly effect - chain of the vents things in these games I can’t even remember.

For a guy who‘s explicitly written and also actually played to be the biggest loser in the entire cast of this whole franchise, he surprisingly often turns out to be the MVP.

(…also Morgan Fey already has people analyze her impact on this series back and forth. Sooooo here’s something new! Never said I had to pick the most impactful character :3)

[onedivinemisfit]

2022 Creator’s Self-Love Extravaganza

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 favorite works (fics, art, edits, etc.) you’ve created this year and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you’ve brought into the world in 2022. If you don’t have five published works, that’s fine! Include ideas/drafts/whatever you like that you’ve worked on/thought about, and talk a little about them instead! Remember, this is all about self-love and positive enthusiasm, so fuck the rules if you need to. Have fun, and tag as many fellow creators as you like so they can share the love!

Tagged by @bubblesthemonsterartist tho I daresay I am fashionably late at this point, more than two weeks into the new year. Did I forget? Maaaaybe. Which brings us right to the main problem;

I barely remember. Like. 2022. At all. Things happened, I’m sure, but it’s as if there’s a fine layer of mist atop my memories, stopping me from really seeing them. Last year wasn’t really very kind to me. For every up, three downs followed, and between two failed surgeries, a bout of covid, and then whatever the hell kind of flare happened in the autumn… yeah. Idek. It is what it is.

As such, I can’t really comment on my art as like, a whole process, this year. It just existed in the ‘now’, which is presently the ‘then’. I know I beat my submission record from last year, but it felt like a meaningless victory. Despite everything, I can feel it in my hand now, when I draw, that some progress has been made. Subconsciously perhaps, but it’s there.

Onto the ranking then! (I just had to pull up the archive cuz fuck if I remember what I posted, and when)

1.

*deep sigh* we all saw this coming, didn’t we? As much as I love, I curse this image, for in hindsight it felt as if all my creative energy for the entire damned year went into this one piece! Like how dare! But yes it is one of my best redraws ever, and more so than the characters, I feel like I added to the background something even better than the original. There, I said it.

2.

Omigod this entire thiiiiiing. Were it not for the redraw, this would be the top spot. I can’t explain, so many ideas are left in the brain for countless hours, days, months, YEARS. This was two years in the making, and never before did I manage to recreate something that had the exact same vibe as it looked in my imagination. Especially because I’m not a comic creator, hashtag compulsive disclaimer lol. Also while I was drawing it, seeing people go from “hmmm what’s this?” to “wait is that-?” and then “ooooooh it is the lead-up to The Thing” was priceless.

3.

A last-second outlier comes in third. I admit to making this in a hurry, just to have something really nice to show for december (a month which is usually a highly productive month to me, but 2022 didn’t let me have that either) and as such, since I was struggling, both with a deadline, and a lack of real inspiration, I feel like. I managed to improve, somehow. Call it magic, but this looks noticeably different to many of my other colored pieces.

4.

To be perfectly honest, this was a sketch. People might not think it one, for it has details, a color scheme, and even effects - but at the time I posted it, this was just a colorized sketch in my mind. Tumblr disagreed. And I was left in awe watching this first get reblogged within the fandom, then beyond, then go through a hanfu appreciation blog, and finally reblogged with a truly tender chinese poem attached that said person felt gave them the same vibe as what I had drawn. The people spoke, and I was both awed and humbled, and I learned a valuable lesson in humanity relating to art.

5.

Unlike the others, this was a conscious attempt at something different. I can’t really say why it should go in the fifth spot, but it does; i spent a lot more time than usual on composition, colors, and most importantly, mood setting. And putting characters so solidly into the middleground can be a challenge in itself for me, as I run the risk of getting storybook-ish. Which would’ve been disastrous for a scene like this.

Honorable mention;

Coping through art. @bubblesthemonsterartist has the honor of inspiring this, or like, being the one to “give me” the go-ahead to channel some of my experiences through the characters and story-telling in general. Back pain is something I know all too well, and it was well and truly therapeutic. I also got to do another test of “can I retell this scene, even if I switch part of the cast and premise?” And it seems I did. I will always remember @what-plant-metaphor-am-i ‘s tag; ‘# I feel like I just watched an entire episode XD’ <- never has my inner storyteller been more validated.

There, that wasn’t so hard! Sometimes I’m really thankful for the internet, and timestamps, and kicking my memory back into gear etc… anyway, since I am so woefully late to the party, I’m not tagging anyone specifically; if you wanna be fashionably late too, you know who tagged you~