#im in my low effort era

[ultfreakme]

"Sokka? What are you doing there?"

[alicenpai]

2021 re2 and re4 doodles i unearthed, 2020-2021 were the years of art block for me - i drew a lot, but not too many of my drawings felt quite right. anyways... sherry finally got that puppy (big puppy...) and parrot she always wanted! im a big fan of taking a single obscure piece of dialogue/game mechanic/inventory item etc and then drawing it

[yellowocaballero]

Roleswap Tobi is the most wonderful thing. I loved that so so much. Amazing on every level!

Thank you! I'm just writing it as a low-effort/stress-relief thing right now, but I'm mentally tossing it around like a pizza dough trying to see if I can make it an actual narrative (AKA, an actual story). I'm not totally sure that I can, or that I'll figure it out, but in the meantime it's there for me to stress-write.

It's easy to make up an entire mental AU for something that covers a long period of time, and it's really easy to write a bunch of short stories for that. When I'm stressed and I want to write but I don't want to write anything that would take any actual effort or time investment, I write lots of little AU oneshots (Star Wars people you've seen the effect of this). It's lots of fun and I'm glad people seem to be moderately enjoying it. I'll see if it goes anywhere.

[electric-plants]

ooh boy started penacony in star rail and the way i already KNOW i’m going to get confused

[livingdeadvamp]

Is this a safe space to admit I'm really fucking hating this 13 Days of Swiftmas thing?

[formiito]

low effort hcs : what music would bsd characters listen to?

everyone puts mother mother and tnbhd in dazai playlists but i can't stop thinking about how this guy would probably love 70s city pop. likes number girl and betcover!!, all of that japanese post-rock vibe. rotates between like five songs he's just obsessed with all the time. might listen to math rock on occasion.

he also feels like the exact type of mf to listen to the smiths and now it's canon in my head. 'there's a light that never goes out' is HIS song im convinced.

akutagawa is the kind of guy who would listen to visual kei. everyday that malice mizer is not on spotify he loses it a little. would also love classic goth. bauhaus, the cure, sisters of mercy, he likes all that shit. probably started with old panic! at the disco, it's that emo -> goth pipeline fr.

in my head chuuya loves rock. likes deftones but would be put off by the screaming. lining up with 15, likes hard rock; though back then he would've been more into pop punk stuff. probably fucks with soundgarden, maybe sonic youth, rhcp, nirvana, alice in chains, the velvet underground. it just is the vibe to me. but late at night, like a background sound for working or sleeping, i think chuuya would like jazz. chet baker, coltrane, miles davis. likes physical media and would spend a bit too much on records.

look me in the eye and tell me ranpo wouldn't love shibuya kei. lamp, pitcher56, 800 cherries, satellite lovers, roundtable ft nino. just the sort of music i could picture him listening to. would also love bossa nova. would listen to laufey. once again, i don't make the rules.

fyodor dostoevsky listens to only three kinds of music: symphonic metal, classical music and gregorian chants. this is true and real and you should believe me without question. i think he'd like opeth quite a bit as well. fyodor is also the kind of mf who hates when people refer to baroque or romantic compositions as 'classical'. Yes, he has the eras memorized. disgustingly skilled with most instruments. heard liszt play firsthand.

[scoobyrooster1]

"But to Qimir it also unearthed how little he truly knew you. And something he couldn't predict or control... that probably terrified him."

Their relationship is so realistically tense and terrible i LoVe it. Because YEAH Qimir having 'killed my last teacher <3 ' in their resume doesn't really mean anything good for YOU does it.

I agree! Thats something that Qimir might want to consider haha! Glad you like it!

She's Mine [Part 2]

Qimir x (she/her)!reader

Summary: You and Qimir travel with the crew to Corinth where you pose as a high class bidder at a black market auction. However, a few unexpected events complicates your mission leaving you wounded and with more questions than answers about the nature of the job. Warnings: Angst, cursing, violence Notes: This is a slow burn story between you and Qimir. I've been researching high republic history and I'm really excited for the next chapters!

*Im trying my best to use canon history but high republic era is a little difficult so there will be discrepancies and times where I have to improvise... bear with me!

She's Mine Masterlist

She's Mine [Intro] She's Mine [Part 1]

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One month ago...

Under the thick canopy of trees, the clearing was small, just enough space for the two of you to move without constraint.

You and Qimir had stopped on this planet for a brief respite, also provding one of the few places you could train without drawing unwanted attention.

"Again," Qimir instructed, his voice steady and commanding.

You tightened your grip on the wooden stick in your hand. The makeshift training weapon was a far cry from a lightsaber, but it would have to do. You squared your stance, bringing the stick up in a defensive position.

Qimir moved fluidly as he swung his own stick toward you. You managed to block the first strike, the wood clashing with a sharp crack. But Qimir was relentless. His next move was faster, a low sweep aimed at your legs. You jumped back just in time, narrowly avoiding the strike. You were able to catch your breath if only for a moment as he spoke.

“Keep your elbow up,” he reminded you. “Or else I'll catch you before you can block.”

You nodded, trying to focus on his advice even as your muscles burned from the exertion. It had been a long time since you trained like this. Your heart beat inside your chest so rapidly and with such force that you thought it would burst. You had to remember to control you breathing, only letting air pass through your nose, and conserve what little stamina you had left.

Qimir lunged again. You lifted your arm to block, but your elbow dropped just a fraction of an inch too low. His stick slipped past your defense, tapping your ribs with just enough force to sting. Your torso buckled over in response.

Stepping back to give you a moment to recover, he didn't need to tell you what you had done wrong.

"I get it." You said sternly.

"You need to anticipate the next move. Don't just react—predict."

You clenched your jaw in frustration, wiping the sweat from your face with the back of your hand.

You took a deep breath and adjusted your stance, raising your arm higher this time. Qimir watched you carefully, nodding in approval before launching into another series of attacks. You parried each one, your movements more precise now, more controlled.

The two of you moved in a deadly dance, sticks clashing and feet shifting on the soft earth. You began to lose yourself in the rhythm of it, your mind clearing as your body took over.

It was just you and Qimir, the world narrowed down to the space between your bodies.

Until his stick found your ribs again.

Qimir stepped back, lowering his weapon. "Better," he said, his voice softer now, less harsh. "Still a lot to learn."

You made a face about to mock him for saying a high and mighty master line.

He caught you before you could. "Don't start."

You just laughed, then nodded, panting from the effort. Your arms felt like lead, but there was a sense of satisfaction in knowing you had improved, even if just a little.

"Thats enough for today," he said, tucking his stick under his arm.

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You jolted awake shaking off the memory that overcame your senses.

You had been traveling for a few hours and had fallen asleep regret-tingly straining your neck in the process. Qimir sat on the other side of the cargo hold.

After the heated discussion you both had… yeah it was probably for the best.

You had both taken precautions to hide any personal items that wouldn’t classify as civilian.

I.E. one cortosis helmet, vambrace, and lightsaber.

You remembered tracing your fingers over the embedded scars of the metal. It was terrifyingly beautiful.

Try it on.

Those words sent shivers through your entire body.

You wondered if when you returned to Qimirs little backwater planet, you too would craft something made of the precious metal.

Would we ever be able to return?

"Put these on"

Ian had thrown a duffle at your feet. You unzipped the bag to find far nicer clothes than the ones you were wearing.

"What happened to drawing less attention?"

“You’ll be bidding with some serious credits, you need to look as though you didn’t just crawl out of a bantha pit.”

You didn’t bother to scowl at Ian for his cruel joke.

“And who will I be today?”

“Bidder 79.”

“Lovely.”

The outfit was formal, modest, a suit-like ensemble made from breathable fabric in dark hues of blue and gray. You took one of the scarves from the bag and wrapped it around your head and hair. The less recognizable you were, the better.

“Don’t look at anyone, don’t talk to anyone, don’t answer any questions you don’t have to—”

“I think she gets it” Qimir interrupted, his voice curt.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” Ian finished.

You gave Ian all the confirmation he deserved. "Don't do anything you would do... got it."

You were dropped at the nearest corner with Rod following closely behind.

The coordinates Ian had provided led you to a rough, gritty part of the city, where the streets were narrow and the air thick with the scent of smoke and decay. The towering buildings around you were a patchwork of cracked concrete, rusted metal, and flickering neon signs, casting eerie glows onto the damp pavement. You approached the entrance of a large, nondescript building, its facade faded and crumbling, blending seamlessly into its surroundings.

Pushing through the heavy, rusted door, you stepped into a dimly lit lobby. The few figures loitering in the shadows eyed you with suspicion. You made your way to an elevator at the far end of the room, its grated door screeching as you pulled it open.

The elevator groaned to life, descending into the depths below the city. As you felt the air grow cooler and the hum of the city above fade into silence, your pulse quickened. When the doors finally slid open, you were greeted by a stark contrast.

Before you lay the Corinth black market, a sprawling underground bazaar hidden beneath the city. The space was vast, its ceiling arched and lined with cables and dim, industrial lights casting a dull glow over the scene. The market was alive with activity—merchants hawking their illicit wares from makeshift stalls, the air buzzing with whispered deals and low, guttural conversations in a dozen different languages. The scent of exotic spices, machinery, and lawlessness filled your nose.

The Corinth black market was a place where laws were only mere suggestions.

Rules, Rules, Rules... If you don't follow them, you never have to break them.

Minutes later, you found yourself seated in an uncomfortable chair, dark lenses shielding your eyes as you scanned the stage ahead. You were in a small room dimly lit but far richer than the bazaar outside. The items up for auction you guessed based on size and weight was a mix of trinkets and far more dangerous contraband, all locked away in secure containers.

Your client had provided you with only a number, leaving you in the dark about what you were actually bidding on. Your job was to outbid everyone else. Rod, as Ian assured you, would make sure you had the funds to back up whatever figure you landed on. How they’d managed that was another mystery, but one you didn’t need to solve.

“Item number XN2187”

Your eyes tracked the stage.

This was it.

What the staff placed on the table next made absolutely no sense to you.

It was a book... or... a journal?

"Let’s start the bid at 100,000 credits."

Maker.

You had to withhold your gasp.

Two people had already called out raising the bid to 250,000 within 3 seconds.

You threw your card up.

“300,000.”

You saw another card go up near the front.

“350,000”

Maker how could a journal be worth this much.

You raised your card again with no hesitation.

“400,000.”

They matched it again. "4500,000."

“500,000”

It was all fake credits and Ian had given you your instructions... attain that item at whatever price... better to end it right here.

You waited for their response, but there was none.

Got it.

“Sold...to number 79.”

Small claps ensued.

You headed to the back of the stage where the transactions were being held.

Suddenly your path was blocked, now inches away from a hooded figure.

"Whatever your being paid, we can double it." They hissed in your ear.

Rod glanced at the human stranger with his fixed glowing pinpoint eyes that seemed to show concern even for a droid.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about." You continued to walk past them.

They grabbed your forearm. Their grip was strong.

“You take it and you’re a dead woman walking.”

You could now see their face. A male human with rusty brown hair and dark eyes.

You shook off the strangers hand and stated with cold indifference, "I already am."

Your response seemed to catch him off guard.

You shrugged him off turning away, finally reaching the desk behind the curtains.

"Bidder 79?" the attendant confirmed.

"That's right. Item XN2187."

"Please have your droid exchange the credits for your purchase."

Rod stepped forward, inserting his chip into the computer. A moment later, a man presented the box.

The attendee looked at the screen, seeming pleased. "Thank you madam. Have a wonderful evening."

Your breath resumed as you smoothly took the box and gave the courtier a smile. What ever Rod had done it had worked. You cracked it open checking that the item was inside.

Rodney turned in the other direction taking a different route to meet back up at the rendezvous.

That had been surprisingly easy.

"See you back at the ship." You whistled as you turned into the crowd behind.

Something struck your mind. The force had shifted near you and you could feel it. You started scanning your surroundings more carefully.

Watch out.

You unholstered your gun but it was too late.

It was all of 2 seconds before you felt the box knocked out from under your forearm. The force of a back kick to your chest sent you crashing to the ground. Dirt filled your mouth as you hit the earth, the impact reverberating through your body. Your blaster had been sent flying across the ground.

Damn it had been a while since you were hit that hard.

Gritting your teeth, you turned to face your assailant— female Twi'lek with green skin, her imposing figure casting a shadow over you. Her face sheathed in fabric and some manner of breathing apparatuses. Time seemed to slow, the sounds of the chaotic crowd fading into the background.

The journal had fallen out of the box now laying between you and your attacker.

It was too valuable to lose. You couldn't just run.

You pushed yourself off the ground, moving faster than you had fallen. As the warrior lunged for the book, you reacted instinctively, snapping your leg out to kick their hand away. The clash of metal and bone echoed in your ears as you simultaneously snatched journal, pulling it close to your chest. The adrenaline surged through your veins as you regained your footing, your breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

She charged at you closing the distance swiftly. You dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding her grasp. She swung her arm in a wide arc that forced you to duck, the wind from her strike grazing the top of your head.

With the book still clutched tightly to your chest, you spun around, using your momentum to drive your elbow into the Twi'leks side. The impact caused her to stagger.

She recovered swiftly, raising her arm to strike again this time brandishing a small blade. You heaved your body from left to right to dodge, the knife dancing centimeters away from your chest.

You dodged another stab. But she was smart. The Twi'lek flipped the blade through the air catching it with her left hand. You felt a sharp pain spread in your chest. Too distracted with the wound in your right side, you failed to notice her right hand swinging towards you head.

Your brain rattled inside your skull as you hit the earth. Applying pressure to the bleed you turned your pounding head upwards. She picked up the journal from the floor, her other hand now brandishing a blaster pointed directly at your forehead.

"Should've taken the deal"

You only stared down the barrel of her gun. This couldn't be the end.

You wouldn't let it be the end. You blinked. She pulled the trigger. A shot rang out.

You weren't dead.

You stared at the gun.

The blaster shot hung suspended in mid-air, glowing red just inches from your nose.

It floated there, trembling as if struggling against an invisible force, caught between you and the barrel.

Qimir.

You almost couldn't breathe and realized it could only last for so long. You ducked your head before the shot could continue its intended path, piercing the dirt behind you, leaving a small scorched black hole in its wake.

Your breathing was rapid and deep as stared at the hole in the ground that was intended for your head.

The Twi'leks eyes widened. Baffled by what she had just witnessed.

"You... you're a jedi." She sounded as disgusted as she was surprised.

“Not quite.”

In a fluid motion, you kicked a cloud of dust up towards her face. She loosen her grip on the journal stumbling back. Sprinting past her you grabbed the book, the pain of the stab wound luckily numbed by the adrenaline coursing through you. She roared in frustration, but you were already several paces ahead.

You could hear her quick footsteps behind you, but you didn't look back. Your only thought was to put as much distance between you and her as possible.

You ducked into an alleyway once you thought it was safe to stop, determined to sacrifice just a moment to see what you were truly risking your life for.

You opened the book.

Scribbles you couldn't understand filled page after page. Flipping through it all you couldn't make any sense of it.

You stopped at the back of the last page.

Written then carved delicately into the leather near the binding was a name.

Mari San Tekka.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The plan had gone off without a hitch... if you hadn't included the unknown assailant that almost put a blaster hole through your skull.

Closing the blast doors, you buckled over, heart still racing. You ran your fingers over your cheek which was tender to the touch. It had to be badly bruised and you could better feel the one developing across your chest now that the adrenaline was wearing off. Not to mention the blood dribbling down your side.

"That went well."

Qimir had caught you off guard. You didn't think he'd be back to the ship by now with how much of a crowd that stood between you and the ship.

You inhaled deeply resting against the cold metal wall your right hand still pressing the right side of your ribs.

“You had me worried.”

You paused for a moment. You had him… worried?

"I thought I'd have to find a new acolyte after today."

You relaxed your shoulders dropping your hands into fists.

"You son of a bitch."

He smiled with his teeth, his eyes taunting, but his smile faltered when he saw your now exposed lower chest wound.

"That looks serious." You couldn't tell if he was still joking or being earnest. "And what a foul name to call with your mas--"

The ship doors hissed open.

In walked Ian and Rod.

Qimir went quiet not daring to finish his sentence. They didn't need to know what you and Qimir were. If they did, they'd all be dead.

The Jedi say I can't exist. They see my face... They all die.

If that's what it took for Qimir to shut his mouth then fine.

You snapped back to reality reapplying pressure to your side and took the opportunity to interrogate Ian.

"What the hell was that." You yelled.

Ian look disgruntled. "Seems like this cargo is more high priority than I thought."

"Ya think?" You only gave him a pleading look in response.

"Look nothing has changed. You knew what you signed up for."

"I didn't sign up for this... remember?"

"Rod, signal Shaun and Kiro. Prep the hyperdrive, set a course for Canto Bight... You might wanna take care of that." He motioned to the wound that was still leaking blood at your side. "Theres a med bay. Two rights and left."

"Thanks." You started walking towards the doors slightly lightheaded from the blood loss.

He extended a hand. "Here let me help. That looks bad."

You waved him off. "I've got it." Before disappearing down the hall to the med bay.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Luckily, Ian had the sense to keep a decent med droid on board. With how sketchy most of his jobs were, it would be foolish not to. The droid had effectively stopped the bleeding, stitched it close, applied bacta fluid, and recommended a pressure dressing before shutting down.

Okay, so not a fully functional droid.

You pulled out the rolls of gauze and compression wraps. The droid had cut through your bloody shirt to access the wound, leaving the tattered fabric hanging from your shoulders. In the mirror, you could see the damage--your chest was mildly bruised, the skin slowly turning a deep purple, especially closer to the wound. You applied a generous amount of gauze and began wrapping the bandage around your chest.

You managed 6 tight loops before a sharp pain made you wince, the movement of extending your torso and raising your arms too much to bear. Breathing deeply, you tried to steady both your head and your heart.

Then, a sudden movement caught your eye, and you nearly reopened the wound as you jumped—Qimir was standing in the now open doorway, silently watching you.

"Maker, you scared me... How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long enough."

"Ha. Ha." You mocked, still guarding your chest, covered but only by a sheer wrap.

"Need help?"

"I got it."

He gave you a look that said, Yeah, sure you do.

You sighed deeply. Every breath was painful. "Fine."

He walked up to where you sat on the med table, glancing at the now deactivated med droid.

"The droid couldn’t do it?"

You tilted your head in response.

"I can call Ian to wrap the rest. He seemed pretty eager," you teased.

Qimir clenched his jaw, clearly not amused, and quickly seized the large roll of gauze from your hand.

"Put your arms around me."

You shot him an incredulous look.

"Maker, you're difficult," he muttered, rolling his eyes dramatically. With a gentle touch, he grabbed your hands and placed them on his shoulders. Then, he took the roll and began wrapping it around the rest of your chest.

You let your hands move closer to his neck, lacing your fingers together and allowing your arms to sag, finding a small amount of relief.

"It's a faulty piece of equipment," you continued. "Leave it to Ian to have a semi-working med droid on a risky job."

Qimir's eyes were only focused on his hands, meticulously layering the bandaging over your wound, making sure it was secure.

"Hey, my eyes are up here," you quipped.

His focus remained unwavering, but you noticed a small smile tug at the corners of his lips.

You allowed yourself to dissolve into this moment. It was innocent, and it was yours.

He finished the last length of the bandage, gently tucking it into the top wrap. His fingers brushed against your skin, and your breath hitched slightly. If he noticed, he pretended not to. Both his hands now rested softly against your ribs, checking the stability of his work. Your hands remained on his shoulders.

He looked up at you.

You met his gaze.

"If you let someone get that close, you must make every decision with confidence and conviction. Remember—"

"Don't react, predict," you repeated the mantra.

"There's no room for error in a fight that close."

"Yes, master," you added with a touch of sarcasm.

He only nodded, still getting accustomed to your use of the title.

"Thank you," you said, recalling what had happened only hours ago.

"For the wrap?"

"No. For saving me."

"Saving you?"

"The blaster shot."

"... You're welcome."

He released you, making you remove your arms from his shoulders.

The moment was gone... and something in you would've done anything to get it back.

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The sound of the ship rattling against the void of space ripped you from sleep. The walls trembled, and a deep, ominous roar echoed from the rear of the ship, filling you with an immediate sense of dread. You ducked out of your cot.

Qimir was already on his feet.

Before you could fully grasp what was happening, he was out the door, and you were right behind him. The cold, metallic floor vibrated beneath your bare feet as you both sprinted down the dimly lit corridor.

Suddenly, the ship lurched violently, a brutal force that sent both of you stumbling. You felt yourself losing balance, your body careening toward the metal wall. But before you could brace for impact, Qimir’s hand shot out, grabbing you by the waist. He swiftly twisted his body, pulling you against him, sending himself backwards.

His back slammed into the wall with a sickening thud. You felt the force of it reverberate through him as he grunted, but his grip on you remained firm.

For a second your chin rested on his collar bone. His mouth grazing your forehead and hair. The heat of his body was a stark contrast to the cold metal wall you were expecting moments ago. You were pressed against his chest, your breath catching as you looked up at him. His expression unreadable.

"Your stitches." He questioned.

"Fine." You assured him.

He only scanned you for a moment then let go of you continuing to walk down the corridor. You hesitated for one second, your heart still racing, before following him.

When you had finally reached the cockpit you found Ian walking toward you and through the doorway before grunting. "Might be a problem with the hyperdrive. We have to make a pit stop."

Any thoughts of Qimirs skin against yours was gone.

You followed him back down the hall.

"Qimir."

He stopped.

You gave him a look.

-----------------------

"Mari San Tekka” he repeated the name you had given.

“Do you know that name?”

“Not the person, but the San Tekkas were a great dynasty, closely affiliated with the Republic as hypersurveyors”

"Hypersurveyors?"

"Mappers who worked for the clan, charting new hyperspace routes."

"The writing, I didn't see it at first but they could've been notes or calculations."

"Could you read any of it."

"I've seen hyperspace calculations before, but I didn't recognize the figures in this book. Why would someone risk so much to retrieve it?"

Qimir took a long pause. "I don't know."

The uncertainty laced in Qimirs voice irked you more than you'd like to admit.

———————————————

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!

[shrimsour]

Brand new rebrand WOOHOOO! Here's my new sona

Her official ref sheet ^

-Read more for more info and general FAQ at the bottom

She is powered by a lemon battery (like those potato batteries children make for science projects)

The lemon that powers her is a literal actual lemon, she is just that small that it appears big

Is still functionally a lemon

But also a mech example: tail and legs

Has a shrimp cove/aquarium in her torso/body skirt thing

She doesn't know she exists

Uses any pronouns just like me but I'm using she to avoid confusion as always grumbles

She is a glorified low poly ps1,2/nintendo gamecube,ds videogame character

Meet my silly little thang lovingly dubbed Shroomp by my friend. She is the new iteration of my persona Salty/Saltsour I've had for years atp, Salty was pretty outdated. It was very important to get Shroomp right since nonetheless Saltsour has established herself in several online spaces including this one and was honestly pretty iconic! I put a lot of effort into her successor since I wanna start being a storytime ytber in the near future and maybe even a vtuber on twitch.

She is basically a combination and a love letter to everything I love and everything I am.

She was originally supposed to be realistic and humanoid like Salty herself but I found her a bit too uncanny for a main sona. (And mainly rendering a realistic fish tank everytime I wanted to color in my persona would certainly prove to be hell, I needed something simpler, but also along the way I realized, something DIFFERENT)

Now to talk a bit more about what she actually represents that's so important to me. I packed her full of little things that make me happy.

Obviously the entire mecha genre, everything cyborg, machine, robot, give it to me. Especially if it's uncanny but also sometimes silly, a bit of both worlds.

The era of semi-early internet post 2010s. I hold Windows Vista and 7 in high regards. Things like notations on YouTube seem so far away now nobody knows what I'm talking about when I'm explaining how annoying click Xs on all of them was!

Probably the most glaring thing. The heavy addition of shrimp. I like shrimp. I like eating shrimp, I like watching shrimp and I'd love to have a shrimp cove of my own they are genuinely such adorable and helpful little critters, what's not to love?

Frutiger aero. Self explanatory. The future we deserved.

Nightcore, anime and manga culture during the internet's infancy. Her big beady eyes and poses aim to replicate the artstyle of anime girls from that era

Very old videogame character models. Early 3D model presentations from Nvidia, educational games, etc. I wish I still had my PS2 and PSP

My favorite colors and compelling thought out design instead of that ugly dress/set grey fuckass lookin thing on Saltsour

Divine machinery and uncaniness of computers and machines around us

Big ass black eyes with a shine are also meant to represent the autism creature lol since I very much behave like it often times

Skirt thing - I like wearing skirts, pleated especially

Whiskers, another reference to shrimp but I also think it makes her appear subconsciously like a cat, people love cats and so do I

Triangles. They are the best shape.

These are the first early concepts for Shroomp

She was meant to be a kreaczure™️ (creature) from the very beginning it was fate

THANK YOU for scrolling and reading so far I'm gen so impressed and thankful. I must've done smth right if I kept ur attention.

Now im gonna put stuff here that most ppl probably look for in a pinned post bc I'm devious

FAQ

Commission status: CLOSED for now

Program: Clip studio paint

Tablet: XP Pen Artist 15.6 pro

Brushes: eee will link soonish maybe remind me if you care

Art tag: #shrimposting for my original works

Old art tag: #saltsour arts for my original works before the rebrand

[stxrvel]

i don't wanna live forever (1)

summary: reader couldn't stop having deaths in her life ever since the Supersoldier serum came into her life. no matter how hard she tried to stay sane, it seemed that life didn't want to give her a break. until, one afternoon, she learned that one of her old friends was alive… (you guys know im bad at summaries, but please give this one a chance)

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

words: +4.5k

warnings: angst, major character deaths, canon deaths¿?, bad words, english is not my first language! thoughts of revenge and death, this is like an introductory chapter, so the buckyxreader interaction is low, but it'll get better, i promise!

note: holy fuck guys. i just spent like five hours writing and editing this and i fucking love it. its been a while since ive been this proud of a work, im actually scare the emotion will disappear, but i really want to rejoice in this one. i wanted to write something a little different from my usuals, maybe a little common in the fanfiction world, but i started and i simply could not stop (or maybe just approach this bucky fic from another perspective). so this is the first part and i'll try with all my heart to keep this going because it was fucking insane, at least for me. i really hope you all like this as much as i do! feel free to leave any comment! thanks always for all the support!! see you next time <3

part 2 ; part 3 ; part 4

When you went into the Supersoldier serum project with Steve, you thought you were going to change the world. Of course, at that time when technology was relatively new any invention felt like the beginning of a new era. That's how it was all sold to you and it was how you expected everything to turn out… Until you realized that it was all really a waste of effort and time.

They were just propaganda for war. Not to stop it, to promote it. To motivate it.

You tried, on several occasions, not to think too much about it. You tried to stay out of it as Steve sometimes asked you to, even though even he didn't want to, as Bucky asked you to when you lay on his shoulder to cry in the little time you had free between trips. It was a great burden of guilt and helplessness.

Until you and Steve, with the almost imposed help of Peggy and Howard, rescued Bucky from the evil hands of Johann Schmidt and his nefarious organization, HYDRA, that, unbeknownst to you, would haunt you for a long time to come. It was only after that, after spending several sleepless days on edge thinking about what might be happening to Bucky, that you and Steve were finally able to go out and contribute something. Destroy HYDRA and the Red Skull's plans.

Of course, you realized that not everything could go right when, the one mission you couldn't attend, Bucky didn't return. And then Steve didn't come back either.

“Do you think this will ever end?” you had asked Bucky the day before his last mission.

“Of course it will,” he had answered without hesitation, moonlight illuminating his clear eyes, squeezing your hand as if it was all he wanted to do for the rest of his life. “And after that we can begin to live as it should be.”

But there was no after that, because you never recovered from losing him. From losing them both.

“Are you okay?” Peggy approached, in the middle of the afternoon when the sun was streaming through the stained glass windows of the church, illuminating the spot where Steve's empty coffin had been, because they didn't even find his body. They didn't even think there was any of it left.

You barely moved your head to acknowledge her presence, moving the prayer slip they had recited throughout the mass between your hands. Your eyes were crystallized, in tears that no longer even made the effort to flow, because you had already spent too many days and nights crying. Peggy had been on the other side of the church, sitting next to Howard while the priest spoke, because you had refused to be near them in those moments. You didn't want to be near them.

“As well as one can be,” you slurred, finding that it had been a long time since you'd last used your voice for anything other than cursing and crying disconsolately.

The people had already left, probably an hour or more ago. The empty coffin had already been brought out, all the flower arrangements had been picked up, and the priest was preparing for the evening mass. You knew you had to leave, you knew Peggy and Howard were there waiting for you, but you felt stuck at that moment. You didn't want to leave, you didn't want to get ahead, you didn't want that life if it had to be this cruel.

You heard Peggy's sigh, before she took a seat next to you, a short distance away, averting her gaze to look at Christ on the cross.

You didn't know if you were selfish to be so closed off to your friends at this moments, because they must be grieving as much as you were, but you didn't know how to deal with the future possibilities. Bucky and Steve, great men and soldiers, one even with enhanced abilities, had not been able to make it through the punishment of war. What if Peggy and Howard were the same? What if they too had the cruel fate of dying at the hands of injustice? Could you deal with that? With everyone gone?

Maybe you could open up to them a little more because if not, who else? Turning away from them was not going to ensure their survival in this hate-filled society. Maybe you could protect them, like you couldn't protect Steve and Bucky. Maybe you could make a difference, because you had the chance to.

“You know,” Peggy spoke again, rearranging herself on the bench and crossing her legs, “Steve always knew this was how it would end.”

Her wistful, mournful, fragile voice sent a shiver through your body. Peggy didn't consider herself someone to show herself vulnerable in front of others no matter how close they were, even in those things that hurt her the most, in those things that affected her personally and made her eyes water instantly, she always tended to shut down. And at that moment you didn't dare interrupt her because you knew it would probably be the only time she would talk about Steve in a long time.

“Sometimes we'd talk, between tour trips, and he would tell me that wasn't what he wanted to do, even when he had to convince you otherwise,” her clasped hands would occasionally squeeze between words, blinking rapidly to fight back the tears. “He didn't know if he'd made the right decision.”

You could almost picture him, backstage at the foot of the stairs with that notebook he carried everywhere and wouldn't let go, Peggy at his side nostalgic, as helpless as the others. It reminded you of the times you'd had similar conversations with Bucky, desperate to find a purpose, a way through so much fog.

“The first time I saw him so sure of himself was when he asked us to help them look for Bucky,” she mumbled his name, as if trying not to scare you away by saying it too loudly. “Ever since then it seemed like he'd found that spark…”

“Until Bucky died,” you whispered, the words cutting through the cold and silence, Peggy shifting on the bench contritely.

“He lost something of himself from that day on, it wasn't hard to tell. The next time I heard him so sure after spending days lost, it was on that call from the plane.”

Peggy paused, raising her hand to cover her mouth as her voice faltered. You turned to look at her, wishing you could rip the pain from her soul and leave it in yours. She was trying to contain her emotions, breathing deeply, and in that moment you wondered what life might be like from now on, with the specter of grief following you around, waiting for the next time the dead knocked on your doors, unexpectedly, without allowing you to say goodbye.

“He had told me he wouldn't die in peace until he could get it all over with. And he took it all with him. And I hated him so much for it…” Peggy sobbed, her labored breathing standing out between words. She kept looking straight ahead at the stained glass windows, the expression on her face hard and scowling despite having tears rolling down her cheeks, as if she were trying to blame something for what had happened. Her reproachful eyes fixed on the Christ.

Her wails echoed through the walls of the church, the father on the dais sending them a look of sorrow. He had offered you water, thirty minutes after everyone at Steve's wake had left, when they kept walking, and you stood there.

Another empty casket.

“Ladies,” Howard's voice reached your ears amidst all the physical and emotional numbness. You could barely notice Peggy wiping under her eyes with the pocket square that was surely part of Howard's suit, as she took breaths to get up. “We should go now.”

You heard him walk, his slow, careful steps stopping just behind you. There, on his feet with his chest tight, he rested a hand on your shoulder and gave it a squeeze in support. He knew it was the most you would allow him at a time like this, deciding not to pass up the opportunity to let you know he was there. You sighed, feeling a heaviness take over your body as you stood up.

“Yeah, let's go.”

The next few months passed in a blur. Maybe too fast, maybe too slow, you weren't sure anymore.

Peggy continued to work at the Strategic Science Reserve for a couple of years, calling you from time to time to help her with some jobs. You kept a low profile, practically a fugitive from the state, while trying to live a halfway normal life in Europe. A lot of it thanks to Howard really.

Life had become a rather monotonous routine when you stopped getting so many calls from Peggy and Howard several years later. You knew they were fine, but not being able to return to the country filled you with anguish every day. And trying to lead a normal life became too complicated when you looked in the mirror and it seemed like not a single day had passed since you were in that capsule of Dr. Erskine's with Steve.

Until Peggy called one day asking you to come back. She told you that it was safe, that there would be no state officials waiting for you at the airport, but even if that had been the situation, you wouldn't have hesitated for a second to buy the first plane ticket and fly to see them again. To Howard and Peggy, to melt into an embrace, longing for the lost years.

You had thought that contributing to the fight in World War II had earned you a ticket to at least be recognized in the military, but all you gained was the government with their mad scientists looking for you to try to recreate the Supersoldier serum. Peggy didn't want to risk you and Howard gave you no choice by giving you a plane ticket to Finland with your bags packed.

You wasted many years not being by their side, unable to keep the promise you had made them in your head to be close by to protect them, to watch over their safety.

But when you left the airport there was only Peggy, and maybe that should've told you everything.

Her hair already looked gray, the effects of gravity and time present on her face. You hated to think that you shouldn't have looked any different from the way she saw you last time when she waved you off at that same airport. Her warm gaze was the same, raising her arms with held back tears to encircle you in a big hug. She tried hard not to sob against your shoulder, you felt the choppy movement of her breath against your chest.

She looked so different and the same at the same time.

You walked to her car a moment later, her trying to carry your suitcase and you telling her you were perfectly fine carrying it on your own. Amidst a smile, she walked into the driver's door and you frowned as you saw the empty passenger seat.

“Where's Howard?” you spoke as you sat down, after stowing the huge suitcase in the trunk of the car. The way you moved to buckle up, you didn't notice the way Peggy froze in place, her hands clenching the steering wheel so tightly that her breath hitched from the effort.

“We're going to see him,” was all she said, but she was very good at hiding that something was wrong. Only for a little while.

During the trip, even though you tried to ask things about them, about what they had been doing during this time, you didn't miss the way her shoulders were tense or her eyes very alert. Something bad had happened and Peggy was trying to hide it from you.

When she pulled up in front of a church, you already knew what had happened without her answering a single one of your questions.

Howard had died.

You two had sat next to Howard's son Tony, his spitting image, in complete silence as the prayers went on. At that moment you didn't know what had happened, hoping it had been a quiet and peaceful death, because you didn't know if you would be able to endure another violent death.

Peggy gave you all the details when the mass was over, after the coffin was taken away, and you hadn't felt such fury in so many years. Not since the deaths of Bucky and Steve had that adrenaline rush of anger returned to run through your body as violently as it did at that moment, when Peggy told you that he had been murdered along with his wife. All to steal some prototypes of Dr. Erskine's serum. The damned serums with which everything had started.

This time there was a body in the coffin, but there was also a culprit. Someone to point the finger at and take it out on for years of anguish and pain.

You were at Peggy's house, staying for a few days, when she told you that wasn't all.

Peggy had a suspicion that HYDRA hadn't disappeared when Steve crashed that plane into the ice. Her suspicions generated panic in you, because Bucky and Steve had died for that, now apparently Howard, only for it all to have been for nothing. The feeling of carnage that ran through your whole head made you nauseous, years of helplessness and pain pent up in such a small body had to find its way out somehow.

“It was a man, according to the information I've been able to gather,” Peggy spoke, taking a seat across from you in the dining room of her living room, after pouring you a glass of lemonade. “He didn't die from the crash. He had a concussion. He was hit in the head. His wife died from asphyxiation.”

“Does Tony know?”

“No,” Peggy shook her head quickly, one hand over her heart as if the mere thought caused her physical pain. “It didn't even occur to me to tell him something like that.”

“And he was looking for the serum,” you recalled, a bitter feeling planted in the back of your throat, the memories of the disastrous times during the war coming back into your head like a blinding flash.

“He took them. We don't know who he is or who he works for, but whoever they are, they must have been following us for a long time to know about them.”

“You mean years,” you arched an eyebrow, your fingers touching the cool exterior of the glass seeking some reassurance.

“Possibly. That project isn't recent,” Peggy nodded, drinking her lemonade with a grimace. You stared at the liquid almost finished from her glass, a wrinkle forming between your brows with each passing second and you kept wondering why.

“But what the fuck was going through that asshole's head?” you spat angrily. Rage at already the amount of lives that serum had taken with it and at Howard's recklessness. Rage at the reaper who seemed to be following in their footsteps for some reason, rage at that damn man and whoever his damn boss was.

“It was the only option, Y/N,” Peggy turned her gaze, meeting your eyes with a strange glint.

“What do you mean?” you were almost afraid to ask, your friend's gaze suddenly turning evasive. You watched her run her fingernails over the glass of the tumbler, lost for a moment in thought. The way her shoulders slumped forward in defeat caused a pressure in your chest that made it hard to breathe. Peggy shouldn't be going through these things at this point in life.

“Howard was working with the Pentagon, as a contractor or something. They had found you. Howard felt cornered and they made him sign an agreement.”

With your incredulous look on her face, Peggy didn't dare look back at you for a few seconds. So much had happened since you had left and it seemed that you had only been told about the things you weren't going to care about so much. But if you had known that you wouldn't have cared much about giving some of the state officials their comeuppance. You would've liked Howard to trust you enough to tell you, not live in as much fear behind his back as the last few years must've been. You didn't like the way Peggy's lips curved downward, as if she, too, would've preferred to make another decision had she known this was how it was going to end.

“Howard assured them that he could recreate the serum, and told them he would as long as they left you alone.”

“Fucking asshole…” you closed your eyes, scrubbing your face with your hands. The rough skin of your hands rubbed against the delicate skin of your face, years of combat and mistreatment foreseeing a harshness that reminded you every day of what you'd had to go through to get to that moment.

“I only found out about it after it happened. I didn't see it for like a whole week,” Peggy shook her head slightly, her eyes glistening in the pain of the memories. You shook your head hard, a more violent reaction than you could have anticipated.

“That stupid… stupid asshole! What the fuck made him think I couldn't defend myself?”

“He was trying to do the right thing,” Peggy finally searched your eyes, meeting the red rims that told her you were holding back too hard breaking in front of her, only using that pain mixed with rage to keep you sane.

“And look how that turned out!”

Peggy stretched her hand across the table, with a pleading look asking you to lower your voice, averting her gaze to the hallway. You followed her gaze, for a second forgetting where you were, forgetting that her family was with you behind the doors where you were plunged into darkness. It was past midnight.

You took a second to calm yourself, trying to drown out the uncontrolled emotions and taking deep breaths to calm your fluttering heart.

“And if what you theorize is true…” you regretted the moment those words left your mouth; you didn't even want to finish the sentence.

“Do you think it is?”

“I don't want to,” you shook your head instantly, closing your eyes, the thought sounding illogical inside your head. Your hands on your chest trying to contain the storm of feelings that was making chaos inside your head. “That would mean that everything we did, everything Bucky, Steve and Howard did and sacrificed, was in vain. It will all have been in vain.”

You spent several weeks with that thought in your head, working hand in hand with Peggy, and the organization you barely knew as SHIELD, to track down the whereabouts of the killer of Tony's parents and the one responsible because the Supersoldier's serums were, surely, in the wrong hands.

And yes, it was many years of fruitless missions and dead ends, with you running every field mission and Peggy calling the shots from the New York facility. Every time you felt close to discovering something, it seemed that the enemy rejoiced in your failures and still couldn't understand how they were always three steps ahead.

However, you had to leave the missions when Peggy became ill.

The silent, lethal Alzheimer's.

During the first months in the hospital, she still recognized you. She also recognized her husband and children. But after the first year, she frowned every time her children walked through the door. After a year and a half, her husband had to remind her that they had been married for about forty years.

After two years, she was still only remembering you, Howard, Steve and Bucky. Her whole life during her time in the army was all you talked about, sometimes you would tell her how much more time had passed than she remembered and always, without fail, she would ask you how much you had done in Europe for so long by yourself.

She cried every time she remembered Howard's death. She cried every time she remembered her children. Out of her mouth came a thousand apologies that no one would accept, because there was nothing anyone could do to prevent what had to happen. You wished she had been a serum test subject instead of you.

For several years, missions to find Tony's parents killer were sporadic because you spent more time around Peggy than at the SHIELD facility. She was the only thing you had left of everything you'd ever had, of when you held the world in your hands. She was the last thing keeping you tethered to that reality, keeping madness from flooding your reason. How could you have so many years ahead of you when that was all you had to live for? A life full of the dead, full of pain and suffering. What kind of karma were you paying for?

You were leaving the SHIELD facility, after another failed mission, when Nick Fury stopped you in front of the exit. You almost rolled your eyes right under his watchful gaze, tired of having to meet him anywhere, and exhausted from his comments about this vengeance project or whatever he wanted you to be a part of.

You still didn't know how, being such an exemplary agent, Coulson had fallen into his nets.

“Miss L/N,” the man stopped you with his words, his hands behind his back and a tense stance that caught your attention.

“Fury,” you nodded in his direction, hoping he'd be quick because you were running late for your weekly visit with Peggy. “Do you need anything?”

“I'd like you to come with me somewhere,” Fury approached tentatively, his one eye fixed on your wary expression, which shifted to boredom the moment you thought you knew what he wanted.

“If this is about that project, I've told you a thousand times-”

“No,” he interrupted you, moving forward and removing his hands from behind his back. “It's not related to that. I really want you to come with me.”

“You look agitated, but I need-”

“I'll take you to see Peggy myself after this.”

You didn't like that he knew your routine, even though you weren't doing enough to hide it from the other agents. But Fury looked nervous, even though he was hiding it very well, trying to keep his cool as he looked for ways to convince you.

You figured it wouldn't be a big deal for you to go off the deep end for once. After all, Peggy never remembered you were going to see her.

You set off in Fury's armored vans, not quite sure where you were going, but sure that it was urgent, because he had taken it upon himself to let his driver know that you had to get there as soon as possible.

You took that time on the trip to come up with a new strategy for the next mission because what you were doing up to that point wasn't working and you felt too close to throwing in the towel, figuratively speaking. You could spend years following a ghost, but you wouldn't give up on finding Howard and Maria's killer.

Before the car pulled up to one of SHIELD's secret sections, they passed the giant, imposing Stark Tower. You never saw Tony again after that time at his parents' funeral, not even during his visits to Peggy because you always made it a point not to cross him. You didn't think you'd be able to look him in the eye while you knew his parents had been killed without being able to tell him. You had promised Peggy in her lucid moments that you wouldn't tell him anything until you could find the culprit. You didn't want to initiate that pain if it had to be kept repressed, as yours once was, and probably still is. You had learned, some time after the funeral, that he was living with Edwin Jarvis, and you were glad to know that he would have good companionship to keep him company in such hard times.

Fury, a handful of agents and you entered the vans through the entrance to what appeared to be the parking lot of an old warehouse. Upon entering, the first thing you noticed was the number of armed agents that seemed to be guarding the place, not at all discreet to how SHIELD used to do things. You weren't sure if Peggy would authorize something like that, but you couldn't question the Director's decisions. It wasn't your place.

“What's going on here?” you frowned, watching as every meter there was another agent and another agent. You got out of the car without waiting for an answer from Fury, moving directly toward the entrance where most of the agents were concentrated. You barely noticed their looks in contradiction, running their eyes over you and then over the man trying to catch up to you, dubious as to whether or not they should move. “Move.”

“Wait,” Fury's voice stopped the command in the agents, who turned back to look at you as you sent Fury a confused look.

“What's all this mystery, Nicholas?” the man startled almost discreetly at your tone of voice, the agents stirring uncomfortably, but kept the serene expression that was getting on your nerves. “What the fuck did you do?”

“We got a call from the Arctic.”

“From the Arctic?”

You tried to ignore the way the hairs on your neck instantly stood up, your body alerting you to something your mind still couldn't comprehend. You felt like a deer face to face with a predator, expecting the worst.

“The Colonel informed us of something that might interest us,” Fury's cryptic voice echoed in your ears, drowning out the flicker of uncertainty vibrating from your head to your toes. “They found a plane.”

You didn't even answer him. Your heart began to pound wildly, cornered, ready to have your head bitten off. The tension in your shoulders intensified, with the involuntary movement of your hands as you broke into a cold sweat. The mere implication of his words caused an emptiness in your stomach, a sense of longing and fear you hadn't felt before.

You looked at Fury, trying to find in his gaze the gleam of a lie, but there was nothing there but assurance. There was nothing but recognition and understanding in his gaze, but that didn't make the emptiness in your stomach and the tight chest go away. It didn't make the feeling of being outside your body go away.

You barely remembered to move in the direction of the door, the agents instantly moving out of your way, pushing it so hard that one of them flew out. You moved your eyes around every corner of the room, the cream-colored walls generating a great repulsion in you. And there, in the midst of all the confusion and the storm, a confused and disgruntled face looked back at you. A face you never thought you would see again.

Steve Rogers was standing a few feet away from you, barely comprehending what was happening around him and instantly recognizing you. Your chest compressed once again, the tears you held back for so many years even in your loneliness making their own way into your eyes, endangering to end that mask you wore everywhere you went.

Steve was actually there, looking back at you with his eyes shining in recognition. You didn't know if he was as surprised as you were to react or you looked so bad that he didn't know if he should approach you or not. You just knew it was him, it really was him right there in front of you. He wasn't dead. Steve wasn't dead. He was alive. Ah, he was so alive.

The broken sob that suddenly left you was loud enough to make your friend shed his stupefaction and stride over to where you were. You barely managed to cover your face, between sobs, wails and disbelief, feeling your knees give out, surrendering to the weight of the pain, when his strong arms grabbed your shoulders before you hit the floor. Preventing your fall, as you had wished so many times before.

You cried against his shoulder, when feeling him against your body you knew there was no doubt it was true. You moved your hands away from your face, wrapping them around his waist as tightly and lovingly as you hadn't hugged anyone in so long. Surely the last time you hugged someone like that was when you saw Peggy on your way back from Europe.

Steve wasn't far behind, his arms around your shoulders just as tightly, his chin against the crown of your head, moving from side to side trying to hold back the loud sobs that shook your body.

You couldn't believe it, but it was true, he was right in front of you.

Steve was alive. He had come back to your side. You didn't even want to ask why.

And there was nothing else you could think about for the rest of your life.

[myfandomrealitea]

https://www.tumblr.com/myfandomrealitea/754708019843137536/im-actually-sick-of-living-in-a-world-where-all?source=share

I did litter picking as a hobby in my last home, and eventually people started to thank me, and then eventually someone set up a group with me! It got too much for my hands after a while but it shows that its not futile to do something like that if you are able. Do you have any advice to on how to engage petitioning people when it you are autistic and disabled and thus struggle to put your limited energy towards things you feel aren't gonna lead anywhere and be pointless?

One of the best ways you can help if you have low reserves of energy or motivation is actually by helping others to achieve your shared goal. Chances are if you've found something wanting in your local community or with a larger issue, other people have too.

You can take on less demanding, perhaps even more fun tasks like designing leaflets or images that can be shared around. Especially in the era of convenience and hilarity where low quality memes can often accomplish what would once require fourteen degrees and few years experience in digital design.

Often people get burnt out by trying to assume a spearhead or higher effort role in a cause. Taking on too much when you simply don't have the capability to meet your own expectations is a not insignificant portion of why causes can feel 'pointless' or 'unachievable.'

For example, a lot of the common activism I do is actually simply connecting people to other people who can mutually aid them in their cause. If someone has the knowledge for how to get something to happen but simply not the time, I help them find someone who has the time that they can feed their knowledge to so that person can do what they can't.

Local good cause doesn't have a Facebook page for awareness and easy communication? Don't have the spoons to fully set it up and mod it yourself? Lightly prod the suggestion at someone who does. Encourage them to set it up. Maybe you can do small parts of setting it up like typing out the about section or sending out page invites.

Also; acknowledging when its too much for you and taking a step back is so fucking important. I already have a post about this; but forcing yourself into activism constantly is terrible for you, your cause and the people around you. Take breaks when you need them. Delegate when you need to. Take days to enjoy the world you live in for the very finite amount of time that you're in it.

[nugatorysheep]

Damn....why all this hate on you? I thought you did made it clear of your characters and stuff. (Or is this not about them-)

Genuinely there's like two or three people out there who have whack ass one-sided beef with me specifically that are trying to make it seem like it's a morality thing and not just fandom pettiness and bigotry lol

like it's very telling that I'm getting weird bouts of anon hate for "reposting underage nsfw" art and not the person who... supposedly made the art i reposted. Or alternatively, people being upset that I've made NSFW of characters that are very clearly adults. I've unironically had people call Druid of all characters minor-coded before. yknow, the 1500 year old man. it's just silly. There are many, many people in this fandom who do the same brand of NSFW I do and no one is being this level of unhinged in their inbox. this is peak petty on full display

(also for the record, no, i havent reposted or made any underage anything. i've been pretty vocal about being squicked by loli/sho. i dont care if other people are into that but it ain't for me. even if i did like that type of content, that's... that's not... what being a pedophile is. if the bar is that low all the weebs of the world are in trouble).

It's not even hard for anyone to check for themselves. my discord server is public, any verified adult can see the 18+ channels and look at the explicit art i've made. spoiler alert, it's real underwhelming as far as internet standards go

For the most part it's just kinda funny to see this hate train crash and burn. Most of it I've been ignoring or giving meme replies to cause anyone who is taking that shit seriously already made up their mind about me, I aint wasting my breath on that lmao

I do wanna talk about this anon hate I got in my strawpage the other day tho:

My first thought was "low effort rage bait? on MY wi-fi?" because I'm hardly just "tolerated" by the fandom. if people didn't like me they would just say that, and plenty of people have before.

Im not here for a popularity contest, im here to be autistic about my blorbos. if i wanted to be popular I'd exclusively make fanart of the canon characters on twitter or do low-effort text posts with screenshots from the show (and i know that works cause I've done it before and WOW look at those notes)

but numbers /= meaningful interaction and I care about THAT much more. People do know what I do, of course they know I'm a freak, I don't keep it a secret, this aint news to anyone who follows me. Secrets imply I've got something I'm ashamed of, and that ship has sailed. I'm out of my people pleasing era and have been for years now. I may hide the specifics because, quite frankly, i dont see a point in flaunting the spicer stuff on main. But as far as my art and interests go, I'm an open book

The other thing is, the creator of this show is a freak. Every few years people find out about the Ed, Edd and Eddy art and lose their shit. That Amethyst and Sadie art? That was her. That Pearl x Greg art I shared on Twitter that was every chronically online lesbian's 9/11? Yeah she made that too. She literally reads my AU. the bar for freakiness in this fandom is on the fucking floor, dawg

But the reason I wanna talk about it is for the sake of other people who are following me, not just to satisfy this guy's weird hate-boner.

I'm sure that some people are seeing the stuff I'm getting sent and are scared to be more open about what they enjoy because they dont wanna deal with this kinda shit themselves. I have pretty thick skin at this point- after being online long enough you just have to- but not everyone is willing to take a pounding like that. I get it.

thing is, pretending to be "one of the good ones" is not gonna make those around you actually like you. They like the fake version of you, not the real you, and those kinda folks are not worth being around. it's best to rip off that band-aid sooner than later. In the moment it'll suck, but in the long run it's more than worth it. It's better to have a few ride-or-die friends than a large group of fair-weather friends. You may also find that there are folks out there who are more accepting and based than you think. I've certainly been surprised by a few!

the only people who send anon hate like this do it because something in their life sucks and they feel the need to take it out on others. ya ever notice that these type of people never show their face? it's cause they're scared. scared that they might actually have to step out on the front lines. scared they might have to get their hands dirty. By just just being out and open you've proven to be braver, bolder, and stronger than they will ever be.

Don't be afraid of losers in sunglasses. They aren't worth your fear.

[yarrayora]

I remember in the danganronpa fandom years ago, someone ran a blog where they posted 'headcanons' about a certain ship and it was pretty much jusr hate and really bad.

oh yeah that's something that always happens no matter which era and which fandom, it's low effort

that reminds me my long bsd series have dazai haters bookmarking it as dazai bashing and im like. dude. im literally making him confront his mistakes. im literally making people refuse to abandon him. this is literally a dazai redemption fic disguised as worldbuilding

[kelp-eaters-united]

hi do you know the rage that helvetica and its evangelists evoke in me?? like fuck its not about helvetica helvetica - actual rage towards any font (yes even that one) is just a low effort meme: youre not funny. but as its cleanliness and uniformity has grown into modern design ethos like a cancer it has been chosen as the de-facto correct answer to any design problem. i thought that graphic design was the art of communication? did we not take the same classes?? yalls professors forget to tell you this????

i cant divine the exact reasons why this has happened. i have guesses and conspiracy theories but nothing useful. internally ive been calling it the "apple store problem" where good minimalism is really hard - nearly impossible to make human enough, but bad minimalism is hilariously easy. yes im a frank lloyd wright hater why do you ask. but all of these individual examples are just data points and i am stuck inside my mind with no identifiable root cause.

furthermore, and perhaps more important: - is it fair to critique an art movement on the basis of its incurious hacks? - doesnt every artist in every era feel like this? - isnt this just the feeling of having an Establishment against which we make our art? - isnt it okay that corporate art is always going to be "like that"? that all corporate art is always going to trend towards least common denominator, watered-down mass-appeal? - how careful do i have to be? when i sit here and complain that advertising of all things is more and more stale oatmeal how much am i yearning for a mythical perfect past where REAL artists made REAL art and not this degenerate* slop? - is it even worth it to try and ask that art in advertising be any good? like. its still art for advertising. yknow. the horrifying screeching mindless presence of light and sound that exists only to wring every living drop of attention, time, energy, and capitol out of humans until we are a barely living, shivering, bio-mechanical GDP booster whos only purpose is to feed the machine that hurts us. that advertising.

i think maybe theres more here than: clean lines bad and im bored

oh hi there, i see you making *word associations. yes, that is exactly what i was talking about, thansk for noticing: OG fascists and neo fascists love to cite how great art used to be before The Bad Times as a way to retroactively legitimize themselves and to propose a Good future where they win verses the Bad future where cops arent allowed to murder people. this regularly seeps like poison into conversations about mass-market art because they both sound like criticisms of the present. in discussions on the damaging relationship between art and commerce where most folks there are lamenting how the need to be advertiser friendly stunts communication and limits what art can even be made, you can regularly find little fascist shits whinging about the good ol days. when complaining about how capitalism is making it impossible to talk about sex or being black or being trans in your art make sure youre not inventing fictional pasts. there was never a The Good Times where only real artists prevailed. yes we are in a particularly censor-heavy, advertiser-friendliness-driven time on the internet BUT getting sucked into the rhetoric of how much society has devolved these days lands you in Neo Nazi Proximity Danger Zone.

where was i? oh yah: 1. charles eames can get fucked. 2. it is a good thing to demand more from the commercial art in your life 3. if youre bored of the same thing again and again try finding independent art projects that match your freak and come back to me 4. the achingly personal, earnest art you make will never be lowest common denominator marketable 5. do it anyways. make bad art that pisses people off. 6. i also hate helvetica for reasons that have nothing to do with this rant, its just not appealing to me. i like Baskerville and MCIR fonts

[slytherinshua]

legends never die... (apologies for the reference)

*nervously laughs* I'M BACK ZANNA

I can't believe I was gone for so long. Not sending asks to this blog is like the equivalent of not talking to a best friend for months I'll be so fr I missed you so MUCHHHHHHH 😞

First of all, I saw that disco is BAAACKKK 🥳🥳🥳🥳 I'M SO GLAD THEY'RE BACK we really hard carried the peak tws era on this blog fr we were golden (we still are this is literally us ⭐) perhaps your joint efforts summoned me back here ☝️

to present a small life update, I've been studying a lot for the past few months (and still I must go on 😔) I had my mocks in march, and my finals start on April 28th, and shall go on till June 6th (😨😧😓)

It's actually the first (1/3) day of Eid today (religious holiday!!) (or rather it was the first day because it's 20 past 12 lol) so I was at my relatives' in the morning, and am now at different relatives'.

ALSO. I saw that you're currently in your tbz era, and that's kind of crazy because same. I am, in fact, very deep into my tbz era. I'd kind of been getting into them last year, and this comeback did it for me IT'S SO GOOOODD. It's kind of crazy how tbz are high-key underrated their songs are SO GOOD 😔 VVV literally went platinum in my room. Also watch it was low-key my soty when it came out. Salty has also gone platinum in my room multiple times ☝️ break your rules also. The boyz are also so weird and funny I love them. I hope their new company treats and promotes them well. I am also in love with Eric.

Anywayyy I enjoyed the yap. Please tell me what you've been up to!! I've had no zanna lore for months 💔 also tell me your fav bsides from unexpected!! (I really like miss demeanor!) Also your fav the boyz songs in general, I really need to hear more of their music. I hope you're doing well, and are healthy 🫂🫂

-🪿

HELLOOO GOOSEY BELOVED IM SO GLAD UR BACK ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ I swear the anon drought on this blog has not been pretty or fun for me or anyone else I love yapping w my cutie anons !!!

DISCO RETURN WAS SO 🛐🛐🛐 AND NOW U RETURN TOO SO WE GOT THE BAND BACK TOGETHER BASICALLY. and tws are abt to drop a comeback so watch that propel me back into a tws era for both of you ☝️ (manifesting)

OMG GOOD LUCK MY LOVE !! I hope ur mocks went okay so u have some idea of what to expect for the finals this time of the year is always stressful :(

BUT I hope your eid celebrations were full of joy and cheer and you had (and will have since they’re not over yet) a good time with all your relatives !!!! There’s about to be a whole bunch of religious holidays for me since easter (christian holiday) is coming up and passover (jewish holiday) is also happening a bit before that so I think my sister is cooking a passover celebration plan (literally and figuratively since she usually does the bulk of the cooking for the dinners kdjdkss) but I’m not sure what we might do for easter as a family or in terms of seeing relatives. I’ll probably make some cinnamon rolls and learn some new hymns on the piano but otherwise not much lol

YES. TBZ. I was a little late to listening to vvv since there were so many comebacks at once but once I did listen to it it changed my life and threw me so hard back into that era. Like it’s been on repeat fr and it’s hard to listen to anything else (although recently I’ve been getting nostalgic over bts and listening to their discography a lot) BUT YEAH. I don’t think I can pick a favourite off of unexpected yet cause I don’t think that I’ve fully paid attention to the bsides and processed like which ones I liked LMAO. I’ve been so focused on vvv and my playlist I usually put on shuffle has like 3k songs and while the whole album is on there I don’t think I heard the bsides properly yet 😭😭😭 but I’ll give them all a listen very soon!! As for my favourite tbz songs I will always always always swear by survive the night, bump & love, merry bad ending, back all black, ddd, salty, break your rules, fire eyes, bite back, and no air!!!!

Yeah I’ve been doing pretty good!! I’m heavily focused on preparing for a piano exam next week and also finding a new piano to replace my old one cause it has a cracked soundboard and does not sound as good as it did like 8 years ago 😭😭 unfortunately <33 I’m very sad to say goodbye to it but I really hope I find a new piano that I love just as much maybe even more!! I tried out one a few days ago and decided not to get it but it was quite nice to play (and it was a baby grand so it sounded amazing !!!!)

other than that I’ve been learning how to gif and I think it’s really fun I’m slowly getting better at it !! Also been studying for this big AP test I’ll be taking in may and just preparing for the end of the school year.

I’m gonna go find a prom dress soon after my piano exam even though I’m not really used to the whole prom thing and I don’t have an in person schools prom to go to lmao. But my online school has a year end meetup and they sort of hold a seniors prom which my dad wanted me to have a dress to wear when I go to it. So that’ll be in late may/early June. And it’s in the states so I’ll be driving down and seeing a lot of friends too I’m very excited about it 🥹🥹 but it’s gonna be a very long car ride about 75 hours round trip 💀��

let me think what else is new??? I guess I’ve been driving more frequently building up the hours in a car to take my road test and get my full license in the fall. And hopefully I’ll get a hair cut in may too cause I’m kinda tired of my long hair LMAO so yeah I guess my life has been pretty eventful but also not that much out of the ordinary !!! But I am so glad you are back I def missed you <33

[f0point5]

need to rant about this and this is my only outlet so here goes:

i HATE grace abrams’ outfits when she’s performing and i have no clue what she/her stylist is going for😭😭😭

for example, on her own tours she’ll be wearing a sweatpants and a bra which like. ok body!! do i think it’s a good outfit? absolutely not but like go off show off idc. then, for the eras tour she’s wearing like a whole gown every night and those aren’t necessarily the best gowns i’ve seen either. also she’s signing the same songs but wearing completely different styles??? where is the cohesion?? how does that make sense at all?

also neither of these two (floor length dresses and sweatpants) stylistically match her sound so i’m just so confused as to what she’s going for AND i think she could afford to have a more cohesive sense of style that at least matches her sound idk

anyway!! just needed to put that out there and i feel like other girl pop artists are killing the game currently (taylor, sabrina, chappell, olivia) so maybe im being too harsh but if anyone knows more than me pls feel free to correct me

i think she’d benefit from a more hailey from paramore style which is more relaxed and casual, which would match her music style more. however paramore is more rock than gracie so idk i just think girl needs to be somewhere in the middle between gowns and sweatpants and a bra

I mean…her style is just “good body” because if she wasn’t tiny with that ab line she’d get ripped to shred for zero effort.

But honestly as much as I like a lot of her music I don’t see her as a die hard “pop girlie”. It doesn’t really seem like she has a love of performing. Music as a passion doesn’t necessarily mean you love performing or touring. Like I think Sabrina absolutely loves to perform, she’s branded herself around basically being performance art. But Gracie Abrams just seems like she’d low-key rather be playing her guitar at home but that’s just the vibe I get

But either way yeah I think she could benefit from just a bit more production around her live performances in general, from what I’ve seen

[justscreamingnothing]

i guess what it really boils down to is that i want someone who reeeeaaallly likes me and wants me and will make me feel appreciated. like of course everyone wants that, but i guess i was so illusioned by the idea of having a “hoe era” that i missed on, that just want to ignore my desires, but man it’s just getting to me. i love being able to experience intimacy on the levels i am, but im tired of feeling weird for wanting more, for even hinting i want more. did i do that thing that i slept with them too early and it signaled to them i wasn’t worth the effort? maybe, but i won’t apologize for being horny and wanting to finally have sex. i see more clearly now how women are villainized for being promiscuous.

i just feel so cheated, now i’m thinking why haven’t i been wined and dined? why haven’t i been appreciated? i’m not worth it? spending money on me is soooo bad? mike didn’t even wanna have breakfast! hell he didn’t wanna MAKE breakfast! and we’re always just hanging out in kings house, jesus you could be the most low maintenance person and still be too much. and i’m not naturally high maintenance anyway, but i’m tired of feeling scared to ask for anything for fear of overdoing it. i’m valuable on my own, i’m worth it myself. i owe it to myself to seek someone who sees that. i wanna be ok with being mad at someone (because they made me mad!) because i know they’ll be remorseful and try to make it better.

i want someone who considers me and listens to me and finds me fascinating and wants to listen to me talk. yeah, i guess in short i want- ugh- a relationship. i wanna feel valued and cherished and less alone. and the thing is- Ive BEEN known this, but now im really forced to come to terms with it and actually do something about it and its just gonna suck to let go of something i’ve been wanting for so long, even if it’s going to lead to better things.