#so i will also probably draw this weekend ive had no drawing time :(

[leenfiend]

man i forgot i wrote 3k words of that one fic and an outline for the rest....... maybe i can finish it on my three day weekend........ but no promises

[mement0--m0ri]

Sometimes, I look back and realise how far I've come with my disabilities and, in particular, my mental health.

Then I suddenly realise I've been awake for 2 days straight and am surviving purely out of spite, and the same song on repeat for the last 4 hours.

Hypermania is a wild ride, yo.

[swampdrive]

Specific gripe but hwrow capitalism really crushes art

[tinycozycomfort]

rest in the cup of my palms (part one)

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x art student f!reader

chapter one: drawing from life

series masterlist | next chapter

series summary: you went back to school to find out who you are—to make another leap in the hope of self discovery. when you finally find that first glimpse of yourself, it’s in someone else. what happens when the mirror tries to pull you in? or  you’re everything joel could’ve hoped to find. he doesn’t let go easily.

chapter summary: ellie volunteers joel to model for a drawing class on campus. you find someone worth dreaming about.

warnings/tags: no outbreak, no use of y/n, (for everything) -> mutual pining!, possessive behavior, smut (w individual tags to come), unnecessary descriptions of joel being beautiful, ellie is joel's daughter, ellie and reader attend the same university but reader is in post-grad, age gap (joel is late 40s, reader is not), alternating pov, slow-ish burn, joel miller wins girl dad of the century via unanimous vote (for this chapter) -> masturbation (f), intense feelings of loneliness, existential rumination

word count: 7.2k

rating: explicit (18+ only! mdni)

A/N: some good ol' work up, necessary to explain the rated r plans i have for them. ive been terrified of writing a series but i'm also tired of editing everything down to be one-shot appropriate, so today we try. im full-swing into my fixation era and on my 'i cant be loved + ive known how to love you for 1,000 lifetimes' bullshit. this fic is as self indulgent as they come, but i hope you can enjoy it! and for those of you willing to trudge through this with me, i love you.

read on ao3

“To photograph people is to violate them, by seeing them as they never see themselves, by having knowledge of them that they can never have; it turns people into objects that can be symbolically possessed.”

Susan Sontag - On Photography 

───────

A halo of hot light falls through the pane of glass above the sink. Joel’s got one eye pinched semi-shut, trying hard to focus on not burning himself while he drains boiling water out of a pot of pasta. 

When he woke up this morning, the blinds on every window in the house had been strung up to the lip. He’d barely gotten a hand around one of the strings in the glass frame above the couch before Ellie appeared out of nowhere to literally slap his wrist, ‘I’m drawing’. Still groggy, he tried to challenge her, ‘Do they all have to be open?’, to which she patiently explained—for what she probably feels is the millionth time—that she needed the extra light, and if she had them all open when she started, they’d need to stay that way until she was done. 

So he left her to work, knowing she’s got midterms to finish, walking around with his eyes closed until he felt his way back into his bedroom. He came out once for coffee, and not again until dinner. This is their weekend.

Joel spoons out some of the food into bowls, leaving them to stay warm by the stove before he steps into the dining room. He stops himself half-way, hanging back in the archway to give his daughter another minute as the last shreds of strong sunlight start to wane out.

Ellie’s right where he left her: at the table, cross-legged in her chair with an eraser-less pencil held tightly in her fist. She’s hunched over a large pad of paper, the back of it lifted at an angle under a pile of old books and dog-eared tool catalogs. The sketchbook she uses as a reference guide is propped up on the corner of her left knee, leaned against the edge of the table. She rifles between two pages of it, eyeing some of the quick sketches—visual notes, as she puts it—that she took in class to help her navigate the larger, more detailed version with ease. Silent save for her short huffs of breath, she’s concentrated, wrist-corner lifted to not misplace any graphite. Her process is always the same; a little creature of habit.

She’s wearing her headphones, the cord winding dangerously low, threatening to dip into a cup of water she’d placed in the empty triangle between her lap—the same one he’d seen her with six hours ago. She hasn’t even touched it, still full nearly to the brim. He wonders if she’s gotten up at all. The girl works herself a bit too hard, he thinks, always falls head first into whatever project she’s working on, nothing if not like her dad. The corner of his mouth tugs up so tight it hurts. What is he going to do without her?

He just stands there, feet crossed on top of each other and arms in a twist over his chest, and watches her while she’s not looking, knowing she still gets shy sometimes when he catches her like this. She’s the sweetest reminder of everything good Joel’s ever done; another life he’d gladly offer his own for. 

It’s always come naturally—to be what someone needs of him—in a way that transcends reward or expectation. 

Joel had been his brother’s primary caregiver first, from birth and then well into their adulthood—always around to bail him out of jail or lend him money he didn’t have. Because he cared. Loved him. He couldn’t ever really say it, always had a problem with the wording, but he knew that at least some of what he wanted to explain had come across. He can see it in the way Tommy is with his own family.

His brother has Maria now, and the kids, and seeing how happy Tommy could be in spite of their upbringing was the first time Joel had ever put his priorities into question. Somewhere in all the caring-for he did, he’d forgotten about himself; the possibility of having his own wife and child and home. He’d always ached for that, deep down, but didn’t even know it was an option until he saw it happen. By that point, he wasn’t sure if he could do any of it, or if he even had the time to start. Then came Ellie.

She entered his life when a close friend of Tommy’s had died unexpectedly and no one came forward to claim her, unknowingly giving him a second chance; one he worked to make count. She was tough to crack at first—also like him in that way—but the love had always been there, waiting its turn after all the awkwardness and misunderstanding and adapting before finally showing its face. She’d needed him then, as much as his brother had all those years ago, carrying on the torch of purpose that Joel so feverishly searched for. 

He rolls his eyes at himself; he’s been having too many misty-eyed moments about her lately. It’s so unserious, the actuality of it; of being her dad. Going to work and the supermarket and museums, being there to chaperone field-trips and take one-thousand mostly-blurry photos of her graduation. But it’s been everything to him. He’s desperately clung to the five years of her life that she’s shared with him, and he’s so proud to witness it, but he knows she’s getting to a point where she needs to be her own person. He’ll miss her when she’s only home for summers, then only home for Christmas, then only home once in a while—so he holds on to every bit, and tries not to think about what’s next for him. 

He walks closer to her, tilting his head to try and steal a glance of what it is she’s working on. He catches a glimpse of the face of a woman, a portrait from shoulders-up. She’s pretty, with a soft and thoughtful expression, looking downward off the side of the pad. From what he could make out between the movements of Ellie’s hand, she even looks a little shy. His daughter rubs at the cheeks and nose of the girl on the paper, imitating the shadow-less areas where light would fall. Joel is mesmerized by the way she creates so effortlessly, like breathing. 

Without moving her head, she pulls a tiny white bobble out from her ear, “I know you’re watching me, weirdo.” 

Joel laughs, wet and thick in his mouth with the emotion he’s still climbing down from, “Is this how you treat me when I’m trying to feed you?” 

She smiles, he can see the fat of her cheek rounding out even from this angle, “You should’ve just said that.” 

Ellie leaves her set-up untouched, just getting up and moving down to an empty seat while Joel goes to bring the food out. 

She shifts around in her seat, feet folded again on the flat of it, eating too fast—ill-mannered—and it reminds Joel of all the nights they spent at Tommy’s for family dinner, right at the beginning, back when they’d just begun to become close. When she’d push his patience with her behavior to see if he’d say something, to see if he still paid her mind—he always did, still does, “Jesus Christ, kid. Have I taught you nothing?”

She holds back a laugh, mouth full of tomato sauce, “You love it. I’m charming.” 

He snorts, the two of them falling into a comfortable quiet for only a few minutes before she breaks it again, “Speaking of how much you love me, I need to ask you for a favor.” 

“Oh no,” He jokes, “What now?” 

“Remember those drawings I turned in of you last month?” She starts pushing around the last bite of her spaghetti, never a good sign, but he nods anyway for her to continue, “Well my teacher really liked them. And there’s been an issue with finding people to sit for the drawings. Sooo,” she really drags it out, “I signed you up.”

“What do you mean, you signed me up? For what?” 

“To model,” Joel’s mouth pops open in an immediate attempt to oppose, but Ellie’s quicker, “Didn’t you say you’d always support me in school?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Joel finishes his plate and then they’re both just clinking their forks against porcelain for a heavy eightnineten seconds before she gives it another shot.

“C’mon, seriously. I’ll get extra credit if you do it,” She lets out a long sigh like she can’t believe she has to explain anything more than that, “My professor teaches a Monday session for the master’s program and they need people. It’s just one time.” 

“Ellie. It’s Sunday. How are you gonna tell me this now?” 

“Please, you just sit there for, like, two hours while they draw you and you don’t have to talk. That’s two of your favorite things. Three if you consider that you’d be helping me out.” she looks at him with a sticky-sweet smile, eyes crinkled—like she knows she’s getting away with it. 

She might be. 

“Why don’t you ask one of your friends to do it?” Joel gathers up their plates from the table to carry them into the kitchen. Ellie picks up their still half-full glasses as an excuse to follow him.

“Because we all have class together tomorrow on the other side of campus. Plus, you’re easy to draw and—” 

“Hey.” 

She ignores the flat look he shoots her, flipping on the sink, “That’s a compliment, by the way. But really, it’s no effort and you’d be getting me into a good place with my professor ‘cause she’ll be super grateful. The budget’s kinda tight this semester.” 

“Then what am I payin’ for, if you’re gonna make me do this stuff myself?” It’s a half-hearted dig—he’s mostly annoyed because she probably already figured out he’s going to agree.

Her little smirk graduates to a shit-eating grin, she knows it, “Best dad ever.”

“You’re a pain in my ass, y’know that?”

“Just because I knew you were gonna say that, I actually signed you up for two.”

───────

Joel stumbles out of the elevator, filing hurriedly through groups of students with a new-found purpose now that he’s managed to make it to the correct floor. Ellie made a point of not mentioning that he had to be at the school at 7:30am until she was saying goodnight to him a few hours ago, because she thought it would dissuade him—she was right—so now he’s running late on top of everything else. 

He’s got the little scaled-down, splotchy-printed version of the campus map gripped tightly between his hands. Room 14B is seemingly only two turns and one corner from where he stands—if he’s holding it the right way. He wants to ask for directions, but he feels too out-of-place to set aside his embarrassment. He’s older than at least half the staff, and some of the attendees are even younger, and he doesn’t want to run the risk of looking incapable, as foolish as it is. He wishes Ellie would have just offered to show him where to go before she headed off to her own class. 

For someone who prides themselves on their ability to parent, he feels hopeless now without his daughter; not for the first time, but it’s especially harsh considering the circumstances. It hurts something bittersweet, to think about how much more they’ve bonded since he started working less and she decided to live at home her first year of college (though it’s coming to an end sooner than he’d like). Again, too many sad thoughts, and she’s not here, so he trudges on. 

He walks in two more circles before he finds the right place—down a fucking hallway and hidden behind a door he didn’t know he was allowed to open, of course. A woman with long, dark blonde hair is sitting at a desk by the door when he enters. She doesn’t look up at him.

“Good morning, ma’am. Sorry I’m late. My—uh. You teach my daughter? I’m here for—” 

“Ellie’s dad,” She cocks her head without meeting his eye, “Late? You’re about twenty minutes early, she told me you probably would be.” 

She knows me too well, the brat. He chastises her in his mind but outwardly he corrects himself, “Yes, right, sorry. I’m a little turned around.” 

“That’s alright. There’s just a waiver you need to sign, and you can get undressed in the bathroom down the hall. I’ll give you a cover-up to wear until I come to grab you.” 

Right, he’d have to be naked. He already knew that—sort-of—having seen dozens of Ellie’s sketches from semesters past. He knows the students don’t see it that way, knows that they’ve all drawn the same things so many times they would be desensitized to his nudity. They’d probably all be desensitized to him as well; in their eyes, he was just a reference, as familiar as any of the memorialized piles of fruit or arrangements of glass that Ellie's also brought home. 

Still, Joel feels a wash of anxiety come over him. He’s more than comfortable in his body, after putting it through so much, but this degree of vulnerability is severe in comparison to vanity or sex—it’s a state of living he hasn’t participated in for a long time. He doesn’t like to be seen, and being documented—having physical evidence of how he’s interpreted by others—makes his stomach turn. He hasn’t looked in a mirror for more than a moment in months, but it can’t be that bad, right? Ellie’s always given him a favorable light, but he worries she has a bias beyond belief. What if he sees something about himself he doesn’t like? What if everyone’s been able to see it all along?

Caught in his thoughts, he doesn’t realize the woman is still talking, “We have a scheduled break halfway through class. You can leave then. Next week it’ll flip and you can come for the latter half so they can finish.” She slides the form and a swath of black fabric across the table, and almost like she can sense his apprehension, finally raises her head to give him a meaningful look, “Thank you again for doing this. I know it can feel weird, but it makes a difference for them. There’ll be a joint show at the end of the month, too, with Ellie’s class.” 

He just offers her a little nod of his head, thank you, signing the form and padding to the bathroom to unceremoniously disrobe in an empty stall.

It’s just two hours. 

───────

If they make you take another figure-drawing class, you’re going to scream. 

You’d think this far into a second degree, the school board would stop requiring you to take what is essentially the same class every semester. Sincerely, the only thing that changes is how long the session runs and what number follows the class title. It’s getting old. 

To be fair, it’s not necessarily that you dislike drawing—it provides a pretty firm foundation for your personal work to stand on—it’s just tedious. Nothing is inspiring about assignment-based work, especially when they’ve decided the only way you can prove your skill-set is to make you draw the same three objects five-thousand ways. 

But it’s not up to you. 

So here you are again, two weeks from spring break, back in this frigid building after surviving another forty minutes of traffic, body still stiff from fighting the urge to fall asleep at the wheel. 

It’s important, you remind yourself, to show up and put your fullest effort into everything, no matter how much you don’t enjoy it. Even if just to prove to yourself you can still finish things.

Coming back to school was an idea you’d toyed with for years after graduating. 

There had been a lot of pressure on you to go in the first place, from your parents and your teachers and your nightmare of an ex, because according to them you’d get nowhere without it. After enough pressure and in a need to appease them, you folded and went; suffered every long night and pushed through every period of self-doubt and smiled for every ‘worth-capturing’ moment right up to the end. And then when it was over, gone faster than you could comprehend, you felt like something was taken away from you, even with how low it had made you—the worst kind of stockholm syndrome. 

In an attempt to keep some momentum, you were over-eager for more right out of the gate. There was an initial need to continue, because you’d been reliant on academic structure just by the nature of familiarity, and maybe a little ill-prepared to face who you were without guidance. Without the instruction of someone with two degrees and a smoking addiction and no teaching license. Now it sounds silly, but then you spent a few too many nights uncontrollably looking into post-grad institutions or internship programs, googling professors and reading forums for first-hand accounts. 

Then, after a year, the thought of continuing got a little less exciting, and you became comfortable in the freedom of nothing after being in school your whole life. So you pretended to research, emailed everyone about how great the options looked, signed up for one-on-ones you didn’t show up for—until people stopped asking. 

It was at that point that you finally had the time to process what you were doing and why, and accepted that you didn’t have to have all the answers, despite what everyone had led you to believe. Truthfully, you still had no idea who you wanted to be and that’s okay—living with it and living alongside it weren’t mutually exclusive. You just took time to practice being yourself—sucked up the embarrassment and did the work, little exercises in unleashing yourself onto the world instead of letting every experience be done to you. If you were going to do anything anymore, even something like continuing your education, it had to be on your own terms, to try it all in the effort of self-discovery.

So yes, applying and getting accepted and attending every class—even this one—this time around was for you—to better yourself instead of just filling an expectation. You’re determined to make good on the opportunity.

And it has been better, so far. You even have friends this time around. Okay, two, and one of them is your roommate, but it's more of a support system than what you had going into undergrad.

You say yes now, too; not to everything, but to more than before. Which is maybe how you got roped into getting ‘introductory’ drinks later this evening with everyone, now that more people have joined the program as winter thaws out and it’s easier to commute. It’ll be nice to swap ideas and catch up and maybe even get laid instead of spending hours staring at the ceiling and willing time to pass. That thought alone is enough to keep you here.

It’s just two hours.  

The room this semester is a little bigger, at least; probably the only perk that moving up so gracefully from Drawing II to Drawing III had earned you. It’s still unfortunately just another classroom; windowless to protect it from outside influence and drenched in fluorescent light to create a controlled environment. Old, stained art horses form a circle in the center of the space, crowding around a painted-gray wood pallet like an audience. A metal stool sits atop the make-shift stage, providing a seat for the subject. It’s clinical, the way the elements come together; a perfectly disarrayed scene that’s been neatly curated to emulate every ‘socratic seminar’ model you’ve seen in education since you can remember. Always the same.

You’re hoping for someone new today to rest on the chair; the department has been in less-than-preferred financial standing lately, so you’ve seen the same faces interchanged for  most of the term.

Your professor is at her desk when you make your way in, greeting you with a grin despite the tired look on her face. A hardworking woman, the shadows under her eyes gave her a beauty you could only explain as determined. You knew she cross-taught for both sections of the department, and you respected her for it. It couldn’t be anything short of a struggle to toggle between those modes of seriousness—to have the patience to answer the younger students’ unending questions and the passion to keep the post-grads engaged. 

Moving to get a seat as far on the outskirts of the cluster as possible, you watch as your classmates arrive slowly until all the slots are filled. No one really talks, probably all similarly bogged down by the early start and the cold weather outside. Ian, your friend who’d invited you out tonight, waves at you from four horses down and you halfheartedly nod back at him. 

“Good morning everyone, we’ve only got two more classes after this until your week off, so we’ll make this next one a two-parter and have critique on the twenty-first. I want you guys to focus on composition more than anything else,” She turns in her seat to write some names on the board behind her, “We’ll go for two hours then break. If your name’s up here we’ll have a conversation about your thesis. The rest of you can go.” 

Thankfully you’ve been spared this time—granted another seven-nights-straight writing the segment of your thesis that was meant to be finished two months ago. Your brain hurts inside of your skull. 

You set up your little station, sketchpad raised against the easel, body straddling the drawing horse as you fiddle with some dirty erasers in your pack. 

You can hear the slap slap slap of the model’s feet on the concrete floor as they enter—a long gait paired with hard, thudding steps; probably a man by the sound of it. Tall and heavy. 

“Okay guys, we’re starting,” She winds up the dial on a plastic kitchen timer and sets it on the edge of her desk, “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be making a few passes throughout and we’ll exchange thoughts.”

You roll your neck, knowing the model tends to take a minute to find a comfortable position, and that people watching didn’t do anything to help. A tempered soundtrack—the poorly contained buzzing of the clock and the moan of the air-conditioning—plays on in the background. Your leg is asleep. It’s cold in here. You count to thirty in your head. That’s enough time, right? You shift again, stretching your arms once more just in case.

Looking up, you peer over the side of the easel to get a quick look at the model’s pose and immediately do a double take. 

It is a man.

He’s sitting on the chair, facing the girl a few seats down from you so that you can only see him from a three-quarters view. He has one long, thick leg pushed against the lower bar of the stool, the other one, closest to you, hiked up on the seat, folded so that his knee points towards the ceiling. His arms are crossed, hugging his erect shin with his wide back wrapped over his thigh, effectively shielding the ‘naked’ parts of him from view. He looks shy, but not uncomfortable; either like he’s done this before or he’s accustomed to protecting himself—to hiding. 

The frame of his body is captivating; he looks strong but used, little nicks and scars littering his shoulders and hands. Weathered. As you make your way up his torso, you find it’s a similar state of experienced, tan profile and neck bearing the slightest difference in color from the soft of his side, and you can see the faintest curve of a hem-shaped tan-line across the dip in his shoulder. Little wisps of gray-dusted brown curls frame the edges of his face. He’s beautiful in a gentle way, with a dark, heavy brow that leads into the sharp slope of his nose, plush lips pursed like he’s concentrating. 

Part of you feels bad about staring, but it’s easy enough to disguise it as working, so you map him with your gaze again and again until you can still see him when you blink. It takes the constant movement of your classmate’s hand sketching something in your periphery to remember you’re being timed. 

You choke out a cough, repositioning your body and grabbing some charcoal. 

The way you usually approach this task is simple: get down the general gist of the body, careful to keep out the details of the person in favor of capturing light and weight—there’s a graded challenge to be considered, after all. 

Yet as you watch him, you decide you can fulfill the requirements in a way that gives him more room to exist. You crop the drawing tighter, paying careful attention to the landscape of his face; the hills of his cheekbones and the valley between his lips. You want to immortalize him. 

You’re suddenly deeply concerned with the history that’s woven itself into the shape of him, in what happened to make him look this way. It seems like life has been useful to him, but that he’d had to grow from something to make it so—like he had to work for it. He’s the living manifestation of his own grief and enjoyment and passion, and you want to know all of it.

Countless minutes pass as you take him in and spill him out, fingers moving quickly to recreate the weighted feeling of his posture, exhausted and heavy, muscles held together on the string of bone that runs through the center of his back. You write him down, again and again, flipping to a new page half-way through to get in one last version of him—one for yourself. 

You’ve never seen him before, but you see part of yourself in him. He mirrors the anxious peace you’ve been operating under for the last few years, humming with energy but willfully stagnant. It makes you feel seen, less burdened by your recent inability to connect—he makes you want to keep trying.

You wonder if he writes or draws or makes, and if he’d show you. You want to hear him talk. You want to see the other side of him, literally and metaphorically. You want to feel—

The tinny ring of the alarm sounds off, and you’re taken out of the fantasy. 

The second drawing is only really half done, but you didn’t make it with the intention of sharing it anyway, so you flip back to the original to hide it.. 

You try not to watch the man when he stands—remembering that just because he’d been hidden before doesn't mean he wasn't naked the entire time—maybe more for your sake than his. You peek around the room instead, taking a healthy, albeit competitive, glance around for other interpretations of the man; did they see him too, the way you do?

When you look up to take a comparative look, he’s gone. You’re a little disappointed, admittedly, but there’s still one more chance to interact with him, and you can make up for it then. You start to pack up your things in an effort to make it to the parking lot before the crowd. A sudden rise in the volume level in the room tells you that the shock of the early morning has started to burn off. You try to tune it out, so much so that you don’t hear someone walking up behind you. 

“Wow.” It’s a man’s voice, deep and smooth. You pivot in your seat. 

It’s him, in all his communal-robe wearing glory, even more gorgeous from head on. It’s a pleasant surprise, this reveal; his beauty is evenly distributed, like a handwritten note that extends into the margins or when a movie’s ending is just as good as the start.

“Oh. Hi. Thank you.” You feel exposed, like you got caught doing something bad, even though there are ten other people in the room with even more detailed portraits of him.

“Can I see the other one, too?” 

“What?” 

“You flipped your page. I didn’t see anyone else do that. Did you make two?” 

You just nod, shocked that he was watching you back, peeling back the paper to reveal to him the unfinished drawing. He won’t question it if you don’t give him a reason to. 

“Are you gonna finish it?” He asks, eyes rolling over it with an intense curiosity.

“Uh, probably not. I don’t like it as much as the first one.” Maybe lying your way through this would provide better reasoning than ‘I wanted a part of you that no one else could see’.

“Can I have it?” 

When you can’t find something to say fast enough, he just continues.

“I’m sorry, is that rude? If you’re just gonna get rid of it, I’ll take it. It just… looks like me. I mean they all do, I’ve been told I have a ‘simple face’,” He coughs awkwardly in acknowledgement of his own tangent, “I just mean to say that it feels a lot like me. If that makes sense.”

“You’re actually very visually interesting.” Is the first thing you can think of, and fuck, did that come out really fucking wrong, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe it’s better if he takes it, if it’ll stop you from fumbling, “But yeah, you can have it.” You pull a little plastic mail-tube out of your bag, ripping the drawing free from its perforated tether and rolling it in on itself. 

The edges of his mouth pull up, a cute little thing, free of laughter or judgement, “Thank you. I’m Joel.” One of his hands drapes across his stomach, palm spread over the knot of the wrap—he’s holding himself at length again. Why? 

“Hi Joel. You seem to know a fair amount about this whole thing. Not your first time, then?” You offer him your name in return, and he parrots it back—guard still up, still standing too far away. 

“It is, actually. The closest I’ve come to this is sitting in the yard for my daughter,” He watches as you slide the drawing into the cylindrical case, “You’re very talented.” 

“Thank you.” It feels weird to hear the praise twice, “How’d they get you to pose for no money? I heard the department’s a little strapped. I’ve been subbing in for the undergrads too when I can.” 

“My daughter volunteered me, she’s on the other side of the program. Your teacher was giving out extra credit.” He takes the roll when you pass it to him, going out of his way to grab it from the middle, his thumb grazing yours. Your skin heats up where he’s touched it, and you look down at the floor, suddenly nervous. 

“Wow, this is the first time I’m hearing anything about that.” You continue to pack away items into your bag, “I’m owed quite a lot if that’s true.” 

His face falls in on itself in a wince, “Oh. Didn’t mean to do her in like that.” You can feel him looking at you for a few beats too long, and his eyes narrow like he’s about to say more. 

In the same moment, as if summoned, your professor turns on her heel, walking over to your bench. 

“It’s okay. I’ll be okay without it. I’ll see you next week, right?”

He shakes a little, releasing his stare, and throws a thumbs up in your direction with his protective hand, “Yeah, see ya next week. Nice to meet you.” 

───────

After another four-hour class and a too-long nap and a break for dinner, everyone from this morning joins together in a few cars to head to a bar downtown. You meet up with Ian, who offered to drive as a bargaining chip, because he knows by now that you’d back out if you had to show up on your own.

The bar is dark and divey and perfect for being overly-observant in secret. You’ve warmed up to this crowd enough, but you’re still on plus-one basis with a lot of them, Ian serving as your invitation. You like to just listen to them at first during these outings, strategically planning your involvement so you don’t feel put on the spot when they give you a turn.

It’s a lot like being in class; the group of you occupying a dimly lit corner, a round-table of bodies, with the person in the center alternating as the topic changes. Tonight you stay at the furthest end.

You cling to the single tequila soda you ordered, watery and flat by now with pea-sized ice chips bobbing around in the center to avoid the heat of your fingers. You watch them swim, tipping your cup to see them swirl in a frenzied circle until they disappear. 

Some guy from your English class—Andre or Andrew or who cares—is talking at you, making his best attempt at what you think is supposed to be flirting. It’s really just him asking your opinions on his five favorite books, not hiding his disapproval when you mention you haven’t read one or the other. 

You watch Ian, who left you twenty minutes ago in search of the bar-top for another drink. He’s caught now on his third conversation on the way back, maybe thinking he’s doing you a favor by taking his time. You try relentlessly to catch his eye instead, and he bounds over without question when he sees you. The glass of wine in his hand is already half empty, and the English-class-guy spooks at the sight of what he probably thinks is competition. So much for that.

“Having fun?” he prods when he slips in the chair beside you, already aware that you are absolutely very much not having fun. 

Ian’s a nice guy, and he means well. You met him a week into your first semester—almost a year ago now—at orientation, because your last names were the beginning and end of the line of their respective letters. He was from somewhere in Canada, studying photography with a minor in painting and drawing. He’s maybe a year or two older than you, though you’ve never asked to confirm; tall and long and pretty, for lack of a better word, with big eyes and a permanent split in the little bangs that cover his forehead. He’s the first man in years you’ve been comfortable around, never initiating anything or pushing too hard for your friendship. All in all, no one’s been as welcoming to you, except the person you literally live with, and you’re happy to let him drag you out if it means he’ll continue to look after you the way he does.

“Of course, when have you ever known me to have a bad time?” 

“No luck with Adrian?” Adrian. You were close.

“Just likes to hear himself talk, I think. I wasn’t interested in being an audience.” 

He hums, “Someone else on your mind?” 

“Like who?” You lean the lip of your cup against your mouth.

“Saw you making eyes at the model today,” He teases, nudging you in your rib when you take a sip of your drink so that you keel over slightly. You sputter, unamused with the tactic to get you to fess up.

Was it that obvious?

“Isn’t that the point of the class?” 

“Yeah maybe, smartass, but that’s not what I meant. I saw him talking to you, saw you give him a little gift,” He bobs his eyebrows at you suggestively, “Excited for him to come back next week?”

“So I can stare more, you mean?” 

“So you can get his number.” 

“Ian.”

“I’m just saying you should try and find someone outside our section of the building. No writers, either, obviously.” He gestures to where Adrian is already trying his shtick on some girl from your class.

“He’s a little too old for me, don’t you think? His daughter goes here.” You muse. He’s mostly right about you needing to expand your reach, but you won’t let him off that easily.

“Maybe. But if you don’t care, and he doesn’t care, what’s it matter? He’s not too old to fuck you.” He makes a face and you roll your eyes. 

The thought is nice, but you know forging relationships is unlikely when you’re concerned, at least as of late, “I don’t want to spend my night talking about people I’m not going to fuck.” 

“Whatever you say.” He slinks out from his seat, mumbling something about a glass of water. A few steps away, he looks back over his shoulder, “You’re not doomed, by the way,” the asshole can read your mind, “You can enjoy yourself without feeling guilty. You’re allowed to like people.” 

And then you’re alone again. 

It’s like that for another hour, small attempts at chatter and meetings until you realize you’re too tired to fuck anyone, let alone continue to sit upright. Being up so early this morning took more of a toll than an hour nap could fix, and you're begging Ian to take you home. He agrees, spending the trip trying to plan another outing later in the week before everyone’s gone on vacation.

You give him a sleepy goodbye when he pulls into your apartment complex, making sure he’s still going to class tomorrow before letting him drive away. Once you’re inside, slipping quietly in through the front door, you realize your roommate isn’t home. She’s probably still in a late class or at her boyfriend’s or somewhere else. You enjoy the quiet enough to not think about it too hard.

The five sips of tequila-mostly-water has settled into your stomach by now, making you a quarter-second slower when you strip all your clothes off and climb into bed. 

You twist under the sheets, and after a while your skin starts to feel too hot, even in the cold air of your room. Breathing deep, you try to think of something boring to get your mind to still, but when you sense the sleep about to take over, it switches.

You see his face behind your eyelids, the man from today, strong and pretty and delicate, remembering all your favorite details—the length of his fingers and the depth of his voice. You curse yourself for assigning this importance to him. He’s just another page in your portfolio, if you even keep him, yet you can feel a slow heat bubble up at your core when you remember the stretch of his body under the robe. It’s okay to be taken with him, you think, he’s objectively gorgeous. 

Your conversation with Ian replays in your head—less about his sincere advice and more about how you need to get laid. It’s been too long; maybe you are just horny, and maybe taking care of it just this once could be enough to stop this hollow interest from growing. 

You reach a hand down under your blanket, the tips of your digits pushing into the slit of your cunt. You’re wet, arousal tacky and pooled so much that the light pressure you meant to be exploring with is enough to have you accidentally slipping inside. Okay, he’s really hot. So what? Was it really that bad if you thought so?

You dip a finger further in, timid at first; you’re used to keeping quiet for this kind of activity, and even though your roommate was gone when you got here, it doesn’t mean she hadn’t come in in the thirty minutes of rolling around you’d done before giving into your desire. You lay your free hand over your mouth just in case, teeth biting into the meat at the base of your thumb to keep yourself quiet. 

You slide in a second finger to the knuckle to join the first, the light stretch of it enough to make you pant. You see him again, hard and soft and beautiful. You think about what his skin would taste like, if he’d let you sink your teeth into the sinew of his neck. It feels weird to know what he looks like without his clothes, and you’re weirdly proud of yourself for holding back from seeing him fully; it's easier to dream about that way. You wonder how he’d present himself to you, how he’d want to fuck you. You imagine him winding a hand around the hinge of your jaw, fingers pressing hard into the soft of your cheeks. Would he be gentle? Would he make it hurt? You suspect either would be too much. You feverishly palm your clit, hips canting in an effort to climax. The pictures flash faster—his cock in your mouth, his tongue in your cunt, the way he’d spit and grip and hold—and you’re coming, drooling over your hand as you hear him say your name in your mind. 

You take your hand away after a minute, breath pushing out heavily from your nose. It’s fine, you needed to do it, just one time. No shame in that. It’s out of your system now. 

And if you see his face one more time before you fall asleep, it’s probably an afterthought.

───────

By the end of the week, you come to a horrible conclusion. 

It starts the next morning when you take your sketchbook out, itching to get a handle on the many writing assignments you’ve been dutifully ignoring, hoping for an outline or a free-flow of ideas. Nothing comes to mind. You draw a little bit to fill the space while you think, just a mess of material on the page, strokes of your hand that leave barely anything behind. 

Then on Wednesday you’re at your laptop, typing with one hand while the other one slides against the wood of the dining table, down and around in a loop, mimicking the same shape each time. 

And again last night in the shower, letting the shame of a different semi-failed night-out wash over and off of you. You slosh your foot around in the water in the basin below, catching it as it runs down and pools, ankle dragging in a tiny, controlled movement. 

It’s not until now that you put it together.

You’re sitting at your desk, with creative materials at your disposal this time, trying to make sense of what it is you’re forming. You find that no matter the medium, your hand automatically makes a single hard line. The same line, from memory. It’s negligible at first, just a light press of pen or pencil or crayon, until it drags down, down, down. It’s not until you lift your utensil that you recognize it. The hook of a nose and the crest of a top lip. 

A hard pit forms in your stomach, blood draining from your head to gather in the center of your chest, a blooming sickness of obsession you haven’t felt in a long time. You’re drawing him. You’ve been drawing him. You know this feeling, have participated in this kind of behavior. These are the actions that cause the humiliating dregs of attraction to bleed over into fixation—juvenile and universal and unavoidable.  He’s going to be a problem.

[what-the-hell-is-going-on-here]

what did sequitur look like human…

OMG IM SO GLAD U ASKED. AAAA

I ACTUALLY DREW HIM TODAY SO U GET CURRENT ART. funny thing tho... i kinda.. dont have anything special abt his human design LOL ITS PRACTICALLY JUST ME... BUT OLDER....AND COOLER... SO YEAH FACE REVEAL 😝😝😍😍😧😧 /j

did the first one today, so its most accurate :3 its mostly for funnies tho so that isnt what he'd wear in canon LOL maybe on a weekend or something. also 0 is so white thats on purpose i think it would be funny if he was scarily pale. second is because i saw a post abt "ur f/o as a vampire" and i HAD to draw something for it

and this is a doodle from my original ref page for sequitur :D

basically. what im thinking is sequitur would wear this

with the most fuckass silly socks ever because i do that too. and probably some more tech-specific items like tools or whatever instead of the vials, as well as a messenger bag like the one here (but he wouldn't have the bag all the time, just for work or something like that)

I DONT REALLY HAVE TOO MANY SPECIFICS RN LOL BUT YA THATS WHAT IVE GOT. i wanna have some parallels to the tons of stickers that sequitur has as a tank so i was thinking pins/patches on its bag, but i dont have any specific pins in mind- ill get to that later LOL

[lokislittlesigyn]

This past weekend I had .. A truly lovely experience. One that will stick with me forever, I believe.

Story time.

About a month ago I got an unexpected message that Tom Hiddleston would be at NYCC. I'd never heard of NYCC before - though I live within driving distance of NYC. I visited last year to see a Broadway play and visit the Loki figure at Madame Tussauds. But more, in 2019, my parents surprised me with tickets to see Betrayal on Broadway.

When we went to the show, I hoped to give Tom a letter, thanking him for the impact his work has had on my life, and get some art autographed. After the show - which was breathtaking and fantastic and funny and heartbreaking - I stood outside in the bitter cold and watched as Tom stayed outside for 2 hours talking to and autographing things for his fans. I distinctly remember saying his name and him looking me right in the eye - I asked if he'd take my letter. His response? "Of course I will." those words also stuck with me. spoken surely, as though kindness was deserved without question.

I got an autograph from him that day on my Playbill - they didn't allow non-Betrayal works to be signed. But I wanted, very badly, to see him again. Namely for a hug ... And to get that art signed.

In the spring of 2020 I heard about a drivable convention Tom was slated to be at. Tickets to see him were hundreds of dollars, but I was willing to pay.

Then the pandemic hit. Everything was cancelled.

Fast forward to last month. My birthday is coming up and I have no idea what to ask for, I have a steady job and I'm trying to give myself permission to buy fun things so I actually feel something when I get a paycheck. ive legit been getting money and just feeling nothing when it goes into my account. :')

And I did it. I bought a pass. An autograph pass, since the photo passes only allowed a few seconds with the individual - I wanted to talk even for a moment, not stand awkwardly while I try to make myself give a natural smile.

I'll spare you the details of the convention itself - it was huge, and while it was exciting, that wasn't the main draw. Tom was. I finished an art piece and had it printed, and took it with me to give to him. I also wrote a message on the back of it, so there was no risk of the message being lost (I don't know if he actually got my first letter. There's really no way to tell!). That message is private, but the art is not.

It took over two hours to get through the line. As someone with joint and sensory issues, this was .. Quite an experience. if i hadnt had my compression socks on i honestly dont think i would have made it. also i really need to look into what ADA passes they have because there is an ADA line and i continuously tell myself im not disabled enough for that but maybe i am, idk

But I got through the line and went around the corner where they had a curtained-off area, and there he was.

My first thought? "Oh, you're real."

its always surprising to see him in person.

But as happened before, the nervousness and excitement and heart beating out of my chest gave way to a quiet calm.

He took the piece I brought to be signed, and signed it. And I spoke up.

"I made this for you, if that's okay." And I handed him the above artwork.

He took it. Looked at it. "You're very talented."

I thanked him.

And he looked at me again.

Now, it's relevant to mention I am autistic. Eye contact is extremely difficult for me. It feels unsafe, exposed, scary. I can literally get physically unsettled if I look at someone's eyes too long. This man is the only person - not even my mother and father feel safe to look in the eye - that I can not just stand to look in the eye, but actually feel ... peaceful. i think it's because he has lokis eyes.

"Thank you. Have a good rest of your weekend."

He smiled at me, and I smiled back. I thanked him again.

It's a small interaction. It was in the last event on the last day of the con - this man was probably exhausted, and rightly so. I also want to be clear, I don't have any sort of parasocial feelings toward Tom, or even romantic/etc. feelings. Tom is his own person, with his own life and experiences, and I don't feel anything toward him other than a general fondness and gratitude. More importantly, he is married, a husband and a father, and that is so important to remember.

I'm simply grateful to him. Out of hundreds, possibly thousands of people over the weekend, he took a bit of time to look at the art, and say something kind, and to look at me and smile.

Photos weren't allowed in the area, or I would have wanted one. Likewise, there were tables between the attendees and him - I would've asked for a hug otherwise. But I don't regret the weekend, for all its ups and downs. I got to give Tom a present, and I know I'll see him again someday.

And maybe next time, I'll get that hug.

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

blank check for ur gold morning thoughts/predictions/etc. how are we feeling about all of this. (& how do u think it's going to end?) <3333

HI. FORGOT I HAD THIS STILL. taking my allotted break time (just started arc 29 ouahg) to finally . answer this

god. what the fuck man. how the fuck am i supposed to put my gold morning thoughts into words. this is gonna be so stream of consciousness and not organized AT ALL sorry :] btw i love that its called gold morning for one. thats so fucked. for the record i still feel so fucking vindicated that i was right all along about scion being scary i will never come down from this high of being so correct about media !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i was actually just thinking abt this earlier i still think its so fucking crazy that. the slaughterhouse nine is like NOTHING now. all this time i had thought the apocalypse was gonna be some crazy rise to power for jack and instead hes just. fucking suffocating in some containment foam and his only meaningful contribution was saying some cryptic bullshit that set scion on a rampage. god. i have a lot of feelings abt that. and also the vague bonesaw redemption arc thats happening in the background (i dont want to call it that but also i cant think of the other word for that rn. only other word i can think of is domestication and thats not right either. you know what i mean)

uhhhhhhhhh okay predictions??? overall i do NOT expect worm to have a happy ending. i do still expect taylor to die at some point (shes gotten pretty fucking close a few times but god DAMN that girl is a cockroach (pun . intended)) i think a lot of people are gonna go out in a blaze of glory, specifically because that term has been used quite a few times recently... but i do think theyre going to succeed in either killing scion (probably more likely, we know the worms can be killed or. can at least DIE bc of his counterpart) or my insane person theory which is punting him back out into the cosmos and sending him to continue his cycle somewhere else. if that happens i think all the capes with (natural) powers will lose their powers, but the cauldron capes will still have theirs bc theyre like... artificial and it seemed like scion couldnt affect them as efficiently as he could capes with shards?????? idk. still DYING 2 know what happened to the corpse of the counterpart. potentially the way they send him away is by finding a way to revive it?? and then they can leave together. that seems way too happily ever after than what im expecting though. idk man im just. throwing wet pasta at the wall. if i say enough insane things perhaps i will be sort of kind of right and itll be really funny.

EXTREMELY excited bc like. i have 2 arcs left. i definitely wont finish it today like i was kind of hoping i would but im definitely gonna be. done with worm this week. what an insane thing to say. ive been reading this book since like. what. april? may?? i dont remember. either way holy shit good fucking book everyone read worm NOW. i was planning on drawing/writing some nhw this weekend but god damn i just got sucked into the worm fugue instead i NEED to know how this damn book ends dude.

[iantimony]

2023 year in review roundup

wow!! what a fucking year!!! goodbye and good riddance! happy first day of 2024!

this year i did 37 tuesdayposts! there were 53 tuesdays so that's about 70%! some of them were on fri/sat instead as shabbosposts but i think posting on tuesday or even monday does just work better for some fucking reason. maybe because friday and saturday are days that i am most likely to do New Activities for making/playing/watching/reading??? and so on monday or tuesday i can recap the just-finished weekend. shrug! we love tuesday so it's fine.

listening listened to all of twilight mirage and a little over half of partizan! shrieking shack podcast, just king things, well there's your problem, miscellaneous music (maneskin probably a notable winner in there)

reading a lot of little articles. a little tgcf. SO much fanfic. 'every heart a doorway' (bad). 'birthday of the world' le guin (good).

playing a little disco elysium. a little minecraft. a little nier automata. a little hadesgame. a LOT of pokemon go. and i got into magic the gathering this year!

watching a lot of youtube videos. so many gd youtube videos. evangelion, history of the world part ii, cunk on earth, vox machina animated series, cowboy bebop, first season of peaky blinders, the new tgcf donghua season!

making i did very little drawing/painting/illustration beyond life drawing a few times...however i was very prolific in crafting! i also theoretically made valentines gifts. i do not remember what they were tho lol.

fiber arts: i completed a big embroidery project (fermenting dregs album art hoodie), quantum shawl, mesh market bag, case for my knew laptop, finished that blue tank top even though i hate it, fixed the lining on my yellow knitted cowl, made a little knitted headphone top cover that i will probably redo differently, headband ear warmer for my roommate's mom, and FINALLY i just barely finished the scarf for my SO before the end of 2023!

print block carving: wristwatch print, gavelbocken holiday card print

misc/writing: some songxuexiao fencing au. some harrowhark abhorsen au. neocities website!

and so much pottery! this is all of it, barring the things i already gave away as presents before this photo (two pots and a little box and the little raven guy), but wow! that's so many fuckin object!

misc what a fucking year. some bad! had to file a big car insurance claim! got really sick while abroad and that persisted for a long fucking time! mini summer breakdown! some good stuff too - passed quantum mechanics FOREVER good fucking bye, did my first successful academic conference, finally started feeling better around the end of the year! learned my lesson: it's not fuckin worth stressing yourself to death over, and also i can't just Be At Home Aimlessly for months any more. it's bad for my mental health.

reviewing 2023 resolutions and goals --> I’d love to start writing again and play more horn but we’ll see i basically didn't do any creative writing at all this year barring a few lines of fanfic ideas (the abhorsen/tlt crossover one) HOWEVER i READ a lot of fanfic to marinate in and i played a LOT more french horn!! i joined the little youth orchestra which is like, uber goofy, but it means ive been playing on a regular basis again!

--> I also wanna listen to more weird music, and invest in actually owning some files, especially for some of the lesser-known bands and through bandcamp and stuff i spent all year meaning to do this and kept pushing it off so it rolls over into next year.

--> I really want to kind of dial those [unhealthy coping mechanisms] back again, focus more on existing in Reality and more in each moment, which hopefully will also help with some of the skin picking and other anxious habits that resurfaced. maybe more yoga, maybe re-establishing a meditation process lol lmao. nah. but definitely rolling it over into 2024.

--> I would love to think more about my fashion and how I present myself too, and work on making and tailoring more of my clothing in general actually not bad! basically zero tailoring but i did a pretty good job wearing some cute outfits.

--> I’ve been pretty good about being active so I’d like to keep that up, I still can’t do a pull-up but maybe this is the year! (lol) I should also start doing some minor exercises for my shitty arthritis toes to keep those okay once again: lol lmao. health issues had me really regress in some of my gains goals. plus side is toes are doin pretty normal.

--> a lot of last year was kind of a wash regarding research so I’m really looking forward to refocusing on that and really getting things moving. oh it moved! in a good way! i'm making good progress and hopefully i will keep that momentum going!

--> finally! I want to get back to tabletop! I miss doing it so much! it fell by the wayside for me because of how busy and overwhelmed I was, especially this past fall semester, but I want to start running and playing games with my pals again a little! i should have been putting these in playing as i went oops. the tabletop group i've run was a little fallow this year due to at least half of our group, including myself, not being in Tabletop Mood but we've played a lot of res arcana and other such games instead.

i had a few other resolutions in my digital planner on my ipad that didn't go in the writeup last year: namely, practice languages more (i did practice my mandarin a little but did not really learn any hebrew or korean unfortunately) and establish a non-software component of my research (nope, not in the cards, but i'm hoping to do something else this summer to let me get better with physical data/setups), and finishing the masters degree requirements (that will be the end of this upcoming spring semester), but overall i really did hit most of my resolutions and goals! even with being ill for a while! (except the finances. i am simply not looking at them <3)

2024 resolutions and goals

definitely some rollover! i will format this to hopefully be a little easier to respond to next year:

- get back on a regular workout schedule: swimming 1x a week, weights once or twice a week. would like to try and work towards my One Pullup goal again. would also be cool to try and work towards a hand/headstand. - try and be more mindful. i'm going to continue the grief therapy but also think about meditating more, doing more yoga, and so on. - there's a gallery on main street that solicits work from local artists for bimonthy themed exhibitions and i really want to submit at least one thing to it this year! the one due by end of january is themed 'florals', and the one two months after that is 'layers', so i'd really like to submit something to one of those. - more weird art! use that big canvas i bought in literally 2022! paint!!! - finally put together that travel journal from korea & japan (and also scrapbook-ify the papers i have leftover in a pile from that) - also, maybe do current scrapbook a little different? might need a new binder at the very least. - hang up that expensive quilt i bought in august - speaking of quilt: do some hand quilting, english paper piercing! i have so much fucking fabric! - find a new apartment to move into that hopefully won't suck! - try to secure some sort of summer internship or project that will let me develop some new skillsets that i might not be getting with my current research - finish the masters degree - write...a paper? for the work i just presented??? - keep tweaking neocities and make some more pages - keep track of recipes this year as well in my making section

i might start a little spreadsheet this year to keep better track of all my stuff because i really did Not want to go through all my separate listening and reading sections and extract what i liked the most, etc. this post required me to first back up a few extra early tuesdayposts from this year to dreamwidth, and then skim all of them to accumulate the above, and that was kinda a pain. and i love an excuse to start a new spreadsheet.

we did it! happy 2024! i don't think i have anything else to add to this wrapup but if i think of something i'll tack it into the upcoming Normal Tuesdaypost tomorrow! good job good night and good luck everyone!

[raccoonhearteyes]

Part I  | Part II  | Part III | Part IV  | Part V

August 19th, 2018 

Lexa has met Clarke at this coffee shop four times. It was an accident at first. It was the closest coffee shop to the gallery. She went for the first time after getting a whirlwind tour from Clarke. The ambience is nice, they have good pastries, and there’s enough pick up orders that Lexa can sneak one off the counter without anyone noticing. 

She didn’t realize Clarke went to this particular coffee shop until her second visit. Clarke huddled into the shop soaking wet. She wasn’t expecting it to rain, and didn’t have an umbrella. Tuesday wasn’t her usual day to visit-- Saturday and Wednesday lunch are her routine-- but she waits out the storm at a booth near Lexa.

The next time, Lexa did a test to see if the Wednesday lunch was as regular as Clarke made it seem. It was. The baristas know her by name, and most of the time have her order ready for her when she walks in. Clarke accused Lexa of stealing her usual table, and Lexa offered her the spare seat. They spent lunch debating the best thing on the menu. Lexa left with Clarke’s phone number written on her coffee cup. She has three of those at this point. It almost almost makes up for the fact that she can never call her. 

On Saturday mornings, she comes in to sketch. She has sketched Lexa twice in this shop. She spent the session telling Lexa why she likes to sketch strangers in a crowded coffee shop. 

Last weekend, Lexa watched Clarke meet a friend for coffee, and her stomach dropped thinking Clarke had started seeing someone. But then the friend’s husband came in with a stroller, and Lexa’s stomach bottomed out for an entirely different reason. She spent the morning watching Clarke play with a baby, and barely had the decency to blush when Clarke caught her staring. 

The darkness, of course, had chosen that moment to solidify in the seat across from her and ruthlessly remind her that she will never have children. She’ll never have children with Clarke. She’ll never have anything with Clarke. Clarke doesn’t remember her.  Lexa skipped the Wednesday after that to wallow in her own self pity. 

The shop is more crowded than usual. Booths are few and hard to come by. Clarke is already searching for a place to sit when Lexa opens the door. This time, Clarke bumps into her. 

Clarke catches her, and by some miracle doesn’t spill coffee on Lexa-- she checked-- but when she catches Lexa’s eyes, Clarke forgoes the usual apologies and instead says, “Your eyes are like a forest.”

It’s the same thing Clarke said the first time they met. And the third. And the sixth. And now the tenth. But at this point, Lexa knows it’s not a line. Clarke thinks and breathes in colors, and she likes comparing her people to the vastness of the world around her. 

“Yours are like the Caribbean sea.” Lexa has been practicing that one. 

Clarke smiles, “I’m Clarke.” 

I know. I might be falling for you. “Lindsey.”

“Do you want to share a table? It’s the last one, and I probably owe you for nearly knocking you over.”

“Sure.” 

Lexa pretends she ordered earlier on the app and swipes a random cup off the counter and goes to sit across from Clarke. 

Clarke’s sketchbook is already out, and taking up most of the table. She’s drawing the street view first, a blocky warm up, Lexa knows. She’ll shift to portraits once the coffee settles in a bit more and her fingers and heart feel looser. Lexa brought a book, and pulls it out to start reading. 

As Lexa reads, she keeps an eye on Clarke out of the corner of her eye. Lexa likes watching Clarke draw. She gets this little crease at the bridge of her nose, and her tongue tends to peek out of her lips. She would look grumpy if she didn’t also look so focused and cute. Her eyes settle on the freckle above her lips. There’s a bit of latte foam on her upper lip, and Lexa wants to kiss it right off. She shakes her head to refocus on her book. 

She keeps her posture pristine for Clarke, knowing it’ll only be a matter of time before she starts getting sketched. Within a minute or two, Lexa sees the shape of her jaw on the page in front of her. She pretends to keep reading. 

The sun pours through the window near their table, basking the cozy shop with a warm glow. The flyaways of Lexa’s hair are illuminated in gold. Her eyes look even more vibrant in this light. But Clarke is working with a pencil and is growing increasingly frustrated at her medium. 

She huffs, and goes back to shading the curve of Lexa’s lips. 

“Everything okay?” Lexa asks. 

“I need color, but all I brought today was pencil.”

“Want me to nick the crayons from that kid over there?” 

“No, he looks so happy coloring that octopus… Can I ask you an insane question?” 

“Go for it.”

“Will you come home with me? I want to paint you.”

“Yes.”

“I realize that sounds insanely creepy, and I promise I am not a serial killer. Just an artist who… wait. Did you just say yes?”

“I did.”

“Are you insane? This is New York City. I could be a serial killer.”

“Are you? A serial killer, I mean.”

“No. Just an artist with an idea.”

“Let’s go then.” Lexa puts her book in her bag and stands, making it clear she is completely serious. 

----------

Clarke sets up an easel and a stool for Lexa to sit on. 

“How do you want me?” Lexa asks. 

Clarke blushes at all the dirty things that come to mind, but filters herself for once. “Can I have you wear something else?”

Lexa agrees, and Clarke comes back with an oversized button down shirt, she stutters when she says “If you’re not comfortable wearing so little, I can go with something else.”

But Lexa knows Clarke. She knows she has a vision and wants to help it come to fruition. “This is fine.” 

Clarke turns to set up her put a canvas on her easel, “You can change in the bathroom over th--” 

But Lexa is already shucking off her clothes and Clarke’s eyebrows jump to her hairline as she watches shorts slide down long tan legs and a shirt come over her head. Lexa snaps the hook of her bra before Clarke can turn around, and relishes in the jaw drop Clarke doesn’t manage to stop before Lexa pulls on the large button down. She leaves the buttons undone. 

Clarke points to the stool, “You can have a seat and make yourself comfortable.” 

Lexa notices that Clarke suddenly looks shy having this half naked stranger in her apartment. She watches her fiddle with her paint brushes before looking up. 

“Take your hair down,” Clarke commands. Lexa complies, untwisting her braid and letting a wavy brown mane tumble past her shoulders. She’s lit from the back and the flyaways are tinted in gold, just as they were in the coffee shop. 

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

Lexa watches the blush bloom on Clarke’s cheeks, clearly not intending to have said that outloud. Lexa feels the heat in her own cheeks and the pink of her ears. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Clarke chuckles, awkwardness successfully diffused for the moment. 

She moves towards Lexa, “May I?” and reaches to adjust the shirt and Lexa’s pose. She pulls the shirt apart in the front so the valley between her breasts is on display, along with the definition of her abs. Lexa catches her eyes lingering a bit longer than necessitated, but says nothing. 

Clarke tilts her chin up with the knuckle of her index finger until their eyes meet. Clarke’s breath catches. Clarke’s finger unconsciously swipes over Lexa’s bottom lip. The urge to just stand up and kiss her is overwhelming, and from the look of Clarke’s blown pupils, wouldn’t be unwelcome, but Lexa stays put. 

Clarke doesn’t talk much once she starts painting. She tells Lexa to tilt her head this way or that, relax her jaw, arch her back a bit more, fluff her hair. The room is quiet except for the sound of a brush against canvas, and the soft sighs that leave Clarke’s lips as she works on a particularly tricky part of the portrait. 

After about an hour, Clarke offers Lexa a break to stretch. Lexa stands off the stool and reaches her arms above her head for a full stretch, eyes closed and reveling in the release of some stiffness for sitting so long. When she opens her eyes, Clarke’s are half-lidded and dark. 

“Can I get you a drink?”

“It’s three o’clock in the afternoon.”

“Seems only fair when you’re naked and in my apartment.” 

“So are you going to tell me why you agreed to do this for a complete stranger?” Clarke asks as she offers Lexa a glass of bourbon. 

Because you’re not some stranger. “Why not?” Lexa shrugs, “Why did you pick up a random stranger at a coffee shop?”

“Because the stranger looks like that,” Clarke admits and gestures to Lexa’s general state of undress and her face.  

Lexa grins, and plays dumb, “Like what?” 

“Don’t pretend you don’t know how hot you are. With the face and the eyes and the lips.” Clarke takes a large gulp of her drink to cut herself off. “But seriously, why’d you agree?”

“Do you want the real, honest answer?” Lexa asks, and moves to stand next to Clarke. Both leaned up against the counter, fidgeting with drinks in their hands. 

“Yes.”

“You smiled at me. And your eyes lit up when you started talking about your art, and I don’t think I could have said no if I tried.” 

“Oh.” Clarke holds her gaze, not enough space between them but still too much for what Lexa wants, which is to forget the current painting and kiss her.

“Lindsey,” Clarke whispers, starting to lean in. 

The name jolts Lexa out of her brief fantasy. “We should get back to it, shouldn’t we? Before your paints get all crusty.” 

Clarke nods, half grateful and half regretful, and they head back to their respective easel and stool. 

The rest of the session is charged. Clarke is focused on finishing the details, which has meant long, sustained eye contact for the last thirty plus minutes. It’s excruciating, and Lexa can’t help but squirm in her pose. Her attention drifts from the deepening color on Clarke's cheeks, to the racing pulse at her neck. They make eye contact and Clarke’s dark lust-filled eyes send a thrill through her entire body, a jolt right between her legs.  

When Clarke finally finishes, she calls Lexa over to see it. Lexa is stunned. There she is. It’s her on the canvas. A mark in the world she didn’t make but helped create. It’s beautiful, and colorful, and overwhelming, and she isn’t quite sure how to articulate it, so all that comes out is a soft reverent, “Clarke…” 

“Do you like it? I think it might be the best piece I’ve ever done.”

“It’s beautiful.” Lexa can’t take her eyes away from it, until she feels Clarke’s thumb rub against her cheek. 

“You’re crying.”

Lexa forces herself to look away from the canvas, “I’m fine. Really. It’s just… no one has ever seen me the way you have. It’s incredible.”

Clarke’s hand is still resting on Lexa’s jaw, thumb pushing away any new tears, “I painted what was right in front of me.” 

“And a bit of yourself,” Lexa points to the streaks of orange and blue on Clarke’s face and arms.

“Art is messy,” Clarke shrugs. 

They’re both left standing there. Inches from each other, staring into forest green and ocean blue eyes. Clarke leans in first, gently bumping her nose against Lexa’s. 

“Please,” Clarke says in a way that is almost needy. Lexa hesitates, but Clarke just stares at her with those eyes and her brows raised in a plea and Lexa gives in, and kisses her for the first time. Again.    

It feels exactly like falling. Terrifying and exhilarating. 

“Is this okay?” Clarke asks, and Lexa almost laughs because of course it is but she just kisses Clarke harder in lieu of a response. 

Lexa revels in the warmth of Clarke's hands on her body, the steady pressure of them on her back and at her waist. She nips at Clarke’s lip, and soothes the bite with her tongue. The throaty groan Clarke lets out makes her head spin. She can feel Clarke smiling into the kiss, and it’s enough encouragement to spur Lexa into tugging at her shirt to even out their levels of undress. 

“Let me take you to bed,” Clarke begs between kisses, and Lexa feels her knees weaken. She nods into the kiss and lets herself be led backwards into Clarke’s room. 

They make it to the bed in a hurried mess of Clarke’s clothes being thrown off in every direction, and the buttondown Lexa had been wearing forgotten in a pile behind them. 

Lexa is pushed onto her back and Clarke’s head is between her legs before she fully has time to savor the moment and fuck she forgot how good Clarke is at this. She forgot how filthy Clarke’s mouth is, a litany of fuck you taste so good and oh gods. Clarke builds her up slowly, then coaxes her through the aftershocks. Thighs still twitching, Lexa tugs Clarke up to kiss her properly. 

The kisses start slow, but build quickly, and Lexa flips them so Clarke is on her back, Lexa’s fingers threatening through her. Clarke’s moaning curses push Lexa from gentle strokes to faster ones, curling her fingers to hit that spot. Clarke’s back arches, giving Lexa access to her neck and chest, which only makes Clarke’s hips grind faster. She can tell Clarke is close, everything’s fluttering and Clarke’s words are becoming incoherent. 

She breaks, and Lexa is there to catch her, sooth her with soft kisses and gentle hands until her heart rate returns to normal. 

Everything in the apartment is tinted orange-- the sun is going down and basks the little space in the golden hour. Clarke’s sex-mussed hair is illuminated, just Clarke claimed hers was in the cafe this morning.  Clarke was right. It’s beautiful, and she can’t help but stare at the girl in her arms. 

But Clarke dozed off after that last orgasm and Lexa knows that when she wakes, she won’t remember her. As much as she wants to stay, she’s not sure she can bear the thought of being forgotten so quickly. She gently kisses Clarke’s lips, and then her forehead. 

She checks the weather and notices there’s a bit more of a chill than a usual summer night, so she nicks an old sweater from the back of Clarke’s closet, one she’s sure she won’t miss, and lets herself out of the apartment. 

[alucart]

actually fuck it lmao

got hired late september. started actual work in october. started off as a seasonal worker. every day i woke up for work i was dreaded it. it was so much work. i was fatigued everyday but i still had to give it my all or else i was "lazy". if i moved too slow i was considered rude to customers. if i dont smile im rude. if i take a minute to process something then "something is wrong with me." like. Okay. lmao.

obviously when applying for jobs i dont list the fact that im bipolar. hell, i probably have adhd. but beside the point, the fact i have to act a certain way just to keep a job thats barely paying me shit was so. annoying. the fact that while working seasonal i had to put up with so much shit was ridiculous. november and december was so awful. im still mad i had to wake up at like 4am to get to work at 5am and then the store wasnt even busy until 12am. and we had to wear red and make sure everything was perfect bc the ceo was coming to the store? LMAO?

after my seasonal hours were over i thought i was free. i wasnt working for like two weeks but i at least got to spend time with my family. clean. take care of myself. i actually got back to drawing, something i havent been able to do for months. and then they called me back for a full time position. of course i took it because i wasnt finding anything else but it mightve been the worst mistake like ever.

like i must preface, that i got the job for the seasonal position in the first place without an interview, and like, yes i knew that was fishy at the start but also, ive been looking for a job for over two years so i was desperate. somehow the full time position was even worse than the seasonal position. my manager felt more annoying.

not to mention at this point they were making me do shit that i was never hired to do. why am i organizing clothes? i take returns? why are you making me cover in the handbags department? i work in returns and help people with online orders? why are you making me pack online orders? I WORK IN RETURNS, HELP PEOPLE WITH ONLINE ORDERS AND I HAVE PROCESS RETURNS FOR ORDER PICKUPS THAT WERE NEVER PICKED UP?

honestly madness. i had many breakdowns. over not wanting to go back to work. one time i had a stomach virus and had to stay home from work and was so miserable and literally panicking because i thought i could lose my job from being sick. i had a coworker that they also hired full time and she got fired because she "took too many breaks" meanwhile there was another coworker that took way more too many breaks.

while working there i saw many people get fired. like i dont know. and it was constantly understaffed. one time my manager asked me if i could work for 50 hrs one week and i told her "i'll think about it" only to find that weekend she changed my schedule without asking. (i had a breakdown that weekend).

when they had me set up my availability i had changed it so i would get mondays and tuesdays off because i realized i need two days off in a row instead of two random ass days and they didnt even. abide by that. and by the time it was like that on my schedule i already lost my job because i "violated company policy" because i accidentally scanned some fake coupons. which mind you, i never did anything wrong at the job beforehand so i shouldve really got a warning instead of being straight up fired.

but i honestly think they just wanted to get rid of me because i couldnt get enough people to sign up for a credit card, which again, i work in returns, so most people doing a return do not want to apply to a card. to expect someone in returns to have someone sign up for a fucking credit card everyday is insane. telling people that its not really a credit card is even more insane. the fact that im still stressed out over this because im fucking unemployed is. insane!!! and i dont even know if i can get unemployment. i feel like crying.

[risunsky]

I was wondering how long it takes you to complete a drawing? Especially for some of the more complex/ detailed ones, how do you deal with not getting burnt out? Do you work on one piece until it’s complete or do you bounce around and work on multiple projects at once? Also I love your work. I think it’s so gorgeous and really powerfully conveys emotion 🖤

(sorry, it's a long answer again :x) My most complex drawings, such as the remake of the siege of La Rochelle or the one with winged Papa IV, took between 60 and 80 hours to complete. The Spillways one is probably a record-breaker because I had to start from the beginning several times.

It's also the time I need for a traditional A2 painting (like the one I'm planning to do this summer (wink wink) if the heat doesn't knock me out too much).

For simpler things like a portrait alone without background I try not to exceed 10 hours. Like Copia with his face hidden by his hat, or the one where he's holding a Grucifix. The one on the beach looks just as simple on paper and yet I think I spent more time on it, because I did some lineart to lay down certain details and I spent a lot of time refining the textures.

In any case, even for something very simple I rarely go under 6 hours, I consider myself a slow artist which isn't necessarily a problem, unless you want to make a living out of it.

- Avoiding burn-out is a difficult challenge. In 2020 I think I experienced it, it was my first A2 painting, there was a deadline, I was late and it was very important to me. I worked intensely on this big piece, I didn't do anything other than that, stopping only to eat and sleep. At the time I was having a great time, I was really enjoying myself, thinking I was experiencing the 'true passion of art' and I still have really good memories of that period of a few weeks. But once I'd finished I kinda fell apart, I was always tired, did an artblock for several months, it was difficult to get back to normal and it caused me problems for my job. It's thanks to doing ghost fanarts that I've managed to recover. I really don't recommend pushing yourself like that it's not healthy at all.

To avoid this happening again, I impose a schedule on myself. A break every 2 hours where I get up from my chair and walk around a bit. I don't work more than a certain number of hours a day (8~10) and I don't work at weekends. Well, that's the ideal, obviously it's hard to keep. When I get caught up in the enthusiasm of a project I have a bit of trouble controlling myself, it's like an obsession and nothing else matters.

There's also the fact that my interest in a project fades easily. I need to do as much as possible in one go so I don't risk giving up before it's finished. For commission I can work on several projects at once, jumping from one to another alternately, but I really prefer to be able to concentrate on one thing at a time. The more projects I have in the queue, the more scattered my mind becomes and I don't work well in that state.

Thank you so much for your interest! 🖤🖤

[in-my-feels-probably]

Hi!! Congrats on 1.5k!! May I have a romantic marauders era option 2 match up please? I go by she/her and am bi with no preference, so any gender is fine.

I’m about 5’5, dark blue eyes, medium length hair thats kinda too dark to be dirty blonde but not so dark that its light brown with slightly lighter blonde highlights throughout. Ive been told I typically wear what would be considered 90s type of style but leaning away from more feminine things tho I’m not opposed to dresses and all. 

I do get pretty anxious when thrown in certain situations rather that be talking to a group of people or just one person. But on occasion and definitely when I get to know someone I never stop talking. I am a ranter and rambler which means I could be ranting about something that happened and then start talking about something else that may or may not be related to the original subject. Basically I will always find something to talk about though I do enjoy listening to other people talk. I am considered the mom friend because I tend to be the most logical. Im also a very determined, stubborn person who usually is kinda pessimistic but still has a huge imagination. And despite all the anxiety I am usually a relatively confident person and am not afraid to take up for anyone I care about. Also I am pretty good in school despite having a kinda bad memory. Also an INTJ, Sagittarius, and Ravenclaw. 

I absolutely love writing and have for the longest time rather that be random original stories I make up or the various fanfics I have(lol). I also love drawing and painting and recently realized I’m actually pretty good at making art related to animals and the occasional landscape. I’ve also been a big music fan since I was a kid, I honestly dont know what I would do without it. I also really enjoy reading when I get the chance, like I could spend hours getting consumed by whatever I’m reading. Which also travels into me when I’m watching things. As in I spend a good bit of time just binge watching new or old shows. I also really like walking around and enjoying nature. Theres a few nature trails I love going on and would go to the zoo every weekend if I had the chance. Which also goes along to my love for animals. Also I do like going to random places with my friends. 

And thats about all I can think of to say, hope it wasnt too much lol. But anyways, thanks in advance :)

hi!

thanks for participating :)

since you have no gender preference, i’ll tell you who i ship you with out of both the boys and the girls, and then do the full thing for who i think is better suited for you.

i ship you with remus and marlene! i’m gonna go with remus for this, hope that’s alright :)

i think remus is a lot like you. he can handle himself in social situations, but he’s also pretty well off on his own. he knows how to entertain himself and not push his own social boundaries. and his friends would respect that when he got a little distant, knowing he needed a little time alone. but i do think it would make him a bit lonely. and he’d be lonely, even when he didn’t feel like doing anything. he’d have you there to be with him, even if you weren’t talking. you’d just enjoy each other’s presence. and as you got closer and you opened up to him a bit more, he’d find it a lot easier to talk to you, in a group situation or not. and he’d know your tells for when you were all hanging out in a group, and he’d know when you were getting overwhelmed or uncomfortable, and you’d do the same for him. it would be easy to tell what the other person needed. overall, he’d really enjoy talking to you. he’d find your rambling cute, and he’d love talking about all your niche little interests.

i’m not sure what remus would think of art, but he definitely enjoys reading. he’d love hearing about all your story ideas, and he’d help you with them. he’d also love hanging out and listening to music with you. it would probably be one of the main things you talked about. it’s one of his biggest interests, and he’d be happy to have you indulge him on it.

idk why i keep getting stuck on this, but i feel like there would be a little academic rivals trope going on between you too. even if one of you didn’t do as well academically as the other, there’s still be some sort of competitiveness between you both. really, it was just an excuse for remus to tease you and mess with you. he didn’t really care whether or not you scored better than him. but it would for sure be an ego boost for you when you did.

—

he’d find you one day in the library where you were working on a story idea you had been talking about a few days before. he’d smirk as he sat down, putting his things on the table next to you.

“studying, huh? looks like you need it after that last exam.”

he’d chuckle as you shoved him, picking up your notebook. “oh, piss off! i’m writing, remus—not studying. and i didn’t score all that low below you anyway.”

“i know,” he’d smile, reaching over to gently slide your notebook over. “just teasing, love. what are you writing about? that idea you told me about last week?”

you’d immediately light up, excitedly explaining to him. he’d listen as you told him about what you had written so far, every once in a while piping in to give you new ideas. he couldn’t help but smile, loving how excited you got talking about your work.

you’d pause after a minute, setting your book aside. “didn’t you say you were gonna study with sirius? go ahead, im good here.”

he’d shake his head, pulling out some of his textbooks. “he’ll be alright without me…it’s you i’m more worried about.”

he’d dodge another hit and you’d feign anger, but you both couldn’t help but smile.

—

thanks again for participating! hope you liked this :)

[justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms]

Hi, may I have a matchup for legend of korra, narnia, and percy jackson? I go by she/her and am bi with no preference so any gender is fine.

I’m about 5’5, dark blue eyes, medium length hair thats kinda too dark to be dirty blonde but not so dark that its light brown with slightly lighter blonde highlights throughout. Ive been told I typically wear what would be considered 90s type of style but leaning away from more feminine things tho I’m not opposed to dresses and all. 

I get pretty anxious when thrown in certain situations rather that be talking to a group of people or just one person. But when I get to know someone I never stop talking. I am a ranter and rambler which means I could be ranting about something that happened and then start talking about something else that may or may not be related to the original subject. Though I do enjoy listening to other people talk. I am considered the mom friend because I tend to be the most logical. I'm also a very determined, stubborn person who usually is kinda pessimistic but still has a huge imagination. And despite all the anxiety I am usually a relatively confident person and am not afraid to take up for anyone I care about. Also I am pretty good in school despite having a kinda bad memory. Also an INTJ and Sagittarius. 

I absolutely love writing, art, music, reading, and watching various shows/movies. I also really like walking around and enjoying nature. There's a few nature trails I love going on and would go to the zoo every weekend if I had the chance. Which also goes along to my love for animals. Also I do like going to random places with my friends. 

And that's about all I can think of to say, hope it wasn't too much lol. But anyways, thanks in advance :)

Hello Anon! Thank you for requesting Narnia and Percy Jackson; I'm very excited to write for both of them for the first time! I hope you like your matchups!

In Legend of Korra, I match you with...

Asami will make sure you feel comfortable in situations where you may normally feel anxious. She's learnt to outwardly be confident in almost any situation due to her business.

Loves listening to you ramble about your interests. People always talk about the things she seems interested in to improve their relationship with her and hopefully gain business partnership. She likes listening to someone talk about their own interests.

Asami is probably the closest Korra's Team Avatar has to mom friend and she's still pretty chaotic. I'm sure everyone's a little relieved that there's a level headed mom friend in the group now.

Loves going on walks with you. It gets her away from her work for a while and lets her clear her head.

In Narnia, I match you with...

The conversations you two have would be amazing to listen to!

Lucy loves it when you two can sit in the gardens and talk for hours. It lets her get away from her royal duties and spend time relaxing.

Lucy's by far the most creative of the Pevensie siblings so she'd love doing art with you. Whether it's drawing, painting, or writing, she just loves creating things and doing it with company is even better.

Another one who loves going for walks. She gets to spend time with you and catch up with all of her Narnian friends as well.

Always makes sure you're comfortable. She knows how intimidating Narnia can be sometimes, especially when you're one of the people living in the castle at Cair Paravel.

In Percy Jackson, I match you with...

The biggest fan of going for walks in nature with you! He can tell you all about the plants (and dryads) you come across.

Grover also loves listening to you ramble about anything and everything. He has a tendency to ramble as well so he'll appreciate it if you listen to him as well.

He'll find a quiet glade somewhere so you two can relax away from the chaos of Camp Half-Blood. Whether you two talk or just enjoy the peace and quiet, he's just happy to spend time with you.

Pretty socially anxious as well. You two can support each other.

Can't paint or draw for the life of him but enjoys watching you. He'd be honoured if you would do an artwork for him/of him. He thinks you're very clever for being so good at your chosen art medium.

[mg549]

lichen 🌲, frog 🐸, clover ☘, thicket 🌳, n fern 🌿 :]€

lichen 🌲 - what do you like to collect?

ogh Everythinggg. when i say im a maximalist i mean it fr. my most visible collection is my monster high rig (which has 70 dolls currently! theres only 2 more i want but im Saving them as presents to myself for when i pay off my student loan (biden PLEASE come through)) but within the past couple weeks ive also started collecting rainbow high dolls (which once everything ships to me i will have. 31 which. is a lot tbf BUT im really good at finding deals and the average price i paid for one was $13.66 which is crazy since a. they retail for like $30 each minimum and b. ive literally paid more for singular monster high accessories bhgfbgjfdhdf). i also collect mermaid high and zombie girls bc theyre both small discontinued lines and i loooove collecting things that are no longer produced bc its a guarantee that theres an interesting story behind it. some other things i collect are rocks, fossils, halloween decor, and tbh its kinda hard for me to draw the line between “thing i collect” and “themes that if an object has im 100% certain to buy it on sight” tbh fbhfdgbkfd

frog 🐸 - name 3+ things you like about yourself

i love my hair :))) best feature of me. i also like that i can draw/very easily visualize new ideas (i dont think ive really ever experienced genuine art block beyond jst being unmotivated or worn out) and ive been starting to go swimming again (every weekend!!!) and im proud that i was able to do the whole pool in one breath in my monofin. i def wanna improve my breathhold tho its p bad bc of l’Asthma and also bc last weekend was only the second time ive gonne swimming in like. the past 10 years hbhgbfk parce que le dysphoria

clover ☘ - have you ever found a four-leaf clover?

yes!!! ive even found ones with more than four :))) they used to grow in the yard of my childhood home

thicket 🌳 - how close do you live to a forest? have you ever explored it?

unforch i dont rly live near forests anymore 😔ig you could call the trees on the mountains forest-y but the pines jst seem so Sparse that it doesnt rly register as forest to me for the most part jfffgjd. i have gone hiking dans le woods tho. in college i used to live next to a big forest of longleaf pines&i was in there all the goddamn time. before then my old apt had a little patch of thick woods that i was also in as much as possible and did explore, but it was a p small patch and also really Dense with hilly terrain and no paths whatsoever so there was only so much i could do. my old childhood home had woods behind it and i did go in them sometimes but i wasnt rly allowed bc i was Baby. east coast woods rly jst hit kinda different tbh theres literally magic in there tbh.

fern 🌿 - if you were any kind of plant, which one would you be?

hrmmmmmmmm... my go-to plant for characters im projecting on is kudzu so probably that. none of its qualities rly like correlate with me but i grew up seeing it everywhere and the imagery of hot summers where it overtakes everything in sight has always stuck with me...

[mostspecialgirl]

oc rambling again - mage society

excited to spend my weekend building mage society lore

ive spent too long painting them as incompetents when they’re supposed to go through a whole renaissance post-devil’s manner, and the magic towers are actually supposed to be a powerful worldly presence. for the amount of importance i put on relic earth (the plane) i dont ever seem to dabble very much on relic EARTH itself aside from a few choice individuals.

in shadows is currently my only Large Series Piece that holds the affairs of humanity as a primary focus. It also happens to be the story where the magic towers are preoccupied with trying to keep the mage society separated from that of that of the non-magic civilian lives with the emergence of the shadowless. in shadows is essentially one of Novekhrys's (who has also recently been elevated to status of Ninestrike Divison Lead) proposed “mage awakening doomsday’s” come to life and as such everyone’s busy freaking the fuck out. my point is, they don’t really get highlighted anywhere aside from extraneous strands loosely attached to side characters.

but the fact is, they REMAIN extremely important and as such i feel it’s only natural i go to flesh that out. hana is receiving funding from the Beast Tower, Father, Wintergreen and Polonius were students under Hermes at the Science Tower, PROTEUS SINAI is a PROFESSOR of Advanced Modern Spellcrafting, Lesser Familiar Summoning and Beginner’s Golemancy within the Blue Tower !!!!!!!!! THE UNNAMED WHITE TOWER MASTER IS THE RELICVERSES STRONGEST MAGIC USER !!!!!!!!!!! THE ONLY ONE TO ACHIEVE FINER CONTROL OVER ARS SUBTILIOR THAN LAWLIET Y LEBLANC HIMSELF !!!!! A MAN WHO HAD UNDERSTANDING OF ITS EXISTENCE FROM BIRTH!!!! (breathing heavily) perhaps, i am to suggest, it is not that the mage society are incompetents, it’s that i, their writer, am. i’m starting to understand how the lorekeepers feel. fucking voxel. you make it look so damn easy

anyway, the mage society has been left undeveloped for way too long, and i feel like there’s a lot of untapped potential there. i really could write a mage society arc or two into in shadows. i’ve still got time! (I probably wont, in shadows is pretty loaded as is) but at the very least i can have access to another location to plop people in with another defined set of characters to pull from. i’ve barely used novechrys and proteus because i’m still kind of unsure what i want the mage society to be like in terms of what they mean for my greater universe. They’ve always had a nebulous sort of rivalry with the demiurge, but i’ve never worked out the finer details. do they want to planeswalk? are they on his side of defending relic earth from outsiders? how do they feel that he’s made connections to talented professors and even a tower master? who is he to the tower masters as a unit? what changed within the mage society after the fall of the science tower? what does this all look like to people like lucille and ophelia, tangentially related to the affairs of the magic towers and mage society but not being a part of it themself? I’ve got an large well to draw the waters of content from here, not even counting on the fact it shares a plane with both the affairs of devil’s manner and in shadows.

oh god. that’s right. am i going to have any organized supernatural religious groups in relic earth? obviously, nothing as straightforward as Encauth’s Holy Church, but at the very least, large occult congregations? i’ve already got existences of closed door practicing groups like berrosus’s church of tiamat. maybe something more akin to how the church is handled in the nasuverse? probably that. i’ve got to close that can for now because im supposed to be focused on the mage society

anyway. I can’t wait to work on a whole bunch of stuff i never show anybody unless someone randomly asks to know about it (always a possibility)

i’ll return with art within a fortnight

[ambivartence]

nope i only sent one anon and it had the fox emoji!! but tbh seeing you get an anon reminded me i havent sent you one in a long time! ive been good, just working, struggling with burnout at the moment so im just going to relax this weekend, maybe watch some greys anatomy !! im glad to hear you are doing okay <3 - 🦊

ah that sounds like great weekend plans <3 i've also been busy at work lately so i can't wait to relax more this weekend :') whatever time i dont spend drawing this weekend will probably be in front of my tv as well hehe