jev-urisk

[jev-urisk]

A fellow artist.

Who tf is baja blast…???

[jev-urisk]

💋Kazimier and 🐁Val

Person A: "What's your favourite body of water?"

Person B: "Soup."

Person A: "No."

Person B: "The fuck do you mean 'no'."

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🌻Klaus and 🐁Val

Person A: "What's your favourite body of water?"

Person B: "Soup."

Person A: "No."

Person B: "The fuck do you mean 'no'."

[jev-urisk]

WIP Wednesday ✍️

I'm so excited!! I'm almost done with the big midpoint to my WIP 7 Circles. (The Masquerade chapters! 🎭)

It needs a little buff and polish, but the initial writing and arranging is complete 🥳 Here is the beginning of Chapter 15, The Demonic Powers (Val + Seeker POV)

Envy had seen the way Seeker blushed when Val got stuffed into a white getup and decided that was the color for the PAs at the big party. Seeker ‘wasn’t comfortable’ with the idea of picking out someone else's clothes, which was another headache for Val, all told. But Duke Envy’s little sister had opinions to spare about trussin’ up slaves, which Star-Eyes had feelings about as well. Val wasn’t sure what the problem was, Seeker was clearly giving him eyes over this particular outfit. The front of the ifrit’s vest is something like a vee-neck tuxedo shirt, but the back is sheer lace that's held together with a corset that Val himself insisted Seeker tighten twice. The shorts are tight around his waist, puff out on his hips, and taper at his thighs. His plain white mask was little more than a strip of porcelain with eyeholes, highlighting the yellow of his eyes as he looks up to Seeker from his spot on the floor of the limousine. As the car slows to a stop before the looming capitol building and it’s looming crowd, all gathered under the setting sun. He gives Seeker a warning look and hops out first, wrapping his tail around his waist to make it less noticeable. Seeker hadn't requested it, they never did, but those awaiting them outside are not so open minded. Beyond the tinted window, photographers for at least a dozen networks and tele-zines are gathered on either side of a long aubergine carpet that leads to The Capitol, and all of them adjust the angles on their cameras as the small PA walks around the car and pulls the door open. As the guest of honor exits the vehicle, a wave of clicking sweeps through the crowd. Cameras flash and approved news networks from all four districts begin giving excited reports from the sidelines; "And here they are now! Our ambassador from beyond the sky!" "Just behind me, the superstar of tonight's Masquerade has arrived-" "- Kalilith is wearing a custom Jacque Blanc tonight, and isn't it a stunning piece?" It is a stunning dress. Even Seeker thinks so as they step out of the limo with resolute confidence. The plum bodice had a crossed neckline like the many of their outfits, fitting smoothly from their shoulder and crossing low in their modest cleavage before joining as one piece of fabric that flowed down from their waist in a skirt that slit high on their right hip. A delicate sheer chiffon overlaid the sensuous shape of the article, adding quasi-modesty to the show of leg and making up the four long sleeves that lay neatly on the blue skin visible underneath. Upon this sheer layer, all over the dress, were golden designs of stars and constellations standing out vividly against the deep purple- a herald to their sensationalised origin.

Stay tuned for more~

Photo by Julio Rionaldo on Unsplash

7C Content: @gioiaalbanoart @biblicallyaccuratefruitbat @lychhiker-writes @autism-purgatory @wyked-ao3

@cowboybrunch @zackprincebooks @smellyrottentrees @tragedycoded @the-golden-comet

@quillswriting @nbkuhn @ddgraywrites @desastreus @theglitchywriterboi

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@gioia-writes-and-others @aalinaaaaaa @the-letterbox-archives +Open Tag

[jev-urisk]

April Fools should be a day off for serious stuff. I sent out two raises and one termination letter today while whispering, 'please know this isn't a joke' and praying I dont get a weird response.

[jev-urisk]

🏳️‍⚧️☝️🏳️‍⚧️

to celebrate tdov i think you should read a trans person's short stories :) look there's some right here. these ones are about disgusting queers and fucked up animals. cool thanks <3

[jev-urisk]

A Musing Monday 🎐+

Trans Day of Visibility 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️

'You don't know me. Clearly you don't care to know me. And that's your loss.'

That's what I've been telling the echoes in my head since last Thursday, when a woman followed me out of the Womens bathroom to ask in a scathing tone to which bathroom I belonged.

Now, I have a relationship with my gender which, like many Queer people, takes a bit to explain and doesn't really fit into binaries. I identify as trans-nonbinary and genderfluid, and I am also intersex. Some days I feel fem and want to wear dresses and feel pretty. Some days I feel masc and like a button-up with the sleeves rolled back. A lot of the time, I'm not even thinking about gender and just wear whatever seems fun while fitting with the activity or work im doing that day.

Thursday, I felt very fem. I put on my special lemon skirt and a nice blouse, put my hair up in a high clip- I felt it was a very cute work outfit! It seems other people thought so too. I was washing my hands in the bathroom (which is in the hallway of a building rented by multiple businesses, including my employers) when a woman starts washing as well and says "I like your skirt, thats very pretty."

To which I OF COURSE say, "Thanks! It has pockets~". I then dry my hands and as I exit shoot a, "Hope you have a nice day!" in her direction for happy measure.

I wasn't expecting her to follow me down the hall to the lobby of the building and ask loudly, scathingly, "Should you be using the *women's* bathroom??"

This struck me dumb. In my life I have recieved some side-eyeing or people walking away quickly, the whispers and urging a child not to stare- all sad, strange, and occasionally wryly amusing moments in places like gas station bathrooms where I go very infrequently.

But, this is the building I WORK in. This is where my car is parked much of the day. This is where I am sometimes alone in my office with nothing but glass between the lobby and myself.

I say "Yes." and by rote try to explain, try to staunch her confusion somehow. The doctors declared me female at birth but they were only kinda correct (i.e. intersex)- though I'm also trans by several definitions and have had an HRT prescription in the past, but I'm also *hella* fem today. I fumble. "I'm, um, inters-"

"I do NOT appreciate you being there!" She interrupts, jabbing a finger towards me, "It isn't appropriate!!" She adds, walking into the office on the opposite side of the lobby from me, glaring at me with disgust.

Numbly, I walk the rest of the way to my office. Un-numbly, I begin to tremble and realize this happened to me because I have a deep voice. She lived my skirt, but not more than she hated my voice. With shaking hands I message my direct supervisor and the COO of my company.

Hi, bit of an unfortunate update I want to give you two just in case there's any kind of trouble with our neighbors or something gets reported to the owner of the building. I was just told by a lady across the hall from us that I should not be using the women's bathroom and that it's inappropriate for me to be using that facility.

I feel bad in that engrained, vulnerable kind of way. I'm a fairly recent hire as far as administrators go- 4 months. I moved my office to this location just 2 weeks ago. Now I'm caught up in some issue, now someone who maybe works a couple dozen feet away might try to come after me- my ability to use the bathroom, at least. What if she calls the police on me? What do I do? I have an ID with 'F' on it but what if the cops hate my voice as well? What if she or the cops try to grope or sexually assult me to 'see' and 'prove' what I am? Would they even understand what they're looking at? What if she thinks people like me shouldn't EXIST, let alone be left alone to pee?

What if she's got a gun?

I decide to work down the hall, in our children's therapy office. I'm spiraling and shivering and my chest is filled with ice. I sit near a new hire watching training videos and try to breathe while I see my superiors typing.

What if I lose my job?

That fear, at least, lessens in the following moment as my little chatroom erupts with concern for me and questions of how I would like to proceed. Do I want to go home for the day? Do I want to move back to the farther office location?

I decide that I want to try having a normal day, and my COO says he will be at this location on Monday and can talk with the neighbors- An Adult Disability Support company, about the situation. I tell myself that maybe she was just a visitor, or the guardian of one of the clients over there. Maybe she's a client herself, and between a fixed perspective and a difficulty regulating her emotions she came at me like that- I've had clients of my own while working in disability support who have a determined passion over information that they unfortunately came upon. (I got nearly screamed out of a house before for implying Troy Bolton was actually an actor mamed Zac Efron. Which, totally my bad. I knew HSM was her very important thing but misjudged her perception of it).

Despite my desire for normal, my PTSD and Autistic overwhelm have other plans and my coworkers notice me struggling to stay calm. I had to ask one of them to take a picture of me- evidence of what I'm wearing, of the female-ness that I usually reject in myself but adopted because I felt pretty this morning. Why did I dare feel pretty this morning? At least when i'm a tomboy lesbian-dyke, people tend not to follow me out from the restroom.

After I send the picture to my boss for evidence, my coworkers ask me what's wrong. I feel hot shame at discussing a situation involving my need to pee with my coworkers, of being visibly afraid in front of them, of not being poised and professional, and of having thought I was pretty for a day in my life.

I am now, five days later, still gobsmacked at their support and compassion. They asked if I was ok, if there was something they could do, and if I wanted any of them to come with me next time to the bathroom. One of them came out to me as nonbinary as I sat nibbling a few kitkats to calm myself down. Their support gets me through the day, and they all let me know I'm not alone, and that my skirt IS very pretty.

My heart is warmed but unfortunately over the weekend, my mind is spinning like a record, playing the same song over and over and over. The woman follows me and I turn around again, and again, and again- each time with me trying to explain or defend myself a little differently.

"Don't you know some people are born different? You work with disabilities yourself." "Some women are really tall, or short. Some have thick eyebrows, or lose their hair, or *have deep voices*. Don't you know women are vibrant with differences?" "Were you in the room when my doctor and I discussed my voice? Why do you act like you know why my voice is like this- I didn't sign away my HIPPA to you." "Ma'am where do you SUGGEST I pee in my lemon skirt and pumps? On the lobby floor?"

But I can never win the argument in my head, the echo of the woman who demands to see my ID and calls it fake. The echo demands my birth certificate and tears it in two, insisting its forged. She demands to see my genitals and either determines I am mutilated, or that I have surgically made myself to be as I am. Nothing short of birthing a child in the lobby would convince the woman arguing in my mind where I am allowed to pee and here I was, sterile, ill-formed for such an activity, and far too gender-literate for the mental arguement of such a thing happening- maladaptive daydream or no.

It took up my whole weekend, this spiraling. Only two things gave me comfort- immagining telling that woman "You don't know me. Clearly you don't care to know me. And that's you're loss." Over and over, like a ryhme about sticks and stones your mom taught you as a child- and the other comfort was a birthday party I was hosting for my dear friend where I shared a meal, some card games, and my personal bathroom with a bunch of people who Do know me, and Do care, and are more concerned with whether I someone's got an Ace in their hand than whatever is under their skirt.

Fear fades to sorrow for that angry lady, for my staff, and for everyone in the building. Does this poor woman hate her own voice when she gets a headcold? Does she stare at every woman who isn't perfectly feminine and see a dangerous animal? What about the disabled people in her life? Are they admonished for existing in a way she doesn't expect? If my perfectly female coworker goes to a concert and comes to work with a broken voice the next day, will she go through what I went through? If a client needs help toileting and a member of the opposite sex is assisting them, will the cops be called?

I remind myself that she doesn't know me. That she clearly doesn't care to know me. And that it is her loss. I remind myself that I'm brave, over and over while I drive to work on Monday. My COO will talk to our neighbors today, and I dont know what will happen. It's been suggested that I could use the children's toilet in our other office. It's meant kindly, but sounds an awful lot like a separate water fountain. My nonbinary coworker said they're scared to pee now- my adult, trained and licensed for administering therapy, coworker.. is scared to use the bathroom.

That makes me angrier than anything this woman could possibly do to me. Maybe I should DARE this woman to call the cops, if only to show my coworker I will be brave for us, that I'm not letting fear control my life.

But something unexpected happened today, coincidentally, on Trans Day of Visibility.

The owner was 100% on board and actually already spoke to the employee. The owner said the employee came to her all concerned/upset and she told her to stop and that they have trans clients and it's not appropriate or worthwhile to go after people living their lives.

Recieving the news was like a fever breaking. I didn't realize how much I had been holding my breath (and my bladder) the entire morning. They understood?? Not only did this other business understand but they're offering their services to members of my community?

I obviously wish it hadn't happened, that I hadn't stayed worried and desperate every day and awake and scared every night over the weekend. But, I'm overwhelmed gratithe relief of everything that happened after- the immidiate support of administration, the kind eords of my coworkers, and the mended fence with my new and wonderful neighbors.

Happy fucking Trans Day of Visibility, yall. I see you, and maybe more people on the outside see us for what we are than we think. The people who have a problem clearly don't know you, clearly don't care to know you, AND THAT IS THEIR LOSS.

Taglist @the-golden-comet @gioia-writes-and-others @lychhiker

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Me @ Val 🐁💚

[jev-urisk]

Fanart Friday! 🎨

(Now one day late!)

Sketch by my beloved partner of character Valian, judging you during monch time 🐁

Love the expression and his cute little horns!! Maybe one day it will get colored in 😁

7C Content: @gioiaalbanoart @biblicallyaccuratefruitbat @lychhiker @autism-purgatory @wyked-ao3

@cowboybrunch @zackprincebooks @smellyrottentrees @tragedycoded @the-golden-comet

@nbkuhn @ddgraywrites @desastreus @theglitchywriterboi

@shanakin-skywalker @honeybewrites @sincerelydork @the-letterbox-archives @aishwritesblog

@gioia-writes-and-others @aalinaaaaaa @the-letterbox-archives +Open Tag

[jev-urisk]

WIP Wednesday✍️

Todays excerpt of 🌐7 Circles🌐 is from Chapter 7, Hint Hunting. POV is Klaus Calvaire, a half-incubus hiding the fact that he is also half-fae from the demons he lives among in Nexis. This clippet is following him feeding off the lust of one of these Nexan demons.

There are Sand Burrowers tunnelling beneath the rug, and this is Nexis, so that’s impossible.   Klaus blinks.  He looks away, screwing his eyes closed for a moment, then tries again. His black blazer, crumpled on the floor, is still swaying and shifting where he had discarded it on the rug’s surface, but the roiling, churning beneath the rug resolves itself into an ornate damask pattern of individually swaying sections with the added effect of the flickering candlelight flashing off of the brass thread in scattered, nonsensical sequences.  When had he been so drunk on lust before? The back of his mind supplies the answer that he deliberately ignores as he scrutinises the garish pale blue and brass weave until it could never have been anything other than uncertain lighting and his own vertigo. The candles his meal lit to induce a sense of romance induces instead a sense of vague nausea and nostalgia. He shuts down that trickle of memory as surely as the first. The world sways as Klaus leans forward to collect his jacket, and the dainty demoness puts a hand between his shoulder blades. She’s drained of lust but the sticky, syrupy flavour of her still echoes in his senses, churning his stomach and ensuring he won't be able to drink anything resembling a white crème martini for months. Her tepid fingers slide up, past the small hairs of his neck to card through his hair, towards the stained and hidden tips of his pointed ears. Klaus catches those fingers, straightens, and turns to her in the same movement, and the room continues spinning after he stills, a whirling backdrop against the demoness’s pouting face. “You could stay, you know,” she offers demurely, talking as if she found him wrapped around her manicured fingers as surely as her gaudy rings. She moves her spoiled grasp to his arm, leaning coquettishly forward to place his limb in her cleavage and looking up at him from beneath her lashes. “Or am I only good company when you’re hungry?”  You’re poor company even then. Klaus can’t tell her the truth, and neither can he take the chance a pretty lie will come out in a slurred Outlander accent, so instead he pulls her close and kisses her deeply with all the hate he can disguise as passion. She melts into his embrace, and he kisses her deeper, hates her more to block out yet another memory the night tries to conjure.

I love tender actions filled with acid~

Still working away at my big masquerade Chapters, they're going to be the last things I do on Googgle docs before switching over to something more ethical/secure. It's slow-going but I'm excited nonetheless. Hope you're all doing well!

Photo by Magda Ehlers from Pexels Taglist!: @gioiaalbanoart @biblicallyaccuratefruitbat @lychhiker @autism-purgatory @wyked-ao3

@cowboybrunch @zackprincebooks @smellyrottentrees @tragedycoded @the-golden-comet

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@aalinaaaaaa +Open Tag

[jev-urisk]

Human Resources Management by day, Drag artist by night (and sometimes weekends) ✨️

I just realized that many many people have jobs

Rb with your job, wtf do you people do while offline???

[jev-urisk]

Oooofta. Yeah, this nails exactly what I see in my country and what im putting into my story.

Bro absolutely COOKED with this.

[jev-urisk]

Gall, I hope my point-of-view regarding these POV shifts isn't too shifty.

[jev-urisk]

A Musing Monday 🏳️‍🌈🎐🏳️‍⚧️

This one feels less like musing and more like shouting, but it is what I need to hear and remind myself of today.

🔥Art is the outlet! And art is anything you create that can hold or cause feelings!🔥

Its become a fucking zoo out in USAmerica, and you can do everything you can to keep aware and educated, you can advocate and march and aid your community and make change where you have the power to make change- *AND*, you need to keep sane. It's not optional. You need to keep sane and hold space for yourself and be so determined and deliberate in your coping skills and meeting your needs. You dont want to lose hope, and if you burn out you'll need to drop everything to recover (if you by luck or privilege even have the option of doing so) anyway.

These two spheres are not opposed, they lean on one another and fuel one another. Art and activism. Art and humanity. Art and healing. Art and giving a shit about something. Art and the ability to overcome strife.

By doing one, you can do better at the other. If the world makes you angry or sad or scared- write about it, paint your blood into the canvas, sing out to the universe your heartache, express everything and then some. You *can* show up and you *will* be stronger and better, and if chance has it, you might even inspire other people along the way.

Hang in there- and know you can hold on much longer if you craft yourself handholds, harnesses, and hopeful traction. 💗

*picture of a recent Queer activism event I attended in opposition to anti-Queer legislation at my state Capitol. Taken by one of my partners.

Monday taglist: @the-golden-comet @gioia-writes-and-others

[jev-urisk]

Seven Sentence Sunday✨️

Thank you for the recent tags @the-golden-comet @cowboybrunch @gioia-writes-and-others 🫶

The 7 sentences (more like 19) today are from Ch 15: Tea Party, of my WIP 🌐7 Circles🌐, from Kazimier's POV 💋

The chest he found in Klaus’ closet has been a fun discovery- unlabeled and un-locked.. er, de-locked.. The damn thing had no hole for a key to go in. Lockless. Probably opened with Nexi tech. Nothing to be done; he wasn’t going to risk setting off an alarm or worse by breaking it open, and if Klaus was the kinda ‘Cubi to dine-and-dash a bitch Kaz wouldn’t have enough time to repair it and discreetly put it back. Maybe later, if he figured out what arcane jewelry opened it.

Also without labels were the scores of bottles and containers in the bathroom, which seemed to contain all sorts of woowoo ointments and tinctures. Were unlabeled bathroom supplies in-vogue or whatever? Or were they all homemade, given Klaus’ curious medical expertise? Kazimier had found among them a pitch black pomade of sorts. Was the fullblood so stressed he’s poppin’ grays and needed to cover ‘em? Guess that’s embarrassing in a fully immortal district, huh. Even if Klaus could probably rock salt-n-pepper he was resorting to the basic bitch of shapeshifting- dying or cutting one’s hair. It’s the exact basic bitchery Kazimier had indulged in until Klaus returned. If he ever desired to be soft and sultry he’d usually just.. Shift. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually shaved. His body hair isn’t thick, but Kaz didn't like the way the dark green hair looked like literal pine trees when the sun hit his bare legs. Another reason to hate the sun. Kazimier was making the final passes on his legs in the shapeshifter-sized tub when Klaus returned with a misplaced scowl. Klaus had basically given permission to use it as long as he could follow ‘Don’t make a mess’.

Kazimier rooting through an entire flat and taking a bubblebath after is one of my favorite parts in the first half of the book 🫧😂

Photo by Greta Hoffman from Pexels.

Taglist!: @gioiaalbanoart @biblicallyaccuratefruitbat @lychhiker @autism-purgatory @wyked-ao3

@cowboybrunch @zackprincebooks @smellyrottentrees @tragedycoded @the-golden-comet

@nbkuhn @ddgraywrites @desastreus @theglitchywriterboi @shanakin-skywalker

@honeybewrites @sincerelydork @the-letterbox-archives @aishwritesblog @gioia-writes-and-others

@aalinaaaaaa +Open Tag

[jev-urisk]

One story about well-trained politicians, systematic propaganda, and 0 easy solutions coming right up

hi hello. high political fantasy writers—please media-train your politicians/royals.

[jev-urisk]

😤✨️

PLEASE Write Your Book!

I'm serious. Please write it. If you need a sign to start, continue, or whatever is inbetween, this is it. Go do it.

I spent the past couple weeks indulging myself in some BookTok recommendations. While some were indeed good (Kings of Sin, my beloved), some were just...I don't need to finish my sentence there.

I DNF'd some books for the first time since I read Lord of the Flies (sorry Golding, you put me to sleep with your descriptions) and I powered through others in hopes that they would eventually get better. The general consensus I ended up getting was that I could not understand for the fucking life of me how these books got published. The writing in some of them was no better than that of a 2010s teen writing Maximum Ride fic on Wattpad for the first time, with the characterization abysmal enough to match.

I don't want to knock any specific author or book here, because I will concede one thing: they finished their books. They got them published. They're successful. For that, I commend them, because I'm still on my way there myself and I can't take that away from them. Jolly good show.

But that brings me to my point: if they can do it, YOU absolutely can do it too.

If some of these Amazon and NYT bestsellers can have prose on a Wattpad level with characters that have enough poorly-written cognitive dissonance to make Deadpool or Walter White jealous, your fleshed out, deeply intuitive, and remarkably creative epic can sit right alongside them no problem. Whether you're writing the next GoT or a romantic slice-of-life, there is a not a goddamn thing on this planet stopping you from rolling up with the big dogs.

If these guys can do it, so can you.

So, stop telling yourself you can't. Stop letting other people tell you you can't. Stop comparing yourself to these authors who, respectfully and bluntly, can't write for shit (or at least need to fire their fucking editors, good lord).

WRITE YOUR DAMN BOOK. PLEASE. WE NEED IT.

(If you like my guides, prompts, writing, or art, consider supporting the blog today! All donations help me keep this thing up and running and all are appreciated <3)