#shrugs take me as I am

[yashley]

So sad. Do you think I do not understand the sorrow of responsibility?

[rottmnt-residuum]

Sorry if this is too unrelated or something, but do you have any tips for comic composition? I absolutely adore how you frame everything, from the backgrounds, to the bubble placement, to the way the colors seem to fit together in each panel, and I've always been curious about how you do it

if this is too vague/overcomplicated I understand, I love your work and hope you're doing well <3

Hm... well. Honestly, most of my composition comes from transcribing the animation of residuum that's happening in my head. Which is why, if any of y'all've noticed, residuum is framed a bit like a movie. So if you're looking to do something similar, I'd recommend either studying camera techniques, or watching movie analysis with a focus on camera work. I'm unfortunately a bad person to ask, as a lot of what I do just comes via practice that's turned to instinct.

This is a really good resource on page compositions in general, though I mostly do panel by panel stuff for my own ease:

The background style is actually directly inspired from @meandtheyeehaws, it's fast, easy, and doesn't require too much thought on my part. You spend a lot of time on comics, so you take shortcuts where you're willing to.

Bubble placement... I've noticed that people tend to laser focus on dialogue. So, the dialogue bubbles are how you lead the reader's eyes. They are the very base of the reader's eye path. All this means is that you should just map the eye path you want and then frame everything else around that. Either to bring notice to stuff or to hide something in plain sight.

Honestly, I have no idea for the color thing. It's one of the things I actually wish the comic was better with. All I do is have set color swatches for characters, and do a transparent color mask to the background color. I love to color, but color itself isn't really my strong suit.

[shorlinesorrows]

okay, a couple things on alien stage/ivantill that I think some folks maybe need to consider and internalize.

Till does not "need" to return Ivan's feelings in the slightest if he doesn't feel that way. It's heart wrenching to see Ivan love him and have those feelings unreturned, but please remember that no one is required to return romantic feelings for someone else. You can't make yourself love someone, and you shouldn't. Especially out of guilt or obligation. That's Unhealthy 101, and would only set a relationship up for failure. (I do think Till cared about Ivan, and that he's going to have a Guilt Complex based on the fact that he didn't fully notice Ivan's feelings/care toward him until the guy died, but I've seen a couple of people tear into Till for not noticing/reciprocating Ivan's feelings??? Don't do that??? their situation is shitty, the fact that they didn't get to talk is shitty, but please don't blame Till for things he Can't Control.)

The kiss was not consensual. It wasn't meant to be portrayed as such. It wasn't even really romantic, it was a desperate, selfish act that Ivan used to get Till's attention (in more ways than one) and to give himself some sense of closure before he died. It was him saying everything that he felt at once, with no chance for Till to reciprocate or deny the affection. In a perfect world, they could have talked instead of this, maybe kissed knowing both wanted it, or given Till a chance to refuse. But they're both in the middle of an essential death tournament and one of them is going to be murdered sometime in the next few minutes. Neither of them really wants to live, but Ivan feels he has unfinished business before his sacrifice, so he finishes it. Their situation sucks. That doesn't mean the kiss was consensual. (especially considering the theory/implication that Till was/is being sexually assaulted by aliens, I wouldn't be surprised if this affects him badly in the future, for multiple reasons. Everyone should always get the chance to say "no" and have that fully respected. This also extends to the fact that Ivan died for Till without giving him a chance to stop it, which is probably going to mess with Till's head a lot. Then again, Ivan likely didn't think it would affect Till much because as far as he/we know, the feelings aren't reciprocated in this moment in canon, or are extremely repressed. Ivan might believe that Till simply hates him, or the kiss/subsequent "choking" may have been a way of trying to make Till hate him so that his death wouldn't hurt as much. Of course that thinking is flawed, because it would hurt Till no matter what, but still, it makes me sad)

Ivan... is kinda messed up. I adore him, but we've got to acknowledge that he has little to no emotional and relationship maturity due to the fact that he was quite literally raised as a pet and learned at a young age to do whatever his masters said to keep himself safe and pain-free. His fascination with Till appears to largely stem from Till's sense of rebellion. Ivan's examples of relationship dynamics and what constitutes as "love" is dangerously unbalanced, and he does not know how to build a healthy relationship. (Neither of them do.) This is also built onto the fact that the person he became dependent on only paid attention to him when they were fighting or Ivan was annoying him. Ivan cares about Till desperately, but he is also dangerously reliant on him to the point of self-detriment. Again, in an ideal world, they would be able to get out of this situation and gradually make a healthy relationship/friendship (depending on Till's feelings) over time while starting to undo the dangerous relationship patterns that they fell into when they didn't have any way to know better. But they're in a terrible situation, and Ivan really just doesn't get the chance to grow as a person and realize that his sense of possessiveness and reliance on Till's attention isn't healthy.

Basically, their situation makes me want to sob and its heart wrenching. Their circumstances have set them up for failure. Both of them are in the midst of attempting to survive an abusive situation and massive amounts of dehumanization. I beg, please try not to sanitize their complicated relationship or blame either of them for the pain the other is going through. I've seen some of that going around, and it's making me sad :(

[danieyells]

I'm not sure why I feel so attracted to the idea of Jiro sedating the MC and touching them over their clothes but not daring to do much more, and later the MC waking up and thinking it was a kind of dream influenced by him taking care of their pre-op "well he was always handsome"

You're attracted to it because it's hot anon 👀 the vulnerability, the drugging, the lack of fulfillment when all he does is grope over your clothes, the uncertainty--i'm always a slut for dub/non-con and drugging oh lord 👀 tell me more anon

And man i sure hope this isn't total gibberish because i wrote it in parts over the course of the day and only finished like now and it's 4am. . . .

I feel a little disappointed in this one, i'll admit lolol and it's not exactly what you described but maybe you'll like it anyway?

Obvious non/dubcon and (consensual, medical) drugging cws. Additional warnings for that the pc is never named and is only referred to as 'they' for the most part, and I left their gender and genitals ambiguous, which makes for some sloppy writing on my part. . . .

They had been helping at Jabberwock a few days prior and they'd been bitten by an anomaly. It was a minor injury but Haru was worried about the side effects. After Towa nearly sent the poor creature to hell, they'd been sent to Mortkranken for examination, to be certain the beast's venom wouldn't have any lasting effects.

It was Yuri who inspected them the first time. Even after spending time helping the medical house, Yuri still made the inspector feel a little on edge. They worried the only thing that kept them from more than basic examination and preventative care was Professor Nicolas' presence.

"Their venom is slow acting." Yuri scoffed after they described the anomaly they'd been affected by. He walked with them after they were discharged, making his way to another patient in the building as he explained before they went their separate ways. "If you go a week without noticing any changes the medicine worked in full. Come back if you start experiencing any unintended muscle movements!"

With that sharp dismissal, they returned to the Cathedral, worrying over every twitch and itch and crawl under their skin.

And three days later they were once again in Mortkranken after a sudden movement of their leg nearly sent them careening down a staircase.

Kaito and Luca had been kind enough to rush them to the infirmary, where Professor Nicolas subsequently had them quickly transported to Mortkranken as the anomalous effects would be better treated there(much to Kaito's dismay.)

A general student saw them into a wheelchair and rolled them inside the office, helping them onto an examination table to make sure another spasm wouldn't cause them any injury. Even as they were brought inside they began to panic as the spasms increased in frequency and spread from their leg into other parts of their body. They shook and twitched against their own wishes, even as Jiro arrived in the exam room with the necessary materials.

"You're moving too much." Jiro sighed on sight, putting down the needle he'd filled without even saying hello. He moved to fetch a fresh one and a small jar of lavender colored fluid. "I'm going to sedate you. You should be okay to fall asleep, if you feel tired. You shouldn't die."

The human tried to find the honest statement and lack of alarm comforting. If they were dying then surely Yuri and Nicolas would have been contacted? Or perhaps their curse or the ring would have counteracted it?

The summer had seen them abandon their blazer in favor of wearing a short sleeve dress shirt, making access to their arm quite simple. Jiro moved to hold their upper arm when another spasm rocked it. After waiting for the jolts to cease, he gripped their arm tight enough to make them wince, disinfected their skin with precision, and jabbed the needle into their upper arm with a little pinch.

The effect was almost immediate as he pushed down the plunger. The moment the fluid entered them they felt fuzzy, their vision swimming as if with exhaustion. The warmth spread and their muscles relaxed, losing most of their strength. Where a convulsion was about to start they felt a much weaker muscle spasm, registering in their mind as barely a crawl of their skin. Once all of the fluid had entered them, the needle was pulled out and discarded in an anomalous container for sharps; the spot was immediately cleaned and bandaged.

The sedative must have had some additional effect, the inspector reasoned. Where Jiro must have had been pressing fingers against the plaster to stop any bleeding, they imagined a long press of his lips.

But that wouldn't make sense.

Or be sanitary wound care.

(Would he even have a concept of 'kissing wounds makes them better'? It didn't seem like he grew up in such a gentle environment.)

Once he was certain the spasms had been relaxed Jiro put on a new pair of gloves and fetched his original needle. "This should kill any of the remaining venom." He explained as he cleaned another patch of skin. "Aside from the initial pinch you shouldn't notice anything odd. Maybe a little burning.

"If you feel anything besides that. . . ." He looked into their eyes, glassy and hazy. Barely there, their mind and body were so numb. For a moment they were able to focus on him, and he seemed to smile in amusement--although, that would be strange for Jiro, so it must have just been the medicine. "Just lie there and drool, I suppose. I'll take care of it."

Any attempt at response failed, their body feeling so limp that even speaking was a task. It felt like a nightmare of helplessness, the kind they'd had many times since coming to Darkwick--unable to move their body and helpless at the mercy of some person or beast. But even through the needles' sharp penetration(barely noticed in the haze of their sedation) they felt surprisingly safe. Perhaps their sleeping mind heard Jiro's blunt explanations and took them as literal as Jiro meant them to be and felt no fear or discomfort. They were helpless and heavy, but not afraid despite it. Like a dream within a dream.

As Jiro had claimed, they feel nothing but a light burn tingling in their veins. A gentle buzz throughout their being. They could almost feel the anomalous medicine working, seeking out the toxicity in their muscles and killing it. Or perhaps the sensitivity was part of their sedative-induced dream.

"Done." Jiro announced. The needle left them, and they were cleaned and bandaged once again. Jiro kissed--or pressed against, more likely--the bandage until the bleeding stopped. They opened their bleary eyes to watch him as he cleaned up. "You'll need to be monitored for about ten minutes, to make sure there are no side effects." He looked back at them lying on the examination table, a limp doll of a human. Not that, compared to Jiro, they were much stronger than a doll to begin with. "Not that you can go anywhere. In your condition."

Was that a laugh, or a sigh? It was a little huff of a sound, something they might as well have had imagined. A lot of things seemed imagined here. Like that Jiro didn't leave to attend to another patient and leave a general student to look after them until they could move again. Yuri would have likely had them put in a chair and wheeled back home with one of their friends. . .or worse, used their helpless body in some sort of experiment.

Perhaps that thought is what made the Jiro in their mind come closer once everything was in order and examine them closely. Had it been ten minutes? Time really didn't seem to have a meaning right now. They tried moving, and found little change in when they were first injected.

"Did I give you too much?" Jiro asked, slipping strong hands under their arms and repositioning them. They managed a sound best(though still poorly) described as a weak squeak in acknowledgement. "It's a strong sedative. If I didn't give it to you the venom might have started coordinating your spasms until it controlled your body. You'll be able to move again eventually."

Once they'd been placed back onto the table in a good position, the head of the table slightly raised, Jiro watched them.

Then, he moved a hand to lightly rest on their sternum.

"You're not breathing very hard." He observed. His hand traveled over to the left, cupping their chest. His other hand went to their neck, resting over their pulse. The palm over their chest started stroking the area through their shirt, heavy and dragging as if absentminded. They tensed, trying to squirm but too weak to do so.

"Your RPM and heart rate are a little high." Jiro noted aloud, though not on any sort of chart. The hand on their neck traced their throat with a thumb. "And you're starting to warm up. An allergic reaction, maybe. . .? You weren't found to be allergic to any of the anomalous medicine we use during your health checks."

The hand on their chest gave the tissue a squeeze. First a soft massaging, then something rougher. The way he spoke was so clinical, they had to assume the contact was little more than a fever dream, the last of the spasms wracking their body in particularly sensitive places and their sleeping mind filling in the blanks with thoughts of their vulnerable body being toyed with by the handsome, stoic doctor.

Even the tweak to one of their nipples wasn't enough to wake them, only enough to elicit another squeak and make them shudder in lieu of squirming or arching their back. Even when the hand on their throat moved to their jaw and traced their lips, sinking into their unresistant mouth to stroke their tongue, they assumed they were dreaming, misinterpreting what was happening in the waking world. Jiro commented on their temperature, thumb teasing the back of their throat until they just barely gagged. He retracted his hand entirely to mind their pebbling nipples with both.

What started so purely as the medical attention they needed had, in some length of time that they couldn't measure through the fog, became a pair of strong and heavy hands tracing down their side and waist, sliding over to grope at their tummy. The muscles beneath weakly tensed at the ticklish feeling, and he gave a little hum in acknowledgement. "It looks like you're getting your strength back, at least."

When he relocated his hands to their hips, they confirmed this slight recovery with a little squirm. He squeezed down, presumably to keep them still. "Relax. You'll need your strength for when you leave."

Presumably, it was to keep them still, although they felt his hands slip beneath to their rear, kneading their ass and tracing their crack through their clothes. When he spread the cheeks, he once again received a whine and a squirm, which he responded to with a rough squeeze as if in punishment. Nonetheless, he moved down to their thighs, similarly admiring their shape and feel, before slipping his hands between and spreading them without a hint of effort on his part.

"Ji--!" Their slurred attempt at speech was disrupted by their choked gasp when Jiro's groping moved to squeeze their crotch. The sudden jolt of pleasure, after being worked up through what felt like hours of slowly being toyed with, was enough to almost push through the muscle relaxants in the sedative for just a moment, letting them arch into the contact. They were still too weak to grind into his hand, however, and he only pushed back enough to get their hips to drop painfully back onto the table.

"I told you to calm down." His fingers traced the shape of their genitals, stroking as if to learn the shape more than to titillate. Jiro was a doctor. He'd personally given them medical examinations where they were wearing much less. He already knew what was there, though not in such intimacy. He didn't like 'pointless' things. He wouldn't see a point in something like this. So it could only be a dream. He massaged them through the fabric of their uniform and underwear, fingers pressing and stroking where heat seeped through the most. They only hoped he couldn't feel the moisture gathering there as well. "Your temperature is going up again."

Watching Jiro's actions was difficult in their exhausted condition. While there was no way they could conceptualize that Jiro would actually do any of this, some part of them desperately wanted to know what Jiro--if only as a product of their imagination--was feeling as he brought them agonizingly slowly towards orgasm.

They blinked through the mist of tears they realized must have been forming along with the drool running down their still parted lips, until Jiro's face came into focus. He was much too close to their lap, so close his even, unhurried breaths could be felt warming them through their clothes. It only added to the stimulation. Jiro was an adult, even if he sometimes seemed quite juvenile, like when he laughed at stag beetles fighting or Yuri struggling not to sleep in class; it was surely impossible that he didn't know what he was doing.

On the other hand, he'd been in a coma for some time, and he had no real consideration for the privacy of others' bodies. . .the intent look of study combined with a tinge of pink on his cheeks as he breathed over their aroused genitals and felt the way the touch of his scarred hands made them change. . . .

It was as if he was using their body to sate some curiosity, rather than truly molest them. Even the way his other hand gripped their clothing, as if considering simply removing it, seemed too explorative to be malicious or manipulative.

Or perhaps they simply thought that way because their angle didn't afford them the sight of his lap, to see if he was, perhaps, getting as aroused as they were.

But Jiro paused in his ministrations, contact returning shortly to simply resting his hand on that sensitive and throbbing area, before he retracted his hands completely. Again, they whinged, squirming at being left alone as Jiro seemed to disappear from the examination table.

"Interesting." What was of interest wasn't quite clear. It occurred to them that their body's responses to their dream were real, and perhaps the real Jiro was made aware of their arousal. It was impossible to tell his reaction from his voice alone, and they writhed in humiliation at being caught in some sort of medically induced wet dream. "It seems like you'll need a little more time to recover."

They held their breath, but the contact never returned. They felt themself cooking down, but still sensitive, as if Jiro's touch was lingering. Occasionally they heard some noise in the examination room--a turning page or a keyboard or computer mouse or writing implements on paper. Occasionally a noise from a phone, or a distant echo from out in the hall. But for the most part, all they heard was a strangely loud and hazy silence.

At some point, the dream turned to void, as if they'd fallen asleep inside of it.

When they came to, the world had much less of a layer of fog over it. Their body still felt heavy, but not so much so that they couldn't move it. Sounds were a bit sharper, and yet they heard less as if their senses had been heightened in their sleep. Yuri was scolding Jiro, something about dawdling in here with the sleeping patient when there was work to be done.

"They had a reaction to the antivenom." Jiro explained, his voice coming closer. As usual his footfalls were shockingly quiet, and they would have never known he was coming near if he weren't speaking. They squinted into the strong lights, raising an arm to cover their face. "They're awake now, so I'll discharge them."

"Fine. But hurry up! You know what happens when you're late for your medicine, and I won't tolerate your complaints if you're the cause of your own delay!" Yuri stormed out, likely to prepare Jiro's medication, not even acknowledging them despite having had seen them out when they first checked in days prior.

Jiro, meanwhile, presented them with a light snack of crackers and a juice box. "I would recommend eating a meal and getting some rest once you get home. That sedative wasn't made for restful sleep."

They cleared their throat after taking a few sips of juice. "You said I had a reaction. . . ."

"Yes."

"What. . .happened. . .?"

"Increased temperature, heart rate, and respiration." Jiro explained, watching them eat.

"Did you do anything to stop them. . .?" They really wanted to ask if it was truly a product of the antivenom, but feared sounding accusatory over what was likely a dream.

"No. They weren't at a dangerous level. I just kept an eye on them so make sure they didn't get worse."

They nodded, sipping their juice again. "And the sedative can give you strange dreams? You said it isn't made for restful sleep. . . ."

"Your body is forced to sleep without your mind being put into a restful place first. It would be like falling asleep with something on your mind, making you more likely to dream about it. So, yes, that would likely be the case."

They heaved a somewhat disappointed sigh, tilting the last of their snack crackers into their mouth. "That's good, I think. . .I'm glad that's all that happened."

"If you say so."

That response felt off. Jiro took their trash and threw it away, fetching the wheelchair they were rolled in on to help them into it. He put a hand on their back, making them jump as they were gently pushed to the edge of the lowered bed to sit up.

"What do you mean? That's all that happened, isn't it?"

"It already happened." Jiro said dismissively, putting his hands under their arms to lift them up(again?) and sit them into the chair, not trusting their legs just yet. "I don't see a point in worrying what happened between your treatment and now."

The cursed inspector tried to formulate a response that could convince Jiro to share what he meant--even if all he said was that he had read a medical journal, or that he'd adjusted them in bed a few times--but knowing Jiro they couldn't think of a way to get him to talk. They squeezed their thighs together, feeling their genitals throb from the orgasm denial, the unfulfillment of their dream that might have been reality. But they were already back in the Mortkranken lobby, where Luca greeted them with a kind smile, approaching.

"Can you walk?" He asked as Jiro locked the chair. They set one leg on the floor and, though it felt heavy, they could definitely balance enough to get up and stumble over to Luca on wobbly legs before giving a weak nod. "I'm glad to hear it. It looks like you've recovered well. Are they clear to return home, Doctor Kirisaki?"

"Just Jiro is fine." Jiro looked them over once more. It was surely their imagination that his gaze lingered on their crotch--where they squeezed their thighs together tightly, remembering their dizzy dream and just how close his lips were before he pulled away--as opposed to their slightly wobbling legs. "They're a fall risk until they've had a meal and some rest. But they're safe for discharge."

A general Mortkranken student trotted up, offering the scholarship student their discharge paperwork and instructions, then collected the wheelchair for sensitization and storage once the papers were taken. They and Lucas thanked them kindly, and Jiro as well. He simply nodded in response, before they began to make their way out the door.

The cursed human took one final look back at Jiro, who simply tilted his head at them like so many of the cats around campus. Then he winced and turned away, stumbling towards the basement to receive his medication.

About two or three hours later, they received a WickChat message.

Jiro: You implied you experienced an odd dream as an effect of the sedative. This may also have been a yet unseen reaction between the sedative and the antivenom. Jiro: For the sake of proper documentation, would you be able to expound upon the dream at all? It's okay if you can't remember everything. Any details would be valuable to the understanding of anomalous medicine and its effects on humans and individuals afflicted by curses.

Their heart pounded. Telling Jiro what they dreamed of could be valuable information, but could they really bear the humiliation of it? Of explaining that they'd had a nearly wet dream about him, while he was in the room with them? Would Jiro even think anything of it, oblivious as he is to emotional matters?

Jiro: If it helps, a date for you to be sedated again could be arranged. You could be attached to a brain wave monitor, so your memory won't need to be relied upon. Jiro: Perhaps the dream will reoccur. I'll be sure to thoroughly extract something of value, so the experience isn't wasted.

Perhaps it was his use of 'thoroughly extracting value', but the thought crossed their mind that they hadn't been dreaming at all, and that Jiro mayhaps wanted to finish what he started. But it wouldn't make sense from the get go for it to have had been real. . . .

And yet they remembered Jiro's talk of prescribing death to others and dismissing ethics.

There was no point in discussing the ethics of something that had already been done, he said.

Perhaps some of the experience was real. He wouldn't have had been so cryptic about what had happened while they slept if nothing had occurred, would he?

Although, he was often cryptic about things, so perhaps that was merely coincidence and they were getting their hopes up--

Jiro: A prompt response would be appreciated. 'No' is an acceptable response, as well.

They scrambled to type a response, realizing they'd left him on read.

8636: I don't know how well I can recall. . . . 8636: I'm willing to be re-sedated, though! 8636: Before I agree to it, may I ask a potentially non-medical question? Jiro: I can't stop you from asking questions over WickChat. 8636: What happened while I was sedated today? After I was given the antivenom?

There was a pause, but no typing for a while. Then the general Mortkranken WickChat messaged them with appointment information.

8636: Jiro? Jiro: ? 8636: I didn't see a response, so I was just checking in. . . . Jiro: I didn't agree to answer the question.

A fair, if disappointing response.

Jiro: Just know I attempted to administer a holistic remedy to an unanticipated physiological response that arose during your treatment.

The response took a little longer to parse. As realization dawned on them, the next message came in.

Jiro: It didn't work as intended, as I'm not very experienced with such methods or concerns. Perhaps you noticed your continued affliction after discharge, and your discharge instructions. Jiro: Should the same issue arise, I've done more research.

They covered their face in embarrassment.  The discharge instruction "administer personal relief as needed" made much more sense now. They desperately hoped the Mortkranken student who handed them their discharge instructions hadn't read it first.

Accepting this explanation, they hastily sent an apology and threw themself down in bed, covering their face. Did they have to go to the appointment!? Jiro had only been trying to help them, albeit in an extremely questionable way. . .and somehow the thought that he had done more research to better serve the need in question. . .it was embarrassing, despite that they were the victim. They were able to excuse it, rationalizing that they were attracted to Jiro anyway and the idea alone felt exciting, but now walking into it as though it were any other medical procedure felt. . .insincere.

Resolving to perhaps cancel the appointment and try and get Jiro to have a talk with them about ethics, they dozed off, trying to ignore the returning heat and throbbing between their legs.

When they next awoke, it was to a small pinch, like the needles they'd recieved that day.

Just as had happened earlier, their strength was robbed from them nearly immediately, and they gasped as they felt a pair of lips on their chest, sucking at the nipple through their pajamas. A familiar large, heavy hand squeezed their other breast, twisting and tugging the nipple there.

"Not to worry." Jiro reassured through the gloom and the haze of sleep and strong sedatives. "Just like earlier, this is all a dream."

Limp in bed, a heavy doll for him to experiment on, what could they do but comply?

[torchickentacos]

Posts that are like "if you reblog without this condescending addition then [threat/guilt tripping/etc]" baffle me so much because like... how are you going to verify that someone purposefully reblogged without that specific thread addition? It's such an empty claim. You cannot prove that a person went out of their way to ignore a specific reblog addition. Posts go around with like 5 different post-addition variations, that's just how tumblr works??? forever confusing and mildly annoying honestly.

[daboyau]

I got an idea when looking at this post by @tangledinink. I couldn’t rest until I’d jotted it down. The art possessed me like an evil spirit. warnings for body horror, vomiting, general fuckery. 💚

what probably happened directly before Leo found himself in this situation:

Leo: Fairies? No way those sparkly little assholes are real.

The fae who happened to be within earshot: and i took that personally.

Anyway, here we gooooo:

Leo opens his mouth to scream, but the sound won’t come out. He gags on the feeling of it catching inside his throat, and then again when the trapped scream begins to grow thorns. It scrapes its way up, and he claws desperately at his throat, trying to tear the feeling out, falling to his knees as he gags around the forced silence.

The threat of suffocation is enough to tear his attention, however briefly, away from the horror of what is happening to his shell. His body is changing itself on the urging of some other thing’s whims, and even though his nerves didn’t seem to get the memo that a dissolving shell (you know, the thing that most of his internal organs and, like, half of his bones need to stay inside his body?) should probably hurt a lot, he can still��feel it.

He retches as the first flower falls from his lips. It hits the ground with a disgustingly wet sound, coated with bile and saliva. It shines wetly, rich orange hues standing out brightly against the black soil. The rest follow shortly after, a painful deluge of familiar colors, and he’s helpless to do anything but dig his fingers deep into the rich soil and try not to let the horrific impossibility of the situation drive him crazy. Tears flow freely, staining his cheeks before they fall to the ground below, greedily absorbed by the cursed earth of this place.

“Oh, dear,” a voice says, too close for him not to have noticed their presence. He tries to jerk back, but he can’t pull his fingers from the dirt. It hurts when he tries. A high pitched whine escapes his throat, but he’s too terrified to be embarrassed by that. The voice shushes him, soothes him, and warm fingers wrap tight around the back of his neck. They come to rest just above where the lip of his shell should be. He sobs at the way his back squirms as heat shoots down his spine and something begins to grow. The furred fingers drag like velvet against his scales as they squeeze, the sharp prick of claws threatening to break skin, and then release him just as suddenly. 

“So much sorrow and pain. And, oh, so many regrets,” the thing says as she circles him, humming a tune that makes his head pound in rhythm with his racing heart. His hands have sunk beneath the black soil, and it has begun licking greedily at his wrists as well. He can feel tendrils of something wet and cold winding themselves around his fingers, and he wants to scream again, but the bursts of bile-soaked colors decorating the ground keep him from opening his mouth. He can feel a petal still clinging to his bottom lip, and when the thing kneels before him, she reaches out to pluck it off, unbothered by the way he shrinks as far away from her touch as he can manage.

She slips it between her lips, and he catches a flash of a blackened tongue as it darts out to meet that single purple petal. Her teeth are sharp when she smiles at him. They hadn’t been sharp, when she’d first approached him in the Hidden City. Nothing about her had been.

In the dim lights of the underground world he and his brothers had only recently begun to explore, she had looked soft. He’d seen her approaching, and the first thought to flit through his head was, aw, bunny. A fluffy, rounded face. Big eyes, dark and deep as a still pond as they reflected the flickering neon of a sign in the shop window behind him. A pink nose had twitched when she’d smiled at him, sweet and kind, and asked him for his name. 

(What had he told her?)

Now, she would be unrecognizable, if not for the same strawberry patterned dress that drapes over her stretched out frame. He’d think to compare her to a hare now, but the hares he’d seen when watching Animal Planet with mikey had never looked like they would take delight in tearing his nails off one by one or plucking out his eyeballs. They had never made his vision swim or his body shake when he’d looked at them. Maybe she’s become more of a wolf.

The soil has reached his elbows. Those cool, slimy tendrils have circled his wrists like shackles. They’re squeezing tighter and tighter, and he feels his fingers throb and tingle as circulation is cut off. 

His mind flashes briefly to raph and how he used to tell them not to wear rubber bands on their wrists, convinced that their hands would fall right off if they got squeezed too tight. He wonders if the things that live beneath the dirt will steal what they’ve claimed, just like she’s stollen his shell. Another sound wants to bubble up his throat at the thought, and he lets it, because what use is a swordsman without his hands?

The hysterical giggles escape as big, iridescent bubbles. They glitter pink and blue and leave a bitter taste on his tongue. They only float a few feet into the air before they fall back to the ground, their attempt to flee the horror of this situation not getting too far at all. Soft green grass rises up from the dirt to catch them, but they do not pop. They rest, suspended on those tiny blades, for far longer than any bubble he’s ever blown before. He watches, transfixed, as his laughter is eventually swallowed by green. It begins to spread.

A hand cradles his chin, and his gaze jerks back to the thing that brought him here. She is watching him intently, eyes darting to take in every tiny change in his expression. She looks curious, in the same way that donnie does when he’s thinking about all the ways he can take something apart, and what he can do with those pieces to create something better. 

Her hand is soft where it touches him. She is gentle as she wipes a cloth across his mouth. It feels like water, soothing and cool, and he finds himself leaning into this tiny offer of comfort among the stomach churning violation of what is being done to him. His eyes flutter, and he distantly registers that the face she wears seems to swim before his eyes with each rapid blink, shifting back and forth between bunny and wolf and something other. She looks like she wants to devour him whole, no matter which face she wears.

From this close, he can see the way her eyes sparkle and dance when she smiles. He can’t help but think that maybe being swallowed whole wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, after all. 

The writhing shackles around his wrists tighten. 

She laughs, breathy and soft, and the sound is layered and beautiful like wind chimes. It conjures a hurricane inside his mind. Her cool breath gusts over his face. It smells like churned dirt and funeral flowers and pustulous rot. He doesn’t know if he wants to gag or breathe deeper. 

“Little blossom,” she croons, cupping both his cheeks, dragging their faces close. He doesn’t resist. She giggles, and she drags those soft hands and those sharp claws down his neck and over his shoulders, fingertips bumping against the disgustinghorriblewrongparasitetumor gathering of delicate buds that have sprouted up all across his back. She pinches one between the pads of her fingers, and he wants to screamcrybeghertostoppushherawaycutherdownandtearthemalloutbytheroots be good for her.

“Little blossom,” she says again, and those dark eyes catch his gaze and hold it as a heavy feeling settles against his skin, across his shoulders, around his neck, and he can’t look away no matter how desperately he tries. But he doesn’t want to try. Her smile stretches wider, wider, and for one brief flicker of a second he can see blood on her teeth as she asks, “Do you believe now?”

.

(Side note just for fun. The flowers that appear in this but aren’t actually described or named are:

Orange marigold, for grief and despair

Purple hyacinth, for sorrow and asking for forgiveness

Red cyclamen, for goodbye and resignation

Yellow zinnia, for missing a friend and remembrance

Bluebells, for gratitude and everlasting love 

[vvitchering]

I’m replaying act 1 (for the fifth time) and when Gale is explaining his condition to you he mentions he’s “never told another living soul” about it, except for Tara. You’re telling me this man shut himself up in his tower for an entire year and didn’t tell anyone why and no one ever bothered to find out? He has so few people who care about him in his life that he fell into a depression and disappeared for a year and NO ONE thought to go and check on him and find out what was wrong? He’s had no one but Tara providing help and support until he meets Tav???????

[thecoolerliauditore]

Could you talk about Scar and his relationships?

I don't. Think I can I'll be honest. Scar is one of the guys I fully admit I do not comprehend. I am not a Scar guy I cannot tell you anything about Scar that I know isn't completely wrong. I can try but this is like. yeah read at your own risk.

Him being incomprehensible to me actually, in a way, adds to my overall read of 3L. I think Grian, like me, doesn't understand Scar or his intentions and that adds so much to 3L's overall themes of trust. Scar's deadliness is both constantly overestimated and underestimated by those around him -- e.g. Martyn and Ren being on high alert about everything he does vs Scott slotting him into being Grian's soon-to-be-dead-husband like he does with himself and Jimmy or Cleo and Bdubs. He's treated as either like. a complete monster or a bumbling fool, neither of which he actually is.

Grian, over time, does get more of a sense of who Scar is (definitely at least more than the other players) but even then it's underlined with a distinct acknowledgement he doesn't Get Scar.

And I think, in a way, Scar also doesn't get Scar. He does things very impulsively and adapts into whatever character others have assigned him, but unlike Etho who adapts entirely, he distorts it to suit himself -- such as, before the siege of Dogwarts, he IS a threat but he's a threat because he's serving as a distraction for Grian, not because of any danger emitting from himself alone. Grian expects him to betray him, and he does, but for Grian's sake instead of his own.

I'm a big fan of Grian/Scar being parallels to Scott/Pearl so a lot of the same things apply -- Scar is a glitch in the matrix for Grian's survivalist attitude towards the game. Grian can't comprehend Scar, so he abandons him, leading to Scar donning a cloak and being villainized by the whole server while Grian sits back. It's no wonder then why he's one of the only ppl in DL who isn't ever afraid of Pearl and even helps her get back at Scott (the self harm metaphors that apply to Scott/Pearl also apply to DL Scar/Grian for me).

I'll be honest I routinely forget that the cheating b plot in DL existed idk why it's just the one part that keeps slipping my mind, but I don't really know how to interpret Scar being upset there because he's never read to me as particularly in love with Grian or performatively "married" like Impdubs or the Box Boys. I think it's like. Just being abandoned once again but. shrugs. I do think it's fun comparing how Scar reacts to Grian actually cheating on him vs what Scott and Cleo do at the start of the season.

Despite really liking the Clockers POV of Limlife I really don't have much to say about Scar's role in that. It felt to me as if the "loose canon" label he came with pretty much dictated how Cleo and Bdubs treated him. I also read the whole family thing as just them being silly and roleplaying so that might play some part in it.

Secret Life's finale is peak cinema to me I just feel like it bookends Scar's character so well. Letting go of the attachment to Grian, winning on his lonesome and both teaming up and fighting against Pearl, his parallel. It almost feels more like Scar overcoming himself than anything else. Also him not dying at the end is hilarious and so very on brand (I have a short animatic in my head but idk if the moments passed to make it at this point).

[spockoholic]

the AD scene of Hua Cheng setting Xie Lian loose in the armory for the first time is SO fucking cute 😭😭 XL's like a little kid in a candy store, he's bouncing off the walls. The start of the scene is so silly:

谢怜：——是兵器库？可......可以摸啊？ 花城：哥哥随意。 谢怜：这短剑阴锋诡谲，最宜刺杀！此刀只需择一明主，以一当百没有问题.....等等！这是什么？这是不是双头转灵剑——我只在传说里听过！ 花城： 哥哥，你觉得如何？ 谢怜：还有这把，什么如何？ 花城：喜欢吗？ 谢怜：喜欢啊！ 花城：有多喜欢？ 谢怜：太喜欢了！

[Enters the armory] Xie Lian: —Is it an armory?! Can... can I touch? Hu Cheng: You're free to do as you wish Gege. Xie Lian [excitedly grabs a weapon]: The edge on this dagger is treacherous, it's perfect for assassinations! This knife only needs to choose a talented master, you could go one against a hundred, no problem! Wait! What’s this?! [Draws a sword] Is this a double-ended spiritual sword?! I've only ever heard of it in legends!! Hua Cheng: Gege, what do you think? Xie Lian: [absentmindedly] And this one.... Think about what? Hua Cheng: Do you like it? Xie Lian [with delight]: I like it!! Hua Cheng: How much do you like it? Xie Lian [excitedly]: I like it so much!!!! [Xie Lian runs off to look at more swords and the scene continues]

[ratatatastic]

do you write fic on ao3?

unfortunately for everyone involved i do!

[grumpyoldsnake]

So as of Friday’s report I have technically tested positive for Lyme disease.

And I do technically experience occasional shooting nerve pains, and very occasional unexplained joint pain that comes and goes, and occasional headaches with very faintly stiff neck when they’re of a tension sort.

But. Like.

Look.

I know how that list sounds. But at the same time I am looking at the prevalence of false positives for this test, and the mildness of my own symptoms, and I am thinking that this is probably not the problem??

Anyway. The effort to diagnose my twitches/jolts continues, without much luck and with some side-tracks. 😂

[lale-txt]

writing the next chapter of Soft Launch and realizing that i’m writing a love story, not just in a romantic sense but also in a platonic one, and how important it is to me that the friendships in this story will be portrayed just as tender and caring as the eventual romance is going to be

[dazzelmethat]

Long time no Bud. Wow the last time I made her a ref was 2018. I experimented some with her pallet. Unsure if I like the profile head but oh well, open mouthed anime inspired profile faces are notoriously hard for a reason.

Sigh. What am I going to do with her.. my writing conundrum workshopping in tags. My tag rant mentions plot related suicide and ableism (in relation to the zombie trope).

[lost-in-fandoms]

Logan and Max have another talk, or 'does kissing count as free therapy?' Part 2 of whatever this was. I couldn't fall asleep last night because of how hard I kept thinking about these two. I blame @girlsdads for giving me the brainrot in the first place.

cw: the tiniest bit of implied sexual content

It's another bad race. Fucking 16th, only ahead of the two Saubers, and of the Haas and Alpine that had crashed each other out. There was no reason why his pit stop had to be 4.3 seconds, when Alex's had been 2.7, no reason why he had been fucked over by not one but two undercuts because of shitty strategy, no reason why Alex's side of the garage had to be celebrating 8th place while his was sullen and quiet.

Logan fears he's going to throw up when he steps in and James claps him on the shoulder, saying sorry, next time, as if Logan doesn't know his contract is on the line. Fucking. Next time?!

Logan feels like he's trying to swim with his hands tied behind his back, desperately trying to make it to shore. Nobody cares he's drowning.

He can barely look up during the debrief, feels like he's choking the whole time on the words nobody is saying. As soon as he's free, he escapes, fumbling for his phone as usual. Only this time, he doesn't call his mom.

Are you free?

Max has his motorhome this weekend, and Logan doesn't wait for an answer before heading over. If he doesn't answer, he'll just take a walk.

Yes come over

He's knocking on Max's door before he can rethink it, before all these feelings catch up on him and he decides he's going to break down alone instead. When Max opens his door, Logan immediately regrets it. He's wearing a black t-shirt, hair styled, looking ready to go out. Of course he's heading out, he has a win to celebrate. Unlike Logan. Who should have just gone home.

He opens his mouth, ready to apologize and turn around, when Max's hand closes on his shoulder, his mouth downturned with what would be worry, if it wasn't absurd for Max Verstappen to be worried about him.

"Come in," Max says, doesn't leave space for arguments when he pulls Logan inside, closing the door behind him.

For a long moment they just look at each other, as Logan's waves lap at his neck. He doesn't know why he's here anymore.

"Are you okay?" Max's hand is still on his shoulder. Logan feels like he'll keel over if he takes it back.

"I might be out of a seat."

It's not an answer to Max's question, it's not even what Logan meant to say, it's not something he should be telling to the competition, but really. Logan is barely Max's competition at all, and who wouldn't know that after this season's disaster? Nobody is counting on him to race next year.

He waits for Max to say something, even if it's just empty platitudes, but the other just squeezes his shoulder and nods, and suddenly it's much harder to hold back his tears.

"I just..." he breathes in, willing his voice to not crack, "I don't know what I am doing wrong."

It comes out more desperate than he meant it to, but he's just so tired and upset, and nobody is seeing him drown. Why is nobody paying attention?

"You have a shit car, get bad strategy calls, and have a teammate with years more of experience. You are not the one doing it wrong."

Max says it so matter of fact, as if he's the one driving the shit car, the one with the better teammate, the one having to fight through the back of the field with no success, and suddenly Logan is angry. He shrugs Max's hand away, fists clenching. What does Max know about being the second driver in a bad team? How dares he say he knows Logan's hunger?

"Fuck off," he spits, wrapping his arms around himself to hide the way his hands are trembling. He shouldn't have come.

"You have potential, you are not doing it wrong," Max says again, stubborn and bull-headed as always, jaw set and eyes clear. Logan's anger spikes again. Max Verstappen, the prodigy child, talking to him about wasted potential? This must be a joke. He scoffs, ready to turn around and leave, but Max grabs him again, gets a hold on his elbow and keeps him where he is.

"Why are you angry?" he asks. And yeah, this must be a joke, for sure. Why is Logan angry? Why is he angry?!

"You don't get to..." he starts, but Max interrupts him, squeezing his elbow.

"No. Why are you angry?"

"The team..."

Max takes a step closer, narrowing his eyes.

"Not the team, I do not care about the team. Why are you angry?"

As if there was a right answer to the question that Logan isn't getting! It's his own anger! And Max doesn't care about the team? Of course he doesn't, it's not his team fucking up! Why can't Logan be angry about the team?!

"Alex gets..."

"No. Why are you angry?" Max interrupts again, steadfast in a way that grates on Logan's nerves.

They're too close now, and for a second Logan entertains the idea of punching three times world Champion Max Verstappen. Anger burns in his chest, and suddenly, without knowing who closed the gap, they're kissing. It's not a nice kiss, all teeth and spit, and it almost feels the same as the punch he hasn't thrown, until Max moves his hand from his elbow to his waist, the other one coming up to cup the back of his neck, turning his head slightly. Gentling him.

His anger is back in his lungs, but it's no longer anger, it's back to salt water, and Logan is drowning again. He breaks the kiss, gasping, but Max doesn't let him go.

Logan doesn't remember the last time someone held him like this, like being here matters.

"Why are you angry?" Max asks again, breath soft against Logan's bitten lips. He smells vaguely like minty toothpaste.

"Because..." he hesitates, but at this point he might as feel say fuck it, and give it all. All his fleshy insides in Max's hands, bleeding on the floor between them. "Because I could do better, but I can't do it like this."

This time Max nods. "You could do better."

And Logan knows his parents and friends have said it before, have kept saying it for years. Knows his time in Formula 2 speaks for itself. But it's different, to have Max say it like that, so surely. It's a different kind of validation, and a different kind of heartbreak, because they both know his time to prove it is running out. It's hard to breathe again.

"It is good to be angry. It makes you want to take it," Max says, maybe mistaking the way his breathing has gone funny. But Logan doesn't feel angry anymore. He's tired, and scared, and lonely. He drops his head on Max's shoulder, who moves to card his fingers in his hair, bearing his weight with ease. Logan wishes anything would come easy to him instead.

"I don't know how to be angry," Logan confesses. He doesn't want to say it, doesn't want to disappoint Max, but he disappoints better than he lies anyway. What's one more person.

"That is of course still okay," Max says, instead of some sort of rebuke Logan is expecting. For a second, he thinks about the stories of Max's childhood, of angry men and steel hands. Max's fingers are gentle in his hair.

"What do you want right now?"

It's too big of a question. Logan wants his seat to be safe, he wants to end in the points, he wants a good car, he wants to not feel so distant from everyone else, he wants to go home. He wants someone to tell him it will be alright and mean it.

He shakes his head, forehead dragging against Max's t-shirt. Disappointing again.

Max holds his hair a little tighter, uses the grip to pull Logan up, to make him open his eyes.

"What do you need?"

And it's the same, but it is different, and Logan needs...he needs...

"You can take it. What you need." Max sounds so sure of it, Logan can almost believe it. Maybe Logan doesn't know how to take, doesn't know how to fix it, but here, now, he at least knows what he needs.

"I need to be better," he says, words bleeding out from his split-open chest. "I need to be good."

They both know what Logan means, because the thing with Max is, that it's always about racing, even when it isn't, and it is also always both at the same time.

Max nods, letting go of his hair, and Logan pushes him around, back against the door. Gentle, because he needs to be, but firm, because he wants this.

He eases himself to his knees, and feels Max's hand cup his cheek. His raspy voice isn't disappointed, or pitying, or even sad when he speaks, only fond. A little proud.

"Good boy."

[lilowoof]

ngl gamers, I think I'm gonna inevitably lose to the hormones and depression in the near future XD

Can't bring myself to be active cause I'm using a lot of energy to not vent post all the time. But fuck it, into the tags I go!

[incesthemes]

hey girlie it’s me, sam winchesters gay lover, your mootie 🥰🥰🥰 i just wanted to let you know, that your tags on the post about that wincest video are based and i agree with every word, hashtag slay couldn’t agree more i loved reading your essay in those tags heart ❤️

omg thank you!!! i'm basically only capable of talking in essays whether people want me to or not, unfortunately

i just have a lot of feelings on this topic and the whole "canon or not canon" argument is weird to me; the themes are pretty darn clear in supernatural (it is NOT known for its subtlety) so idk man. they don't have to kiss to be canon. and they don't have to have a romantic relationship to be canon either. how many times do they get into relationships with other people only for it to be treated as cheating/betrayal/abandonment, only for them have to give up that relationship in order to reaffirm their devotion to their brother

that's just what the text says. i'm not under any kind of delusion that they have some secret sexual or romantic relationship, but that doesn't change that sam and dean are each other's most important person regardless of that. which is really awesome imo, that romance isn't treated as more important than whatever horrible thing they have with each other, and that they don't have to consummate their relationship with romance/sex in order for it to be the most important one they have

(and of course there's romantic/sexual subtext, like parallels and metaphors and misunderstandings and jokes, but to me that just provides a solid foundation for presenting this relationship between them as the most important even though it's not romantic or sexual—because this language of romance is the only one we know, really, when it comes to writing important relationships between characters. it's the only one we know in our own personal lives, to a large extent. so you use the romance/sexuality to symbolize the actual bond they have. which is so much worse lmao)

anyway i think spn is fairly unique in this way because of how no other relationships can really ever stand parallel to the one they share; even in other shows that center male friendship, romance is allowed to coexist with brotherhood. for sam and dean, it's not, and that becomes a point of tension and conflict and resolution many, many times over the course of the show. so like yeah!!! just because it's not romantic or sexual doesn't mean it's not canon, in the sense that their relationship is the point of the show, and it is the most important relationship they have. they chose each other above all else, every single time. yknow, it's "the epic love story of sam and dean" and all that