agateskittles

[agateskittles]

For anyone who likes queer horror podcasts this is a project I've been working on for five years now that is finally getting released this summer!!! I'm so so excited for people to get to listen to it so please if you are interested give it a try!

Are you ready, residents? Welcome to Ribbon Ridge.

Arrhythmia is a ten-episode limited-series queer horror audio drama, releasing in the summer of 2025. Follow us on Instagram, Tumblr, and Bluesky @arrhythmiapod for updates. We'll see you soon🫀

[agateskittles]

I was just in a tiny bar restroom. I'm wearing a shirt I got when I was twelve. For the first time in almost 12 years I've noticed that it doesn't quite fit and I'm proud of that in a way that feels like losing something and gaining something at the same time.

There was a sticker on the wall that says A Trans Person Shit Here and it's funny and sad at the same time because this was a single stall bathroom even smaller than the bathroom in my first apartment.

And I can hear my friends just on the other side of the bar in the corner booth we claim after rehearsals, talking animatedly and loudly about something I can't quite make out and it reminds me of that quote I read once about how death is like falling asleep in a room where you can hear your friends talking just beyond the door.

And I feel hope in the midst of crumbling devastatation.

And I'm here.

And I'm not going anywhere.

And I think my mozz sticks will have arrived when I get back to the table. And it feels like living.

This also isn't a poem. But nothing I write really is anymore.

[agateskittles]

This! This is a major major reason I didn't end up following through with my English/creative writing major in college. I remember in my first creative writing class turning in a short story that was about the internal political structure of a vampire monarchy at war with the Fae. And like not to say my writing is great but it was good, I was really proud of it!! I still am! And she gave me a C or a B- on it (I can't remember) and I went to her office hours with the rubric we had been given and I was like hey Professor please explain to me what I did wrong because I've been over the rubric a bunch and I genuinely can't figure out what I did.

And she looked over the rubric and flipped through my story again and was like. Y'know I'll be honest. I really hate fantasy and sci-fi. (Because we read aloud I knew that everyone else in the class had written realistic fiction.)

And then she was like and if that's what you write I will struggle to read it fairly because I just don't like it. But! You shouldn't change your writing style because of that. I will make an effort to grade you fairly and based solely on your mechanics and structure. Please keep being who you are as a writer.

And I did! And by the end of that class she told me she had actually enjoyed some of what I had written and asked me for book recs because when she was in school all that they read and wrote was realistic fiction and any fantasy or sci-fi (excluding specifics like Frankenstein or Lord of The Rings) just wasn't discussed or written.

And I left the department after that and kept writing what I enjoyed and reading what I enjoyed and I am a much much better writer than I was back then. But I think about that conversation a lot because I think most of the older generation of writers and professors have that worldview and it's really sad.

Anyway. Anything you read makes you a better writer! Anything you write even if it's fanfiction or silly short stories or bad poems. All of it is worth it if you enjoy it and all of it will help you grow! Read what you want and fuck the people who try to police that.

my creative writing prof also HATES fantasy. as in if she asks for an example of symbolism in a book, and you give something from a fantasy novel, she’ll ask for an example from a “non-commercial book” instead.

I dunno man, people can have preferences, but the second you discount the artistic merit of sci fi and fantasy I stop taking your opinion seriously. and there’s such a big culture in Canada of only valuing literary fiction, to the point where one of our biggest authors, Margaret Atwood, refused for a while to classify her books as sci fi or fantasy. she said they were “speculative fiction”, which is entirely separate and very highbrow (sarcasm).

and I could go on about how Octavia Butler and Ursula Le Guin wrote books every bit as intellectual (and honestly, even more so) than their literary counterparts, but I am also an enjoyer of schlock!! I think there’s artistic merit in animorphs, and in isekais where a japanese schoolgirl reincarnates into a magical spider who has to level up like it’s a video game! it’s like with everything, you can’t draw a clean line that separates ‘art’ from ‘non-art’ or even ‘lesser art’, and pretending you can do so just makes you look ignorant and goofy. in my opinion.

[agateskittles]

Okay random not writing or life related post but:

I reread the Murderbot Diaries (excellent series by Martha Wells highly highly recommend if you haven't read it. Tons of queerness and neurodivergent themes also just fun sci-fi shenanigans) and I'm looking for fanfic to read now that I've run out of actual content and I'm Struggling to find anything.

If anyone who follows me on here has any suggestions of fanfics for me that they have enjoyed I'd Love Some. (No real tag preferences although I don't love Murderbot in explicit romantic relationships cause in my mind it is ace.)I also posted this on my side blog but yeah. Please give me fic suggestions I crave more silly robot time.

[agateskittles]

AHHHHHHH. THIS IS SO FREAKING COOL. I want it.

crochet aquarium

[agateskittles]

This is mostly a ramble not a poem.

But there's something rattling around in my head that I need to put down.

I grew up rural.

Rural Midwest every summer, rural West, and eventually rural Appalachia during the year. I grew up with the gods of the lake and the mountains and the green tangled woods and each laid their claim on me in their own way.

When I was old enough to move, I ran. Ran for the city and the suburban sprawl. For the past near-decade I've only seen the mountains through the windows of my car as I drive cross country to visit family. And since that family moved away from Appalachia to Tide-Water I see the ocean more often than the woods these days. Even that is fleeting.

But every summer I'm back in the Midwest for at least a little while. Some of my best friends live in Indiana and I've spent a couple weeks with them for the last five years, sleeping on their couch and waking to the glow of the Midwest sun. The texture of the light is different out here. But that's a conversation for another time.

Every summer we sit and listen to at least one good storm as it crashes and booms, having had miles and miles of flat unclaimed land to build up it's power enough to make the sky turn green.

We go to the county fairs to look at the chickens and rabbits and cows, and the pop up carnivals which always make me feel sick after two rides but remind me so much of childhood Fourth of July's that I'll keep riding till I'm dizzy.

I've never been out here in the winter.

I've confined myself to the city. The summers a rare slice of a couple weeks between the seasons at my job where I get to remember what it is to be wild again. Where I get to see the lake I grew up with and the tiny town that raised me in the dry-heat months of library summer reading programs and science camps.

But recently I had to come out to Chicago for a program. And I spent a few days in Indiana afterwards.

I realize I miss it here. My body keeps telling me it's supposed to be summer. That this house and this place are for sun and sno cones and cotton candy.

But another deeper part of me is aware that it's not supposed to be summer. I was just supposed to have been out here for winters before this. I'm not supposed to live in cities. I'm not built for concrete and glass and neon.

I'm built for open spaces and rolling hills and storms that break and crack the sky in two and shift the house on its foundations. I'm built for a lake as powerful as any ocean with rolling surf and frozen lighthouses.

I have the chance to come back here. To be here for at least the next three years. Somewhere in the Midwest, somewhere close enough to the lake to feel like I'm home again.

Ive been telling everyone for months I'm not going to take that chance. That I'd much prefer heading back down the east coast for another densely packed city. Somewhere closer to the woods from my childhood but far enough away that I know Id never visit.

But sitting here. Watching the winter sunlight filter through the windows of my friends' apartment. I've realized the texture is still different from the light where I am now. It was never just different because it was summer. It was different because it was here.

I'm still not sure I'll be coming back long term. There's too much uncertainty in the world right now for me to be sure about how safe I could be. But I'm considering it more than before. For the first time in almost a decade I feel homesick again. This time for a place Ive never even properly lived.

[agateskittles]

So I made a sideblog a couple months ago for a fanfiction I'm working on and since I've noticed a few people have been hopping to my main from the sideblog, I wanted to say hello on here!

I don't really use my main to post very often, and 90% of my blog is old writing and poetry I have kicking around from years ago but it's been fun seeing people like my old posts. Once I finish the bulk of this fanfiction I might start putting snippets of original stories on here again cause I've really reignited my love of writing over the past few months. Or I might just start another fanfiction, who knows!

Anyway, if anyone is still lurking on my blog who doesn't know about the sideblog it's @gravityskittles which currently is just chapters and drawings for my long form Gravity Falls fanfic. Probably will eventually have some other gravity falls stuff on it once I remember to actually reblog things every so often.

Love you all! Especially people who have been reading my silly little story, seeing your reblog tags and seeing people like a bunch of chapters in one go makes my heart so so happy. I love writing and storytelling so much and it's been wonderful seeing that people aside from my irl friends enjoy my stuff too.

<3 <3

[agateskittles]

Things set designers ask for without realizing actually how much work this is to do.

[agateskittles]

Pride in space (part 1)

You can buy these posters here !

part 2

[agateskittles]

So, I made these for my girlfriend and another close friend of ours for Christmas (the character models are based on them both) and really wanted to post them somewhere cause I’m very proud of how they turned out. They each took about 12 hours to do and I also spent 3 extra hours initially making character models on Heroforge to use as references. I’m currently working on a Virgil/Logan one for myself as well. (Reposts are fine just please credit me if you do, stealing art makes me very sad.)

[agateskittles]

Look last summer I drove my 92 year old grandfather somewhere using Google maps since I don't know his area that well.

After we got home he asked me how he could "make the little map appear on his phone" and inwardly I sighed because I knew this would take a while.

I sat down with him and went through every app he could possibly need to use. I wrote him a cheat sheet for the different icons on his phone and what tapping them would do. I adjusted his text to make it bigger so it was easier to read. I reformatted his screen to give it more contrast so it was easier to see.

It took two hours. He then took his phone and my cheat sheet and went off by himself for several more hours. He occasionally came out to ask a few clarifying questions but by that evening he didn't need the cheat sheet anymore. He knew what the apps did he had downloaded several more so he could read his news sites on the phone as well. He had downloaded photo editing software so he could edit and adjust his photos better.

I found out later that he had been given a new phone by his phone company two weeks before and the people at the phone company had refused to walk him through any of it, telling him to purchase the manual online. The manual was over 500 pages of mostly modern technical jargon that never explained how to work Google maps or anything even remotely useful for what he needed to know.

This man used one of the very first computers ever built when he started working as a government computer scientist back in his late teens and early twenties. He's now facetiming me every few weeks excitedly telling me about what new tricks he's figured out how to do on his phone. Telling me with pride how pleased he is by how far technology has come.

Older people learning to use technology with an open mind is a wonderful thing to watch. It makes the world more accessible for them. And while I didn't want to do it at the time I'm so happy I took the time to teach him because otherwise I'm pretty sure he would have read that entire 500 page manual instead just to try and figure out how to download the new york times.

Me: “How can I help you today, ma'am?” Client: “Is e-mail internet”? Me: “I beg your pardon?” Client: “Is e-mail on the internet? I have no internet, can I still read my e-mail?” Me: “Well yes, you must be able to get online to view your e-mail.” Client: “Oh, dear. I can’t see my e-mail.” Me: “Well, let’s see. Can you open up Internet Explorer for me and tell me what you see?” Client: “Open what?” Me: “Your browser, can you open up your browser?” Client: “My…my…?” Me: “What you click on when you want to browse the internet?” Client: “I don’t use anything, I just turn my computer on, and it’s there.” Me: “Okay. Do you see the little blue ‘e’ icon on your desktop?” Client: “You mean I have to start writing letters again?” Me: “I’m…what, I’m sorry?” Client: “I don’t have any pens at my desk. I just want my e-mail again.” Me: “No, ma'am, your desktop, on your computer screen. Can you click on the little blue ‘e’ on your computer screen for me?” Client: “Oh, this is too much work. I’m too upset. Just send me my e-mail. Can’t you send me my e-mail?” Me: “We…okay, ma'am. Can you tell me what color the lights are on your router right now?” Client: “My what?” Me: “The little box with green or possibly a couple of red lights on it right now - it’s most likely near your computer?”

Client: “Lights and boxes, boxes and lights, just get my e-mail for me.

Me: “My test is showing that you should be able to get online right now. Can you tell me what you’re seeing on your computer screen?” Client: “It’s been the same thing for the last two hours.” Me: “An error message?” Client: “No, just stars. It’s black and moving stars.” Me: “…Do you see your mouse next to your keyboard?” Client: “Yes.”

Me: “Move it for me.” Client: “Move it?” Me: “Yes. Move it.” Client: “My e-mail!”

[agateskittles]

RABBIT RABBIT

We sat and watched the seconds count down

The new year turned over

Uneventful, quiet

No banging of pots and pans

No shouts of Happy New Year!

Just the hum of a familiar song kicking into the chorus as the clock reached zero

A list of names runs through my head

As the song continues

A list that grows longer every year

Everyone I care about

Everyone I love

Alive or dead

Near or far

A silent list of names and a longing so sharp it makes my chest hurt

Please let them be safe

Happy

At peace

Please let their years be joyful

Please bring them all back safely to me again

The very next day I tried to explain to my friend that he confused me when we first met because he loves quietly

And he responded that "all genuine love is quiet"

In relating this to another friend that same week they said "does that mean all love is sad?"

A rush of images floods through my head

As the list goes on

Rain pouring down as the final wick goes out and my senior circus show comes to a close.

The three people who traveled halfway across the country to see it are hugging me in silence as I struggle not to cry.

Sitting at the top of the catwalk as the final song of my senior thesis plays and bows begin. As the lights go down I am holding hands with two of my best friends as we all cry silently watching our year of work come to a close

Walking halfway across campus in the freezing cold to hold my partner as she cries, and we both have places to be but for a moment the world is still

Having a fourth raw potato wordlessly stacked in front of me because I am having a shit day and he knows it will make me laugh

Love is empty porch swings and 4am apricot tea

Love is being told "see you soon" by someone you never expected to see again

Love is picking up the phone at 2am even though you were just on the verge of falling asleep

Love is drinking tea every morning from a mug given to you by someone you don't speak to anymore

Love isn't always quiet. And quiet love isn't always sad. Love can be joyous reunification. Love can be laughing until you can't breathe. Love can be warm Sunday morning coffee with friends. Love can be drunkenly mapping out constellations together.

But love, longing and nostalgia are close friends. Inseparable from one another at times.

The song ends. The year begins. My list finishes. And for a moment. Just a moment.

There is silence.

Filled with a quiet, aching

Love

[agateskittles]

Small joys are few and far between. The internet is so loud the destruction of the world of society of peace is a cacophony of screaming voices demanding to be heard. It drowns out everything else around it.

But at work this week a drifter stopped by and leaned in the door to ask if we had need of another set of hands. We just finished a show and don't start building for the next one for a couple weeks, there is no extra work, but my coworker told him to come back anyway, if nothing else for a couple hours of helping us haul trash out and some cash under the table. He handed him a bottle of water and a slip of paper with help numbers on it before sending him on his way.

Yesterday an old man in a thrift store gave my roommate a book for free and when they tried to pay anyway smiled and pushed us out the door saying that words were worth too much to have an asking price

Two weeks ago I went to an art fair and met a queer couple at a booth selling human tooth earrings. They were the only people wearing masks at the event and I asked if they had an extra one for me. They happily handed one over and gave me a small discount on the teeth i picked out, because I seemed like someone who cared about the world.

Someone on my street put up a sign the other day to let us know they'd found their missing cat. I'd worried about him every day on the walk home as I passed the missing poster disintegrating slowly in the rain

Sometimes another coworker buys my lunch and has never once venmo requested me for it because I make less money then he does

Every day on my walk home the crossing guard tells me to have a wonderful day

The man down the street lets me pet his dog every morning on my way to work

If you look for it it's there. Hiding in the cracks in the sidewalk, like blue sky peeking out through the clouds. Small joys, simple love, acts of kindness. Like that sock you thought you'd lost that shows up in your laundry basket one day and you don't know how it got back to you but you thank the universe anyway and smile.

[agateskittles]

Such a good story. The perfect level of eerie and sad for a nighttime read.

Phytoplankton

Did you know that phytoplankton produce about 80% of the world’s oxygen?

(It feels nice to finally be writing again. I thought it would be fun to try something shorter this time.)

####

No one had told me it was the end of the world. My phone clearly hadn’t heard either, as it rang loud and clear for my 8AM alarm. The lamps in my bedroom didn’t seem to know, flickering to life with their gentle, soft glow. I would never know if the overhead light knew that the world had ended around us since I never turned it on much anyway. It was always too bright, too sharp, and with a hue that made my eyes water.

My house, as it turned out, had no idea that the world had ended, but my cat certainly did. Pepper lay on her side in the middle of the kitchen,  stiffness already seizing her cold dead muscles. The basil on the windowsill knew too, wilted and rotten in it’s pot.

Out in the streets, the leaf-stripped trees knew. The birds with their necks hanging limp over the sides of their nests knew. The dead grass knew, the downed dragonflies knew, the husks of beetles knew, the still rabbits that used to nibble at my neighbours garden knew.  I hadn’t had the heart to check and see if my neighbour knew too, I didn’t need to know.

The streetlight at the end of my block didn’t know, blinking proudly green against the pink sunrise. The walk symbol flashed for no one, but when it singled red I stopped and waited my turn all the same.

My car probably didn’t know the world had ended, but I didn’t think to check as I headed further and further down the quiet road. A train’s whistle echoed hollow across the mucky bay, littered with the already decomposing corpses of fish, of seals, and maybe even the a humpback whale calf, but I couldn’t tell for certain. It could have been the muddy hull of an overturned boat for all I knew.

The oversaturated signage of the gas station store hadn’t figured out that it didn’t need to glow, and the fridges and freezers didn’t seem to know better themselves. They buzzed, louder than I thought they used to, but then again, it hadn’t ever been quite so quiet here before.

Peeking over the counter the clerk lay crumpled behind the till. He looked familiar, maybe we’d gone to the same high school. I leaned against the counter, propping my cheek on my elbow. What was his name again? Even? Allen? Alex. That was it. Alex Daniels. I hadn’t talked to him in years, but back then he’d always seemed keen to move out, somewhere far away on the other side of the country. Guess that never happened if he was still here. I hadn’t brought my wallet with me, but I doubted that he would stop me from walking out with an armful of bottled iced lattes and pockets stuffed with snacks.

Keep reading

[agateskittles]

Transcription: "there must be thousands of people in this city who are dying to welcome you into their small bolted rooms. To sit you down and tell you what happened to their lives. And the night smells like snow. Walking home, for a moment, you almost believe you could start again. An intense love rushes to your heart, and hope, it is unendurable. Unendurable." --Franz Wright

Made this illustrated quote for my partner and really liked how it turned out. I havent done a fully inked piece in a while and I am surprised with how pleased I was with it!

[agateskittles]

Final installment of entity art. I wanted to do both side of the eye, power and paranoia so here is the power one!