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Just realised I haven't posted in a while so here's a plus-sized body practice with Oksana

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I love you, but you did that shit. Like, you're so indefensible, I legally cannot say that I like you.

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Had this sitting around for some time

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For anyone doing ArtFight and wants to draw my OCs, here's all the links:

Dimaq

Ashanti

Oksana

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When you meet your torturer in public 😬😬

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One of my own OCs funny enough

Proshippers, darkshippers, comshippers, and anyone alike....

SHOW ME YOUR FAVORITE CHARACTER OR SHIP!!!

In all seriousness I'm tired of constantly hearing about antis, so i'd love to see things you guys actually like!

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Decided to draw Dimaq chillin for once instead of going through crazy shit

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Oksana Ydar

CW: Mentions of childbirth and rage from trauma

Oksana is a leading member of a predominantly Koamzian religious cult that is based not far from Mp'we. After learning that a young man, Dimaq, has recently had his partner give birth to twins without epidural, she sends members to kidnap him, and violently tortures him.

Race/Nationality: Koamzian

Age: 27

Height: 6'5

Pronouns: She/her (cisgender)

Sexuality: Bisexual with preference towards women

Appearance: She has pale skin and unlike other Koamzians who have blonde hair, her hair is mostly black and is cut short. She is overweight with large curves. She wears traditional Koamzian clothing which consists of a fluffy black long-sleeved top, and fluffy white pants with black patterns on them.

Type of whumper (Mentions of abuse/dangerous childbirth): Oksana is a very religiously and sadistically motivated whumper, not only torturing because it is required by their God, but feeling genuine glee at torturing Dimaq. After doing so, she often goes to places where Dimaq frequents, such as the town market, experiencing joy at his fearful reactions.

Oksana wasn't always involved in the cult, joining when she was around 20. 3 years earlier, she had a boyfriend and a stable family life, and got pregnant. She was very frightened because at first she didn't want to have a child yet, but was reassured by her parents' promises to take the child to her boyfriend's family. The childbirth was miserable and agonising, as there was no access to pain relief, and Oksana lost a lot of blood.

Oksana decided to suppress her trauma as it is discouraged in Koamzian society to talk about birth trauma. However, this caused her in the coming years to violently lash out frequently at her loved ones. Her parents let her join the cult, believing she'd find healing, but disowned her after she'd tortured her boyfriend, due to learning that he'd actually not supplied pain relief despite it being available because he wanted the birth to be 'special'.

Other: Her tag - the story she's involved in

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POV: You are a pro-natural birth pro-lifer

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Exposure Therapy: Naked

CW: Nudity, descriptions of trauma, implied torture, short but toxic trauma response

“Alright,” Ashanti begins, sitting cross-legged like myself and facing me. “Me and you are gonna do this for just 5 minutes, then we can do somethin’ comfortable together.” Her voice is sweet, a little soft, but there’s a slight hint of toughness, not just in her words.

“Um… okay.” I respond. My voice quivers heavily. My hands twiddle each other. I absolutely do not want to think about what that white demon did to me. There’s a strong sickness in my stomach, causing me to breathe slowly but shakily.

Ashanti nods. I stand up, keeping myself focused on her. My legs are shaking, but she looks back with determination. My hands reach towards the top button of my dark fluffy onesie; an item of clothing that has been my protection. Shakily, I unbutton all that are below it, until Ashanti can see the front of my nude figure.

At once, the cold air blows against my front. It immediately reminds me. I know that right now I’m not naked and tied to a tree, a group of white cultists in front of me, and her standing with her hands on her disgusting, fat hips, grinning at me. But it does feel that way.

My stomach churns, and I almost feel light-headed. I keep staring at Ashanti, as I very slowly let the onesie fall off me. My arms are tight, and I breathe quietly but very quickly. A quivering frown had already formed on my mouth, I feel my lips trembling heavily, just as quickly as my body.

Hesitatingly, I let the onesie slip off a little quicker. I desperately want to savour the last few moments of warmth, softness, protection.

Slowly, I take off my onesie. It falls against the floor.

I am now stark naked.

The air hits the rest of my skin harshly, like something heavy being thrown at me. Even though only my love is here, my Ashanti who will protect me from anything, I feel watched by thousands. I can almost see that white devil in my vision. My eyes widen.

“You’re still here,” Ashanti whispers, “don’t panic. You’re doin’ well.” She places a gentle touch against my skin.

Despite her words, all I can think about is the woman who cut my finger off.

I look towards my hand, my left hand. The stump is still a bit bloody, with a bandage wrapped around it. I can’t help but cringe, even though I’m obsessively repeating “I’m safe” in my mind-

SHE’S HERE SHE’S HERE SHE’S HERE SHE’S HERE SHE’S HERE

Suddenly, I look up. She’s not there. I look around the room, expecting to see that woman, smiling at my fear, but she isn’t here.

“It’s alright,” Ashanti coos, “you wanna walk around for a bit?” I nod my head, shakily. “We’ll do that, then how about we cuddle for a bit?” I nod again. I don’t want to speak.

Ashanti puts her hand on my back. My foot slowly steps forward, the cold, hard floor causing a slight shock as I step down again.

“I’m scared,” I whimper, my voice barely hanging on. I breathe out, shakily.

“You will feel scared, but that’s normal. Just keep tellin’ yourself that you’re here and safe.” That’s what I am doing. It works, just a little bit, but I still feel my stomach churning violently, and the sound of that white devil, yelling manically in my ears, even though she isn’t here. I can hear the smile in her voice, how she told me exactly what she was going to do, and exactly why I deserved it.

I try to force my brain to think of Ashanti’s hand on my shoulder as she guides me in circles around the grey room. It works, a little. That, and also focusing on the sound of wind, the cold on my naked body. My chest is still hollow. I want to run. I feel like getting my onesie back on, but at the same time I feel as if I could survive a just a few more moments.

I do, surprisingly. The fear only subsides slightly, but I am able to focus more on the present. The white devil still speaks, but due to Ashanti’s calm words, I am able to realise its just in my head, even though Ashanti doesn’t know.

“I think we should stop now,” she says, looking away. She’s looking towards the onesie that slipped onto the floor moments ago. It’s crumpled against the dirty-ish floor, but I still desperately want to feel it against my skin.

Ashanti’s hand is no longer there. I crunch into myself slightly, still standing. I should know that she’s just getting my coat, but my brain won’t let me think that.

“Here, it’s done now.” The sound is beautiful to me. Peaceful, at last. I quickly put the onesie on, sighing in relief. My body feels a lot warmer, and a lot looser and softer. It’s finally done.

“You were so brave,” she whispers. She places a gentle hand on my face. But I… Just this moment, I felt my body fly in relief, but now I’m beginning to burn in anger. I push her hand away, hesitantly backing up.

“Dimaq?”

“D-Don’t talk to me!” Why did she make me feel this? This fear that gripped and suffocated my chest, made my body quiver. Even now, my hands are up to my chest, shakily twiddling, seemingly out of fear even though my body is beginning to burn in anger. “You don’t get how hard this is. That was so hard for me! I was- this- this is-!” I don’t know what I’m saying.

“Dimaq, calm down.” She says, firmly.

“No!” My arms straighten behind me. “You made me feel so vulnerable just then. I shouldn’t be feeling this, I should be moving on. Taking care of our 2 children. But instead, y-you’re making me feel terrified!” My voice breaks, tears suddenly coming in my eyes.

“Dimaq, calm down.” She says, firmly.

“You want me to calm down?!” She flinches. I grit my teeth. “You will get on your fucking knees, and beg me.” I say these words slowly, but my voice aches with anger. “Down, lady!”

Ashanti doesn’t get down. She stares at me, her eyes narrow with disgust. She begins to breathe harshly. Her body towers over me, like a giant. My body jolts in fear, and I look away. “Um, uh, I’m sorry, I- I-“

“Dimaq, it’s okay.” She says bluntly. I cannot look back at her, not after what I’ve just said. My hand quickly rubs my fist, and I breathe quickly. Suddenly, 2 large hands wrap around my fist, as well as the hand rubbing it. “Sit down, with me.” Her voice is a lot sweeter now.

I sit down, whimpering a little. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t, I really didn’t.” My hands squeeze my head, my left hand pulling a little on my locs. My palm smacks on my forehead a couple of times.

“Hey, hey,” she coos, “it’s alright.” She brings me into a hug, her large, chubby body comforting me a little. I still whimper feebly. “Getting’ angry is completely normal. I’ll… tell you somethin’.”

“I’m listening.” My voice cracks, and I rub a tear from my eye. She brings me a little closer into the hug.

“Not long after I gave birth to our twins, my mama had me do this. She’d do it whilst you were takin’ care of them with your mama or father. She used to kneel right on my stomach, and say things that she said whilst I were givin’ birth. It was terrifyin’. I would scream and shout, but it got that out of my system.

“I’m tellin’ you this because… after we were done, the first few times, I’d scream at her way worse than this. I was so angry at her. But she forgives and understands. She’s a healer.”

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One of the attitudes that frustrates me most about the mainstream response to art these days is the general insistence that it must impart some grand moral lesson or enlighten you to something you did not already know. Art can and very often does exist merely as a reflection or portrayal or expression of something otherwise unseen. You write a poem about grief not to illustrate how to cope with it but to write about grief. To embody the disembodied and make it solid, tangible, palpable

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Me thinking about my OCs going through exposure therapy that triggers their trauma issues:

Me: looking off in the distance smiling

Mom: what’s got you in such a good mood? Is it a boy? A girl? Cute kitten picture?

Me: uh….yeah :)

My brain: thinking of my blorbo with the worst injury possible and ways it could get even worse

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Don’t give a fuck that this trends over

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BIRTH

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Terrified Whumpee:

Nonononononono I'll be good master I'm sorry please i-i didn't mean-"

"Please sir please you don't need the tranquilizer I'll be still, I'll be so still!"

"Yes master, I'm a bad mutt. G-get on the table? I-Please master."

"I-Im...sorry...mmh... c-cant...breathe..."

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Dimaq just before he got tortured UwU

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Oksana again + her cult symbol in the background 🤩🤩🤩