#writing with a learning disability

[hypogryffin]

i used a rng for an arcanaswap au just to try help with artblock and it immediately took over my life completely

[whumpacabra]

Whump that is about change. Whump that is about acceptance. Whump that is about adapting to loss. Whump where there is no rehabilitation, no getting back what’s gone. Sometimes things happen and there is no going back, there is no getting better. Sometimes the person that comes out the other side is different and they will never be the same again. Sometimes you need to grapple with the reality that most people don’t bounce back from traumatic brain injuries, from severe burns, from lost limbs and are their old selves ever again.

Whump that is about change, with no going back, and how the world won’t end because of it.

[godhatesrobyn]

every time someone infantilises viktor in a fanfic an angel loses its wings

[astracora]

The Cat Curse - MC Edition

Characters: Sylus x gn!mc (poly lads)

Warnings: Heavy hurt|Some comfort, Semi-canon compliant heart condition, Spoilers for current story release (Small mentions of Sylus bond up to 102 and all of Sylus' currently released content).

Word Count: 4170

Written: 23rd December 2024

Notes: New relationship Sylus/MC-centric but poly LADs (this time with group chat), with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me.

Now Playing: Monster, by STARSET

Masterlist

Next ->

You've been responding to his messages, Sylus notes, but something's off. He's been away on some inane business trip, ever since you, the doctor, the fish, the prince and he had visited a new kitty cafe opening. He rarely gets to see you visibly excited, you are worse at showing your feelings on your face than he is. Whenever you're faced with animals, of any kind, even Mephisto, your eyes sparkle and you could easily spend hours upon hours sat with them. Even more so if they let you pet them.

The first time you'd seen the evol kitties, according to the doctor, you'd been unsure. They didn't look like cats. Something off and a little wrong, but they mewed at you and straight away you'd gently stroked their noses. As if unable to hold back.

Since then you would drag any of them along to play kitty cards. You didn't like the game, had no patience for strategy, but you did like petting the cats. Sitting there between every round, barely looking at the board, and tickling small whiskers. Much to the fish's distress.

While Sylus doesn't really care if he wins or loses around you, he's almost assured a win when playing with you because it's simply not something you care about. Distracted and unbothered by the game. He's only relieved that when he sprouted ears and a tail (of the caracal kind), you had been just as enamoured with those. Finally smothering him in affection in the same way, and being distracted by his tail. Though he'd never confess to competing with cats, at this point it's just an everyday occurrence.

He found he enjoyed playing most with the doctor, unlike when the man played with you, he took no soft approach with Sylus, and it was fun to butt heads with him. Stubborn as they both could be. That left you to lean your head on the fish's lap, the prince asleep against your side already, and play with cats, to a backdrop of 'You're cheating', 'I'm simply better at this than you.', 'If you would stop getting distracted-' that you mostly blocked out.

Rounds later, he paid the bill before anyone else got chance to, and picked up some cakes to take back.

Then he'd had his business trip to attend, having moved things around so on your rare day off, you could see everyone. It was never fun to drop you off, Sylus missed you anytime he could not see you, and though he was prideful, he had been honest about not being able to sleep without the sound of your voice. A confession you'd flushed at and tugged at one of the straps of your prosthetic.

He'd watched you waver over how to respond, biting at your lip, and fidgeting, as you fought against your urge to run away from him.

Trying didn't come easy, you'd told him. Honesty and openness, it got even harder when you'd lost your family, it got easier with every day you were given room to breathe by all of them, and every friend you held dear to your 'broken' heart. He didn't want to dig, or poke at old wounds, not now you were trying to live... but he often saw too much of himself in you.

Whether it was because of the way you'd grown up, or his soul inside of you, it made him even more careful and aware of offering you what you offered him.

"I'll miss you too, Sy. Call me, alright?" Your finally settled on, cool metal hand taking his in yours and squeezing. Before he'd left you, reluctant and complaining, he'd pressed kisses over your face, down your neck, and finally pushed you to the wall of your apartment building, to steal all the air from your lungs. Thigh holding you up, as he tangled his hands in your hair.

When he'd tried to pull away, he couldn't quite, leaning back in once, twice, three times, chasing the warmth of your mouth. Over and over.

You'd laughed, pushing him back to breathe, gasping, "It's a week. We'll be fine for a week."

A week... you aren't possessive enough, he thinks, spinning his pen in his hand. Half listening to Luke and Kieran talk. He feels as though he's emptied and lost, missing parts of what makes him who he is, and your messages feel... the same.

He could be reading into it... you're not exactly one to put your heart on your sleeve, or cling. You're independent because you've had to be, and he still hasn't had enough time to get you to lean all of your weight on him.

So he sends a message into the group chat without you, made in order to plan surprises or outings.

🐦‍⬛: Is everything ok back home?

⛄️: Aren't you busy?

🐦‍⬛: I'm taking a break.

They don't have to know he's tuning out his business partners, hoping they'll talk themselves out so he can leave.

🐠: lucky, some of us have r busy

🐠: [Attached photo]

🐦‍⬛: Please tell me that's not paint on my walnut table.

🐠: won't answer u then

⭐️: looks more colourful now

He rubs the space between his eyes, already dreading returning to the mess, and regretting letting the fish use his space for storing work while his studio is being fumigated. The partners at the table tense at his action, but he doesn't bother sparing them a glance, so they relax and resume talking.

🐦‍⬛: Is anyone going to answer my question?

⛄️: Is there a reason you're asking?

He hesitates, it's just a feeling, if he worries everyone, and it's nothing...

No, he didn't get this far by not trusting his instincts.

🐦‍⬛: Kitten's messages have felt off.

Two exclamation reactions are his instant response, the fish and prince. They start to type, then stop, then start again.

🐠: what way?

⭐️: have U called them?

⛄️: Calm down, they took some time off work because of a cold.

🐠: y didn't anyone tell us?

⛄️: I thought they would have asked Tara to contact you, or contacted you themselves?

🐦‍⬛:  They didn't.

⭐️: ive been on mission for a couple of days, i can stop in tomorrow when its over

He puts his phone down too forcefully and looks at the room. He's... irritated. Not like he normally is when it comes to you, a childish way where he can't have enough as he likes from you. Like you're a toy he cannot stop playing with. He's almost angry, but mostly sad.

He's been patient, surely you can at least talk to him if you feel sick?

Sylus is done with this trip, he's bored of listening to people talk nonsense, and he has no need for anything they have to offer. "We're done here, Luke. Kieran."

Waving his hand absently and ignoring protests behind him, he leaves the room, phone in hand.

🐦‍⬛: I'm coming back now.

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

Jenna had sent you home, it's not the first time she has. You're terrified one day she'll get bored of having to keep track of your health. Or you'll really let her down, and get you... or more importantly someone else, hurt.

It's probably not a normal mindset to worry so much about what your boss thinks, or to fear disappointing them like they're your parent.

It's not like you have parents to know what's that like... but gran's disappointment every time you got into fights growing up... well it was enough.

Caleb used to cover for you, within reason. He lectured you, told you to pull yourself up and figure it out. That fighting every battle against every jerk you met, reckless and stupid, would get you killed. "Come on pipsqueak, use that energy for something better. Something worthwhile."

So many reasons you didn't want to or couldn't, you wanted to tell him... a hand clenched over your chest.

You were so tired of disappointing them both though, so tired of seeing worn eyes tending to cuts and bruises. Bandaging your back, or fixing the set of your arm.

Being a hunter was that answer. If you used what little life you had in you, unsure when your busted up heart would give out finally, then you could greet Caleb and Gran with pride. Your life was a tool, to make others better.

So every day you weren't working, felt like a day you were failing them... failing to be worth anything other than the core in your chest. A vessel with no purpose or value but to hold something you hated. That could kill you.

It wasn't like you could work like this though... you'd laughed at your partners when they'd sprouted ears and tails. Especially Raffy, he'd been so disgruntled at the fate that had befallen him. This was... probably karma. Pointed, soft ears on top of your head, pinned back against your skull. Pristine white, so they at least blended into your hair.

At your back, a bristled tail, huge and furry... already having picked up some dirt to sully what had been pure white.

It hadn't settled since it had appeared, and you wondered what that said about you...

Fucked up mess. Stupid fool. Useless.

Too loud, everything was too loud. You could hear your neighbours through the walls, all the cars below your apartment, every child crying, dog barking, cat mewling.

It hurts.

You covered your ears with your hand, but noise filtered in through the new set you'd acquired.

Hurts.

You'd grown accustomed to the state of your heart. If you don't pay attention you can miss something, and you care now... perhaps you always did, just too raw like an open wound to let yourself.

It's racing and panicked. You don't need your hunter's watch to know it's too fast. 

Burying yourself into your bed, you cover your head with the duvet, grab at your headphones to shove them into your ears, turning them as loud as they can go, and bury your head under the pillows.

Your phone buzzes at your side, and you don't want to touch it. Scared to leave the cocoon you've built for yourself.

You'd begged Tara to tell Zayne you were sick with a cold, that you would be fine soon. She'd given you a heartbroken look that had made you bristle further, pity. Always pity.

You didn't want pity.

Before your fraying emotions could get the best of you, you'd fled the hunters association, hood up over your head and run home.

You can feel your tail trembling, struggling to swish under the blanket as you struggle to calm down, to at least get some sleep.

Maybe if you sleep it will go away.

Maybe when you wake up you'll feel better.

Useful.

Worth having around.

Not on the cusp of disappearing with nothing to show for yourself.

-----

When you'd woken up, tail still bristled, and newly acquired fangs digging into your bottom lip. Blood staining the bedsheet, you'd finally fished your phone out from your nest.

3am.

The world was quieter for it, and you wondered if this was part of why Sylus preferred the night to day.

You didn't remove your headphones, but you did finally open up your messaging app, seeing messages from everyone.

TaraTara💖: I hope you're ok bestie, if you need anything let me know.

Number One Lumiere Fan: Tara said you were sick, if you have time, I have a few shows you could watch to waste time. Only one is about Lumiere! Promise!

Simone (the one whose guns explode): Hey! Tara said you weren't doing so hot, if you want some company for a movie night, I make the best soup you'll ever have!

Captain: Remember to actually get some rest, take advantage of the break, alright? Everything will be fine here.

🐠cute fishie 🐠: hey cutie, wat do u think?

🐠cute fishie🐠: [Attached Image]

⭐️little star⭐️: missions going well, how are U?

⛄️sweet snowman⛄️: Tara said you're sick, I'll come over to check on you as soon as I can. Make sure you eat and drink.

🐦‍⬛pretty bird🐦‍⬛: Meetings are always more boring without you kitten, I hope you're missing me as much.

Your tail settles, curling against your side, fur flattening and you try really hard not to cry. You wish you'd thanked Tara when you left instead of fleeing, overstimulated and hurting.

Wounded like the cat you're teasingly referred to as. Feral and ready to hiss and scratch. You've spent so many years shutting people out.

Shutting Gran and Caleb out.

Shutting them out you wasted so much time until it was too late.

Why can't you learn?

You force yourself to respond, trying to sound as much yourself as you can... it's unnerving, to wear a mask over a mask. You wonder if you'll ever recognise your reflection.

You hesitate as you go to respond to your partners. You should tell them, reaching up to roughly pull the ears on your head. They'd understand, they've been where you are. Your brain says you should go to the kitty cafe, find out how to fix it this time around... but being out there, in the noise...

Instead you send some version of you're fine, and things are fine, everything is good. You're good.

You're together. You're useful. You're not a burden.

You aren't fragile and sick and useless.

You are worth keeping around, even when your heart picks up speed again, beating so hard against your chest that you fear the core wants to escape its fleshy vessel.

The straps attaching your prosthetic are digging into your skin, rubbing it raw, but you ache to even try to remove it. Fighting with the buckles and biting at the bit. You're still in your uniform, and you're sure by now you need a shower. The idea of water shooting a shot of anxiety straight into your chest, flaring up your tail, and your ears flatten as far as they can.

No water...

Maybe later.

Or you can really fill out how shit you feel with a wet wipe bath.

Caleb would kill you.

You don't want to think about it anymore. You want to let the quiet take over, or reasonably so with the screamo in your ears. Blasting the noise outside into nothing.

So you go back to sleep. Easing the pain in your heart with the only sure fire way.

---------

You can't breathe. You can't breathe.

Bolt upright in bed, hissing through your teeth, chest so tight you can feel your ribs.

You flounder, pulling at where your straps should be, but they're gone, no leather under your fingers. So you move to claw at your chest with one hand, gasping.

Hands grab you, and you struggle and you fight and you hiss. Fangs out, feral and ready to claw your way free. Arms far stronger than you pull you against a warm chest, tilt your head back and pills are placed in your mouth. You try to spit them out but a hand is on your throat, rubbing at your larynx. You swallow and then water follows it.

You splutter and cough, and you wriggle and struggle. Your head is pressed against skin, and you sink your fangs in.

Out. Out. Out.

"It's alright, you're alright, I'm here."

Blood fills your mouth and his scent surrounds you and you shiver. Blinking as your heart medication begins to do its job, easing the fractured organ in your chest. You spit, trying to clear your mouth of the taste of metal, shivering and shaking but your chest isn't constricting you now.

"Sy-" You cry outloud, he holds you, not bothered by the blood tricking down his shoulder. Of course he isn't, he heals it, the pain nothing in comparison to watching you choke on air you can't breathe. "Sorry. Sorry." You mumble against his skin, licking where you bit, crying and shaking. Wrapping your arm around his neck.

He assures you, and he rocks you both in his arms, rubbing your back and running a hand through your hair. Careful around your ears, not going far enough down to touch your bristled tail.

He hums and he rocks, and he squeezes you tight enough to ground you.

It's an hour or two later when you can finally feel any semblance of stable. You can't bring yourself to look at Sylus, he's stroking your cheek and wiping tears from your face, and all you can do is stare at the bed. You can't think of what to say.

You didn't take your medication, you hurt him... it's not the first time, but when this happened with Caleb you didn't have a cats' fangs.

Between you opening up and me prying, I prefer the former. He'd told you, after a terrible day, listing every way he would support you.

With all your sharp edge, you place your hand over his on your cheek, "I'm sorry, Sy."

He huffs, turning you in his arms so you're facing each other, but his one hand grips your hip, sturdy. Solid, strong. He doesn't hurt, but escaping would be hard. You try hard not to.

Though you can feel the... your tail swishing.

He looks at it, at your ears, then at you, red nosed and disheveled.

"Explain."

It's a command, brooking little argument, and though normally you'd refuse to take orders, you duck your head now. Avoiding molten eyes and seeking out something to focus on. The hand that was on your head, stretches out in between you both, palm up, and you take it quickly. Toying with his fingers, squeezing it in your own. Finding connection in your hand on his.

"Jenna sent me home, my evol doesn't work, I can't fight. I... it hurt. Everything's so loud."

You can't see it as he frowns, as your ears prick, then settle, seeking out all the things that hurt them. "I went to sleep, thought it would make this go away, but it didn't."

"Why didn't you tell me?" You hear it then, the pain, like he's biting down on glass. Your eyes dart up and his eyes are glassy, warm red gone dull. "You left your prosthetic on. It was rubbing your skin raw at the angle you were sleeping. There was blood on your sheets." He presses his forehead to yours and breathes you in, "Then this. Why didn't you tell me?" His voice cracks, and you want to be sick.

You twine your fingers with his and choke on the words, "I didn't want to be a bother."

He hisses, his grip on your hand almost hurts, but you probably deserve so much worse. You lied to him, to them, and you hurt him. More than just biting at him.

"You need to tell me. No matter what. No matter what I'm doing, beloved. No matter the issue." He kisses your forehead, over and over and over again. "Promise me."

You nod, and curl your pinky around his, just like you used to with Caleb when he made you promise to come to him with an injury. The words are too stuck in your throat, your voice too sore to use, but you nod. Desperately.

"You're not a burden to be carried, kitten. Ever. Do you understand?"

You don't. You want to, but it's hard. There is no part of you that feels easy or fun, but you do love him. So much. More than you thought yourself capable of. More than you wanted, on borrowed time.

"I'll try." You promise, and it feels like you've cycled back around to the start. Promising to figure things out at home, promising to aim for something. A future you're not sure you're going to ever see.

He takes it in earnest, you do not go back on your word. You are loyal and once you trust, you trust with your heart and your soul. It is yourself you do not trust.

Instead he eases you back into his lap and stands, you flinch and release his hand to grab his neck with your hand. "You need to be cleaned up, I'll help." You go to tell him no because it's water, and you're more a cat than even he teases you for, but you have your head in his neck at this angle, and his scent is so strong. Your tail flattens and begins to flick, lazy and soothed. You hear him chuckle, vibrating through his chest and through yours. "I'm not going anywhere."

-----------

Sylus eases you through steps. He's seen you injured, he's seen you with phantom pains, and he's watched you battle nightmares. Wanderers with swords through your chest, your heart stopping, an explosion you can't stop. He knows what you look like when wounded, he also knows that you fear his reaction when you are.

It takes time to heal wounds, he knows that intimately. You'd never shed your rage or anger, not really. When someone has made mention of gods you'd scoffed, when someone has talked about EVER and their many plans to help humanity, you'd snarled. You trust no king, no god, no corporation to fix the world or the people in it. He knows you're always scared but you keep walking forwards anyway, and he admires and loves you for it.

He just wishes you'd take his hand when that happens.

He has not felt fear like seeing your heart failing you in his arms before, and no matter the violence of your struggle, he would let you rip him to pieces to survive.

He has so much time, and his greatest fear is losing you too soon.

He cleans, and he dries, brushing hair and rubbing lotion to ease the burns on your skin. He helps you dress, finding clothes that don't irritate your tail, because at least he is intimately familiar with that, and then he sits you down on the couch with vegetable soup. Not handmade, though he'd rather have done so. He doesn't want to leave you alone, so he orders what he needs. Sending the twins running around. He's sure you'd like to see them, but he's worried their exuberance will agitate the overstimulation you're combatting.

Watching your ears flick this way and that, picking up too much. As though you don't already struggle with the world's input.

He almost feeds you, wanting to heal you with his own hands, like he's anything like the doctor... he's not. His skills are in bloodshed, and he is as sharp edged as you are.

Except you have made yourself a weapon, to be worth the pain, and he was made a weapon, to survive the pain.

He does not move far away, however, kneeling at your feet, and massaging your calves while you eat. You try to pull your legs away, but he keeps them held, and continues his movements. You have soothed his body before, stitched his wounds, kissed where his scars would be, and he will not have you lacking his own love and affection.

A dragon does not love lightly. Though you don't remember the depths he has gone to for you. This is an easy act of devotion.

"You need to tell them too." He finally speaks, as you clear your bowl. He's relieved to see your ears are no longer flat, your tail is not bristled, you are as relaxed as you can be. You nod, guilt written in your face, and he retrieves your phone for you on black and red mist.

Sitting at your side, he grabs your brush and begins to brush your tail. You almost leap into the air, startled and dropping your phone onto the couch cushions. "Sy!"

"Cat fur can get tangled, especially long fur." He smirks, pulling you closer, and brushing through it with long fingers, "So let me take care of it."

You flinch at the contact, stare at where his hand is in the new found attachment, then keeping your eyes trained on your phone, you nod.

He's content to let you write out what you need to, to be honest with the others, he doesn't want to have that job. It's your mission to step out of your self made cage. So he brushes quietly, the twitching tail in his hands restless, but soon as soft as you can be in your relaxed moments.

Your head hits his shoulder, ears twitching in sleep as all the pent up energy and stress escapes you. Held in long white furs in a small brush. You mutter in your sleep, words he can't understand, and whistle through your nose, little noises that make him laugh.

The best, however, is the purring in the back of your throat, broken up by sleep, and the tail that has found its way around his wrist.

He does not move you, but he retrieves a blanket and holds you against him, cheek pressed to the top of your head, against your fur ears, and keeps watch while you finally find some peace.

⛄️: Are they alright?

🐦‍⬛: They will be.

[tyetyetyetyetyetye]

New shameless hc: mickey is dyslexic, like obviously not diagnosed, he probably doesn't even fully process there's anything going on, he's always had a hard time reading and writing, it's whatever, he dropped out of school in like 9th grade, he can read, it just takes him longer, but he's always been good at math, he's never had any issue solving a math problem, it comes to him without having to think, so what if he spells Gallagher wrong, Ian knew what he was trying to write, he's a little embarrassed when he spells some shit wrong (i.e. the open relationship scene were Mickey doesn't want to show Ian his paper even though he obviously wants to be monogamous)

[iamamythologicalcreature]

2024 Round-Up and Review

2024, aka The Year I Discovered I Love Drawing Baz With Long Hair.

But also.

Honestly?

(Yeah, I'm going to be honest. Yeah, it's going to be a long post. Buuuut it's my blog, so here we go!)

This past year was rough. Really rough. In many ways as difficult as 2020, and in some ways, even harder than that. I lost my specialized medical care after 2023, and my health tanked in 2024. Medication changes, chronic illness/pain, and the hardest thing of all was... this idea I seemed to have that if I could just fake it enough, I could make it. Like I could deny my disability into non-existence. Pretend it away.

Instead, I ended up pushing myself past the breaking point, with the worst possible timing ever.

And THEN (when I desperately needed to stop and rest), I packed up my life and moved across a continent. (I hadn't moved since college. So I thought I'd move and it'd be done. That was wrong. Ahem. I'm still moving in...)

But the GOOD that happened last year came in the form of friendship. That's not just a line. My friends were my lifeline. To those friends who stuck it out with me even when things were far from easy, thank you. You are the most incredible people I know, and your friendship has given me reasons and opportunities to feel joy and hope where I might not otherwise have done.

Okay. So. The ROUND-UP is... *drum roll*... Under the cut!

At first I was a bit bummed to see I'd only finished 9 pieces of art during the entire year. But since I am being honest... I know I did my best, and so clearly the best I could do last year was nine pieces of art. So many of those pieces were attached to amazing projects, though! I got to do several collaborations with some truly amazing human beings, and I also got to run my very first fest for the fandom! So I'm calling it good.

Now, finally, the art links:

(I won't be including works in progress on this list, as I still hope to finish them at some point XD)

January: Oh my God, January. I didn't finish anything in January, but I worked on a lot.

February:

Tis better to give than to receive - This was my contribution to Erotic Grope Fest, and it was my first time doing anything NSFW. It's pretty tame, all things considered, but I think it still fit the mission. Also ended up posting a high-res version of this on AO3. Because. I mean. Come on. XD

March:

Three lost boys (found) - I started out as a beta reader for @mooncello's inspired take on Neverland, but by the time I received chapter 2 I was very nearly begging to be able to illustrate it. I'd had this particular image in my mind after reading the matching scene in chapter one, but had tried to suppress the inspiration. Silly me. I'm so glad I gave in. This is a favorite of mine.

April:

Keeping Neverland - (Technically posted on Tumblr in May, but on AO3 in April, so...) Illustrating @mooncello's writing again, and this one was a challenge! But one I wholeheartedly embraced. I wanted to echo Baz's journey as an artist with my illustrations, so where I used pencil sketching for the chapter one illustration, I went for a finished charcoal drawing, here. Digital charcoal, it turns out, can be just as difficult as the real deal. Slightly less messy, though. (I'm very proud of this finished piece.) Also where I continued my exploration of Baz's long hair. XD

May:

A rough sketch for a rough night - It feels a little off to be posting this sketch in my art round-up, considering the emotional inspiration, but truth be told I ended up liking this sketch quite a lot. I also learned a couple things, from both the events of that night (not my finest moment) and the drawing of the sketch (hey putting my feelings into art is a good idea). So I think ultimately this little sketch deserves to be included on this list.

June:

Teenage Dream - I posted this on Tumblr in June, for my birthday, but I actually did the art at the beginning of the year for the Valentine's Day exchange on the Carry On server. I rarely finish anything to this degree, and am immensely proud of it. That said, I ended up using it for so many things last year, I'd be okay to not look at it again for awhile. (I called it "Teenage Dream" because it made me think of a daydream Baz might have had as a teenager - now made real with Simon by his side. Cause I'm a sucker for their romance >.> )

Illustration from The Eternal Life of Baz Pitch - So I'm not sure how I got lucky enough to earn a special preview of @monbons's story, but I knew I couldn't read it in pieces. So she let me read the whole thing. It was very cool. I read it all at once I think? And when I was done I crashed Monica's DMs to yell at her about it. But then I drew this picture. (While I was chatting with her, even, and casually asking her about cherry blossoms so I could draw them the way she imagined them. It was very fun.) Now we're friends. XD (Check out the fic - now posted in entirety!)

July: Uh. Migraines. Just migraines. I had to pull back from the fandom a lot, and stopped participating in a lot of online activities. Boo.

August: Sketched concepts for CORB, and packed.

September: I moved over 4000 miles.

October: Everything I worked on in October ended up debuting in...

November:

Carry On Through the Ages! Okay, as stressed and sick as I was, I have no regrets about taking on COTTA. It was AMAZING. So much wonderful content! It was SO GOOD to contribute to the fandom, and to do that with history geeking? Dream come true. I also dipped into my previous area of expertise (picture manipulation) and did some cursed paintings to promote it. Mona Baz, Stormchaser Gothic, Mademoiselle Wellbelove, and Iconic Icon Simon.

A Prophesied Rivalry - Another dream come true was collaborating with @monbons for COTTA! I loved talking ideas with her, and she was so supportive when I hit road blocks, too. I love Ancient Egyptian art, and this was as much a love letter to that ancient art style as it was to my beloved Snowbaz. (I did a ridiculous amount of research to do this piece.) (And now I have Egyptian Baz and Simon in my new apartment. Extreme Bonus.)

Snow on Ice Illustration - Getting paired with @leithillustration for CORB was like winning the creative collaboration lottery. Not only did they grasp my concept from the get-go, but they've taken it in a creative and exciting direction. Also, we've become good friends, which is the very best possible outcome for a collaboration. (You should check out their story if you haven't already!)

(Snow-kitty also got very sick at the end of November, which halted a lot of my progress on some WIPs. It was scary for a bit, but I am so happy to say he has fully recovered.)

December:

Snowflake Exchange presents More Than a Footnote - I kind of love that I started the year illustrating one of @mooncello's stories, and ended it with an illustration from another! I was so excited to pull Heath's name from the proverbial hat for the exchange. I'd wanted to draw something from More Than a Footnote since the first time Heath told me about it. I completely love Dev and Niall at this point, so I hope to play with them some more in the future! (BTW Heath I think you're one of my muses hope that's okay XD)

SO. Yeah, the year was often a hard one, but a lot of good happened in spite of all the bad. The good was even more valuable for daring to happen in the midst of so much blah. (And boy howdy, did I get a lot of material to learn from.)

In 2025, I think I'm going to focus more on accepting my limits. Like, I can still work on improving my health and functionality, but I really need to try and determine when I need to stop. That has its own learning curve, but I have to start somewhere! I'm also working on vision therapy, which I'm doing on my own since I can't afford the out-of-pocket expense. Still... So far, so good. Fingers crossed!

Creatively, I think 2025 will be the year where I get to work on projects I started in 2023 and 2024, and I find that quite exciting because those are ideas I genuinely loved. I also hope to bring some other ideas I've had for a very long time to life. (Finally.) I hope, hope, hope! And hey, if I get to do more collabs? That would be awesome, too. (Carry On Through the Ages will be returning, as well!)

Thank you to these lovely people for tagging me in on this round-up, and for remembering me despite my frequent absence!

@emeryhall, @rimeswithpurple, @prettygoododds, @artsyunderstudy, @noblecorgi, @alexalexinii, @best--dress, @j-nipper-95, @roomwithanopenfire, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @imagineacoolusername, @mooncello, @whatevertheweather, @thewholelemon, @youarenevertooold, @monbons

And to everyone who is still tagging me on wipsday posts, other things, commented, any of that! Thank you. It means a lot to me. Hello's and How-Do's and general well-wishes to:

@drowninginships, @aristocratic-otter, @that-disabled-princess, @leithillustration, @bookish-bogwitch, @theimpossibledemon, @fiend-for-culture, @bazzybelle, @ic3-que3n, @blackberrysummerblog, @run-for-chamo-miles, @shrekgogurt, @confused-bi-queer, @hushed-chorus, @cutestkilla, @skeedelvee, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @wellbelesbian, @facewithoutheart, @ileadacharmedlife,, @raenestee, @supercutedinosaurs, @fatalfangirl, @palimpsessed, @martsonmars, @brilla-brilla-estrellita, @theearlgreymage

And anyone else who actually read my extremely long post. XD

[radley-rambles]

I don't understand people who say things like 'but it doesn't matter if we don't pay artists/writers for their labour, or use free AI programs to replace artists/writers to improve our profits, because in a perfect world everyone would have UBI so it wouldn't matter xxx'

like. yes. but until we reach that perfect world, artists and writers need to eat?

why are you promoting AI replacement of creative people instead of working towards UBI? Until we have UBI, supporting generative AI in the creative field is no different to supporting supermarkets laying off all their till staff to turn to self-check out, or supporting factories who shut down and move overseas to exploit workers in countries with fewer human rights legislations?

Yes, in a perfect world, everyone would receive UBI. Therefore, people across the globe couldn't be exploited by corporations, and artists could create for the joy of it, in whatever way we desire - including with AI!

But we do not live in that perfect world.

Do you seriously expect this move towards generative AI to encourage people to support UBI, as opposed to people being forced into jobs they hate to make ends meet or no longer being able to support themselves financially?

Especially all the disabled people who make a living creating art and writing/editing, because that is, in fact, a career that is often far more available to disabled folks than a regular 9-5 or a retail job where you're expected to be on your feet all day (miss my disabled ass with the 'anti-AI = ableism' stance lmao).

This is not going to create your army of revolutionaries. This is just going to result in more independent creators being crushed under the boot heel of capitalism, as anyone who would've hired them flocks instead to the free alternative, and they're forced back into an incredibly exploitative labour market.

I agree that generative AI by itself is just a tool and is not inherently a problem.

But it is being abused, in ways that hurt creators.

If you support generative AI... what are you doing about that?

[qprpbj]

no actually bc fasd johnny.. the possibilities are endless and so many traits line up so well with him….. sigh

[aleck-le-mec]

It's wild to me how some able-bodied people only think of disabled culture as a concept and they haven't ever actually experienced it. To me the biggest tell that somebody has never experienced disabled culture is their lack of knowledge about something I call Societal Manufactured Disability Theory.

This theory posits that an aspect of disability is manufactured by societal norms, stigmas and labeling.

People with disabilities like myself will tell you that people do treat you differently based solely upon the fact that you are disabled. When my hand writing is too messy to read do to Dysgraphia people assume I'm not trying hard enough to be neat, and if I'm lazy enough to slack with hand writing I must always be lazy. When I tell people I have Dyslexia they think I'm less intelligent, unable to read or incapable of understanding the written word. When I tell people I have a connective tissue disorder which is an invisible disability they think I'm a liar, scheming to take resources away from "real disabled people".

The societal norm here in America is to push forward, laziness is not an option we see it repeatedly in the rhetoric surrounding young people. News sources constantly talking about how "no one wants to work these days" or "young people are taking everything for granted".

There is a huge stigma around having Dyslexia that most people don't notice. In American society where we have a 79% literacy rate it is expected that you can read, so when you can't or you have trouble people think you have a lower IQ. Dyslexia can be genetic so I'm actually a fourth generation Dyslexic from my dad's side with all of them men being the ones to pass it down. My dad has always said that my great grandfather had no support for his Dyslexia, nobody cared and in fact the term Dyslexia was only coined in 1887. When my dad went to school they attempted to alleviate some of the symptoms of Dyslexia by making him watch his hands as he crawled on the floor, believing that the root of the problem was in a lack of eye coordination. To this day I and many other Dyslexics will avoid talking about our diagnosis because of the stigma behind it. I have had many experiences in my life where as soon as people learn that I am Dyslexic they assume that I can't spell anything or that they need to read everything to me. That's what stigma does, it makes people hide away just so they can live in peace and be respected.

It is extremely common for people with invisible disabilities to be labeled as liars, this is mostly due to a lack of education and representation. The general public's idea of disability is limited, but the truth is that disability is one of the most dynamic aspects of human beings. Invisible and dynamic disabilities make up the majority of disabilities; in fact, 1 out of every 3 Americans is in fact disabled. When people see me, a young, healthy-looking man, they never think I'm disabled. If I tell them I am, they may think I am lying. People generally do not like liars, and having such a label attached to your name can be detrimental to your social integration.

You can see that none of those setbacks I mentioned are symptoms of my disabilities. The perceived deviance, stigma, and labeling are not things you'll find on a medical report. However, they do harm me socially and potentially medically when it comes to stigma; these things disable me. Thus, part of my struggle as a disabled person is manufactured by society itself, in the norms we hold and the way we treat others.

I have come to that conclusion repeatedly, as have almost every other disabled person. It's a conclusion that is often reached in the community as a whole. However, it is in able-bodied culture where these stigmas, labels, and perceived attacks originate. So, if someone is completely averse to accepting the Societal Manufactured Disability Theory, it suggests that they have probably never fully been a part of any aspect of disability culture.

[the-oracle-of-the-lost]

banging my head against the wall while i say: "relatability is not the be all end all of writing a character. saying that you don't find a character relatable/you wouldn't have made the same choices does not mean something is poorly written. you actually should go out of your way to engage with media about people who are fundamentally different from you because it helps you learn about others."

[babyseraphim]

a title card transition for a oneshot i'm working on. i thought it was funny lol

also 100% possible i did my math wrong so don't @ me

[saturnniidae]

Modern au with a strong theme of Hiccup coping with his leg better than all the people around him and it's low key pissing him off

[hypermascbishounen]

There's a deep irony in Berserk being so admired by people who really really hate what Berserk is about on an emotional level, but especially when writers want to take influence from it. Because Berserk is very strong thematically, and someone who can't acknowledge subtext is going to whiff on emulating anything good.

[seveneyesoup]

ngl i’m still worried. like i Do have complete faith in ncuti gatwa but what i Don’t have is much faith at all in rtd’s writing about race

[running-on-coffee-and-anxiety]

Noticed But Hoping For The Best Part 5

There was nothing wrong, Danny knew that! He was just getting more and more tired as the ghost attacks ramped up, but it wasn't like he could explain why he was so exhausted. What would he even say? 'I'm the one fighting all the ghosts and going home was stressful until Jazz managed to set the home security system to not target me'? No, absolutely not. Because of that, however, he was forced to endure people acting like he was sick or something!

Well, Jazz didn't at least. She was just doing her general check-ins after his fight, always fussing over him and yet they quicky figured out that any injuries he gains as Phantom? They show up as bruises of varying severity when in his human form! As the bruises faded, the wounds Phantom had slowly healed, though they of course looked how they were supposed to on his ghost form. It was actually really cool to know that he wouldn't end up severely scarred from any injuries he got defending Amity Park!

Still, his sister used any day after a fight as an excuse to fuss and make sure he was okay, even if it was something simple as making him a smoothie for breakfast- when did she start doing that, anyways? Did they really have enough non-sentient food in the fridge, or was Jazz keeping her own personal store of stuff-? Actually that would make sense, maybe he should start doing the same. Sometimes she went a bit overboard, though, like insisting she was the one to comb his hair or tie his shoes before they went out the door. Danny wasn't a toddler, there was no need to go that far!

Still, he good-naturedly rolled his eyes and grumbled, occasionally fighting it- she once tried to zip up his jacket for him! Just because his fingers were clumsy from not getting enough sleep doesn't mean he was unable to do it himself- but otherwise the teen let his older sister fuss, knowing it made her feel better.

Thankfully, Tucker wasn't acting any different, either! It would have been easy to see, since they were spending more time together while Sam was away, but there was no change- except for teasing about his appearance, or about his handwriting. Danny had noticed that about his handwriting as well, lines never seemed to come out straight when he started writing or tried to draw, but that was another thing explained away by exhaustion. The lack of sleep affecting small motor skills was something he'd heard his parents warn each other about when growing up, and after the portal opened Jazz had lectured them about it and forced them to go to bed several times so they wouldn't hurt themselves in the lab.

Sleep felt like a bit of a luxury at this point, like going a week without a ghost attack or a test somehow being cancelled. Sure, he wasn't going sleepless, Jazz would never allow that and the ghosts tended to attack during the day, but apparently six hours weren't enough. Why else would he be nodding off in classes? Or maybe he was just bored, Danny could easily find that to be the case.

And yet when he was Phantom? Oh, he felt fantastic! Completely full of energy, his hands seemed to obey his mind, everything was clear and sharp, it was like he'd downed a coffee just before starting his fights! However, that made everything so much more prominent when he switched back. His left side randomly twitching- probably from overuse, his muscles did tend to feel sore around those times- but at least his right side didn't seem to feel it. It was probably just because the shock entered from his left hand, it would make sense for things to still be healing, even if turning half-ghost fixed most of the damage.

But it really seemed like having to deal with the ghosts invading the town was effecting his life more and more. It was taking longer to heal from any injuries he got in his human form- Dash tripped him once, Danny faceplanted into his locker, got detention for finally yelling at him and the busted lip he got took over two weeks to heal, it wasn't a good day- his grades were starting to drop, Mister Lancer seemed to be increasingly irritated with him. It was so frustrating! He was trying his best!

At least everything seemed to be alright in science class, it was as enjoyable as always. Sure, he always had to ask his lab partner to handle the finer details, like anything involving pipettes, but it was still fun! Even if he didn't enjoy his parents flavor of scientific curiosity, that didn't change the fact science was one of his favorite subjects. So of course, it made sense his luck would work against him and ruin one of the few good school-related things he had.

it was just a normal class, and his hands were steady enough to accurately poor things and use pipettes! Danny felt like he was on top of the world, he hadn't had a good day like this in awhile! There was an idle smile on his face as he worked, his arm wasn't sore- there was no warning when his body decided to betray him. No heads up, none of the soreness he had been using as an indicator to avoid breaking things. His left arm jerked, a stinging sensation streaking up his arm, fingers reflexively unclenching-

The only thing he could think as the beaker shattered on the floor was that he was glad it was empty. The chattering in the room fell silent as everyone turned and just... Stared. It was only for a moment, but it was still unnerving, then Mister Lancer spoke. "Danny, clean up the glass and see me after class- and for the love of Shakespeare, don't handle any more of the glassware."

That... that hurt to hear, in a way Danny couldn't explain. Sure, it made sense- why let someone handle fragile things when there was a chance of it breaking?- but that limited his ability to participate. Was he just going to be forced to watch everyone and do nothing whenever they had lab? The frustration spiked, causing the teen to pause and take a breath as he felt tears prickling his eyes. It was an accident, it wasn't his fault! Still, he managed to take care of the glass without getting any cuts.

There was a feeling of quiet dread, though, when he stayed back after everyone else was dismissed. Was this the final straw or something? Or would it be yet another lecture? He'd been getting a lot of those recently, on top of all the detentions when Mister Lancer decided he'd had enough of Danny dozing in class. It was a complete shock, but also a weight off his shoulders when he heard the magic words, "Calm down, you're not in trouble." So no detentions, and no consequences, fantastic! But of course it couldn't end there. "We just need to talk about something."

Right, of course, his teacher wouldn't hold him back just to say he wasn't in trouble. Still, the moment of silence where it looked like the man was actually thinking about what to say? Terrifying. It was like when his parents gave him The Talk, and while he knew Mister Lancer wouldn't do that it didn't decrease the nerves. "I won't ask for any details, but clearly something has happened."

That was not good- sure, Danny didn't think it was being guessed that he was Phantom, but the fact his exhaustion made someone think that something bad had happened meant he'd probably need to come up with some sort of cover, maybe lie about a lingering flu-

"I have been harsh due to believing you were slacking off, but if this is a genuine problem, it's my job as an educator to make sure any special requirements you have are met." Wait- waitwaitwait, that was as good as an apology from the man! It was impossible not to look at him with wide eyes, but no, it was too good to be true, unfortunately.

"Now, the ban on you handling glassware will exist and stay in place-" That was one of the worst things Mister Lancer could have said. That would effectively ban him from participating in labs, removing the fun parts that made science his favorite class! It was just one accident, it wasn't his fault! It wasn't fair! "-however, you will be given paper assignments you can fill out instead of doing the lab. Partner with someone and watch the experiment, then fill out the sheet your given."

That felt like being kicked when he was down! He couldn't actually participate, but he'd be forced to watch others do things without being able to join in, and then he'd have to write about what he saw! Danny didn't want that, especially because writing causes his hand to cramp severely, no matter which hand he uses! Usually he would be upset, yeah, but... it felt borderline tragic. It had been his first truly good day in a long while, everything was going perfectly, why did something have to go wrong! And Mister Lancer was still talking.

"Every time you submit a written assignment, I would like you to stay back and help me read it; your handwriting is like another language to me. Understood?" It felt like there was something trapped in his throat, to the point it felt hard to breathe, doing his best not to cry as he nodded. On top of not being able to participate in lab, he'd always have to stay back after every end-of-day class because his teacher couldn't even read his handwriting anymore! Why was everything going wrong?!

"Good. You're dismissed." It took all of Danny's effort to choke out the words expected of him, "Thank you." It took all of his effort not to run as he stepped out of the classroom and started walking to his locker to get his bag. He felt a sick, squirming feeling in his stomach, mind twisting itself in knots after that interaction.

And last but not least, there was Dash. The bane of his school life, the closest thing his human half had to a mortal enemy other than Vlad. It seemed like he upped the mockery of his appearance- "Did you run into that lunch ghost on the way here, or do you always end up dumping food on yourself?" "Is it a hurricane out there or did you not bother to brush your hair?" "Jeez Fentoad, you're makin' it too easy if your trip yourself on your own laces!"

Sure, he wasn't the neatest-looking person around, but Danny didn't think it was that bad. Maybe it was because his mind had been looping around after the mini-meeting with Mister Lancer, but he never really focused on his food when eating, and that often led to spilling food. As for laces, it just felt like more effort than it was worth the retie his shoes every single time they came undone- they never seemed to stay in place anymore! But it was just so tiring, dealing with the taunts and jabs, the sore wrists and occasional busted lips from tripping that took forever to heal...

Eventually, Danny stopped jabbing back. Maybe it was because Sam wasn't there to keep encouraging him that that trouble was worth it, maybe it was his own exhaustion, but there were no more verbal responses to the taunts, nothing more than a huff when being shoulder-checked made him stumble. Dash seemed to be getting bored, though that didn't decrease how often he decided to be a pointless jerk all at once. The blonde was determined to drag him down it seemed, though. In the normal day-to-day, the taunting and shoving was decreased, but on the rare occasion Danny was having a good day? Everything went back to normal, and it sucked!

When he wasn't having a good day, though? Everyone was acting like he was sick- he wouldn't say diseased, though, since they didn't avoid him or anything, but the changes in how people looked at him and sometimes even interacted with him was. Conversations that suddenly dropped when he entered a classroom, people whispering to each other every time he passed by, barely concealed looks of pity. The weirdest part? Even Wes was giving him space! Wes! Explained with a handwave and a 'Obviously you can't be Phantom in your condition'. What did that even mean?!

Danny couldn't wait for Sam to get back, maybe she could help figure things out, everything felt like it had become twisted and everyone was acting like it was normal, he was going to go mad at this rate!

Previous Next

[youandthemountains]

HELLO. This combined with the beta canon that Bones has atrocious spelling & Spock edits his papers.......