#which means a bit of free time to rest and create something for myself

[fisheito]

*rings the service bell* hi um i was wondering.. if there's any yakumo temperature play in here? sounds silly but i only realised after i circled the building a few times... that i haven't seen it at all. Seems to be common practice, actually- to not have it. i've visited several other buildings and there's been no sight of it.

which is... strange? if i think about it, it's surprising that i haven't encountered it yet! it sort of makes sense to have them together, you know? considering that temperature is so vital to a snake's perception of the world. and how sensitive reptiles are to temperature fluctuations.

so there's a lot of control to be had here. can you imagine controlling someone's energy level just by adjusting the thermostat? er- well, i guess we already do that. but imagine you put yakumo in an ice bath and he immediately falls asleep. brumation happens instantly now, sorry. and the only way to snap him out of it is to stick a flaming dildo up his ass

what?. no, i mean, restore his regular energy level with a soft warm-up. a heated blanket and a gentle steam. hahaha.

people plunge themselves into ice water before jumping into hot tubs and vice versa- for fun! they do this recreationally!! they call it a "spa treatment" and pay a premium for it! what's wrong with giving yakumo a spa treatment? who are we to deprive him of such sensory luxury?

i'm JUST SAYING that since he naturally gravitates toward heat, you could put him in a hurt AND comfort scenario he could be naked and cold, banished to the distant corner of the room.. but when you offer him a source of warmth, whether that be a hot rock or a warm hand or 20 lit candles suspended above him dripping wax on him at random intervals,,, wouldn't he have a tough time turning down your generosity?

i mean, he certainly would if he was tied up.

see, here's the other thing i cannot quite comprehend-- it's that--- how has a snake yokai not featured bondage scenes yet? i guess there was that one time with the.. hm. no, we shan't talk about the cellar. besides, ONLY ONE TIME is unacceptable for a sentient rope!! although yakumo would love to wrap up his prey and squeeze the cum out of em, i feel like we're missing out on a lot by not OutSnaking the Snake. tie up and restrain the Restrainer. it's just a liiiiittle step farther than putting him in a pillowcase! so mild!!!!

here's a guy who is always worried about losing control/// about being free to wreak havoc on his loved ones, despite his best intentions. so how about we give him a moment of peace? a moment where he believes he's subdued and unable to cause harm? just tie him up! keep him under TIGHT lock and key. (or some nice soft cloths for his sensitive skin, if we're being nice.) honestly, his brain will do the rest of the work. even if he's not truly incapacitated, his desire to BE So can fill the gaps in any questionable knotwork.

while he's half in the prison of his mind and half in the confines you've created for him, take some time to squeeze some whimpers out of him. although it pains me to cover up those soggy eyes, a blindfold may be an intriguing option. is yakumo the type of snake to rely on heat vision? WHY NOT FIND OUT! (if he's not terrified at his loss of sight, then i guess his pit organs are functioning . in which case, the blindfold doesn't really need to stay on. if he IS terrified and feels the loss of visuals acutely, this would be an excellent opportunity to soak in his panic. just for a bit though. we're not so cruel. guide him back with a warm touch. see? playing with fire temperature contrasts can bring such relief!)

maybe i'm getting ahead of myself. i don't expect yakumo temperature play to show up WITH bondage , why- that would be asking a lot, right?

but the basics are simple enough, yes? give the wretched creature the comforting warmth he wants, then perhaps inch closer to something bordering uncomfortable? Too Much? have him seek out what he craves, only to be burned (metaphorically and/or literally) if he indulges himself too much? oops! someone's become a slave to their senses!

i'm just saying that the sensory perception of yokai vs kink is (relatively) unknown territory. if temperature play already messes with humans, what could it possibly do to yakumo? he could experience it in facets unknown to others.-=- to levels others are incapable of appreciating---- like someone with synesthesia who can experience music with another layer of enjoyment.

if you give a snake ice cream, followed by a hot piece of meat [unknown origin], it'll really make him aware of the contrast, hmm??????

anyway. sorry about that. i'm not super clear on the specifics of it all. i just thought it peculiar that i haven't seen the yaku-hot-cold-sensitivity-finagling. out there, in here, nowhere as far as i've seen..

...or is it located in a part of the building i overlooked? if so, could you direct me there? i would really appreciate it.

if you don't have it after all, that's ok. i'll keep a careful watch now that i know what i'm looking for. maybe it's one of those things where, once i actively search for it, i'll notice it everywhere! wouldn't that be delightful!

with that, i guess i'll be on my way. thanks for your patience. yeah, i hope i find it too. have a good one!!

[bratniadusza]

snake time snake time snake time-

[chelseachilly]

your love is tried and true blue

pairing: ben chilwell x reader warnings: none word count: 1.1k

this is just a little something i wrote to distract myself from the result yesterday after seeing @carlottawllms request a concept about comforting ben after the loss 🥺 not proofread so sorry for any mistakes!

-

You feel completely shattered when the final whistle blows, Liverpool emerging victorious with the deciding goal in extra time.

Chelsea fought long and hard, but the missed chances kept piling up and they just couldn’t put one in the back of the net. It was devastating to watch as a fan, so you can only imagine how your boyfriend is feeling right now after playing his heart out over 120 minutes with nothing to show for it. 

Knowing Ben, he’ll spend the rest of the night - and a while afterward - kicking himself for not somehow getting the win, which means it’s your job to get him through it. It’s going to be a hard night, you can’t change that, but you can be there for him. 

As you’re still sitting in the hospitality box chatting with his mum and sister, who you came with today, you get a text from Ben.

Ben ❤️ Don’t wait for me, Poch is having a chat with us and I still have to shower and change. I know I told mum we’d do dinner after, but I’m not really feeling up to it, can you tell her we’ll reschedule please?

Y/N Of course. I’ll see you at home. Love you 🤍

Ben ❤️ Thanks babe. Love you too 

Your heart breaks for him, and you really wish he could just blow everything off and come home with you right now rather than face an undoubtably solemn team bus ride back to Cobham. 

“Ben just texted, he said he’ll be a while so we shouldn’t wait,” you tell his family. “I don’t think he’s up for going out to eat, sorry Sally. He’s probably knackered.”

“Of course, dear, I’m sure he just wants to be home with you at the moment,” Sally says, squeezing your hand briefly. “It’ll be a tough one for him to take.”

You nod and sigh, thanking Sally for her understanding before giving her and Alex a hug goodbye and beginning to make your way home. 

The second you arrive at the house you’ve shared with Ben for the past year or so, you set out to create the coziest and most stress-free environment possible. You tidy up a bit and order from his favourite takeaway spot, knowing he’ll be hungry when he gets home but that he won’t want to eat anything unless you force him. 

An hour or so after you got there, you hear the sound of the front door opening again. You set down your phone and make your way to the foyer, the sight awaiting you making your heart splinter even more.

Ben looks completely drained of all energy, kicking off his shoes and dropping his bag to the floor. When he sees you, his shoulders slump, the defeat reflected in his sad eyes.

“Hi, baby,” you say softly, taking a step toward him but waiting for him to come to you. 

You don’t bother asking him if he’s okay or what he needs - you already know the answer to both. You know him like the back of your hand, and in times like these, you know that he’ll talk about it when he’s ready. 

For now, he just walks over to you, the long and gruelling game obvious in his slow and slightly laboured movements. He pulls you into his arms, his fists clenching around the fabric of the hoodie you’re wearing.

You hold him just as tightly, lightly scratching his back and whispering words of comfort to him. 

“Thank you for coming,” he murmurs before he pulls back, his slightly red-rimmed eyes making your own begin to water. 

“Of course,” you say quietly, cupping his face with one hand. “You were great, Ben. I know you don’t want to hear it right now, but I’m so proud of you. You captained Chelsea at Wembley. That’s something you only could’ve dreamt of as a kid, and you did it. You led your team to a cup final, and you never gave up.”

“I could’ve done more,” he sighs. “If I stayed on to the end, maybe I could have-"

“Ben, you played your heart out for two hours. Not to mention the fact that you’re still bouncing back from injury and, unlike most of the players out there today, you aren’t nineteen anymore,” you remind him gently. “You staying on probably wouldn’t have changed the result, and you could’ve gotten hurt again. It was the right call.”

He knows that you’re right, but that’s not going to stop him from trying to replay that deciding goal for Liverpool in his head over and over, wondering if he could’ve prevented it. 

“Come on, let’s go lay down until dinner gets here,” you tell him, tugging at his hand. “I ordered from Positano.”’

“Thanks, babe,” Ben says, pressing a kiss to your forehead before following you into the living room. 

You sit down on the couch, opening your arms for Ben to crawl into. He obliges, wincing a bit as he plops down next to you and props his legs up, tangling them with yours. 

“Want me to get you some ice or something?” you offer as he relaxes into you. “I know it was a rough one.”

“Maybe later, it’s not too bad,” he shrugs, though the action causes him obvious discomfort and you begin to massage his shoulders to ease it. “Wish that kid hadn’t tackled me like an American football player though.”

“I wish you played American football, then maybe I would get to meet Taylor Swift,” you joke, successfully making Ben laugh for the first time all day. 

You continue to joke around until he seems a bit lighter than when he first came through the door. After your dinner arrives and you’ve both eaten enough pasta to put you in a food coma, you suggest you both shut off your phones for the night and watch one of his favourite movies. 

It won’t change what happened today, and you know the disappointment of this loss will linger in him for some time, but you’re going to be there to support him. 

Win or lose, in good times and bad, Ben Chilwell is the most driven and persevering person you know, which means he’ll bounce back soon. Until then, you’ll be there to hold his hand and help him remember there’s more to life than football. 

“Love you,” Ben mumbles into the crook of your neck as he’s starting to fall asleep, about halfway through the movie, and you just smile and kiss his messy hair. 

“Love you too, Ben.”

[apathycares]

could you write about Sukuna being bored after he conquered the world again and taking itadori’s girlfriend as his wife cause he always ,,noticed her’’. You know like he kind of liked her when she was with Yuuji and he wanted to experience the same love and warm she gave to Yuuji?

Hola anon, thank you for the request! I sort of explored this concept (sans Yuuji and a little bit more dark) in my multi-chaptered monster I created here, so feel free to tune in if you're interested! Here's a little something for your request though -

※ Warnings: suggestive violence against people and children, Sukuna in general

※ Characters: Sukuna x reader, implied Itadori x reader, Gojo Satoru

Sukuna lives for his pleasure and displeasure alone. Defeat would mean death for him, which is why he was able to conquer his adversaries and ascend to the highest position in the world. No matter how much those sorry excuse for sorcerers were willing to die fighting him, they were not ready to die, leading to their defeat.

Japan had not only reverted to the freedom of the Heian Era, but devolved to an anarchist society upon the curse's reign. The rest of the world dubbed Japan a dead country, and refused to partake in any of its affairs. Despite this, they were very much aware of Sukuna's power and wanted nothing to do with it.

They simply lived on his whims alone.

Sukuna had not only conquered and reigned supreme, but he had taken everything that he wanted - he had kept Gojo Satoru alive as a pet, his eyes gouged out and kept in a case among his war spoils. All other sorcerers were killed and returned as cursed spirits, some held in captivity for entertainment and others loose in the world. And his wife?

She was the cherry on top of his possessions.

Not that she was happy about it.

The door to Sukuna's chambers creaked open, allowing a stream of light into the dark yet lavish space. You barely moved from your sprawled form on the massive bed, eyes dull and faraway as the sound of the door closing punctured the quiet of his room and duly reminded you that you were still alive. The inaudible yet heavy footsteps of your captor echoed off of the high walls, in a beat that you could pick out from anyone else’s, as he undoubtedly made his way to you as he always does when he needed to –

“You seem lively.” Sukuna said sarcastically, staring down at your unmoving body before he poked your side. “I’ve been informed of your refusal to eat – are you going to make me go through this again?”

“I’m not hungry.”

Sukuna tilted his head as he watched the minute rise and fall of your back, counting your breaths for a minute before he was satisfied. You were steadily regaining your health back after your last 'emotional lashing'. He had to endure several attempts at you harming yourself in the beginning of your union, up until he could finally enjoy the fruits of his labor and keep you by his side at all times. Sukuna only kept you in his chambers when he needed to take care of some business alone, which was rare.

Taking a moment to run his eyes around the room, he noted the bath water needed to be replaced after your use, and the room needed to be aired out so you would flourish a bit more. He asked if you would like to get some Sun and fresh air with him, sighing a bit when you said no.

“I’m not going to kill myself, Sukuna.” You spoke up suddenly after he sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling his attention back to you when you finally lifted your face off the mattress and cast your gaze at him for the first time in weeks. “My goal is to be just shy of that so you’d get bored of me and let me go back to Yuuji.”

“Impossible.” He shot down, pushing your leg to make room for himself so he could lie down, placing his head on your back and smiling at the ceiling when you made a noise of protest. “Whatever happens, there’s one absolute truth that has remained so since I first saw you – I’ll never abandon you.” Sukuna rolled over on his side to face you, never really able to stop himself. “Moreover, where would you go? All your little friends are either dead or curses.” He laughed a little as he said, completely ignoring the brat's name. “You wouldn’t want me following you into the foreign lands, would you?”

No matter how broken you were, you would never tempt yourself to lead Sukuna into the curse-less, populous world outside of Japan after causing this whole mess in the first place. No matter how much you believed that he kept you as a trophy after you survived Kenjaku’s ritual, morphing into a vessel for his ‘lesser’ emotions when the thrill of killing and fighting wasn’t doing it for him anymore, you wouldn’t doubt that he’d take your escape as a challenge to hunt you down, endangering anybody in his path to get you back by his side, as prideful as you've come to recognize him to be.

He had truly won, and there wasn't anything left to conquer.

Sukuna would hold death tournaments when he returned from his travels around his kingdom, sometimes jumping in when he got too bored or too excited, eviscerating the competition.

On monotonous days, he'd have you around as a spectator, dragging your detached form to his death matches and travels around Japan, laughing in pure ecstasy when you'd betray a small reaction at the carnage he'd hosted.

That's when he realized once again that it was you - you would always quell his boredom and restlessly cultivate his fire for pleasure when he needed you to.

So he kept you closer. You barely ever had a moment to yourself. He'd put you in exquisite kimonos and kosodes and hair ornaments, dressing you up like a doll ready to be shown off at all times. If anyone visited him, they knew to bring along gifts exclusively for you, and if he wasn't pleased with your reaction, he would use the visitor to pull one out of you.

Eventually, you got used to his antics, causing Sukuna to quickly grow bored once again, and so he decided to pull out his best -

"You wound me, wife." Sukuna drawled, clawed fingers reaching down and tracing your spine beneath your kimono as you sat at the foot of his throne. Your empty stare ahead did little to deter him, as he'd gotten used to your acts of rebellion pretty quickly. His fingers trailed down until he turned you by the jaw, leaning down to smile lovingly at you. "What will it take for you to smile for me again?"

Roll over and let me stab you in the ass until you die, you thought, but kept your mouth shut. Time and time again he'd ask you how he could melt the ice from your stare, or show some affection towards him when he was in the mood, and you'd respond with something along those lines hoping to hurt his ego, but all it did was make him laugh and derive pleasure all the same. You've come to find out that what hurt Sukuna the most was your non-reaction, and although it was hard to steal your heart, that's what you would give him until the end of your days.

"Hm, seems like you need a little inspiration."

You perked up a little as he descended from his throne and disappeared from the room, curious to see what he'd come up with next. Was it another death match? Maybe a few more children to skewer and roast in front of you?

Despite teleporting out, he'd chosen to return through the door.

Your heart froze over and dropped straight to your stomach.

"Surprise!" Sukuna tugged the chains in his hands and pushed forward his captives to kneel in front of you, reveling in the hot tears that fell freely from your widened eyes.

A disheveled Gojo stared up at you with empty sockets for eyes, bruises littered on whatever bit of skin that was exposed, and a hefty collar around his neck. His cracked lips parted in a silent plea to free him, before he was shoved out of the way and landed on the ground, the crack of his bones echoing in the large throne room, by a cursed spirit. No matter how deformed and disgusting this cursed spirit looked, you instinctually knew who it used to be.

"Yuuji?" You sobbed, placing your hands on your mouth.

"Die." It said in a cracked voice, reaching out to claw you just as Sukuna reeled him back towards himself. "Die. Die. Die."

"You're correct!" Sukuna dropped to a knee in front of you, holding the cursed spirit of your dead boyfriend back without a sweat as he smirked at you, completely unbothered by Gojo who had obediently sat up again like a robot. "Now, do you want to see them fight to the death, or will you give me a little smile?" He cooed at you, rolling his wrist to better hold on to Yuuji.

With eyes drowning in tears and a chest heaving up and down with a building panic attack, you cracked the most devastatingly broken smile he had seen in his entire existence.

"Beautiful." He mused, his heart fluttering for a moment in nostalgia before he reigned it in again and shot you a wide grin.

Sukuna released them to fight anyways.

I just realized I completely went left from the request. I'm sorry anon LOL might do another part to depict why he chose her and do the fluff bit (as close to fluff as we can get from this man).

[steviewashere]

Mirrors to the Soul

Rating: General CW: Past Parental Death, Grief/Mourning, Sick Parent, Stroke, Brief Homophobic Slur (Almost Forgot to Tag) Tags: Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Soft Eddie Munson, Soft Steve Harrington, Love Confessions, Cuddling & Snuggling, Reflections, Steve Harrington Takes Care of Eddie Munson, Dialogue Heavy

Two fics in one day? Why, yes, I am insane.

🫂—————🫂 The air was chilling tonight. Sweeping by and prickling on Eddie’s cheek. Sky was clear. Except for the stars. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen this many, not all at once, not during a time like this. His lungs burn gently, the crackling of his cigarette a lull within the buzz of nocturnal mosquitos.

There’s nothing to do. Nowhere to be. The trailer’s roof is cold against his back. And his mind is wandering. To everything he could imagine. Dustin’s recent try at a Hellfire campaign, Mike’s new guitar hobby and how he’s actually good, Lucas’s attempt at passing Eddie the ball (only for the ball to not be caught and instead hit him square in the chest), Robin’s date with Vickie, and Steve’s snores after a long Family Video shift. Life’s actually decent. It’s warm in the community he’s created. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Even if it means losing his mom over and over and over again. The pain that was left. Her last goodbye. Which wasn’t really an exchange of words, but her eyes. Oh, her eyes.

Somebody is clambering up the side of the trailer. Thunking and hefting and panting slightly. And then, the top of Steve’s head is popping up. His hair askew, face slack, mouth glistening a bit with drool. “What’re you up here for?” Steve asks him sleepily.

“Thinking,” he answers softly. Opens up his non-smoking arm and gestures for Steve to come on over. Relishing in the way Steve’s head rests on his shoulder when he gets himself settled, the ability to tighten an arm over his broad shoulders, and the heat that radiates from him. “What’re you up here for?”

“Woke up,” Steve mumbles, “you weren’t there. Got worried.”

Eddie hums. “Sorry,” he whispers, “just got caught up in my thoughts. I’ll come back—“

“What’re you thinking about? Y’know, if you’re okay sharing.” Steve nuzzles his cheek into Eddie’s bony shoulder. His lips dragging over the threadbare t-shirt underneath them. The heat and plush quality of them felt.

“Not an exact thing, really,” Eddie answers honestly. “Just sorta…I dunno. Let myself be proud of Mike and Dustin. Remembered the pain of that basketball Lucas tossed at me. Got excited about the juicy details I’ll get from Robin later. Was thinking of how nice it is to hear you sound asleep after a long, grueling day.” He cups his hand over Steve’s right shoulder. Pressing it into his shirt, dragging it down to his bicep, and back up to his neck. Lays his palm flat against the exposed skin there. Frowning, though Steve can’t see him, at the temperature. “Mm, you’re warm. You feeling okay?”

Steve nods sluggishly. “Yeah,” he murmurs, “just…y’know me. Space heater.”

Gently, Eddie tucks his head down to land a quick kiss to Steve’s forehead. Feeling how Steve scrunches his eyebrows, then raises them in contentment. He reaches out his left hand blearily to the extra space on the roof, puts out his cigarette, and then wraps his now free hand on the middle of Steve’s back. Pulls him in a little closer and looks back up at the spatter of stars.

“Wayne…Wayne asked me if you’ve talked about your mom at all,” Steve says slowly. An edge of confusion to his words. “Told him no. He thought that it was weird. Is—Should you be talking about your mom or something?”

Tracing a finger down the ridges of Steve’s spine, Eddie makes a non-committal grunt. “I mean…I don’t have to,” he states quietly, “it’s just. It’s the anniversary I came home to Wayne. Her funeral.”

“Oh,” Steve breathes. “Oh. I—I’m sorry, Eds. I shouldn’t have—I didn’t—“

“Shh, sweetheart,” he coos. Runs his palms soothingly up and down Steve’s torso until he goes lax against his shoulder again. “I know you didn’t know, it’s okay. I was already thinking about her anyway.”

Steve goes extremely quiet for several minutes. Enough for the mosquitos to take that as invitation, to buzz and hum louder. For the neighborhood stray dog to start digging at the chainlink fence. The neighbors a few trailers down to start up another argument. He eventually sighs, though. Lays his palm over Eddie’s belly and strokes his thumb in counter-clockwise circles. “What were you,” he asks hesitantly, “what were you up here thinking about?”

Eddie takes a hesitant gulp. Hopes Steve doesn’t hear it. Or the shutter of his next inhale. The sudden lurch in his chest. “Oh…I thought about her eyes.”

“Her…Her eyes?”

Instinctively, Eddie squeezes them closer together. As if Steve’s his childhood teddy bear. “Yeah,” he breathes, “her eyes.” His throat clicks with his next swallow. And briefly, he wishes he didn’t have to keep explaining himself. Or the nature of his parents. But he was already thinking about her. God, he was thinking about her. “Have you ever—you probably haven’t—but you ever see somebody say goodbye without using their words?”

“Sure,” Steve says quietly, “Honestly, Billy had this look to him before he…I couldn’t care at the time. But I—That look haunts me. Defeat, I think. It was the towel being thrown in, y’know?”

Eddie nods. “Yeah, it’s like defeat. It’s…I think it’s one of the worst ways somebody can look at a person. I think somebody who looks like that knows, too.

“It’s weird. She was sick on and off for years. Just had a slew of health issues. Blood pressure and strokes and things like that. So, her…Watching her go shouldn’t have been a surprise. I’d been expecting it for a long time. Like so long, in fact, that I always had this motto about her: “She’s going to go, so you need to be ready.” That’s what I used to tell myself.”

“Eddie,” Steve mumbles, “that’s—“

“Awful?” He questions softly. “I know. But when someone enters your life and you build your whole world around them and then they just—

“She didn’t care, is the thing. Didn’t care for herself. Didn’t try. Didn’t want to most days. It was always this—this thing with her. I’d help her sort out her pills, I’d be the one to put her to bed on her worst days, I was always there to hold her hair back or to wipe her skin or to just make sure she laughed. But…Some days it just felt like she didn’t put in the effort,” he explains fiercely, yet quietly. For a moment, he takes a deep, strangling breath. Letting it go just as he presses firmly on Steve’s shoulders, as he lays his cheek on Steve’s freshly cleaned hair, and recalibrates.

Steve’s hand lays itself heavily on his chest. Thumb working overtime. “Take your time,” he murmurs, “I’m listening.”

Eddie nods because he’s still finding his words. Swallowing down the bad ones. Receding the anger that overtakes him a lot of the time when she’s the subject. Hates that it’s his first reaction. Loves it because for the first few months after her, he felt nothing.

He continues, “On her last day, I wasn’t even with her. I’d been at school. And then I went to a friend’s house to play some card games and hang out. I had—I remember calling her at the school, using the payphone. Putting in the last of my lunch money so I could just ask for her permission.

“I also remember not saying bye. Or saying how much I love her. Or that I love her, matter of fact. Just rushed out the question, hung up when she said yes. Followed my friend to the bus. Didn’t go home for several hours.” He’s always wondered if he’d gone home immediately, if she would’ve held out longer. If she would’ve been the one to unlock the door and usher him inside. If she would’ve had a tv show on and her wheelchair parked in front of it, if he would’ve been on the couch eating a stupid mayo and turkey sandwich, if they would’ve laughed themselves silly.

If she would’ve kissed his head later that night. And they would say their ‘I love you’s and she would’ve not—

“I came home and she was having a stroke,” Eddie confesses quietly. The words like plucking glass from a deep wound. And that’s sort of what it is, he supposes. Her loss like a still healing scar on his heart. Steve pats his chest like he knows. Maybe he does, Eddie wonders, maybe he always knew. “Dad wanted me to help her into her chair. But I—You’ve seen me, Steve. I’m scrawny. Like I’m not…I’m not like you. I don’t have all that bulk, the muscle to lift much. Like I can lift amps, those are only twenty pounds or so if they’re bigger, but she’s a whole person. I wasn’t going to be able to. But I tried.

“I tried, is the thing. Really, I did.”

Steve kisses his shoulder. “I believe you, Eds,” he whispers, easy as that.

Eddie closes his eyes briefly. The tears don’t want to rescind this time, but he’s caught up in his own words, unable to make them stop. “I tried,” he says again. “I was standing in front of her. And her arms…She kept pointing at things, but I didn’t understand and I—I could only look at her. Couldn’t really breathe. I couldn’t get my words out correctly. So I just stared.

“And she…She looked back, Steve. My mama looked back at me.

“Those thirty seconds that we—“ He swallows heavily, choking back on the steady stream of tears making their sure way down his face. Lets himself breathe. Breathe. “—Those thirty seconds held everything. All the words we couldn’t say. I saw them manifest in her gaze. All those apologies for bad arguments we’d have. The soft okays we’d exchange when I needed to help her. Even the stupid inside joke she had about how Karen Carpenter was my childhood celebrity crush.” Despite himself, he smiles. Washes in Steve’s little snort. Because it’s true, he did have a crush on Karen Carpenter—how his mom just knew, Eddie’ll never know. “All this to say, she told me that she loved me. She gave me the same eyes she did when I’d have night terrors. When I’d cry about how scary the dark was. When I’d come home all swollen and beaten up, thinking dirty about how much of a fag I was; when she had held me and told me it was okay, as long as I was still her little Teddie Bear.

“Oh, I was,” Eddie shakily breathes out. “I was everything to her, I think. Because she was my everything. Stevie, my mama was my whole world. And I—I could only stare at her when she needed my help the most. I wonder, y’know, if she was okay with me gaping and shaking and afraid in that moment.

“I wonder if she looked at me and instead of seeing her freshly teenaged son, she saw her newborn baby boy between her arms. With big scared eyes. And tears on his face. I wonder if she…I wonder if she wanted to reach up with her limp arms and caress my cheeks and coo.” He sniffs. Swallows down his snot, disgusting as it is compared to all of this. And sighs. Says softly, “There was this one night where she had a really bad, explosive argument with my dad. I must’a been four or five? Woke up in the middle of the night to them screaming, kind of drifting, half-awake. And she. My mama opened my bedroom door and pulled back my blanket and crawled in with me. Lay right by my side, held my hands, was crying all soft and quiet.

“I asked her if she was okay. She told me she was fine. I asked her if she was mad at Daddy. She said yes. I asked her if she wanted to cuddle. And she just held me in her arms and I held her back. And when she pulled away, though her hands were still on my back, she looked at me and said: “I love you.” Because I was a curious little shit, I could only ask, “Forever and ever?” She nodded anyway. Answered, “Forever and ever until time runs out.””

Eddie splays his palm between Steve’s shoulder blades. A mirror to his mom’s right hand on his own back. Kisses him again because he’s there and tangible and alive and warm. Whispers, “I wonder if she looked at me in our final moments together and realized time was running out, y’know? If she…if she wanted to promise forever anyway. I would’a let her, is the thing. Because there’s no way that her and I aren’t infinite.”

Slowly, Steve sits up. Leans down on his left elbow, hovering over Eddie. He carefully swipes his free hand down the side of Eddie’s face. Wiping away at the tears, caressing his skin, gazing softly down at him. “Y’know what I think?”

“Hm?”

Another soft pet to the side of his face, this time Steve’s knuckles grazing his skin. “I think,” Steve whispers, “I think you two are. I think…That time doesn’t stop moving. And with the way you talk about her, it’s clear the love lives on.”

Eddie closes his eyes. Drenching in the thought. The sincere truth behind it.

He won’t tell Steve this, but there was a part of him that was ready to welcome his mama into his body. That it was for safety, protection, a sanctuary. In their final moment together, he had wanted to climb back inside his mother’s body or to open his own and fit her around his heart. That he imagined his body like a tomb—and her sanctuary, the womb. That they were one in the same. In that final moment, they were the same.

“At her funeral,” he murmurs, “we had an open casket.” He opens his eyes, searching Steve’s face for uncertainty.

“You can tell me, Eds,” Steve responds, coaxing. “I’m listening, baby.”

Eddie softly nods. Leans into the warmth of Steve’s palm still on his face. Breathes out. Breathes in. “I didn’t want to look,” he confesses quietly. “Part of me was afraid. But…I think most of me just didn’t want to accept her as gone. So I—Wayne had crouched down in front of me, we were in the closest pew inside this crazy echoing church, and he placed his hands on my knobby knees. His hands were heavy and his face was tired. He still had most of his hair, but he looked older, like he does now.

“But he told me that they were going to close the casket if I wanted to say goodbye. I just shook my head. I couldn’t bear the thought. That the last time I saw her, I couldn’t speak. And I didn’t want our last time to be this…this moment where she wouldn’t listen.

“So, when I think of her now, I think of her eyes. Of every single thing we’d ever done. How she held me. How we danced. Our music. The peals of laughter across the living room. Every argument. All the hugs in which we cried and we were sorry and how warm she was. She was always so warm.

“You wanna know something funny, sweetheart?” He asks with levity.

Steve peers softly at him. Holding him. Smiling that little gentle thing he does. “What is it?” He murmurs.

“She used to tell me that she was okay when I asked about how warm she was. Said that, “Oh, y’know. I’m a space heater, Teddie.” And I just think…I think—Sometimes I look and listen to you and I imagine her, just this essence she had. This…

“Her love. Because she loved everything, anything that she could. Held onto things. Caressed them. Kissed ‘em. And if I ever needed assurance that love is forever, I look onto you and I see her and…And I dunno. You reach me in ways only blood knows how, and I know that with you, my world is complete.” He sniffs. Breathes this giddy chuckle of a thing. Steve’s full attention is on him, a little heartbroken, but a lot sincere. “All this to say that I…I didn’t really talk about her today because—Love takes new shape when you need it again. I listened to you snore for a bit earlier before I came out here and I knew I was going to be okay.

“That we were going to be okay. Everybody’s alive. And even if my mom isn’t, her love is. She’s in everything.” He reaches up his right hand from where it fell away from Steve’s shoulders, instead cupping his face. Thumb tracing over his cheekbone, over a raised white scar from a previous fight. Fingers skating down to his neck, the exposed circle from the demobat tail and the vines. Up and around to his back again where he’s got scars like angel wings. Lifts his head and leans up, the lightest press of his lips on Steve’s. Between them, he breathes, “I love you.”

“Jesus,” Steve chokes out wetly, “I love you, too.”

Eddie hums pleased. “I just needed to say it. I never want to forget again. You make me remember. You make me selfless, Steve. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

🫂—————🫂 Oops, thought about my mom today.

[driftward]

Log entries 15-38

Log Entry 15

Her essence ebbs when nobody is present.

I first noticed on day three, when everyone left. From what I could understand, they did not intend to be gone long. Just wanted to give the Madam Commander a chance to rest, and also to discuss important matters. I thought about going with them. Would that have been spying?

It is so weird, being present not present. I am used to not experiencing the world as they do. I am not used to not being a part of it altogether.

Maybe I could go spying. I wonder what the Chirurgeon does when nobody is watching.

The Madam Archon was the first to notice. The rest were quick to figure out what was wrong. I had a solution, but I could not share it.

Resonance.

It is a simple matter of resonance.

She just needs another source of living aether nearby to remind her soul what it is to be alive.

Fortunately their is now a rotation. She is never left alone. And now her essence is slowly building. A few more days, perhaps she will be self sustaining once more.

I hope.

Log Entry 20

Madam Commander spoke for the first time today. There was a discussion in the room. The one she thinks of as a child was the one speaking. Which is weird. I do not know why she thinks he is so young. His soul is clearly fully quickened and mature. Still though. He said a swear word.

She did not wake up, but she did mumble “language.”

The others found this very funny. I found it funny how mad he got. And then he swore a whole lot more.

Log Entry 23

The Madam Commander woke up for the first time today.

Log Entry 24

The Madam Commander is non-verbal. She seems aware of her surroundings, though. I do not feel any distress from her. She seems comfortable. She reaches out to touch others a fair bit. Unusual for her. Some Field Scholars like to be hands on, others maintain a distance. She was the sort to be hands on with a patient, but otherwise she always kept a distance.

I wonder if this means something.

She feels content, though. Especially when certain people are around. I think she favors the Madam Archon, the Leftenant, and the Adept. A twinge of concern for the Crystalficer and the Assistant. Very mixed feelings, swirling, regarding the Chirurgeon and her Commander.

She sleeps a lot.

The other fairies still cannot see me. I thought the Madam Archon might be able to. She can not.

I have taken to inspecting the soul armature. I can feel the lesser part of myself inside of its soulwell. It is the same as me, it is different. I can see the Madam Archon’s mark upon its essence. It is not strong enough to awaken once more just yet, but maybe when it does, I can try talking with it.

There is so much to discuss.

Log Entry 29

I am a fairy construct. I was created by the Madam Commander and the Madam Archon to be an able familiar, to provide able tactical advantage, to perform field assessment, to be a ready medical assistant. The Azure is my natural home, the rivers my natural fields, aether the light of my reality.

Which makes it all the more frustrating that somehow the Amalgam -and- one of those Auri people keep being able to enter and leave the room without me noticing!

I think the Amalgam can even see me, but I cannot seem to interact with them. They just stare.

This is a severe shortcoming in my capabilities, and I will be talking to the Madam Commander about it.

Oh, on that note, she is talking now. Not to me though. She does not know I am here.

Frustrating.

Log Entry 35

I love them. I love them all. They are her friends, her comrades, and I feel as close to them as I do to my fellow fairy constructs. They keep her close, they keep close to one another. They are warm, their essences full, their energies flowing so free. Seas, each of them, flowing around her, sharing with her, keeping her close, reminding her of who and what she is, and now.

The Madam Commander is finally fully lucid. And it is thanks… to them.

Log Entry 38

The Madam Commander is mobile these days. She still needs assistance. I want to help. I do not know what veil keeps us separated.

I try to touch her sometimes. Sometimes I try our link, and I get brief glimpses of what it is like to be her. It is very confusing. She sees everything weirdly. And she is so tall!

We have fallen into a routine, now. One of her comrades helps her walk a certain distance. Someone is there to tend to her meals. Her sleep to wake ratio is growing closer to what I would consider normal. I have nothing to do, so I try to investigate what it is that keeps us separated, or why I cannot interact with anything, or try to talk to her, or try to talk to anyone, or inspect her essence, or inspect the essence of her friends.

Her essence. It is still so concerningly low. Fortunate whatever malaise is affecting her is not affecting me. I am fine. Great, even. Rich and full of aether.

Which is stupid. I do not need so much.

Madam Archon is concerned about it as well. She speaks with the Chirurgeon about it often. The Leftenant is often there. She listens.

I hope they figure it out.

-*-

Klynt’s rough, calloused hand ran gently across Zoissette’s, a thumb caressing her palm, fingers rubbing gently against the back of Zoissette’s hand.

“How’re you feelin’?” she asked, a gentle rumble in the quiet of her deep voice.

Zoissette just stared at her hand a bit. Klynt waited. She had long ago learned to be patient with Zoissette. Zoissette could be an awkward swan of a woman. Strong, elegant, powerful. But also weirdly delicate in some ways.

“Fragile,” said Zoissette at long last. Her voice had a slight croak to it. Mathye had said it was from disuse. Apparently, there had not been much need for conversation out in the space between worlds. “I get tired so fast.”

Klynt just shook her head a little. “There’s no need for you to do anythin’ ‘cept rest,” she said.

“I know,” said Zoissette.

They were quiet again.

“I am so, so sorry.” said Zoissette.

Her voice was so, so quiet. And Klynt instinctively responded in kind, even as she let go of Zoissette’s hand to wrap the woman in a hug.

“Don’t be,” said Klynt. “You did a dumb thing, we got you back, and you’re alright.”

Zoissette shuddered in her arms.

“I hope Lavender is okay,” she said, hoarsely. “I can still feel her, but…”

“We got you back,” said Klynt. “We’ll figure her out too, if we have to. But right now, you have to rest.”

Zoissette just nodded into Klynt’s shoulder, wetting her with tears. Klynt pretended not to notice, and just held Zoissette for a time.

-*-

I like the Leftenant. I think they are good for each other.

[drinkyourvillainjuice]

Hopefully you haven't answered this before (if you have I apologize).

See, I've been following your blog for months now, because the concept of this IF is fascinating. Yet, I have not read any of the most recent updates. Not due to me having any complain about your writing of any thing of that sort. But there is something (which is totally a me problem) that has made me stop reading. And I suppose I prefer to ask so I can finally allow myself to continue reading and playing this IF, rather than just keep myself in the dark for no reason.

When I was creating my character, I was going for a himbo (in the past, at least, I don't see much of a chance to be one in the present, at least for the earliest parts I remember reading). So, as tall and muscular as the game allowed. And dating Grant, although that's irrelevant for this ask.

Then, I'm shocked when Dime sees his current reflection. From a muscular guy to a gaunt one. And that threw me for a loop. Like, I began obsessing over such a body change for a while.

For instance, given how tall my Dime is, that means he probably spent years building muscle mass. So, the tragedy only grows. Not only he has been tortured, and his reflection is unfamiliar, but also years of work are gone.

Well, I've said to myself. I understand this decision. It obviously is meant to be a shock, and it was that indeed. Then, I began to wonder. Why did they let Dime get to this point, if they were planning using him for undercover missions. Wouldn't it make sense to allow him to be in a better physical condition? Or does the juice fix that part? Or...

Well, I began asking myself many questions. But I stopped myself, took a breather and decided to continue. After all, you often get answer in stories if you continue reading. Most of the time. Hopefully.

Then, we get a scene where we can use gym equipment. I don't remember exactly why or how. But I remember a character taking pleasure on looking at my shirtless MC. And now I'm again spiraling. What does that mean? If MC is gaunt, that means he looks like a person with malnutrition, right? Like, enough to be alarming, right? So where is the lust coming from? Is MC delusional, and still muscular? Like, they have body dismorphia thanks to the torture? Or am I exaggerating with my comprehsension of the word gaunt, and you just meant a lot of muscle mass and fat was lost, but Dime was still in shape? So, going from Bodybuilder/Football/Rugby player physique (is what I imagined) to marathon runner (so still defined muscle, but very skinny)? Or instead of marathon runner to a twink?

You probably would say at this point that I'm overthinking this for no reason. But the thing is, after that scene, I have been unable to continue reading. I feel too bad for my Dime, and have to many questions to actually concentrate on what is going on. And then time passed, so now I have to begin again because I don't remember a lot of things (except the scenes from the past, because they still haunt me, good job at that; and the overthinking about Dime's body).

Everything came to a halt when I saw a recent ask about playing a towering muscular Dime who is about to cry at any second. Because, while the ask presented this as an hypothetical, it shot me directly to my thought spiral.

So I've come here to ask: Is Dime having body dismorphia? Or, on the contrary, can Dime recover their previous physique as the story goes on, enough that such an hypothetical is possible to be presented? Or, perchance, is a bit of both?

The only thing I'm certain, as of now, is that I've been overthinking this way too much. And that I have debated myself about asking this for months now, but always decided against it because it seems so unimportant in the big scheme of things. I'm also aware I sound deranged. Yet, I have to know. I want to read the rest of this IF of yours, and I cannot do it if I don't get an answer.

That said, feel free to ignore this if it makes you uncomfortable for any reasons. Also, don't take it as a criticism of your work or as me asking for you to make any change. This is entirely a me issue, that I have rudely loaded onto you. You don't owe me anything.

Sorry for the length as well.

Firstly: don't apologise for the length! It's really flattering when people put such huge amounts of thought into something I wrote!

Secondly: Honestly, you've highlighted a slight oversight. Dime isn't skeletal but depending on height definitely looks underweight. They're kind of wiry though, and even with low guts are stronger than they look: Mal doesn't really mind that they're over-skinny cause Mal just sort of. Admires bodies (and flirts for fun). However, I've made a note for myself to add an option for Dime to react in a way that's more on the lines of "you're mocking me. I look malnourished". It won't be included for a while but it makes sense to me.

Third: Yes, there will be opportunity/ies for Dime to get back to a more healthy weight.

Fourth: Hypothesis views the powers > the physical condition. CG does not agree with this. Either way, Dime spent a considerable time being heavily neglected and certainly didn't get to exercise much. Although their treatment eventually improved, it wasn't enough to reverse the previous damage. (Also, if it wasn't for the Juice, Dime definitely wouldn't be in any kind of shape to do the things they're doing)

[nerves-nebula]

Hello 👋 I love ur TMNT AU 💕 which is saying something because I usually avoid angst like the plegue. Especially with such heavy topics. I usually find that most AUs like this are just angst for the sake of angst with no other purpose except for shock value. But this AU is very well written, thoroughly thought out, and is very realistic in the interpretation of how abuse and violence effects children growing up. Other types of "angst" AUs and fics usually have me unreasonably angry and annoyed with how they practically glamorize abuse. While ur stuff has me feeling sick and disgusted (a positive thing really! Those are the feelings ur supposed to have when reading stuff like this.) because of how absolutely RAW everything is. Abuse is messed up and leaves its mark on u that'll effect u the rest of ur life. It fucks u up mentally, emotionally, socially, as well as physically. It is an ugly part of life that you quite elegantly bring to light with ur wonderful storytelling and art! Wonderful job! 💕

i mean you probably like it because it's not really an angst AU, if i'm honest. The point isn't that everything sucks or that people are in pain, that's just kind of a part of it? i dunno if that makes sense. I really appreciate that you like it, but I'm also kind of weary to put down other AU's.

I get where you're coming from with not really vibing with angst AU's, I don't really get into them much myself. they can seem gratitous nad pointless if you don't find them interesting on their own. But I think they're going for something a bit different than i am.

I think there's value in both creating and seeking out unrelenting trauma and horror and torture and pain in your fiction. Some of them can feel a bit stale or tropey at times but if those are the tropes you like then hey, you're probably have a great time!

I don't get bent outta shape about it cuz at the end of the day, it's just something some people do in their free time for fun and to express themselves. I like expressing myself with lame comedy about dark situations and bitter comics about not being allowed to die, haha. but if some ppl wanna draw gore and suffering then like, more power to them i guess!

THAT BEING SAID, I do genuinely find this flattering, that you like something that deals with dark themes even when you usually don't. it's like, AWWWW!! little old me?? and I don't want you to think I'm lecturing you or anything, I'm just giving a response I think is relevant. you're frustration makes total sense if you keep hoping or expecting one thing and getting another and it's just NOT what you wanted haha.

So yeah, thank you <3

[erzbethluna]

Six Sentences Sunday (except is an art process)

Well, hello there, beautiful creatures! :D thank you so much for the wonderful tags!!! they mean a lot for meeee!! I haven't posted in a bit, doing a master is a bit stressful. But! I'm always lurking around and seeing as much as I can the amazing things you all are creating!! As you might know, I'm right now doing lots of fan work for my amazing and beautiful friends @confused-bi-queer and @hushed-chorus, which stories are very close to my heart <3

This time, I would like to share my art process. It is a contrast between the traditional art, and the digital one. Each process is different with each person. When you want to represent something someone else created, it is important to get as many insights and feedback from them, and know the source material. Previous: The Talk ™ First and foremost, you need to talk with the author. Maybe if you are doing fanart, is not that needed. But when you are doing a collab, it is important to be in the same channel as the author, and have a brainstorming about the ideas, vision or insights they might have. Contrasting ideas, situations, deciding which illustrations are more viable, scheduling the releasing, etc. all those topics are important! Feel free to suggest creative adjustments, might or might not work for the author, but is worth the shot. A creative idea is never a wasted one ;) once you have decided, then is time for: 1. Sketching

The sketching part is very important! You layout your scene for the first time! start deciding where light and dark will be, the color palette, the feeling you want to evoke, and work with the expressions the characters will have. It doesn't need to be perfect to be a good sketch! It needs to evoke the idea! This stage is the same in both traditional and digital, at least for me. I always start on paper :) I show my sketches to the author, and we fangirl together ;) then (after maybe some adjustments, maybe a whole new sketch) they approve the idea! Is time for: 2. Lineart

Lineart is different for traditional and digital, but not really. For traditional, I first decide which kind of medium I will use. This will be crucial for the materials I will procure myself with. This time I went for watercolor with a bit of mixed media, so I needed a paper strong enough for the watercolor to behave. Then, I chose the liners, which are waterproof and light fast. I line with 0.5, 1.0, 4.0 and some edged broader pens meant for calligraphy. In digital, I work with a Wacom bamboo and Photoshop, and I use some hard brushes with pressure sensitiveness activated. You can customize your brushes, or use packs available on the internet. The wonders of digital are that you can make as many mistakes as you want, and you can always go back. I usually paint my lineart in the darkest shade I will use in the whole illustration, but never black. When you are happy with your lineart, then is time for:

3. Colours!!

The fun part! The one I enjoy (and suffer) the most!! Color. I love painting, but both traditional and digital can be as demanding as you wish! In traditional, you have to be more careful with the mediums. Watercolor is such a wonderful and nightmare way of expression, because you can't really control it. You have to be ok not being in that control, understand how it behaves, and work fast. I always end up adding acrylics for color enhancing, lights, and specific details I want to represent. Let your work rest, I can have a finished piece in two hours, or in three days. In digital, unhinge. Unhinge my child, have fun! You can correct, filter, move values and start again as much as you want!! There are so many brushes, so many filters, so many textures, the whole color palette light allows! Have fun! But two important things I always do: make a folder for each character. Don't be me some years ago, when I used to paint everything in a single layer, or not name any of them. Order is important when you want to correct things. Also, I encourage you to limit your color palette, this way the whole illustration makes sense. I always do something I call 'The ambience layer', where I put a layer over the lineart and everything, and I add lights, shadows, textures, etc. not specific of any object but of the whole scene. And I always add filters and color correction and tweak the values here and there. Great! Now you have a: 4. Finished piece

You have finally finished! Make sure you sign your pieces, and you give them digital treatment if you are going to publish them on the internet. Always work with RGB values, and export for web :) always send your advances to your authors, and send the finished piece via e-mail, so it doesn't lose quality. - - - - - - So yeah, this is basically the whole process :D soon I will share a different process with different versions of the art involved. Would you like me to create a guide with export values and formats and all that jazz? I hope you enjoy this! :D Please check the fics these pieces (and many more) were made for: The Rise and Fall of Us and What Remains After the Storm. I tag: @hushed-chorus @confused-bi-queer @kohatenz @artsyunderstudy @moodandmist @mostlymaudlin @palimpsessed @henreyettah @aristocratic-otter @cynopoe @bookish-bogwitch @cutestkilla @wellbelesbian @skeedelvee @cattocavo @krisrix @johnwgrey @asticou @takitalks @ionlydrinkhotwater @dragoneggos @ic3-que3n @castawaypitch @ileadacharmedlife @stitchyqueer @facewithoutheart @fatalfangirl @thehoneyedhufflepuff @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @bazzybelle @basiltonbutliketheherb @nausikaaa

[mysticvixin]

INTRODUCTION.

Greetings. I'm MysticVixin. I'm an artist striving to create something good in this world. If not just a single smile or laugh. Seeing as the digital realm is getting infested with generative parasites, me along with many artists are becoming digital rufugees. That is to say I'm not intending to downplay real rufugees by any means. Considering I come from a place of privledge.

Though I'm willing to explain my point. As an artist, especially in a modern digital world, I'm more or less required to share my art everywhere. There is a pressure to be consistant and to have it on multiple platforms. This is because both possible employers and clients need to see your work to commission or work with you.

Which is to say that with the introduction of artificially generated 'artworks' as well as artificial intelligence training stealing the hard work of millions of artists worldwide, it would be like working a 9-5 position for possibly decades only for a new boss to be step in, take all of your work from since you were hired, attempt to reconstruct your handwriting, math, notes and everything you learned then getting a promotion.

In time, you will then be let go because.. why pay an employee when you can just have something better do it for free after already taking and learning everything that you can do and faster?

So what exactly are you supposed to do in that situation when all the largely well known offices you could 'work' for either proudly or discreetly claim that their employees' work is nothing more than free labor to steal and utilize for their companies?

Obviously you would feel forced to take down all of your hard work to avoid the problem all together even if it may already be too late and seek new offices that don't think your work is unvaluable. Or if they mention they have third party bosses that would like to take your work give you the option to opt out from interacting with them.

Thus.. this is why I am here now. Trying to find a space I can share my work openly instead of having to either give my work up to artificial intelligence training, heavily alter and hide my work with harsh watermarks, or attempting to datapoison my work in hopes it would taint anyone that attempts to take my hard work and use it.

With that said, Greetings. I'm MysticVixin. I'm an artist striving to create a name for myself with hopes of bringing some good into this world. Even if it's as simple as making someone smile or a laugh. I'm also an aspiring vtuber/pngtuber trying to create a small close-knit community and audience for myself casually in hopes of making new connections and learning new things.

I believe this platform is going to get back on its feet with the rest of the digital rufugees possibly finding their place here. I personally decided this one due to how accessible it is in terms of posts as well as browsing. At least it trys to stop me from doom scrolling. Not only that it's on desktop so I don't have to type endlessly on mobile.... Unless I want to.

It also just has that casual sort of feel to it that makes me feel a bit more motivated to post my work more casually. Without the added pressure that other social platforms seem to envoke in me. Either because it's too big and largely populated or just not nearly as accessible. [I promise I'm not a hipster.. I think.]

Other things that intrigue me is how I could keep all of my different mediums separated in multiple blogs. For example my photography can be in one, poetry/writing in another, and even just a personal blog to just hang out and shitpost as a few examples. Then my favorite aspect that I would love to utilize is the anon or user 'ask me' posts where I can possibly build a story through them or just obvously answer random questions!

But enough about stroking Tumblr's ego, currently I'm working on multiple personal projects such as revamping my personal website, recreating stream assets as well as my vtuber sprites, and even a digital social 'game' where you guys call the shots in establishing a florishing collection of creatures! Though I'm still figuring out some details on that front.

Some of my interests besides the obvious include playing games from my childhood that some have been completely forgotten, swimming at the local aquatic center in the summer, walking and listening to music while I pick up random things I find on said walks, shiny things, thinking about humanity and existence, over-thinking said existence, roleplaying, spacing out while animating things in my head, politics to some degree, and pretending my life has meaning.

I've also been exploring more into spirituality and am drawn towards religions of nature. I'm not exactly certain of which I would more likely identify with though paganism and wiccan seem to stick the most. Since I was young I have always been drawn to the moon and the tide. So my practice is likely water based in some manner. Seeing as it flows through all living things. I even remember having a phase as a teenager and making a sort of altar for aesthetics and even lighting candles but not really understanding how best to proceed. Though I did make one spell that I can still recall.

Anyway, enough of my rambling. I can't wait to share some of these things with you guys and see where this journey may take us. Now if you excuse me, I got a logo to recreate and eggs to find. [Hopefully you can help me hatch them!]

[upside-down-sock-drawer]

Dear All Shook Up,

It is 8:36, on Sunday, November 12th, 2023. I just got out of the shower after the closing night of our show.

When I walked into that building for auditions, I was terrified. I mean, would they even want me? Sure, I'd done a production with this director before, but it was just a silly highschool one. Why would they want me?

When I walked into that building for our first dance rehearsal, I was terrified. Dance isn't my strong suit. Sure I love it, but I'm just not that good.

When I walked into music rehearsal for the first time, I was terrified. I had two friends, neither of which I was terribly close to. I didn't know what to do.

That was 3 months ago. A lot happens in three months.

We weren't ready. We were running so short on time, the leads didn't know their lines, the chorus hardly knew our music. We were running out of time.

When I first stepped on that stage, with my hair done, in my pretty blue dress, I felt it.

The thing they don't tell you about theater, is that there's magic involved. From an outside standpoint, I sound crazy. But when you get everything together, with a cast who's been working their asses off for three months, something magical happens. Shows blend together, and they make sense.

All Shook Up, you have given me things I will never be able to replace. I've made friends that I'm going to have for life. I'm a part of something so much greater than myself. A family.

All Shook Up, you've given me people I will love for the rest of my life. You've given me best friends, a girlfriend, a mother, sisters, brothers. A family. You've given me my first theater dance break, my first lift, my first shot at real acting, and even my first kiss.

We laughed, we cried, we held hands, we held eachother. We put lipstick marks on a door, we snuck candy in between numbers, we screamed random lines before shows, we put glitter on our ears. We danced backstage, we serenaded eachother, we memorized lines that weren't even ours to memorize. We even put ridiculous amounts of hairspray in our hair to the point where I'm pretty sure some of it infected our brains. We made jokes that will never be understood by anyone but us.

There's magic in a theater. Especially an old one, that's been used by hundreds of great people before us. Everyone leaves a little bit of themselves behind in that theater, and they create a magic that makes shows the amazing things that they are.

I am so incredibly grateful to have been able to perform this amazing show ith amazing people in an amazing historic theater. It's changed me. I'm different now, than I was before this.

All Shook Up, you have taken 3 months of my life, my devotion, my focus, my passion, and most importantly my free time. And I don't regret a single moment of it.

All Shook Up, you have changed my life for the better. You have made me a different person.

Now, you're over. The curtain fell on us one last time. Our props and costumes have all been moved out. We will never again perform that same show with those same people. It's sad.

But as I watched the water swirl down the drain, carrying away the last of the show from my body, I didn't cry. I smiled.

This is one more step on my theater journey that I will love and treasure forever. I have so many new adventures waiting for me right around the corner. I'm not crying tears of sadness anymore, they're tears of joy.

This show is all about love. Everyone is all falling in love in ways they never knew they could. And I did too. With the theater, with a girl, with this family.

I love you, All Shook Up

Sincerely, your devoted chorus member, Florence.

[dangerously-human]

Fanfic Writer Emoji Ask

😅 What's a story or scene you've created that you're a smidge embarrassed exists?

🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

🎢 Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

🎶 Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately?

🌞 Do you have a preferred time of day to write?

💖 What made you start writing?

🎉 What leads you to consider a fic a success?

✅ What's something that appears in your fics over and over and over again, even if you don't mean to?

🤯 What's a genre you struggle with as a writer (ex. romance, action, etc.)?

Shel my beloved, I love that I didn't even reblog that post and you still came in with all the best questions. You are a treasure.

😅 What's a story or scene you've created that you're a smidge embarrassed exists?

Listen. I'm glad that I wrote A Thousand Reasons (Continuum). It got me out of a years-long writing slump, which turned out to be a key piece of working through a depression relapse after weaning off meds and going through trauma at work. Parts of it are good! It is, however, sloppy, and it's perhaps my one work I just cannot reread. I was writing entirely by the seat of my pants, and hadn't written anything with a multichapter arc before, and I ended up rushing the timeline and pushing the characters OOC in spots that I kept feeling like I had to fix with the remainder of the story.

🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

I still crack myself up with the bit in the middle of Woke Up in a Safe House Singing (L&Co) where Lockwood's going on about future plans and who'll have which room, including a potential nursery, when they're married, and Lucy just holds up her left hand to go "uhh... did you forget to ask me something?"

🎢 Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

Oh, jeez. Probably Cupid's Bow (Marvel), lmao. Or maybe my super angsty AU-of-an-AU, A Thousand Shards of Glass (Continuum), which follows up on its super sweet and fluffy predecessor with the Major Character Death tag.

🎶 Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately?

Ooh, okay, so I've had one song on loop for fic outlining purposes recently, but it's for a ~super secret~ songfic, so I shan't say. However, as a clue, it has definitely been in the sicko blend on a few occasions, and originally not from me...

🌞 Do you have a preferred time of day to write?

I usually do my best writing between 9pm and 1am, which is really only doable on a Friday night.

💖 What made you start writing?

I've been telling stories since before I can remember, even before I could really talk, according to my parents. My favorite activity as a kid was walking around outside for hours, bouncing a ball and telling myself stories, often with recurring worlds and characters. At some point, I realized I could maybe make a book out of some of those. But I'd already been writing little one-off stories, sometimes in tiny books I organized into a family library system. As for fanfiction... I think my high school friend group wrote fanfic, or at the very least talked about it and would print out faves and pass them around at school. Eventually I spent a free period in the library banging out a Supernatural fic on a school computer, and the rest is history...

🎉 What leads you to consider a fic a success?

It being finished, and a sense that I said what I meant to. Comments that talk about something I worked really hard on, whether that's a line or symbolism or a theme, certainly help as a gold star sticker.

✅ What's something that appears in your fics over and over and over again, even if you don't mean to?

Gosh, you tell me - I think readers tend to notice that more than we do as writers! Well, one thing I've noticed with my Lockwood & Co fanfic journey in particular is I keep coming back to Lucy and Lockwood's relationship as an image of sacramental marriage, even in the canon era, his leadership and the way they defend each other, possessiveness in the healthy sense, very "I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine," and love as growth, as a verb, willing and acting for the beloved's greatest good. Partly this is a reflection of stuff I've been learning and thinking about a lot lately, and partly it's just very much there in canon and impossible to ignore (certainly when you read through a salt and light lens).

🤯 What's a genre you struggle with as a writer (ex. romance, action, etc.)?

Action, jeez - how do human bodies move again? And historical fiction. Sci-fi is easier, it doesn't have to match what's real.

[somany-fandoms-solittle-time]

“What’s so Special About the Moon?”

Jamil Viper x MC(insert character Mac)

Ch. 1 – (Ch. 2) – Ch. 3 – Ch. 4 – Next – Previous

Holy FUCK seasonal depression has been hitting early this year and it’s been taking foreverrrrr to finish this chapter, type it up, and edit it!!! I’ve more or less got a good idea of where the last two chapters are headed, but all I’ve written are the first and last paragraphs if I’m being completely honest. ON THE OTHER HANDDDDD, my therapist recommended a nonfiction book about writing that I’ve put on hold at the library mom mom works at (le *gasp* Author Lore). But n e way… It was a bit of a challenge trying to write a tad more into Jamil’s perspective without completely saying the quiet part out loud. He’s constantly contradicting himself because of his childhood trauma so I added my own trauma onto my oc as a lil ~Treat~ to myself. I experimented a little bit with the separate aspecs of Jamil, but I’m not entirely sure how well I pulled it off. Feel free to leave a comment or any advice over what you thought or how I can improve! Except anything to do with Mac. Mac is basically just me if I was seeped in more trauma and I had developed my skills more…

NOTE: IF YOU GET TRIGGERED OVER DESCRIPTIONS OR DEPICTIONS OF DISSOCIATION, MILD SELF HARM, DEPRESSIVE SPIRALS OR ANYTHING OF THE LIKE SKIP THIS CHAPTER/STORY AND GO CUDDLE UP WITH SOMETHING A LITTLE LIGHTER (no shame y’all. We all have those days where all we can handle is Fluff and/or Smut without all the extra heavy feelings.)

True to word, Mac had practically dragged Adeuce and Jack, along with a ragtag group of other NRC students, apparently “following orders” to finish the cleaning process. Kalim had also insisted that they could still use the laundry room even though Jamil was taking the rest of the day off—which meant all he could do was stew in his room while going over his prior conversations and figure out the best way to ignore how much it affected him.

But just because he was (stubbornly) ignoring running into the Perfect again doesn’t mean he wouldn’t listen in. Jamil knew the dorm’s infrastructure before it was even built! Every keyhole and secret passage way was at his disposal.

On quiet feet, and motivated by a raging headache, the dark-skinned Vice Warden slipped through the halls and walkways of Scarabia. He made sure to have a pair of wireless headphones resting around his neck (to slip on for a believable excuse). They were currently off, so he could keep his ears open to any disturbances, but his right hand hovered nearby just in case.

Mentally, Jamil took note of the heat rising with the desert sun. MC was smart enough (and willing) to start early in the morning. Even with how drowsy xey were, barely dressed and pathetically trying to make the numerous piles of laundry look presentable. They were an idiot. And apparently an observant, suffocatingly kind, filter-less, crass, overbearing Auntie of an idiot as well. So much like Kalim… Uncomfortably close to Kalim’s personality but more matured. Understanding (as much as he hated to admit it).

“So stupid,” Jamil whispered under his breath with a frown. Even still, the long track combined with swirling heat only fueled his practiced, calculating mind. This would be the least opportune moment to evaluate his observations over all the nonsense that Mac had been saying over the course he’d ‘known’ them… He was FAR too worked up in his room to think properly, but now his brain foolishly circled back to early that morning in-time with his silent steps.

. . . . . . .

Before the magicless (legal adult) freshman made their stiff exit, back when Jamil was analyzing each and every twitching muscle in xeir clenched jaw, Jamil was attempting to fire back with a quip. There would be no way for the two to be able to continue working in such tense atmosphere MC had created. He was about to tell them off or make up an excuse, when his more childish monologue betrayed his consciousness.

Everything they said was so unfair. So blisteringly close to the truth, but blunt and lacking the usual grace, empathy or even a teasing lilt. Mac’s usual tired, dragged out fond sarcasm, like an older sibling trying to teach the youngsters without sounding too parental, was long gone. In it’s place was the same forceful, pinprick power int their eyes he’d seen through the cloud of Blot. Somehow, between hallway conversations and Jamil threatening their life, the Ramshackle Perfect had found a crack in his wall and stared him down.

Dishonest. He’d called Jamil out for being dishonest as if it wasn’t just the ingrained second-nature of a resentful servant, born and breed to stalk any threats to the boy that owned his life. His falsehoods had only ever hurt fools and ruffians who vied for Kalim’s life. No one else minded his shifting tongue or blank and burned-out eyes. No one bothered. This was what he was made for.

“Just because you’re not hiding your bitter, knee-jerk reaction from an unfair world doesn’t mean you aren’t still hiding away and lying about your more vulnerable emotions.”

They had no right—no FUCKING RIGHT—to say any of that to him. What could they know about being someone’s shadow? About being stuck shadowing the overbearing rays of the sun? Bound by the pull, the gravity of the two boys birth, Jamil would forever be orbiting just outside of what he can never have. Denied the attention, the affection, the true praise for all the great accomplishes he had to forefeet to a spoiled, airhead brat! Everything he’d been denied since he was just a child…

And yet, there was some part of himself that couldn’t lie about how they were right. How xey might know, at least to some extent, what he had been through. The tiredness, the pitiful, the soulless look deep in his eyes that would fade in and out of reality hinted to just how cruel of a life Mac must’ve had (or at least what they remembered of it) lived. Did he know what it was like to be used? To be looked past? Could their life had led to perpetual people pleasing or hiding xemself for survival or constantly worrying about what would happen if xey ever upset anyone… ever made a mistake?

Could they be so similar? Even with how happy and carefree and Kalim-like they were during the day?

They were infuriating… Oh, Great Merciful Seven, he had never felt so invigorated. It was frightening. It was exciting.It couldn’t go any farther than this moment or else all that he’s worked for would simply disappear.

An eight year old Jamil, shoved deep down in the vipers den, was screaming and flailing his arms to be noticed. To be recognized by such ad honest and trusting and supportive figure like--

Jamil’s mind had already been jumping through extra hoops than his regular mental gymnastics in order to process and combat the Perfect’s comments. It was making him feel far too vulnerable. Like a mothering hen, Mac couldn’t keep out of anyone's business. Even when they were so clearly already run ragged and probably on the verge of snapping.

It was almost ironic, how overly worried and caring and just… persistent they were when it came to the students of NRC. Especially towards the ones that had gone out of their way to hurt xem. How could it be possible that this nosy stranger, that came out of nowhere, could simultaneously be so cautious and caring towards someone they obviously… didn’t deserve their kindness. Jamil had received constant reassurance from the paradoxical force of nature that is the Ramshackle Perfect.

It was so unfair. How Jamil was this dark & twisted, manipulative asshole who’s had to pretend to be the perfect, caring servant. AND MAC! That moron got to be the enamored exasperated force that everyone flocked towards without having any real skill? Xey had even less to their name than Ruggie and yet the charisma and favor that only Kalim could harness. Was that how the two became friends? Some secret power those two perfected at their bullshit “Music Club” in order to blind the rest of us peasants to bend to their will!!! (Of course not Jamil, neither are smart or cruel enough to pull something like that).

Even on days like this, when the Perfect was snappy and apathetic, they were 100x more genuinely thoughtful and kind. What gave him the right to be so bitchy and always know better? MC couldn’t possibly be that much older…

. . . . . . .

Just as Jamil was getting frustrated with trying to rearrange his thoughts, he heard Mac directing the small herd of students.

“Okay, Sebek and Jack! You two can carry the most—”

“What about the Great Grim Hench human! Myah!”

“—and have pretty decent control over that floaty spell—”

“Human! I have already informed you—”

“Can it, you unfriendly Green Giant! Once more, the two linebacker fuckers (seriously how are y’all 16 and NOT on steroids) and Grim, I guess, will grab the thick curtains and the runner rugs. Ruggie could run—heh—run down to Sam’s to grab whatever fancy thread and whatnot to fix the throws. That pile of blankets aaaaaaaaand that miscellaneous crap also needs so mending, right Rugs?”

“Shye shee shee, sure thing Boss! An’ who’s tab will our order be account’d for?”

“Ughh, if Sam won’t let you put it directly on Crowley’s personal account then tell him it’s for the school…. It’s technically not a lie so~”

“Gotcha!” There was already a sound of shuffling and light small talk, but the easy banter and direction between the two made Jamil restless. When had MC and Leona’s hyena lackey become so close? When did they start working together so seamlessly?

“OK… Silver. You up for a quick fetch quest?” Silver’s soft yet serious reply also shocked the Vice Warden. Why were the Diasomnia students even HERE? Jamil had thought Silver was visiting Kalim?!

“Of course. Fa—Lila had instructed Sebek and I to assist you in any way we can. You’re a valuable friend of his after all.”

“Kid, chill. Lils and I gossip and rock out in club together. We don’t have a Blood Oath or something,” Mac huffed out a small, tired laugh, “But thanks for the help anyhow! All I need you to do is run over to Heartslybul and check if Riddle would be willing to check over the china and silverware in Ramshackle. The main dinning room is just left of the Kitchen, down the hall a ways. The door should be unlocked (not that that would stop any of you crazy ass wizards) but if not, just let the Ghosts know you’re helping out. I let them know we’ll be busy for the next coupla months.”

“And how are you planning to get our tea-sized tyrant to do all that?” the red-headed Freshman asshole asked his friend with a snarky tone.

“Ace…!”

“Knock it off Ace!”

“You’re not funny man.”

A cacophony of voices followed in argument before the someone let out a snort, “… It’s a little funny.”

“Guys, just ignore him. Anyway, Silver, on the long table has all the bit and bobs of dish sets I was able to scavenge so far. There’s also a few boxes of stuff crammed in the hallway closet, but I haven’t had time to check if they’re in good shape or not.”

“Trey-Senpai said something about convincing House Warden Riddle to lend you an extra tea set. Who knows how many we’ve got stored away in the dorm, I mean, we’ve used a different set with every Birthday and Unbirthday!” Mac’s Freshman blue guard supplied with earnest.

“Oh la la~ Deuce, could you go with Silver and track Trey and Cay down as well? Cater already promised to help touch up the ballroom in exchange for some behind-the-scene selfies, but if y’all remind them I’ll be taking care of Heartslybul Resident Troublemakers for a while I could talk Trey into updating the kitchen a little!”

“And I guess that means it’s just the two of us~” One half of the Trouble Makers teased.

“Ace… You get to help Rugs! And I think we could use some extra soap and—look at that! It’s practically lunch! Everyone, let’s meet back at Rams in 30 so Ace-kun can treat us to some lunch.”

“What’re you planning to do, Perfect!” He snapped back in retaliation.

“I still need to collect what’s out on the clothes line, fold ‘em and wait for this last load to finish drying. After lunch, a few of us can finish mending what can be salvaged and iron or steam whatever needs it. If this takes longer than an hour, just start putting shit away and I can fix it later.”

“Grrrmph… This’ll take all day!” Grim whined at nearly a decibel only dogs could hear.

“Relax Grim, you already got to nap half the day. Think about it this way… by this time Monday the dorm will be halfway livable!” Mac sarcastically cheered in response.

After a moment of two of grumbling from the first years, and a few goodbyes, Jamil could hear the mages-in-training all leave Scarabia’s laundry room and make their way through the commons. Instead of heading back to start lunch (it is TECHNICALLY his day off), he continued to listen to the shuffling of cloths being handled. Which was quietly drowned out by the sound of Mac humming to xemself.

Really, he should have left by now. Why would he want to risk the chance of being dragged into more cleaning that wasn’t even his priority. (Why did he still feel the need to manage and control other’s work?! It’s just adding more stress to his already full plate by sticking his hand in--)

Starling Jamil out of his thoughts, Mac started to sing lightly under their breath. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the Sophomore remembered Kalim excitedly prattling on about how Xe’d become an “unofficial member” of the Pop Music Club. The quartets sporadic sleepovers (for gossiping, exchanging new music, watching movies, light partying) had recently become a bi-monthly event.

“You are so much more than your father’s son/ You are so much more than what I’ve become/ Long before you were born there was light/ Hidden deep in these young, unfamiliar eyes/ A million choices, though little on their own/ Become the heirloom of the heaviness you’ve known.”

Mac knew they were close to dissociating. It was why they made sure to kick everyone out before someone commented on it. Xe’s pretty sure either Ace or Jack were on the verge of probing them when it took them a full ten seconds for xem to laugh at Ruggie’s joke (something about Grim getting his fur all over the white sheets while napping).

After finally having a private space to breath, the pent up guilt and anguish came back to bite them like a vengeful bitch. Hot pressure, like a balloon expanding in his chest, ready to burst even from the tiniest prick, closed their throat back into a steady hum. Hot pressure. Hot machines. Even the humid air made Mac feel like zey were floating and melting at the same time. Xeir hands continued the practiced motions while screeching words resonated deep in their head. Xe kept humming even as a play-by-play echoed back all of his worst apprehensive and aggressive and obnoxious comments. By now the room must’ve been bubbling, threatening to boil over and pop the picturesque serenity; sunlight stabbed through the windows enough to blind the rooms image and even making it impossible for Mac to simply see the cloth in zeir hand.

Gasping for breath, they finished singing: “… When you inherited/ A fight that you were born to lose/ It’s not your fault/ No, it’s not your fault/ I put this heavy heart in you/ I put this heavy heart in you.”

At some point, Mac dropped whatever aged silky item they were mindlessly folding to scratch at xeir arm. It was a practiced movement; a purposeful, forceful movement that left harsh, heavy, thick red lines up and down his rough, patchy forearm… just barely grazing a faded tat in the center of their wrist. Up and down. Up and down. Up and Down. Jamil decided to take his chance now, before their blood could dye the freshly cleaned laundry.

“It’s getting late, isn’t it?” He tried to stay cordial and neutral to not startle them too bad, but Xe still practically jumped while turning around. How troublesome. “Why don’t you go meet up with the others? I’ll just take care of what’s left here.”

“Shit! J-Jamil, you sneaky sonuvabitch… One of these days I’mma put a bell on you!” The startled Perfect rambled a little breathlessly. They were still trying to come back into their own body that zey hardly realized what Jamil even said. After a few moments they finally processed the emotionless order that was given. “Dude, I already made you get up early on a Saturday morning. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

Jamil huffed at the verbal side-step. “MC, you’re about ten minutes from heatstroke,” He gave zem an annoyed, unimpressed frown when they tried to retort. “I was about to make some lunch and brew a little iced chai. You might as well have some before you finish up for the day.”

“Not a Chai person,” they replied in a rush.

“Scarabia is fully stocked with all of Kalim’s guest’s favorite drinks. At least drink a glass or two of water before the desert sun dries you up.” The banter Jamil returned sounded stiff, but encouraging; So inviting, even after Mac picked him a part like an entitled, wannabe Psych Major. It didn’t feel right to already be in his company again. Then again, xey were already pretty dizzy—dissociation, a mild panic attack, and dehydration paired with a casual case of overheating was a pretty gross cocktail for their body to handle.

The stress was really starting to affect xem lately. More nightmares, more… memories and fitful sleep led to a lower tolerance to the usual Hell that is NRC. On top of all that, it seems he might further fuck up the already unstable ‘friendship’ the two hardworking students had.

“Seriously, Viper you don’t have to feel like you need to smooth things over or take control to handle everything. What I said was none of my business, and all of this mess,” Mac stumbled towards the unfolded bundle they had been working on before feeling so woozy, “is my mess to deal with. I can grab a snack or something a little later.” They tried to put up a bigger front, but it was clear that their all-persistent (stubborn) resilience was breaking down with each degree raised in the room. It was an act coming to a close… And the only way for them to give in willingly was to force his hand.

“Mac. As the Vice Warden of Scarabia I can’t have you passing out.” Jamil blankly stated.

Fuck. The quiet tension edged with anxiety was not aided by their usual jokes. Both students were stubborn, but the magicless Perfect was tired and, as much as they did want to admit it, about to tip over any second. Better get it over with….

“Just for a minute.” Xey gave in.

(and as always, shoot out to @twst-beam and @krenenbaker for rehabilitating my love for writing and giving me feedback lol! I love reading your comments and tags so KEEP'EM COMING LOL!!!!)

[ryuichirou]

Hey there, Ryuichi! 👋🏻

i hope you do not mind asking me this, but you're one of my favourite Artists 💕 and i noticed how frequently you post your art and it makes me wonder how much your drawing in your free time...?

I used to be an artist myself just like you, but unfortunately, i lost my passion for it specifically because of lack of time to do so, and i lost motivation 💔 (another reason might also be that i tend to compare my art to other talented artist which makes me insecure) i haven't drawn in years. I want to get back to it! but i just can't find the motivation like i mentioned earlier, which is why i wanted to ask you: How do you find the Time/Motivation to draw? and if you have any tips?

I'm also staying anonymous cuz I'm shy 👉🏻👈🏻

Hi Anon!

Thank you for such a sweet ask, I am very happy and honoured to hear that I’m one of your favourite artists.

To answer your question, I spend pretty much every free moment drawing, but that’s just because I am so used to drawing all the time. This has been my main activity for almost my entire life lol so I don’t really get art blocks or dips in motivation. But I still understand what you’re talking about.

To be honest, despite drawing pretty much all day, these days I have ~3 hours of free time drawing for myself (except weekends), because I spend the rest of the time working, which is also drawing… Although ~3 hours probably doesn’t sound like “having no time to draw”, it’s usually not enough for me, I guess? So I have to prioritize certain ideas and simplify sketches sometimes, with the idea that I’ll get back to them and fix/add to them later. So if you can get an hour or even 30 minutes of free time to just sit down and draw just a little bit, even if it’s just doodling some ideas for the future (remember that you can always come back to them later) or studies, it would be great, because it’ll get your brain working in that direction again. Don’t stress it too much; once again, even if it’s just a little sketch of a flying head, it’s something. Which means it’s good! Some days you’ll have more time and energy and you’ll draw more. Some days you’ll barely draw anything, but this repetition is still very important. I guess the first tip I’m trying to give you is that it’s important to have discipline and create a timeslot for your drawing, preferably every day or every other day. Just to kick things off.

When it comes to comparing yourself to others, yeah it can be a serious issue that kills your motivation. And it’s easy to say “just don’t do that”, but I’ll still say it in a bit of a different way: try to keep in mind that if this artist was able to do that, it’s not unachievable for you. I usually try to either get inspired by other artists or to analyze them, trying to look for what exactly there is that I love about their art and would like to do myself. But also, you don’t have to draw like them. It’s cheesy, but no one can do what you do other than you.

When it comes to the likes, because it can be upsetting sometimes when you look at the numbers that other people make despite you having similar content, try to either ignore it altogether (another “easy to say” advice, I know) or keep in mind that there are other reasons behind the number of likes and not just the art itself.

We usually look at the artists whose skill is so stupidly high that it doesn’t feel like a competition anymore lol So we can only look at them in awe…and think about how to recreate some of the effects from their work.

Another very important thing that I love to talk about is that you should remember how fun it feels to draw. Try to think what made you fall in love with drawing and what your favourite thing to draw was. Indulge in it, draw it as many times as you want. Draw any idea you have an inkling for, even if it feels weird or stupid; I genuinely think that it makes the creative part of your brain work better and makes you enjoy the process of drawing more. Art is hard, it requires discipline, but it shouldn’t feel as a chore.

Overall, I hope you’ll find both time and motivation to draw and to have fun with it. Good luck and thank you again!

Have a great day.

[danceswithsporks]

Hey so like…tumblr apparently never posted this long message id written to all of you cause….idfk 🤷🏽‍♀️.

So here it is, over a week late. But here it is!

Thanksgiving is winding down and I finally have free time (yaaaay family obligations). So I just wanted to make a quick post.

Thank you

I am so insanely thankful for all of you. This time last year I had barely any followers and few to zero interactions on my fics. I kept telling myself to “post for yourself,Mina. Even if it’s not good enough to get noticed, do it for yourself.” . My self esteem was down and I wondered if there was even a point to actually posting and sharing my stuff. But I kept up with it, even when I wanted to quit. Which was a lot.

Fast forward to March and I shared Warm. A fix it fic about Tech that I’d written to mentally help me get over the end of Season 2 and it took off faster then I ever expected. Between here and Ao3 I started getting actual interaction. Shares, likes,comments and even followers! People were actually looking forward to my content! They were enjoying what I was creating!

And now here we are.

I actually passed 100 followers and I nearly cried! It’s such a small number but to me it’s just…it’s crazy that people are following me! I have an actual Taglist! Something I never expected to have! I have a fic series that I’m now working on with more people being added to the Taglist and following me everyday! Out of nowhere I’ll get a notification that someone’s liked the first part of Warm and then by the end of the day they’ve liked every part of Warm and Calm and started following me. It blows my mind every single time and I smile all day knowing that someone new has found my work and actually likes it!

I’m surrounded by artists friends who sell in artist alleys or are authors with book deals in the works and I just feel so small compared to them but then I share a new part to a fic or a ficlet and you all actually like it and it makes me go “oh hey, I’m…good at something.” And that just means so much to me.

I guess what I’m getting at is I’m so Thankful for all of you! From those of you who just lurk to those who like, comment, and reblog my stuff and those of you who tag me in stuff. (Again, something that blows my mind.)

I hope you all will continue to be by my side as I continue to work through The Complete Series and I hope I continue to live up to your expectations and hopes with each post.

Thank you all for your continued support and I’ll see ya’ll soon(ish) with the next update for Calm! (After I let my wrist and shoulder rest for a bit. :3 )

[gummybugg]

*asking to multiple writeblrs*

I'm not sure if this is accurate, but there's a concept in Buddhist artistry where it isn't the art that is celebrated, but how the art helped/changed the artist.

So how did writing Crater City affect you? Do you have a new perspective on the world because of a character? Do you have a new interest because of research? Is there something you learned? Something life-changing? Something overly specific? Something mundane?

/not forced btw <3

Yeehaw get ready for a little ramble (thank you for this ask, I had to sit on it a bit because I'm not great with words hehe)

I like the idea of remembering the process in which something is created, like for physical art (there's some artists out there that focus on the process more than the art piece itself which I find very interesting). But hoo boy I'm not sure what anyone's gonna get out of asking me what I learned in boating school because it is not easy to answer. I had to reedit this like so many times.

So how did writing Crater City affect you?

Currently still writing it, and I have to say it's still poisoning my brain. I think it affects the way I view myself because of the inner work writing does. I discover more about myself and others, like life experiences, hindsight, identity, etc etc. I'm not sure how much Crater City has affected me since I have been going through many changes recently, but this story has stuck with me through many shitty and great times, so it played some part in my life. It's kind of like a diary at times. I add whatever new thing I discover and look back at it later like "oh yeah I remember what happened when I decided to put that in." Kinda like when you draw something and remember the time and place you did it, if you know what I mean. It's like a time capsule, I really like that part about the arts/language.

I think what affected me most was learning about fluidity, whether that means gender expression/identity, sexuality, fashion, ideas, morals, blah blah blah. The way my brain works is that it's very staunch until I have a routine epiphany that's like, "Oh yeah, I just remembered I have free will [to an extent]."

Do you have a new perspective on the world because of a character?

I've become a bit more confident in my identity thanks to really all of my characters (more specifically Blair). When I write them, I can express bits of myself and experiences that I don’t really talk about around people I know in real life. I'm a very reserved person & extremely introspective.

Blair is the polar opposite of me and tends to just be himself in general. His perspective that masculinity (or life in general) is what you make it gives me hope for a better future. I wonder if that's the point of his character, but I'm not sure.

Blair helped me realize there's more than one way to be a man than what mainstream makes it appear. He allowed me to figure out who I am freely and without much limitation because when you're alone writing a story about a character you don't percieve as a direct extension of yourself, you can create more freely and access thoughts you didn't know you had until you looks back in hindsight like "oh damn well I guess that's kinda relatable."

Blair is the first trans character I've created and at first he wasn't until it slowly crept up on me that he definitely was (which is usually the case when I create trans characters for some reason; it's like they just come out on their own). It may not seem remarkable to others, but for me it is a huge deal that he is confident and can embrace femininity without doubting his gender identity. He (and the rest of the male cast) does not shy away from makeup or wearing a dress (partly because I have created a genderless formal dress code norm).

He holds a special place in my heart. His name is Blair Heart, whether intentional or not. So I guess I'd say that he, while very flawed in every sense of the word, helped me understand who I am and want to be no matter how lame that sounds. Sometimes it takes writing the same character for years until you finally have a eureka moment.

Do you have a new interest because of research?

I've grown [more] interested in psychology. It's thanks to really every character I make (in this story, it's mostly due to Darcy, Blair, and Elijah). I love making mentally ill characters. It's what I've always focused on in my writing. It's important to me to make sure no dark corner goes unturned or that nothing is glorified when adding it to the mix. I also just like hiding little shards of "deep" shit among the light-heartedness because I think it's whimsical and clowns on life.

Playing with philosophies of the meaning of life is also kinda fun. Only got into that when I took that one philosophy course in college but of course it spiraled from there. If I were smarter I'd say that Crater City is about some philosophical rant about nihilism or hedonism or free will or whatever but I don't have TIME to talk about that in this post and even if I did, I'm not sure I have the brain power to churn out what I mean. I'm not great explaining things. But for now just accept the explanation that it's about funny little guys running around trying to find a purpose.

I'm sure there's more things, but I learn so many new things all the time that I'm too lazy to explain. Everything excites me. I learn all the time & I love it.

Is there something you learned? Something life-changing? Something overly specific? Something mundane?

Life changing: I guess like my outlook on life? Like my mind tends to be stuck in routines and shit but saying no to rigid things like how something should be has taught me to enjoy writing/hobbies/life and not treat everything like a chore. Like we all have a place somewhere but we dont have to be stuck doing the same shit forever because we're not npcs. I think that would be something writing Darcy teaches me. Not to be like him.

Something overly-specific/mundane: I'm more interested in coding now because that's Elijah's hobby (except I'm focusing on web design at the moment; he's more into video games). I'm currently learning html, css, and Java. I'm still trying to work on creating a personal web page. When I accrue enough money, I'll learn guitar again after 14 years. Thanks Elijah for these new hobbies.

...

I hope that answered most of it because I'm tired and haven't had much free time to spare lately teehee

Tl;dr: writing makes you gay

Tagging for Crater City adjacent content:

@writeouswriter @lyra-brie @digitalsatyr23 @talesfromtheunknowable @joswriting @mysticstarlightduck